#brian may x reader fluff

[imeternallylove]

Don't grow up, it's a trap - Brian May; Prologue

Pairing: Brian May x Reader

Warning: none

Word: approx 1.3k

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Chapters index

prologue | part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part night | part ten | epilogue

If he knew he had grown up this way.

Perhaps it was preferable to be a youngster who knew nothing except eating, playing, and napping.

People beings grow up in many civilizations. Some are born under a lucky star and are unaware that there is a demon named afflictive and wounded existing in this universe. However, certain persons who were raised. No, it should be called 'lived on their own' 一will have a higher level of immunity than others.

That does not imply their goodness. But it was an essential weapon for survival when facing tough times; it was intended just for anybody like him who lived below the poverty line. It kept on threatening his life, shattering every piece of his bone and cruelly smashing them to the ground. Despite being awake, it seemed like a terror nightmare that he couldn't wake up from.

'Brian May' is an uncommon boy. However, it isn't actually noteworthy. It sounds tricky, doesn't it? But that was his life after his parents' disappearance due to debt, while the whole town was during the world war.

The boy recalled the hectic circumstances at home throughout that extended period of time, and how they remained to be that way, over and over. He nearly lost sight of the definition of happiness and the proper way to smile or laugh.

Delicious food was once the thing on each evening dinner table, but that is starting to change. There were just grilled potatoes obtainable lately, and the soup was given as a side dish to enhance the flavour of the tasteless potatoes that had to be consumed all in one bowl, for the whole family.

He heard his parents arguing constantly, and headphones ended up being his best buddy by default. However, that is not nearly as unpleasant as hearing the creditors' relentless pounding on the door, who appear prepared to burst in at any moment if they are serious about it.

Only in the closet could sixteen-year-old Brian give a hug to his younger sister. With her head pressed against his chest, he protected her even though he was conscious that he wouldn't be able to stop the door from breaking in. After their parents made the decision to disappear without a trace since they had creditors pursuing them. From that moment on, Brian's biggest duty towards his younger sister has been to be strong for her, even when it meant leaving only tears on her cheeks.

Yes, he understands that his parents weren't abandoning him or his younger sister. Nevertheless, it seems that things happened this way because they had to leave this environment. Because his parents are unaware of how creditors would make demands for money if they were there. Which was probably worse than the hammering at the house door, which scared the hell out of him and his sister and made them afraid to leave.

A sixteen-year-old boy whose sole pursuits in life are music and education. To continue living his realities, he had to give go of his fantasies. Give up on the band, put the handmade guitar in the cupboard, and start working a part-time job after school.

For a young boy who had never experienced hardship before, he was unsure about what to do with the remaining money and where it would take him and his sister. However, it was lucky that the uncle next door, who was a neighbour, constantly prepared meals for him. And thus, day by day, he and his sister lived. 'Betty May' is still quite young. Brian does not want his younger sister to have to worry about this. But he had no idea what to do. Because additional money is insufficient, he will soon have to pay tuition. He is unlikely to be able to provide for himself and his younger sister financially. However, requesting a loan from a neighbour, like Uncle David, would be excessive.

Brian sensed he was in trouble. However, seeking assistance from others should be done in moderation.

Humans have a tendency to do dumb things when they feel hopeless. Yes, Brian feels this is the case. When he sat looking at the square screen with his hands on the keyboard in a computer lesson, his friend from the computer science department was overjoyed to show him it was a prototype. He looked like he suffered from a lack of sleep while learning how to use with.

The sixteen-year-old boy stared at it for a moment before writing the tragic tales of his own life on a blank page, and thanks to his highest grade at Imperial College, he had the kind privilege of receiving a tiny article published in the newspapers for the entire city of London, which has at least three million readers per day.

Brian couldn't recall what he had written, and he didn't want to. It might be filled with disappointment in life, what he was excellent at, or the whole agony that has been suppressed in his heart. Asking for help in vain and not knowing whether anyone will respond with a boy who has no idea who they are and no interest in life.

But it wasn't too horrible. When God told him to believe in, 'the miracles' one more time.

Not long afterward, the professor contacted him to schedule an appointment. He said that someone had seen his letter in the newspapers and offered to help with schooling and monthly expenditures, even if it was a small amount. So he asked Brian if he still needed lend a hand in helping, because here was his opportunity.

The boy was dumbfounded by what he had heard. He was thinking about hitting himself in the face once to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. Is it truly feasible for somebody to reach out and support kids who do not know who they are? Brian sat calmly for quite some time, and his professor was silent, indicating that Brian, his student, wanted to concentrate.

Brian was still half believing and half unbelieving. It wasn't until he received a cheque with credit to cash at the bank, along with a huge shopping bag with a pair of black and light brown suit-and-tie sets and black leather shoes. He noticed a pair of freshly released flower pattern shift dresses for ladies in other bags, as well as maroon Mary-Jane heels, with a short message and charming calligraphy expressing delight in him and Betty, which the tall boy could guess was from whom.

The boy finally discovered the world wasn't all devils around him. Who were these people? How did the benefactors who saved his and his sister's lives appear? The boy was confident that they were angels. The boy vividly recalls the emotion of the first moment; even the corners of his eyes turned blazing red and his younger sister had to hold and soothe him.

Brian returned to see his professor the next day, this time wearing a new pair of gleaming black leather shoes. After staying up all night wondering, 'Why are the benefactors so kind?', he was keen to find out who the wonderful person was who rescued him and his sister from the demon hordes. Why did they decide to help? Because even if the entire world is full of lack of thoroughness, and depth of character and he is much too young to confront it, that person seems not to be concerned whether the message he has written is a falsehood or real.

As his professor consultant was done with some papers, he smiled softly as he informed his student. "Her name is Y/N..."

Brian fails to control himself; he gasps suddenly with his mouth open and barely knows how to breathe, just because he eventually discovered their name, noㅡ her name.

"Miss Y/L/N. Y/N Y/L/N."

oh hi

[noralia20]

Unsaid... (Brian May)

Words count : 12k

Sum up : You never really talked about your family. But after a traggic event, everything comes back to you and you have no choice but to explode and tell your lover.

London, 1979. The city bustled with energy and a sense of renewal, the air crisp with the promise of winter. The streets were adorned with twinkling lights, shop windows displaying festive cheer, and a gentle snowfall added a touch of magic to the scene. Despite the chill, your heart was warm, brimming with a joy that surpassed anything you had ever known.

You had been dating Brian May, the iconic guitarist of Queen, for the past six years. It felt surreal sometimes, but it was your reality—a beautiful one at that. Brian was the love of your life, a beacon of light in your otherwise tumultuous past. Your relationship was a sanctuary, a place where love, trust, and mutual respect flourished. You shared everything with him, your dreams, your fears, your daily musings. Well, almost everything.

There was one part of your life that remained untouched by Brian's understanding gaze—your past. It was a shadowy place, filled with hurt and memories you had no desire to revisit. You had never spoken of it, and somehow, Brian knew not to pry. He respected your boundaries, and for that, you loved him even more.

This winter was special. Queen had just released "Don't Stop Me Now," a song that quickly climbed the charts and became a new anthem for many. The boys were ecstatic, their hard work paying off in spades. The success called for a celebration, a moment to bask in their achievement and let loose. For once, Brian wasn't consumed by tours, recording sessions, or interviews. He was taking a well-deserved break, choosing to spend his time with friends, family, and most importantly, you.

To celebrate the success of 'Don't Stop Me Now', you all decided to gather at Fred's house for a relaxed evening. The prospect filled you with happiness, especially since it meant spending time with Veronica and Dominique. Perhaps Mary would be there too, given her amicable terms with Freddie. As you stood in front of the mirror, attempting to tame your hair, Brian waited patiently for you, ready to head out.

Winter always held a bittersweet place in your heart. While it brought the joy of the holidays and moments like these with friends, it also reminded you of colder times spent alongside your family. One particular night stood out, etched in your memory like a scar that hadn't quite healed.

You remembered the biting chill creeping through the cracks of the walls, the frost painting intricate patterns on the windowpanes. It was a night filled with tension, the kind that freezes the air and stills the breath. Your family, wrapped in their own turmoil, seemed distant and unreachable. That night, words were left unspoken, wounds left unattended, and you found yourself retreating into a cocoon of solitude, seeking warmth where there was little to be found.

As you adjusted your hair in the mirror, a pang of longing mixed with apprehension washed over you. Winter had a way of stirring up buried emotions, reminding you of what you had left behind and what you had chosen to keep hidden. Yet, in Brian's reassuring presence and the anticipation of a cozy gathering at Fred's, there was a glimmer of hope, a chance to thaw the icy memories that still haunted you.

With a deep breath, you turned away from the mirror, meeting Brian's gaze with a soft smile. He reached out, his hand finding yours, a silent understanding passing between you. Tonight, amidst the warmth of friends and the glow of shared success, you hoped to forge new memories that would overshadow the chill of winters past.

"Hey, ready to go?" Brian asked softly, his smile revealing those endearing little fangs you had come to love. When you first met, he had been insecure about them, but over time, you helped him learn to embrace and accept every part of himself.

You took a few steps closer, leaning up to plant a kiss on his cheek, a gesture that required a bit of effort given his towering height of 1.87 meters. "As always. Let's go before Fred scolds us and we never hear the end of it," you teased lightly.

Brian chuckled quietly, knowing all too well the playful antics of his friend Fred. With a gentle squeeze of your hand, he led the way out the door, the promise of a warm gathering and cherished company awaiting you both at Fred's house.

During the drive, Brian was enthusiastically explaining the intricate process of creating music. His eyes sparkled with passion as he spoke, and you couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of pride for him. Yet, despite your efforts to stay engaged, your mind kept wandering, and then a flashback hit you like a truck.

"Luke, you can't just live off this!" The living room was filled with screams and shouts, a cacophony of frustration and desperation echoing through the small space. It was a cold February night, the kind that seeped into your bones and stayed there. The flickering candlelight cast long, dancing shadows on the walls, turning the scene into a surreal, almost dreamlike tableau.

Your throat burned from the relentless screaming and arguing, the words spilling out like an unstoppable torrent. This wasn't what you had envisioned when you and your brother escaped, hoping for a new life. The promise of a fresh start had seemed so tantalizingly close, yet here you were, caught in the same cycle of conflict.

"You don't understand, Y/N! It's only the beginning. We can make really good money," Luke pleaded, desperation lacing his voice as he stepped into the living room. But you were too blinded by anger to hear the hope in his words, too consumed by your own frustration to recognize his struggle.

"Oh, now I don’t understand? What I do understand is that you just dropped out of university, sold my car, and all of that for what? To buy a stupid guitar because Mr. Luke is in a band now," you mocked, your voice dripping with sarcasm. Luke's face flushed with frustration, his jaw tightening as he struggled to keep his composure.

"Where’s this going, Luke?" you continued, your tone sharp and unyielding. He opened his mouth to respond, but you cut him off. "Let me tell you where this is going. Nowhere. Right into the wall. This… music isn’t bringing you anywhere."

Luke’s fists clenched at his sides, the tension radiating from him as he listened to your harsh words. His eyes flashed with a mix of anger and helplessness, but you were too consumed by your own fury to notice.

"This isn’t what I had pictured when I told you we should run away from the house," you pressed on, your voice trembling with emotion. "We agreed that we would work through it together."

Luke seemed to shrink before you, his shoulders sagging under the weight of your accusations. "And we are—" he began, but you cut him off again.

"No, we're not," you snapped. "What you just did was a selfish move, Luke. It was about you and not us. If it was about us, you wouldn’t have thrown your studies away."

He looked utterly defeated, the spark of hope that had fueled his dreams now dimmed by your relentless onslaught.

"And have you ever cared about what I wanted?" he mumbled from behind you, his voice barely audible but loaded with emotion.

Those words sent you over the edge. Without thinking, you turned around and struck him across the face. Luke stumbled back, his hand flying to his cheek in disbelief. The shock in his eyes mirrored the immediate regret that washed over you.

"Luke, I'm so sor—"

"You're just like Dad," he interrupted, his voice cold and final. The words cut deeper than any physical blow. Grabbing his bag and guitar, he shoved past you.

"Luke, wait!" you cried, desperation seeping into your voice. But he was already heading for the main door.

You ran after him, ignoring the icy bite of the pavement beneath your bare feet. The cold air stung your lungs, but all you could think about was stopping him. Luke was already on his bike, pedaling furiously down the alley.

"No, no, no!" you screamed, pushing yourself to run faster. But he was too quick. As he turned onto the main street, you tripped, falling hard onto the cold ground. Pain shot through your knees and palms, but you barely noticed. Your eyes were locked on Luke as he continued to roll away without looking back.

You lay there, helpless and heartbroken, watching him disappear into the distance. The realization of what you'd done settled over you like a heavy blanket, suffocating and inescapable. Tears blurred your vision as you begged him to stay, your voice hoarse and desperate.

“Y/N... Y/N?” Brian's soothing, soft voice called you back to reality. You blinked, momentarily disoriented, and turned your head to the side. Brian was looking at you with concern from the driver’s seat, the glow of the red light casting a soft hue across his face.

“O-Oh, sorry. What were you saying?” you asked, your voice still a bit shaky as you tried to reorient yourself to the present.

Brian studied you carefully, his eyes searching yours for any sign of what had been troubling you. He repeated himself, speaking slowly and deliberately, “I was saying: I hope the song will work out.”

You forced a smile, pushing the dark memories back into the recesses of your mind. “Of course it will. You guys are legends. I’ve heard the song multiple times, and I’m sure it’ll be timeless.”

Brian smiled at your answer, but the uncertainty in his eyes lingered. He could sense something was off, though he chose not to press the issue. Instead, he reached over and gave your hand a reassuring squeeze.

Brian knew it happened quite often during this time of the year. You seemed always absent, a part of you perpetually searching for something or someone to appear. When you walked the streets, your eyes would scan the crowds reflexively, as if expecting a familiar face to emerge from the sea of strangers. At shows, backstage, you'd often find yourself studying the audience, your gaze lingering on each person as if waiting for one specific figure to materialize.

There were nights when Brian would find you awake, staring out the living room window with a cold cup of tea forgotten in your hands. Your eyes would wander, filled with a quiet yearning that spoke of an absence you couldn’t quite place. It was as if your very soul was looking, longing for something or someone that wasn’t there.

Brian had noticed this pattern over the years. As winter set in, your demeanor would change, and you became more introspective, more distant. But he never pressed you about it, respecting the boundaries you had set. He understood that there was a part of your past you weren't ready to share, a shadow that came alive with the cold.

He tried to offer comfort in small ways—through a gentle touch, a comforting word, or just being there when you needed him. He wanted to be your anchor, your safe harbor during these turbulent times. And he hoped that one day, you would feel ready to share that hidden part of yourself with him.

As winter melted into spring, Brian watched the change in you. The somber cloud that hung over you during the colder months would lift, and the vibrant, joyful person he loved would reemerge. Life would go on as always, the shadows of the past retreating once more into the background.

Brian finally parked the car in front of Freddie’s house. As you reached for the door handle, his warm hand and long fingers gently stopped you. Confusion flickered across your face as you turned to look at him, only to see a sight you hated: worry etched into his expression. You despised causing concern, especially for someone as dear to your heart as Brian. And then he asked the question that made your heart squeeze even tighter.

"Are you okay?" His voice was gentle, his concern palpable.

The simplicity of those words carried a weight you struggled to bear. Of course, you should be okay. Why wouldn't you be? Because you hadn’t seen your brother in seven years? Because he seemed to despise you, echoing the rift with the rest of your family? Because, in a way, you felt like an orphan now? But no, you couldn’t burden Brian with those thoughts. He deserved your strength, not your vulnerabilities.

You forced a small smile, hoping it would reassure him. "Yes, I'm fine. Don't worry," you replied, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. "The weather tires me lately," you added as an excuse, hoping to deflect his concern.

Brian took a moment to study you with his hazel eyes, his gaze lingering on your face as you attempted to reach for the door handle again. The concern in his expression was evident, and it made your breath catch in your throat. You knew he could sense when something was amiss, and the thought of burdening him with your inner turmoil weighed heavily on you.

"But... would you tell me if you weren't?" he asked quietly, his voice gentle but tinged with worry.

The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. Truth be told, you knew you wouldn't tell him. Not because you didn't trust him—Brian was indeed the person you trusted most—but because you couldn't bear to see the hurt and helplessness in his eyes. It was easier to pretend everything was fine, to shield him from your own pain.

"Of course I would," you replied softly, mustering a smile that felt brittle on your lips. "You're the person I trust most."

It wasn't a complete lie. You did trust Brian with your heart, but there were depths within you that even he hadn't fully explored. There were wounds you carried silently, scars from a past that still haunted you. And while Brian had seen glimpses of your struggles, you couldn't bring yourself to burden him with the full weight of your pain.

"Let's go?" you suggested, hoping to shift the focus away from the tension that hung between you.

Brian nodded slowly, releasing your hand with a reluctant squeeze. His eyes held a mix of understanding and lingering concern, but he respected your choice not to delve deeper. Together, you walked towards Freddie’s house, the soft glow of warmth and laughter beckoning from within.

You looked at Brian as he paused at the door, a loving smile spreading across his face before he rang the bell. As you stood beside him, he draped an arm around your waist, drawing you close with a gentle pull. Your heart fluttered at his touch, and you couldn't help but suppress a giddy smile as you looked up at him.

Brian returned your gaze with warmth and affection, his hazel eyes sparkling. Leaning in, he kissed you sweetly, the moment filled with tenderness and a shared intimacy. Just as the kiss deepened, the door swung open, revealing a grinning Freddie.

You both pulled apart abruptly, caught in a moment that felt both exhilarating and slightly embarrassing. Freddie’s teasing raised eyebrow only added to the amusement of the situation. "Well, hello to you too, darlings," Freddie greeted with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, clearly enjoying the sight before him.

You felt your cheeks warm with a blush, feeling momentarily like a teenager caught in a secret moment. Quickly regaining your composure, you took a step forward and greeted Freddie properly. "Hello, Freddie," you said with a smile, trying to ignore the lingering warmth of Brian's touch and the playful glint in Freddie's eyes.

Freddie hugged you back warmly, his voice low as he whispered teasingly in your ear. "If you two really can't keep your hands off each other, remember I have a spare room upstairs. Just don't be too loud for the kids."

Your eyes widened in surprise, and your cheeks flushed crimson, a blush that could rival a traffic signal. You turned to Freddie, pretending to be outraged, and playfully hit his arm. "Freddie!" you exclaimed in mock indignation, though the playful grin tugged at your lips.

Brian, standing beside you, looked between you and Freddie with a mixture of confusion and amusement. He chuckled softly, clearly catching on to the good-natured banter between you and Freddie.

"Oh, but you must be freezing! Come on in!" Freddie said warmly, guiding you both inside.

The immediate sounds of laughter greeted your ears, a lively mix of adults and children enjoying themselves. You shrugged off your coat, hanging it neatly by the door before following Freddie towards the living room.

You hadn’t even had a chance to introduce yourself properly before a small figure came running over to hug your legs. It was Robert, John and Veronica’s lively three-year-old son. Not far behind him toddled Michael, who had just turned one. The sight of their innocent joy brought an immediate smile to your face.

"Hey, bud! It's nice to see you too!" you exclaimed warmly, kneeling down to greet Robert. He squealed with delight and threw his arms around you in a tight hug. You laughed, feeling Brian’s amused gaze on you as he watched the interaction.

Brian joined in the fun, bending down to Robert's level. "Hey, Rob, how's it going?" he asked with a grin.

Robert glanced up at Brian, his face lighting up. "Uncle Fred was ranting that you two were always late," he declared with all the seriousness a three-year-old could muster.

You chuckled at Freddie’s antics, knowing exactly the kind of playful teasing he was capable of. "Robert Deacon! You little traitor," Freddie boomed in a mock deep voice, tickling the boy’s sides playfully.

Robert giggled uncontrollably, squirming in Freddie’s grasp. The room filled with laughter, the playful banter easing any lingering tension.

"You have quite the spy network here, Freddie," you teased, standing up and brushing off your knees. Freddie grinned mischievously. "Always good to have informants," he quipped, earning a playful swat on the arm from Brian.

Together, you and Brian finally made your way over to the group seated on the couches. Mary was already there, chatting animatedly with John and Veronica, who were nestled comfortably with their children nearby. The Deacons were also present, leaving only Dominique and Roger yet to arrive.

"I see we're not the only ones late," Brian remarked, drawing the attention of your friends. They greeted you warmly, and you ushered Veronica to sit back down, considering she was now five months pregnant with baby number three.

In the background, the TV played the news quietly, a mundane backdrop to the lively gathering. John, ever the curious one, leaned forward slightly and asked with a hint of teasing, "What took you guys so long?"

Brian glanced at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes before answering, "Well, Y/N here wasn't satisfied with her hair."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "Says you! You spent an hour in the bathroom taming yours, Mister May," you retorted, your tone teasing and light-hearted.

Laughter rippled through the room at your banter, the familiar sound of friends enjoying each other’s company filling the air. The tension from earlier melted away, replaced by the warmth of shared jokes and affectionate teasing.

Mary leaned forward with a smile, pouring Brian a glass of wine and teasingly adding, "Someone's got to keep up appearances." Brian mockingly feigned offense, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Guilty as charged," he admitted with a grin, earning another round of chuckles from the group.

As you all chatted and caught up, the atmosphere was relaxed and filled with camaraderie. Finally, Roger and Dominique arrived, their presence adding to the lively energy of the gathering. Roger, ever the epitome of cool in his leather jacket and sunglasses, grinned as he greeted everyone.

Roger's casual demeanor earned him a playful scolding from Freddie about their tardiness, to which Roger responded with a nonchalant shrug and a wink.

With everyone now assembled, the dynamics of the group fell into place seamlessly. Roger and Freddie bantered back and forth, their teasing laced with fondness and familiarity. Brian played the role of the calm mediator, injecting humor when needed to diffuse any escalating jokes. John observed the interactions with a quiet amusement, occasionally chiming in with his own dry wit.

Amidst the cheerful chaos, Dominique caught your eye and gestured discreetly towards the garden. Understanding her silent invitation, you quietly excused yourself along with Mary, Veronica, and Dominique, slipping out of the lively room and into the calm of the garden.

Outside, the air was crisp and cool, a refreshing contrast to the warmth of the crowded room. You found a secluded corner of the garden, away from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears. Surrounded by the soft glow of garden lights, you exchanged knowing glances with the other women.

In the peaceful solitude of the garden, surrounded by the quiet rustling of leaves and the gentle glow of garden lights, the conversation turned to more personal matters. Mary's voice carried genuine concern as she asked, "So, what's on your mind?"

Veronica smiled warmly, her hand tenderly resting on her growing belly as she sighed softly. "I just needed a moment away from the noise," she admitted, her expression softening with a hint of relief. "And to catch up with you all."

Dominique nodded in agreement, her thoughtful gaze scanning the garden as she spoke quietly. "It's good to have these moments," she reflected. "To remind ourselves of what's important."

You felt a surge of gratitude for these women, for their understanding and unwavering support in both the joyful and challenging moments of life. As you exhaled into the chilly night air, you added, "I think it's important for the boys. They're constantly together. But they also have us, and we're all in this together, you know."

Mary and Dominique nodded in understanding, their expressions reflecting solidarity and empathy.

Turning her attention to Veronica, Mary gently asked, "So, Veronica, are you feeling alright?" Her eyes drifted to Veronica's hand brushing over her bump.

Veronica's face lit up with a radiant smile. "Never been better," she replied warmly. "I hope it's a girl. John would love a girl, though he would never admit it, frankly."

You couldn't help but smile at the thought. "John would be such a daddy's girl," Dominique added with a chuckle, imagining the stoic John softened by the love of a daughter.

As the conversation continued, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. Here, in the quiet embrace of friendship and shared moments, surrounded by the supportive presence of these remarkable women, you knew that whatever the future held, you would face it together.

Veronica's playful comment about weddings and babies nudged the conversation into more personal territory. She winked at Dominique and you, her warmth and teasing nature filling the air.

"You know Rog, he loves freedom too much for now. But trust me, I'm working on it," Veronica added with a knowing smile.

You chuckled nervously, feeling a slight tension knotting in your stomach. The idea of starting a family had always been a complicated topic for you, especially given your own tumultuous past. What if Brian wanted children one day? Could you give him that future he might dream of, or would your uncertainties hold you both back?

"Me?" you replied, forcing a smile. "You know me, Veronica. I can't even picture what I'm going to eat for dinner. So, I'll just let the future come when it's ready."

Your attempt at humor masked the deeper concerns swirling inside you. Veronica's next question, however, cut through the light-hearted banter and struck a chord.

"But are you ready for the commitment, Y/N? Because I see how Brian looks at you. It's as serious as it was years ago," Veronica pressed gently, her tone thoughtful and sincere.

You glanced over at Brian, who was engrossed in conversation with Roger and John, his expression animated and relaxed. The love and adoration in his eyes were unmistakable, and a warmth spread through your chest at the sight of him.

"I... I think so," you replied softly, your voice wavering slightly. "Brian means everything to me, Veronica. I just... I want to make sure I can give him everything he deserves." Dominique placed a comforting hand on your arm, her gaze filled with understanding. "Y/N, it's okay to have doubts. It's okay to take your time," she reassured you gently.

Mary nodded in agreement, her voice kind but firm. "Just remember, whatever path you choose, we're all here for you. Brian loves you, and that's what matters." Veronica smiled warmly, her eyes reflecting unwavering support. "You'll figure it out, Y/N. And when you do, we'll be here to celebrate with you."

After a while of chatting in the garden, you all returned inside the house, only to find that the boys were no longer in the living room. Instead, the sound of their voices drifted from the kitchen. Curious, you and the other women exchanged glances and quietly followed the sound.

As you approached the kitchen, you could hear snippets of their conversation. "What about Bri, meet the family to finally ask her hand?" Roger's voice came through clearly, causing you all to freeze in place just outside the doorway. Fortunately, none of you had entered the room yet, and it seemed the boys hadn't noticed your arrival either.

"What an ungraceful way to speak of a proposal," Freddie remarked with a hint of mock seriousness. Brian hadn't spoken yet, but his silence spoke volumes despite his usual easygoing nature. You felt a flutter of nervousness mixed with excitement in your chest.

"Come on, Bri, don't be shy. We all know how much you love her. You were already planning on marrying her before you even asked her out," John reassured Brian, his voice gentle and supportive.

Inside, your heart skipped a beat. You leaned in slightly, trying to catch every word, your emotions swirling with a mixture of surprise and joy. It was both overwhelming and heartwarming to hear them discussing such a significant step.

Mary glanced at you with a knowing smile, her eyes filled with understanding and encouragement. Dominique squeezed your hand gently, silently conveying her support.

Veronica leaned closer, her voice barely above a whisper as she murmured, "Looks like our boys are planning something big." You nodded slowly, unable to tear your gaze away from the kitchen door.

As you stood outside the kitchen, listening to Brian's heartfelt words about your relationship and the hurdles he faced, your emotions threatened to overwhelm you. His voice, tinged with a mix of longing and frustration, cut through you like a knife. You had carefully guarded the painful memories of your past, shielding them from Brian and everyone else. The thought that your reluctance to open up was causing him such anguish tore at your heart.

"I know I do, but like Rog said, I want to meet her family and she’s so closed to the subject," Brian confessed, his voice laden with vulnerability. You felt a pang of guilt knowing that your avoidance of discussing your family history had put him in this position.

"Still?" Roger's surprised exclamation echoed in the kitchen. It dawned on you that Brian had likely confided in his friends about his desire to take the next step in your relationship, a step that involved meeting your family.

"I mean, I know she’s uncomfortable talking about it. But I... I thought that after so many years, she would open up," Brian continued, his disappointment palpable in his tone. The weight of his words settled heavily on your shoulders, filling you with a profound sense of remorse.

"That hurts like shit, you know? It’s like she’s not on the same page as me. That makes me doubt when I should propose," Brian admitted, his words piercing straight to your core. The realization that your silence was causing Brian pain left you feeling utterly helpless.

The girls exchanged apologetic glances, understanding the depth of your turmoil. Mary placed a comforting hand on your arm, her eyes filled with sympathy. Dominique squeezed your hand gently, offering silent support.

Inside the kitchen, the conversation continued, oblivious to the turmoil it had caused you. You struggled to find the right words, the knot in your throat constricting your ability to respond. How could you explain the scars of your past, the reasons behind your reluctance, without reopening old wounds?

In that moment, surrounded by the loving concern of your friends and the distant murmur of Brian's conflicted thoughts, you felt torn apart. You wanted nothing more than to ease Brian's pain, to reassure him of your love and commitment. Yet, the fear of reliving past traumas held you back, trapping you in a cycle of silence and guilt.

The girls understood you just wanted the moment to end as you stared into space. So Dominique faked a laugh and entered with Veronica playing along as if they had heard nothing from before. The weight of Brian's words lingered heavily in your mind as you re-entered the kitchen with Mary's supportive squeeze. Dominique and Veronica seamlessly shifted the conversation, their easy banter providing a welcome distraction from the emotional turmoil you were grappling with.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself before approaching Brian. Despite wanting to show affection, you kept a safe distance, planting a quick kiss on his cheek. His confusion was evident, but he played along, perhaps sensing your need for space.

As the group chatted, your thoughts continued to drift back to the conversation you overheard earlier. The pain of your family's betrayal and the scars it left were raw and unyielding. You couldn't help but feel like your trauma was casting a shadow over your present happiness, threatening to rob you of the love and joy you found with Brian.

Your brother's face flashed in your mind once more. You wondered how he was doing, whether he had found peace or was still haunted by the past like you were. The longing to reconcile, to apologize and seek forgiveness, gnawed at your heart. If only you could have one more chance to make things right, to hold him close and say the words you never had the courage to say before.

Lost in your thoughts, you struggled to stay present in the conversation. Brian's concerned gaze occasionally flickered towards you, his expression reflecting his confusion and concern. You knew he sensed something was amiss, but you couldn't find the words to explain the storm raging inside you.

The kitchen buzzed with laughter and conversation, but for you, it felt like you were drowning in a sea of unresolved emotions and regrets. You wanted to break free from the grip of your past, to heal and move forward with Brian by your side. But the wounds were deep, and the fear of confronting them seemed insurmountable.

Brian's concerned touch on your hand brought you back from the tumultuous thoughts that had been plaguing you. With effort, you managed to muster a half-smile and gently squeeze his hand in reassurance before refocusing on the light-hearted debate about the gender of the future Deacon.

As the evening progressed, you found yourself in the living room once more, the comfortable ambiance and the gentle buzz of champagne providing a temporary respite from your inner turmoil. You sipped on your second glass, enjoying the warmth it brought to your head without crossing the line into intoxication.

Despite the jovial atmosphere around you, the conversation from earlier continued to replay in your mind like a broken record. The weight of Brian's unspoken concerns and your own unresolved emotions pressed down on you, urging you to seek solace in a familiar but unwise habit.

Excusing yourself quietly, you slipped outside onto the porch, craving the solitary comfort of a cigarette. You had fought hard to overcome this vice, but tonight, the familiar ritual offered a brief escape from the complexities of your emotions. Wrapped in your coat against the winter chill, you lit up, inhaling deeply as wisps of smoke curled into the cold night air.

The rhythmic rise and fall of your breaths matched the soft glow of the cigarette's ember, a fleeting moment of calm amidst the storm raging inside you. Each exhale carried with it a mix of regret and relief, the nicotine temporarily soothing the ache in your chest.

As you stood there, gazing out into the quiet night, you felt a pang of guilt for indulging in something you had worked so hard to leave behind. Yet, part of you knew that tonight was different, that sometimes coping meant returning to old comforts, if only for a fleeting moment.

The porch offered a sanctuary of solitude, a space where you could gather your thoughts away from the prying eyes and well-meaning concerns of your friends. The cigarette burned down slowly between your fingers, each passing moment bringing a sense of clarity and a renewed determination to face the challenges ahead.

"I though you wanted to quit." As Brian joined you on the porch, his presence brought a mix of comfort and tension. You sensed his disapproval as he mentioned your effort to quit smoking, a habit he had always disliked but never openly criticized. His concern for your well-being was evident in his voice, though tempered with an understanding that tonight was different.

"Yeah, well, I was feeling like letting go for tonight," you responded defensively, taking a seat on the porch stairs. The soft glow of the cigarette illuminated the space between you, casting shadows that mirrored the conflict within.

Brian sat beside you, his gaze fixed on your profile as you avoided meeting his eyes. His concern deepened as he observed your distant demeanor throughout the evening, a stark contrast to your usual closeness.

"What's been up with you all night? You seem distant with me. It's unlike you," Brian gently probed, his voice carrying a note of hurt beneath the worry. The weight of his words struck a nerve, reminding you of the emotional distance you had inadvertently created.

You scoffed bitterly, your gaze drifting to the night sky that seemed devoid of stars. "Well, a lot of things are unlike me since you don't seem to know me," you retorted, the words escaping before you could soften their impact. The bitterness in your tone cut through the chilly air, leaving an uncomfortable silence in its wake.

Brian's expression shifted from concern to confusion, then to a trace of hurt as your words sank in. The accusation in your statement caught him off guard, and a frown creased his features. "What do you mean by that?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with a mixture of disbelief and concern.

You let out a frustrated huff, feeling the weight of the evening's revelations and the unresolved tension pressing down on you. "You should know," you replied, your voice betraying a hint of vulnerability beneath the bitterness. "After all, we're not on the same page."

His eyes widened in realization, a flicker of defensiveness coloring his tone. "You heard earlier. You eavesdropped on our conversation?" Brian's voice held a note of accusation, his own hurt surfacing as he processed the breach of privacy.

The air between you grew heavy with unspoken words and unaddressed emotions. You knew you had crossed a line, yet the words had spilled out in a moment of raw emotion and frustration.

The tension between you and Brian escalated quickly as the weight of unspoken words hung heavily in the air. His initial shock at your revelation about overhearing their conversation morphed into frustration, evident in the way he stood tall before you, his frustration palpable.

"Oh hush, we did not. We just arrived at the exact moment you said you weren’t sure about ever asking me to marry you," you countered, your voice tinged with a mix of defiance and hurt. Snuffing out the cigarette, you tossed it aside, trying to rein in your emotions as Brian spoke of wanting to meet your family properly before proposing."Just because I haven’t met your family. I want to do things properly and ask for your hand," Brian insisted, his tone a blend of determination and exasperation.You shook your head adamantly, cutting him off before he could delve further into a topic that struck a raw nerve.

"Stop right there. I don’t want to talk about it," you stated firmly, your eyes meeting his with a mixture of defiance and vulnerability.Brian, frustrated and at his wit's end, rose to his full height, towering over you. "You’re always so closed about that subject. For fuck’s sake, y/n, I’m your boyfriend! Not a stranger!" His voice carried a note of pleading, laced with the sting of feeling shut out from a part of your life.Feeling the heat of the argument rising within you, you stood your ground, matching his intensity with your own. "I fucking know that! But maybe if you considered my feelings, then you would understand that topic is sensitive," you shot back, your voice rising with each word. Brian raised his hands in frustration, his usually composed demeanor showing cracks under the weight of the unresolved issue. His hair danced in the wind, a visual echo of the storm brewing between you. "I understand, I always try to understand. But I can’t walk on eggshells every time I speak about your family if you don’t at least explain why!" His words were a plea for clarity, a plea to bridge the gap that had widened between you over the years.

“Well I don’t want to explain because I don’t trust you and myself.” The weight of your words hung heavy in the air, leaving a palpable tension between you and Brian. The hurt that flashed across his face cut deep, a stark reminder of the damage your unguarded words had caused. You immediately regretted pushing him away with such harsh honesty, knowing you had crossed a line from which there was no easy return.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn’t have…" you began, but Brian had already turned away, his silence a clear indication that he needed space. His terse suggestion to go back inside echoed in your ears, leaving you to follow him quietly, your head bowed with remorse.

As you reentered the house, the atmosphere felt strained, the group's lingering glances and hushed tones revealing their awareness of the argument. Brian settled into a seat, choosing a spot as far from you as possible, his body language closed off and distant. It was clear he needed time to process, and perhaps to heal from the wounds your words had inflicted.

Feeling the weight of guilt and regret, you tried to refocus on the conversation swirling around you, attempting to engage despite the emotional turmoil brewing inside. The effort felt futile, each attempt at normalcy overshadowed by the tension that hung in the air.

Just as you struggled to find your footing amidst the group, Robert approached you with a bright smile, clutching one of his favorite toys. His resemblance to John in that moment melted some of the heaviness in your heart. His innocent joy and the simplicity of his gesture offered a brief respite from the complex emotions swirling around you.

You knelt down to his level, returning his smile with a gentleness that belied the turmoil within. "Hey buddy, what have you got there?" you asked, allowing yourself to be momentarily distracted by the warmth and innocence of the child's presence.

Robert eagerly showed you his toy, his enthusiasm contagious even in the midst of the strained atmosphere. For a fleeting moment, you set aside the weight of the argument and the uncertainty that loomed over your relationship with Brian. Instead, you focused on the simple joy of connecting with a child who knew nothing of adult complexities.

As Brian watched you laughing with Robert, unaware of his gaze, John caught his friend's contemplative expression. Leaning closer, he offered a comforting perspective on the complexities of love and the weight of unresolved pasts.

"Love and the past are complicated. But that doesn’t make them worth less in our eyes," John reassured Brian, his voice carrying the wisdom of someone who had weathered his own storms. "One day she’ll come around when you least expect it."

Brian listened intently, absorbing John's words with a mix of hope and uncertainty. "But what should I do then?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of desperation.

John shrugged gently, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Love her, as simple as it seems unreal. Just be patient, everything will be fine."

Brian nodded thoughtfully, his gaze alternating between John's reassuring presence and you, still engrossed in playful banter with Robert. Despite the turmoil of emotions swirling within him, Brian found a measure of solace in John's words. He understood that rushing or forcing the issue would only push you further away. Instead, he resolved to continue loving you, giving you the time and space you needed to confront your past on your own terms.

Meanwhile, Freddie interrupted the poignant moment by enlisting Roger to fetch a bottle of champagne from the kitchen. Roger, ever the reluctant participant in domestic tasks, grumbled under his breath but complied nonetheless. With a dramatic roll of his eyes, he headed off to locate the requested bottle, muttering about being the group's designated errand boy.

Robert's excitement over the fire truck on TV momentarily distracted you from the tense atmosphere in the room. Smiling at him, you pointed at the screen and remarked, "Yeah bud, just like your toy." His eyes widened with fascination as he watched the flashing lights, oblivious to the weight of the conversation that had just transpired.

Turning your attention back to the television, you noticed everyone in the room had also become captivated by the breaking news. John reached for the remote and increased the volume, the urgency in the reporter's voice drawing everyone's attention.

"...it seems to be one of the most violent episodes that has happened in years in London," the reporter's voice echoed through the room. "The night took a bitter turn for those students who only came to enjoy a gig at the Orpheum in west London. Two hundred of them were here to watch a few bands but mostly one: Sunset Curve."

The mention of the band's name sent an unexpected pang through your heart. Sunset Curve — a name you hadn't heard in years, yet it carried a weight of memories and emotions you had long tried to bury. Brian noticed the change in your demeanor, his concern evident as he glanced at you from across the room.

As the news report unfolded with chilling details, your friends murmured in disbelief, their voices a backdrop to the tragic events described. The room filled with a heavy silence as the reporter's words pierced through the air, each sentence delivering a devastating blow.

“On these images you can see the remnants of the Orpheum after that tragic event. Around 9pm, as the band was in the middle of their song, 24-year-old Chriss Klain entered the bar and started to shoot aimlessly though the crowd.”

The words hung in the air like a shroud of despair, the gravity of the situation sinking in deeper with each passing moment. Your heart pounded in your chest as the reporter continued, each word dragging you further into a nightmare you desperately wished wasn't real.

“It’s to be trusted that the man was highly intoxicated. A few people were hurt and the police counts three dead already. Two young ladies from the crowd and the lead guitarist of the band: Luke Patterson.”

The world seemed to come to a standstill as the name echoed in your mind — Luke Patterson. Your brother. The lead guitarist of Sunset Curve. It felt unreal, a cruel twist of fate that shattered everything you thought you knew.

In that moment, time ceased to exist. Your thoughts whirled, grappling with the sudden and incomprehensible loss. You clung to a desperate hope that it was all a mistake, a terrible mix-up that would soon be corrected. But as images of your brother flashed on the screen, reality crashed down around you like a tidal wave.

Everything you had built, everything you hoped for, crumbled in an instant. The pain was raw, engulfing you in a sea of disbelief and sorrow. Your mind struggled to process the magnitude of what had just been revealed, unable to reconcile the vibrant memories of your brother with the horrific news unfolding before you.

As the reporter's voice continued, detailing Luke's role in the band and the tragic loss, your mind swirled with memories and regrets. The ache in your chest intensified, a physical manifestation of the pain that gripped your heart. Around you, the group began to discuss the horrific event, their voices distant and muted against the overwhelming weight of your grief.

"It was a horrific event," someone murmured, their words barely registering as the reality of Luke's absence settled like a heavy fog. The thought that you would never again have the chance to apologize, to reconcile with your brother, tore at your soul. He was gone, and with him went any hope of healing the wounds of the past.

Images of Luke flashed through your mind — his infectious laughter, his mischievous grin, the way he always looked up to you despite everything. He had been your baby brother, someone you were supposed to protect, yet your own pain and anger had driven a wedge between you. Now, those wounds felt irreparable, a gaping chasm that stretched beyond reach.

"The young man, only 26, was the writer and leader of the band. He wrote their most famous hit: 'Unsaid N/n,'" the reporter's voice continued, each word tightening the knot in your throat. "N/n" — the nickname Luke had given you when he was just a toddler, a playful twist on your name that had stuck throughout the years. The mention of the song he had penned brought forth a flood of memories, memories you struggled to contain.

Suddenly, the familiar melody of "Unsaid N/n" filled the room, its haunting notes weaving through the air. It was his creation, his voice immortalized in the music that now surrounded you.

Tears streamed down your cheeks uncontrollably as the music played, each note a painful reminder of the loss you couldn't comprehend. The melody that once brought joy and comfort now echoed with grief and shattered dreams. In that moment, the weight of your guilt and sorrow overwhelmed you, paralyzing your senses and drowning you in a sea of regret.

As the room buzzed with discussions and condolences, you felt detached, as if trapped in a nightmare from which you couldn't wake. The memories of Luke flooded your mind — his laughter, his antics, the moments shared and the moments lost. He was supposed to be here, alive and well, not a name on a news report, not a haunting melody on a television screen.

Through tear-blurred vision, you saw Robert trying to get your attention, his innocent voice lost in the cacophony of emotions crashing within you. Part of you wanted to respond, to comfort the child who looked up to you, but another part couldn't bear to face the pain any longer.

"No, it's not true," you whispered to yourself, the words barely audible amidst the chaos in your mind. "He's not gone. He can't be gone." Denial and disbelief clawed at your heart, refusing to accept the harsh reality that Luke was no longer with you.

With trembling steps, you rose from your seat, the weight of guilt and failure heavy on your shoulders. Every fiber of your being screamed for escape, for solitude away from the suffocating grief that surrounded you. You couldn't bear to hear his voice, his music, not when it only amplified the emptiness in your soul.

You made your way towards the exit, your movements mechanical, driven by an overwhelming need to flee. The room blurred around you as tears continued to fall, your chest tight with anguish and regret. Each step away from the sorrowful symphony playing on the television was a step towards numbness, towards a darkness where the pain might dull, if only for a moment.

In that moment of shattered despair, you felt like a failure in every role you cherished — as a person, as a lover, as a big sister. Guilt gnawed at your conscience, accusing you of failing Luke when he needed you most. The ache in your heart was unbearable, the void left by his absence echoing with the memories of what could have been.

As you moved towards the exit, your vision blurred with tears and your mind clouded with grief. The weight of the tragedy and the guilt of unresolved conflicts with Luke bore down on you like a heavy shroud. Each step felt like an eternity, a desperate attempt to escape the haunting melody that played on the television.

Just as you reached the threshold, Roger's voice cut through the haze surrounding you. His concerned tone pierced through the din of the room, but it was as though his words were underwater, distant and muffled. He stood in your path, blocking the way out, his eyes searching yours for any sign of comprehension.

"Y/n, are you okay?" His voice reverberated in your ears, but it struggled to penetrate the fog that enveloped your thoughts. The bottle of champagne he had found lay forgotten on the side as he cautiously reached out towards you, sensing your unstable state.

You tried to respond, to reassure him that you were fine, but your body betrayed you. Waves of dizziness washed over you, the room spinning relentlessly. Roger's concerned face appeared doubled, and the lights overhead seemed unbearably bright, adding to your disorientation.

Your breathing grew ragged, shallow gasps escaping your lips as your legs wavered beneath you. It felt as though you were on a boat in a tumultuous sea, unable to find your footing. The voices around you melded into a distant hum, indistinct and surreal.

Then, as if in slow motion, you began to sway uncontrollably. Your knees buckled, and you started to fall to the side, towards the unforgiving floor. Panic surged through you, but before you could hit the ground, Roger's reflexes kicked in. He moved swiftly, his strong arms catching the side of your head, preventing a harsh impact.

"Y/n!" His voice was urgent now, filled with alarm as he held you steady. The room seemed to tilt around you, sounds echoing strangely in your ears. You struggled to focus, to grasp onto any semblance of stability amidst the chaos swirling within you.

Roger's voice sounded distant as if coming from the end of a tunnel. The room spun around you, colors blending into a dizzying whirlpool of confusion and anguish. Your body felt weightless and heavy at the same time, limbs unresponsive as if disconnected from your will. The world tilted dangerously, threatening to plunge you into darkness.

The last thing you registered before slipping into unconsciousness was the sound of Roger's panicked voice calling your name, his hands catching you just in time to prevent a harsh impact with the ground. His urgency echoed in your ears as your vision blurred and faded, swallowed by the overwhelming tide of emotions and the crushing weight of grief.

In that fleeting moment between awareness and oblivion, you felt a strange sense of relief. Relief from the pain, relief from the suffocating sorrow that had gripped your heart moments ago. It was a fleeting respite from the unbearable truth of Luke's absence, a moment of fleeting peace in the tumultuous storm of your emotions.

As darkness claimed you, the world slipped away, leaving behind a void where thoughts and memories swirled like distant echoes. The echoes of Luke's laughter, of shared moments and unspoken words, lingered in the recesses of your mind, haunting yet comforting in their familiarity.

And as you drifted into unconsciousness, a single thought lingered — a hope, fragile and flickering, that somewhere beyond the veil of darkness, Luke's spirit still lingered, watching over you with the love and warmth that transcended life and death.

The room fell silent, all eyes now on the unfolding scene. Concern etched deeply into Brian's features as he rushed to your side, followed closely by Mary and Veronica. Dominique hovered nearby, her hands clasped in worry as she exchanged a frantic glance with Freddie. Roger's grip was steady as he held you upright, his voice a mix of urgency and reassurance. "Stay with me, Y/n. Can you hear me?" His words were urgent yet gentle, trying to anchor you in the midst of your overwhelming turmoil. You weren’t conscious anymore, your body all limp in his hold which made Brian’s heart twitch in panic. Through the haze, Brian's voice cut through, filled with concern and determination. "Let's get her to the couch," he suggested, his hands moving to support you alongside Roger's. Together, they guided you back into the living room, where they eased you gently onto the couch amidst a flurry of worried murmurs.

Mary knelt beside you, her touch light yet comforting as she checked on you. "She looks in shock, lift her legs up," she instructed softly, her voice a soothing anchor in the chaos. Veronica hovered nearby, her hand resting protectively on her belly as she exchanged worried glances with the others. Freddie appeared with a glass of water, which Brian held and splashed some on your face. "Wake up, my love," he urged gently, his hazel eyes searching yours with deep concern. Hoping the cool water would bring you back and provide a fleeting sense of clarity.

The atmosphere was thick with tension as everyone watched Brian's increasingly frantic attempts to rouse you. He shook you more violently, his voice growing desperate. "Y/n, please wake up. You're scaring me," he implored, his hands trembling as he tried to elicit any response from your unresponsive body.

John knelt beside you, checking your pulse and breathing. "She's breathing fine," he reassured, though the calmness in his voice couldn't mask the underlying worry. Despite this, Brian's panic only deepened, his calls becoming more urgent. "Y/n, please, you need to wake up," he repeated, his voice cracking with fear and desperation.

Freddie, unable to bear the sight any longer, sprang into action. "I'll go call an ambulance," he announced, his tone decisive as he hurried out of the room to get his phone. The urgency in his steps mirrored the collective anxiety gripping everyone present.

Mary continued to hold your hand, her grip firm yet gentle. "Come on, Y/n, we're here. You can do this," she whispered softly, trying to provide comfort and hope in the midst of the growing panic.

Veronica and Dominique exchanged worried glances, their concern palpable. Roger stood close by, ready to assist in any way he could, his usual confident demeanor replaced by a somber seriousness.

Brian's heart pounded as he held onto you, willing you to wake up with every fiber of his being. The moments stretched into an agonizing eternity, each second filled with the silent prayers and hopes of your friends surrounding you.

Just as Freddie was about to exit the room, Brian spoke up in a cracked voice. "Come on, Y/n," Brian whispered, his voice breaking. "Come back to me, please." His eyes never left your face, searching for any flicker of consciousness. The worry etched into his features was mirrored by everyone in the room, each silently praying for your return to awareness.

Finally, there was a faint stir. Your eyelids fluttered slightly, and a soft moan escaped your lips. The room collectively held its breath, the tiny movement a beacon of hope amidst the darkness. "That's it," Brian encouraged, his voice trembling with relief and continued worry. "Come on, you can do it." Slowly, your eyes began to open, the world coming back into focus. The faces around you were a blur of concern and relief, their voices blending into a chorus of reassurances and gentle urgings. Mary squeezed your hand gently, her eyes brimming with tears of relief. Veronica exhaled deeply, her hand resting on her belly, while Roger let out a small, shaky laugh of relief. As you blinked and looked around, Brian's tear-filled eyes met yours, and he let out a shaky breath. "Thank God," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "You're okay."

Brian's hands cradled your face gently, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had started to fall from your eyes. "You scared me," he admitted softly, his voice raw with emotion. "I thought I lost you." His eyes were filled with a depth of concern and love that only added to the weight of the moment.

Freddie, standing just behind Brian, exhaled deeply and gave a small nod, his usual flamboyance replaced with a rare look of genuine concern. "Welcome back, darling," he said softly, his voice unusually gentle.

John, still kneeling beside you, gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "You gave us quite a scare," he said, his tone only being sincerity.

The room, which had been filled with tension and worry, now began to relax, the collective sigh of relief almost tangible. The atmosphere started to lighten as your friends saw signs of your recovery. However, as the moments passed, the earlier events that had driven you to the edge started to resurface in your mind, bringing back a flood of memories and emotions.

Without warning, you violently sat up, provoking a concert of disapproving sounds from everyone around you. "Whoa, take it easy!" Roger exclaimed, his hands hovering near you, ready to steady you if needed.

Brian immediately tried to push you back down gently, his concern evident in his every move. "You need to rest," he urged, his voice a mix of worry and insistence.

But you swatted his hands away, your own hands trembling as you spoke. "Please don’t touch me—" The words got stuck in your throat, choked off by the sobs that were beginning to rise. Everything came back all at once: the news report, the image of your brother, the unbearable grief and guilt. It was as if a dam had broken inside you, releasing a torrent of emotions too powerful to contain.

The room was filled with an overwhelming sense of concern as they watched you spiral into a panic attack. Your breaths came in rapid, shallow gasps, and your eyes darted around the room as if searching for an escape from the suffocating fear.

Brian, noticing the signs of your escalating panic, reached out once more, his hands trembling slightly. "Y/n, look at me," he said, his voice a mixture of urgency and tenderness. "Focus on my voice. You're safe here. Just breathe with me, okay? In and out, nice and slow."

Freddie, sensing the gravity of the situation, crouched down beside you, his usually flamboyant demeanor replaced with a calm, grounding presence. "Darling, we're all here for you," he said softly. "Just listen to Brian and breathe. You've got this."

Roger, still kneeling by your side, gently placed his hand on your shoulder, offering a steady anchor in the storm of your emotions. "You're not alone," he reassured you, his voice steady. "We're right here with you."

Mary, Veronica, and Dominique exchanged worried glances, their eyes reflecting the shared concern of the group. They moved a bit closer, forming a protective circle around you, their presence a silent yet powerful reminder that you were surrounded by people who cared deeply for you.

John, trying to reassure little Robert and Michael, knelt down to their level, speaking in soothing tones to keep them calm amid the tension. His eyes, however, never strayed far from you, his concern evident.

As you struggled to catch your breath, the room felt like it was closing in on you, the walls pressing closer and closer. Your chest tightened, and a sense of dread threatened to engulf you completely. You felt trapped, unable to escape the overwhelming fear and grief.

Brian, still focused on you, started to take slow, exaggerated breaths, hoping you would mirror his actions. "In through the nose, out through the mouth," he instructed gently, his eyes locked onto yours. "You're doing great. Just keep breathing with me."

Freddie nodded, his gaze unwavering. "One breath at a time, love," he said encouragingly. "We're all here for you."

Gradually, their calm and steady presence began to pierce through the fog of your panic. You found yourself starting to match Brian's breathing, each inhale and exhale becoming a little more controlled. The tightness in your chest began to ease, and the room started to come back into focus.

With each breath, you felt a bit more grounded, the overwhelming tide of emotions slowly receding. The faces of your friends, filled with concern and love, reminded you that you were not alone in this moment of darkness.

Brian continued to hold your hand, his grip warm and reassuring. "That's it," he murmured softly. "You're doing great. Just keep breathing."

As your breathing steadied, the reality of the situation began to sink in. The grief and pain were still there, but they were no longer threatening to consume you entirely.

Once your breathing calmed down, the weight of the world seemed to press on your shoulders. You collapsed into Brian's chest, the sobs wracking your body uncontrollably. "It's my fault," you repeated between gasps, the words heavy with anguish. The rest of your friends, still unsure of the cause of your distress, exchanged concerned glances, their worry deepening.

Brian held you close, his arms wrapped around you protectively, as he tried to soothe you. "Love, what is it?" he asked gently, his voice trembling with concern. "If I had held him back, he would still be alive. It's all my fault. He was right. I'm just like Dad..." You spiraled deeper into despair, and Brian's grip on your shoulders tightened gently, trying to anchor you.

"Y/n, what are you talking about?" Brian's voice was tender, his own tears matching yours as he witnessed your heartbreak unfold. Tears streamed down your face, and in all the six years of your relationship, he had never seen you so shattered.

"Luke..." you managed to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper. Brian's expression softened in understanding. "The guitarist who just died," he said softly, realization dawning on him. His heart ached for you, knowing the pain you were going through. He held you tighter, letting you cry out the grief that threatened to consume you.

“What about him?” you asked, shaking your head as tears continued to stream down your face. “He’s not named Luke Patterson. His real name is L/n. He’s... he was my baby brother.”

Brian froze, his eyes widening in shock as the weight of your words settled in. His arms tightened around you instinctively, pulling you closer in a protective embrace. “Oh my god, Y/n,” he murmured softly, his voice filled with sorrow and disbelief. “I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”

The room fell into a stunned silence, each of your friends processing the revelation with heavy hearts. John, Freddie, Roger, Mary, Veronica, and Dominique exchanged somber glances, their expressions reflecting deep sympathy for your loss.

“You couldn’t have known, Y/n. None of us could,” Brian reassured you, his voice gentle yet firm. He held you close, offering silent support as you struggled with the weight of your grief.

“I need to go see him, Brian,” you whispered urgently, your voice trembling with a mixture of desperation and determination. You needed closure, to confront the reality of your brother’s passing and find a way to reconcile the guilt that weighed heavily on your heart.

Brian nodded solemnly, understanding the urgency in your voice. “Of course,” he said softly, brushing a tear from your cheek. “We’ll go together.”

The rest of the night felt like a haze, blurred by grief and shock. Roger drove you and Dominique to the hospital in silence, the weight of the situation heavy in the air. The waiting room was a blur of sterile white walls and anxious faces. When they finally brought you in to identify him, your heart shattered into a million pieces.

Your cries echoed through the morgue as you saw him lying there, pale and cold. You reached out, touching his hand as if hoping he would wake up, as if it were all a terrible nightmare. But there was no response, just the harsh reality of his lifeless body. The wound through his chest was a cruel testament to the violence that had taken him away from you.

In that moment, part of you wished he would sit up and scold you for disturbing his sleep, for waking him up from some silly dream. But deep down, you knew that would never happen. He was gone, and you would never see his vibrant blue eyes open again.

That night felt like the longest of your life. Brian stayed by your side through it all, his comforting presence a lifeline amidst the overwhelming grief. Finally, in the quiet hours of the morning, you found the strength to share everything with him. You spoke of the abusive household you both endured, how you had run away together to escape the pain, and the fateful night he disappeared after a heated argument.

You poured out your guilt, your sorrow, and every raw emotion that had been buried deep within you for years. Brian listened, holding you close, offering words of comfort and understanding. His love and support gave you the courage to confront the painful memories and begin the long journey toward healing.

As the sun rose on that tragic night, you held onto Brian tightly, knowing that despite the pain, you were not alone anymore. Together, you faced the darkness of your past and began to navigate a future where healing and hope could eventually replace the overwhelming grief.

The rain fell steadily, casting a somber atmosphere over the cemetery as the mourners slowly dispersed. You remained standing in front of Luke's grave, the wet earth underfoot and the gray sky above mirroring the heaviness in your heart. The flowers and photos around the grave were a testament to the love and impact Luke had left behind, even in the moments you weren't there for him.

Luke's bandmates had approached you with the offer to buy the rights to "Unsaid N/n," but you declined. Deep down, you knew Luke wouldn't have wanted his personal message to you turned into a commercial endeavor. You found solace in the lyrics, the last words he wanted to say to you—a silent apology that you now cherished, even though you never had the chance to hear it from him.

Your friends, respectful of your grief, stood a distance behind you, offering silent support. Amidst the grayness, you noticed a figure in the distance. It had been a decade, but you instantly recognized him—the man who had inflicted so much pain on you and Luke, the man who had shattered your family and your sense of security.

He stood under an umbrella, watching you quietly, and then nodded in your direction. The gesture felt like a cruel mockery of the agony he had caused. You turned your head away, refusing to acknowledge him or give him the satisfaction of seeing your pain

"I love you, Luke, and I always will. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you from the world. I'm sorry I couldn't give you the life you deserved," you whispered, your words carried away by the falling rain. Silent tears streamed down your face, mixing with the raindrops, unnoticed.

Lost in grief, you hadn't realized you had let go of your umbrella until a small hand grabbed yours. Looking down, you saw Robert standing beside you, holding out his own little umbrella, trying to shield you from the rain. His innocent gesture touched your heart, and you crouched down to his level, managing a small, tearful smile. "Thank you, buddy," you said softly, taking his umbrella as he ran back to his parents, leaving you alone again with your thoughts.

Brian appeared beside you, his expression soft and understanding as he watched you silently. He didn't say anything at first, respecting your moment of grief. The rain continued to fall steadily around you, creating a gentle backdrop to the heavy emotions that weighed on your heart.

After a few moments, Brian reached out and gently squeezed your shoulder, offering comfort through his touch. "He was lucky to have you as his sister," Brian said softly, his voice barely audible over the sound of raindrops hitting the umbrella. "You did everything you could."

You nodded, grateful for his presence and understanding. "I just wish I could have done more," you whispered, your voice catching with emotion. Brian pulled you into a gentle embrace, holding you close as you let yourself lean against him, seeking solace in his warmth and strength.

"You gave him love," Brian murmured against your hair, his arms steady around you. "That's the most important thing."

You held onto Brian tightly, finding comfort in his words and his presence. Together, you stood there in the rain, surrounded by the memories of Luke and the support of your loved ones, finding a small measure of peace amidst the storm of emotions.

Brian held you tightly, his heart breaking as he watched you spiral into despair. "Shh, love, it's not your fault," he whispered, his voice steady despite his own turmoil. "You are nothing like your dad. You're kind and loving. Please, just breathe and tell me what happened."

The rest of your friends exchanged worried glances, feeling the weight of your pain without fully understanding its depth. They stayed close, their presence a silent support as you continued to unravel.

With trembling hands, you clung to Brian's shirt, the fabric dampening with your tears. "Luke," you choked out, the name a jagged shard in your throat. "He was my brother. My baby brother, Brian."

"It's all my fault," you repeated, the words a mantra of guilt. "I should have protected him. I should have been there. But I pushed him away."

Brian gently lifted your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Listen to me, Y/n," he said firmly, his voice filled with unwavering conviction. "You are not responsible for what happened. You did not cause this. You did everything you could with the love and care you had."

Freddie stepped closer, his usual flamboyance replaced with a rare, quiet empathy. "He's right, darling," he said softly. "We all have our regrets, but blaming yourself won't bring him back. You have to find a way to forgive yourself."

Roger nodded, his expression solemn. "You loved him, that's what matters. And I bet he knew that."

Mary, Veronica, and Dominique gathered around, each offering a touch of reassurance and understanding. Their words mingled with the falling rain, a gentle chorus of support that surrounded you in your darkest moment.

Together, your friends formed a circle of solace, reminding you of the love and strength you still had despite the devastating loss. Brian held you close, his embrace a lifeline amidst the storm of grief, promising to stand by you as you navigated the painful journey ahead.

And life went on, the earth kept spinning, and gradually, the pain began to soothe. The ache in your heart remained, but with each passing day, it became more bearable. One thing remained steadfast amid the sorrow: your love for Brian and the memory of Luke. Nothing could change the past, but you were determined not to let it define your future. You clung to the lessons learned from Luke's tragic departure, vowing to cherish every moment and to honor his memory in every way possible.

As time passed, you found solace in Brian's unwavering support and the comforting presence of your friends. They stood by you through the darkest moments, offering understanding and empathy without judgment. Their love became a source of strength, helping you heal and slowly rebuild the shattered pieces of your heart.

In the quiet moments, you often found yourself listening to Luke's favorite song, "Unsaid N/n," the lyrics a poignant reminder of his spirit and the bond you shared. Each note carried a bittersweet melody, weaving through your memories and filling the void he left behind.

Looking toward the future, you held onto a quiet hope. Perhaps one day, there would be a Luke May who would carry on Luke's legacy, honoring his uncle in ways you had dreamed of. You envisioned a future where his memory would be celebrated, where his spirit would live on through the love and stories shared by those who knew him.

And as you gazed into Brian's eyes, seeing the depth of his love and understanding, you knew that together, you could face whatever challenges lay ahead. With him by your side, you found the strength to embrace life again, cherishing each moment and carrying Luke's memory in your heart forever.

[i-should-be-doing-alright]

So I have a few Fics on the go ATM, I’m trying desperately to finish them all, hopefully my 90s Bri one will be done soon then I can focus on my teacher!Bri first chapter. I’m already at like 5.3k, and I’ve not even got to the smut yet, just pure seduction. Anyways.

[shuaflix]

the hidden one

❝ i just saved you, mi corazón. you could at least thank me. ❞

PAIRING ▸ pirate!choi seungcheol x assassin!fem!reader

GENRES ▸ smut, fluff, humor, some action, historical au, assassin's creed: black flag au (although you don't need to know the lore to read this), pirate au, royal au

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, slow burn, strangers to lovers, copious amounts of pining, mild depictions of violence, character death, forced proximity, so much banter, hurt/comfort, political tension, family issues, booseoksoon as the pirate underlings, lots of teasing, and there was one bed, sexual tension!!!, unprotected sex (i don't fw with 1700s contraceptives sorry), fingering, oral (f. receiving)

SUMMARY ▸ choi seungcheol is supposed to be dead. following a tropical storm, the notorious pirate loses both his ship, the golden corsair, and a majority of his crew to the cruel tides. now stranded in sevilla, spain, seungcheol and his three remaining sailors must find a way back to england; however, an unexpected altercation ends up tying their fate to you, an assassin who wants nothing to do with the four of them. despite your reluctance, he must work alongside you in exchange for a way back home. of course, complications arise once his heart decides to have a say in the matter, and, somewhere along the way, seungcheol realizes this mission is bigger than himself.

PLAYLIST ▸ he's a pirate by hans zimmer, klaus badelt, geoffrey zanelli • the medallion calls by klaus badelt • leonardo's inventions, pt. 2 by jesper kyd • assassin's creed iv black flag theme by brian tyler • mermaids by hans zimmer

WORD COUNT ▸ 31,390 words

AUTHOR'S NOTE ▸ wrote this for my alexios-pilled pookumsnookums @amourcheol :^) extended author's note here

Freedom, Sancho, is one of the most precious gifts that heaven has bestowed upon men; no treasures that the earth holds buried or the sea conceals can compare with it; for freedom, as for honour, life may and should be ventured; and on the other hand, captivity is the greatest evil that can fall to the lot of man.

             — Miguel de Cervantes, Don Quixote

March 24th, 1725 Sevilla, Andalucía, Spain

AT FIRST, ALL HE COULD TASTE WAS SAND AND SEAWATER.  

Choi Seungcheol only realized his body was aching all over when all feeling returned to the tips of his fingers. He was laying on his stomach on wet sand, occasionally roused back into consciousness by a cold wave that whispered promises of suffering in his ears. Still, his eyelids were too heavy for him to drag his brittle bones back up to his feet. The sun beat down on him—so hot that he was sure he would be roasted alive.

When he tried to get to his feet, his pruney fingers digging into the sand, getting under his raw-bitten nails, he had to squint before his eyes adjusted to the glaring sunlight. His lungs felt like they were on fire. His head hurt. The corners of his eyes stung from the salt. 

He was on the shore of a beach. 

When Seungcheol looked around, the area around him was surrounded by steep cliffs, jutting out of the ground like a carcass. That must have been why he was alone in the ocean cove; no one had spotted his motionless body for however long he had been washed up ashore. He couldn’t even tell how long he had been passed out on the sand.

There was nothing around him, so he must have lost everything while he was desperately paddling in the water. His robes and overcoat were long gone, leaving him in a loose white shirt and baggy trousers. At the very least, he wished he had his boots, but even those were lost to the sea.

His memories came back to him in fragmented shards of recollections—the raging storm, the shipwreck, the screams of his crew. The consuming guilt of being the only survivor. There was nothing for him to bring back to their families. Nothing to say to their hopeful wives and kids. And maybe there was hope that more survived, but the longer Seungcheol tried to think about it, he just remembered how the mast of his ship catastrophically collapsed while his crewmates were floundering around the deck of his ship, The Golden Corsair. 

He laid on the sand for longer. Maybe hours longer. It was as if the grief left him immobilized, hardly flinching even as a particularly big wave crashed over him. His tongue felt so dry that he could barely open his mouth, but once he did, the corners of his lips tasted like salt.

And he felt guilty to even be breathing. 

A captain was supposed to go down with his ship, yet here he was.

It was a miracle he survived, really. With the conditions of the sea and the harsh waves that threatened to pull him under, Seungcheol was amazed he escaped with his life. It was a stroke of luck that he found a barrel to keep himself afloat for as long as it did.

Seungcheol rolled over onto his stomach finally, and he dry-heaved until his lungs were burning.

“Oi! It’s the cap’n!” came a faint holler in the distance.

Seungcheol recognized the voice in an instant. His chest swelled with hope, giving him a final burst of strength to lift himself up onto his elbows. 

Aching and bruised, Seungcheol got to his feet. His lips were dry and bitten raw; he could taste blood where his skin peeled. His tongue felt sanded down to the muscle. His gums ached. His knees felt like they were going to give out.

Three figures came running at him, stumbling and tripping over their own feet from the thick sand pulling them down. Boo Seungkwan, Lee Seokmin, and Kwon Soonyoung were frantically waving their arms over their heads to get Seungcheol’s attention, crying out their gratitude that their beloved captain was still alive. They were decent seamen, but most of the crew knew them as the musicians on board, beckoned over whenever somebody wanted to be entertained. But, oh, did they pour their heart and soul into their sea shanties.

“You lot!” Seungcheol croaked out, astonished. His throat felt as if he had swallowed a thousand blades. “How’d you survive the storm? Did… did anyone else make it? Did you see?”

He half-expected the trio to exclaim that the whole crew was waiting elsewhere, that they were just looking for him. However, the three gave each other wary looks and let their heads hang with deep sorrow drawn across their faces. 

“Couldn’t find any of ‘em,” Soonyoung muttered sadly, cradling his injured arm. “Davy Jones must’ve took ‘em.”

Seungcheol almost thought he was hallucinating as soon as the words rang in his ears, and he hoped the sand would just swallow him into some pit. 

Still, some fondness curled in his chest at the sight of Seungkwan, Seokmin, and Soonyoung. Sure, he could’ve lucked out with more useful company, but at least he had three less souls to weigh over his heart.

“We thought you were done for when you fell with the mast, Cap’n. The rest of us had no clue what to do. Some of ‘em jumped out to help you, but… poor bastards—the waves were too strong,” Seungkwan explained, and Seungcheol could see that he had seen horrors beyond his greatest fears by the distant look in his eyes. “We tried to keep the ship afloat, but the waves were too rough. Seokmin went overboard first, then Soonyoung, then me.”

“Bit harsh on Soonyoung, weren’t they?” Seokmin recalled. “Kept hearing ‘let that oaf drown!’ from ol’ Whitehead when we tried to save him.” 

“What?” Soonyoung choked out, deeply offended. “That bloody bastard. What did I ever do to him?”

“Told everyone he had a case of scurvy, I heard.”

“Ah, yes, I remember,” Seungcheol ruminated with a certain fondness that was quite different from the grief over the rest of his crew, mostly because everyone knew Whitehead was going to drop dead eventually—storm or not. “A sight that could put a man off his rum, it was.”

Seokmin shook his head in agreement. “Wouldn’t kiss my mum with that mouth.”

Outrage subsiding, Soonyoung gave a sideways jerk of his head in reluctant agreement. “That I did say, but to leave me to die over his bloody gums?” He scoffed. “No camaraderie these days. What did he expect me to do? Ignore his ugly kisser?”

Seungkwan scowled reproachfully. “I would have thrown you overboard meself, if I had the chance. You threw me clothes overboard over a lousy play last week!”

“You just do not understand the art of performance, Kwan.”

“What you will be understanding is how that tree branch over there is going to feel up your arse, Soonyoung.”

Out of his entire crew of feared pirates, Captain Choi Seungcheol was stuck with the three biggest buffoons of the seven seas. 

“Oi!” he exclaimed in his booming voice, silencing the bickering immediately. He looked at all of them carefully before asking, “Focus, you scoundrels. What happened after?”

Seungkwan started, “I found Soonyoung ‘n Seokmin layin’ on the shore like a pair of ugly, dead fish—”

“Unnecessary comparison, don’t you think?” Soonyoung grumbled close to Seokmin’s ear.

“—‘n we ended up roamin’ the perimeter, but you’re the only one we found. It’s a miracle to even be alive, Cap’n… so it’s hard to imagine that the rest of ‘em… y’know, made it.”

His heart gave one final plunge into a pit of despair. As his three remaining crewmates harped on about the crash, the captain screwed his eyes shut. There were hundreds of people who feared the crossbones and skull sign because of his very name, and now Seungcheol had lost everything. 

“We must find a way back to England,” Seungcheol muttered.

The three of them went quiet, as if they were waiting for Seungcheol to command them. He felt as though his brain was going a little funny from the scathing heat, and it took him several, unblinking seconds to process that they were expecting further directions.

Seungcheol looked around the stretch of the shoreline. They had nothing—no money, no weapons, no ship—and they were stranded on some unknown land.

But he was Captain Choi Seungcheol—the man who cheated Davy Jones countless times, the man who was feared from the islands of the Caribbean to the shores of Madagascar. If there was anyone who could get their way out of this predicament, it was him. 

“We will need to find a ship,” he declared. “But in waters like these, we will need one that sails as smooth as The Golden Corsair. Let us first determine where we find ourselves.”

After several unblinking minutes of scanning the shoreline, he set off in the direction of the cliffs, and his crew of three followed him across the sand with heavy legs.

The four pirates made their trek away from the beach, walking barefoot on a dirt trail for what felt like ages. Seungcheol was persistent, though; he knew the area was familiar, and he was rewarded with the sight of a city bustling with life. After eavesdropping on a few conversations, he was delighted to realize that he knew what language the locals were speaking. He was quite proficient in Andalusian Spanish, having studied the language far before he became a pirate. 

Seungcheol ordered his three men to go around and find out where they were and if there was a tavern nearby where they could rest. Seungkwan was told to get lost, Seokmin couldn’t figure out a way to communicate effectively with the locals, and Soonyoung lost his patience too quickly and ended conversations as quickly as they began. Their captain was the only one who managed to figure out that they were in Sevilla, Spain.

The silver lining in that was that Seungcheol already had a few acquaintances around Sevilla. His crew had stopped in the port a few times during their travels, so, naturally, he made a few connections that could prove to be useful. One of them would surely shelter them for a few nights. 

In the center of the city, there were several booths lined up with merchants selling their goods. The market wrapped around the block; Seungcheol could hardly walk anywhere without being called over to buy something. In Seokmin’s case, he could hardly walk anywhere without getting distracted by something shiny. 

This wasn’t the sort of place Seungcheol wanted to be in. There were thieves littered everywhere in these parts and his crew had nothing to defend themselves with. Moreover, Seungcheol had nothing to properly disguise himself, so if the Spanish authorities recognized him, he and his men would most likely be executed on the spot. 

On the bright side, Soonyoung managed to knick some tattered shoes from a nearby pub. Apparently, he was lurking in the corner until a brawl broke out. While the men were drunkenly punching at each other and kicking off their boots to lunge at each other, Soonyoung snagged several pairs that were strewn aside as he walked out.  

They wandered the market, looking for something to eat, but none of them had any money. Maybe if one of them could distract one of the shopkeepers, Seungcheol could sneak behind a booth and—

“Si no van a comprar, ¡no están bienvenidos!” 

The sharp voice cut through the clamor in the market. Seungcheol turned immediately to see what all the commotion was about. Someone was refusing to pay? If everyone’s attention was diverted, then it was the perfect opportunity to grab some food from an unattended booth.

But, when he took a closer look, the woman being yelled at had the same disoriented shock in her eyes that Seungcheol once had. It was almost like looking in a mirror, seeing his old, cowardly self before him. 

When he decided to become a pirate, Seungcheol left his cushy life behind without ever looking back. He was educated in languages, literacy, and arithmetics before he even realized his love for adventure. It was his aunt, the woman who raised him after his parents’ untimely deaths, who showed him that possessing great power was meaningless if you didn’t have the strength to protect others.

Initially, she was a pirate herself, but the Royal Navy enlisted her help as a privateer to take down Wukou ships. Her success was nothing but heroic, but she wasn’t rewarded like the other royal armed forces were. After the Royal Navy got what they wanted, they killed her silently and passed off her murder as a casualty of war. 

That was the day Seungcheol decided he wasn’t going to sit quietly and comply. His pirate crew started small, but it grew over the years, and he was soon infamous across the Caribbean and a threat to the Kingdom of England. 

Seungkwan’s eyes lit up with mischief. “This is our chance! While she distracts him, let us—” He cut himself off when he noticed his captain was no longer by his side, and Seungkwan whipped his head in every direction. “Cap’n? Where’d you go?”

With a retired sigh, Seungcheol walked over to where you were and put his hand on your shoulder. His dark, unkempt hair fell over his forehead, concealing the scar that ran from his forehead to his cheek.

He played the role of your husband, claiming that you weren’t very fluent in the language and were just asking for directions. The shopkeeper, who was pleased to hear an explanation he could understand, let you both off with a warning. Although a dark look was cast across your face, you went along with Seungcheol when he dragged you aside. 

Seungkwan, Seokmin, and Soonyoung exchanged odd looks after Seungcheol brought you over. They all seemed to be under the impression that their captain was out of his mind, and Seungcheol would be lying if he said the heat wasn’t making his brain feel funny. 

“Excuse me—where are you taking me?” you demanded, bordering on fright when you realized that you had been dragged to an alleyway with four men surrounding you. “Unhand me at once!”

He pulled you behind a stack of crates that conveniently concealed the five of them from the bustling street outside the alley. Seungcheol realized his actions came across as threatening, but his words weren’t meant for others to hear, and he didn’t exactly want you to go around spouting that they were pirates. 

Seungcheol released his grip on you, turning in time to catch your glare. His features softened and he let out a sigh. 

He started, “My apologies for—” 

Before he could get any more words out, Seungcheol felt his arm jerk forward before you managed to completely flip him over your shoulder and onto the solid ground. He grunted in pain, squinting to make out your angry face in the blinding sunlight. When he tried to budge, he felt the cool metal of your dagger pressing against his throat. 

“What are you doin’ to our cap’n?!” Soonyoung shouted, although no amount of fury could mask how equally impressed he sounded. “And can you do it again?”

“Oi,” Seokmin whispered harshly, elbowing Soonyoung in the side, “ask her to do it to one of us, not the cap’n!”

“Right. Then how ‘bout Seungkwan? Give him a toss.”

Seokmin seemed to agree with this decision, giving the pirate a resolute nod of his head before turning to you. “Slowly, this time, Miss.”

“Do not flip me,” Seungkwan warned. “I have not stretched yet.”

You snorted, which Seungcheol assumed was you trying to come off as intimidating while playing off your amusement, but he kept his mouth shut because you happened to have a blade to his throat. 

“Pirates,” you muttered darkly, gaze fixing on the elaborate tattoo inked on Seungcheol’s chest, barely concealed by his tattered shirt. “I did not think I would have to deal with pirates around these parts.”

“And what were you trying to do?” he fired back with a scowl. “That shopkeeper sounded like he was gonna have you kicked out of the square, or worse—arrested.”

“Well, I never asked for your help.”

“I just saved you, mi corazón.” Seungcheol sneered. “You could at least thank me.”

Through your hard, steely eyes, you let out a mirthless laugh as your knee dug into his thigh. “If you minded your business instead of drawing unnecessary attention to us, pirate, I could have just slipped past and been on my way. Yet, you still expect me to offer my gratitude?”

To be frank, Seungcheol was already having quite the day, but now he was starting to get a little ticked off. He had just saved your skin, hadn’t he? Was this how he was being repaid? With a knife to his throat instead of some plain gratitude? It wasn’t like he was asking you for anything in the first place, but the least you could do was thank him for his help. After all, he was the very reason you made it out of that situation without causing more of a scene than you already had. 

Then, when he thought about it some more, Seungcheol realized how horrible of a misunderstanding this probably was.

He pulled you away from the bustling crowd and dragged you into an alleyway with three other men. There was surely room for misinterpretation there.

“Listen, I only meant to help—”

You rolled your eyes. “Help? All you did was cause a bigger scene. We are lucky neither of us got in trouble.”

“I still helped, did I not?”

“Are you an imbecile?”

“Among other unbecoming titles, I suppose so.”

“You are a pirate, aren’t you? Don’t you know that they will have your head if you are caught?”

“They must first catch me, then.” Seungcheol scoffed. “I’m curious, though, is this your first time thieving? Take it from a pirate: You must be less… conspicuous about these things.”

Furious, you opened your mouth to say something, but your expression quickly faltered, and you closed your mouth before any words could come out. Seungcheol didn’t let your nervous shift in expression go unnoticed, and he followed your gaze to the beam of sunlight spilling into the alleyway. Keeping your weight on the pirate, you peered behind the crate as if you were eavesdropping on someone. 

Realistically, Seungcheol could’ve easily overpowered you. He was thinking about it for a good amount of time, but he decided to entertain whatever this was. Perhaps it was his natural curiosity, but he was far more interested in what you were doing in Sevilla than he was determined to get you off of him. 

(You being quite beautiful also kept him from tossing you off of him, but that was beside the point.)

“Oi, Miss,” Seokmin whispered, crouching down to your level, “are you hiding from someone?”

Seungkwan and Soonyoung took this as their cue to do the same, exchanging confused glances and avoiding their captain’s pointed glares. Seungcheol was getting rather impatient with the lack of answers he was getting. His day had already gotten off on a horrible start, and now he had to deal with you. 

“That is none of your business,” you answered, “and my name is not Miss.” 

How aggravating.

“I think it is our business now,” Seungcheol said, firmer this time. “Running from someone? Is that it?”

But you were already shushing him, distracted by something else entirely. Your brows knitted into a frown as you (seemingly unintentionally) pressed the dagger against Seungcheol’s flesh a little harder, daring crimson to bleed through.

“... find her. She has to be around here,” came a deep yet sharp voice right outside the alleyway. 

“Was there anyone with her?” another one asked. 

“Four men, they said.”

“Split up and look for her. I care not if she is dead or alive, just bring her corpse back in one piece.”

Your shock eclipsed whatever secrecy you were determined to uphold, betraying your attempts to restrain your emotions. Seungcheol noticed a flicker of fear across your eyes even as you glowered. It seemed as though he had unintentionally gotten himself into trouble by association, which was a rather hapless way for one to get into trouble.

When Seungcheol was certain the men had stalked off elsewhere, he asked, “Are they looking for you?”

“Oh, no, it must be some other poor damsel with four men cornering her.”

“Cornering? You have me on the ground with a dagger to my throat. I would say you have the upper hand here, sweetheart.”

“Oh, please, you can easily get out of this,” you replied calmly, raising a brow at him, “but you aren’t.”

“Because I’d rather have a civil conversation first, unless it’s my knife you want against your throat.”

“You are unarmed,” you observed with a pointed stare.

Seungcheol stayed quiet. You were right on the mark with that one. 

You continued, “And a pirate trying to be civil? You realize jests must be believable, right?”

“Listen,” Seungcheol started, wrapping his fingers gently around your forearm—the one still clutching the dagger, “We are not going to harm you, but you are in trouble, no? That is why you think we were going to hurt you?”

You scoffed. “If I thought you were going to hurt me, your men would be dead by now.”

His crewmates inched away from you slowly. 

“Then you know we are not a threat,” he said. Seungcheol’s throat felt tight and he spoke in a voice as brittle as bones, “We are not looking for a fight or any of the sort. We were just trying to find our way back to England.” He then added in a murmur, “I swear we will not hurt you—swear it on my aunt’s grave.”

At first, he wondered if you would even care about a promise that could come off as seemingly empty to most. However, the way your eyes softened said otherwise. 

You removed the dagger from his throat and shifted your body back onto the ground. He could see true sympathy in your eyes, but there was still something so guarded about you that made him feel dubious. Seungcheol got up to crouch behind the crates. 

“Your turn,” he said, making a gesture with his hand. 

You fixed him with a strange look. “My turn for what?” 

“We told you what we are doing in Sevilla, so do enlighten us on your intentions, too. You are clearly not from around here, sneaking around like that.”

You spluttered. “I do not see why I have to tell you anything.”

Seungcheol looked at you carefully, and then he glanced at Soonyoung, Seokmin, and Seungkwan, who already seemed to be devising a plan. Although his men weren’t particularly useful when it came to anything physically demanding, they were excellent when it came to putting on a show.

Soonyoung let out a heavy sigh. “It’s okay, Miss, we knew you wouldn’t be trustin’ of rotten pirates like ourselves.”

“Bless her heart, she doesn’t know that pirates like us can be tricked, too,” Seungkwan chimed in with faux dejection heavy on his tongue. “Can’t tell you how many times I’ve been stabbed in me back.” 

(“Seven,” Seokmin answered. “I was one of them.”

“It’s a figure of speech, you fool.”)

“All the times I placed me trust in someone only to be treated like a bilge rat. Me mum always said it’s ‘cause I trust too easily, but”—Soonyoung choked on his words, sniffling rather dramatically—“can you blame me for havin’ too much love in me heart?”

This was a lie; Soonyoung cheered for bloodshed far too often to make such a claim.

“I don’t even have a mum,” Seungkwan wailed. 

This was also a lie; Seungkwan most definitely did have a mother that was alive and well. 

“Maybe a bunch of mangy dogs like us aren’t meant to have friends,” Seokmin added miserably. “Maybe we really are on our own.”

This, however, had some truth to it. 

“You’re not alone, Seokmin.” Seungkwan gave him an earnest look as he reached over to squeeze his shoulder. “We have each other, mate.”

The silence that followed afterward was deafening. You stared at the three with a blank look on your face. Seungcheol held back a groan and closed his eyes out of frustration. 

After a pause, you spoke, “Touching. Well, if you will excuse me, I shall be on my way now.”

Seungcheol started, “Wait—”

Just as you got to your feet, a gleaming flash of gold fell from your robes. You didn’t seem to notice at first, but right as your eyes widened with your alarm, Seungcheol had already gotten to the object first. It was an amulet hanging by an iron chain, and when he examined it closely, there was an engraving of an eagle on one side and a triangular shape on the other side. 

He knew exactly what this was.

The mark of an assassin.

Seungcheol heard stories of assassins, of course—bits and pieces here and there—nothing substantial that he could place his finger on. For the most part, they were shrouded in secrecy, never to reveal their identity to anyone outside of their brotherhood. 

Whatever business they had with pirates wasn’t something he had any clue of. Seungcheol recalled that Black Bart, a Welsh pirate who crossed swords with Seungcheol before, had worked in the shadows with an assassin before. No one knew of the finer details, but it was said that their partnership brought him more power and influence over the Caribbean.

He wasn’t too sure of the whole story, but his aunt had been in close relations with an assassin. She never disclosed much, as she wanted to keep Seungcheol far from danger during his youth, but he distinctly remembered when she returned home one day with an amulet that had the same engraving. At first, she refused to tell him what the symbol was, but after an eleven-year-old Seungcheol nearly snuck it out of the house to show his friends, his aunt sat him down and explained how dangerous it was to carry an assassin’s insignia. 

But an assassin in these parts? What could you possibly be looking for here? Had he just ended up becoming your next target? There were so many questions he wanted to ask, but you snatched your amulet out of his hands before he could clear his head.

“Those guards are looking for you because of that, right?” Seungcheol asked, pointing at the amulet. He cut to the chase so that you wouldn’t take off running. His voice was hardly louder than a mumble when he continued, “You are an assassin, are you not?”

You flinched at his words. 

Seungkwan rubbed the back of his neck. “Not a very good one, is she?”

“No.” Soonyoung shook his head in agreement. “Revealing it sort of defeats the whole purpose, doesn’t it?”

Surely, you recognized a losing battle when you saw one; Seungcheol already figured out who you were, and if you made a run for it, all he had to do was walk up to a guard and tell them who you were. He had a perfect description for you already, all thanks to the past five minutes of staring up at your face. 

“Give it back or I will shove this blade up your arse,” you warned. 

“No, I do not suppose I will,” Seungcheol replied with a mocking smile, dangling the amulet in front of your face for a moment before he put it around his own neck. “You will get it back after we get our ship.”

“Do you not have half the mind to know I can easily take it from you?”

“Not unless you kill me.”

You barked out a laugh, bewildered. “You think I am above murder? Me?”

“No, but I know you have the King’s men on your trail. You must be as dull as a rusty cutlass if you think you can take my men and I down without drawing attention.”

There was a moment of disorientation where you kept looking from Seungcheol, to the amulet, and back at the captain again. He almost felt bad because it seemed like you hadn’t ever expected to be caught up in such a situation, but perhaps this could be advantageous for the both of you. 

He also knew that if you really wanted to, you could just kill them and move on, but that wasn’t the likely outcome. Someone was clearly trying to find you, and four dead bodies in the middle of the town square would surely be a dead giveaway. 

“What do you want from me?” you asked sharply, your words venomous with shame and rage. “Gold? Treasure? I do not have any of that sort.”

“We need a ship,” he said. “But not just any boat—something of… royal caliber. That is the only vessel I suspect would sail as smooth as The Golden Corsair.” 

You raised a brow. “Is that your ship? What happened to it?”

“It sank.”

“Oh. What a pity.”

“You could at least pretend to be sympathetic.”

“I have never been very fond of pirates.” You grimaced. “Anyway, you would have to be a complete buffoon to steal a Royal Navy ship.”

“Then it’s a good thing we have three of those.”

Seokmin tapped the captain’s shoulder, clearing his throat. “There are four of us, Cap’n.”

Seungcheol gave him a knowing smile. “I am quite aware.”

You fixed him with a curious look. “What’s in it for me?” 

“Our word that we will keep your secret,” he vowed, “and we will help you with whatever it is you are here for. Having someone around who speaks the native language could prove to be quite useful, you know?”

You were eyeing the pirate carefully, as if you were deciding whether he would be useful to you or not.

“And one more thing”—Seungcheol took a step closer, so close that your bodies were nearly touching, and he looked down at you with a dangerous flicker in his eyes—“if you even think of hurting one of us, I won’t hesitate to finish you off myself, mi corazón.”

You seemed defeated for a very, very long time. Seungcheol and his crew sat with you for what felt like eternity until you finally dragged yourself up off your feet. After a resigned sigh, you finally came to terms with the fact that you couldn’t do much now regarding your identity being compromised. 

Truthfully, Seungcheol was very hungry and tired. He wanted nothing but a nice, hot meal before he was lulled into a peaceful sleep. His brain was too scrambled to pinpoint how long it had been since he had food in his body last, and there was no point in trying to guess when his memory following the shipwreck was still hazy.

“I have a friend in Sevilla that can shelter us for a few nights,” Seungcheol had told you and his crew. “We are not going to get very far without food and water.”

He noticed that you started to crumble in the way the corners of your mouth twitched—not that Seungcheol was staring at your lips. The lure of a roof over your head and food on your plate seemed to sell you. 

“I would like my own room,” you insisted. 

“No objections here. I do not think any of us are keen on sharing a room with an assassin.”

“Will you be quiet?” you whispered harshly. “I will tell you this now: I have no intention of hurting innocents, but if you keep running your mouth, I am afraid I will have no other choice but to slit your throats before you can even scream for help.”

Seungcheol wasn’t particularly interested in responding to your threat, nor did he feel inclined to point out that he was sure at least one of them would react fast enough. 

“Ray of sunshine, this one is,” Seungkwan retorted as he eyed you cautiously. 

Most of the journey was spent in silence. You hardly seemed to want to engage in conversation, but Seungcheol was perfectly content with not spoiling the peacefulness of their trek with another slew of threats. Hunger and exhaustion were slowly becoming unbearable with each drag of his feet. He hoped that nothing had changed since his last visit to The Sleeping Bull, and that his old friend, Joshua Hong, was still the innkeeper. 

Nightfall encroached upon them by the time they reached the building with dim candle light glowing through the windows. The smokey smell filled Seungcheol’s nostrils with a sort of familiarity and comfort that set his nerves at ease. 

When he opened the door, there were a few men hunched over the nearby tables. They were all laughing at someone’s joke and toasting to several, trivial things that hardly needed a toast. Seungcheol spotted Joshua standing at the bar, wiping the rim of a glass with a rag. 

Upon noticing the five people walking through the door, Joshua squinted from across the room and Seungcheol saw deep lines in his forehead before he set the cup down. Joshua had to walk closer to make out the group in the dim lighting, and his eyes landed on you briefly before he turned back to Seungcheol, face slowly stretching into a wide grin.

“Captain Choi Seungcheol? Is it really you?” Joshua narrowed his eyes to make out the scruffy, broad-shouldered pirate before straightening up. “It has been long indeed! Almost couldn’t tell it was you without the rest of your rowdy men,” he said brightly. “Take a seat at the bar, will you? Let me pour you all a drink.”

Seungcheol wasn’t sure if Joshua could pick up on the way his smile faltered at the mention of his crew, but he decided to skirt around the topic for now. It was no good getting emotional at a time like this.

“Bloody hell, it is good to see a familiar face. Do you have any rum, Joshua?” 

“I’ve not had a drop of rum in ages.” Seungkwan groaned as he dropped his weight onto one of the creaky stools. “Not since our stash went dry on The Golden Corsair.”

“The poor bastard has not yet realized that we’d been hidin’ the rum from him,” Seokmin muttered to you, earning what Seungcheol decided would’ve almost been a smile if you weren’t so guarded. 

Seungcheol made sure that you were in his line of vision as he took a seat a few stools away from you. Your hood was covering most of your face, but once your back was to the rest of the pub, you pushed it back far enough for Seungcheol to notice how guarded you looked. Your eyes flitted around the tavern suspicious—subtle enough for no one else to take notice. No one but Seungcheol, apparently, but he had good reason to keep an eye on you. 

“On the house,” the owner offered, setting down pewter cups of rum in front of all of them before wagging a finger at Soonyoung, Seungkwan, and Seokmin. “You three drunkards better not dance on the tables again. Let me remind you that this is an inn.”

Soonyoung ran a bitten-down, yellowed fingernail against the grain. “But these beautiful mahogany tables wouldn’t be here if we hadn’t smashed the old ones in.”

“Consider it a favor,” Seokmin chimed in.

“An’ we stopped handin’ those out after ol’ Whitehead near tricked us into walkin’ the plank,” Soonyoung went on, “but you needn’t thank us, mate—no, no.”

“Aye. Did it out of the goodness of our hearts.” Seokmin flashed a crooked grin before looking over at Seungkwan, who had rum dripping from his chin. “Isn’t that right, Kwan?”

“I remember it clear as a foggy night.” Seungkwan hiccuped once, twice—(“That wouldn’t be clear at all,” you muttered under your breath)—and then pounded his fist against the wood before he continued in a drunken stupor, “Did it all for the betterment of this fine establishment!” 

Joshua, who suddenly looked like he had gone through several sleepless nights compared to his sunny demeanor minutes earlier, promptly ignored the three as they went back and forth with their running gag. 

Seungcheol’s interest wandered to the clusters of people at the tables behind them; there was a family who looked as though they had traveled a long way, one group who were progressively getting more and more drunk by the minute; and a man sitting by himself in the corner. 

“It seems business has been good,” Seungcheol pointed out.

“Sort of,” Joshua grumbled. “Bunch of no-good people have been coming in and bringing trouble with them… dragging people out and starting a scene.” 

“What sort of people?”

“I hear they call themselves the Templar Order.”

“Dragging people out? For what?” you spoke up, much to Seungcheol’s surprise, and you sat up a little straighter now that Joshua had your full attention. 

The innkeeper sighed. “No one can say for certain, but I believe they are in search of something. What that may be, I cannot tell, but they’ve just been turning out folks’ pockets and leaving after threatening them. A most peculiar group of thugs, no?” He leaned closer and lowered his voice to say, “I suspect that Yoon Jeonghan over there has something to do with them. All he seems to do is sit there all day long, and he hardly takes notice whenever ruckus breaks out in here.” 

Seungcheol turned his head to observe the dark-haired man in the corner. Jeonghan had his head down so that no one could clearly make out his face, but Seungcheol caught a glimpse of his eyes before he turned his attention back to Joshua. 

“But what’re you doing here, Seungcheol? Where are the rest of your men?” Joshua asked, leaning onto his forearms. “I thought I wouldn’t see you lot in Sevilla anytime soon.”

“There was a storm,” Seungcheol started gruffly. “None of my men were prepared for how cruel the tides would be.”

“A storm?” Joshua’s eyes were wide with alarm. “So your crew…”

“All dead—except for these three here. Only God knows why the Devil’s Domain spared us.”

(Soonyoung snorted. “She probably felt sick to her stomach after swallowing Whitehead.”

“Like eating rotten meat,” Seungkwan blubbered. The three of them seemed awfully remorseful about Whitehead’s death, but at the same time, they couldn’t stop joking about it.)

The corners of Joshua’s lips turned down. He was silent for a long time, like he was mentally going over each face and name he could remember from Seungcheol’s crew. The captain understood him very well for that was what he spent the first few hours of being conscious doing. He ran through every name in his head—every face, every memory, every laugh shared. Even his three crew members went silent at the mention of the storm, and the Seungcheol took the silence as an opportunity to tip his head back and down his alcohol so that the burn down his throat would distract him from his stinging eyes.

“I truly am sorry, Seungcheol,” Joshua finally said. He took a moment to take in the captain’s haggard appearance, from his hollowed cheekbones to his unkempt, knotted hair. “Let me get you something to eat. You all must be starving.” He turned to shout out orders to the head cook, who immediately got to chopping up vegetables for a stew. “You should wash up here, too, when you can.”

“We are grateful—really.”

“What do you suppose you will do now?”

“I need to find a ship so that I can sail back, but… for now”—he held up his cup and tipped it as a toast before chugging the contents down—“we drink and forget.”

“You are welcome to stay here for as long as you need until you can get yourself back up on your feet again.” 

“Thank you, Joshua.”

“You needn’t thank me. You’re just lucky you came here now; this place will be busy soon because of Semana Santa. Even the royal family is here.”

“Semana Santa?”

“Holy Week,” you answered in Joshua’s stead, although you wouldn’t meet Seungcheol’s eyes when you spoke. “It is a Catholic event that lasts the whole week. Nearly all of Sevilla set aside their commitments to celebrate.”

“Is that the reason why you have come here, Miss?” Joshua asked in his buttery voice. 

Your gaze flicked to the innkeeper’s before you responded, “Yes.”

Seungcheol had a feeling that your answer wasn't far off from the truth. 

Your request for your own room was granted, much to Seungcheol’s surprise. He hadn’t guaranteed you anything, but it was a stroke of luck that Joshua happened to have two open rooms at his inn. 

The room that the four pirates had to cram into was clearly only meant for one or two people to sleep in. This wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, though; Seungcheol had experienced far worse sleeping conditions in the past, and this was still far more comfortable than his private quarters on The Golden Corsair. Although the extra set of blankets that Joshua provided were paper-thin and the pillows felt like they had been stuffed with straw, Seungcheol was grateful for additional comfort. 

After his crew members nearly got on their knees and begged him to take the bed, Seungcheol dismissed the idea with a definitive shake of his head and settled into one of the two makeshift ones. Soonyoung and Seungkwan ended up on the bed instead, stiffly shoulder-to-shoulder until Soonyoung slung his leg around Seungkwan’s while Seungkwan reluctantly wrapped an arm around the pirate. 

As soon as his head hit the pillow, Seungcheol’s body responded immediately. It was as if he had forgotten what he had been through in the last few days until this moment. Sleep caught up to him almost immediately, and he drifted into a heavy slumber. 

Just before the first rays of sunlight crept into the window, Seungcheol was awoken by three loud bangs at the door. Soft groans echoed through the room as the others roused from their deep sleep. 

Seungcheol could hardly tell whether he was standing on his own two feet or not when he found himself at the door, fumbling with the doorknob. He couldn’t imagine Joshua waking them up so abruptly, especially at this time, so the pirate couldn’t help the exhausted sigh that escaped his lips when he opened the door to none other than you.

“A fine morning to you, too,” you retorted, looking Seungcheol up and down for a brief second. 

“Morning?” Soonyoung groused. “Us pirates require some daytime visibility before we consider it morning here.” 

Seungkwan let out a tired grumble while still rubbing the sleep from his face. “Assassin, would it be so very difficult to let us sleep until the sun comes out?”

Seungcheol held the door open wider for you when he noticed the hard look in your eyes, signaling that you wouldn’t budge. He supposed whatever you had to say was only to be uttered behind closed doors. 

You faced the four pirates and started, “The situation has escalated, so I must say this now. You told me that you would help me, so let me lay out our terms: We finish this mission, I help you find a ship to sail back to England, you give me back my amulet, and we go our separate ways. None of you will open your mouths about this arrangement—ever.”

Seokmin raised his hand. 

You raised a brow. “Yes?”

“How would you know whether we choose to open our mouths or not?” The question was presumably a joke, judging by the way he turned back to look at Soonyoung and snicker, but there was zero amusement in your eyes. 

“Well, if there is any suspicion of a threat, it will be swiftly eliminated. You will most likely find a blade shoved down your throat before you even think about opening your mouth. Understood?”

The color drained from Soonyoung, Seokmin, and Seungkwan’s faces as they stupidly nodded along,

“I said we would help you,” Seungcheol said, folding his arms across his chest, “but you need to tell us what the bloody hell is going on first.”

“Something bad is about to happen here,” you said. “The Templars are planning a city-wide attack on the last day of Semana Santa. Domingo de Resurrección—the Resurrection of Christ. If we cannot stop them, everyone—and I mean everyone—is going to be forced into submission.”

“Templars?” Seungcheol narrowed his eyes. “You mean the people Joshua spoke of last night? The Templar Order? Who exactly are they?”

“The Templars are a group that believe true peace can only be achieved through their control. They intend on eliminating the freedom of the people by imposing their own rules. They want to control humanity as a whole.”

Soonyoung, whose previously mortified expression had hardened into a more serious one, now had creases lining his forehead. “How could they possibly do that?”

“They found our Codex pages,” you answered grimly, “and they are using them to find the Pieces of Eden—ancient devices from the First Civilization, Isu, that hold an immeasurable amount of power. They can be used to influence human behavior, attain great power, control the mind… and we think they are here because they found the Apple of Eden.”

Seungcheol frowned. “The Apple of Eden?”

“That artifact is what they plan to use to control the minds of the masses that will be here for Semana Santa soon. The Apple grants the wielder the ability to control human minds and ensure absolute obedience. If they get their hands on it before we do, then our fate is no longer in our own hands.”

“That… that is simply ridiculous. They cannot—”

“Believe it or not, they most certainly can. These Pieces of Eden contain unmeasurable power far beyond mere human capabilities.” 

“And these Code pages…”

“Codex pages,” you corrected. “They are ancient texts that contain Leonardo da Vinci’s greatest secrets, including the Pieces of Eden—what they do, how to use them, and even where they are. It was a grave mistake that they ever got in the wrong hands.”

“Da Vinci? The artist?”

Seokmin snapped his fingers. “The Last Supper.”

“Well, well, it seems we have a true patron of the arts among us,” Soonyoung mocked, nodding along as if he was greatly impressed.

“Artist, engineer, inventor—whichever you may call him,” you listed off. “I cannot reveal much, but he, too, refused to allow the Templar Order’s tyranny to persist.” 

The weight of the conversation seemed to settle on all of their shoulders. It was difficult for Seungcheol to wrap his head around all your talk about classified manuscripts and ancient artifacts. Although the four of them were visibly more awake, there was a feeling of dread pitted in their stomachs. If what you were saying was the truth, then Seungcheol wouldn’t even have a home to sail back to if the Templar Order got what they wanted. 

“So, where is this artifact?” the captain asked. “We must find it before they do, no?”

“That would be the… crux of the matter,” you muttered. “We need the Codex pages in order to do so, but I might have a lead: Yesterday, I was eavesdropping on the shopkeeper’s conversation with someone whom I suspected to be a Templar Knight. They were talking about where King Philip would be tonight.” You paused to shoot Seungcheol a cold glare. “Might I add, the shopkeeper you pulled me away from.”

“Oh.” Seungcheol blinked, feeling rather sheepish now. “Apologies.”

“So you weren’t stealing?” Soonyoung’s eyes were wide, looking between you and Seungcheol several times before flashing a sheepish grin. “Forgive our captain, will you? Thieving’s all we know.”

“I was trying to listen in, but he got suspicious and started a commotion,” you continued, huffing at the mere idea of excusing Seungcheol’s actions. “It is of no matter now. I still managed to find out where King Philip is going to be, and either the Apple of Eden is where he is, or…” 

Seungkwan looked wary. “Or?”

“Or they already have it and want to get close to His Majesty to use the artifact on him.”

Seungcheol let out a dry laugh. “So, assassin, you expect us to believe that a fruit is going to be responsible for controlling our minds?” With those words, his crewmates’ nervousness dissolved, and they let out a few chuckles. 

“It is not an actual apple, you blithering idiot,” you spat. “It���s… spherical, sort of like a dense metal ball, and it contains unmeasurable power. Do you know of Adam and Eve? The first humans of Genesis? They once used the Apple to wage war between the Isu and humans, so if it gets in the wrong hands, we are all doomed.”

The captain’s brows furrowed. He wasn’t sure how much of this he could fully believe, but you didn’t seem like you were lying. Either way, all he had to do was follow along until he had a ship to sail off on, so Seungcheol didn’t mind entertaining whatever this was for now.

“Do you have a plan, then? Do you know of King Philip’s whereabouts?” he asked you.

“There will be an opera performance tonight at the Alcázar. His Majesty will be in attendance, of course.”

“The Alcázar? And how exactly do you intend to get into the royal palace?”

There was a dangerous sparkle in your eyes. “You said thieving’s all you know?” 

The pirates were, unfortunately, consistent with their image; Soonyoung, Seokmin, and Seungkwan were excellent at thieving, save for the times they started bickering in the middle of a heist. 

The extravagant fashion of the nobility in Sevilla were often handcrafted by the most skilled modistas in the city. Rich silks sewed into elegant gowns and fitted justaucorps lined their shops, and the seamstresses were busying themselves with a plethora of requests from high society. As it was Holy Sunday, business was bustling since Sevilla had processions going on all day long. The upper class were attending gatherings after Mass and cultural events were held throughout the city, so the modistas were kept busy in their shops.

Of course, neither you nor the pirates had enough pesos or doblóns to afford such luxuries, so Soonyoung, Seokmin, and Seungkwan were tasked to rob three of the busiest workshops in the affluent districts. Seungcheol’s trust in them pulling this off was shaky, but you spent thirty minutes explaining exactly what they needed to bring back. 

It was a surprisingly successful loot; Seokmin brought back a midnight blue silk gown that was embroidered with glittering beads of pearl while Soonyoung returned with a velvet long coat of a similar shade. Of course, blue was decided beforehand to stay discreet, but no one had expected the colors to be so alike. Unfortunately, Seungkwan was chased out, but he managed to snag a sapphire necklace set in silver. 

“Cap’n,” Soonyoung marvelled, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye as he watched Seungcheol slide the black gloves over his hands, “you look like a sight for sore eyes.”

“Am I not always?”

“Since you are unarmed, I will answer that,” he said. “When we were out at sea for months on end, some days I mistook you to be a drowned rat.”

“Ah, you need not worry. That does not bother me, friend.” Seungcheol smiled good-naturedly. “I mistake you for that every day.”

The plan was not quite as simple as you made it out to be; you and Seungcheol were to dress the part of the nobility—enough to be let into the King’s palace without suspicion—and sneak into his study when the opportunity arose. Seungcheol wasn’t sure what exactly they were looking for, but he was confident that he could pull off the polished look of a nobleman. 

The men of the upper classes often wore powdered wigs to show off their wealth, but Seungcheol had to settle for grooming the unkempt, tangled mess of locks on his head. He soaked his hair in the wash basin until he could run his fingers through it without them getting stuck, and then after borrowing some pomade off Joshua, Seungcheol styled his hair back into a ponytail. A few curls fell onto his forehead, but as much as he tried to slick them back, they were too difficult to tame. 

He managed to shave his overgrown facial hair down to a stubble, although now the pirate couldn’t do much to hide his scar that ran down the upper half of his face. Still, he was undeniably more put together now. Hopefully enough to disguise himself amongst the elites of Sevilla. 

The sun was set to dip below the horizon when Seungcheol knocked at your door. He felt strange in his new getup, but when you opened the door to reveal a remarkably polished appearance—charcoal-lined eyes and rouge-tinted lips accompanied by your flowing dress—the captain suddenly felt like a mere sailor admiring a mermaid of the deep. 

The look he gave you surely wasn't affection but perhaps something a few degrees beyond basic interest.

“Ah,” you remarked, giving him a once-over and humming in approval. “You clean up well, Captain.”

His mouth felt too dry to respond, so Seungcheol simply gave you a polite nod and entered your room when you held the door open wider. You were a few inches taller because of your heels now, but the volume of your skirt was what really made you stand out. It was impossible to imagine how you looked before after he’d seen you like this. 

“I’m nearly ready,” you said, picking up the sapphire necklace and holding it to your neck. “Could I trouble you for some help? This is a bit difficult…”

After a pause, you cleared your throat and Seungcheol realized that he had been staring at the floorboards for far too long. 

He sucked in a breath. “Right. Could you move your hair?”

After taking the delicate jewels from your hands, Seungcheol waited for you to move your hair off the back of your neck so that he could fasten the chain around your neck. He moved so that he was standing right behind you, right where he could see the curve of your cheek and the way your chest rose and fell. Then, he moved the necklace around you and pulled the ends back to clasp them together. His fingers brushed against your skin as he did so, and although he felt like he was holding his breath the entire time, the task was successfully accomplished without Seungcheol staring at your nape for too long. 

“There,” he said in a quieter, deeper voice. 

You fixed the chain to position the gem at the center of your chest. “Shall we get going, then?” You walked toward the window and gestured for him to head out first.

“Surely, we are not to take the window as our exit?” He almost laughed at how inelegant it felt compared to how they were dressed. 

“It would be best that we’re not seen. I would rather not be questioned on how we got our hands on these clothes.”

“Very well.” Seungcheol pushed open the pane and gestured for you to go on ahead. “Ladies first.”

The Puerta de la Montería was the grand entrance to the Alcazár. The high-rise stone walls separated the ornate palace from the bustling city, and the Gate of the Hunt was flanked by two lion statues that appeared to guard the entryway. 

Seungcheol used to study architecture in his spare time. His aunt was a patron of the arts, and she gifted him several books on the art of construction and composition—guides to Baroque and Palladin design that Seungcheol spent nights flipping through and immersing himself in. He loved architecture for the same reason he loved art; they were both so intertwined in the way they echoed cultural shifts across time.

The course of history—the very passage of time—was something he could witness from the mast of his ship, even; it was in art, the world around him, and the everchanging architecture from the lands he traversed.

As they approached the entrance, he asked you, “Are we again pretending to be a married couple?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“As we did in the square,” Seungcheol pointed out as a smirk tugged at his lips. “Do you recall, mi corazón?”

The withering look on your face nearly made him snort.

“Unfortunately, I do remember,” you replied, “and, yes, it appears we have no other choice.”

You slowed your pace to follow Seungcheol’s lead, but he grabbed your wrist before you could fall behind. “No,” he insisted, “we walk together.” He let go of you once you were by his side again. 

“Fine.”

“And if we are to keep up this… charade,” he started again, “I must at least get your name.”

“Ah, I never gave you my name, have I?” 

Seungcheol had only thought of referring to you as “the assassin” until now, and the very idea of you having an actual name had completely slipped his mind. 

“You have not,” he answered. “Are you allowed to disclose that?”

“Of all the matters I have had to disclose thus far, my name is the least worrisome. It is of no significance nor am I very fond of it, but you may call me Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he echoed. “A lovely name—very fierce.” 

“Look at that tower over there. Is it not a fine sight?”

“Changing the subject, are you?”

You sneered. “Take the hint, will you?”

“Well, if a shift in conversation is what you desire, I could go on at length about the architecture here.”

He was only half-serious, assuming you would find the topic to be completely dull, but your eyes twinkled with interest. “Do go on.”

“This palace was once a fort called the Dar al-Imara,” he explained as you two passed through the stone archway, following behind the couple that were well ahead of them. After receiving a nod of acknowledgement from the guards, they were permitted to pass through the gatehouse. Seungcheol didn’t realize he had been so on edge until he felt like he could raise his head high again. “It was home to the Abbadid king at the time.”

You quirked a brow at him. “How do you know that?”

“I know more than you think—I travel, I read, I study. There is only so much the world can hide from someone.”

A pause, then you said, “I see now. To be frank, I thought you spoke in a way that was more akin to a professor than a pirate. The innkeeper spoke of you as a feared captain whose name struck terror across the seven seas, but you are quite unlike the pirates I have encountered. It is not for the better nor for the worse; you are simply… not the kind of man I expected you to be.”

Seungcheol couldn’t respond for a minute, and perhaps it was because you hit the nail on the head. He was in academia long before he had turned to a life of piracy, so he had never been able to quite let go of the way he articulated himself for most of his life. It had always gone unnoticed, though, so he hadn’t ever expected it to be brought up. Not from someone whose name he didn’t even know.

“Never mind that, though,” you added, seeing how reluctant the captain was to answer. 

The two of you were silent as you watched through the courtyard, quietly admiring the cypress trees that hung over the crystal pools. Silent chatter and the running water from the fountains filled his ears. Among the noblemen around him, Seungcheol felt like he was just playing dress-up even as he adorned himself in the finest silks and satins. 

“I do have a question,” you continued once more. “How did you recognize the mark on my amulet?”

You must have been referring to the assassin’s insignia that Seungcheol still wore around his neck, tucked inside his garments. It didn’t feel right to leave it at the tavern, but it was all the more dangerous if he was caught with it here. 

As for his answer, Seungcheol saw no reason to lie. 

“My aunt was once a pirate,” he said. “After she left that life behind to raise me, she only kept a few treasures to herself. That amulet with that particular engraving was one of them.”

A horrified look crossed your face. “Then she…” You didn’t finish, but the implication in your tone was clear enough to him.

“There was no blood spilled for it to land in her possession, if that was where your assumptions were going,” Seungcheol replied firmly. He remembered it as clear as day—the memory of his aunt kissing the amulet, believing her nephew to be asleep at the time. “It belonged to someone dear to her, otherwise she wouldn’t have safeguarded it.”

His response seemed to absolve your misunderstanding, but then your interest was captured by something else entirely. “Your aunt was a pirate?”

“She was,” Seungcheol said with a surge of pride filling his chest. “She pretended to be a man most of her life because of it, but they eventually accepted her as she was.”

“What happened to her?”

“The Royal Navy told her she would be pardoned for her crimes against the Crown so long as she joined their forces to take down Wukou ships that were targeting their merchants. After they got what they wanted, they got rid of her. Never saw her or her corpse again. Simple as that.”

“I’m sorry.”

Seungcheol met your gaze. “Are you now?”

“I am,” you insisted, and he swore he could see a hint of sympathy in your eyes. “She must have been a brave and honorable woman.”

“Never thought I would hear someone use the word honorable by a pirate’s name.” From an assassin, no less. Before you opened your mouth to protest, he continued, “I jest. Thank you for saying that—really. It means a lot to hear someone speak well of her.”

It must have been ages since Seungcheol spoke about his aunt openly. He loved her deeply, but it was a sore subject that he treaded carefully on. The last time he had been this open about his feelings, it was after having downed a bottle of whiskey on a particularly dreary night on The Golden Corsair. He had locked himself in the map room, too, so that no one would see him in such a fragile state.

“Do you have a plan on sneaking into the study, by chance?” he asked. “Or are we entering Hell?”

“I do not believe that is appropriate to say on Holy Monday.”

“I do not believe sneaking into the royal palace is very appropriate, either.”

You gave him a pointed look. “We did not sneak; they saw fit to let us enter. Now, hold your arm out for me when we go up these steps here.”

Seungcheol did as you told him to, and you placed your right arm over his left to make your way up the staircase to the Salón de Embajadores, or Hall of Ambassadors. He couldn’t help but notice how measured and graceful your pace was, while Seungcheol felt as though he was scrambling to match your stride as elegantly as possible. Yet, he couldn’t match how effortlessly you managed to carry yourself. 

The ceiling of intricate Mudéjar woodwork and geometric patterns caught Seungcheol’s eye first. The Hall of Ambassadors was certainly fit for a royal audience with how the grand stage was illuminated in the vast room. The rest of the venue was packed with velvet cushions for the guests’ seating, and there was a throne for King Philip V at the back wall. His seat was on an elevated platform—perfect for you and Seungcheol to keep close watch on him throughout the show. 

The king hadn’t yet arrived by the time the room was starting to fill up. Seungcheol wondered if he would make his grand entrance later on, and just as he lost himself in thoughts of how uncomfortable his clothes were, the audience rose to bow in the presence of the monarch. 

“It’s His Majesty,” Seungcheol mumbled, nudging your side with his elbow. His eagerness got the better of him and he wound up elbowing you far too aggressively. 

“Ow.” You shot him a venomous look and muttered under your breath, “Perhaps you have not been around many, but it is improper to jab a lady!”

“A lady? But are you not an—” 

For lack of better wording, Seungcheol decided to hold his tongue. He figured it was the wiser choice to not reveal your rather scandalous occupation in a public setting—the royal palace, no less. 

A reverent silence filled the room as His Majesty passed by the nobles and elites to make his way to the empty throne. Next to him, you stiffened. A chill went down the pirate’s spine when he made brief eye contact with the King, realizing he had forgotten to lower his eyes out of respect. 

His eyes… something wasn’t quite right about them.

With King Philip and his men now at the back of the room, Seungcheol saw this as the perfect opportunity to slip away. “Now is our chance,” he told you as he sat down in synchronization with the rest of the guests. 

“You cannot possibly be thinking about making our move now,” you returned in a low voice. “We must wait until the time is right. For now, we are spectators.”

Seungcheol couldn't help the frustrated sigh that escaped his lips.

It was a slip of the tongue, but he really couldn’t be bothered to sit through an entire show. On his ship, his men entertained the crew with jigs that any sailor could bellow at the top of their lungs. Not that Seungcheol had witnessed many opera performances in his life, but he wasn't too keen on sitting through hours of the grating sound in his ears. It must have been an acquired taste, one for the upper class, and Seungcheol simply hadn't developed an ear for such music. 

He imagined his reaction would earn a glare from you, or maybe even a stab wound in the gut. You would surely rattle on about the importance of your mission until Seungcheol’s ears bled (and all before the opera performance even started!), so he braced himself for your wrath. 

But then you giggled.

He couldn't believe his ears. Seungcheol thought he would be less intimidated if you pointed your blade at his throat instead.

“Your impatience is truly remarkable,” you said in a hushed voice. “You mean to tell me they made you captain?”

“Oh, you must hear of my adventures, mi corazón. There was no question that I would become captain.”

“I see your abysmal lack of subtlety was not a deciding factor. We are pretending to be part of this world, remember?”

His gaze dropped to where he could see a glint of steel at your wrist. It was something that would've been altered to match your measurements had you put in the request yourself, but since your dress was really adjusted for some other noblewoman (who was most likely very distressed about her missing gown right now), the sleeves were a size too big on you. 

“My lack of subtlety? Sweetheart”—Seungcheol moved closer so that he could push the sharp tip of your blade further up your arm—“you could do a better job yourself.”

This seemed to properly fluster you, and you huffed before fixing your sleeve and turning your attention back to the stage. 

“That was intentional,” you made sure to note under your breath.

“Oh, yes—certainly.”

“It was hardly visible.”

“If you insist.”

“Has anyone ever told you what a piece of work you are?”

“No,” the captain said. “I have received no such complaints. Rather, the number of women I have unknowingly charmed is quite troublesome. That must be my only shortcoming.” Noting the unimpressed look on your face, he smiled and lowered his voice to quote, “But, ‘what a piece of work is a man,’ no?”

You raised a brow. “Hamlet?”

“Oh? Have you seen it? I was lucky enough to watch it at the Theatre Royal in London a few years back. Had a business partner who—”

But you were no longer paying attention to him. Right as Seungcheol was about to explain how he got the tickets, you pressed a finger to his lips and hushed him. Normally, he would be baffled by such a bold move, but instead he followed your gaze to where King Philip was whispering orders to the palace guards stationed around him. The lights dimmed and the opera singer walked to the front of the stage, rousing applause and cheers from the audience, but Seungcheol had a strange feeling that the auditorium wasn’t safe. 

One by one, he noticed, the king’s palace guards stalked off to examine the rows of seats. 

“They cannot possibly be suspicious of us already,” Seungcheol whispered—more as a joke, initially—but his amusement dropped from his face when he added, “can they?”

“I’d rather not test our luck,” you replied, peering over your shoulder to scan the perimeter for any discreet exits. He felt your lips ghost the shell of his ear. “Stand up and hold your arm out for me. If anyone asks, I felt faint and you were simply accompanying me outside for fresh air.”

“That will draw attention.”

“Naturally. You must have noticed how flattering this gown is on me.”

Seungcheol paused. “I have, but—”

“Good, so we are in agreement, then?” you hissed through your teeth. “Stand up.”

“We were not spectators for very long, were we?” Seungcheol returned miserably before he stood up, straightening his back and extending his arm out to you. He had been the one dreading sitting through an opera performance, but he was starting to prefer the vocalist over the palace guards hunting them down.

Seungcheol owed their hasty escape to how dark the room was. The few attendees in their row were disgruntled by the movement, but they managed to leave through the exit as quietly as they entered. The palace was eerily vacant with everyone in the Hall of Ambassadors, and you were making a great effort to keep your wooden heels from clacking against the marble. 

“Follow me,” you said under your breath before dragging Seungcheol by the wrist. He allowed you to tug him down the hallway and to the stairwell. 

“What are you looking for?”

“His study.”

“Right now?” 

Seungcheol stood firmly in place so that you would stop pulling him along. However, you simply let go of him and headed up the steps on your own. He sighed deeply and followed after you. 

“Pray tell, what were you expecting? Did you think I was taking you for dinner and a show?”

Seungcheol, feeling his face grow warm, opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. “Hold on for a moment. We cannot possibly just barge in. This is risky.”

You stopped in your tracks and turned on Seungcheol in the middle of the stairwell. “I thought I made it clear that this would be dangerous. If you value your life so much, then leave me behind and run, but I will not be stopping here.”

With that, you bunched up your skirt in fistfuls and kept walking upstairs. For the first time in Seungcheol’s life, he felt like had so much more to lose than his life. He had already lost countless men, his ship, and his pride. All he had left were three members of his crew and his own resolution to make it back to England, to bring some closure and peace to the families of the deceased pirates. He thought that since he was punished to keep living, he would at least do one last thing for his men and make it back alive. 

But Captain Choi Seungcheol would never dare leave an ally behind to save his own skin. 

Pirates had long been generalized as ruffians who only sought to pillage and plunder. That may have rang true for some, but for pirates like Seungcheol, who lived off of the thrill of adventure, words like yours only left him with adrenaline pumping through his body. Perhaps he was itching to feel that exhilaration once again.

Nimble on his feet, he jogged to catch up with you, crossing two steps at a time. You hardly made any gesture to acknowledge that he decided against turning his back on you, but Seungcheol swore he caught a small smile on your face before you turned to scan the perimeter. 

The second floor seemed deserted, but there were so many doors that Seungcheol already felt discouraged at the prospect of finding the King’s study. He leaned against the frame of the arched window behind him, peering over his shoulder to catch sight of the palace guards prowling at the entrance. He supposed they had been alerted to be on the lookout. 

As much as Seungcheol tried to push it down to think about later, he couldn’t stop himself from wondering just how the King and his men even caught onto them. He looked up at the paintings that lined the walls, staring right at the portrait of King Philip V. The pirate felt like he was being watched the same way the Bourbon King’s dark eyes bore into his. 

That was a concern for later, though; the predicament at hand was enough to make the pirate’s head hurt. There were so many doors that Seungcheol couldn’t see how they could possibly find—

“There it is,” he heard you say, much to his bewilderment. 

“How were you able to find it so quickly?”

“Come, pirate.” 

“Captain,” Seungcheol corrected in a grumble as he followed you inside the study. He closed the door behind him as quietly as possible, fingertips twisting the doorknob as if it were glass. “I would much rather you call me by my name. There is something that irks me about your formalities, for some reason.”

“Very well, pirate.”

Seungcheol waited until your back was turned to roll his eyes at your stubborn attitude. He decided to change the topic, asking, “Say, what do those—er… code pages look like?”

“Codex pages, and I would not know. I’ve only heard of them.” 

“What?” He looked askance at you. “How in God’s name are we supposed to find them, then?”

You were currently sifting through the papers that you pulled out from the folding front of the King’s bureau. Seungcheol could feel all hope for the success of this mission slowly dwindle as you simply shrugged in response. 

“So,” he started when it got awfully quiet, “you mentioned you watched Hamlet? I had no idea there were theatre companies performing Shakespeare here. Lope de Vega has been quite a sensation in Sevilla, or so I’ve heard.”

“You sure have a great deal to say.” Your tone was flat, and although you turned your head to continue skimming through the papers, you answered, “I’ve seen it in Paris. My mother took me when I was younger.”

“Your mother must—”

“She is of no concern to you.”

A subject most delicate, was what Seungcheol gathered.

Then, you leapt to your feet with an excited gasp. “Seungcheol, look!” 

He knew very well that you would intentionally avoid using his name if he pointed it out, so Seungcheol stayed quiet. However, if he was more honest with himself, he would’ve admitted that his heart jumped because of how you called his name rather than whatever your discovery was.

“Is it the Codex pages?”

“No, but these are official plans for Domingo de Resurrección. This is written proof that they are using that sacred day for something wicked,” you told him in an urgent breath, crossing over to his side to hand him the papers. Seungcheol ran his finger down the page, frowning as he skimmed over various decrees about regulating personal freedoms. “This is what they will announce and everyone will fall under their control. As long as they have the Apple, the people are doomed.”

“See this?” you went on, mortified. “The Templar Order intends to strip everyone of their freedom. They want to create a world controlled only by them.”

Seungcheol could hardly believe his eyes. The fine print read that refusing to comply with the new set of laws was punishable by law; that personal freedoms to choose one's occupation and future spouse would be restricted; that education would be manipulated to ban readings that promoted individualism and free thought! He had always known not to trust those in power, but this was corruption rooted deeper than Seungcheol thought was possible. It went far past the soil and embedded itself in the bedrock. 

It infuriated him beyond belief. Made his gut roil with hot acid. 

His aunt died because she was a pirate—died at the filthy hands of royal scum—and Seungcheol was never able to avenge her. It was almost laughable that he thought he could ever do anything about it, and now they would be able to cover up their dirty work entirely. 

And they were planning to censor the very knowledge from books? That was right—a human who couldn’t speak freely would end up fighting desperately to express themselves somehow. The Templar needed to control the very thoughts and beliefs of the people, too. Limiting the opinions and perspectives from certain readings would certainly inflict a controlled worldview upon everyone. 

The entire scheme was preposterous. It went against everything Seungcheol stood for, and he just felt wronged to lose so much in so little time. How could he possibly stand by and allow this to happen?

“You… you are certain of this, correct?” he asked, almost in a single breath. “Can the Apple truly manipulate minds like that?”

“It has been done before—many times over many years. It will start here, and it will spread across nations. The Templar’s reign will become ceaseless.”

His hands shook a little. He had to keep himself from gripping the sides of the pages too hard. If Seungcheol even lost a fraction of the self-restraint he was using right now, he would end up crumpling the papers and tearing them to shreds. 

“It truly is much more pleasant when you are oblivious to it,” you continued in a sort of wistful tone, a mirthless smile on your lips. “You cannot stop a man consumed by greed; if he wants power, he will do anything for it.” 

“What is the use of throwing away the world for power? When you come to realize that all has been lost in the pursuit of your own desires, then what remains?” After a beat, Seungcheol added, “What I mean to say is, they cannot get away with this.”

You gave him an uneasy look before thumbing through the stack of papers, pulling one of them out to show Seungcheol. It didn’t seem to be an official document, but it was a written outline of the events that would take place on Easter Sunday. 

“It says here that they plan on using La Giralda for their announcement,” you pointed out. “I want to put an end to this, too, but we only have days.”

The pirate shook his head and scoffed. He, of course, had studied the history behind the Giralda Tower after his first visit to Sevilla. The great bell tower was positioned right next to the Sevilla Cathedral. Back when the cathedral was known as the Almohad mosque, it originally functioned as a minaret where a muezzin would call for prayer five times a day. How ironic that they were planning to manipulate everyone into submission at the same location where Christianity was imposed in order to erase Islamic tradition and culture. 

“Incredible,” Seungcheol spat, “and I thought they could not possibly go any lower.” He bit down on his lower lip (far too harshly for he tasted blood almost immediately) while his brows furrowed. “Is it apparent when one is under the Apple’s influence? Visibly, I mean.”

“I am not entirely certain. It’s said there is a certain gleam in their eyes, as if they glow,” you confirmed before your expression darkened. “Why do you ask?”

“Earlier, when the King walked into the room,” he started. “I had a strange feeling when our eyes met…”

“Congratulations. It must be love at first sight.”

He fixed you with a glare. “Enough of that. I cannot explain it, but there was something off about the look in his eyes. It was exactly like they were glowing, like he had been possessed.”

“That must mean the Apple is already in their hands,” you said, and although you spoke calmly, there was undeniable horror in your words, “and the person controlling His Majesty is here.”

“Then we must find them!”

Although he spoke with a sense of unwavering determination, Seungcheol’s eyes unfocused and drifted to the window panel behind you. It was strangely perfect timing, but the distraction in the corner of his vision happened to be someone who looked undeniably dodgy. The pirate observed the odd person sneaking around the palace grounds with knitted brows as you spoke. 

“We must, but it could be anyone.”

“Or it could be that suspicious gentleman lurking around the building,” he pointed out, jerking his thumb out the triple-pane window in the direction of the mysterious figure donning a white tunic that fell to their knees. The Cross of the Templar Order was branded right across their chest in a brilliant red.

You whirled around to peer out the window. Sure enough, your eyes grew as big as saucers at the sight, and Seungcheol had to grab your arm before you turned to hurry out the door. He had caught the figure just in time, and whoever it was appeared to be slipping out of the palace grounds undetected. 

“That mark on his robes—it’s a Templar Knight,” you breathed out, attempting to wriggle your arm out of the pirate’s grip.

“Wait a moment,” Seungcheol said.

“But we must get down there before he leaves!” 

“First, we need to put the papers back where they belong,” he reminded, letting go of you to walk over to the desk. He then froze at the sight of the King’s bureau. “Where did you come across them again?”

“It was right—ah, hold on, allow me.”

And perhaps it was because Seungcheol was so overwhelmed by the load of information about the King’s plans that he hardly noticed the palace guard opening the door to the study. By the time they were gawking at the man from behind the King’s desk, the pirate knew this would end badly. He only hoped that there weren’t reinforcements following suit, but judging by the shock across the man’s face, it appeared that he just so happened to stumble across them while he was doing his rounds.

A scornful look clouded the guard’s face, his sharp gaze moving to the papers in your hand. “What business do you have here?” Not quite a question that waited for an answer, but a warning of what was to come. 

“Er…” Seungcheol paused. The situation they were in was not ideal; he had no weapons to defend himself, the assassin wasn’t doing much to feign innocence, and the palace guard before them was built like a beast. “We were trying to find the water closet,” he tried, careful. “I suppose this is not it.”

“Intruders,” the guard spat, guttural and dark, unsheathing his sword from its scabbard. “You have committed the grave crime of lèse-majestè, for which you must answer to His Majesty the King.” 

“I do believe we just did far more than simply insult the King.” Seungcheol said, just barely loud enough for you to hear. “Is it really that serious of an offense?” 

“It was merely contrived by men to spare them from criticism,” you replied in a dismissive, flat tone. 

Seungcheol circled around the desk, starting, “Listen, we just—”

Before he could get any other words out, the guard raised his blade and swung in their direction, managing to land a blow on a vase and shatter it. He dodged just in time to narrowly avoid the attack, but he needed to disarm the guard before things got out of hand. Someone would surely hear if they didn't silence him quickly. Judging by the lack of reinforcements, Seungcheol was assured that the guard hadn't called for assistance yet. 

He took the wind-up for the next swing as an opportunity to tackle the guard, driving his shoulder against the man’s gut to shove him to the floor. If Seungcheol had his cutlass, this battle would’ve been decided already, but he was now struggling to pry the sword from the guard’s fingers. 

The guard kneed Seungcheol in the side of his ribs, which the pirate returned the favor by swinging his arm to deliver a heavy punch to the man’s jaw. His sides ached, but the adrenaline was keeping the pirate from keeling over. His attacker let out a ragged breath, panting and wriggling desperately to free himself. When his lips parted, presumably to call for help, Seungcheol struck him right in the mouth. 

He was so caught up in pummeling the guard into unconsciousness that he just barely noticed the blade pressing against his midsection. Seungcheol caught the guard’s wrist just before the sharp tip was about to be plunged into his flesh. 

He then felt a searing pain in skull, soon realizing that the guard had bashed his forehead against his and pinned him to the ground. Seungcheol was hardly able to make out anything but scattered bursts of light behind his eyes that wasn’t quite enough to stop him from grabbing ahold of the guard’s wrist again, stopping him from driving his sword into the pirate’s chest. 

They struggled to fend each other off, gritting their teeth and mustering all of their strength to overpower the other. Seungcheol’s palms were being cleaved into by the sharp edge of the blade, but he had no choice but to grip the blade to keep himself from being slain. The tip of the sword pressed deeper and deeper against his sternum, daring to break skin and bleed crimson. Seungcheol felt his pulse in his neck jump dangerously as he tried to keep the guard from spearing through his chest. 

He couldn’t just die here. This couldn’t all be for nothing.

But just when he thought it was the end of the line for him, the guard stilled. The sword slipped from his hands so helplessly, as if all the strength had seeped through his body at once, and the blade slid to the ground with a clatter. Seungcheol watched him teeter, stagger, and then draw in a shaky breath that sounded more like a death rattle in his ears. He coughed once, spraying blood against Seungcheol’s face, and then he fully collapsed on top of the pirate. 

Dazed, he pushed the heavy corpse off his body, letting the guard’s body slowly bleed out on the floor of the study. The guard’s bleary eyes stared at the heavens above, unblinking. A burning sensation radiated from Seungcheol’s palms, white-hot anguish that nearly overwhelmed his senses. 

At the same time, you came into view above him. Seungcheol watched as you used the guard’s uniform to wipe off the remaining blood from your blade. Then, you flicked your wrist, triggering some mechanism that allowed for the weapon to retract back into your sleeve. 

“Now that he has been dealt with, shall we be on our way?” 

He thoughtlessly wiped the fresh blood that stained his face, although it didn’t do much considering his hands were still bloodied, too. “Ah, yes,” he responded. “Er, thank you—for saving me.”

“We were compromised. There was no other choice,” you said as you spied from the corner of the window. “The Templar Knight is gone, but he might not have gotten far. We must leave before someone discovers us with… the body.”

“Agreed.”

Seungcheol wasn’t quite sure whether it was because he was drunk off the combat or whether he was still disoriented from a near-death experience, but he grabbed the King’s papers with blood-stained hands and crumpled them into his pockets before they snuck out again. 

Unfortunately, the Templar Knight was long gone.

It was a pity, but Seungcheol had to bring you to see reason first, telling you that there was no point in chasing someone who left no trail. He understood your urgency, though. The King would soon discover that his papers were missing and one of his guards had been killed, and then there would be a bounty on both of your heads soon (if they ever managed to figure out the perpetrators). 

There were five days left until Easter Sunday. They needed to find a way to stop the Templar Order by then. 

As Seungcheol cradled his glass of rum at The Sleeping Bull, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way King Philip’s eyes glowed. It was something so subtle, like it could almost be mistaken as a trick of the light, but there was nothing in the room that could have reflected such a color. 

There were a lot more guests occupying the rooms in the tavern now. Joshua was right when he said that more people would be coming in for Semana Santa. Earlier, when Seungcheol snuck back in through the window of your room, he had to wait an unbearably long time for the hallway to clear out so that he could hurry into his room. Seungkwan, Seokmin, and Soonyoung nearly yelled at the way their captain barged in without warning. 

He haphazardly stripped off his clothes, bunching them up and tossing them in a heap under the bed. His hands were still imbrued with blood, and although Seungcheol was no stranger to the sight, he couldn’t stop thinking about how the situation could’ve gone differently. Perhaps they wouldn’t have made it back if it wasn’t just the one guard that walked in.

It was pitch-black outside now—brilliant hues of sunset lost to a shroud of darkness. Sevilla was still in its rainy season, so the rainstorm that plagued the night wouldn’t stop pounding in his ears. He could hear claps of thunder every now and then, and surprisingly, Seungcheol never felt more comfortable. There had been countless storms they braved on The Golden Corsair, but the captain quite liked the feeling of being soaked to the bone and vulnerable under the sky. 

While he was lost in his own head, Seungcheol looked up to see Joshua setting down a small pouch in front of him, tossing the rag he had just used to wipe down the bar over his shoulder. “Your, er… companion requested this earlier—the pretty one. I thought it best to hand it off to you.”

“Are you making me do your work, you bastard?”

“You expect me to deliver this to your lover at such an hour?”

“Lover?” He barked out a laugh. “Do not jest.”

The innkeeper’s gentle eyes widened in a scandalized fashion. “Is she not? Then, could she be a lady of the night? A secret paramour, perhaps?”

Seungcheol snorted. “Not a chance. I suppose you could call us… partners.” It was silent for a beat, then he asked, “Do you assume every woman’s occupation has to do with serving a man?”

“Of course not. I just know you are not the type to entertain someone without reason.��

A wicked grin stretched across the captain’s face. “We have been friends for many years now, Joshua, and yet you think so lowly of me? But, I must confess, me and her are of mutual benefit to each other. I think I shall keep her near for the time being.”

Of course, the actual reason had to do with matters that he could not explain to Joshua just yet. He trusted the man deeply—after all, Joshua Hong was the man who put up with his pirate crew for years and risked his life to shelter them from authorities—but whatever was going on seemed far too complicated to get the innkeeper involved. For his friend’s own safety, Seungcheol decided he would keep this to himself.

“She is quite a mysterious one,” Joshua ruminated, “perhaps as mysterious as the King himself.”

Oh?

“The King?”

“Have you heard of the whispers concerning his children?”

Seungcheol kept a calm and even tone as he spoke, “Oh, yes, I caught word of his son passing away recently. Smallpox, correct?”

Joshua’s mouth set in a grim line. “Indeed. It truly is such a shame.”

“Eight alive and three dead—still good odds, I reckon.”

“And one is said to be in hiding, or so it is rumored,” Joshua added. “Word has it that his second wife loathes the children of his first. The story goes that the King, so fond of his first daughter, took it upon himself to hide her away, fearing the Queen’s fury might one day fall upon her.”

Seungcheol let out a snort before taking a swig of his rum. “Now, that is a proper mess of family affairs, if I ever heard one.”

“Curious, is it not? Five children sired by his first wife—three dead, one in hiding, and only one son left unharmed. There is something most peculiar about Her Majesty.”

No matter what Joshua told him, however, Seungcheol couldn’t find it in himself to care about the state of the King’s family matters. A bad person was a bad person—point blank. If this rumor really was true, though, then perhaps that meant the Queen was also someone worth looking into. After all, there had been whispers of her control over court politics due to her husband’s declining mental stability. 

“Yet,” Joshua went on to say, “at the very least, His Majesty has not made a mess of Spain like the Habsburgs did.”

“Not much remains to be spoiled, I daresay. What does the King do for the poor, for education, or for the economy?” Perhaps his words were especially charged because of the information they found in His Majesty’s study earlier, but Seungcheol was sure he was saying what needed to be said. “Look at how splendid the processions for Semana Santa are! People from vast lands could come to see them, yet the monarchy does nothing to share such marvels with the world.”

The innkeeper nodded in understanding. “And what a pity it is. There must be order, if we are to make progress. Without reformation, we shall remain stagnant.” He leaned back and sighed. “Yet, thus far, Sevilla has much to improve.”

Their conversation was abruptly interrupted by one of the hostlers, Lee Chan, who came rushing in for Joshua’s assistance. Apparently, the horses were panicking because of the storm and they needed extra hands. Seungcheol was left to finish the rest of his drink in silence, quietly observing the guests who were gorging down their dinners. 

Interestingly enough, the same man from the previous night was sitting quietly in the corner. 

Yoon Jeonghan. 

After some minutes of pondering on what the mysterious stranger’s intentions were (which led him nowhere), Seungcheol grabbed the pouch that Joshua had left and retired to his bedchamber. Seokmin was sound asleep, his snores filling the room, while Soonyoung and Seungkwan were playing cards in the corner.

He would bring the pouch to you in the morning, he decided. It was far too late for him to be knocking at a lady’s door, especially at an inn, of all places.

Once Seungcheol laid down, he tried getting some shut-eye. He wanted to do nothing but succumb to his exhaustion, but his mind was restless; all that raced through his head was you, the King, and the Templar Order. Tonight was a lot colder—a lot more dreary, too. Maybe it was because of the uneven flooring, or maybe it was because the flickering light from the candle couldn’t quite reach him, but Seungcheol found it difficult to get comfortable and allow himself to succumb to his exhaustion. 

The only comfort he had was having his crewmates in the same room as him. It was something he would never admit out loud, oh no, but he had gotten far too used to having company. Back on his ship, whenever Seungcheol got restless at night, he could easily find a few of the men on his ship to keep him company. Since they operated on a watch system, there would always be pirates awake to attend to navigating the ship or keeping watch, or the occasional ones who were off-shift that the captain could drink and sing sea shanties with. 

Seungcheol begrudgingly came to the conclusion that he couldn’t quite cope with being alone. That was perhaps why he set off as soon as he lost his aunt. He would’ve taken walking off the plank and plunging into unforgiving, icy waters rather than having no one.

The draft from the window wasn’t helping his spiraling thoughts. Seungcheol felt the chill down to his bones and each time he exhaled, curls of silvery vapor dissipated into the air. When he got up to try slamming it shut, the window pane would stay in place for a couple seconds before flying open again. 

“The latch is faulty, Cap’n,” Soonyoung said. “We meant to mention it to Joshua in the morning.”

He grabbed the edges of the curtains. “Let me just draw the—”

Seungcheol went completely still when he noticed a figure standing several yards away, cloaked by the darkness. It was the same man from earlier: Yoon Jeonghan. The captain couldn't tell what the strange man was up to, but Jeonghan was just quietly observing the perimeter as he stood on the cobblestone pathway. Perhaps he was just lost in his thoughts as he was passing by, but this late at night? 

And he was suspiciously close to the window closest to his—your window. 

“What is it?” Soonyoung asked after Seungcheol closed the curtains in a flash. “Has the curtain torn, too?”

“There is a man right outside her window,” he said.

“Whose window?”

“The assassin’s.” The captain started making his way to the door. “I must warn her.”

Seungkwan grimaced. “Warn the assassin? You should be warning the man.”  

Seungcheol initially let the words pass over his head as a quip, but after knocking on your door and watching it creak open, the pirate captain started to question who the real danger was when your hand flew out from the shadows to grab him by the front of the shirt. In a flash, you swung Seungcheol around and pushed him up against the wall, kicking your door closed with the heel of your foot.

The sharp tip of a blade was pressing against the side of his neck, right near his jugular vein. The only move Seungcheol dared to make was to open his eyes, meeting your fierce glare. 

“What the hell are you doing outside my door?” you demanded, your breath hot against his skin.

He really should’ve told Yoon Jeonghan to be careful instead.

“Warning you about the person outside your window,” he returned with a grumble. “Mind putting the blade down, sweetheart?” 

With a flick of your wrist, the blade retracted back into your sleeve—the same fashion you wielded the weapon earlier. Now that Seungcheol could process it properly, it was rather marvellous; he had never seen such a weapon. The contraption allowed your blade to remain unseen with a simple flourish of your arm. So this was the stealth of an assassin. 

Still, he was slightly unsettled by the fact that you kept your blade under your bedgown. 

“I noticed him not long ago. I drew the curtains before he could steal a look.” You pulled back, leaving Seungcheol to readjust his shirt around his frame. “What are you telling me for, anyway? Must I go take care of him?” 

He realized that “taking care” of Jeonghan most likely meant something tragic and irreversible. 

“Er—no, don’t act rashly.”

Seungcheol’s eyes hardened. This was clearly a dangerous situation for you, and he didn’t think he would be able to get a good night’s sleep knowing that he left you with someone suspicious loitering outside your window. But, for one, the pirate valued his life enough to not sleep in the same room as an assassin. Secondly, it was highly improper for him to share a room with an unmarried woman—wait, what if you were married? Choi Seungcheol, you poor excuse of a man, it would be improper either way!—not that the pirate cared much about social expectations or his reputation, anyway. 

“How about I stay here for the night?” he proposed.

You gawked at him. “I beg your pardon? Stay here?” 

“I feel uneasy about that man outside. It is best you do not stay here alone, lest you wake up to trouble.”

“But that is… that is completely out of the question—and indecent.”

“Need I remind you that I am a pirate and you are an assassin? I cannot say either of us are very proper to begin with.”

“Regardless, I can take care of myself perfectly fine.” 

“I never said you could not.”

You gave him a strange stare, as if you were searching for a sign that you could trust Seungcheol. He was positive that you wouldn’t put your faith in someone you had just met on such unconventional terms. After all, he was getting a ship out of this before you two would go your separate ways. There was nothing warm in this partnership—not in the slightest. 

He noticed you swallow thickly. “What about your men?” you asked. 

“You want one of them to keep watch here instead? I shall fetch—”

“No, I meant that someone needs to protect them, too.”

Perhaps he sounded a touch too defensive, but Seungcheol couldn’t help letting out a huff and saying, “It would be in your best interest not to look down upon my men. To you, they may not seem like much, but they are a force to be reckoned with in battle. You ought to have seen how Soonyoung impaled two pirates with a—what? What is so amusing?”

A ghost of a smile tugged at your lips. “Forgive me, I was unable to hold myself back.” Before Seungcheol could get irritated at your words, you continued, “You seem to be rather fond of your men. I simply found it charming that you appear to see them as your own kin.”

The captain drew in a breath to calm his beating heart. 

“What I believe is that the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb,” he replied softly, so quiet that he could hear you swallow thickly. 

“Well, I cannot speak on that matter, but I share your sentiment,” you said with a dismissive wave. The only light in the room came from the soft glow of the oil lamp beside your bed, and Seungcheol noticed there was no warmth in your gaze. “As for what you said earlier, should you decide to stay the night, my bed is strictly off-limits.”

Seungcheol’s face felt hot. That, of course, wasn’t what he meant when he proposed staying in your room, but to even be misunderstood was embarrassing. He had several trysts in the past that never left him with shame burning his cheeks, but now he felt hot over a simple command that was never meant to rile him up in the first place. 

“I will be taking the floor, of course,” he said. “I do not have any intentions of sleeping in the same bed as an assassin.”

You scoffed, your words charged with offense when you spat, “And I do not have any intentions of sleeping in the same bed as a pirate.”

“Pray tell, why do you speak of pirates with such disdain?” 

“It was you who spoke unfavorably of me first!”

“Nay, but I distinctly remember our first meeting—”

“Meeting? You speak of the time when you so rudely dragged me into that alleyway?” 

“—‘I have never been very fond of pirates.’ Those were your words, no?”

“Possibly. What of it?” 

“Well then, what is your issue with us? Do you take us all for criminals?”

Your jaw clenched. “You are indeed a criminal, but I don’t fault you for that, for I, too, am guilty of the same. What it is you fight for, I do not know, but what I do believe is that violence is sometimes a necessary evil. Though the law may deem me a criminal, my intentions were never born of malice.”

“I have no intentions of hurting anyone without reason, either.”

“Then you will find that you and I are the same. I do not do this because I want to hurt people; I do this because I want to protect the freedom of the people—our freedom.”

“Yet, in order to do so, you are bound to hide who you are.”

Your eyes glazed over for a few lingering seconds. “That is right,” you responded in a softer, sadder voice, “and it is my only regret.”

When Seungcheol tried to put himself in your shoes, he figured that assassins were doomed to live a life of solitude. He was always surrounded by the warmth and familiarity of his crew, which sealed the wound that ripped open his heart after his aunt’s murder, so it was difficult for the captain to think about what he would be like if he didn’t have people around him. 

If Soonyoung, Seokmin, and Seungkwan hadn’t survived that shipwreck, then Seungcheol surely would have lost his mind. He lived a life that relied on support from his comrades, and you sacrificed forming relationships because of your occupation. 

Still, even if Seungcheol didn’t quite see the full scope of your situation, he still believed everyone had a chance to carve their own path, no matter the decisions they made. He once chased a dream, too, when he gave up academia to become a pirate and carry on his aunt’s legacy. 

“As for the reason why I confessed my lack of fondness for pirates,” you went on, “it is because I envy you.”

He stilled. “Envy?”

What could possibly be there to envy? Seungcheol wondered if you had a few screws loose because no one in their right mind would want to covet a life where one had to constantly be on the run, never able to settle down and raise a family. You, on the other hand, kept your identity a secret, so you still had the chance to turn your life around. 

It just made no sense to him, but then Seungcheol thought of how you kept rattling on about freedom this, freedom that, how you reacted to his aunt, and the gears in his head began to turn.

He spoke with an assurance that left no room for doubt. “You want to be a pirate.”

“A fool’s dream that I never grew out of,” you confirmed. “I shall admit, my upbringing was one of hardship and disappointment. I longed for adventure and… a sense of camaraderie that I was never able to have.” When the pirate took too long to react, you mumbled, “Ridicule me all you want.”

“Why would I ever ridicule you for that?”

His words left the room quieter than it was before, the tension so palpable that it nearly suffocated the both of them. 

You hesitated before trying, “It is unbecoming of a woman—”

“There is no such thing,” he cut in fiercely. “If you think for one moment that I, of all people, believe such ridiculous notions, then you have me sorted out all wrong. I gave up my own academic endeavors to chase my aunt’s dreams—a woman with the same aspirations as yourself. If you believe it to be a fool’s dream, then we must be birds of a feather.”

Your lips parted ever-so-slightly, and Seungcheol reached around his neck to pull off the iron chain with the amulet, thrusting it into your hands. 

“This is more than a ship,” he said. “I refuse to be a puppet to those who threaten my freedom.”

After a pause, your face broke into a small smile that somehow illuminated the room brighter than the candlelight, rivaling even the glow of the moon, and Seungcheol knew that whatever stirred in his chest was something he had never felt before.

As expected, the ground was cold and hard on his sore back. Even the hammocks back on his ships were cozier. Even the extra cushioning he had in the room with his crewmates provided far more comfort than the thin sheet you gave him.

The previous night, after Seungcheol informed his men that he would be staying in your room, they nearly fainted on the spot. Whether it was because they feared for his life or thought it was an indecent arrangement, the captain truly could not tell. (He was leaning toward the former, judging by how they sighed in relief to see him alive and well the next morning.) Before he left his room to head to yours, he pulled the edge of the curtain back to peer out the window again, but not a soul was in sight. Somehow, that was all the more unsettling. 

He wound up handing you the pouch from Joshua, too, only to find out that it was a sewing kit meant to stitch up the gashes on his palms. The very thought of a needle and thread pulling together his flesh made Seungcheol wish he never gave it to you.

However, the fact that you requested it specifically for his wounds made the pirate feel oddly meek. You discovered that Seungcheol had hastily wrapped rags around his palms to hide the injury, but the cloth was soaked with blood and the cut would surely be infected if he took no further action. He ended up allowing you to take his hand in yours and sew the laceration together until it stopped bleeding profusely. 

On the bright side, the stinging pain helped him fall asleep almost immediately.

The processions for Semanta Santa carried on during Martes Santo, the streets alive with teachings and parables being shared. There had already been several in the morning, some of which were silent and some of which were accompanied by saetas sung in a capella. Joshua told Seungcheol over breakfast that Holy Tuesday was full of religious floats that were designed to look as if they had come right out of the Bible, and although the pirate didn’t consider himself to be extremely devout, he was still amazed by the amount of detail that went into the celebration. 

In exchange for their stay (that was completely free of charge, was what Joshua emphasized when he approached his dear friend), the innkeeper requested that Seungcheol help Chan in the stables. They were short on hands due to the influx of guests, so Seungcheol enlisted Seungkwan’s help to keep him company. 

Soonyoung and Seokmin, on the other hand, were to follow you. The captain was slightly nervous that you would ask too much of them, especially with how you impulsively took him into the King’s study the previous day, but he was more at ease when you stated that you three were simply looking for anyone that could be a Templar Knight. The one person you wanted to look into was Jeonghan, which you only concluded in the morning, thus you were slightly disappointed that you didn’t confront him last night.

However, the search for Jeonghan was fruitless. You, Seokmin, and Soonyoung ended up returning just before nightfall with dismal expressions, and Seungcheol and Seungkwan even more so because of all the horse dung they had to clean up. 

The next day bore similar results. The only thing remotely eventful was watching people play out The Passion—plays that depicted the events leading up to the death of Jesus Christ. Seungcheol was admittedly feeling much better about spending the day with you instead of being around horses, but no matter how long he strode across town and ducked into alleyways, there were no signs of any Templar Knights around. It was as if they were never even there, and he almost wondered if you and him had hallucinated the one knight. 

On Holy Thursday, Jesus was betrayed.

“I see no way forward from this,” you said with a resigned sigh after yet another round of scouting out suspicious activity. 

“But, Miss, you mentioned that this Templar Order would use the Apple come Sunday. The tower by the cathedral, aye?” Seokmin supplied. “If the worst comes to worst, we know where to find ‘em on that day.”

“That is true.” You let out a shuddering sigh, your shoulders still tense. You had been worrying at your lower lip all day—not that Seungcheol had been paying any extra attention to that portion of your face. “I am only concerned that they might carry out their plans sooner since they must have discovered by now that we stole the drafts of their schemes.”

We, as in Seungcheol. He started to wonder if he acted too impulsively. The papers were still stuffed in the pockets of the coat that he had strewn under the bed. Perhaps taking them was too obvious, but Seungcheol figured that the papers were safer in his hands than theirs. 

“We will put a stop to this,” the captain assured. 

With deep sincerity in his eyes, Soonyoung held up his hand and professed, “I solemnly swear it on Seungkwan’s life.”

Seungkwan scowled. “Swear on your own life, ye bilge rat!”

“I would rather not risk mine.”

Yet, the unease wouldn’t leave your brow. Once you noticed how fatigued the pirates looked, you said, “Return to the inn and get something to eat, you lot. I shall return after I’ve had a further look around.”

Seungkwan frowned. “Positive? Will you be all right to return on your own?”

Seungcheol found himself turning to you and saying, “I will accompany you,” before he even fully thought of the words in his head. 

Thus, he wound up walking the same path around town for the umpteenth time with you by his side. His energy was only sustained by the torrijas he had scarfed down earlier and the smell of orange blossoms that lingered in the air. 

“Say,” you told him, starting up a new conversation with a hint of embarrassment while they were passing by a group of children that were running about, “I am afraid I only vaguely remember the name of your ship. What was she called again?”

“The Golden Corsair,” Seungcheol answered proudly. “She was a real beauty.”

“What made you choose that name?”

“My aunt’s vessel was called the Golden Fortune. I took the first part of it… and I was eager to prove myself as a pirate in those days. I added ‘Corsair’ to the end for that reason.” He offered a fleeting smirk that was gone as quickly as it appeared. “Why do you ask? Were you envisioning yourself as part of my crew?”

“Not quite,” you said, and even though your hood concealed your face, he could hear the smile in your voice. They were past the square now, crossing a bridge that led them away from the lively crowd. “My dream was to one day command a ship of my own. I wished to name her ‘The Crown’s Revenge,’ but I suppose it is too bold of a name.”

“The Crown’s Revenge,” Seungcheol echoed to see how the words weighed on his tongue. “It suits you. I quite like it.” Then, with utmost caution, he pointed out, “Although, that is one way to put a target on your back.”

You laughed—a sound that he never really heard from you. It sounded rather nice in Seungcheol’s ears, much nicer than any sea shanty he’d listened to.

“If I am to make a statement, it must be bold, no?” 

He eyed you warily. “You must have a death wish with the way you—”

“Seungcheol.”

“—recklessly. I simply cannot help but worry about—”

“Seungcheol,” you interjected in an urgent whisper once again.

The pirate followed your line of sight down the dusty road they were walking on, and he shuddered in the humid breeze.

A Templar Knight stood right across from them, ever so still, and despite the fact that they couldn’t see a face behind the helmet, Seungcheol was almost certain it was the same one they saw at the Alcazár. Yet, oddly enough, the knight didn’t engage, simply observing them for a short while before turning to walk off. 

That was when Seungcheol noticed that inside his gloved hand was a golden sphere, emanating a faint glow.

He didn’t even have to look at you to figure out what it was.

Without another thought, he barked out a command for the knight to stop, running forward to catch up to him. He was sure he would regret such a hasty decision, considering he was weaponless, but before Seungcheol even found himself in arm’s length of grabbing the back of the knight, the bastard unsheathed his long sword and turned to swing at the pirate. 

Seungcheol dodged, missing the strike by a hair and stumbling over his feet. Once he regained his balance, however, the knight rammed the pommel of his sword straight into Seungcheol’s temple, causing his vision to momentarily go black with pinpricks of white light scattering across his vision. His teeth rang from the impact. His head throbbed in slow waves that nearly felt unbearable, and searing pain gathered right behind his eyes. 

He heard another shout, and when his blurred vision started to return with his rapid blinks, he saw you and the Templar Knight locked in combat. The pirate grumbled and scrambled to his feet. He used his foot to break off a wooden post that stuck out of the ground. The wood cracked and splintered off, leaving a sharp enough edge to attack the knight with. 

The pirate then staggered forward to bash his newly-fashioned weapon over the knight’s helmet. The wood split down the middle once it made contact with the metal. The Templar Knight grunted and held the side of his head, giving you an opening to attack again. 

In a fluid motion, your leg swept under the enemy, the ball of your foot striking the bone right above his ankle and knocking him off-kilter. Even when the knight attempted to remain upright, though, his knee buckled and his leg crumpled under him. 

The Apple of Eden slipped out of the knight’s hold, rolling across the ground until Seungcheol lunged to grab ahold of it.

But just when he thought they had the upper hand, the Templar Knight retaliated with a second card up his sleeve. You let out a choked cry when the knight twisted your arm—the one concealing your weapon—and he spun you around to hold you at knifepoint with your own blade. You struggled to free yourself, but the assailant pulled out a dagger with his other hand and held it to your gut. 

You couldn’t move an inch without either one of the blades pressing into you; it was either your own blade that would slice your throat, or the knight’s dagger that would plunge into your abdomen. 

When you freed one hand to fight him off, the Templar Knight slipped his dagger back into his tunic and used his free hand to choke you instead. You gasped and kicked at the knight’s shins in a desperate attempt to be released, but his grip was unrelenting. 

The Templar Knight kept staring ahead, and the pirate didn’t need to see his face or hear his voice to understand what the knight’s message was; it was either the Apple or you. 

Amidst your struggle for air, Seungcheol made out your lips framing a word that he suddenly wished he could not comprehend: Run.

Honestly, the decision he wanted to make was clear to him, but you were telling him to do the exact opposite. This could be their only chance to retrieve the artifact from the enemy. This could be their only chance to put an end to the calamity that was yet to happen. Yet, even though Seungcheol had the opportunity to do the right thing, he wasn’t sure he could bring himself to give you up. 

He scanned the perimeter. When he looked closely, there were various other Templar Knights hiding behind walls and crates, waiting for their cue to attack, like a predator stalking its prey. This wouldn’t end even if Seungcheol ran; the knights would hunt him down until they were able to pry the artifact from his cold, dead fingers. They were outnumbered—and hopeless.

He could run. He wasn’t sure how far he would get, but maybe if he ran fast enough, he could lose them.

“Please,” you begged out loud this time, your voice no louder than a croak, swallowing hard when the sharp edge of the blade pressed harder against your skin. “Go.”

Choi Seungcheol would do the right thing.

Choi Seungcheol would do the right thing.

The selfish pirate then realized that it was idiotic of him to think that he could ever be a hero. A man like him, who acted out of his best interests, couldn’t possibly save everyone. No, he could only think of himself first. 

So, with bated breath, Seungcheol paused before handing over the Apple of Eden to the knight.

The Templar Knight released you and shoved you to the ground just before your eyes were about to roll to the back of your head. You were unmoving for a moment before Seungcheol heard you gulping lungfuls of air. The knight took the Apple, looked between you and Seungcheol, and then turned around without another word. The pirate could only watch helplessly as the other knights in hiding retreated, too. 

He lowered himself to the ground to help you up. You refused his hand and got to your feet on your own, scowling as you did. There was something vicious about the way you glared at him, cold and unforgiving. 

“We lost the Apple,” you rasped out in disbelief, and then you turned to look at Seungcheol with clear disdain. Your shout bounced off the walls when you yelled, “You lost us the Apple!”

“There were others,” he said. “He was going to kill you.”

“Do you understand what you have just cost us?”

“What I understand is that I saved your life,” he got out through gritted teeth. “If I did not let him take the Apple, you would be dead!”

“Then you should have let him! There is absolutely nothing more important than that artifact being in the right hands, Seungcheol. Surely, you must know that!” 

“I do, but not at the cost of your own life.”

“Even at the cost of my own life,” you muttered darkly, “even if I am to meet the same fate as my mother.”

“Well, I refuse. I will not choose to let you die.”

“I am not giving you an option to choose me or the Apple. I am telling you right now that under any circumstance, you choose the Apple.”

He scoffed, bristled. “I really do not want to have this conversation right now. I cannot believe you are even saying this.”

“Well, I cannot believe you! The Apple was in our hands!” 

Something inside him burst with hot, fiery rage, sweeping through him in an icy wash, and he turned on you. “Do you really hold such low value for your own life? Say I sacrificed you for it, say I abandoned you and ran off with the Apple—what then? What will I do with it? You yourself said that the artifact cannot ever go in the wrong hands, so what makes you think that I would do any good with it?”

You swallowed hard, the hesitation clear on your face. You pulled off your hood so that you could look Seungcheol in the eye, and he had never seen you struck with such agony until now.

“Because I trust you.”

Seungcheol’s heart stuttered in his chest before he regained his composure. “Then I must apologize because I do not regret my decision one bit. Even if I had a second chance, I would choose you over the Apple again.” 

“I cannot… I cannot understand you one bit.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I thought I made myself clear. What is it you cannot understand?”

You were shaking now—whether it was because of the vulnerability of their argument or how you were seething, Seungcheol couldn’t tell. On the surface, it must have seemed like such an absurd argument; two people heatedly confessing how much they cared for each other, yet their outrage kept them from truly seeing that. 

“In that moment,” he started once more, “if it were me instead of you, would you choose to let me die or would you choose to save me?”

You could only stare at him in silence, almost statue-like if it weren’t for your bottom lip twitching in the slightest. The sky darkened with dark grey clouds rolling in front of the setting sun; there would be no brilliant splash of color across the sky for today’s sunset. 

“Even as an assassin, when you murder in cold blood for a cause, you still cannot give me a straight answer to this simple question,” he continued in a low voice. “Tell me, Y/N, would you choose me or the artifact?” Seungcheol waited for a few moments to pass before he said, “If you feel as I do, then I sincerely hope you never feel the harrowing ache of facing the decision that I had to make back there.” 

You and Seungcheol did not speak for the rest of the evening, not when you walked back to The Sleeping Bull, not when you ate dinner, and not when you headed to your respective bedchambers. Even when his men tried to press him for answers, he couldn’t bring himself to recount what happened because he knew it would just make him fume again.

Despite his exasperation, though, one thing had become more clear than ever: You had become too precious of an existence to Choi Seungcheol.

Seungcheol was still quite vexed the next day. It bled into his routine, too; he stabbed his meat with his fork far too harshly, he grumbled incoherently when he tried to dismiss his men’s constant questions about what happened, and he nearly broke the doorknob from how aggressive he was being. He assumed he would feel better in the morning, but when he discovered that you had slipped out of your room before dawn, the pirate was overcome with a bout of anxiousness. 

Moreover, his behavior was rather unmannerly for Good Friday. 

Joshua was especially worried when he saw Seungcheol in the morning. He even patted his head, which was an inane thing for an adult man to do to another adult man, who also happened to be one of the most fearsome pirates of the seven seas. In spite of that, the head pat did feel rather nice, he had to admit.

Most fearsome pirate, my arse, Seungcheol thought bitterly. I’m losing my damned head over a woman, and I dare call myself fearsome.

Since Joshua immediately picked up on Seungcheol’s bad mood, he let the captain off the hook when it came to work that needed to be done around the tavern. Instead, Seokmin, Soonyoung, and Seungkwan had to pick up the slack for him. The three men begrudgingly followed Joshua into the kitchen to get to washing dishes and cleaning the floor. 

Seungcheol had enough of loitering about, so he set out to look for you. To be honest, he wasn’t keen on talking to you, but he had been worrying about your disappearance all morning to the point where it was eating at him. After the stunt you pulled yesterday, he needed to find you before he damn near lost his mind.

He ended up walking around town for hours until he stumbled upon you—by total coincidence, no less. Seungcheol cut across a field to take a shortcut when he spotted you (well, he more so recognized you by your hooded cloak) at a graveyard, kneeling down on the grass.

“What on earth are you doing here?” he called. 

Startled, you nearly jumped at the sound of his voice. Seungcheol suddenly wished he hadn’t asked such a stupid question; it was Viernes Santo, for Christ’s sake, and you had already opened up to him about your dead mother. 

Your eyes were sharp. “How were you able to find me?” 

“Mere coincidence,” he answered. Seungcheol looked down to see that you had made a cross out of sticks, and although it looked small and flimsy, you were earnestly praying to it. He started to kneel down next to you. “Is this for your mother?”

There was a pile of stones supporting the twig that acted as the base for the cross. Seungcheol found a stray pebble beside his leg and gently placed it among the other rocks. 

“No,” you said with your head still low and your eyes shut in prayer, “it is for your aunt.”

“What?” His voice came out in more of a strangled breath than an actual, coherent sound. Seungcheol felt like the wind had just been punched out of his chest, and he could hardly breathe when he looked at you. “What did you just say?”

“Today is about honoring the deceased. You said you were unable to see your aunt’s body, so I assumed you were not able to lay her to rest or make a grave for her.” 

Seungcheol fell silent. The only sounds he could hear was the wind whistling through the tree branches and the blackbird that chattered softly in the distance. 

You made sure to add, “If I overstepped, I apologize. I simply thought it was a shame for a woman of such power to be denied a proper burial.”

“No,” he said, louder than he expected it to sound. Damn it all, Choi Seungcheol had braved storms and battle that not even the strongest of the Guardia Real could face, and here he was, about to cry over a gesture unlike any other. He hadn’t even thought to do something like this for his aunt. “No, Y/N, it is just…” After a few moments of floundering, Seungcheol came to the conclusion that he wouldn’t be able to find the words to express how he felt right now, so he settled for saying, “Thank you.”

“Well, go on and pray, then. I am sure your aunt would find comfort in hearing that you are alive and well.”

Seungcheol clasped his hands together and, for the first time in years, he prayed. 

There were years of stories that he needed to catch his aunt up on. He thought of all the good memories, all the battles won, all the friends he made, and he bottled it all up to send to Heaven. Seungcheol never quite understood what a connection to God meant, but with his head lowered and his lips framing a silent prayer, he felt as though an invisible string was keeping him connected to the skies above. 

Once he finished his soundless prayer and noticed that you were also done, the pirate asked, “What about your mother?”

“She is here,” you replied with a smile, “and, fortunately, she is very loved. I am sure she can do with my attention being elsewhere for now.”

“I want to pray for her, too,” he said. “Can I meet her?”

Your expression faltered, a visible tremor running through your body. 

“Then promise me something.”

“What is it?”

“Promise me you will not look at me any differently as you do now.”

“Why would I?”

You didn’t answer, giving him a wilting look instead.

The two of you stood up, and Seungcheol followed you to the far back of the graveyard. Right in the middle was a grand headstone, standing out from the rest, with several bouquets lining the base of the grave. Ornate patterns were carved into the stone, depicting figures which Seungcheol assumed to be her with her husband and children.

Maria Luisa Gabriella of Savoy. 

The King’s first wife. 

For a moment, Seungcheol thought you were pulling his leg, which really wasn’t a funny thing to do at a graveyard. However, when he saw the solemn look in your eyes, he quickly realized that this was all very real, yet it was difficult to even process. 

You were the hidden princess that Joshua was talking about. You were the first daughter that King Philip V concealed from his second wife.

“I do not remember much, honestly,” you started. “I remember her, of course—oh, I still cannot forget the way she sang to me, or the way she ran her hands through my hair—but, everything else—her death, my father’s mental afflictions, my step-mother’s harshness—it is all a bit blurry.”

Horrified, Seungcheol thought back to all the times he had insulted the Crown in front of you. All those times you simply let him call them such vile names, and you had been a princess this entire time. Come to think of it, that must have been why you knew exactly where the King’s study was; you had lived in the damn castle yourself. 

The Crown’s Revenge. It all made sense.

“After my father remarried and Her Majesty became my step-mother”—you spoke of her with venom in your tone—“he had one of his guards escort me from the castle in the dead of night—all the way to France. I lived with a new family who took little liking to me. They were of humble means; I suppose this was to ensure that my name would never resurface. They cared little for my preference, so I kept to myself. When I came of age and could hold my own, I left that household and never once looked back.”

It was exactly the way Joshua recounted, but it was just impossible for Seungcheol to wrap his head around the idea of you being the lost princess. 

Then, you pulled off your hood, tugging down the neckline to show your intricate insignia that Seungcheol recognized in a heartbeat, and as soon as he did, there was no room for any of this to be a lie. The insignia was made of a gold chain lain with intertwined Burgundian firestones, its pendant being a golden fleece that sparkled under the sunlight. No matter how much he racked his brain, there was no other way such an heirloom could be in your possession without alerting the city of a great theft.

It was the Distinguished Order of the Golden Fleece, given only to members of the royal family. The only reason Seungcheol could recognize it was because he had seen it resting on the chests of monarchs, and now it was on your neck. 

“My father gave it to me before he sent me away,” you told him. “Should I ever need to find my way back to him, I suppose… though I do not desire such a thing.”

He only realized you were crying when he heard you sniffle. 

Seungcheol wasn't sure what came over him, but he found himself pulling you into his arms so that your face was buried in his chest. You didn't resist nor did you pull away, so he wrapped his arms around your waist and kept you close. 

He pulled back just enough to cup your cheeks with his large hands, guiding your face to look up at him. “Choose whichever path you want; I will walk right beside you, no matter where it leads.” 

Shakily, you raised your hand to place it over his, and your expression melted into the same longing that was drawn across Seungcheol’s face. At this moment, he came to realize that this was probably the first time he was able to look into your eyes for so long, allowing himself to drown in their depths. He had seen stars in the night sky that were dimmer than the ones in your eyes. Seungcheol swore he could kiss you right then and there, but he didn't. 

In the middle of the graveyard, with blackbirds singing and the smell of orange blossoms lingering in the air, the captain held you in a tight embrace until your tears stopped. 

Afterward, when the sky was painted with an array of bright hues, you and Seungcheol set up graves for the rest of his crew lost to the shipwreck. He sat with them until the sun dipped below the horizon.

That night, Choi Seungcheol was restless. 

As he laid on your floor that night—far from your bed where the flickering light from the candle couldn’t quite reach him, not even if he stretched out his fingers—the emotion stirring in his chest, thick and soupy, was maddening. Every trace of longing he had felt, every shard of affection that dug itself deeper into his heart, became so all-consuming that he could not pinpoint any other feeling but pure, unadulterated desire.

Seungcheol had to get it out of him, even if it meant breaking open his ribcage to rip out the very organ responsible for this feeling. Bury those bothersome emotions before he could give name to them. 

For the past few nights, he succumbed to his exhaustion within minutes of his head hitting the ground. As a matter of fact, the pirate hardly waited to make sure you were safely in bed before heading to bed, which raised the question of what the bloody hell was the point of him sleeping there? Still, you didn’t ask, his men didn’t ask, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to say anything. 

Tonight, however, the two of you hardly spoke, and their tension, albeit not being acted upon, was charged with electricity. Seungcheol craned his neck to check if you were asleep, but from the way you were positioned, he couldn’t really tell. 

But just when he was about to give up and go to bed, you called out quietly, “Seungcheol?” And then, as if you were almost certain he wouldn’t answer, you hesitantly added, “Are you still awake?”

He cleared his throat. “I am.”

The two of you slipped into silence once again, with part of Seungcheol waiting for you to say something and the other half wondering why you even called out his name in the first place. It wasn’t comfortable silence; the air was dense with unspoken feelings, sticky and clinging to him like sweat-drenched fabric. 

To yearn for someone deeply, enough to keep a part of them with you—Seungcheol could start to understand how his aunt felt when she kept the assassin’s amulet with her all those years. But it wasn’t just a part of you he wanted, it was all of you. In this moment, he wanted to hold you in his arms and never let you go. In fact, he was afraid that, if given the chance, he would completely lose himself in you. 

Right when he was about to speak up again, you finally broke the ice.

“It would have served no purpose,” you said, turning to face him and clarifying, “running from that Templar Knight. There was nothing we could have done.”

He propped himself up on his elbow. “Finally seeing it now, are you?”

“Even if you were to run, they would have surely caught up to you.”

“Yes.”

“Even if you were fast enough, there were far too many of them.”

“Yes.” Seungcheol found himself sitting up properly now. “I should also mention that I was without weaponry. I had to use a mere piece of wood.”

“That is not my fault,” you said. “You ought to have taken the weapon off that palace guard.”

“At the time, I was not giving thought to taking a weapon off his lifeless body,” he grumbled. 

You two lapsed into momentary silence again before you ordered, “Come here.”

“Pardon?”

“Come over here. I cannot see your face when you speak.”

“But I was not speaking.”

You released an irritated sigh, rubbing your brow with two fingers. “Just come here, pirate.”

With a grunt, Seungcheol pulled himself to his feet and made his way over to your bed. He took careful steps, as if he was sure you would tell him to turn back at any time, but you seemed much calmer than he felt. Perhaps your intentions weren’t in tune with where his twisted mind was going. 

“Sit,” you told him, and Seungcheol took a seat at the edge of the cot. “Give me your hands.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Were you always so forward?”

“Give me your hands.”

Scoffing, Seungcheol let you take his hands in yours, turning them over so that his palms were up. He watched you as you carefully undid the wraps on his hands to look at the stitched-up wound. Now, his flesh looked as if it was pulling itself together, forming a pink scar where the stitches held. The discomfort didn’t quite bother him and he didn’t exactly need you to replace the cloth for him, but who was he to complain when you were so gently asking to hold his hands?

She was not very kind, he reminded himself. Nor was she asking. 

Seeing you before him, however, was quite the sight to behold.

“You must attend to this daily, lest it becomes infected,” you said.

“Y/N.”

“Wash it thoroughly—”

“Y/N.”

“—and use a clean cloth—what is it?”

“I think there is something wrong with me.”

Your eyes widened in alarm, fear swimming in glossy pupils, and you gripped his hands tighter. “What? What is it, Seungcheol? Do you feel unwell?”

“Not quite,” he said. “I cannot stop thinking of that moment when that Templar Knight forced me to choose between you and the Apple.”

“You had no choice, Seungcheol,” you said. “It does us no good to keep dwelling on such matters. We cannot change the past.”

“It plagues me,” he told you with agony drawing his brows together. “Humanity, as we know it, could fall under complete submission; yet, in the face of that, I believe my mind was already set.”

“Stop thinking about it.”

“From the moment he laid his hands upon you, I knew what I was going to do.” 

“Seungcheol, enough.”

He slipped his hands from your grasp so that he could hold yours instead, running his thumb across your knuckles, one by one. Seungcheol tried to focus on keeping the tension concentrated within him completely concealed, but it melted off his frame when his dark eyes met yours. 

“No matter how much I think about it,” he murmured, “there was no doubt I was going to choose you over the world.”

You drew in a breath. 

The flame on the wick flickered, its shadow cast across the wall. Seungcheol’s heart pounded frantically in his ears, and he begged for any sort of reaction to reassure him that you weren’t about to pretend that he wasn’t sitting right before you. He was fully expecting for his words to infuriate you, or perhaps you would deflect the conversation by telling him to get some rest, but what you replied with was something he never would have anticipated. 

“I shall not hold it against you. I, too, cannot say with certainty that I would have allowed something to happen to you, either.”

At first, there was silence, and then it happened faster than Seungcheol could think, before he even realized he had already wet his lips and dropped his gaze to your lips. He closed the distance, kissed you so lightly that he was nearly unsatisfied, and then pulled away before the kiss could escalate into something else entirely.

“I apologize,” he got out in a rush. “I was simply—”

“Enough with your apologies already.”

This time, you reached over and pressed your lips to his. 

It was soft. So soft that Seungcheol was sure this feeling would plague him for nights on end. He could feel your tenacity in the way you kissed him, but there was something meek about it, too. 

Something between a groan and a gasp was caught in Seungcheol’s throat as his hand found the small of your back, running his finger down the notches of your spine. The way he needed you, it was almost primal. Their kiss was a quiet hunger that could not be satisfied, and their motions began to lose their subtlety once he slipped his tongue past your parted lips. The pirate couldn’t get enough as his hands roamed your body, as yours gripped his hair, and as they began to tug each other’s clothes off senselessly. 

“I thought about this—all day—racked my head all night—” Seungcheol murmured, his words broken up by the kisses he started leaving down your jaw. “I needed to have you like this.” He let his lips drag down the column of your neck, inhaling sharply until you shuddered. He laved the tender spot with his tongue before sucking on it. “I cannot stop thinking about you. It drives me mad.”

“Seungcheol,” you gasped out, and oh, how the way you called out his name burned in his head like eternal damnation. 

He was all but ripping your clothes off, pulling them off your body without a care. You did the same, tugging at his shirt and undoing his pants hastily so that Seungcheol only had to kick them off his ankles. He ran his hand down your bare arms when he realized that you were missing the contraption.

“Do you no longer sleep with it? Your hidden blade?” he asked, leveling his gaze. 

You shook your head, and Seungcheol was overcome with the urge to kiss you again. His lips latched on to your neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses across your skin as he continued to undress you. Once the garments were strewn aside, he had to catch his breath upon seeing you completely bare in the dim, orange light. 

Choi Seungcheol, hardened by years of battle and strife, was now utterly weak at the sight of your naked body.

Good God. You were a treasure like no other. 

He aimlessly traced your hip bone with his finger, moving lower and lower until his hand was at the apex of your legs. 

“May I?” he asked softly despite being seconds away from snapping completely.

You drew in an unsteady breath. “Yes.”

He grabbed both of your ankles and lifted them so that they were draped over his broad shoulders. Seungcheol wondered how long it would take him to map out your body in perfect detail, figuring out where exactly he needed to touch and kiss you to rouse such wonderful sounds from you.

A tremor ran through your thighs when he skimmed a finger across your engorged clit, and he smirked at how sensitive you had gotten already. As he pressed messy kisses to your neck, he moved two fingers in tight circles around your clit until you were whimpering for more. 

He then paused to bring his fingers to his lips, maintaining eye contact with you as he wetted them with his tongue, and then he slipped one finger inside your slit so slowly in order to watch your face crumple as he fingered you. He wanted to commit this to memory, to forever be haunted by the look of pure desire on your face.

After Seungcheol slipped another finger past your folds, he started pumping them at a steady rhythm, although he held your body with his other hand like it was fragile glass. He felt a little winded by your eagerness, each moan driving him closer and closer to the brink of madness, and just as he felt that you were about to orgasm, he pulled his fingers out of you. 

The mewl that escaped your throat made his blood rush to his cock. Seungcheol pressed a sweet kiss to your lips as an apology. 

“I want to taste you, mi corazón,” he whispered. He grabbed your hand and pressed more kisses to your palm as you whined for more. “Will you allow me?”

“Have me—please,” you breathed out, “but we must be quiet, Seungcheol.”

His lip curved into a smirk. “Ah, right. Had I not known any better, I might have assumed you took pleasure in being heard.”

“That is simply not true,” you tried, unable to look him in the eye as you said it. 

“I do not blame you. You have a most pleasing voice, particularly when you cried out—”

“Seungcheol.”

“No need to be modest, Y/N,” he crooned, “just allow me to take care of you.”

With a huff, you watched as his eyes flitted to your cunt, and then he lowered himself so that his head was situated between your legs. He pressed a surprisingly kiss to your cunt, grinning when you crooned in response. Pushing apart your thighs, Seungcheol experimentally rolled his tongue across your clit, and once he was satisfied with your reaction, he flattened his tongue and licked one long stripe along your folds. The moan that he got in return was a melody in his ears, and he couldn’t stop plunging his tongue between your slit to hear you sing again. 

Choi Seungcheol had been starved. 

He ate you out with precision, burying his face into your cunt and gripping your thighs tight as they wrapped around his face. Seungcheol was painfully hard himself, grinding against the bed as he devoured you for some friction that would relieve his ache. 

He wasn’t sure how long he had been lost in you, only that the way you chanted his name like a broken mantra was spurring him to keep going, but a particularly languid curl of his tongue had you shaking with pleasure right under him. He lapped at your folds throughout your orgasm, keeping your hips pinned down as you arched your back. 

In a lustful stupor, Seungcheol moved to slant his lips against yours again.

The back of your neck was slick with sweat when he grabbed it, but Seungcheol was more focused on how heavenly you tasted. He shamelessly grinded his hips against you, chasing the pleasure that he so desired. 

“Seungcheol,” you panted out after breaking for air, and you immediately lost your senses again as the pirate started leaving kisses on the swell of your breasts, then your nipples. “You bastard, won’t you just take me already?”

“Filthy words for a lady.”

You rolled your eyes. “This lady keeps a weapon beneath her bed, and she may well use it on you if you do not act swiftly.”

Seungcheol laughed. He would have to do some self-reflection later because it was rather strange that your threats only turned him on more. Still, there were more important matters at hand; one of them was how longed for you so deeply that it was almost painful. 

He lined up his stiff cock at your entrance, teasing your folds. With bated breath, Seungcheol held the side of your face and looked you in the eye as he pushed himself inside you. He moved his hand to silence the cry that nearly ripped from your throat, but he made sure to go slow enough for you to adjust. At his size, he needed to approach this carefully. 

Initially, Seungcheol’s motions were slow and torturous despite his fierce need to have you as he wanted. Admittedly, he was restraining himself, allowing you to adjust to how he fit so perfectly inside you, how your bodies connected like they were molded for each other. Advance, hold, fall back—he thrusted inside you at different angles, different speeds, assessing which one would rouse a bigger reaction from you. 

After some trials, however, he found a proper rhythm that you could keep up with. Seungcheol wiped the tears that streamed down your cheeks and left kisses in their wake instead. 

Through his muzzy haze of lust, he growled against your neck. “Y/N.” Although he called out your name with a sort of soft reverence, the sharp snaps of his hips were unyielding. 

Heat unfurled inside him as he pounded into you, and it was difficult enough that you had to feel so good wrapped around him and your voice kept stuttering with each thrust. Seungcheol almost found it unfair that you were so perfect for him. When you dug your nails into his back, blubbering about how close you were, his hands slid to hold your face and press your foreheads together. 

“Come for me, mi corazón,” he murmured against your lips. 

Your mouth fell open, but your orgasm crashed over you before any words could come out. Instead, your moan was the most beautiful sound that he had ever heard. In the haze of his pleasure, though, his hips bucked out of rhythm a few times before he was drowning in euphoria, cumming right as your walls clenched around his cock. Seungcheol did his best to fuck you through your orgasm with his sore muscle, helping you ride out your high for as long as possible, and then he pulled out once you were spent. The very motion made the both of you shiver.

The room was quiet now. Only the sounds of heavy breathing filled the space as Seungcheol pushed loose strands of your hair out of your face. 

Neither of you said anything, but it was clear where your feelings laid. Even if you acted like this night hadn’t happened the next morning, Seungcheol would tell you how he felt all over again until he got the point across. 

But he was sure that you wouldn’t pretend because when Seungcheol laid back down on the bed, you curled up next to him and buried your face in his chest. 

Ah, thought the pirate, this is the treasure I have been searching for my entire life.

Daylight poured in through the window, the leaves from the citrus tree outside painting dapples of sun against the wall. Seungcheol was ready to breathe in the smell of orange blossoms and hold you close until you roused from your slumber, but you wound up jolting awake from the sound of banging against the door.

Seungcheol practically jumped to his feet to pull on his clothes as fast as he could. You did the same, using the blanket to cover your chest as you reached for your garments that the pirate flung away from the bed. 

Soonyoung’s voice was loud and clear amidst the sporadic knocking. “Cap’n! Y/N! Open up, it’s us!”  

“One moment!” he yelled back, flustered. The unrelenting passion from last night came back in a flash of memories, and Seungcheol couldn’t stop looking back at you as he recollected the way your legs felt wrapped around his hips. 

Once you two were decent, Seungcheol hastily opened the door with an unenthusiastic look drawn across his face. His sailors had a penchant for choosing the worst possible times to get his attention, and one of those times was right now. However, once the captain laid eyes upon Yoon Jeonghan, who was scowling from under his hood, he immediately realized the gravity of the situation. He ushered them in quickly and closed the door before anyone else in the tavern noticed what was going on.

“Release him already,” commanded Seungcheol, who was wondering why Jeonghan was required to be held in place by three men; Soonyoung and Seokmin pinned his arms down his sides while Seungkwan had a hand clamped over his mouth. It looked like a rather unconventional embrace that neither party found comfortable. 

“Are you mad?” Jeonghan’s words dripped with scorn as he backed up from the five of them. He readjusted his hood so that his face was concealed properly before asking, “What business could you possibly have with me, pray tell, that necessitates surrounding and accosting me in a public bathhouse?”

The three men were met with awfully scandalized looks from you and Seungcheol. 

“We were clothed!” Seokmin tried, frantically. “We gave him a chance to listen, but the lunatic tried stabbing us!” 

“That could have marked the eighth time Seungkwan has been stabbed,” Soonyoung said, gesturing to the pirate who was nodding along solemnly. “Consider how he feels.”

Jeonghan, however, remained unimpressed. “Be grateful that was all I did. Had I thought you were an actual threat, I would have gouged out your eyeballs back there.”

“Putting… that matter aside,” Seungcheol started, hesitating before turning to face Jeonghan directly, “I have wanted to speak with you.” He spared you a quick glance. “We both have, actually.”

Rattled, Jeonghan straightened up. “Me? Whatever you wish to—”

“You are an assassin, too, are you not?” you blurted out. 

Seungcheol and his men exchanged appalled looks from behind you. Neither of them said anything but simply backed away to show that they had no intentions of asking the question you raised. Really, at this rate, they were doing a better job to mask your identity than you were. 

Moreover, Yoon Jeonghan already suspected the five of them were mad for basically abducting him, and now whatever you were spewing was making the lot of you look even worse. 

Jeonghan returned your question with an even stare, void of emotion. Just when Seungcheol thought your lack of subtlety couldn’t get any worse, you pulled the amulet with the assassin’s insignia off your neck and thrust it in the man’s direction. 

“A Hidden One,” he echoed. “So, you must be here for the same reason as I am, then,” Jeonghan, much to their surprise, said with traces of amusement in his tone. “This little exploit of yours surely contravenes the Creed, no?”

“No,” you replied. “I have not betrayed the Brotherhood.”

“An assassin must never compromise the Brotherhood,” Jeonghan recited in a dark voice. 

“I have not. I can promise you that my alliance with these pirates is trustworthy.”

“Then, where did they send you from?”

“France, but I came here out of my own accord.” You pointed your blade in his direction. That was right; only Seungcheol knew of your personal ties to this mission. “Now tell us where you came from.”

“Easy now.” Jeonghan held up his hands in surrender, a grimace on his face. “Syria.”

(“Terrible assassins, these two,” Seungkwan muttered. “No one practices proper anonymity these days.”

Soonyoung hummed in agreement. “Must run in their brotherhood.”)

Jeonghan pulled off his hood, revealing his dark hair that he kept tied back, and you slowly lowered your weapon. “How long have you known of my occupation?” 

“I had my suspicions. I believed you to either be a Templar Knight or an assassin. Yet, were you a knight, you would not take kindly to seeing us right now,” you explained. “Seungcheol and I were attacked by a group of Templar Knights a few days ago. We had been attempting to track you down due to my hunch, but you were imperceptible—just like an assassin.” You then asked, “Are you aware of what is unfolding in Sevilla?”

“I am indeed. The Templar Order intends to bring everyone here under their command tomorrow. If you value your safety, I advise you all to leave the city without delay.”

“We will not,” Seungcheol spoke up. “We will see this to the end. I have already put my life on the line for this.”

“There is no time,” Jeonghan said. “After tomorrow, everyone will be under their control.”

“They have the Apple of Eden!” you blurted out, your tone bordering on desperation. Appalled, the man fixed you with an unsettled look. “We only wish to know what you know.”

Jeonghan eyed them all carefully, eyes flitting from one body to the next. Then, he said, “It is a long story.” 

Although he looked reluctant to share, with their persuasion, he started to speak.

As Jeonghan started explaining, Seungcheol was almost convinced that the man was telling them some made-up story he created in his head. It sounded absolutely ridiculous, but his description of the Pieces of Eden matched up exactly with the way you recounted it.

According to the man, before humanity existed, there was an ancient civilization called the Isu—creators of the First Civilization. The Isu had capabilities and technological advancements far beyond our imagination, and they were the ones to craft the Pieces of Eden that had now been scattered across the world, holding unfathomable power. 

Jeonghan happened to be a descendent of the Isu. This was only discovered once he joined the Assassin’s Brotherhood, but he possessed the ability to sense the Pieces of Eden. The assassin, with Isu blood running in his veins, could feel the power of the artifacts when he was close. The only problem was, he couldn’t tell exactly where they would be—just a general idea. 

He then drew what the Apple of Eden was supposed to appear like on the floor, using his finger to trace the circular artifact and its intricate engravings.

“Oh, it is a ball,” Soonyoung observed. “I thought it would look more, er, appetizing.”

Jeonghan gave him a strange look. “Did you believe it would be an actual apple?”

“Or… apple-shaped, I suppose. It is in the name, is it not?”

Jeonghan ignored him and went on to ask, “You are certain the Templar Order is in possession of the Apple?”

“Yes,” Seungcheol replied. “We saw it with our own eyes.”

“The odd thing is… I feel its presence here.”

“What? You feel it in this room?”

“Its presence is not as strong in this precise location, yet whenever I approach this inn, I can sense that the Apple is here. I had once thought the Templars came here in search of the artifact, but now I believe they came to ensure that none others could claim it for themselves.”

“You believe it is hidden in this inn?” you asked, distraught. “Why would they hide an object of such importance here?”

“No one would suspect an inn,” Jeonghan said, “and no matter how long I have spent looking for it—sneaking into rooms here and watching Templar Knights turn out pockets—I cannot seem to find it.”

“There must be a hidden room of some sort, then,” Seungkwan said. “It must be like finding treasure. Treasure maps only provide the general layout, never the height or depth for where the riches lay.”

A shiver ran through Seungcheol’s body as a strange, foreboding feeling came over him. 

Astonished, you turned to Seungkwan with wide eyes, lips framing words that you hesitated to say for a moment. “The Apple could be above or below us.” 

Now, Jeonghan’s face was hard, taking on a serious tone laced with urgency when he asked, “Is there a cellar here? Or an attic?”

“I can go ask Joshua,” Seungcheol replied. “The rest of you should check the stables or—”

“Do that, but I have something to take care of,” Jeonghan said curtly. “If you find the Apple, make sure it stays in the right hands until I return. Remember: We do not breathe a word about the Pieces of Eden to anyone else. Understood?”

“What are you going to do?”

“I want to put an end to this right away.”

They had a plan, and it was set in motion. 

Alright, they sort of had a plan. 

Seungcheol was scouring the tavern to find Joshua, you and Seokmin were looking around the stables, and Soonyoung and Seungkwan were checking all of the rooms. On the bright side, most of the travellers were outside for Sábado Santo (although the atmosphere was eerily quiet from the vigils), so most of the rooms were unoccupied at the moment. It just so happened to be the perfect day for them to search the inn from top to bottom. That was, if they managed to find the artifact. Seungcheol was quite disheartened that Jeonghan, the only one who knew how to pick up on the energy from the Pieces of Eden, was the one who went out on his own. 

After asking Chan and several other workers about Joshua’s whereabouts, Seungcheol finally stumbled upon him in the kitchen where his friend was noting down the morning inventory. The innkeeper looked shocked to see the pirate with a heaving chest and flushed cheeks, and he raised an eyebrow in mild surprise.

“What trouble have you found yourself in now?” Joshua asked, his tone remaining lighthearted, but his expression quickly shifted once he realized that Seungcheol wasn’t pulling his leg. “What is all this about, Seungcheol?”

He cut straight to the point. “I need to know if this inn has a hidden chamber somewhere—perhaps a cellar or an attic.”

“There is a cellar, though it has not been used in ages,” Joshua told him, brows knitting together into a frown. Deep concern hung in his voice when he asked, “Why do you ask?”

“I must see it at once. Do you still have the key?”

It took Joshua a while to sift through several drawers and cupboards, searching for the old, rusted key that looked as if it was about to crumble into pieces. Seungcheol was anxious as he watched Joshua insert it in the keyhole, half-expected it to split in half, but then the innkeeper pulled open the door to the cellar with a loud creak that made the pirate swallow thickly. 

“What is this about again?” Joshua held a large oil lamp to illuminate their way down the stairs, the wood under their feet creaking as they walked. The cellar smelled of mildew and something foul—as if something had died in there. He couldn’t imagine how many rodents and small animals had gotten in over the years. “If it concerns my inn, I would rather not be left in ignorance.”

At the foot of the steps, the space below opened up to a cluttered assortment of tables and books stacked on top of each other. He moved a marble paperweight to look at the stack of papers that were sitting around. Seungcheol examined some of them closely, trying to make out the handwriting in the dim light, but some of the documents were simply illegible. That was when he spotted parchment on the table with diagrams drawn in ink; most of the papers were full of scribbles and arrows pointing every which way, but there was something in particular that stood out to Seungcheol.

The Apple of Eden.

It was scrawled so messily, but once Seungcheol made out the words, he couldn’t mistake it for anything else. The drawing looked exactly as Jeonghan depicted and the same as he saw on the Templar Knight, too. 

It had to be a Codex page.

Horrifyingly enough, when Seungcheol took a closer look at the mess across the desk, he came to realize that this cellar didn’t look as abandoned as he formerly thought. In fact, judging by the empty cup with dregs sitting at the bottom, someone had been here recently. 

“I will explain everything soon,” Seungcheol told Joshua, albeit being completely distracted with his discovery, “but are you sure no one has—”

Just before he was about to finish his sentence, Seungcheol spotted something out of the corner of his eye. Something that made his stomach feel like a never-ending pit—falling, and falling, and falling. He could hardly move for a second, a cold wash sweeping down his back. 

Draped over the head of a chair was the exact white tunic donned by the Templar Knights. 

Seungcheol turned to look back at his friend, who was observing quietly from where he leaned against the wall. Slowly, the corner of Joshua’s mouth curved upward in faint amusement. 

On Holy Thursday, Jesus was betrayed by his closest disciple. 

On Holy Thursday, Joshua Hong was the Templar Knight that attacked him. 

“How did this come to be here?” Seungcheol’s voice was oddly steady as he held up the Codex page, although he had to speak over his racing heartbeat. Something froze him in place and sent a chill down his spine. In his head, he was still hoping there was another answer to all of this, that his dear friend was simply joking around. “Tell me, Joshua.”

“Why, I placed it there myself,” was his smooth answer, shrugging as he said it. 

“This was entirely your doing?”

“I confess, I never anticipated that you would ally yourself with an assassin,” he said, letting out a long-winded sigh. “It was never in my interest to turn on a friend—”

“You betrayed me,” Seungcheol interjected out of dismay. “My God. You have been feigning friendship, pretending to offer me food and shelter out of the goodness of your heart, yet all the while, you have been waiting to stab me in the back. Tell me, was it you? Were you the one who attacked us? Was it you who was present at the Alcazár?”

With that, Joshua reached behind him to pull out the small golden ball—the Apple of Eden—glowing faintly in the musty cellar. He confirmed Seungcheol’s gut feeling with a sick smile. 

The pirate let out a threadbare breath.

“Does this answer your questions?”

Seungcheol’s chest swelled with fury. “How did you—”

“To be perfectly candid, it was far too easy,” he crowed. “You led the assassin directly to me, making it simple to ascertain your whereabouts. What truly surprises me, however, is that you are acting surprised right now when I so plainly revealed my intentions.”

It was a cold punch to his gut. Time slowed to a crawl as Seungcheol thought back on his conversations with Joshua. Through the haze, the innkeeper’s words pierced into his chest and straight through his beating heart. 

“There must be order, if we are to make progress. Without reformation, we shall remain stagnant.”

“Bastard,” Seungcheol snarled through clenched teeth. Buried somewhere under layers of surging adrenaline and numbness was a mixture of dread and betrayal that he was sure to feel later once it sank deep in his bones. 

“You can join the right cause, Seungcheol,” he said, his face devoid of mirth now. “Do you truly believe the world should remain in such a state? The Templars share the same goal as your companion; we only seek peace for everyone.”

“You wish to eliminate free will and whatever threatens the control you wish to impose,” Seungcheol spat. “You aim to strip us of our freedom. This is not the ‘peace’ you claim to desire.”

“Do you truly believe that humans will not bring the world to ruination if given free will?”

“I believe that if you will not even give them a choice, then you will never know the outcome.”

“This is for the greater good, Seungcheol. We must steer humanity in the right direction.”

“What the hell would you know about the right direction? See reason, Joshua,” he begged. “We have known each other for many years now. This is not like you. What makes you think I would ever choose anything over my own freedom?” His tone took a cold edge when he added, “What makes you any different from the scum who took my aunt’s life?”

A muscle worked in Joshua’s jaw. “Stubborn to the very end. It appears we do not see eye-to-eye, then.”

“Then, what is it? Are you in league with the King? Is that the reason those documents spoke of punishing free speech and the pursuit of knowledge?”

“In league with the King?” Joshua parroted, a look of faux sympathy crossing his face. He held up the Apple of Eden with his fingertips, almost mocking the pirate. “My dear friend, I control the King. Every decision he makes is ultimately guided by my counsel.” 

Those glowing red eyes—it wasn’t a trick of the light. Everything that Seungcheol had seen was the work of Joshua’s manipulation, and the realization felt like a knife being pushed deeper inside him, inch by inch. He had to bite his tongue to keep himself from hurling curses that he knew would only make the situation worse. Seungcheol had to think. He had to pull himself together and decide what he needed to do next.

Earlier, he surrendered the artifact so easily to save your life, but now Seungcheol could only see vengeance ahead of him. He wouldn’t let this opportunity slip past his fingers again. 

Without any formal preamble, Seungcheol grabbed the marble paperweight off the desk and chuckled it right at the Apple of Eden, knocking the object from where it balanced on Joshua’s fingertips.

Joshua scoffed. “What are you—”

He was cut off by Seungcheol lunging at him, predator-like, and the two men were brawling on the cold, dusty floor of the cellar. The pirate straddled his body, pinning his chest down to deliver a hard blow to his jaw. There was a high-pitched ringing in his ears that was so loud that Seungcheol could hardly process the hits Joshua was landing on him, nor could he hear his own fist colliding with the Templar Knight’s face. 

Then, Seungcheol wrapped his hands around Joshua’s neck and strangled the man until he was red in the face. However, what he didn’t account for was that Joshua’s arm, which was raised over his head, had been trying to reach for the Apple of Eden that ended up rolling under a table.

Just as Seungcheol dug his nails into the tender flesh, Joshua slammed the metal ball against the pirate’s skull. Darkness curled at his vision, yet Seungcheol could still make out the knight murmuring something softly as he clutched the Apple.

Seungcheol grabbed the artifact to pry it out of Joshua’s hands, but the innkeeper didn’t look the least bit fazed throughout the struggle. Joshua used his legs to knock Seungcheol off-balance so that he was the one on top of the captain now. A malicious grin grew on the bastard’s face. 

“The Guardia Real will be here soon,” he taunted, “and His Majesty. Once they find you, they will give you a punishment befitting a lowly pirate.”

“And you shall not even have a gravestone to your name,” came your voice from behind Joshua. 

It all happened in a split second. You withdrew your hidden blade, jutting it in Joshua’s direction for him to dodge and grab your wrist. Seungcheol scuttled backward once Joshua’s weight wasn’t holding him down, and he looked around for something—anything—that he could use to help you out. 

Oh, that was right. The cloak. 

Seungcheol vividly recalled Joshua using a dagger against you that day. He slipped it back into the tunic when he had to put it away. In a haste, the pirate reached into the pockets of the tunic to pull out the dagger with the ruby-encrusted hilt. 

“Assassin, Hidden One, murderer—whatever you call yourself,” Joshua sneered. “I shall see to it that your corpse rots here for—”

It was then that Seungcheol momentarily let go of all fondness for his old friend and ran forward to drive the dagger straight into Joshua’s back.

“—eternity...”

He was normal for a breath—just the one. Then, Joshua stumbled forward, shakily, and then slowly turned around to look at Seungcheol. The Apple of Eden fell from his hands, his eyes following its path before he collapsed to the ground as he tried reaching for it. 

It was a pitiful sight to watch, really, but Seungcheol couldn’t tear his gaze away as Joshua clawed desperately at the artifact. This was a victory that Seungcheol couldn’t exactly celebrate because he had lost yet another friend, and it happened to be one that had been dear to his heart. 

“Seungcheol,” the innkeeper pleaded in a choked voice, “help me.”

Your eyes were sympathetic when Seungcheol looked at you, and you gave him a nod as if to assure him that you would handle the rest. He turned his head just in time so that he wouldn’t have to witness you finishing off Joshua Hong with your blade. 

Seungcheol only felt the passage of time start to move normally again much later; the events right after Joshua’s death were a bit of a blur, if he was going to be honest.

According to you, Jeonghan had come to find you after they all split up, confessing that he had always found Joshua to be suspicious. Apparently, he had been following the innkeeper for the past few days, but there was no reason for him to act upon that suspicion when he couldn't confirm anything. You ended up trailing Seungcheol and Joshua on your own because you couldn’t stop worrying while Jeonghan went to confirm his suspicions about a Templar Order base. 

As expected, there were several Templar Knights stationed in one of the buildings Joshua frequented, so Jeonghan called the Guardia Real on them. The knights were seized on charges of conspiracy after the building was searched, but Jeonghan was banking on the cellar under The Sleeping Bull to have more incriminating evidence. Seungcheol initially saw this as a rash decision, especially when he couldn’t let the guards get their hands on the Codex page, but he remembered the documents he had stolen from the King’s study. He had just enough time to replace the evidence, handing over the Codex page to you instead. 

Soonyoung, Seokmin, and Seungkwan rushed in afterward (ironically right before the Guardia Real stormed the building), and Seungcheol had never seen them so crestfallen upon discovering that Joshua was the one behind everything. 

You used the Apple of Eden yourself after that, lifting whatever manipulation it had over the King, and then you made sure to hide it before His Majesty entered with his guards. They seemed rather disoriented, to be honest; earlier, they were overcome with a compulsion to go to The Sleeping Bull, and now that impulse had disappeared into thin air. 

Still, they were all very shocked to see the five of them standing around Joshua’s corpse.

What an odd family reunion, Seungcheol thought as he gripped your hand tightly, but you refused to speak or lift your head. 

At first, they were being threatened with charges for conspiracy and crimes against the Crown, but once His Majesty spotted the documents that Seungcheol planted, a disturbed look crossed his face. Something told him that they wouldn’t be condemned to death today. 

Due to the ordeal, the five of them were escorted to the palace—not as prisoners, but as guests. Until everything got sorted out, they were shown the slightest bit of hospitality instead of a prison cell.

Seungcheol never expected to find himself in the King’s study once again with His Majesty, standing in the same place where you killed one of his guards. In fact, if he moved his foot and looked at the carpet, he could see the mark of a faded bloodstain that wouldn’t come all the way out. 

You were with his three sailors in one of the large bedchambers. Soonyoung, Seokmin, and Seungkwan were immediately swayed by the plates of food that were brought out for them, but you resorted to sitting stiffly in the corner until it was time to leave.

“You killed my guard,” King Philip V started in a stern voice, yet he didn’t sound like he was angry. He now had the full story that Seungcheol broke down for him (with your affiliation with the Assassin’s Brotherhood and the Pieces of Eden left out of the picture, of course). The pirate had to convince the King that Joshua’s involvement was not the work of an ancient artifact that controlled minds. “Not only did you disrespect me by sneaking into my palace, but you killed one of my men in this very room—right where you stand.”

It was actually you who killed his guard, but Seungcheol valiantly opted to take the blame instead. He wasn’t sure how your father would handle the truth about his daughter being an assassin, and he wasn’t keen on finding out. 

“To be fair, it was your guard who first attempted to take my life.”

The King let out a heavy, drawn-out sigh. “I suppose.”

He supposed? What a prick. 

Unexpectedly, His Majesty’s voice softened, taking on a tamer and gentler tone that almost sounded foreign. “Is Y/N well?”

Seungcheol stared at him, stunned. “You… you remember…”

“Of course. What father could fail to recognize his own child?” 

Perhaps one that abandoned her at such a young age, Seungcheol thought angrily, but he decided against vocalizing it.

“She is in good health,” Seungcheol assured, “but I do not believe she wishes to see you.”

The King sighed heavily, nodding in understanding. “That is only to be expected. A father should never forsake his child, which is why I cannot bring myself to punish you today. I have committed a transgression far greater than any that has occurred.”

“I do not believe you can undo the harm nor repair your relationship with your daughter, Your Highness, but a simple acknowledgement carries a great weight.”

“Back then, I could get everything I ever wanted, and it only cost me my precious child,” he told the pirate, “but, without her, I had nothing.”

It looked as if it hurt him to say, like a blade had slipped between his ribs as he was framing the words. And then, a sad smile crossed his face. 

“Is there anything as undoing as a daughter?”

Before Seungcheol could respond, there was a loud knock at the door. His Majesty commanded the palace guard to enter, and both Seungcheol and the King were shocked to see you by the guard’s side, your eyes cast down and the Distinguished Order of the Golden Fleece in your hands.

You looked up carefully, steeling yourself. “I wish to speak with you… father.”

The Crown’s Revenge was stationed proudly at the dock, its tall mast rising high over the crimson sails that flapped against the breeze. The mainsail billowed out as the wind filled it in, and as Seungcheol stood at the foot of the gangplank, he marvelled at the vessel’s impressive size. 

Following your conversation with the King, Seungcheol couldn’t exactly say there was no bad blood between you and your father anymore, but there was something brighter about your countenance now. Reuniting with him and healing old wounds must have done wonders for the grudges you held close to your heart, but you still had no intention of staying with your father and carrying out your duties as a princess. 

Your heart was elsewhere—with Seungcheol, with the sea. 

“She’s got more faces than a deck of cards,” Seungkwan had muttered when he found out about your royal upbringing. “Assassin, princess—what next? Pirate?”

It had not occurred to Seungkwan that you would be joining them on their voyage back to England, and when he was struck with the realization, he nearly turned over his dinner plate from his clamor. You had gotten rather close with his mates over the past few weeks, but they still harbored a fear that you could possibly murder them in cold blood whenever you wanted to. 

Seungcheol thought that it was perhaps a good thing that you kept them on their toes. 

As for Yoon Jeonghan, you returned the Apple of Eden to him, along with the Codex page that had been in the cellar. He left on a rather cryptic note, assuring that he would cross paths with you again, although neither of you were sure of his destination. You were adamant on leaving your life as an assassin behind, though, which meant that they would need to stop at France after sailing to England. 

His Majesty offered you riches beyond imagination. He clearly didn’t know what he could give you that would make up for years of separation, but you refused all of his gifts. Seungcheol, however, had a request that he could set aside his pride to ask for. That resulted in the five of them waiting two weeks for the kingdom to grant them a ship of their own. The rest of them were mortified by the name, but Seungcheol found it absolutely hilarious that he got the King to give him a ship called The Crown’s Revenge. It was something his aunt would’ve hollered at. Anything for the King’s daughter, he supposed. 

“You need not have used my idea for your ship’s name!” you exclaimed at the port, downright flustered. “I was just… I was simply—”

The pirate turned to see you with the wind blowing through your hair, a fierce look on your face. He couldn’t help but laugh—not because what you said was particularly amusing, but because he had never seen anyone look so beautiful whilst arguing.

“I did nothing of the sort,” Seungcheol said. “You named your own ship, Captain.”

Your entire body froze. “What?”

“This is a ship from your father, after all, and I believe the time has come for me to relinquish the role of captain. You have bested me more than enough times already.”

(“And now she’s a pirate, eh?” Seungkwan shook his head from where he was sitting on a crate, quietly observing all the while. “Funny how the tides turn.”

Soonyoung, however, was grinning ear-to-ear. “What are we bettin’ on next? Queen?”

“Shut it before she makes ye walk the plank,” Seokmin muttered back.)

“Choi Seungcheol,” you warned, “do not humor me.”

“You needn’t worry, mi corazón,” he told you with a gentle smile, taking the leather tricorn hat off of his head and placing it atop yours. “I have already made up my mind.”

“Cap’n!” Seungkwan called from afar, cupping his hand around his mouth to amplify the sound. You didn’t look quite sure if he was referring to you or Seungcheol until he scolded, “Try to not send us to Davy Jones’ locker in our sleep, aye?”

Your face broke into a smile. “Very well, but the blade shall remain with me!” you called back, raising your arm to show the hidden contraption that was still fixed under your sleeve. 

“Well, Captain,” Seungcheol started, straightening his back and squaring his shoulders, “I am following your command. Where would you like me stationed?”

“By my side,” you said, reaching up to hold the back of his neck and letting his forehead touch yours, “is that acceptable?”

“Of course.”

He leaned in, pressing his lips against yours—a quiet hunger that was never quite satisfied with just one taste. Cupping your cheek, though, Seungcheol knew that the way your lips felt against his was more valuable than any treasure he had coveted. It was the taste of freedom. 

Freedom was the wind in his face, the taste of salt in the sea, the ocean slipping through his hands like sand. In the grand scheme of things, people never truly changed across eons of history, but one thing rang true: The only way for humans to progress was to protect their freedom, to protect the freedom of others, and to rise against the resistance that threatened their freedom. Seungcheol had never been more certain of this until meeting you. It was so clear now; when he looked at the people celebrating in the streets of Sevilla, when he looked at the birds flying high in the sky, it was freedom that persisted above all. 

To him, freedom was you.

[starchants]

HIGH SPEED AND FULL THROTTLE

poly!fast-team x female!reader ; the team comes home.

word count — 629.

themes + warnings ; nothing but adorable fluff <3

author’s note — i’ve always kinda wondered what it would be like in a poly relationship with everyone of the crew so here is a small lil drabble about it! now to specify since i know some may bring up dom and mia being siblings, yes they are siblings and NO they are not in a relationship they simply share the reader along with their friends and NO they aren’t ever near each other in intimate moments either, i know that isn’t discussed here but i wanted to clarify that as well AND i can do a whole list of headcanons if anyone is interested <3!

support mention ; if you feel like supporting, a nice ‘like’ will suffice on my blog, i know some writers love to ask nicely if you could reblog or comment etc. yet on my blog (no hate towards them as everyone likes appreciation in different ways), but if you’d like to reblog or comment feel free after all this is a safe space for any fan-individual to have fun :’)

masterlist

the growling rumble of numerous cars surrounded the block causing the woman to grin softly to herself as she continued humming along to the voice of reba mcentire that swept through the kitchen. the warming smell of lemon pepper seasoned chicken, homemade mashed potatoes, fresh corn on the cob, and the cinnamon from the apple pie that had been finishing up baking in the oven had flooded through the kitchen of the toretto home. the grin stayed upon the woman’s lips as she moved around the kitchen to grab down the plates for the dinner before she moved towards the silverware drawer and grabbed some prior to heading out the back door, setting up everyone’s spots at the outside table as she heard the shared laughter reaching towards the front door.

“babe?” both dominic and brian had called out in sync as they entered first and couldn’t find their beloved girlfriend who usually greeted them at the door. mia chuckled softly as she took a sniff of the air and knew the woman was probably setting up for dinner, leading to her and letty rushing towards the kitchen in order to beat the boys to the greeting kisses. tej and roman were quick to realize what the girls were doing and quickly rushed after them leaving dom, brian, and han shaking their head and laughing at the antics of those four.

the trio soon found themselves in the kitchen with the rest of the crew who were trying to help y/n plate the food onto safe to carry dishes and help her carry them outside to the backyard table. “there y’all are! y’all had me worried!” y/n exclaimed with a wide grin and made her way through the crowd of her lovers towards the trio who willingly awaited her arrival kisses and gentle fussing checkovers to ensure that they weren’t hurt. “we’re alright sweetheart, don’t worry your pretty little head over that.” han replied while placing a gentle kiss upon her forehead making the woman gleefully giggle at her man’s actions. the h/c woman was quick to grab at brian’s hand and hold it gently in hers as she quietly with a grin on her face dragged him out the back door of the house with her. dominic and han were quick to follow the pair outside and notice that the rest of the lovable idiots were passing around the drinks that were in the nearby cooler.

“alright which one of y’all wanna say grace?” the woman questioned as roman pulled out her chair as she went to move to do it herself while letting go of brian’s hand as he went to grab himself a drink. she sat down between roman and tej with mia and brian next to the pair of them and letty with dominic and han across from them. y/n found herself filled with so much love in this moment as she watched her lovers all glance at each other and childishly point fingers at each other trying to get the others to say grace.

she simply grasped her hands together and started grace for the lot of them over the dinner that she lovingly prepared for her hungry law-unbinding loves of her life. this time though they all had their heads bowed and only y/n had her eyes shut, all of them stared at her as they all silently wondered how she did it. how did she find the time, energy, and love in her heart to love and provide for them all the very best that she could without any hesistation whatsoever? their beloved girlfriend deserved to be pampered and spoiled after tonight’s dinner and they were going to do just that — just like they always do.

[kassiekole22]

Joy Ride

𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐

𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐

Pairing: Brian O'Conner X Fem!Reader

Description: Brian finds you walking home late one night and offers you a ride, which turns into a night-long joy ride around Miami.

Warnings: Fluff, Speeding, Friends Or Future Lovers? (You Decide)

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: Sooooo, I watched 2 Fast 2 Furious for the first time a around a month ago and this guy has been on my mind ever since. I have always really loved Paul Walker so this was bound to happen eventually. 😂 I don't know if I plan to write more for him or if this will just be a one time thing, but I have been working on this fic for quite some time now and I'm happy to finally be posting it. More to come from other beloved characters soon! Enjoy the fic and if you want more Brian O'Conner fics in the future, let me know in the comments or inbox! 🖤 (Also did any of you get the reference in the name? 👀)

Main MasterList: 🖤

Kassie's Angels: @mornandil, @lorebite.

(If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know in the comments! 🖤)

𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐

2002

The air is pretty cool for a night in Miami, but I don't mind. I walk with my hands in the pockets of my hoodie, protecting them from the slight chill. It's nothing too intense, but I haven't been used to being in cooler temperatures for awhile now.

I walk quickly down the sidewalk as a few cars pass from time to time. The sounds of their engines make my fingers and feet tingle a little, my body missing the feeling of the steering wheel gripped in my fingers and the gas pedal under my foot.

I wrecked pretty badly during my last race, resulting in my car becoming too banged up to drive. Most street racers have other cars to fall back on. Unfortunately for me, my girl was all I had. Now I'm left to walk on foot until I can get enough money to fix her.

The ambiance in the street is pretty calm until I hear the familiar rumble of a very specific engine approaching my side. To my surprise, that iconic silver and blue Nissan Skyline pulls up, slowing down to drive at my walking speed. But the slick paint job or glowing underbody isn't what makes it difficult to look away. The driver is none other than the man who beat me in my last race, Brian O'Conner.

I'm met with a kind smile as he rolls down his windows, his bright blue eyes glancing up at me from the shadows of the interior. There is just something about that man that draws me in. I could never tell what exactly it was, but it pulled me in his direction like a bee to a flower every time I was in the same location as him.

"Ey, need a ride?" He queries in a rasied voice, nearly shouting over the Skyline's growl.

Though it's tempting, I don't want to throw a wrench in any plans he may have. Knowing him, he has another street race or date to get to at this hour. So, despite the aching pain in my feet that is screaming in protest, I respond casually, "Nah, man. I'm good. Home's not too far away anyway, y'know?"

Even though it wouldn't take him too long, it would be pretty pointless to drive only a couple blocks anyway. He takes a mere second to let my words sink in and find an answer, his eyes hopeful as they are taken off the road and landing on me once more.

"We don't gotta take you home. The night's still—" He checks his watch, and his eyes widen slightly as he realizes the time. "—Well, middle-aged, but that don't gotta stop the fun."

I can't contain a faint chuckle at his dumb joke, rolling my eyes as I do so. The next thing I know, my feet are subconsciously coming to a stop, and he gently lays on the brakes. His car is also stopping right beside where I now stand, but the engine still purrs softly to alert all of its consciousness.

"Ah, c'mon, girl. Let's live a little, eh?" He flashes me that dangerous half-smirk that beckons me forward into mischief. It now dawns on me that he might not have the intention of taking me home, which is intriguing in a way.

I contemplate my options for a moment. The only thing waiting for me at home is a couple bottles of beer and some cold pizza left in the fridge from the night prior. It seems like I've been spending most of my time alone lately. Maybe it would be good to spend some time in good company.

"Alright," I give in with a subtle but still noticeable sigh, backing down in my mental debate.

He reaches across and opens the passenger door for me as I round the car, its headlights illuminating me for a brief moment as I cross in front of the bumper before hoping into the seat offered to me. It felt weird being in the left seat and not having a steering wheel before me. I could never get used to those foreign imported cars. 

But regardless, it sure is a beauty. The leather interior smells oddly fresh and calming, with a faint hint of exhaust filtering through the open windows. It's clear he just cleaned her up. Brian was always the type to take care of his rides.

I pull the seatbelt across my chest and lock it in securely, mentally preparing myself for the wild ride I know damn well he is about to take me on. He looks at me and flashes me that cocky yet proud smile as he revvs the engine for only a moment before taking off into the night.

With windows down and speed carrying us, I feel like I'm floating on air. The soft breeze I felt only moments ago is now a fast wind in my hair, and the soft ambiance of the nightlife in Miami is now disturbed by a machine growl.

I glance over at him, and it's as if time slows for just a minute as I take in how happy he is. He's a simple man. He doesn't need the fancy things in life, just a fast car to make the corners of his lips part into that iconic grin I have grown to love.

"Wanna get fuckin' nuts?" He asks me, his voice taking me out of my thoughts and putting me back into reality. That's when I notice that mischievous look in his ocean blue eyes, their pupils blown wide with adrenaline.

Hm... Blue and full of adrenaline, like the blood pumping in our veins.

"What?" I blurt out, not fully comprehending what he is asking, until my gaze wanders down to where his thumbs hovers over the nitro buttons.

I look at the road ahead, seeing that it is completely barren of all life, and I can't help but smirk at the thought of what he is suggesting. It's a dangerous game—playing with speed in such a way—but a thrilling one, for sure.

Taking my eyes off the road ahead to look back at him, I notice the hopeful glint once again in his eyes, only pushing my thought process toward wanting to comply. So without a second breath, I cheer, "Fuck yeah!"

With a simple click of two buttons at once, we are off like a rocket in space. Suddenly, the street lights look like comets, and the lines on the road are just blurs of colors. It's oddly beautiful in a way, and I marvel at how it ignites my soul with such a unique feeling, which I can't possibly seek from anything else. My fingers dig into the sides of my seat as my heart pounds against my ribcage like thunder, both overwhelmed but thirsty for more of this intoxicating rush.

Though Brian only lets this last for a moment, just seconds passed that will remain with me for an eternity. We laugh as the car slows to a semi-normal speed again. My smile is so wide, I can feel my face begin to hurt.

But I don't care. I am just so high on the thrill that my mind is lost in a cloudy space of euphoria. It's crazy how the night went from a quiet walk home to taking a joy ride with one of my rivals, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

Once our laughter dies down, the soft purr of the engine is the only thing heard yet again as we both seemingly get lost in our own thoughts. What is he thinking? I wish I knew. The only thing on my mind is how happy I am. It isn't until a couple minutes later that he speaks his mind, taking a deep breath before his lips finally form the words he has been pondering.

"We should do this more often," he suggests in that nonchalant tone he carries quite regularly for someone with such excitement in his life. "Y'know, hang out outside the racing world? You're a cool girl."

I can't repress how my smile softens for a moment at his words as my eyes flick over in his direction while a million responses filter through my mind. This guy is a legend—a local celebrity, if you will. To have this opportunity is an honor. However, I don't necessarily get the vibe of entitlement from him. Instead, his atmosphere reflects something else—something friendly and inviting.

"And you're a cool guy. I'd love to hang with you more often." I reply, trying to sound chill but coming off way more sincere than intended. Though he doesn't seem to mind, in fact, he seems to be pleased with my response.

The next thing I know, he is pulling into a public beach. Its sands are abandoned by any human life due to the lateness of time, though the footprints of the visitors that day still remain like ghosts of the past, their memories carved in the sand until they get washed away by the waves.

He locks the car in park, unhooks his seatbelt, and gets out. I watch through the windshield as he rounds the side of it to rest back on the hood. My eyes study him as he lifts himself to sit on the hood, not once looking back to see if I leave the car as well. It's almost as if he expects me to.

So to fulfill his silent expectations, I swing my door open and hop out after freeing myself from my seatbelt, nearly stumbling as the ground is unexpectedly unsteady where I stand. My feet sink into the sand, and I'm grateful I chose to wear boots tonight over anything else.

Once out of my sticky situation, I take a moment to appreciate the freshness in the air—the sweet smell of the ocean before me for just a second. After approaching him, I rest beside him on the hood, watching the waves crash before us. It reminds me that life is quite like the sea. It's unpredictable, a little scary at times, but beautiful in many unique ways. I release a soft breath, my body relaxing in this calming moment.

"I remember the first time I saw you pull up in that black Trans Am to the race. Fuckin' engine and bass on your stereo roaring over the sound of the crowd." He chuckles while he reminisces about old memories.

"Buni," I correct him as I smile fondly, thinking about the beauty that's currently under a tarp in my garage, just waiting to be repaired and set free on the road once again.

"Yeah, Buni." He parrots me in an almost teasing way. I know he finds the fact that I named my car ridiculous, but I can see it in his eyes that it amuses him all the same. "You're something else, (L/N). A damn good racer, though."

My heart flutters at the compliment, and I feel my cheeks heat up with this familiar warmth that only he ignites in me best. The soft breeze blows through my hair as I think of a reply, running through my strains like an angel's fingertips. But it's not the breeze nor the location that has me in such a calm and joyful state.

I continue to study him—the way his blonde curls blow in the breeze, the corners of his lips turning up ever so slightly to show his contentment, his biceps flexing ever so slightly as he crosses his arms over his chest. It amazes me how all the different shades of blue in his iris reflect the scene before us. It's like I could literally drown in them each time I gaze into them to admire their beauty.

"Yeah? You and your Skyline ain't so bad either." I finally quip with a small bit of sarcasm dripping from my tone after forcing myself out of where my mind has disappeared to for a short time. He smiles softly at my words, because it's evident how I really feel about him. He knows, and I know that, but I don't really care anymore.

We talk until sunrise and watch as the black sky fades into orange and pink, blending with the stars to make them barely visible. Though they are out of sight, I know they still shine brightly above us, like angels waiting for us in heaven. It's quite special—maybe even magical.

The sea reflects the morning sun as it rises from the horizon, its golden rays shining upon us as we remain on the hood of the car. It's just us out here in our own little world. If I learned anything from last night, it's not the place that makes a moment special, but the person you share it with.

I don't know where this road will take us. I know it will be a long one—with plenty of traffic and bumps ahead—but the ride will be an enjoyable one with a new friend in the seat next to me as we speed through it all. And if we happen to get separated some point along the way, I know in my heart that I'll see him again.

𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐

[evermoresversion]

LIAR, BRIAN O'CONNER.

A/N I just watched fast and furious 1 for the first time and oh my god i fell more in love with this beautiful human being.

PAIRING Brian O'Conner x Fem!Reader

TW/TAGS Angsty, betrayal but fluff at the end.

SUMMARY You find out that Brian was an undercover cop who was only investigating you and your family but he really fell for you.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN | BRIAN'S MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

The Torettos and Letty had met you at a race, Dom and Letty both liked your driving so you competed against her.

When you won and she was about to give you her car keys you told her to keep it, deciding that you were fine that way, so Dom decided he wanted you on his team.

You worked at the Toretto's store and coincidentally over time a blonde with blue eyes came daily for his tuna sandwich.

A horrible sandwich, by the way. Nobody liked the tuna there, Vince's words, not yours.

Mia realizing this, once Brian left after finishing the sandwich, smiled knowingly.

"He likes you." She decreed approaching you, you decided to play dumb like you didn't know what she was talking about.

"What? I don't think so." you denied turning over the magazine you were reading, she took it out of your hands.

"It's more than clear, I mean, have you seen yourself? You're super hot." she added and you denied smiling.

"Maybe it's another reason why he come to eat those horrible sandwiches." you winced at the thought of the first and last time you tried them.

"They're disgusting." both laughed agreeing. "But seriously, he likes you, at least he's attracted to you."

You sighed without saying anything, biting the inside of your cheek.

"Is Mia right?" you thought.

A few days had passed in which Brian had officially joined the team, when he went to the first barbecue that y'all organized every Sunday.

You both sent each other some meaningful looks. He couldn't stop looking at you, and you avoided his gaze out of embarrassment, but with a smile on your lips that let him know that you noticed his looks.

While the boys were watching a movie, you and Mia took care of the dishes even though you insisted that you could alone.

When Brian entered the kitchen Mia looked at you and nudged your shoulder covertly.

And you looked at her trying to tell her to calm down.

"May I help you with something?" He asked more than anything looking at you, and Mia took the opportunity to leave you both alone.

"Yes, actually I have a headache, good night y/n, good night Brian."

"Bye." you murmured going back to washing the dishes.

"Where I come from who cooks doesn't clean." He mentioned and came over to your side, drying the dishes after you washed them.

"I really enjoy doing it." you nodded without looking at him.

"You know what I don't enjoy?" he asked looking directly at you, you hummed to keep him talking. "that you never look me in the eye."

"What? That's not true." You denied, still without looking at him.

"Then do it, look at me." he ordered, and you put your shame aside to do it.

But it didn't last long because shame returned and you looked away, with a smile on your lips.

"See?! You can't do it." he mocked and when you finished washing the dishes you threw a rag in his face.

"It's just that you're too handsome." You said and quickly regretted it, where was your shame now?

"Handsome?" your face was literally a tomato. But that didn't stop him from walking up to you, tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear, and looked at you in the most beautiful way you've ever been looked at in your life. "Then you are gorgeous."

His ocean blue eyes looked into yours and honestly you could drown and die happily.

He leaned towards your face, and a little brush of lips made you join your lips in a kiss that was slow at first, but it became more passionate when he put his hand on the back of your neck to hold you in place.

A few minutes later they separated with a smile on their lips and continued cleaning.

At the end of the day you ended up kissing him and with a pending date.

The whole team was in the Desert Race. It was night and Dom asked you to help them and the others to steal some trucks that had waited too long to do it.

"I feel like something is going to go wrong." you murmured biting your lip anxiously and Letty nodded agreeing with you.

"We shouldn't be doing this without Jesse."

Dom asked you to calm down and so y'all went to start the mission.

The hours passed and you reached the trucks. And it all went horribly wrong.

Vince ended up with a shotgun wound to the abdomen, his arm totally bruised, and Letty was thrown off the road, causing her car to crash.

When Brian and Mia arrived to help y'all, Letty was in Leon's car.

You were next to Vince, on the side of the road. Brian reached for his phone to call an ambulance or something.

But his words left you stunned.

He was a cop. And he hid that from you.

He lied to you.

He looked at you with his blue eyes, hoping you weren't angry or upset with him.

But what you felt was beyond that.

When the call ended you got up to get away from there.

And he followed you.

"y/n! wait."

"What for? So that you continue lying to me?" you faced him, looking into his eyes.

"I'm sorry." I was going to take your hand but you took it away denying.

"You're just a liar." You declared looking at him with tears in your eyes thinking that probably everything he had told you that he felt for you was also a lie.

And he answered you as if he was reading your thoughts.

"Everything I told you, my feelings for you are true." he confessed taking one of your cheeks. "Please believe me."

You denied at first, unable to look at him, but he raised your face by the chin, bringing his face closer to yours. He stopped long enough for you to pull away, but when you didn't, he kissed you.

Just like your first kiss.

And even if you wanted to avoid it you couldn't, you were totally and irrevocably in love with Brian O'Conner.

disclaimer ── evermoresversion © 2023.

[littlespace-imagines]

Hii! Could you do a poly Masky and Hoodie x little reader fluff? 😋

I absolutely love that you write nonsexual littlespace! I may or may not have read multiple fics, multiple times from you 😊

Cg!Masky x little!reader x Cg!Hoodie

Contains: fluff, established relationships, poly!Tim and Hoodie x reader, Tim had a hard time and needs some care, reader gets woken up by these two idiots.

“Scoot ‘em over.”

“No, we can’t they’ll wake up.”

“So what? They’ll fall back to sleep.”

“Dammit, Tim, it’ll take forever to get em back to sleep!” The small argument woke you up more than if the men had just moved you, you rubbed your eyes and them flutter open. The room was still dark, save for a burning candle on the nightstand. The familiar masked men standing there still arguing as you sat up.

“Daddy? Papa? You’re home?” You mutter sleepily, Hoodies gloved hands are the first to ruffle your hair as press a kiss to the side of your head.

“Sure am, pretty. We are home.” Brian replied, shooting a glare to the white-masked clad man who moved to rub his temples.

“Scoot over, baby.” Tim said softly and you obliged, giving them enough space to sit on the bed. They each tugged off their respective masks and Brian reached over and ran a hand through Tim’s hair the stressed man clearly relaxing a bit at the reassuring contact. Tim turned to look at you, tugging his gloves off as his hand instantly sought the soft flesh of your cheeks. Desperate to feel you and remind himself he’s home. He’s free of the operator even for just seconds.

Brian is already moving, changing into pajamas and fluffing the pillows. The two men had a difficult mission, the kind where they wondered if there was any end to the hell they lived in, but the fact you were here waiting to cuddle between them it reassured them they were doing something right. To have your love, your trust, your dependence obviously meant there was still something left of their souls and hearts.

Tim doesn’t remember changing but you saw how Brian helped him, you saw Brian whisper sweet things in his ear as he helped Tim lay down, you instantly cuddled into his side bringing Tim back in pilot of his body, a weary smile crossing his face.

“You guys think I can sleep in the middle tonight?” Tim asks, you and Brian both look at him.

“Tim, you don’t even gotta ask.” Brain says and you nod, you can feel Tim’s body relax and he nods.

“Just checking.” He mumbles and you lay your head on his shoulder.

“I just… need my loves.” He mumbles, a kiss pressing into your forehead as Brian slides into bed, receiving his forehead kiss with a hum. Brian throws one of his firm arms over the both of you, guiding you all into a laying position.

“And your loves need you, Tim.” Brian mumbled into the other man’s hair, he felt you nod into Tim’s shoulder.

“Goodnight Daddy, Goodnight Papa, love you both.” You mumbled sleepily.

“Sweet dreams, sweetie, love you so much.”

“G’night baby. I love you too.”

You hear before Brian blows out the candle, the room washing dark with only the sound of your breathing filling it until you all drift to sleep cuddled up.

[johnlennonswifey]

Since I haven’t been posting, I’ve decided I’ll make a little list of some of my favorite fics!!

🎸= All time fav

——

THE BEATLES-

John Lennon

70s!John x Reader 🎸

Mustache John x Reader

Paul McCartney

Paul x Reader (love letter) 🎸

Paul x Reader (Part 2 of 2)

George Harrison

Jealous!George x Reader 🎸(literally my fav fic ever)

Comfort!George x Reader

George x Reader (somewhat Friends to lovers?)

Ringo Starr

Teddy Boy!Ringo x Reader

Ringo x Assistant!Reader

Ringo x Reader (fluffy)

Ringo x Reader (Married, dinner with parents)🎸

QUEEN-

Roger Taylor

Roger x Reader (childhood friends to lovers)🎸

Roger x Reader (fluff)

Roger x Reader (fluff and more,(Roger gets hurt)) 🎸

John Deacon

John x Reader (John is readers handyman, I love this fic with all my heart pls read it)🎸

John x Reader (Series, 6/10 parts are out, I definitely recommend reading)🎸

Brian May

Brian x Reader (fluff)

Brian x Reader (Queen becomes a Hit)🎸

Brian x Reader (fluff)

Blurbs-

Beatles Blurb

[the-s1lly-corner]

Creepypasta Masterlist Vol. 4

It's that time again! The previous masterlist is full, if not nearly full! But I have some news to share! Now that I'm writing romantic for a few characters, they will now be given their own sections in the masterlist! Hooray! There will still be an other section for characters, whether me not writing romantic for them or them not being very popular! As per usual you can find the other creepypasta volumes in my pinned under the masterlist section! you can also find the rules there so if youre interested, give them a read! do note that as of the day im writing this (5/24/24), i work on a queue system so be aware it may take a while for your request to become public! you can always ask what day to expect it! with all that being said! p.s. if you're ever unsure for what creepypastas i will write for, just ask! putting it out there though that i do not write for offender, julius, or clockwork (clockwork is just personal stuff for me, as far as im aware there isnt much problematic with her or the creator) (dont quote me on that though, because i dont keep up with the creators all that much AS OF AUGUST 29TH THIS LIST IS COMPLETE

Multi

Various crps x sculptor reader

Various x reader who does horror pod costs

Pocky w/ various crps

Various x streamer reader

Various crushing on the reader 1/2

Various crushing on the reader 2/2

Ej, masky,hoodie x picky eater reader

Sleepover at slender mansion

various crps x reader with moles and freckles

various x reader who has leg pains

various x reader who struggles with self care

slenderman and lj x reader who sleeps a lot

various x reader who has anxiety

ej and nina x reader who has psoriasis

petnames remake

various x slasher fan!reader

ticci toby, masky, and tim getting comfort from the reader

masky and hoodie when their child gets hurt protecting them

ej and ticci toby x ballerina!reader

calling various crps pretty boy

various crps w/ reader who struggles with self care 2

masky and hoodie x pregnant reader

various x caseoh!reader

leaving lipstick marks on them 1/2

Making a pillow fort w/ various

leaving lipstick marks on them 2/2

drawing each other 1/2

drawing each other 2/2

ej and brian x oblivious reader

giving lj masky and splendor kisses before going out

carrying/being carried when injured (jeff, masky, toby, lj)

giving various crps flowers

getting them treats (slender, nina, lj, bloody painter)

kissing ninas, bloody painters, and maskys scars

various x reader who cant cook

putting your hands in the pockets when youre cold

various crps x reader who can take their head off

various x picky eater!reader

kissing jane and nina

various x injured reader who doesnt realize theyre injured

laughing jack eyeless jack and puppeteer celebrating the readers birthday after its forgotten

masky hoodie and ticci toby x lactose intolerant reader

LJ, masky, hoodie x reader who has a sweet tooth

jeff nina and hoodie x bimbo!reader

dancing w/ slender splendor and bloody painter

Slenderman

x angel reader

x male immortal reader

i n p (angst alphabet)

y t ♥ (fluff alphabet)

Splendorman

n s x fluff alphabet

Laughing Jack

body swap prompt

X scene reader

X mime reader

X reader who dyes their hair a lot

X reader with curly hair

x reader who is clingy and has abandonment issues

accidentally making sensitive reader cry

x ball jointed doll reader

x bubbly trad goth reader

Eyeless Jack

X cute reader who likes sweets

X vampire reader

X reader who dresses in menhera/yami kawaii

x popular!fem!reader (human/collage au/pre monster jack)

x demon reader who eats raw animals

saving him from the cult and life after

w y s (fluff alphabet)

x reader who has father issues

x reader who is a professional figure skater

x sick reader

x ftm reader w/ dysphoria

boo, haunted house, and snacks (fall prompts)

Jeff the Killer

Platonic jeff x teen reader

X slasher fan reader

z d r (fluff alphabet)

w e y (fluff alphabet)

k j z (fluff alphabet)

Ticci Toby

X mom friend reader

reuniting with him

r y l (fluff alphabet)

v x i (fluff alphabet)

toby x fem!reader except youre both oblivious

scary movie, haunted house, and wrapped up prompts

c s w (fluff alphabet)

Masky

X fem lead singer reader

Hoodie

Puppeteer

Pup x reader who has abandonment issues

j p x (fluff alphabet)

Other

Nina x reader who reads fanfics

ben drowned x reader playing animal crossing together (platonic)

ben drowned x reader who hates him

platonic ben x older sibling figure reader

bloody painter x pregnant reader

c f h w/ bloody painter (fluff alphabet)

bloody painter x reader who has a small eye

s u v w/ ben (platonic alphabet)

kissing bloody painter after the first date

[sister-lucifer]

Hiya, hope you're having a pog day <3

I wanted to make a request if possible (also if you're comfortable with it, if not, feel free to ignore this ask!! no worries)

nsfw headcanons for Hoodie and Masky with a trans masc s/o (with top surgery scars)

Masky + Hoodie w/ a trans masc partner who has top surgery scars 

Masky + Hoodie x Reader (separately) 

Genre: Fluff + NSFW, headcanons 

Content/warnings: There’s a lot of talk of reader’s body but it’s all positive, Tim is insecure about his scars, chest + tummy kisses, tooth rotting fluff AND some soft romantic NSFW 😌 

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out 

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated:)

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

A/N: Sorry if you wanted like…hardcore nasty NSFW, this is really sweet 😔 

Tim Wright/Masky 

Although I don’t personally headcanon Tim as trans (though i definitely enjoy trans tim content 👌😋), he certainly has his fair share of scars 

They’re mostly on his arms and hands

Some are from fights, others are from miscellaneous accidents, some have been there as long as he can remember and he’s not even sure where they came from

But theres one thing he knows for sure:

He HATES when people point them out 

He can’t really explain it, he just hates having attention drawn to them 

You may not feel the same way, but even if you say you don’t mind he’ll be careful not to point them out 

That’s not to say you won’t catch him staring when he thinks you’re not looking, though 

The scars just look so…natural, on you 

Like they’ve always been there 

He forgets that they’re scars, really 

He’s not sure why he feels so different about scars on you than he does on him 

The longer he’s with you the less he notices your scars anymore 

And the less he notices his own too 

Over time he becomes less insecure about them as he watches you not only live with but accept and maybe even embrace your scars 

And there’s something he loves about being able to run his hand down your bare chest, the marks on his hand matching with your scars 

Especially when he finds you in bed with him, climbing on top of him and straddling his lap 

He cant stop himself from reaching out and pulling your shirt off, his large hands splaying out over your torso as he admires you, feeling your heartbeat thump behind your ribs 

If your position allows him to see your chest, don’t be surprised if he can’t pull his eyes away 

He’s not very talkative during sex, but he’s always sure to remind you how handsome you are 

He knows sex can sometimes trigger dysphoria, and he doesn’t want you to forget that you’re his sweet boy, forever and always

You can thank him for the praise by taking one of his scarred hands and pressing a soft kiss to it, a silent reassurance that his feelings about you are not unrequited 

Brian Thomas/Hoodie 

Brian, on the other hand, is very vocal about how attractive he finds your scars 

Although he’s got a few of his own, they’re generally not very noticeable 

And even if someone did point them out, he’d simply laugh them off 

So he feels comfortable telling you how much he loves your scars 

They’re a reminder of how strong you are, he says 

It’s not easy embracing your true trans self in this world, and you should wear your scars with pride 

He’s got an artistic streak, so don’t be surprised if he asks to draw on them 

He may even suggest getting a cool tattoo to emphasize them! 

Like barbed wire or a flower chain or something 

But if you don’t want that, he’s perfectly content simply being allowed to run his fingers over your scars 

He’ll often absentmindedly begin tracing them whenever you’re laying together, sometimes not even realizing he’s doing it 

He loves to kiss your chest too 

He’s a romantic type, what can I say 🤷 

He just loves to give your scars all the gentle attention they deserve, he can’t help it 

Don’t be surprised if his hands find your scars as if they have a mind of their own, always wandering to your chest whenever you’re standing at the counter or sitting on the couch with him 

And don’t be surprised if those wandering hands lead to more than just gentle touches 

If you allow him his way during sex, he’ll always insist on having you on your back 

He’ll pay extra attention to your chest, and i don’t just mean your scars (although they certainly aren’t ignored) 

He’s much more vocal than Tim, a constant stream of praises and reassurances spilling from his mouth and he drones on and on about how handsome you are and how lucky he is to have such a beautiful boy like you to take care of 

You’re an absolute beauty to him, and he’s going to make sure he tells you every chance he gets  

Brian Thomas: The Dysphoria Miracle Cure 

[born-to-lose-writing]

Masterlist - blurbs (pt. 1)

♡ - fluff, ♤ - angst, ☆ - smut, ♧ - platonic

Queen - Bohemian Rhapsody cast - Bon Jovi - Guns N' Roses - Mötley Crüe - Hanoi Rocks - L.A. Guns - Johnny Thunders - Stiv Bators - Richard Hell - Night Ranger - Vain - Whitesnake - Trixter

Roger Taylor

Meeting Roger after making out at a party ♤

Decorating the nursery with Roger ♡

Roger making you feel better about your body ♡

Being Roger's neglected daughter from a one-night stand ♤

Brian May

Falling in love with Brian after leaving Roger ♡♤

Ben Hardy

Going on a Christmas walk ♡

Celebrating Father's Day ♡

Joe Mazzello

Joe comforting you when you've got a headache ♡

Halloween ♡

Joe finding out you have a child from another relationship ♡

Baby shower ♡

Joe playing the guitar for you ♡

Gwilym Lee

Getting into a car crash while being pregnant ♤

John Deacon x Joe Mazzello

John telling Joe how he feels ♡

Jon Bon Jovi

Jon fighting a guy for you ♤

Jon singing your baby to sleep ♡

Jon playing with puppies ♡

Saying goodbye to Jon before his tour ♤

Richie Sambora

Going hiking ♡

Richie flirting with you like he doesn't know you ♡

High school reunion date ♡

Richie proposing to you in Paris ♡

Richie asking you to be part of a music video ♡

Axl Rose

Making out backstage ☆

Cleaning Axl's injuries after a fight ♤

Axl singing you to sleep after a stressful day ♡

Izzy Stradlin

Plus size!reader ♡

Izzy getting jealous when you go out with someone else ♤♡

Telling Izzy you're pregnant ♡

Skater!Izzy ♡

Florist!Izzy ♡

Honeymoon ♡

Friends with benefits ♡

Having sex with Izzy after not having slept with someone in a long time ☆♡

Duff McKagan

Holiday meal ♡

Adopting a pig ♡

Drunken flirting ♡

Going on a punk date ♡

Surprise visit on tour ♡

Reassuring Duff he's still sexy ♡

Waking Duff up to cuddle ♡

Baking with older!Duff ♡

Duff making you feel better about your body ♡

Visiting Duff in hospital ♤

Arguing over who loves each other more ♡

Duff helping you with your depression ♤♡

Slash

Wedding night ☆

Cuddling when the power goes out ♡♧

Older!Slash introducing you to his kids ♡

Kissing in a stairwell ♡

Realizing you're more than friends ♤

Coming back to older!Slash after breaking up ♤♡

Insecure older!Slash ♤

Duff crashing your date with older!Slash ♡

Wedding date ♡

Fake dating for a couples only weekend ♡

Drunk Slash gushing over you ♡

Being Izzy's sister and secretly dating Slash ☆♤

Slash leaving his fiancée for you ♤

Slash picking you up from your new boyfriend's place ♤

Getting Slash a new snake ♡

Watching a horror movie ♤♡

Jealous Slash ♤

Day off ♡

Oblivious Slash ♡

Sugar daddy ♡

Hooking up after sending him a spicy pic ☆

Quickie at the zoo ☆

Steven Adler

Coming out as bi ♡

Pillow fight ♡

Nikki Sixx

Convincing him to quit drugs ♤

Enemies to lovers ♤☆

Being in an on-off relationship ♤♡

Nikki talking you out of a panic attack ♤♡

Tommy helping you to make Nikki jealous ♤♡

Valentine's Day ♤♡

Nikki proposing to you ♡

Nikki falling in love with his groupie ☆♡

Getting back together after Nikki cheated on you ♤☆

Tommy Lee

Amusement park date ♡

Vince Neil

Sleeping over at Vince's house ♤♡

Taking care of Vince's injury after a fistfight ♤♡

Sami Yaffa

Sami reacting to your nipple piercings ☆♡

Morning sex ☆♡

Sami comforting you when you're stressed from work ♤♡

Razzle Dingley

Stopping Razzle from going with Vince ♤♡

Kelly Nickels

Diner date ♡

Johnny Thunders

Johnny playing a song for you ♡

Johnny proposing to you ♤♡

Going dancing ☆

Stiv Bators

Dreaming about Stiv ♡♤

Road trip ♡

Richard Hell

Richard eating you out ☆

Jack Blades

Top!reader ☆

Davy Vain

Backstage blowjob ☆

Lap dance || Part 2 ☆

Sex tape ☆

Steve Vai

Steve eating you out ☆

Pete Loran

Fluffy fun sex with Pete ☆♡

[wandamaxim0f]

Brian 'Otis' Zvonecek one-shot — Peace

Words: 1.2k

Otis x Female reader

TW: the tiniest bit of angst and lots of fluff! Also: pregnancy, anxiety, mentions of panic attacks

A/N: finally dared to post this one! I really like how it ended up, but please keep in mind english is not my first language so there may be some mistakes. I wrote this one with Peace by Taylor Swift in mind, enjoy!

Taglist: @winchesterszvonecek

And you know that I'd (...) give you my wild, give you a child

Your hands were shaking as you went to grab your cup of freshly brewed tea, the chamomile smell soothing you before you could even take a sip. You did your best to focus on the way the tea tasted, and how the warmth went through your mouth and down your throat, really trying to keep yourself grounded and not give into the panic attack that you felt around the corner.

Silly panic attack. You felt the clink of your wedding band against the beige cup. Your wedding ring, of all things. You two were married, and had been for almost a full year. Turning your head, you found the fridge with all of its magnets and notes. Some were sweet and loving, both in your handwriting and his, knowing some days one left for shift without seeing the other.

“I love you”; “Stay safe”; “Come home to me” were some of the messages the both of you had left, a reminder you had someone waiting for you after your shift at the Intelligence Unit, and he had someone waiting for him after his shift at firehouse 51.

A photo from your wedding day caught your eye. You two were married. He wouldn't leave. He wouldn't step back. He had literally signed up for this. He had scribbled down his signature on a paper that was securely put away on a folder full of important documents, and he had vowed to love you until death do you part.

The door opening startled you, even when you had woken up early to talk to him. Not that you could really sleep, anxiety keeping you awake and turning and tossing in the bed sheets; the smell that came from his shirt that you were wearing doing nothing to calm down your mind.

“Baby” called Otis, as soon as he closed the door and saw you sitting down at the kitchen island. He knew something was going on. Usually, on your days off, he would just get home and find you asleep in bed, not drinking tea in the kitchen.

Immediately, he dropped his bag and his arms found your figure, pulling you into his warm embrace and stepping in between your legs, holding you to his chest as his hands caressed your back in the way only he knew how.

“Are you okay?” he asked, already knowing you weren’t, by the way you clung to him, embracing his body with your arms and legs, and let out a shaky breath against his chest. Still, he gave you the choice to not speak about what had you up on your day off, not until you were ready.

You split from his hug, knowing you wouldn't speak if you found refuge between his strong arms. “We need to talk” you said, finding his now worried brown eyes.

Otis swallowed audibly, and a neutral expression took over his face, trying to hide the fact he was terrified. Were you going to leave him? Was your marriage over? Or did it still stand a chance? Had he messed up? Forgotten a date? Forgotten your birthday? Valentine's? Anniversary? He quickly crossed those options, your anniversary was still a month away, he already had the reservations for the weekend getaway done, and your birthday had been three months ago, he had gotten you that necklace you liked. And February was still away, so there was no chance he had forgotten Valentine’s.

“I’m sorry” he blurted out, his heart shattering at the idea of letting you down, of disappointing you “I don’t know what I did, but I will make it up to you. Please don’t leave me” he was not above begging, not when it may make the difference between you staying in his life or giving up on your marriage. Not when you were the single best thing that had ever happened to him.

Your heart melted into your chest, and tears gathered in your eyes. His forced neutral expression switched into a worried one when a tear escaped your right eye, and his thumb was quick to catch it. Whatever it was, it could not be good if you were this distraught. He had seen you in some of your worst moments, and he could count on one hand the times he had witnessed such distress in your pretty eyes.

“Babe?” he called, preparing himself to beg you to talk to him if it came down to it. You were worried, and he wanted, he needed to help you out.

“I’m pregnant” you whispered, your voice so low, Otis thought he had misheard you.

“You... what?” He exhaled, trying as hard to not let his hand find your lower abdomen, since he wasn’t sure you were happy.

Sure, the two of you had discussed starting a family, but that conversation had been held ages ago, at the early stages of your relationship. He remembered you saying you wanted to have kids, and how that was a deal breaker to you; and he remembered getting home and pestering Joe about how he had found the one.

Had you not seen his small smile, you would've freaked out. But he was smiling, and his eyes were shining with tears, so that was a good sign, right?

“I’m pregnant” you repeated, louder this time, and allowing your own hand to find your nonexistent bump.

Otis let out a high pitched scream, before hugging you tightly. His arms pulled you closer and out of the kitchen stool, picking you up and spinning you around the living area, excitement washing over him. Finally, he put you down, and his hands cradled your face, whipping away any tears.

“We’re having a baby” he whispered, happiness dripping from his words, before he started peppering your face with kisses.

“We’re having a baby” you repeated, giggling at his affection, your hands now holding his biceps.

You couldn’t understand how you could’ve been that panicked, your husband wanted desperately to be a father, but only with you. Now you let yourself feel the happiness that you had put away on a cage in your heart, and the world felt more colorful than ever.

The next morning, as you untangled from your still asleep husband, you made your way to the kitchen to get some breakfast. A new note on the fridge caught your eye, and butterflies came alive in your stomach.

Last night, Otis and you had sat down and tried to guess an estimated date in which your baby would join you, a date he had scribbled down on a piece of paper before adding “Best day ever”. Next to it, a note he must've put up while you headed towards the bedroom “Get on desk duty”.

Years ago, the idea of desk duty would’ve killed you, hating the idea of being away from the action and the adrenaline it provided, but now you were beyond happy to spend your whole day at the district.

“You two were leaving without saying goodbye?” Otis’s sleepy voice called out as he walked into the kitchen. Without saying another word, he sank to his knees and kissed your abdomen “Leaving without saying goodbye to your dad is actually kind of rude. Guess your momma and I will have to teach you some manners once you’re out of there, bub” he spoke, his hands firm on your hips.

You laughed, a hand coming to caress his hair, and he looked at you with nothing but adoration and love shining in his eyes. How could you have been so worried? You would be okay. The three of you would be okay.

[mvltisstuff]

Eddie Diaz coma fic if possible? The reader gets shot like eddie in 4x14 and ends up in a coma. Lots of angst, heartbreak if possibly but also fluff too please. 🩶

hold on to me - e.d

summary: request :)

eddie diaz x reader

gif from @agentoutofdiaz

a/n: guys i def just ate my history final up and left no crumbs, enjoy this request 🤌🤌

the gunshot passed right through y/n’s stomach. the massive bang had ricocheted throughout the street and off the buildings, every crouching down as an instinct to the echoing noise. she immediately felt the impact it had right in the center of her abdomen. she brought her hand slowly down, pulling it away to see the overwhelming amount of blood on her fingers. she brought her head back up weakly, before falling onto the concrete.

eddie was held back by buck, who yanked him under a wall. he watched as his girlfriend was thrown to the stained ground, the blood pouring out of her. this couldn’t be a mistake, it was a perfect shot. she was saving someone’s life, and an evil person wanted to take hers. eddie thought he was dreaming. he thought he would be shaken awake by y/n and she would be next to him without a bullet inside of her.

eddie was screaming her name over and over again, and she heard every single time. she wanted to respond, but the blood gurgling in her mouth made it near impossible. she turned her head on the ground to look at her boyfriend. he was laying on the ground, looking directly at her.

he couldn’t contain himself anymore, he had to get out there and save her. “y/n!” he yelled. “hey, y/n?” he pulled her head up as her breathing slowed down. “come here, come help me!” he shouted at his coworkers, who came piling over and putting her into the truck. eddie sat by her head, cradling it gently. a part of him wanted her to pass out, to not have to feel this pain anymore. when she finally lost consciousness from the strain, he panicked as he still wanted to see her eyes, completely contradicting his earlier thought. buck had been applying pressure to the wound, switching out the cloths multiple times as they were drenched with y/n’s blood.

he carried her out of the truck, yelling at the doctors to help her. they took her and placed her on a gurney, turning her on her side. “y/n y/l/n, female, GSW to the abdomen, severe bleeding, may have hit a major organ but pulse is steady. wasn’t through and through, bullets still in here,” he spat out rapidly at the mob of nurses and doctors. as she was wheeled away, the tears in eddie’s eyes were reappearing, dripping down his face. buck had pulled him into an embrace, trying to erase the violent sight in front of him. the constant reminder was the her very own blood on their uniforms.

y/n woke up in her old apartment in her home city, still recalling the smell and feeling of her old rooms. she stretched out of bed, looking around. the confusion in her head was very abnormal. she moved to LA years ago, and her lease was up. she knew this place like the back of her hand, one of her first places that she was able to escape from home. her home life wasn’t bad, but certainly not memorable.

she heard a knock on her door, stepping out of the room to pull it open. in front of her stood her siblings behind her parents. “hi, sweetie!” her mother exclaims. y/n doesn’t recognize the change in attitude.

“hey, mom, what are you all doing here?”

“we had lunch plans, remember? it’s ok if you forgot, you’re under a lot of pressure.”

“w-we did? i mean since i’m visiting from LA?”

“visiting? from california! how hard did you hit your head?” her mom laughs, walking into the apartment, her brother and sister following in with her father.

she sat down on the couch slowly, feeling awkward at how kind her parents were being. she picked up the glass of water on the table next to her. “did something happen?”

“no, just coming to see you and brian, where is he?”

“brian?”

“your…fiancé?” y/n chokes on her water, wiping it off her face.

“my what?” she asks.

“honey, now you’re really scaring me.”

“i’m not engaged, who the hell is brian? where’s eddie?”

“y/n, eddie left, remember?” y/n remains silent. she knows eddie would never leave her. he’s been left before, and he could never put that weight on someone’s shoulders.

back in the hospital, eddie sits with a recovering y/n. her waist was wrapped with a bandage, several IV’s in her arms pumping the drugs into her system. the tube in her throat was forcing the air into her lungs, being unable to do it alone.

a coma. the state of deep unconsciousness. the state that lasts for an unknown amount of time. eddie has heard the words thousands of times being a paramedic. but it doesn’t feel the same when someone you love has been purposely separated from her body.

he wondered what she was thinking, or even if she knew he was there. “i, um,” he starts, stuttering. “i don’t know if you’re there, completely, but you are coming back. i know you are, because you have to. there are too many people relying on you, y/n. i need you to survive or i don’t know if i’ll be able to. so i’m begging you, for the sake of how much i love you, please wake up,” he looks back at her sleeping figure, figuring it’s no use. he just sits in the chair, staring at her condition and the monitors.

“no, eddie wouldn’t leave me, i live in los angeles and i am a firefighter,” y/n speaks harshly to her parents.

“c’mon, y/n. what kind of crazy dream did you have?” her brother says, shoving his face full of food. “i think you need to go back to bed.”

“shut up,” she tells him. “i am not where im supposed to be.” she didn’t say the one detail that gave it away. the one that she’s well aware of. her parents have never been that nice to her, at least not as much as they are in this reality. she kind of loves it, but certainly not as much as eddie. “i am a firefighter,” the memories of the previous day came back to her, the images flashing in her eyes before they faded away again. “i… i was hurt.”

suddenly, y/n has convinced her parents to take her to the psych ward. almost, but they bring her to the ER instead. she must’ve hit her head or something, but y/n knows she is not supposed to be here.

she sits on the bed, her mother in the chair next to her. she looks around, trying to figure out a way to escape. “mom, can you get me some water, please?”

“of course, sweetie. i’ll be back.” she leaves a kiss on her forehead and exiting to get her daughter a drink. y/n takes her opportunity to leave. not the hospital, but the ER is not where she can be. she sprints around, desperately looking for a sign of herself. she goes the the ORs, the regular rooms, and finally she stops in the ICU. she looks in each of the rooms, every single one being dark and empty until she comes across one in particular.

her frail body lay in the bed, with the muffled sounds of doctors speaking and beeping. she looked so weak, and watching herself not be able to fight back against the storm broke every part of her. she stands in front of the doors before hearing a voice behind her. the same voice she fell in love with years ago, and the one that saved her heart and stole it like a thief. y/n whips around at the quick sound of her name. “do you think you should be there?” the duplicate of eddie says.

“why am i here, and not there?”

“because that wound on your body is not the only thing that needs to be healed. you’ve imagined a perfect world. and this is death, y/n.”

“why are you here?”

“i’m your imagination. because if you go back, you don’t know what’s going to happen in a few years. that’s the point of this.”

“because i don’t know if you’ll be there?”

“because you want to be loved forever. and there’s a guarantee at this place,” eddie explains. y/n looks at him calmly, but confusion is written all over her face.

“you love me. i know you do. you said you would forever, and you don’t here. why are you even talking to me? why are there no dead people or something?”

eddie steps closer to her, looking down into her eyes as she stares back at herself. “you want to be loved by these people. why do you think i’m just showing up now?”

“don’t play this game with me, diaz. i do not know why i’m here or why you are here because nothing makes any sense!”

“you said the answer yourself. you know, you know,” he repeats. y/n is scared. she’s a fearless person, but dealing with this alternate life has shown her a whole new side. the world is an uncertain place and no one knows what’s on the other side until you get there. once you’re on that side, there is no going back. that’s it.

the repetition of something she knows runs through her frightened mind at a hundred miles an hour. from the moment she entered that fire station and saw his beautiful face looking at her. she knew she’d be loved. over and over again, he’d told her. and it was enough.

what felt like minutes to y/n was a week to eddie. a week of the prolonged unconsciousness from y/n with no signs of living other than her steady heartbeat. the doctors said it was a good sign, but until eddie saw her eyes again, he didn’t believe it. he’s not one to take something for granted, but if he’d known he would never see her mesmerizing irises again, he would’ve never looked away.

the team of surgeons and interns had piled back into the room, attempting to remove the tube. eddie’s stomach ached from the anxiety of this being her last shot. it was now or never, and he despised that he couldn’t control it. if the tube is removed and she takes a breath on her own, there is a high likelihood that she’ll wake up in the next few hours.

eddie prays to any god that might listen to him, begging, almost on his hands and knees that he will be able to hold her again. when the harsh rise of her chest puffs up, eddie’s own drops. he releases the breath and all his pain, sending it away with her coma.

after the dark clouds rolled over, the sun of y/n’s smile came out. she was giggling and happy, and no one would think that she was just in the condition she was in. the doctors have finally cleared her to go home, no longer needing medical supervision and observation. she was regaining strength at an impressive rate which was optimistic to eddie. several visits from christopher and carla, along with her co-workers had happened over the week of her spell. eddie helped her gather her stuff, still needing help to lift things and stand. the second she tries to stand on her own, eddie is there in the speed of light.

“hey, hey, don’t stand up yet,” he says, walking over to the straining woman on the hospital bed. “if you push yourself it’ll be worse.”

“i’ll be ok, eddie,” she says a little passive-aggressively. eddie knows how hard the recovery stage can be, especially when you have a lot of people nagging you about it. she loves to work more than anything. it’s her mission to save people and make the worst day of their life as easy as it can be. y/n’s clearly frustrated with herself and her situation, but she never wants to make eddie feel bad about his good intentions. “shit, i’m sorry.”

“amor, i told you not to apologize. this trauma is yours to carry, and it sucks. i just want to make this easier for you.”

“i just, i saw you and my whole family. in my… coma,” she cringes at the word. “they loved me, eddie. they really cared instead of putting on a face. i considered staying. but you had, um,” eddie places a reassuring arm around her shoulder, silently letting her know it’s ok to say what’s on her mind. “you left me and i had no clue.”

“god, you know i would never do that, right?”

“i do, it just felt so real. the way you looked at me in that reality and how couldn’t say you loved me hurt so bad and i had to come back to you.”

“i love you, so much,” eddie touches his forehead to hers. “i would never, ever leave you. i couldn’t imagine my life without you when you were sleeping.”

eddie looks into her eyes. he takes in every speck of color, and the movement of her pupils. his hands wander across her body before pulling her in, helping her get a sense that he is real. the knowledge that he is not going anywhere away from her until their last breath.

[swmzq]

MASTERLIST

(requests are open)

footballers

-joão félix

-paulo dybala Juno

-pablo gavi

-ferran torres please, please, please

-pedri gonzález

-fermín lopez

-sergio ramos

-jude bellingham

-ruben dias

-neymar jr

-kylian mbappe

-others

celebrities

-taylor swift Good luck,babe!

-chappell roan

-zendaya

-glen powell

-drew starkey

-lana del rey

-austin butler

-cillian murphy

-jacob elordi

-timothée chalamet

-80s roger taylor

-80s brian may

-others

characters

-borhap!roger taylor

-tyler owens

-borhap!john deacon

-eric(a quiet place: day one)

-neil lewis

-felix catton

-oliver quick

-others

what I’ll write

-smut

-fluff

-angst

-fem x fem

-fem x male

-gn!reader x oc

-headcanons

-fics

-drabbles

-love triangles

what I don’t write

-oc x oc

-homophobia

-threesome (I have nothing against it but I’m just not good at writing smut like this)

-incest

-racism

-rape

-piss kink

-etc



that’s it bye for now!

[another-bryk-in-the-wall]

Coast (Brian May x f!reader)

i am being cringe fail and writing rpf cause my brain is empty but my heart is full of love for the space poodle.

please enjoy. or don't. i'm not the police.

warning: tooth rotting fluff, rpf

words: 1000

*

“That’s it. I have enough. Pack your things, love, we are gonna drive out.”

Two days ago, Brian had come home from yet another exhausting trip. This time the band had to venture to New York for discussion of new songs, new albums, new tours, new this, new that… Everything new, produce this, do that, and not a single ‘thank you’ was muttered for making the company millions in revenue. They didn’t even book the band some fancy hotel rooms. No no no, they had to save money too. And the worst for Brian? The city. The light pollution was so bad, he couldn’t even see the night sky from his tiny balcony. The whole city smelt like weed, alcohol and piss mixed with vomit. Everyone at the subway stations looked like they’d rather throw themselves on the rails than spend another day in the office. Charming.

To put it short, Brian was pissed when he came back home.

A mutual friend who owned a bit of land an hour and a half away from London was called, arrangements were made quickly, and before you knew it, you were on the road with a stressed Brian. He needed nature so badly, longing for it after only seeing concrete and asphalt these past few weeks. His ears were longing for the songs of the birds early in the morning, maybe even getting woken up by a rooster. His nose was longing for something different than the stench of the city. His eyes were longing for a bright green landscape. But most of all, he was longing for you.

Thankfully the weather forecast seemed good, unusually good for England. On the way to the cabin, it didn’t rain a single drop, the only sound heard was the singing of Brian to the songs on the radio.

At this moment, you mean everything

You in that dress, oh my thoughts I confess

Verge on dirty

“Look Brian, if you have some needs, you have to speak them out loud.”, you couldn’t help yourself, teasing your love next to you. A smile spread over his face and he just had to laugh. Everything you said and did made him so happy. The rose coloured glasses hadn’t gone away, even after so many years.

“Not here, not in the car! Imagine someone sees us and takes a picture!”, Brian faked shock, but you both knew you were even wilder when Queen wasn’t that big. So many fucks in bar bathrooms, behind bars, whenever a few minutes of passion fit into his busy schedule. One time you even did it in a studio, but never again after Freddie complained about the wet spot he accidentally sat on. Oh no, you had spilt your coke before, you had quickly apologized and got a towel to clean the seat. For whatever reason, Freddie believed you. Roger’s quirked eyebrow and his elbow into Brian’s side spoke of a different chain of thought. John was just disappointed, but that was nothing new with the antics you two pulled from time to time.

“You got a point there.”

*

From the cabin, you were able to hear the sea, a sound Brian had missed just as much. Unpacking and getting to know the place you were in, you both were pleasantly surprised. The cabin consisted of one main room, a kitchen, a bathroom and a bedroom. And a small conservatory, big enough to dine in, with a small couch facing the sea.  It was enough for you, enough to calm down and relax. Enough to get away from the craziness that is your life.

After a quick errand run into the nearest town, evening drew close. Together you had cooked a pasta dish Brian loved, some creamy sauce with broccoli and even more herbs. Dinner was served in the conservatory, the stars as witness to how good the pasta tasted.

“Love…”, Brian started halfway through the previously silent meal, piquing her attention, “Could you imagine living like this? Out in the countryside, around us barely anything but nature? Maybe own a few animals?”

You thought for a moment, imagining yourself in this situation. Brian was looking after the sheep you had bought together, bleating heard from all over. For whatever reason he was shirtless and sweaty as he commanded the herd, making sure they were safe and sound. Oh,  dominant, shirtless, sweaty man, even better, YOUR man…

“Earth to (Y/N), Earth to (Y/N), are you still here?”, Brian’s laughter ripped you out of your thoughts, joining him in his laughter.

“Sorry, I just imagined you as a hot farmer!” “Hot farmer! You think that’s something I could pull off?”

“Of course! Brian, my dear, you would make a brilliant farmer! Even better than what Paul McCartney did back in the 70s.”

“Hmmm…maybe? Who knows…”

“And if you suck at farming, we’ll dye your hair white and put you into the stable with the sheep. It’s not like there’d be much of a difference.”

“Hey!”

*

The morning sun tickled your nose, shining through the cracks of the curtains. Despite having two blankets, Brian managed to ditch his own and got under yours, his arms wrapped around your middle. He was a human radiator, spreading warmth and comfort no matter where you were. You smiled at the feeling of pure love spreading through your body and moved into his touch, your body melting against his. It felt as if you were made for each other in every possible sense. The familiar feeling of Brian next to you could calm every bad thought, as they didn’t matter as long as you were with him. The familiarity of him was something you longed and missed so much when he was on tour or whatever trip they had to do for the band, yet there was something exciting and new whenever he came back. Every tour brought something new out of him, something new that you were excited to find and figure out. If this trip was the same? You had yet to discover.