#catch me screaming about this for the next few days | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

altarecs · 3 days ago

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alright, let's get into it!!

Despite having a million-dollar bounty on your head, you are determined to get out of here alive, even if it means losing the man that you love.

you think i'm worth a million dollars !! i'm twirling my hair omgeee 😊

You love him with every fiber of your being. He is your morning sun, the Heart Nebula to your Soul Nebula, and anything you could say to describe a love that fills you deep in your soul and makes you whole.

no because why the fuck did i gasp LIKE I DIDNT KNOW IT WAS COMING I LITERALLY KNEW IT WAS COMING.

Wonwoo, your fiancé and his adopted son

NO FUCKING WAY NO FUCKING WAY YOURE KIDDING ME RN

Aeron was in love with your mother, and they had been having an affair for years.

SHUT UUUUUUP IABEHTGBTKJWL THATS SO FUCKING TEA O H MY GODDD HE SHOULD DIE 💘

He didn’t know what the hell he meant by that; he was just a scrawny fifteen-year-old pickpocket living on the streets before he was found. He was born and raised in the Lutum district, poor, with two parents who passed away when he was ten years old from a plague that took over his city.

that's so fucking tragic aeris how could u

You were half a year younger than him...

screams cries and throws up in 5 years younger

You were both nineteen, and you were dragged out of the club in Adamas City for punching a girl who got too close to your “date,” if that’s what you wanted to call it; more like your flavor of the month. You didn’t know the man had an on-and-off girlfriend, nor did you know she would show up to the place and start screaming at you, calling you every kind of whore, and how your parents were ashamed from the grave to have a daughter like you. But you did know she had to be taught manners, and before Wonwoo could stop you, the girl was knocked to the floor with a bruised right eye and a chipped tooth.

NAH BC FUCK THAT HO 💀 she deserved that shit!

Deep down, Wonwoo knew what that meant. It’s not like he hasn’t had crushes before, but you were different; you made him feel alive. Seeing you date these guys, who wouldn’t last longer than a few weeks, bothered him. You need someone you could rely on at the end of the day and be comfortable with; you needed someone who felt like home, and he wanted to be that for you.

yk something about loverboy!wonwoo always gets me but with this added flair of yearning and also lowkey forbidden lovers, i feel insane! thanks!

“Hey,” he lifted your chin slightly so your eyes met.

OH MY GOD KISS KISS KISS KISSSS

NOW THATS WHAT THE FUCK I'M TALKING ABOUT! that, my friends, is a kiss done right - also wonwoo you're a WIMP! alexa play kiss the girl from the little mermaid

“Yeah, I don’t think you have much of a choice, Miss Million Dollar Bounty,” he smirks as he sets down his basket. You relax and put the gun back in its holster.

i love jeonghan badddd

“Silver, you saved our lives even when you didn’t have to,” Jeonghan said firmly. “I will always have your back.”

cue my loud wails all the way from my living room

“Wonwoo… I think I am ready to take the next step.”

oh!

“W-what step?”

wonwoo you're so fucking stupid i love you

“What do you mean not yet?!” Aeron snapped. “Did you forget what that bitch did?”

aint no way brodie is calling HER a bitch 💀 like okay professor side piece.

“Family doesn’t try to kill each other, Wonwoo,” Aeron said plainly.

aeron, sweetie, i'd nuke u over a corn chip personally.

“Are you questioning me, boy?”

HELP THE VISCERAL RAGE I FELT THE MOMENT I READ THIS WAS CRAZYYY AHFLJRFRS;

“Here,” Sohee shoved it into your hands. “I also put some hot buns in there, in case Uncle Wonwoo wants some.”

I'M SOBBING OHHH SOHEE 😭

Turning him over, you place your foot on his back and grab both of his arms, pulling them back until you hear a tear and a blood-curdling scream that makes you satisfied. “You were saying?”

oh girl me next !

“For the love of Gods, Bob, shut the fuck up!”

LMAOOO

“He said if I tried to take you in, if I got in his way, he would see to it that your life would be a living hell...."

okay so when are nuking bro?? bc this shit is ridiculous i need him dead like YESTERDAY.

“You’ve already said that,” he muttered. “I’ve heard it enough.”

and honestly i don't blame him. do i understand her? absolutely. but even the most guarded have to have those they can fall back on.

“I couldn’t hate you if I tried.” He whispered. “I love you, okay? Nothing will ever change that.”

YAAAAH A LOVE SO POWERFUL IT KNOWS NO BOUNDS AND DOESNT WAVER IN THE FACE OF ADVERSITY!!!

“Your ring,” he blurts out, looking at your left hand. “I’ve been able to track you with your ring.”

oh you sick and twisted bastard i'd have your balls in bronze.

“Baby, I have a plan,” he says, “And it may not work, and it could get us both killed. But I need you to trust me.”

A LOVE THAT GOES BEYOND DEATH!

“You were always pussy-whipped,” Aeron chuckles at his desk. “She could ask you to leap into traffic, and you would do it, no questions asked.”

aye man, just bc you ain't get the girl don't mean the rest of us don't deserve true love. take the L, old guy.

“I just couldn’t have that.”

this is also such a real and raw depiction of men in real life. not knowing how to take no for an answer, or to face rejection is such a scary thing.

Wonwoo silently releases the handcuffs while Aeron is distracted, whispering in your ear, “Do what you have to do.”

I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM OH YOUR HONOR THATS HIM THATS MY FAVORITE BOY

With a perfect aim, you shoot one more shot, a fatal blow to his heart. “And that is for my mother, you piece of shit.”

alexa play bullet to the heart by jackson wang while i shake ass and rejoice

“Happy to see me?” Jeonghan smirked in the commander’s seat.

YES JEONGHANNNNN AUAUAUUAUAUAAUAUUAU

“See you, space cowboy.”

aeris i am going to find you and we're going to fight bc why the fuck would u do this to me???

in final notes, i have this to say: this was incredibly well written! you can really feel the tumultuous nature of their relationship, and all of her feelings were so strong and valid and she didn't back down from them. wonwoo was what i like to call a love suture, kind of just binding all her open wounds with the sheer amount of adoration he held for her and i think that's beautiful. at the end of the day, he understood. he understood why she did what she had to and we all deserve something like that.

10/10!

see you, space cowboy

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: With a bounty on your head, you are determined to get your revenge at all costs… even if it means losing the man that you love. .𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: bounty hunter!Wonwoo x bounty hunter!reader, mentions of other members (Jeonghan, Soonyoung and Mingyu) .𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: angst, sc-fi, smut, lovers to enemies to ???, cowboy bebop elements, space au, established relationship, betrayal, dark themes, neo-noir, dystopian-ish if you squint .𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: PLEASE READ ALL THE WARNINGS! heavy angst, very strong language, mentions of murder/attempted murder, gun violence (for revenge and they're bounty hunters so), familial death, morally grey characters, grief, emotional manipulation (not by Wonwoo or the reader), drugging (not for sexual purposes), toxic family dynamics, gaslighting, graphic violence (reader gets into fights defending herself), guilt/self blame, mentions of black market dealings, kissing, oral (giving and receiving), nipple play, fingering, nail digging, unprotected shower sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, throat grabbing, creampie. lots and lots of yearning .𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 16.7K .𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐀𝐍: It's finally hereeeeee. Reader has a nickname "Silver", which is explained why and she will be referred as that for the most part. I was inspired by Cowboy Bebop and as a 90s anime enthusiast , I dreamed this up when I was doing a rewatch and I had to make this happen. I want to give a huge thank you to @starlightkyeom for reading this, putting up with me sending long ass voice notes agonizing over this story and reassuring me that what I had was good. I feel like we have gotten closer because of this 😭 Also thank you to @hobeemin, @hannieween, @neoneun-au and @straylightdream for reading as well and letting me bounce off ideas. It helped me a lot when I was stuck and need another opinion. Also thank you Beezy @hobeemin for the cool ass banner.

visual concept #1 visual concept #2 playlist

You see him coming to your door, gun drawn with his finger on the trigger, ready to shoot. You duck behind the bookshelf, the only place you can hide in this small room. Creeping low on the ground, you clutch your own pistol in your hand as your breathing slows. Your heart beats a million times a minute, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you wait for him to come in. Despite having a million-dollar bounty on your head, you are determined to get out of here alive, even if it means losing the man that you love.

“Silver, I know you're in there.”

Hearing Wonwoo’s voice is like a shot to the heart. You love him with every fiber of your being. He is your morning sun, the Heart Nebula to your Soul Nebula, and anything you could say to describe a love that fills you deep in your soul and makes you whole. He is the one for you, and it’s fucked that you are on enemy lines. You never thought it would be you against him. It was always supposed to be you and him till the end of time.

But you made it this way.

If this were another situation, you would be flattered that your life was worth this much to anyone. Unfortunately, you didn’t achieve this by being a damsel in distress, but by taking a shot at the head boss of your Organization, Aeron— and you almost succeeded. You were so close, narrowly missing his head by a centimeter and marking his ear instead. Wonwoo, your fiancé and his adopted son, was his saving grace as he knocked the gun out of your hand at the last minute. You should feel conflicted, as the man raised you as one of his own and trained you personally to be the top bounty hunter. He even gave you your nickname, “Silver,” due to the thick strand of silver hair you were born with, a signature trait passed down from your mother’s side of the family. He was a family friend, and you loved him like an uncle, and in a way, you still do. That’s why this hurts so much.

“Baby, open the door… I just want to know why you did it.”

The deep anguish in his voice twists your stomach into knots. You promised him that you would never hurt him and be honest with him, even if it meant breaking his heart. You’ve kept your word until now, and you hope that when the dust settles, he will understand.

The door creaks open, and you move towards the wall as the loud creak muffles your foot movement. His shadow is darker, moving closer to you, and before he can see you, you grab a heavy book and throw it at his head as a distraction. Wonwoo is quick, knocking it out of place and kicking down the bookshelf, forcing you to scurry out of the way. A small table separates the two as you face each other for the first time in months.

“Hey there, space cowboy.”

You aren’t sure why you were expecting him to crack a smile at the nickname you gave him long ago. You stare at each other, his stern stare enough to scare anyone away. His eyes are heavy with an unspoken pain that you caused, and it eats you alive. You know he didn’t want to be the one to bring you in, but you both know if it were someone else, they wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Silver, I don’t want to fight,” Wonwoo warns. “But you know what will happen if I don’t bring you in.”

“Well, tough shit,” you spit. “You know what will happen to me if I return to the Nova District. So you’re just going to have to bring me in dead.”

Another moment of silence hangs between you two, your fingernails digging into your palms as you prepare for a fight.

“One day, you’ll understand why I did it.”

Wonwoo doesn’t answer immediately; you can see the gears turning in his mind as he wrestles with your words, the pain etched on his face.

“Why can’t you help me understand now?” he pleads, desperation creeping into his voice. “Why did you try to kill him? Why didn’t you talk to me about this?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

He shakes his head, and you sigh heavily, your shoulders hanging low in exhaustion. Of course, he didn’t tell him, and you shouldn’t be surprised. Being honest isn’t exactly Aeron’s strong suit, and now you have to explain everything. The lies and secrets are how you ended up here in the first place. But today isn’t the day for that—you must get out of there and hope that one day, Wonwoo will be able to forgive you.

“I don’t have time to explain now,” your voice cracks. You're angry and tired all the same. “You just have to trust me.”

“Just like you trusted me before you shot at Aeron?” His words are laced with a venom that incinerates your chest. He’s hurt, and you know he’s right, but there is no time to dwell on that.

Taking Aeron’s life was necessary, even if you failed, as he lied to you for years about your family. You became an orphan when you were twelve, watching your family’s house blow up on a hill while you were painting. You were always told that it was a gas leak, and you believed that until you received an ominous email with documents and recordings that proved it was a lie. Aeron was in love with your mother, and they had been having an affair for years. Seeing the pictures of them embracing, exchanging longing looks, and kissing… it was hard to look at.

“I know this isn’t fair, but please, believe me.” The ache in your torn heart that you’ve been ignoring rears its ugly head, bringing you to tears. “I don’t want to bring you further into this.”

“I’m already in it!” Wonwoo raises his voice, the gun trembling in his hand. “My fiancé shot the man who raised me. Took you in. I’m already knee-deep into this shit, Silver!”

He lunges at the table and throws it against the wall, catching you off guard. Aside from your jobs as bounty hunters, he has never gotten aggressive towards you. He’s warm and gentle and would worship the ground you walk on. Seeing him in turmoil, a pain that you caused paralyzes you momentarily, allowing him to cross the room towards you, pulling you close to him. Your knees almost buckle in close proximity to him, and you have half a mind to call all this off and go back with him. Figure all this shit out. Your heart bleeds for him.

“Talk to me,” he whispers, his eyes peering into your soul. “Why did you do this?”

You rest your head against his shoulder, ready to lay down your burdens and reveal the truth. “He’s responsible for my family’s death.”

You feel him stiffen, his breathing tempered as you wipe away your tears, regaining your composure as you explain what happened. “He planned all of it. The gas leak, my house blowing up. All of it because he was in love with my mother.”

You explained how you received the evidence via email and Dropbox, which is typically used for work purposes, and how your own investigation followed afterward. You didn’t believe it at first, and you almost deleted everything, chucking it up to someone trying to fuck with your head and take your spot from being the top bounty hunter on the planet. But with that email came a delivery of something precious, making it seem like maybe it was the truth after all: a picture of your mother wearing a locket. A silver heirloom passed down resembled a peony covered with red jadeites. It is a rare gem that doesn’t exist in this galaxy, and your mother always had it tucked away, promising that one day it would be yours as the oldest child.

Even though you were far from the house, the force of the explosion knocked you off your feet, and you hit your head; you blocked out your memory, and your doctors all say it’s due to trauma and all of the related stuff. You started to forget about the locket, and eventually, your family’s memory became distant. That same locket, however, Aeron kept in his possession all these years in a glass container. He said it was his most “prized possession” that he won after a “tough” job, and despite the familiar feeling you had whenever you were near it, you believed him. Never again.

“The affair with my mother wasn’t just some secret,” you say, your voice filled with rage and sorrow. “He had been obsessed with her for years. They were childhood sweethearts, and she was forced to marry my father in an arranged marriage that turned into real love.” You grab his hands and study his eyes, hoping to find a flicker of hope that he believed you and that you didn’t just fly off the handle. “She tried to end it for years, and he wouldn’t let her. Now look what’s happened.”

The transcripts and phone call recordings showed she wanted to end things with Aeron and be faithful to your father. Your mother was beautiful and had an elegance and grace that turned every head in the room. You don’t know how the affair started, but you know your mother wanted to be free from Aeron, and he wouldn’t have that. So instead of letting her go, he killed her and everyone that you loved in that house. Your parents, your little sister, and your cat Dipper. All gone with a boom. He didn’t count on you not being in the house, so he tried to cover his tracks by taking you in. Raising you with Wonwoo, training you two together to be the best hunters in the galaxy. He watched you two fall in love and bragged about how much he loved his family. He talked about how much he loved you. It’s sick.

Wonwoo’s eyebrows furrow as he processes your words, shadows of doubt flickering in his eyes. “How do you know what was sent was the truth? You could’ve come to me, and we could’ve—”

“Could’ve done fucking what?” You cut in sharply. “Gone to him and had him tell us the truth? He wouldn’t have done that if you were there. That’s why I went alone.”

You feel anger building in your chest, and you want to scream into the void. Betrayal doesn’t even begin to describe how you feel; it’s as if someone is tearing your heart apart at the seams. You can feel every rip, every piece of you being pulled away, and it just won’t stop.

“I know I put you in an impossible position, and I’m sorry,” you search his eyes for understanding and comfort. “I love you. So fucking much. And I know he means a lot to you, and he meant a lot to me, too, but he has to go—”

“Baby, stop,” he pleads. “Don’t do this.”

“I have to. I’m sorry.”

You lean in, capturing his lips in a desperate kiss, your heart racing as he pulls you closer to him. His taste evokes nostalgia and comfort, reminding you of happier times when you lay in bed together and talked about your future, planning your wedding, and discussing jobs you'd take together. Your whole lives were mapped out for the taking, and you could’ve had it all. Maybe you still can, in another life.

You quietly pull a powder called Dreamshade out of your back pocket. It is a bag of fine, shimmering dust that glimmers with deep violet and midnight blue, mixed with the endangered plants of blooming nightshade and wild lavender. A tear trickles down your left cheek as you know what you have to do next, breaking your kiss and sprinkling the dust across his face. You watch his expression soften, confusion clouding his features as he slumps to the ground, unconscious. You pull him until his back is against the wall, your heart twisting painfully as you betray his trust for the second time.

With one last lingering glance, you slip into the night, the vision of the last day your family was alive fueling your resolve. You had to eliminate Aeron, even if it meant losing everything.

Wonwoo remembered the first time you met.

You were brought home from the hospital, where you spent a few weeks unconscious from the blast that destroyed your home. Aeron told him you were coming to stay with them and that it was his job to protect you. He didn’t know what the hell he meant by that; he was just a scrawny fifteen-year-old pickpocket living on the streets before he was found. He was born and raised in the Lutum district, poor, with two parents who passed away when he was ten years old from a plague that took over his city. He only knew how to take care of himself. Why was it his responsibility to care for someone he didn’t know?

Wonwoo was a shy and quiet kid, but he knew that you meant a lot to Aeron, and he would do anything to please the man who took him in. You two didn’t talk much at first; his job was to protect you, not be your friend. But the more time you spent together as you navigated your new reality, the closer you two became, and he got to see you for who you were. You were half a year younger than him, but you never let it show, as he found you fearless and driven, sometimes to the point that you were reckless. He always had your back, even if you were in the wrong, and Wonwoo wasn’t afraid to call you out on your shit.

“Do you really have to start a fight everywhere we go?”

“Wonwoo, stop.” You snatched your hand from him. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, no shit, Silver,” Wonwoo retorted, running his fingers through his hair. “Why can’t you be normal for once?”

“Because,” you adjusted your jacket. “That’s fucking boring.”

You frustrated him to no end. You were wild and resilient, and despite the hellfire you brought, you had a sharp wit and knack for adapting to any situation you were in. You also made him curious and brought a spark to his chest whenever you were around, and he found you more attractive as time went on. He noticed how your eyes squinted when you read, and how your silver hair shone brightly in the sun and moonlight. You sparkled like the stars in the night, a nuclear fusion of many components that made you beautiful to him, that kept him grounded.

Wonwoo swore he would protect you with his life to Aeron, but he didn’t realize falling for you was in the cards.

Aeron wasn’t pleased to hear what happened in the club, and he made you both start training to become bounty hunters for the Organization. He said you needed discipline and structure, and let you get away with acting out for far too long. Wonwoo didn’t fight it; he knew he was right, and it was time for you to grow and become an adult. You surprisingly took everything in stride, attending all the necessary training and adhering to the daily regimen implemented for you throughout this process. Later on, Wonwoo asked you why you didn’t fight it, and you said something clicked with you— you could either party and fight anyone who got in your way, or you could do something with your life and be taken more seriously. Amid everything, you wanted respect.

You two trained together with Aeron personally and became even closer. You tended each other’s cuts and bruises, vented about each other’s day, and, late at night, shared secrets about your fears and what you wanted for your future. You didn’t share much about your childhood, but Wonwoo shared about his life before Aeron, and he was okay with that. He saw you coming into your own, making him grow fond of you even more. Sometimes, he wondered if what he felt was love or if he just liked you a lot. But he kept to himself, as he didn’t want to rock the boat with Aeron, and he didn’t want to mess up this dynamic he had with you.

A year into training, you both had to take a series of mental aptitude tests to strengthen your minds against any emotional factors that could affect your jobs. He knew bounty hunting wouldn’t be just bringing people in alive or collecting treasure— it also meant possibly taking people out of equations, permanently. On the last day of the test, he met with you on the rooftop of the Hightower, the building where the Organization was located and where you both lived. The test was rigorous, and it forced him to think of his parents and the pain they suffered from the sickness that killed them, and he just wanted a quiet moment to process that. He missed them.

After midnight, the stars formed different constellations in the dazzling dark sky, and you leaned on the balcony, lost in thought as the wind flowed slightly to the East. Wonwoo knew something was wrong; you never want to be this still. He was usually the quiet one and listened to you talk. It was his favorite thing to do at the end of the day.

“Are you okay?”

Wonwoo placed a supporting hand on your shoulder, watching you slowly come back to reality and regain your focus on him. Your eyes were red, and your face was tear-stricken, and it hurt him to see you upset.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you sniffled, wiping your face with your shirt sleeve. “The test just really sucked.”

“Yeah, I know,” Wonwoo agreed, leaning against the rail. “I’m glad it’s over.”

“Is it?” You let out a shaky breath, gazing at the sky. “We will be doing jobs soon, which means we will be doing some tough things. What if we come across a dead family or a child without their parents?”

He watched your bottom lip tremble as you burst into tears, quickly covering your face and turning away from him.

“What if I am not cut out for this?”

Wonwoo pulled you into a warm hug, letting you sob on his shirt as he rubbed your back. He had never seen you break down like this, which nerved him. You’ve always made it a point to never let anyone see you cry, yet you felt so vulnerable and trusted him. It pulled at him heavily, and he wanted to take your pain away.

“Hey,” he lifted your chin slightly so your eyes met. “You’re stronger than you think. You’ve been through a lot, and you’re still here. You’re a force of nature, Silver. I believe in you.”

You nodded softly as he wiped the remaining tears from the corner of your eye. Wonwoo will always be there to protect you; as long as he is alive, no one else will ever make you cry again.

“Wonwoo,” you whispered, gazing into his eyes. “I’m going to do something that you’ve been too nice to do.”

Before he could respond, you pulled him into a kiss, catching him off guard. His pulse quickened as he understood what was happening, but he kissed you back, the heat radiating between you two on this chilly high tower. He needed you, but didn’t know how to tell you; however, he would surely show you, grabbing your waist and pulling you closer. Your kiss deepened, a mix of yearning and relief in the air as if he knew you felt the same way.

You finally pulled apart, breathless and content. Wonwoo’s heart was pounding; he wanted more but didn’t want to rush things. In due time, it would happen.

“Well, it’s exciting to know you feel the same way, space cowboy.”

“You are never going to let that nickname go, will you?”

“Never.”

A slight grin spread across your face, and you stepped back, looking at the night sky again. Wonwoo came behind you and wrapped his arms around you, wanting to feel your warmth again. If it were up to him, he would never let you go. He stood there in silence, watching the beautiful person in front of him finally have a moment of peace, and it was because of him.

At that moment, Wonwoo knew he was in love, and despite being ordered to protect and save you, you also saved him from a lifetime of loneliness.

It took you a few hours to get to Merchara, an industrial planet dominated by towering factories and sprawling cities. The sky is a permanent rust orange, filled with smog that suffocates without the proper mask. It’s ironic that you are going to a place where you can barely breathe on your own after what you did to Wonwoo back there, leaving him slumped on a wall. You haven’t stopped crying and haven’t been able to breathe easily since a tight knot settling on your chest as each hour goes by; you don’t deserve him.

“Let’s do this shit,” you muttered.

Settling behind a building in the city of Theodian, you wipe the remaining tears off your face and regain focus. You took a ship common enough to blend in with others in the galaxy that would let you go undetected. You registered with an alternate login no one knew, which gave you enough time to disable the GPS and turn into a ghost, hence its name, Umbra. People only come to this planet if they are hiding out or are involved in the black market. Fortunately, the person you need to see fits both criteria, and he may be the only person in this galaxy who will not rat you out the second you step into his establishment: Yoon Jeonghan.

You met him on a job when you were tasked with a group of other bounty hunters to raid his building and eliminate anyone who got in your way. The job was messy and ended with unnecessary casualties, and you suspect that Jeonghan was targeted because he dabbles in black-market weaponry and tech. The only reason why you spared him, despite him attacking you on sight, was because he was protecting a little girl, his sister. Despite him being good at fighting, you had the upper hand, and you were ready to get rid of him, but then you saw her crawl from behind the table, wild-eyed and shaken. She stood behind him with big brown eyes and clung to his shirt, and it reminded you of the little sister you lost, and you didn’t want to be the reason you took her family away.

You spared his life, and because of that, he became your most trusted ally, second only to Wonwoo. Jeonghan would supply you with weapons at a cheaper rate as a token of gratitude, and eventually, you would become friends. His sister, Sohee, was wary of you at first, and you didn’t blame her; you almost killed her brother. But she came around, and now she refers to you as “Aunt” Silver when you come around.

“Hello?”

Your knuckles rapped against the door while you waited for a response. The door slowly creaked open with little effort, causing your body to tense as you became more alert. Hesitating, you quietly pushed the door open, greeted by the coolness of the living room. Your heart quickened as you scanned the room, looking for anything out of place. You’ve known them a long time, and it’s not like them to leave their doors unlocked.

You hear shuffling from the back corner, and you quickly pull out your gun, only to be met by Jeonghan, holding a basket of fruit.

“Well, hello,” Jeonghan greets you, eyeing your gun.

“Don’t worry, Hannie, I come in peace,” you say, raising your hands slowly.

“Yeah, I don’t think you have much of a choice, Miss Million Dollar Bounty,” he smirks as he sets down his basket. You relax and put the gun back in its holster.

“You heard about that, huh?” you sighed. “I imagine the news is probably all over the galaxy.”

“Fresh on the ten o’clock telecasts,” he remarked.

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

You sit on one of the barstools, your head in your hands as everything hits you all at once. Finding out the truth about your family, attempting to kill Aeron, Wonwoo… fuck, Wonwoo. The thought of him lying there all alone feels like a knife twisting in your gut.

“How is Wonwoo taking all of this?”

You slowly look up at him, your eyes blurry from the tears that you managed to repress for a short time. “Not good,” you sniffle. “I broke his heart.”

Your chest feels heavy, like a weight pressing down on you as you unravel, releasing all the frustration and hurt you've experienced over the past twenty-four hours. You thought Aeron was one of your last living connections to your family, and learning that he had a hand in severing that bond makes you feel sick to your stomach.

Jeonghan quickly pulls you into his embrace as you cry, unable to keep your jar of emotions shut. You’re not a crier; you view it as a weakness and never want anyone to see you that way… but you can’t help it. Your heart aches for the family you lost, Wonwoo, and for everything that has transpired since then. It feels like the last fifteen years were a lie—a facade created for Aeron to cover his tracks.

“He hates me, Hannie.” Your voice trembled. “Wonwoo is never going to forgive me.”

“Shhh, don’t say that,” he shushed you. “If I know anything about Wonwoo, you are his sun and moon and all that other cliche stuff. From what I have seen, that man is too deep in love with you. I’m sure he’ll understand… just give him some time.”

“I don’t know,” you sniffled again. “I really knocked him out the last time I saw him.”

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Dreamshade.”

“Oh, Silver,” he clicks his tongue. “You were always a sneaky one.”

He hands you a napkin, and you wipe your face in the mirror. Your eyes are rubor red and you lack sleep. You look worn down and defeated; even your silver hair is dull and no longer full of life.

“You need to sleep,” Hannie says suddenly. “Go up to Sohee’s room and take a nap.”

“No, no,” you shake your head. “I gotta keep moving. Where is she anyway?”

“School,” he says, taking the bananas out of the basket. “You do know what time it is, right?”

You glance at the digital clock on the wall; it reads nine o'clock AM, its bright blue lights glowing prominently. The adrenaline that has fueled you for the past twenty-four hours is fading, and fatigue and hunger crash over you like wildfire. Your back aches, and your feet are sore. As much as you want to leave, you know Jeonghan is right: you are completely exhausted.

“I just really need to re-up on some supplies,” you say wearily. “I’ll be out of your hair soon. I don’t want to risk you and Sohee’s life any more than I am being here.”

“Silver, you saved our lives even when you didn’t have to,” Jeonghan said firmly. “I will always have your back.”

He pointed toward Sohee’s room. “You should rest first. I can give you what you need when you wake up. But if you keep going like this, you will exhaust yourself, and I won’t be able to help you.”

You sigh heavily, running your fingers through your hair. “Don’t you want to know why I did it?”

Jeonghan pauses momentarily, giving you a once-over before coming around the corner. “Not if it’s going to get me in trouble,” he smirked. “But seriously, whatever reason you did it, I’m sure it was justified.”

You don’t have the strength to argue anymore; your eyes grow heavy with each passing second. You let him lead you to her bed, where he untucks the covers. You slowly crawl in, the scent of lavender lingering on her pillow.

“Sleep,” Jeonghan says softly. “I’ve got you.”

You nod, too tired to think. Your body succumbs to fatigue, and you drift into a deep sleep.

Wonwoo dreamed about you.

It was an old memory, but it’s one of his favorites. You two were at the Sanctuary, a blip on the map outside the city, kept a secret from the public. You two discovered it accidentally after finishing a mission on the planet Glacius, which became your secret getaway. Very few people know about this place, and it provided the privacy you both craved when you grew tired of being in the public eye. The weather was always warm, with a tropical element reminiscent of the beaches on old Earth.

You had only been dating officially for several months, but Wonwoo was deeply in love. You were fire and ice and an enigma all at the same time. You made his soul smile when you touched him, and he was in awe of your bravery and the lengths you were willing to go to protect him on each mission. You weren’t the heavy emotional type, but he knew how much you cared about him. It was the little things— the way you talked to him softly like no one else could, the way you kept contact when Wonwoo spoke, and by gods, the way you kissed him. He felt it, knew you loved him too. But you haven’t said it out loud yet.

“Wonwoo… I think I am ready to take the next step.”

You two were lying on the blankets on the beach, letting the sun kiss your skin and melting the cold away from the other planet. Wonwoo lifted his head up, his glasses slightly askew and his heart racing as he replayed the words in his head.

“W-what step?”

You raised an eyebrow and threw him a look, and he got your message crystal clear. “Oh… I mean, are you sure?”

“Yes,” you nodded, now sitting up. “I want to do this with you. I’ve never been in love before… and I want to know what it’s like to do it with someone you love.”

Wonwoo’s eyes softened, sitting up and moving closer to you. “You love me?”

“Yes, you dolt,” you giggled. “Do you need me to say it?”

You leaned closer to him, your lips barely touching his. “I love you, space cowboy. More than you know.”

Wonwoo never acts on impulse. He always thought ahead and planned for every scenario, but this time, he wanted to live in the moment with you and forget all his inhibitions. So he kissed you. Hard.

There wasn’t a place in the galaxy hotter than you two. Passion and lust flowed through each other at the simple but profound eight-lettered phrase. His heart was beating out of his chest, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he laid you back on the blanket, tasting vanilla on your lips.

“You are a man of very few words, Wonwoo,” you teased him. “I take it you love me too?”

He gave you one last, lingering kiss before gazing into your eyes, seeing a vision of love in front of him.

“You consume every thought that I have. You make me feel open and alive. I love you, Silver—”

Bzzt! Bzzt!

Wonwoo’s world started to crumble, the Sanctuary slipping away with you in it, forming into a dark, blurry room with four vibrating walls.

Bzzt Bzz!

Wonwoo stirred slowly, his right jeans pocket buzzing incessantly as he opened his eyes. His vision was blurred, a sign that the eye drops he had used to clear his eyesight had worn off. He reached into his left jacket pocket, pulled out his glasses, and carefully slipped them on. A dull ache throbbed in his head, and he felt groggy as the events of the previous day flooded back to him.

“Alright, alright,” he grumbled, digging into his right pocket.

He looked at the screen and groaned when he saw Aeron's call from his private residence. He rarely used the private line unless it was a matter of serious concern.

“Yeah?” he answered.

“State your location,” Aeron’s voice responded gruffly from the speaker.

It took Wonwoo a moment to answer; the effects of the Dreamshade were still holding him back. “I’m at the Portalis.”

The Portalis was a small area in the Nova District with a portal that transported people to other planets. There were a dozen rooms where individuals could conduct business, rest, or do whatever they wanted, much like a motel. Wonwoo knew that you would go there after the attempt on Aeron’s life; he would have done the same.

“Have you captured her?”

He envisioned your face, your soft lips pressed against his, before everything went purplish-blue and black. He should be angry at you for running off instead of sticking together; you are a team. But his love and longing for you supersede any anger he might feel. He was made for you, you need him, and he is determined to see this through.

“No,” he pushed himself off the ground. “Not yet.”

“What do you mean not yet?!” Aeron snapped. “Did you forget what that bitch did?”

“That bitch is Silver,” Wonwoo defended, dusting off his jacket. “She isn’t some stranger on the street or a temp for hire. She is family. My fiancé.”

“Family doesn’t try to kill each other, Wonwoo,” Aeron said plainly. “She went against us. You know what happens when you break the code.”

Wonwoo stilled, leaning against the wall as the effects of Dreamshade finally started to wear off. He knew very well what happens when you break the code, and never wanted to meet that kind of fate. Let’s just say he would rather have his death swift and to the point, instead of floating around in space.

“Aeron, what Silver said you did… is there any truth to that?”

There was a momentary silence thick with anticipation; he almost thought Aeron hung up.

“Are you questioning me, boy?” His voice roared through the speaker. “Understand something. If I tell you to skip, you ask how many times you hear me? You would still be in the streets if it weren’t for me. Bring her to me NOW, or you will die right next to her.”

The call ended with a hard click before he could respond, and he just stood there, motionless and angry. Aeron has never talked to Wonwoo that way, and he could feel his heart beating through his ears. Who does he think he is? Wonwoo didn’t need him. He didn’t ask to be saved. The Organization would be nothing without him and Silver, and he knows that. Is this how family treats each other?

He exited the room and slammed it shut, frustration seeping out of him as he climbed into his ship and turned on the engine. He would deal with Aeron later, but he had to find Silver before it was too late.

“Aunt Silver, wake up.”

You feel a little hand softly nudge you awake. Your mouth opens, and tiny drool drops come out of the corner of your mouth. Your eyes regain focus, and you stare at little Sohee, with pigtails in her hair and a clean school uniform. She beams once you recognize her, giving you a tight hug that touches your heart.

“Jeonghan told me to wake you up. Dinner is ready.”

“Dinner?”

You look at the time plastered on the wall—it was quarter past seven. Shooting out of bed, you hurriedly put on your socks and laced up your boots, kissing Sohee on her head as you walked out of the bedroom.

“No, Jeonghan said you must stay and eat with me.”

“I can’t, sweetie,” you say, frantically looking around the house for your weapons. “I have somewhere to be and shouldn’t have stayed here this long.”

Little Sohee folds her arms and stands in front of the front door. “Jeonghan says he will be back and to stay with me and eat.”

This makes you stop in your tracks, and a slight panic starts to kick in. “He left?”

“Yes,” she nods. “He says something about you needing 'supplies' and he will be back.”

Then it clicks. Jeonghan must have gone to get you more weapons, and he doesn’t want you to leave Sohee alone. Jeonghan, if nothing else, is a tricky bastard.

“Okay,” you sighed, walking to the kitchen.

Laid out on the table was an arrangement of foods in bowls, steaming hot, accompanied by a rare tea that grows only on this planet: hibiscus. You sit in view of the front door to see when Jeonghan or anyone else comes. Despite your eagerness to get out of there and your stomach pains of hunger, you reluctantly sit down, grab a bowl, and fill it with rice and braised chicken.

You observe Sohee as she happily fills her bowl with miso soup, accompanied by a side of grilled fish, with not a care in the world. You miss being at that age, when you only had to worry about whether your mom would let you play outside or if you remembered to fill Dipper’s food bowl. Sadness and a hint of envy prick at your heart, and you think of your past life and what you could’ve become.

“How’s school?”

“It’s fine, Aunt Silver,” Sohee responds, slurping her soup. “We are learning about planets in the Milky Way and how they differ from those in our galaxy.”

You listen to her shoot off random facts about Earth, Mars, and all the other planets in the solar system in awe. You’ve heard the story a million times about how Earth became inhabitable and how we had to travel through galaxies to get here. But hearing Sohee tell it, happy to share the knowledge she is learning, warms your heart. This is partly why you wanted to leave; you care about Sohee so much and want her to have the life your sister could’ve had.

You mostly eat silently for the rest of dinner, and Sohee has already packed food for you to go before she wakes you up. You hear the door creak, and you instinctively grab for your gun, panic setting in when you remember it isn’t in your holster.

“Don’t worry, it’s just me.” Jeonghan’s voice rang out, calming your nerves. “I come bearing gifts.”

You meet him in the living room as he pulls out the weapons, more Dreamshade, clothes, and other things needed to protect you while you’re out there. You pick up a magazine, the cool metal feeling familiar in your grip, and begin attaching it to your gun with practiced efficiency. You secure your other weapons and powders that would affect you without gloves. You glance at Jeonghan, who gives you a soft smile and places a supporting hand on your shoulder.

“You and Wonwoo will find your way back to each other. Do what you have to do.”

You nod, put on your mask, walk out of the back door toward your ship, and place your bag behind your seat. Taking deep breaths, you are determined not to cry again as you head to your next destination for more answers.

“WAIT!”

You look to your left, and Sohee runs towards you, holding the packed food you forgot to grab.

“Here,” Sohee shoved it into your hands. “I also put some hot buns in there, in case Uncle Wonwoo wants some.” Hearing his name left a painful reminder that struck your heart, leaving you momentarily lost in the memories you don’t want to revisit.

“Aww, come here, kid,” you say, shaking off those feelings, putting everything aside, and pulling her into a tight hug.

“Aunt Silver, I don’t care what the people on TV say. You aren’t a bad person. I know it.”

Fresh tears threaten to break through, and you don’t want her to see that. Sohee is sweet, pure, and full of light. You hope she never changes.

“Thank you, Sohee,” you manage to say. “It means a lot to me.”

You wait until Sohee is safe before booting up your ship, soaring high in the galaxy, and heading to your next destination.

The trip to Glacius was the longest twelve hours you have ever had to sit through. You’ve been on longer trips, but you were never alone—you at least had Wonwoo and other crew members or bounty hunters with you. The silence is the hardest part to sit through, the crippling thoughts in your head and considering your current mental state, it’s hard to turn off. All you can do is grieve; you mourn the life that you lost and the one that you are about to lose again, because of Aeron. There isn’t a hell in this galaxy you won’t send him through, and you will see to it that he suffers a satisfying death.

The temperature drops significantly the farther you travel from the sun, and a turquoise planet with cloud rings around comes into view. Glacius is a planet with icy terrain throughout its surface. From the outside, there is nothing but snow for miles, and the forest is filled with Glaceons and other wild animals. However, only a few know about Zoie, the underground city with just over fifty thousand people. Scientists and researchers mostly live here, and the only place besides Merchara where you have another ally you can turn to at the drop of a hat.

You park your ship and suit up to brace the freezing cold. It is your luck to come here in the middle of the storm, but what other choice do you have? You exit the ship, fighting against the wind until you reach Zoie's hidden entrance. Three taps from your foot alert to your arrival. The ground shifts, and you are lowered through a glass tube, with illuminated lights being your only source of light in the darkness. Eventually, you reach the entrance to the city, met by bodyguards circling around as the glass lifts.

“State your business here,” the agent with toad-like skin gruffed. The other guards took your bag and body searched you, digging through your bag in hopes of finding incriminating evidence.

“I’m here for Dr. Selene Ardyn,” you say, eyeing one of the guards with porcelain-like skin sniffing your hot buns.

“Wait here.”

You awkwardly stand there while they finish searching your bags, your eyes twitching as they unfold the clothes you had packed and throw everything back unceremoniously. You would think that being in a place renowned for technology would instill more manners in people, but alas, not everyone possesses class.

“These hot buns, you don’t want them, right?” The guard pulls one out and eats it in front of you.

“Nope,” you roll your eyes. “Have fucking at it.”

You shake your head, looking away at the greasy man smearing minced meat over his face in disgust. Your thumbnail instinctively digs into your palm, and you slowly count to ten as you try to keep your annoyance at bay.

“What’s wrong?” He goads, stepping closer to you. “You don’t like it when people take your things?”

“You’re awfully perceptive.” You stand your ground. “I guess the worms in your brain have finally mellowed out.”

The other guards snicker at your remark, and you look straight ahead, waiting for the toad-like guard to return. The porcelain guard’s face turns tomato red, and before you can react, his hand grabs your throat and slams you against the wall.

“You bounty hunters think you are tough shit and are better than the rest of us,” his words spit on your face. “You probably can’t even fi—”

Before he could finish his thought, he was already on the floor, thanks to a quick head butt and a kick to the left knee. It’s been a long day. You are tired and hungry, and the ache from missing Wonwoo eats at you more and more. You could’ve let his words slide and waited for the doctor, but unfortunately for him, you were having a bad time.

Turning him over, you place your foot on his back and grab both of his arms, pulling them back until you hear a tear and a blood-curdling scream that makes you satisfied. “You were saying?”

“What’s going on here?”

You look up, facing Dr. Selene Ardyn, watching the scene before her with an eyebrow raised. She was all but five feet two, with smooth caramel colored skin and thick hair wrapped neatly into a bun. Dressed like the typical scientist, complete with a white trench coat, she folds her arms while waiting for an answer.

“Your guard ate my food and put his grubby hands on me,” you grit through your teeth. “So I was teaching him some manners.”

“Silver, is that necessary?” Selene asks, looking annoyed. “Let him go, and I’ll take you back to my quarters. I’ve been expecting you.”

You tug his arms one last time, dropping them unceremoniously, grabbing your bag, and walking around the injured guard. The other three move away quickly as you storm by, the red you saw slowly dissipating.

“Guards?” You hear Selene call out. “Take Brutus to the medics and tell them I sent him.”

Selene Adryn is one of the most renowned scientists and engineers in the galaxy, specializing in the research of bioweapons. You have worked for her several times, gathering plants and resources from all over the galaxy, and have grown somewhat close. You’ve seen how she interacts with her employees, and though she hasn’t explicitly said it, you knew you could go to her if you were ever in trouble.

The click of her heels against the glossy floor is almost melodic, calming your nerves as you pass the different quarters. Zoie City is not your typical city; besides being underground, it mainly comprises engineers, other scientists, and researchers from various fields. Everyone stays to themselves or congregates in the main halls for meals or other relaxing areas. Glancing at your watch, it’s a little after 10am, and everyone is bustling with scientific talk that you quite understand.

“We’re here,” Selene announces as she stops before two sliding doors. “Let’s hurry inside.”

Placing her hand on the scanner, the machine beeped and gradually opened the door, revealing a sprawling condo with enough space for three houses. Her place was nothing less than high-tech, with housemaid Androids tidying up on each floor.

“Take off your shoes and give your coat to Bob.”

You already knew who Bob was: her oldest butler, also an Android. He was built to look like a real person, and to someone who doesn’t interact with them often, you would think he is the real thing. But a stark difference always stood out to you—they always looked soulless in the eyes. It unnerved you.

Sliding off your shoes, you hand your coat to Bob and follow Selene into the living room, where she sits on her sectional sofa. You gaze through the tall picture windows as the storm rages outside. The wind howls, lifting the snow into a wild, swirling dance, throwing it around as if it were nothing.

“Thank you for seeing me on short notice,” you say, returning your focus to Selene. “I’m sure you saw the news.”

“Yeah, I did,” Selene confirms with a nod. “Seems like you’ve been busy.”

“Yeah,” you clear your throat. “Being on the run and all, I don’t exactly have time to sit around and linger.”

You look down at your beaten hands, twirling the ruby and diamond infinity engagement ring that Wonwoo proposed to you with. He knew red was your favorite color, and he always said you were more precious than rubies and diamonds, which are rare in this galaxy. God, you miss him.

“So, you say you were expecting me?” you ask, pulling yourself out of your sadness.

“Yes, I was,” Selene replies, walking toward the kitchen. “Do you want something to drink?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I want to know how long you’ve known.”

Selena hesitates slightly as she grabs a mug from the counter. If it were anyone else, they might miss it, but after years of bounty hunter training, you have learned to read people’s body language without asking questions. It’s one of your special skills.

“What do you mean, Silver?” she asks.

“I mean,” you get off the couch and approach her in the kitchen, “how long have you known about my family?”

Selene clutches the handle of her hug, sighing heavily before turning around and facing you. In all the many years you’ve known her, you are actually seeing her— the delicate wrinkles on her forehead and the faint shadows beneath her eyes. It feels like her mask has slipped off, and she is finally revealing who she is.

“Silver, I…” Selene’s voice falters. “How did you figure it out?”

“I didn’t,” you reply softly, trying to keep your emotions in check. “But you just confirmed it.”

When you started receiving the documents about the truth of your family’s death, you knew it had to be someone who had access to your Dropbox. It’s not easily accessible to the public, and though you couldn’t track the IP address exactly, you knew it had originated from far beyond your planet. The first two numbers indicated that you were this far in the galaxy, and you decided to apply the process of elimination. You knew this was a huge gamble, showing up here with accusations that may have been unfounded, but you had to trust your gut, and it rarely steers you wrong.

“I don’t want to have to ask you again, Selene,” you warned.

“Okay, okay.”

She gestures back to the couch and urges you to sit, while you settle opposite her, on guard. Selene had known about you for so long and never said a word… You really can’t trust anyone, except for Wonwoo.

“You remind me of your mother a lot.”

Your head ticks at her words, unsure if you heard her right. “What do you mean, I remind you of my mother? How do you know her?”

Selene settles into the sofa, twiddling her thumbs on her lap. “She was my best friend.”

You look at her incredulously, the woman you respected, keeping this secret from you all this time. It all makes sense now; It all clicks now—why she was constantly requesting you for missions and would sometimes let you stay in her home overnight instead of sending you off when the job is complete. Sometimes you’d hear her hum a song your mom used to sing to you to sleep, and you thought it was a coincidence or the song was popular across the galaxy. You’ve just been a fool.

“Wow,” a bitter laugh escapes your lips. “I can’t fucking believe this.”

You turn away, looking at the window as the storm still rages on, the chaos mirroring what you feel inside. You're a tempest, brimming with anger and ready to wreak havoc on everyone who has played you like a fool.

“Selene, you would be dead if I didn’t respect you so much.”

You turn around and face her, your nails digging sharply in your palms. “You let me believe this lie… this fallacy that Aeron planted all these years. You were my mother’s best friend, supposedly, right? Why didn’t you take me in? Why did you leave me in the hospital for weeks and not visit me ONCE?”

Your chest heaved as you lay it all out. “Why Selene? WHY?”

“I detect elevated voices, is everything al—”

“For the love of Gods, Bob, shut the fuck up!”

You overflow with anger, reaching behind your back and pulling out your pistol. Cocking the lever, you aim to shoot—

“Y/N, STOP!”

You freeze, slowly gazing at Selene as she runs over to Bob, covering the android with her body. No one has called you by your real name since you were a kid... Since you came to live with Aeron. “Don’t shoot him, please.” You study her, watching her chest heave, panic and fear wild in her eyes. “I’ll tell you everything you need to know. Just… don’t hurt him.”

Reluctantly, you lower your weapon, choosing to keep out instead of putting it up. She whispers something to the android, who nods, bowing to her slightly and leaving the main room. The other androids follow on cue, and it’s just you and her.

“You said you would tell me everything I need to know.” Your voice is low and tense. “So start talking.”

She sits on the couch, shifting around until she is comfortable, before she begins. “Like I said earlier, your mother and I were best friends. We attended the same girls' school and were roommates, so naturally we became close.”

“So you knew Aeron then as well?”

Her eyes briefly go dark at the mention of his name. “Yes, I knew him. He attended a brother school and would often follow her around. I hated him. I thought he was so weird, but your mother… she was sweet. Always saw the good in people. So, eventually, they fell in love.”

“Her family, your folks, weren’t close, and she thought she could convince them to accept Aeron, and they would get married and start a family. Aeron could’ve been your father.” You grimace at that thought.

“But,” you cut in. “She was forced to marry Dad, right? “

She nods. “Yes. Your family was a very powerful people, and whatever they said went. So if your grandpa said you had to marry someone, there was only so much she could say or do before bending to their will. Aeron was obviously unhappy with it, but what could he do? He was just a boy who loved someone he could never truly have.”

“Don’t make excuses for him,” you say bitterly.

“Oh, trust me, I’m not,” Selena waves her hands. “He’s a bastard who didn’t deserve your mother. I will hate him until the day I reach Valhalla.”

You smirk at her statement, feeling slightly relieved that you two are on the same page. “So you knew my mother, my dad, I assume? How come I never saw you?”

“I used to come around a lot more when you were younger. You probably don’t remember, but I used to visit and bring you stuffed animals. Your favorite was always a lamb.”

You think back to your childhood, when your room was surrounded by stuffed animals of many species. You always found comfort in your little white lamb. You used to sleep with it and named it Boop, which smelled like rose petals. Maybe you were too young to remember her exactly, but your gut doesn’t tell you she’s lying.

“I couldn’t visit much anymore when I became the head of bioweapon research, and I hadn’t seen your mother in almost ten years. We talked weekly, though, and I saw pictures and videos of you and your sister growing up.”

A slight pang grips your chest, and your eyes water at the memories of you and your little sister that you could reclaim. She was full of sunshine and life, and she dreamed of exploring the cosmos, of discovering the wonders beyond the stars. She deserved to live, and if you could trade your life for hers, you would do it without a second thought.

“Your family’s death devastated me,” Selene’s voice trembles. “It still does. When I heard what happened, my heart sank. I went to the morgue, identified the bodies, and started the process of formally taking guardianship over you. You needed someone, and I wanted to be that.”

“So what happened?” you demand, your voice cracking as tears stream down your cheeks. “There were no records of you trying to take guardianship or even visiting me. Why did you leave me there?”

“Aeron threatened me outright,” Selene discloses, shocking your heart. “He said if I tried to take you in, if I got in his way, he would see to it that your life would be a living hell. See, he knew I would eventually discover the truth about the accident. Just because I work mainly with diseases doesn’t mean I have forgotten about regular science. The day I visited your house after the explosion, I knew it wasn’t a simple gas leak.”

“My gods, he is truly a bastard.” You rub your temples. “So you managed to collect all the evidence and kept it hidden? Is that why you personally requested me to run missions for you?”

“Yes,” Selene nods. “It was the only way I could check on you without tipping off Aeron. If he knew we were having this conversation now…”

“To be frank, I don’t care if he knows we’re talking,” you sniffle. “Next time I see him, he will be dead.”

Silence comes over you, and you look to the windows again, watching the storm finally pull back as the snow finally settles. You hear Selene enter the other room and return with a white box engraved with beautiful drawings of bows and flowers. She hands it to you, slowly lifting the top, revealing pictures of your mother and her as kids, as well as pictures of your dad and mom before you were born.

“I was keeping these until the time was right, and there isn't a day that goes by that I don’t miss your family. Please forgive me for lying to you.”

Selene breaks down in front of you; all you can do is watch silently. The woman you’ve always seen as composed and put together now shows raw emotion and deep grief, which is unusual for you. Just 24 hours ago, you had no idea that anyone even knew about your family.

“I… I don’t hate you, Selene,” you draw breath. “I can’t say I just move on overnight, but understanding who Aeron truly is, I get you were in a tough spot.”

Selene manages to calm down, her feelings reeling in slightly as she gazes at you, her eyes red and tear-stricken. “Let me take you to the spare room. I’m sure you want some time alone.”

You have a lot more questions, especially about your mom’s side of the family, but you decide to table it for another day. You follow her as she takes you into a different room, where you’re used to staying. It’s smaller, but cozier, with a round window next to the bed that gives you the perfect outside view. You look at each other and nod; there is nothing more that needs to be said as of now.

Gently shutting the door, you undress, settling into bed wearing just your shirt and underwear. You look through the box filled with photos—pictures of your mom and Selene at the all-girls school, moments from dances, and a few happy snapshots of your dad and mom together. For the next few hours, you immerse yourself in every photo, document, and memorabilia that captures your family's life before you were born. As you do, you feel a connection to them, their memories coming alive once more, burning brighter in your heart than ever before. For the first time in a long while, you feel a sense of peace and drift off to sleep.

…

“HEY! WHAT’S GOING ON IN HERE?!’

“BRING HER TO ME NOW!—”

You stir in the soft sheets, believing you are asleep and it’s a part of your dream.

“SELENE, I WILL GO IN THERE AND GRAB HER MYSELF AND YOU DON’T WANT THAT.”

“Wonwoo, please don’t—”

You shoot up; the mention of his name constricts your heart as you hear shouted voices outside your door. Grabbing your pistol, you quickly leave the room, pointing it toward the voices until you see him: your Wonwoo.

You lock eyes with him, and his expression shifts, displaying a mixture of longing and sadness. It's the first time you've seen him since you left him behind in Portalis. You'll never love anyone as much as you love him.

“Wonwoo, I—”

“Put your clothes on and let’s go,” he commands, his face hardening. “You’re coming with me.”

Wonwoo hated this. He hated all of this. If someone had told him last week that his fiancée would be on the run for attempting to assassinate the head of the Organization and his father figure, he would’ve asked what they had been sniffing.

It was the first time he had seen you in days, and he was almost breathless at the sight of you. You made his heart race, and all he wanted was to kiss your lips and tell you that everything would be okay, that you could get through this together. But he also remembered how you had left him in the dark during your quest for revenge, and that hurt him deeply. It felt as if the past fifteen years meant nothing; after all this time, you still couldn’t trust him.

“Silver, let’s go,” he said bitterly. “We don’t have all day.”

You came out of the room shortly after, duffle bags in hand and suited to brace the bitter cold weather outside. He watched as you gave a longing look at Selene, who returned it with a teary nod, watching in sadness as Wonwoo placed the handcuffs on your wrists.

“Come on, Wonwoo, is this really necessary?” Selene pleaded. “This is your fiancé we’re talking about here.”

“The same fiancé who knocked me out with Dreamshade?” Wonwoo scoffed. “I know better than to underestimate her.”

He shot a glare in your direction, and in response, you looked down at the ground in shame. “I’m sorry, Wonwoo.”

“There seems to be a lot of that going around,” he shook his head. “Let’s go.”

Wonwoo's footsteps echoed against the cold, hard floor as he led you away from the quarters, earning shocked and disapproving stares from the patrons. He didn’t care what people thought was happening; he just wanted to get out of this place and think. And talk to you.

Reaching the entrance, only one guard was waiting, who gave Wonwoo a curt nod before placing you in the tube, raising you slowly to the outside world.

‘Wonwoo, my ship—”

“Has already been taken care of,” he interrupted. “Did you forget I’m the one who taught you how to navigate an Umbra ship?”

He pulls you onto his ship, the wind howling furiously behind him as another snowstorm starts to commence. He sits you down on one of the chairs, strapping you in tightly across your chest and shackling your feet at the bottom. His heart is pounding heavily in his chest, a drumbeat of anxiety as he fights the urge to return your gaze while he is so close to your face, your lips.

“Wonwoo,” you said weakly. “I’m really sorry.”

“You’ve already said that,” he muttered. “I’ve heard it enough.”

Moving swiftly, he closed the doors and booted up the spaceship before settling into the commander’s seat. The melodic sounds of the buttons being pressed momentarily distracted him as he focused on safely lifting off the ground and into the galaxy. Usually, he would have his usual crew of Mingyu and Soonyoung with him, but this was a mission he wanted to undertake alone. You were intelligent, quick, and a skilled shooter, and he didn’t want to take the risk of you hurting someone else and escaping again. It pained him to think of you that way.

Once you were safely in the air, he set the ship on autopilot and kicked his feet up on the dash as it navigated through the dark blue sky. Within a day's time, they would be back in Adamas City, where you would have to stand in front of Aeron and answer for what you did. This whole situation was gnawing at him; the family he found was being split apart, and the only reconciliation could come through death. Wonwoo hadn’t felt this kind of pain since his parents died, and he shuddered to think about life without you in it. You were his sun, his moon, and a world without you in it wasn’t something he could bear.

Instead of talking to you, baring his feelings and putting everything on the line, he remained silent, watching the planets go by while he nursed a broken heart.

“Where are we?”

16 hours have passed since you left Glacius, and the ship doors open to a planet that is not Galaxia. It is small, round, and rocky with multiple pit stops, restaurants, and a main hotel that stands higher than the planet, if you had to guess.

“East Eaoros XII, specifically Requim,” Wonwoo responds. “You haven’t been here before, but this is where you go to refuel your ships and rest before you go to your next destination.”

“Oh…” you nod. “I see.”

Wonwoo pulls a blanket over you, assumingly to cover your handcuffed hands to not draw attention to you. You catch a whiff of his cologne when he wraps it around your arms, his close proximity sending butterflies fluttering in your stomach. For a brief moment, your eyes meet, but he quickly looks away. His brown eyes are filled with sadness, yet they still radiate love for you.

“I think we should rest… You know, before we go back to Adamas City.”

“Okay.”

He leads you out of the ship and closes it with the remote in his pocket, walking towards the hotel. It is a ten-story building with nothing special about it, resembling a regular hotel. The interior was no different, with the typical mahogany-colored walls and shiny white floors that were supposed to exude luxury. You stood silently as Wonwoo checked into his reservation, listening to the conversations of the guests that walked by, oblivious that they were standing next to the most wanted person in the galaxy.

“Let’s go.”

He shoves the room keys into his pocket, and you follow him to the elevator, watching as he presses number ten on the pad. You passed each floor with a hum, the tension between you two thick and suffocating. You have so much to say, but your throat tightens every time you start. If today is truly going to be your last day in this galaxy, you want Wonwoo to know the truth, and no matter what, you love him deeply.

The elevator dings on the tenth floor, opening to a grand suite that overlooks the city. Expansive picture windows, a spacious living room with a luxury kitchen, and two rooms that were presumably where you would be sleeping tonight. Wonwoo slips the blanket off of you, throwing it over his shoulder and walking you to the living room. For your last night of freedom, he went all out. If anything, you expected a standard room with two twin beds, a TV, and, if you’re lucky, a mini fridge.

“This was the only room they had left,” Wonwoo stated, as if he were reading your thoughts. “And I really need the rest… and so do you.”

You gaze at him, your words caught in your throat and keeping you from saying how you truly feel. You took a deep breath, sliding one of the dining room tables with your foot and sitting down, your head cocked back as you take in the A/C. You feel his presence nearby, his shadow looming over you as goosebumps rise on your arms. He takes your hands, unlocks the handcuffs, and briefly rubs your wrists before letting go. You know you’ve hurt him, and it’s your cross to bear whatever he throws at you, but he still took the time to take your pain away.

“How do you know I won’t run?”

He studies you, putting the handcuffs and keys in one of the duffle bags. “If you wanted to run, you would’ve been out of the cuffs without my help.”

Your lips slightly twitch, knowing that once again, he is right. “Touche.”

Wonwoo hands you your duffle bag full of clothes, pointing to the bathroom in the room on the left. “You should go ahead and shower while we’re here.”

You nod slowly, walking into the bedroom and shutting the door. It had a king sized bed and soft satin sheets, a couple of fake plants in the window for personality and a large chess drawer with a mirror in front. You hear Wonwoo shuffling in the living room for a while, a light harmony escaping his lips that softens your heart.

You remember when he sang soft lullabies in your ear, thinking you were sleeping, his raspy vocal tone soothing to your soul. You miss your late nights and late mornings, when you were either in his arms or underneath him. You miss his intimacy, his protection, his raw love, which he showed you in different ways that made you want to stay and live. Wonwoo is your whole world, your lifeline, and you're proud to say you’ve never loved anyone before him, and it's an honor to be loved by him in return.

You step into the bathroom, turning on the shower, wincing as you slowly undress. The straps from the belts on the ship were too tight, and you felt them tightening against your skin as each hour passed. It’s left you with bruises across your chest, nothing too serious, but enough to feel when you move. You didn’t complain, you’ve had worse injuries before, and it seems so minuscule compared to the pain that you’ve caused. The only thing that mattered was being here with him and making the most out of it.

“Wonwoo,” you call out, inhaling the steam quickly filling the bathroom. Your heart beats a drum of suspense, overriding your head, and what could blow up in your face. You can’t think straight, your thoughts are jumbled, and above all, you don’t want to be alone.

A few seconds later, he rushes into the bathroom, his eyes full of panic.

“C-can you just hold me please?” Your voice trembles. “I know you hate me and I really fucked up but I don’t want to be alone.”

His gaze softens at your words, and he slips off his glasses, undressing without hesitation. Wonwoo is a muscular man with his own scars and battles, and you could recall how he got each one. Stepping into the shower stall with you, he noted your bruises, his eyes welling up as he examined each one. “Did I do this?”

“It’s okay, you didn’t know—”

“NO, it’s not okay!” His raised voice makes you jump. “God, Silver, it’s like you don’t trust me anymore.”

His words pierce your heart, triggering a cascade of tears you can no longer hold back. You’ve been strong all this time, running throughout the galaxy to complete your last mission alive and eliminate Aeron. But your soul is tired, and Wonwoo is one of the few people you can depend on, and yet you keep hurting him.

He pulls you into his arms as you continue to cry, the warm water from the shower head beating over both of you. You feel protected and safe, as if you are finally home and can lay down your burdens. You don’t regret trying to kill Aeron, and you would do it again in a heartbeat, but you regret not including him in on this. You will forever be sorry about it.

“I don’t deserve you,” you blurt out, gazing at him. “You deserve someone who isn’t fucked up like me—”

Wonwoo kissed you ravenously like a starved man. He didn’t intend to go in so strong, but hearing you talk down about yourself, he hated it. He just wants to kiss your pain away.

“I couldn’t hate you if I tried.” He whispered. “I love you, okay? Nothing will ever change that.”

You were beautiful to him, with many layers and flaws that he didn’t care about. Yes, he was upset that you hadn’t trusted him, but he also knew YOU, and understood you wouldn’t have acted that way without proof. He was hopelessly and deeply in love with you, and his heart was telling him to trust you. You had grown up together and had seen every side of each other. There was no way he would ever give up on you, Aeron or not.

He kissed you again, and he found himself caught in a rapture of love, his hunger and need for you superseding any logical thought or need. He touched you like he was trying to reclaim all the time you had been apart. Your nails dug into his back when he sucked your neck, leaving you more bruised.

“Sorry, baby,” he said in between breaths.

“Don’t be sorry,” you shook your head. “Do what you want.”

He felt himself hardening against your leg, and he instinctively started stroking himself, sending electric jolts throughout his body. His lips slightly parted, the thought of being inside of you and feeling your warmth around him, cumming for him over and over almost sends him into an abyss.

You slowly get on your knees, moving his hand, rubbing his shaft, and giving his tip a soft kiss. Wonwoo watched as you took over, bobbing your head back and forth as you sucked him inch by inch, never breaking eye contact. He loved the way you twirled your tongue around his cock, the wet slurping sounds coming from your pretty mouth was music to his ears. It made his toes curl, turning him animalistic as his hands grasped your head and pulled it tightly.

"You feel so good baby", he muttered against the wall. "I missed you."

You nodded fervently, increasing your pace and skillfully deepthroating him while he was in ecstasy. Watching his cock go in and out of your mouth, drops of spit coming out of your mouth was a sight to see. You sucked him earnestly like you owed him, and he felt that. But little did you know, Wonwoo is the one who owes you, for keeping him alive all this time.

“Get up,” he gritted his teeth, reluctantly pulling you off of him.

He helped you off the ground and pressed your back against the tiled wall, the warm water hitting your breasts and falling on the curves of your stomach. The smell of vanilla on your skin is intoxicating, stirring in his chest a need for you and your taste. His fingers brushed against your nipples, your sensitive buds hardening at his touch. He sucked on them softly, his tongue swirled around each nipple, earning a hard moan from your lips. He loved the way your body responded to him. You were like a siren, your moans enticing to him as he sucked on them harder and putting him under your spell.

“God, Wonwoo,” you whined.

“I know, baby, I know.”

His lips traveled lower to your abdomen, leaving a trail of kisses on your soft stomach as he made his way to your center. His mouth salivated as he saw your flowering bud, bringing back memories of his tongue inside of you for the first time at the Sanctuary. You were creamy and tasted like heaven, and he’s been addicted to your sweetness ever since.

“You’re so beautiful.”

He dived in without any warning, sucking on your clit and spreading your legs. He was on his knees, devouring your center like this was the last time. He yearned to feel your cum on his tongue, to swallow everything that you had to offer him. He was a desperate man in love, and willing to do anything to make you satisfied.

“Shit,” you sighed, your hands caressing his hair. “You feel so good.”

Wonwoo grinned against your folds, giving your clit another kiss before hiking your leg up, slipping two digits inside of you. He watched as you bit your lip in anticipation, slowly working his fingers in and out of you. HIs lips found your clit again, fingering and sucking you while your hips slow whined into a seductive rhythm. He loved watching you lose control, your legs shaking and your stomach tightening as the pressure built up in your abdomen. He didn’t slow down when he knew you were cumming, instead he increased the pace, wanting to see you explode over his face and fingers.

“Wonwoo, I...”

Your sentence ended in a high-pitched moan, your fingers grasping his hair tightly as you erupted. He slowly slipped out his fingers, drunk on your sugarness, as he slurped everything you had to offer him. He didn’t stop until you lightly slapped his face, your unspoken yellow light when you needed to catch your breath. Standing up from the shower, the warm water hit his back as he faced you, pulling you into another kiss. Your lips curved into a smile, your eyes shone brightly into his as if nothing more needed to be said.

But he said it anyway.

“I love you.”

You nodded slowly, bringing your hand down and stroking his cock near your entrance. His eyebrows raised, and you smirked, kissing his face lightly before turning around and pressing your chest against the wall. “You know what to do.”

His hands found your hair, wrapping it around his fist as he slid the head of his cock inside of you. He entered you slowly, knowing you were still ripe with overstimulation, despite your body saying otherwise. You pressed your ass against him, goading him to go keep as possible. Your hips rolled in a way that made Wonwoo’s cock twitch, and with one grunt he place his hand on your left hip and started to fuck you. Hard.

“Please.”

He knew exactly what your body craved, hitting you with deep, long strokes that made you quiver, your hands reaching for him and digging into his legs. You didn’t want to be handled like a princess tonight; you wanted to be fucked until there was nothing left. He felt your hunger, your ache, your eagerness to make your pain go away. He loved the way your walls tightened around him when he kissed the back of your neck. Wonwoo has studied you for a long time, and he knew exactly what you needed.

He lets go of your hair, sliding his hand down to your throat and tightening his grip. Your body began to shake, and he thrusted into you harder, your wet skin slapping against his as you moved in harmony with each other. Your moans turn into a sirenic scream, your warm essence drowning his cock as you shudder, your eyes rolling in the back of your head. Wonwoo didn’t last long after that, letting out a long mewl before emptying himself inside of you, coating your walls with his load. You’re both breathless, the water still warm as ever as it rinses away the mess that was made. Kissing you on your shoulder, Wonwoo pulls you off the wall, turning you around and moving a part of your silver hair out of your face.

“We need to talk,” you muttered, looking down at the floor.

“I know,” Wonwoo nodded, feeling his chest constrict at the dreaded conversation. “Let’s get cleaned up first.

A few hours later, you were sitting on the couch, watching the shooting stars go back and forth outside the window. After your shower, your energy was gone, and so you took a nap, promising to get up in an hour. Wonwoo let you sleep in and, at some point, laid in bed with you, as you woke up with his arms wrapped around your waist. His light snores were peaceful, and you wondered if he dreamed like you did, where you were happy, without the threat of Aeron looming over your shoulder with a wedding ring on your finger and a baby in your stomach. Maybe in another life, you can get this back.

“Hey.”

Wonwoo walks into the living room with sleepy eyes and messy hair, unfolding his glasses and sliding them on. He takes a seat next to you, pulls you into his arms, and gazes at the stars together. For the first time in days, you finally feel at peace, able to breathe easily with the limited time you have left.

“I can’t believe this is the last time I’ll see this,” you say solemnly.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

You turn to him and hold his hand tightly. “You know Aeron isn’t going to let me go alive.”

Aeron is a pitbull with a grudge that could go on for a thousand years. You’ve seen what he’s done to people who have pissed him off for less. You aren’t going to believe in some miracle or the greater good; you know better than that. He’s never laid a hand on you as many times as you’ve disobeyed him growing up, but you’ve never tried to kill him either. God, you wish you didn’t miss.

Wonwoo rubs your shoulders, and you can tell he is thinking of a way to get out of this and take care of you, like he always does. “Who sent you the files and the evidence?”

“It was Selene,” you disclosed. “She was best friends with my mother, and she knew Aeron growing up as well.”

You explained everything that Selene told you, even down to the box of mementos that was left in her quarters. Wonwoo listened, never interrupting and taking in everything you said. You saw anger flash in his dark eyes, and you are thankful you aren’t the reason behind that.

“He created this whole, elaborate plan just to keep himself from facing judgment, from facing me,” you pointed at your chest. “He has to know that I would’ve killed him if I found out.”

You think back to Glacius, looking at the photos of your mother’s childhood, happy and oblivious to the future she faced. You remember sleeping happily to your mother’s framed memories and waking up to Wonwoo pulling you back into reality… how did Wonwoo know where you were?

“Hey,” you say abruptly. “How did you know where I was?”

A fleeting look of shame crosses Wonwoo's face, prompting you to withdraw your hand as an eerie feeling coils in your chest. “Jeon Wonwoo, I swear to God—”

“Your ring,” he blurts out, looking at your left hand. “I’ve been able to track you with your ring.”

It didn’t hit you right away. You looked down at your engagement ring, a symbol of love and a promise of your future together that he gave you on the last day of the year, down on one knee at the Sanctuary. There is no way he would taint that memory with a lie, right?

“You must be talking about another ring…” Your voice trails off. “Surely you aren’t talking about this ring on my finger?!”

“Silver, let me explain—”

“Really, Wonwoo?!” You leap off the couch, yanking the ring off your finger while he watches wide-eyed. “It’s bad enough I have Aeron lying to me, but I would never think in a million eons that you would be capable of this, giving me a fake ring—”

“Silver, STOP!”

His voice roars through the suite, sending chills down your spine. The heat of anger and betrayal that had fueled your fire suddenly evaporates. Anything else you wanted to say dies in your throat, your lips pressed tight in a mix of confusion and disbelief as you wave your hand, urging him to continue.

“That ring was made from the finest jeweler in the Nova District, and I personally picked out the stones in the lab. I would never, EVER, give you a fake ring, and I’m really offended you would think I would do that.” Wonwoo motions for you to sit down, and reluctantly, you sit.

“Remember when we had the mission in the Xaros Forest and we were attacked by the wild boars there? Remember when we got separated and I couldn’t find you for days?”

You think back to that particular mission from a year ago, as you were sent there to bring in a wanted fugitive and were met with the wild beasts. While fending them off, you were cut by one of them and almost died, bleeding out in the field. A native of that land saw what happened and stopped the bleeding in their cave, leaving you separated from Wonwoo and the rest of the hunters for seven days. Eventually, that native led Wonwoo to you, and you had never seen him look so terrified; the agony etched on his face upon seeing your condition was unforgettable.

“Those seven days were the worst days of my life,” Wonwoo laments. “I didn’t know if you were dead, alive, but held captive, and I never wanted us to be in that position again. So I placed a tracker on the band of the ring, so if you disappeared again, I would find you.”

You search his eyes for any hint of deceit, but deep down, you know he was telling the truth. Wonwoo could be a lot of things, but a liar he is not. The truth is, this Aeron situation has made you go out of your mind. If someone you looked up to could lie to you like that, or the scientist you did jobs for knew secrets and kept them from you, what’s to say Wonwoo wouldn’t do the same?

“I just wish you had told me, talked to me first,” you sigh heavily. “I would’ve done anything you wanted.”

“I don’t think you should be lecturing me on trust, Silver.”

His words hit you like an arrow to the chest, and you had no comeback for that. He was right.

“Put your ring back on, please,” Wonwoo says softly. “If you want me to take off the tracker, I will.”

You study him for a moment, the familiar look of pain you keep causing on his face. You slowly slide the ring back on your finger, feeling like shit. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says, getting up and pulling you into a hug. “I should’ve talked to you about it first. You’re right.”

You nod on his chest, listening to his heartbeat drum against your ear as the living room falls silent, sans your loud, grumbling stomach.

“We have room service here. Go ahead and order something.”

He kisses your forehead and untangles himself from you, going into the other room and quietly shutting the door. You go into the kitchen and browse the menu, settling on two burgers and fries with drinks, since you know Wonwoo is going to want the same thing. After you enter your order, you sit at the table, alone with your thoughts and everything that has happened. Shortly after, Wonwoo exits the room, his face red with anger.

‘What’s wrong?” You get up slowly.

“It’s Aeron,” he said bitterly. “He wanted to know if I captured you.”

You feel your heart sink into your chest, collapsing back in your chair. Reality is setting in, and tonight will be the last day you will be alive. But at least you will have your day to confront him in person, to look him in the eyes and make him confess to everything he did.

“The way he’s been talking to me every time I bring up what he did… It’s like I don’t matter. Just another body under The Organization.”

Wonwoo looks dejected and hurt, like a boy who's lost his father. You wrap him up in your arms, letting him squeeze you tight in the solace that he needs.

“Baby, I have a plan,” he says, “And it may not work, and it could get us both killed. But I need you to trust me.”

You release him and gaze into his eyes, placing your hand across his heart. “I trust you completely. What are you thinking?”

The rain pours as you land in Adamas City, and the wind is violent like it knows what today is: your judgment day.

The last twelve hours you spent with Wonwoo on East Eaoros XII all seem like nothing but a memory now, the anxiety eating at your stomach as you face the unknown about your future. Wonwoo was careful leading you out of the ship in handcuffs, meeting Soonyoung and Mingyu at the doors before heading inside The Hightower. Soonyoung and Mingyu give you sympathetic looks, walking you to the elevators and standing on each side as you walk in. Wonwoo swipes his badge and presses the button to floor 77, where Aeron awaits you both.

“Are you ready for this?”

You look at Wonwoo, and despite his calm demeanor, his brown eyes reveal that he is worried. You lean in, quickly kissing him and interlocking your pinky with his. “I’m as ready as I can be.”

The elevator dings at 77, the doors opening to Aeron’s office, a swanky 7000 square feet of space that held business meetings, promotions, and if you were on his bad side, your last breath.

“I’ve been expecting you.”

Before you could react, a fist connected to your left cheek, sending you flying into one of the tables. You stagger, facing the 6’5” man with olive skin, a muscular build, and piercing eyes ready to kill.

“You thought you could shoot me and get away with it?!”

He swings another punch, but you're nimble, ducking just in time. Your eyes catch a bottle of dark liquor on his desk, and with a swift motion, you hurl it at him like a Frisbee. Aeron raises his arm to block it, the glass shattering and slicing into his skin, shards splattering across his face. You see Wonwoo reach for his gun, but you shake your head, determined to be the one to send him out of this world.

You search wildly for anything that could free you from the cuffs, adrenaline surging as you fight for your life. You don’t hear Aeron’s approach until it’s too late; suddenly, you’re lifted off the ground and violently slammed down, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs. With merciless fury, Aeron unleashes a torrent of insults, calling you every foul name imaginable while you struggle to gather your thoughts on the hard, unforgiving carpet.

“And I bet it was that bitch Selene who tipped you off,” he spits. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her next.”

“Leave her out of it,” You croak. “She had the guts to tell me the truth, and not hide behind my mother’s memory like some little bitch.”

Aeron’s roar could be heard several floors below. He marched over to your direction, but he was cut off by Wonwoo, standing squarely in front of you. “Enough, Aeron.”

“Boy, get out of my way,” Aeron growls, rolling up his sleeves, attempting to go around Wonwoo.

Wonwoo stood his ground, pushing him out of the way while giving you a chance to sit up and catch your breath. Aeron’s head tilts in disbelief, but instead of going after him, he saunters over to his desk, pulling out a cigar from his drawer. “I could use a break anyway.”

Slumping into his chair, Aeron lights up his cigar and takes one long puff, his eyes fixing on Wonwoo as he examines your swollen left cheek.

“Are you okay?” Wonwoo asks softly.

“I’m fine,” you assure him. “It’s going to take a lot more than this to take me out.”

“You were always pussy-whipped,” Aeron chuckles at his desk. “She could ask you to leap into traffic, and you would do it, no questions asked.”

Wonwoo didn’t respond, instead looking at the time on his watch and moving to your right side. You would be a liar if you said you weren’t in pain. You haven’t sparred with Aeron in years, let alone a real fight. He caught you off guard, and you underestimated his strength, and now you have a sore back and limbs to show for it. It’s not like he got away scot-free, the cuts of glass being the only blow that you could land while handcuffed.

“Why did you do it, Aeron?” you speak up. “Why did you kill my mother? My family?”

You watch him as he takes another puff of his cigar, exhaling the thick smoke out of his mouth.

“She was supposed to be mine, always,” he reveals. “I’ve loved your mother since the first time I laid eyes on her. She loved me too, ya know. Our love transcended time, and we would be happy together if she didn’t get married to that father of yours.”

“I know about the affair, and she wanted to end it.” Your voice is low. “Why didn’t you just leave her be? Why did we all have to die? Why fake a gas leak?”

His hands twitch, fingers curling into fists before releasing. “Because she broke her promise to me,” his voice trembled. “She was only supposed to love me. We were going to figure out how to get her out of her marriage so we could finally be together, and I would raise you as my daughter. However, she fell in love with that man and wanted to make it work with him.” He gazes back at you, eyes wild with a mix of pain and fury. “I just couldn’t have that.”

“So instead of moving on, you decided to kill us?” Your voice wavers, a lump forming in your throat as tears begin to blur your vision. “You were family to us, Aeron! How could you?”

“How could she? How could she love someone else? No, she did it to herself. Your family’s death is on her. I just facilitated the leak, that’s all.”

You stare at him incredulously, your body shaking in anger. You lost your family because Aeron couldn’t handle the thought of your mother being happy with someone else. He’s a bitch and a punk, and you can’t wait to put him down for good.

“Fuck you.”

The telecast’s screen suddenly turns on, showing a livestream of the office and the three of you in it. The recording replays of Aeron assaulting you on entry, watching you fly across the room with a thundering smack to the face. You pinpoint how it was recorded, noting the camera moved every time Wonwoo did, realizing the pin Wonwoo was wearing was actually a hidden camera. Aeron’s eyes are wide with shock as the telecast is shown on the main public channels for everyone to witness.

“What the hell is this?!”

Wonwoo silently releases the handcuffs while Aeron is distracted, whispering in your ear, “Do what you have to do.”

Without hesitation, you grab Wonwoo’s gun, firing a shot into Aeron’s knee. He howls in pain, and without mercy, you shoot the other one, witnessing his face contort in agony and surprise.

“Those two? Are for Dipper and Umi,” you declare, your voice laced with vengeance.

The gun recoils in your hand again, sending a bullet into Aeron's stomach. “That was for my dad, who was ten times the man you ever were.”

With a perfect aim, you shoot one more shot, a fatal blow to his heart. “And that is for my mother, you piece of shit.”

You watch the life leave his body, his eyes glassy and his tongue rolled out of his mouth like the dog he is. The alarms suddenly start blaring, the lights in the office flashing red.

“We have to go.”

Wonwoo pulls you out of the office and into a hidden stairwell, racing up to the roof where the helipad is located. When Wonwoo told you about his plan, you weren’t sure he could pull it off, as it involved many moving pieces. But just like you had friends in different places, so did he. Mingyu and Soonyoung were in on it, standing guard and making sure no one got in the way. Conveniently, they would also be the ones to sound off the alarm to cover up their tracks. He planned to have you leave the city while he cleaned up this mess, publicly and behind the scenes. Since Aeron is dead and Wonwoo is his adopted son on paper, Wonwoo is now the head of The Organization.

He opens up the door leading to the roof, and there awaits a ship, ready to go. What he didn’t tell you was who was going to be navigating the ship, and you have never been happier to see your best friend.

“Happy to see me?” Jeonghan smirked in the commander’s seat.

“Always a pleasure,” you say, looking around the ship. “Where’s So—”

“She’s… with a friend,” Jeonghan finishes your sentence. “We need to leave now before the guards come.”

You nod sharply and turn to Wonwoo, who’s looking at you with a mix of awe and sorrow. The realization hits hard: this might really be the last time you see him until things chill out. All those moments you fought for just to end up on the brink of another goodbye—it feels so wrong. Frustration bubbles up inside you. It shouldn’t be like this; none of this is fair. You should be together, not caught in this mess, forced apart when all you want is to hold on.

“Remember what I told you at the Hightower when we passed our tests?”

You could never forget anything about that day. It was the first time you kissed him, and one of the best nights of your life. “You said I was a force of nature.”

“That’s right, baby,” he says, tears welling up in his eyes. “We’re going to get through this together, and I will find you, okay?”

You point at your engagement ring, and he nods, and he meets your gaze, leaning in to kiss you deeply. A flood of emotions washes over you, your own tears spilling out of your eyes, as you draw him in tighter, breathing in his scent one last time.

“I’m sorry to cut in here, but we have to go,” Jeonghan calls out from his seat.

Reluctantly breaking away, you leave him with one last kiss, wiping his tears away and letting go of his hands.

“I love you, Silver.”

You nod as he exits the ship, your heart feeling lighter with the resolve that you will see him again. Instead of saying goodbye, you leave him with a promise:

“See you, space cowboy.”

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trippiexlove · 2 days ago

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Daddy’s Home

Author Note: Part three to Stone Cold Sinner. Read PART 1 & PART 2 here. Soriya surprises Jey after being on the road. Based on the song Hey Daddy by Usher. If you would like to read any of my other works, here is my master list. Leave requests on this linked post.

Warning: SMUT, Fluff, Oral (M Receiving), Profanity. 18+ ONLY

Pairing: Jey Uso x Black OC (Ari Fletcher as FC)

Word Count: 2,973

Is you say, "Daddy's home, home for me" And I know you've been waiting for this loving all day You know your daddy's home and it's time to play So you ain't got to give my loving away

Josh leaned lazily on the back wall of the elevator as it ascending up to his floor. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back. It didn't seem to last long, as the familiar ding make him pop his eyes open.

He sluggishly walked down the long hallway, his muscles screaming in protest with every step. His world title, which felt 20 pounds heavier, in one hand and his gear bag in the other.

Once he got his hotel door he swiped the card, the light turning green, walking in. He threw his title and bag on the couch before falling onto the bed.

He closed his eyes for a moment, blowing out a sigh of relief. Before he drifted off to sleep he pulled out his phone.

A text from Soriya was the first one he seen.

Princess 🩵: You looked so damn good in your match baby! I can't wait for you to come home ❤️ Baby ❤️: Thank you princess, I can't wait to see you.

After he sent the text he got back up heading into the shower. Due to his tiredness he didn't take long before he was right back in bed. His eyes shut and he drifted off to sleep with no issue.

Soriya was finishing up making content when her doorbell rang. She got up, a smile already forming, knowing it would be Tiffany and Breanna. She swung the door open, pulling them both into a tight hug.

"Hey girl!" Tiffany exclaimed, stepping inside.

Breanna laughed, dropping her purse on the floor. "Hey bestie, we missed your face, Ri."

"Missed you guys too," Soriya said, leading them into the living room. "It's just been but you know." She gestured vaguely, a soft smile playing on her lips.

They settled onto the couch, and after a few minutes of catching up on work and the latest gossip, Tiffany leaned forward, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "So, spill the tea. How's it going with the champ?"

Soriya's smile widened. "It's going really well, actually. He's amazing. So supportive, always finding time to call or text even with our crazy schedule."

"Aww, that's sweet," Breanna said genuinely. "But it must be tough when he's on the road so much."

A touch of sadness flickered across Soriya's face. "It is. I miss him like crazy when he's gone." She brightened slightly. "But he's coming back soon, thankfully. Just a few more days."

Tiffany's eyebrows shot up. "Coming back soon, huh? You should totally surprise him!"

Soriya's eyes widened, a spark of intrigue igniting within her. She hadn't even considered it. "Surprise him?"

"Yeah" Tiffany continued, her enthusiasm growing. "Think about it, he's probably expecting to just come home to a quiet house. Imagine his face when you're there waiting for him"

Breanna chimed in, a playful smirk on her face. "You could even make it a whole welcome home celebration. Cook his favorite meal, wear that lingerie he loves..." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Soriya's cheeks flushed slightly, but a genuine smile spread across her face. The idea was definitely appealing. Her mind started racing, little scenarios playing out in her head. What would his reaction be? What kind of surprise would he like the most?

"Hmm," she said slowly, tapping a finger against her chin, a thoughtful expression on her face. "I may have a few ideas"

The girls stuck around for a while. Soriya cooking them dinner and they watched movies and drunk wine until they left a little while later.

Soriya spent the next day getting herself together, buying the things she needed to surprise Josh in a couple days.

She was currently leaving her hair appointment before her phone went off. Josh's contact and their picture flashed across the screen. She connected her phone to her car before she answered.

She smiled as the call connected "Hey baby"

"Damn," Josh took a double look, "You look good as fuck ma, I'm fuckin' with the hair"

Soriya ran her fingers through the long blonde strands of her fresh install "Thank you honey. I just got it done today"

"That's unfortunate cause I'ma just pull that shit right off"

Soriya playfully rolled her eyes "Yeah no sir, you fuck up my hair then you're paying for it"

"Send me your stylist info, I'll just pay in advance" He shot her his infamous smirk as she tried to hide her blush.

She couldn't help but laugh at his antics "Bye Josh I am not bout to play with you"

"You laughin' but I'm deadass serious" Soriya playfully rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "But for real tho, I'll be back in Atlanta on Saturday, you comin' down or what?"

Soriya shrugged her shoulders playing it off, "I can't baby, I got this event this weekend" which wasn't a lie, but she was sending one of her assistants instead. She knew they would handle it just fine.

When Soriya looked down at her phone, she started pouting when she saw his face. "Baby don't look like that. What about next weekend?"

"I can't, got a house show everyday that weekend"

"I'm sorry baby," She tried to play it cool, not trying to give herself away "I'll make it up to you the next time we're together"

Josh sighed in disappointment, rubbing a hand down his face "I understand princess," he looked back in the camera, sadness all over his face, "next time I ain't taking no for an answer tho"

She laughed softly before nodding in agreement, "I'm sure you won't"

They finished their phone call before Soriya hung up, making it home. She brought in all the bags that she needed, organizing everything that she needed. Once she seen everything spread out, the excitement began to build within her. Along with the anticipation of seeing her man.

Soriya had flown into Atlanta the next day, thanks to Trinity for picking her up late last night. She was now busy decorating the living room. She didn't have much time as Josh was currently on a plane and would be landing very soon.

"How you want to set up these balloons?" Trin held the balloons by their strings.

"I was going to string the letters together and let them float over the couch," Soriya reached over grabbing the strings she needed, handing them to Trinity. "can you do that for me please?"

Trinity nodded, getting right to work "Yeah I got you". Soriya gave her a quick thank you, rushing up the stairs.

In Josh's bedroom she had it petals all laid out on the floor. A few gifts to the side she had to put into gift bags. His favorite snacks, a new iced out cuban with a matching bracelet, and a new pair of white forces because why not.

Once she got that together she heard Trin come into the room. "Damn girl you going all out, you proposing to my brother or something"

Soriya laughed shaking her head "I just missed my man that's all" she shrugged her shoulder, placing the gift bags to the side.

"Mhmm," Trin gave her a sheepish smile, "I got the balloons set up if you want to come see them" Soriya nodded before they headed downstairs.

Her eyes widen as she looked at the large balloons hanging in the living room. "They look so good, thanks Trin" She smiled, turning to give her friend a hug.

"You're welcome sis, let me take a picture for you cause we both know he about to fuck up your hair" both of them laughing.

She sat on one of little ottomans, her back facing Trin. She leaned over doing a pose as Trin snapped a few pictures, getting the balloons in the frame. "Damn, girl that ass sittin' right"

Soruya bust out laughing before snatching her phone out of Trin hand. "Girl go, you always playin'"

"Yeah, yeah let me head out, me and Jon got plans" Soriya nodded, walking her to the door and watching her as she drove off.

She walked back into the living room, looking over everything. She checked the time, seeing that Josh was probably landing as it was nearing 6pm. She cleaned up everything and quickly ran upstairs to get herself ready.

The wheels of the SUV crunched over the familiar driveway just after midnight. The Atlanta night was quiet, save for the hum of crickets and the occasional flicker of streetlight. Josh stepped out, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, cap low over his eyes. His body ached, but his heart beat a little faster as he approached the door.

It was cracked open—just a sliver.

He pushed it gently, and what greeted him on the other side took the last bit of tension out of his shoulders.

The living room was bathed in a soft, golden glow. Candles flickered along the mantle and coffee table. The faint sound of a song by Sza played low in the background. But it was the silver balloons—shining in the candlelight, big and bold, spelling out DADDY'S HOME—that brought a slow smile to his face.

And then... he saw her.

Soriya stood at the foot of the couch, framed by the balloon letters. She wore a deep sapphire-blue lingerie set, the color he always said looked real good on her skin. Her curves were wrapped in lace and silk, her blonde hair cascading down her shoulders. She didn't say a word—just let her eyes lock with his, smirking slightly as she slowly walked toward him.

Josh dropped his bag and exhaled, the weight of everything finally melting.

"Damn," he breathed, eyes never leaving her. "This what I come home to?"

Soriya's smile widened, but her eyes softened. "Welcome Home Daddy"

He stepped closer, running a rough hand down her arm, needing to touch her just to make sure this wasn't another dream. "You always know how to make a man feel like a king."

She tilted her head, fingers reaching up to trace the gold chain resting on his chest. "You are a king, baby. Out there? You showed the world. But in here..." She placed her hand over his heart. "You're just mine."

Josh leaned in, placing a soft kiss on her lips. "I missed you, baby."

"I know," she smiled and whispered. "And I missed you"

They stood there, letting the silence say what words couldn't. The beat of the music pulsed around them, slow and sultry. The air between them thickened, the pull magnetic.

"I want to take care of you tonight," Soriya murmured, fingers curling into the hem of his shirt. "Let me."

Josh smiled softly, voice low and rough. "You already are."

Soriya smiled, stepping out of his hold. Taking his hands in hers, she led him towards the stairs. "I have a few surprises for you upstairs that I want you to see."

Josh licked his bottom lip, his gaze lingering on Soriya. "That ain't the only thing I'm tryin' to see."

She glanced over her shoulder, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. "If you're good, you can get that too." Josh let out a low chuckle, allowing her to lead the way to his room.

Once they were inside, Josh's eyes widened slightly. He took in all the decorations until his gaze settled on the three gift bags by the bed. "You did all this?"

"I might've had some help," she said, smiling proudly. "Go head and open your gifts."

"Damn, it ain't even my birthday." Josh grabbed the first bag, the smallest of the three. He pulled out a medium-sized rectangular black box with ELIANTTE in bold white letters across it.

Josh immediately looked at Soriya, who wore a proud smirk. "Why you looking at me?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. "Open the box."

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. He opened the box, and his eyes widened, seeing the chain and matching bracelet. He turned the box, admiring the way the diamonds caught the light. "Baby, what the fuck?"

"You like it?"

Josh placed the box back in the bag. "I love it, mama." He picked up the next bag, pulling out a shoebox and giving her a goofy grin that made her laugh. "You just know me, huh?"

Soriya playfully rolled her eyes. "As if you needed another pair."

"Got to keep a fresh pair." He moved on to the next bag, his eyes lighting up as he saw all his favorite snacks. "You went all out, baby."

"This ain't nothin'," she shrugged. "Just love spoiling my man, that's all."

"Your man?" He teased, biting his bottom lip and tilting his head a bit.

"Damn right," she stated confidently, meeting his gaze with determination.

Josh sauntered over to Soriya, stopping directly in front of her. His impressive 6'2" frame towered over her petite stature. He pulled her closer, his lips finding hers in a slow, deliberate kiss. Soriya moaned softly at the contact, savoring every nuance of the moment.

With effortless ease, Josh lifted her into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. He turned, gently laying her on the bed and then hovering above her.

Josh trailed kisses from her lips along the delicate curve of her jawline, continuing down the sensitive skin of her neck. The cool touch of his chain against her heated skin sent a shiver of relief through her.

His hands roamed her curves, pulling on the loose tie of the robe. He leaned up, helping her slip it off. He took a moment to admire her. Her blonde hair glowing in the low light of the room. He quickly took off his shirt, throwing it across the room

His rough hand moved up the sides of her curves, resting at the base of her neck. Lifting her up slightly, he pulled her into another kiss. This one more needy than the last.

Soriya placed her hands on his toned chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her palms. She flipped them over, her fingers splaying against the warm skin of his chest as she quickly straddled his waist, a small, satisfied sigh escaping her lips. "Mmm, this night is about you." Her gaze locked with his, a silent invitation in her eyes.

Josh didn't protest as she trailed kiss down his chest and abs, sliding down stopping at the top of his sweats. Josh watched with eagerness, waiting on her next move.

She pulled them down, his thick, girth popped up. Soriya licked her lips unconsciously. Her delicate hands wrapped around him, earning a deep groan from Josh.

She took the tip into her mouth, feeling Josh tense up. A low fuck coming from him. He wrapped his hands through her hair as he watched her take him down her throat.

Soriya kept a steady pace, taking him inch by inch. Her hand stroking the part of his shaft she couldn't get to.

"Fuck, ma," he took in a sharp inhale of breath "you're doing so good for me"

His praise fueled something in her. With the increase of her pace, Josh's grip on her hair tightened. "Right there mama, shit keep goin' just like that"

Soriya allowed him to take control, feeling the muscles in his abdomen tighten, knowing he was near his release. Josh fist her hair in his hands, guiding her through his orgasm. She immediately released him, Josh pulled her back up to him. Smashing his lips with hers.

His hand reached behind her, unlatching the clasp with ease. Tossing the bra somewhere. Soriya pushed against his chest, "I missed you so much"

"Yeah," he stated in-between kisses, "show me then."

She sat up just enough to slip off her underwear with the help of Josh. She slid down his length, gasping at the fullness she was feeling. Keeping a steady pace.

Josh trailed kisses along her jaw, down the side of her neck. Leaving love bites that she will definitely fuss about in the morning. But in this moment Soriya didn't care about that except for how Josh was making her feel.

"F-fuck baby," A breathy moan escaped from her mouth. Josh taking one of her erect nipples into his mouth. Toying with the sensitive bud.

Soriya's hands found purchase on his back, clawing deep scratches that didn't seem to faze Josh one bit.

"Fuck you look so pretty taking me," Josh gripped her waist, angling his hip, hitting against a new spot. "say it back, tell me you're pretty"

"Baby," Soriya couldn't help but to moan out desperately.

His hand came down on her backside, making her moan from the pleasure, "I said, tell me you're pretty"

Letting out a drawn out moan, she looked him in his eyes "I-I'm pretty"

He wrapped his hand around her throat, maintaining eye contact, "I'm gon' marry you one day, and you gon' have all my kids," Soriya inhaled sharply, not because of his words but the overwhelming of love she was feeling. "hmm, you gon' have my baby Soriya?"

She nodded her head, not being able to put a comprehensive reply together. Josh could feel that she was close by the way he felt her clench around him. He was close too, but he needed to hear her say it "I need words baby. Don't you fuckin' cum until you say it"

"Y-yes" The euphoric feeling starting to consume her "yes I'll have your baby" she threw her head back as her resolve began to crumble.

"That's my princess," he laid open-mouth kisses along her neck, bear-hugging her as he was nearing his eventual release "that's it mama, let it all out for me"

That was all Soriya needed as she let her orgasm her, "Oooh Fuck". Her nails digging deep into Josh's back, making him wince in pain.

As her climax washed over her, it ignited his own. Josh's grip tightened, their bodies moving as one until the euphoric high began to recede, leaving them both breathless. He peppered Soriya's lips with soft kisses. "I love you."

Her chest still rising and falling rapidly, Soriya met his gaze. "I love you too." Wrapped in each other's arms, a sense of deep comfort settled over them before sleep claimed them both.

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flowercrownsandherondales · 3 days ago

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Against the Odds Pt. 24

Ouch. Also the comments were sending me I fucking love reading what you guys comment there’s literally no better feeling.

XXIV: Bleeds, Burst, Keeps, Apart

They keep me like a rat in a cage.

Memories on a loop, over and over, again and again.

Brunette boys with no faces, one burly, one small. A coin tossing in the air, someone’s soft touch weaving flowers in my hair, the clink of a bottle against a granite counter, a little girl’s giggle.

Sometimes it’s my voice screaming for someone to hide. Sometimes it’s someone else's voice in one of the cages near me.

I don’t remember how I got here.

My mind is split into something different. One side begging me to remember them, the brunette boys, the man with the bottle, the little girl or maybe girls? The two braids change different colors, resembling mine, then darkening again. The other begging me to forget.

The guards in white drag me out every few hours.

The beatings hurt less and less the more they do it. Shouldn’t it be the opposite? Or have I just come to accept it better?

I can’t touch my skin after. Sometimes I wonder what color it was under all the black, blue and green.

At least they haven’t shaved my head like the girl next to me.

I hear the static crackle in the air when they take her out. Thrashing water, muffled screams. Something in her mouth. Is it a belt like what was put in mine once? Why was there a belt in my mouth?

They don’t use water when they shock me. Just place two electroids to my temple and hit the switch. Maybe that’s why I kept my hair, no concerns about it being singed off.

At first I recognized the blonde boy they put in front of me. At first I consoled him from my cage, telling him I love him. Sobbed when I could hear him cry out, banging on the bars until my skin was raw and bloody. Now his skin is barely recognizable either. His mind isn’t much better.

I groan and I toss at night, surrounded by the screams of the bald girl and the blonde boy.

I screamed like that once, only once, when the knife came down on my fingers.

Fingers I once kissed and held up the sky, nothing but stubs.

The burly brunette sits in front of me now, a deeply sad look on his face, thumb rubbing a coin from his pocket.

I need you to scream next time. They’re getting bored, and it’s only going to be worse if they do.

He gives me instructions sometimes. How to breathe again, how to eat what little they give me with two fingers. Other times he just comes to sit, letting me rock back and forth collapsed in on myself, listening to the coin toss over and over, again and again.

Sometimes I get the curly haired girl in an apple red dress.

I don’t like her very much.

She looks at me with too much pity. She isn’t helpful like the boy. She sings sometimes, something soft and sweet I don’t care to hear.

Most of all she talks about him.

All night long she chatters about Haymitch. “He loved me, then he loved you. Now he probably doesn’t love either of us.”

She feeds me things the piece of me that still clings to the past shudders at. Things that spark something cruel and twisted deep in my belly. Things that the hopeful girl inside of me doesn’t believe.

“He loved me most, Y/N. You were always just a sweet little fill in. Why do you think he never put the bottle down when you asked? When he drinks he sees me, and he could never let go of me. “

Haymitch is a blurry memory. Nearly faceless now, sometimes the sterile lighting catching in his grey eyes. But even that’s fading now.

They come to drag me out of the cell again, my captive neighbors have stopped screaming for a minute. I suppose it’s my turn now.

They bolt my hands and wrists to a chair. My head is leaned back, eyes opened wide so they can insert some kind of speculum to keep them open.

The room is dark now, perfect for the movie they are about to show me.

For maybe hours, maybe days, I watch as the faceless boys get a face.

Over and over they are stabbed. Over and over a throat is slit.

They must think they are doing something to me. Really torturing me now.

They aren’t.

They catch on after a while, unhooking me and dragging me back, clearly pissed off their tactics weren’t working.

A broken laugh comes out of my mouth as they hang me up again, bringing out the whip.

What memories did they expect that to bring back? Any human connections have been burned out of my mind with electricity.

I’ve been struck before with a whip, so I know what to expect. Fire blooms under old scars, blood hit the ground in steady drips as old scars are reopened.

I count the drips until I fall asleep. Just to wake up back in the cell, the boy flipping his coin, the girl stroking my hair and softly singing. A child has joined them, looking just like the coin flipper. He can’t look at me fully, just turns his head and cries.

Cries and cries and cries.

A similar cry wakes up Haymitch.

I rub my eyes, groaning as I trip over my feet to get to her bed.

Twyla hasn’t spoken since we got to District 13.

Instead she just cries. Sometimes soft and quiet, her tiny hand covering her mouth to muffle the sobs. Sometimes loud and violent, usually in the middle of the night when she wakes from a nightmare of her mother being taken.

Everyone from home has fallen into a routine in the month we’ve been here.

Katniss is still erratic, Plutarch leaves it to me to find her when she goes missing, hunkering herself down in back rooms and small spaces, shaking and whispering to herself.

I don’t act much better these days.

District 13 doesn’t have alcohol. For the first two weeks of our stay Prim and Astrid took Twyla and I was sent to a rehab or sorts, left to shake and sweat and groan while my body detoxed from white liquor.

I had protested it, shouting at Plutarch until I was red in the face. “You promised! You FUCKING SWORE. MY DAUGHTER NEEDS ME. HER MOTHER IS GONE.”

My yells were heard from every corridor as my ass was dragged to get clean.

For two weeks I stayed locked in a room feeling half dead, my only company being Lenore Dove.

She smoothed back my hair, sang to me as I vomited, and old song from the poem she’d been named after.

“You have to get it together. Y/N needs you to be the strong one now. For her, for your little girl.”

“She’s going to come back to you, Haymitch. She’s not gone, I’d know if she was.”

“Imagine what she’s going through right now. If she can face that, you can get through this.”

On the last day of the vomiting and sweats, as Lenore Dove walks out the door, she says what I think might be her last words I’ll ever hear from her.

“You know, geese don’t really mate for life. There’s a period of mourning, but as the snow melts and summer begins, they start again. They find their new half. And who knows” She says with a shrug and a playful smile, “maybe that was always their true mate, they just needed someone else to help them find each other.”

Every minute of every day I think about my wife. I think about her when I brush through my daughter’s matching hair, I think about her when we get dressed and have breakfast. I think about her when I console Katniss, or when I meet with Coin and Plutarch to discuss how to mold her into the Mockingjay. I think about her when I rock my daughter to bed, and I think about her when I close my eyes.

I realized I don’t particularly like President Coin the first time I shake her hand.

She’s got an edge to her, something in her smile that makes me grimace. Her name is fitting, just the other side of Snow. From the looks I get from Plutarch, he’s thinking the same.

Still, I don’t doubt this woman is going to get something done. Even if rage so heavy it threatens to tear me apart bubbles up whenever she even glances at Katniss.

I finished putting Twyla to bed, stepping out to follow the order I’d gotten at dinner to meet with Plutarch and Beetee.

I step into the control room, Katniss standing with Gale as the TV screen lights up, Peeta Mellark sitting rigid, clearly covered up in makeup and sharp clothes to keep the bruises hidden. Johanna doesn’t look much better, sitting beside him in a very obvious wig.

Katniss looks like she’s seconds away from tearing her hair out. I feel just about the same. Nerves on fire, waking up feeling like your heart has been torn away.

She loves that boy. Even if the kid from the seam standing behind her loathes it.

“Peeta…” is all she manages to whimper, I slide beside her, taking her hand in mine, Finnick entering the room and clasping a hand on my shoulder.

The three of us are in a special type of hell together.

Gale catches on for once in his life, slowly back up and leaving the room soundlessly. Practically leaving a trail of fiery rage in his wake.

Katniss had listed her demands to Coin recently. “Bring them all home. Peeta, Y/N, Johanna and Annie. Then you’ll get your Mockingjay.”

Finnick is the first to speak, voice full of gravel, hands shaking like a leaf as he clutched a stray piece of robe in his fist until it turned white.

“Where is Annie?”

Beetee just sighs, turning in his wheelchair to look at us instead of the screen.

“She hasn’t been on any broadcast. They are solely showcasing Johanna, Peeta and sometimes Enobaria. I’m assuming due to the games, they want to show them alive and unaware of the plan. The Capitol is being kept in the dark about the raid on District 4 and 12 being demolished. They don’t know Y/N and Annie were taken, so there’s no point in showing them.”

Something is unsaid in his words. Or Annie and Y/N might be so fucked up they can’t show them.

“Is there a plan in place to get them out yet?” I ask, voice sharper than it’s ever been. That’s how it’s gone since they took my wife, nothing I say has an aura of kindness unless I’m speaking to my daughter or Katniss.

Finnick and Katniss grip me tighter at the question.

Plutarch nods, something of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“We are putting a group together. We project that it’ll take another week or so to fully map out how we are going to do it, but it’s mostly pulled together.”

Finnick lets out something close to a sob.

Katniss purses her lips and blinks hard.

I fight back a tremble, but it comes out anyway.

She’s coming home. My wife, the mother of my child, my sweetpea. She’s coming home to us.

I fight against the rattle in my brain.

Will she still be all those things when she comes back?

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yoongleboonglepie · 1 day ago

Text

Pechsträhne Chapter 14

BTS x Reader

Series Masterlist

Chapter playlist-Youtube music

Chapter Playlists-Spotify

Word Count Approx: 20k

A/n: Sorry that this is late y'all. I can tell I'm tipping out of manic and into depressive, plus I found out this week I might have to talk to my mom for the first time since I cut her off, my cat had a health scare, and then I had a health scare LOL. It's been a week. This chapter isn't my best work, and was definitely a challenge for me, so I'm sorry if it's not up to y'all's expectations. The only thing I keep telling myself is that to improve, I just need to keep trying new things. Depending on how things go, I might have to change my posting schedule-but I will let you guys know.

So many answers, but so many more questions.

Probably not any of the answers you want- but those will be next chapter

Love, Delyn

_________________________________________

Recap

The doors to Jimin’s office burst open, Namjoon stood bracing it against the wall to keep it from closing in on them with the force that Jungkook had shoved it open with. Both of their chests were heaving with their efforts to catch their breath, having clearly run through the building to get here. Jungkook’s jaw was clenched so hard she could see the muscles of his face twitching, and Namjoon’s eyes blazed with a fierceness she hadn’t seen since he had first found out about Hadwin.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” Jungkook demanded sharply, stepping further into the room, his eyes trained on the smoldering bowl.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear it go off–but everything's fine! I'm safe!” Y/n jumped from her spot on the couch with a spirited grin, pulling Jimin up with her. “Guys, Jimin can–”

Namjoon cut her off, his tone uncharacteristically short.

“Yoongi is missing.”

Jimin couldn’t focus. He had the rest of a thesis to write that his entire future and career depended on–and if he didn’t want to end up guiding middle-aged dads, loud disinterested children, and young bickering couples around the grounds and answer the same three questions every day for eternity–he needed to focus. His fingers that were suspended on the keys of his laptop must not have gotten the memo about that, because they refused to move.

“Get it together, Jimin…” He muttered sourly towards himself while shaking out his shoulders, his eyes scanning the screen from left to right while rereading his last few lines to get his mind back on track.

“I had a brother, can you find him?”

“We are going to kill you, just you wait!”

“괜찮아, 지민아?”

“My mother was sick can you tell me if-”

“I felt her windpipe bend beneath my fingers–Does that mean nothing to you?”

“Do you do anything that is useful? What is that glowing tablet? Do you like stories? May I tell you a story?”

A loud clambering rang out, Jimin’s chair toppled over with how abruptly he rose to his feet. He was at his record player in a flash, cranking up the volume to a deafening level to tune out the white noise of voices that climbed over one other in a clawing chase to try and reach his ears first. The barrage of strings and wind instruments muffled the voices, as if putting up a thin wall of plaster and poles between them. He sighed out, his breath unfurling itself with relief. They were still there–seething, whispering, begging, screaming, lilting, hissing, singing–you name it; accept now they were not nearly as suffocating. They rolled off of his back and onto deaf ears, a skill he had learned as a child: to be a master of ignoring.

He moved to walk back to the table, gingerly lifting the lopsided chair for him to sit on again. Taking a long, satisfying sip from the half empty can of soda he had grabbed from the lobby vending machine on his way in, the fizz combed through his racing mind and gave his senses a distraction–he would need to run to the convenience store and buy an entire box if he hoped to get any sort of work done at this rate.

His saving grace–the blasting music emanating from the speakers that kept the voices at a distance–scratched to a stop in a horrible shriek of metal against vinyl. Jimin’s head snapped up to look at it with wide eyes, the air thick with anticipation–swirling around his chest and squeezing with a twinge of fear when no reason could be found for the interruption. The vinyl continued to spin, emitting only a steady crackling sound peppered by the occasional squeak of the turntable.

Without warning, an agitating beeping sound began a new assault on his ears through the speakers of his record player. His hands clamped over his ears to save himself from a splitting headache, though the pulses were still audible through the barrier of flesh and bone. The pattern is just the same as that morning–and the day before for that matter. It had been two days of this absolute mind wrecking noise and he couldn’t take it–especially not when it was at this caliber.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Jimin lurched, all but running towards the player with no actual plan on how to stop it. He couldn’t unplug it, he found had discovered this morning that that was a useless effort. “You’re going to get me in trouble–I have coworkers here!”

The pattern didn’t stop, marching forward with an ascending volume. Jimin felt his blood pressure rising parallel to the dial that turned before his eyes under the influence of no visible hand, the noise unbearably louder.

“Enough! I’ll figure it out! Just stop–for heaven’s sake!”

On command the sound ceased, rescuing him from the clutches of insanity. He plucked the spindle off the side and placed it back onto the record with a huff, the sound reigniting through the space and slathering his auditory system with the mirage of control it offered him. Jimin veered back to his seat (for the last time he hoped), and plopped down onto it.

“It’s not like I was busy or anything…” He muttered to himself, cringing internally while he minimized the tabs of his school assignment and opened a new one to type his new question into the search bar: How to decipher Morse code.

Jimin lost track of time–stuck trying to study the rhythmic patterns and how to dictate them by listening, and comparing the lame attempts he had scoured onto notebook paper that morning to endless charts and pamphlets. He took up his pen, and started scratching new lines below it until he had to force himself to give up.

Beneath them, he did his best translating the three separate lines he had tried.

C_ _ _OU _EAR _E_ _ _ AR

He ran a hand through his hair and checked his watch—it was nearing four o’clock and he was due to return to the dining room soon for a few games before dinner. But he knew that if he put down his pen and walked out the door to his office for the night that he would only be delaying the next burst–and he really just wanted to get a good night’s sleep tonight.

There was only one option then, he groaned internally, the thought just as much a nuisance as the irking morse code messages. Rising to face the inevitable, he dragged his feet over to the record player to lift the arm off the turntable and place it to the side, letting the soft crackling sound take over and the sea of voices flood back in unchecked. He was going to regret this–he knew that with certainty. That notion circled his head like a hawk with talons stretched and eyes latched on its shivering prey below, berating him for his irresponsibility for letting him get into his current predicament. To have to cross one of his own boundaries felt impermissible to himself–but he had no choice if he wished to be left alone. How ironic, that doing what was doomed to only make his life a living hell of endless interruptions, badgering, and pestering, for the unforeseeable future would be his only way out.

He was going to have to speak to them, something he had told himself he wouldn’t do anymore.

“If you are still in here,” Jimin cleared an invisible ball from his throat that threatened to stifle his voice, walking back towards his chair as he spoke, “I’m giving you permission to do it again. If possible, please go slower. I am only an amateur.” He felt like an idiot talking out loud to his spinning record player, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

The moment he felt the chair beneath him again, the beeping started, grating on all of his nerves and forcing him to take controlled deep breaths to keep it from getting under his skin (he had asked for it after all). He honed his ears onto the pattern, and found his mouth repeating the blips like a song–scribbling a series of dots and dashes on his paper and hoping his afternoon crash course had been sufficient enough.

“That’s enough–thank you.”

Thankfully, the spirit listened to his direction and went quiet once more. Though something in the way the energy felt electric told him they were still there–waiting.

CAN YOU HEAR ME? BW AR

Jimin read it allowed, as if expecting some sort of confirmation verbally–though none came.

“BW…” Jimin rubbed at his bottom lip with his fingers pensively, squinting at the message. “Well yes, I can hear you. Though I could hear you infinitely better if you spoke to me normally. Is BW your name?”

Silence.

“BW AR…” Jimin repeated to himself like a mantra. He clicked back onto his laptop cycling through the half a dozen morse code tabs that he still had open and skimming each one until he found what he was looking for.

AR: abbreviation used for End of Message.

Jimin sat back in his chair, tongue between his teeth and finger tapping quickly against his thick wooden table. BW. The answer was obvious to him–Morse code already gave pieces of it away. The only option in his mind would be Bear Worner.

It only made sense–his extensive experience in military intelligence in both WWII and the Korean War–hell, his assignment in WWII was to try and intercept and translate German codes. The thing Jimin didn’t understand was why he wouldn’t just talk to him like everyone else if whatever he wanted to say was so important–there would be no need to disrupt his work and sleep schedules and it’d be more time efficient. Was it because Jimin had learned to tune them out so well? Had he tried and he hadn’t heard?

“Bear?” Jimin hesitantly called out to the air, eyes flickering from one side of the room to the other. There was no words spoken back, but the air felt sharper–like lightning was getting ready to strike down upon the room. The energy hummed beneath his skin, rattling his teeth and coating his tongue with a metallic taste. A silent confirmation.

Jimin wouldn’t be able to concentrate on many games now, not when his curiosity had awoken and willed him to try and find answers. That was his job after all, searching and archiving, noting and curating–he was hooked. He was notorious for letting his boundaries…bend when it came to his work. He wouldn’t outright ask them things or address them directly–but he wouldn’t shut them out if their ramblings had caught his interest either.

One would say it was to be considered cheating with his line of work, but he just considered it being thorough and checking off all boxes and sources. After all, what better way to document someone's life or history than directly from their mouth, or by listening to how they putz around their day to day in the afterlife?

Except the one person he wanted to hear from the most was nowhere to be found–the one person that he would break all of his rules for without hesitation. And perhaps Bear might be able to help him with that.

“Say Bear, have you heard from Adelaide?”

The energy that had been simmering vanished, fizzling out like the powering down of an old TV and leaving the space empty hollow, as if the lightning had been pulled elsewhere by the winds of a storm.

He was gone.

“So much for that…” Jimin sighed, closing his laptop with a gentle ‘click’, and sliding it off the table and into his bag that laid tucked away at his feet.

“Jimin! My mother!”

“Leave it be, bastard. Don’t go digging into business that doesn’t concern you.”

“Gone! Gone! Gone!”

“I’m not afraid to tell on you–because I will!”

“Bruder, I heard you~ Shall we play a game? Can you help me find him?”

The last voice put a pep in Jimin’s step, his hands rushing to zip his bag closed and sling it over his shoulder. He had heard ths spirit’s scratching hisses distantly before, and had no interest in humoring him–not today and not ever.

He had never sounded the kindest.

Using two fingers, he flicked the lights to his office off and started down the seemingly never ending hall. He would no doubt have to work on his assignment late into the night, and he had only himself (and Bear) to blame. The distant echoes of heavy soled shoes followed after him, and the muted whispers of the cacophony of souls had him keeping his eyes down and head low. One ghost felt brave (or maybe they are incredibly naive), their tone carrying over all of the rest.

“I can help you if you help me. Please.”

The voice that spoke this time was masculine, cracked at the edges with youth and wobbly with nerves. It’s soft desperation almost had Jimin willing to turn his head at the sound, but he knew better than to test his luck by communing with more than one spirit in a day, lest he wished not to sleep that night–or any night this week for that matter. His supervisor had just left her office and was padding behind him on his way to the front door, giving the perfect excuse not to.

“Good evening Jimin! How is your thesis coming along, hm?” his supervisor: a woman–short, stout and always donned in some kind of patriotic themed t-shirt chuckled up from his rear.

Jimin flashed her a polite smile, keeping his voice coated with niceties. “Good evening Mindy–Almost all finished.”

“Good, good.” Mindy breathed out, speeding up her pace to waddle through the door he held open for her with quiet gratitude.

Their discussions never dove past anything surface level as of late, sticking to varied version of the short interaction they just had. Unfortunately, she was someone he only got along with out of necessity. While he didn’t have any particular reason to be rude, he never appreciated her choices when it came to the displays or her views on history. Don’t get him wrong: she was good at her job and earned her way to hold her position in theory–though he couldn’t help but wonder how she had gone through to earn a master’s degree to dissect people, events and objects with little interest in doing anything…meaningful with it. Like she had read through it with blinders and rose colored glasses.

Her work always felt too…manicured. Too much like they glorified ideals and visions of what was comfortable, and less of what was truly interesting.

Like she was being told exactly what to do, and followed blindly without question. She was a safe choice for the Wörners.

After waving farewell to her car as it drove past, he took his time climbing the dirt path towards the estate, his hands tucked into his dress pants pockets and his jacket left draped on his arm. Thoughts of Mindy’s work left more to be desired in his opinion, his mind coming up with hundreds of different avenues on the spot of what she could have done. However he knew better than to let himself linger on those thoughts. Jimin already knew what their responses would be–for he had already experienced it himself when he had submitted initial exhibition mockup that he had prepared for approval, memories of Mariah Wörner’s words from the exchange ringing within his head loud and clear.

“This is too risky. We want to show the best of them, not the parts that are guaranteed to stir up questions and trouble.” Mariah scolded with a firm shake of her head. She took a finger and pressed it firmly against a framed photo of Lisolette Wörner: a wide brimmed cowboy hat perched on the crown of her head and a long rifle posed over her knee, her eyes callous and deadly as they stared at the viewer.

“Risky? Ma’am, with all due respect, it’s history. History in its nature always stirs up trouble–it’s good for the mind and to get people interested.” Jimin had countered, forcing his tone to remain respectful.

“And this is considered good for the mind?” Mariah stopped, giving a once over to a broad printed picture of Adelaide and her two brothers. The photo depicted her with hair cropped short in an act of defiance, posing in a pair of men’s trousers and riding boots on the back porch of the estate. Her head tilted down to fix the camera with a challenging smirk while unfurling a pillow case, torn and painted with only the word ‘Fuck!’ in elegant, swooping, inky, letters and strokes. Both of her brothers stood alongside her, Ernst with a wild grin and Freidrich’s eyes drifted uncomfortably off to the side at her display. Everything about the photo was about rebellion. From her hair that was considered unladylike, to her choice of language–a deliberate choice to strike discomfort into the viewer. A message to her parents that she wouldn’t back down and do as she was told.

“It’s part of their story, it builds character and connection between them and the viewer. It leaves room for questions–good questions that mean something. ‘What led her to do something like this, and what does it say about the time they lived in? What happened after? What was she hoping to achieve?’ All of these open the doors to curious minds. There’s a story behind these photos and the unfairness Adelaide experienced–and I think more stories deserve to be shown than just-”

“Than just what, Mr. Park?”

Than your lies.

Is what Jimin would have said if he wasn't worried about losing his job and livelihood. Instead he had rolled over and let her take control, removing nearly everything from the room and requesting Mindy help him organize something new–and fast.

Jimin sucked his teeth to reign in his festering irritation. How can one talk of history and insist on blanketing most of what makes it human? What means the most? For what–so they can show the same few men on rotation indefinitely? To hide what they considered shameful?

“Please Jimin, I can help you I swear.”

The young male voice called from over his shoulder again, louder and closer in proximity than the last.

His declaration pulled a scoff from Jimin’s throat before he could stop it, his response tumbling out with a sigh. “Yeah? You’re going to have to try harder than that–I’ve heard that one before.”

Jimin hadn’t gotten home until late as was becoming his normal (Taehyung had taking way too much time perusing the fabrics and linens section of the thrift store he had dragged them both too), only getting back to his room by the time his alarm clock read just after eleven. The house was bustling with noise only his ears seemed to hear–their screams and howls more unbearable than usual. He was only able to tolerate a few minutes of it before he started to dig around his room for his headphones, to tune out the voices huddled outside his door.

“She’s going to kill that boy one of these days. I’m sure of it. Did you see the state of him tonight?” The first one was scratchy and hollow, like one who had smoked one too many cigarettes in their lifetime.

“I didn’t get to. I was too busy hiding between the linens.” The second voice was younger, the melodic sound a stark contrast to the first.

The two women giggled, and Jimin heard the slosh of a metal bucket and the creak of an old wooden cleaning cart’s wheels begin a slow push along the rug. Though he knew by the fuzzed edges of the sound and the way no shadows passed along the edge of his door that they too were not of this world, and rapidly lost interest in their presence. Quick-footed steps approached from the direction of the landing, and a much younger woman joined in on the discussion–probably no older than a teenager with a bright and lively voice to match.

“Haven’t you heard–she was here! I saw her with my own eyes!”

The second voice chastised the child, a muffled ‘thwack’ heard through the wall. “Don’t be so airheaded. Of course she’s here, she lives here now.”

Jimin rolled his eyes, not interested in listening to the gossip of the passed on staff while he worked. He wrenched open the next drawer and stuck his hand into it to continue his search for anything to tune out their chatter, his tongue clicking in irritation when he came up empty handed. He could’ve sworn he had left them in that drawer…

“No you bumbling brutes. She was here, with us–on our side.” the child raved, and Jimin could almost hear the excited bounce in her step. “The reaper and the medium let her in. I even saw lady Margaret!”

Jimin froze, his hand stuck lodged into his other drawer and his ears perked up to listen in on the rest of their discussion.

“Oh that’s no good.” the older voice carried through with a ‘tsk’. “Well if that really is true then her fate looks no better than the boy–as good as dead they will be.”

“Don’t say such things Catherine! Maybe they will save us!” The child cried out, defiant and shrill.

The older voice–Catherine–laughed humorlessly. “Don’t get your hopes up anytime soon. Nothing ever changes around here–Misses makes sure of that. Now if you want to keep your eyes, I suggest you get back to work.”

_________________________________________

The sound of boots followed him back to the historical building bright and early, though for once it didn’t bother him–he was too lost in thought.

Cameras were being installed that morning and movers were bumbling about the foyer and halls making it feel not worth the effort to try and weasel one's way into the kitchen to scour for something to eat. Especially not when Mariah Wörner was stomping through the halls like a bull in a china shop, frantically directing boxes and the men doing the installation around with a firm voice and tired eyes.

Jimin dug into his pocket for his key to the historical building and shoved it into the lock, twisting it sharply just as the footsteps approached from behind.

“I can help with the others.”

Jimin remained unbothered, letting the heavy door swing open to welcome him into the dark exhibits. He watched the sun glinting from the ticket booth glass from the sun beaming in behind him, and the golden streaks of light that lit up the main room in stripes from the windows two stories above. He licked his lips, and found himself pondering their offer.

Something must’ve been in the water (or soda he guessed), because he felt his mouth opening to respond. His eyes were fixed in front of him in a distant stare, too afraid what it would mean if he addressed him fully–afraid of how many others would try the same stunt.

“And what would you get out of it?” Jimin sighed, taking his hand dragging it along his face with exhaustion.

“We just want something small in return.”

There it was. The same old request he had heard a hundred times before.

Jimin pushed through the entrance, shutting the door behind him. The physical barrier doing nothing to stop the heavy steps that followed him in. “I don’t take requests. Try someone else.”

“No!” The steps hurried after Jimin. “It’s not a grand request.”

“You aren’t helping your case by pestering me.” Jimin pushed forward, his brow twitching with irritation. “Leave me alone.”

“I can help you get the answers you want.”

Now that was something that had Jimin faltering at his door, his sharp eyes narrowing in the direction of the young man’s voice.

“Prove it.” The words hung heavy in the air between them, falling sharply from his lips like the fall of a sword. He heard the intake of breath, and then a scuffle of shoes along the tile.

“Yes sir.”

There was the sound of running, clumsy and squeaking on the tile before disappearing around the bend into the main room. Jimin shook his head, unable to believe he was even humoring the idea of working with one of them. All of the rules he had created for himself, tossed in the trash like day old food left on the counter within the past 24 hours.

He shouldered into his office, dropping his bag and soda onto the table with little grace. The day started off terribly, and the universe seemed to want to rub salt in the wound–for the moment his door clicked shut behind him, his record player flourished to life with another raucous torrent of beeps.

“Oh my god–enough already!” Jimin sprinted over to the play, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. He gripped the edges with white knuckles, eyes burning into the spinning plate with vengeance. “I already deciphered your message. Is this a new one or what? I can hear you Goddamnit.”

It still continued onwards, and Jimin’s only saving grace was that he was the first one to show up at the historical society that morning, so at least he wouldn’t have to do damage control with his coworkers.

“What do you want from me? I don’t understand!”

“Use the code.” The young man’s voice piped up from over his shoulder, and Jimin jolted back, startled from the sudden sound. His return must have been blocked out by the ear-splitting noise coming from the speakers.

“I can’t–I don’t know morse code,” Jimin turned to glare at the record player, “I already told him that.”

“Let me.”

The sound abruptly stopped, a quiet peaceful atmosphere taking over the room like it hadn’t been comparable to a tripped alarm system seconds before. Jimin heard the distinct sound of fingers tapping out a rhythmic pattern along the velvet lined box of the upright phonograph, gentle yet precise, understanding that the spirit that insisted on trailing after him that morning was the one doing it. After roughly twenty seconds, the voice spoke again, spry and prideful.

“I told him that you can hear him, and are awaiting further instruction.”

“Thank you.” Jimin huffed, bringing a finger up to point at the empty space next to him. “But don’t get any ideas in your head–I’m not helping you just yet.”

“Even if I have these?” The voice sang almost teasingly.

Jimin watched as a massive, rusted, old key ring clattered out of thin air onto the thick center table. The very keys that belonged to his manager–the older lady whose job he was set to take, and who had unrestricted access to anything she wanted.

With delicate fingers, Jimin lifted the key ring into his palm, feeling the metal in his hands that now felt heavier with the added weight of temptation. Temptation to do something very worthy of getting himself fired.

“How did you–”

“I–We–can go anywhere with enough energy.”

“Who is we?” Jimin prodded, his eyes never leaving the keys.

The man spoke clearly, as if following an order from an officer. “There are three of us, we were one of the same squad. We died not too far from here during the battle of Gettysburg.”

Jimin pursed his lips, accusatory eyes peering up into the empty space. “What side?”

“Union, sir.” The young man answered proudly.

“Good answer.” Jimin pocketed the key ring for later use, still having not decided if he was going to do anything with them just yet. “What is it that you want from me?”

“Well…” Jimin heard the young man swallow. “We don’t remember our names, sir. And we’d like to.”

“Your names?” Jimin scoffed. “You want to offer me your help for just your name?”

“Yes.” The voice became nervous, clearly not knowing how to respond.

“Well perhaps-”

“Yes, sir!” The voice interrupted him, rushing to make up for his lack of formality and growing sheepish with his next addition. “Sorry for interrupting, sir.”

Jimin closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Clearly this soldier was young, his behavior making him feel almost childlike with his responses. “It’s fine.” He opened his eyes to the empty space of his office to stare into where he thought he was. “I’ll help you. But only if you promise to help me with whatever this is.” Jimin gesticulated about the room wildly.

The voice turned giddy, words coming out rushed with glee. “Of course, whatever you need, sir!”

“Drop the sir thing with me, you don’t need to address me like that.” Jimin rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help the small smile that cracked onto his face.

“Understood, sir!”

Jimin didn’t get much of his school work done that morning either–which was what he had specifically called off from touring today to do. Instead he found himself too sucked into an online store, browsing morse code transmitters and looking into where he could try and request death records from any Gettysburg museums or archival libraries. His work was long forgotten, textbooks off to the side and stacks of ‘approved’ photos and boxes given to him by Mindy to dig through for the still empty exhibit discarded all over the room. He felt tensions rise in his mind at the overwhelming sea of things he needed to do, and humored the idea of grabbing another soda from the staff fridge where he had tucked them away.

Those thoughts of a fizzy sweet treat were cut short by a different voice–this one much older and gruff–calling to him over the constant loud music, bending to his ear.

“You have a visitor, sir. She is coming down the hill, Y/n Wörner.”

_________________________________________

Blink. Nod. Hum. Nod again. Blink.

Jimin had to remind himself to function normally, hands on his hips and face so full of boredom he was sure Eli–the new young tour guide–could see it and just chose not to acknowledge it. His alone time had been interrupted for questions so trivial that he had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

“So Lisolette left in 1918?” Eli looked left streaks of blue ink on the side of his hand, looking back up at Jimin for confirmation.

“Yes.” Jimin responded curtly, leaning one hand up against the shiny walls of the lobby. “If you go back to the main office and review the–”

“How many kids did she have again?” Eli’s pen was held at the ready, eyes blinking and void of any shame that he really should have.

Jimin looked him up and down in outraged disbelief. He would know these answers if he had completed his mandatory training period, making this an unnecessary reason to interrupt his time with Y/n. The itch to leave him hanging and return back to his and Y/n’s shared table and revel in her company was undeniable. His patience was wearing thin.

“Two.” Jimin could have choked with how tight the words felt leaving his mouth.

Eli hummed, staining his palm with more ink. “And what were–”

“In the main office. Training materials. Now.” Jimin cut him off, his finger held up to point at the front door of the hotel with finality. “If you continue to display this level of incompetence I will not hesitate to report you to the head of the historical department–and as you know that will be me come June–so I’d work on refreshing your memory until then if I were you.”

Eli audibly swallowed, and tucked his ballpoint pen back into his cargo short pockets. “O-okay.”

“Good.” Jimin let a sweet smile pull his eyes into crescents. “Have a good rest of your day, Eli.”

He didn’t bother staying to hear his response, turning on his heel and starting back into the cafe only to find their table empty–Y/n had already left.

“She’s across the lobby sir, talking to one of your friends–she called him Yoongi.” The young soldier whispered to his left.

“Thank you.” Jimin kept his voice low, and steered himself reluctantly towards the front doors, knowing he shouldn’t feel as dejected as he did for losing out on his time with her. “I’ll just let her be then.”

A few more beats of quiet passed through them, weighed down by the nervous energy of the solider trailing after him.

“Sir, they were making plans.” The soldier left the end of his sentence hanging, an unspoken offer sliding out beneath them.

Jimin knew he shouldn’t–knew he shouldn’t be as interested as he was, or as willing to invade their privacy like he wanted to.

“What kind of plans?”

“One moment.” The soldier retreated back through the lobby, and out of earshot once more.

Jimin parked himself on one of the benches out on the front lawn of the hotel while he waited for his ghostly ally to return. He lost himself in the bending of sprouting tree branches and early spring flowers, the gentle kisses of cool spring air tickling his cheeks and tousling his hair. It blanketed him with a sense of calm, his mind slipping into a meditative state while the minutes ticked by.

“They are making plans to meet up, sir. With others.”

“Did they say who else?” Jimin kept his head down to keep his mouth out of sight from people passing by.

“Members of the house named Jungkook and Namjoon. They shared that the lady’s mother had set up cameras to stop them from completing a task, and I gathered that there is some sort of threat against her safety that warrants constant supervision.”

Jimin jolted up to look at where the sound came from. “What does that mean?”

“Would you like me to try and find out, sir?”

He hesitated, his mouth open to respond–but he wasn’t sure what the right answer was. “Maybe. I feel weird invading their privacy.”

“I’ll see what I can discover within reason, sir.” With that, he heard the boots make their leave, giving Jimin no more excuses than to go back to working on his studies.

The cameras, Jimin theorized on his walk back to his office, must mean something more than just keeping an eye on the safety of the home. Whatever Yoongi must be asking them all to do must be something more than just dabbling in the occult–it must mean that they must be fighting back somehow. Surveillance was a brash step–one that didn’t feel too unfamiliar, and led his thoughts tumbling down roads that only led to disaster zones piled high with thoughts of treason and rage. It left him questioning his resilience and morals.

Jimin had always told himself that in the face of adversity, he would never back down. That he wouldn’t have ever let things happen under his nose the way they had in times past; that he wouldn’ve been smart enough to call them out, and self-assured enough to stand up against it. But with a sinking stomach, he understood exactly where he had stood at the moment: Aside with his head low, protecting his safety and himself.

When word had first broken about the Wörner’s passing on the rights to Roland instead of Y/n, he had known something was terribly wrong. And then the same feeling of uncertainty struck when Mariah had made blanket statements about Yoongi, calling him dangerous and unsafe, and requesting Jimin’s assistance in ‘keeping their home intact’– whatever that meant–which while he had denied to involve himself, he didn’t speak up.

It was only when she had tried again, the next time drawing up Jungkook as her next villain that Jimin started to ask questions. And while she didn’t outright yell at him when he had questioned her motives, he had noticed following their altercation that the spirits around him started to…hover more. He’d get oddly specific suggestions from Mariah about what not to include in displays that were uncannily similar to something he had thrown together just the day before, and hadn’t shown anyone yet. He would ask his supervisor questions that had missing answers, and then be bombarded by hissing growls that told him to leave it alone when he would leave her office dejected. Then like clockwork the artifact boxes and photos he had been requesting to see on the topic would have been pulled by “management” later that afternoon for ‘quality checks’ only to never come back.

Thus surveillance, Jimin had concluded, had become his new normal. Something he had adapted to with little hope of ever escaping, or without ever finding a reason to escape it. He had disappointed himself. He had chosen to be complacent when he should have known better. He should have never turned Yoongi down those couple of years ago because of fear of what Mariah would do–he should’ve helped him.

Something in him must’ve known that was the right path to take in hindsight since he had directed Y/n to him so easily–he didn’t want her making the same mistakes he had. He didn’t know if Yoongi would be willing to accept him to help now after having stood by while he faced unfair hardships.

Jimin decided then and there, on the side of the winding property road, that he would try and help them. Even if he was past the point of forgiveness, or if his spiritual ailment made him a threat to their plans, then he would do his best to do what he could from afar. Which included delegating his men to protect Y/n from whatever it was that threatened her safety when outside of the estate when possible, and using his strengths to continue to push back against the regime that had settled over them: maybe if he caused a big enough stir, he could take some of the eyes off of them.

And he knew just the route to take to stir up trouble.

Thankfully, he had succeeded in completing a bit more of his thesis while he waited for his allies to return with more tips on how to proceed, music loud and his mind guarded. He enjoyed it–a good distraction for the world of uncertainty he had found himself on the precipice of jumping into. He might even be able to call this day a good one by the end of it!

“Sir. I have some unfortunate news to share with you.” The older voice bellowed out upon his entrance.

Well there goes his positive attitude. “What is it?” Jimin tipped the lid of his laptop closed to give him his undivided attention.

“We have heard from others that there are threats of extreme violence against Y/n Wörner from other spirits on the property. There are whispers of dark entities sharing bloodlust. Staff members have shared that the current proprietor is out of sorts–dangerous even–and his wife is rumored to have something to do with it. She is smiting all attempts to help and keeping herself very private. We even witnessed and aggravated interaction between a deceased staff member and a passed on member of the house.”

Jimin was rendered speechless. He knew that some of the spirits were angry–but he thought most of the spiritual hubbub was just a by-product of whatever was going on between families that was being covered up so precariously. He had never potentially humored the the thought that they were a major part of the problem.

“If I may continue.” The level voice of the man brought him back to reality. “Her companions have been trying to walk among us. They are searching for information regarding family members of the Wörner lineage. I am unsure of what though, exactly.

Jimin had an inkling as to what. He had pretty much tied a carrot to a line and led you there–something regarding the similarities between the stolen destiny’s of Adelaide and Y/n that both bore a striking resemblance to each other was probably the probable answer.

“I have a few ideas.” Jimin turned to stare off out of his office window, mind moving a mile a second. Processing and maneuvering pieces to a growing puzzle that's finished image was a mystery yet to be discovered. “But they are all just that: ideas. We should keep ourselves away from whatever it is they are doing and focus on our own goals. I don’t want to jeopardize them if something were to be overheard.”

Jimin scanned his office, gears turning through thoughts of what to do next–probably something that had to do with the stolen key burning a hole through his pocket. “We should start here. I’m going to be setting up a family tree for Y/n–perhaps if the four of us work together we can compile information to make their job easier.” He leapt from his seat, grabbing for his own family tree copy and starting to unravel it. “Would it be too much of you to ask to watch over the other house members? I don’t want anyone else getting injured if I can do anything about it.”

“Sir, there is something else we discovered that I think should be important to know first. It is regarding one of your friends.”

Jimin lifted his head to stare wearily at the voice, unease washing over him at the ominous proclamation. “What is it?”

_________________________________________

“I see you heard–The traitor!”

“He lured her away while they stole the child! She is completely torn up, she is!”

“Sinners! The lot of them! Do not let them get close for they are marked–keep your distance!”

“Turn away now, bastard child–your wandering hand might get trapped for being too curious. I have severed many from my enemies before, and I have no fear in doing it again.”

Jimin was as cold and coiled as a snake, the hisses of the dead coming upon him like a torrential downpour from all sides–indoor and outdoor. Who would have thought that listening to one ghost would open the floodgates of others grappling for any sort of foothold (surely not the reason he kept himself so distant or anything). While most of their musings and cries were nonsensical, this was not one of those cases. These snippets of gossip were proven by the soldiers he had found himself trusting.

And man, was he livid.

He learned two very damning things about one of his friends.

That Hoseok Jung had been seen leaving late at night with Mariah, and that Hoseok Jung was a traitor.

An informative rat.

All of those times he had struck up conversation with Jimin about his time at work or his schooling wasn’t because he cared, but because he was passing information along to higher ups. Had he done the same to Y/n? Did he have something to do with their choice to rescind her apprenticeship? As this has been some twisted end goal all long: help Maria and Anselm with whatever it is they were hiding in return for something greater?

He didn’t think as he barreled in through the front door and into the dining room to take his seat, startling both Jungkook and Namjoon, both of whom were already seated near each other at the table. Thankfully for Hoseok’s sake, he wouldn’t have to be alone with Jimin for lunch–a fact that probably just saved his life.

“How’s your day been, Jimin?” It was Namjoon that spoke first, a warm smile pulling his lips up and his dimples popping out in greeting.

“Fine.” Jimin grunted through his teeth, leaning his weight on his elbows that slid to rest on the table. Taut and tense–like a steam engine that was ready to blow.

Namjoon whistled under his breath, his smile falling and his face dipping to hide behind his book. “Sorry I asked.”

Taking in the way Jungkook subtly shifted in his seat to create distance between them, and the way Namjoon kept sending him stern looks from over his book had Jimin almost feeling bad for letting his emotions sour the energy of the room. He was far from angry with them. Nonetheless, the guilt died quickly, cut down by boisterous bursts of laughter from Hoseok who had just made his entrance.

He waltzed in, blithe and without any cares–like he was living a life of ease and not betraying everyone he knew. Jimin couldn’t stand his presence. He found it both nauseating and invigorating, like seeing how little his deceit affected him drove Jimin’s own will to spite whatever plans he was a part of tenfold.

Seokjin trailed in after him, an exasperated sigh falling from his lips at Hoseok cracked another joke Jimin didn’t care to pay attention to. He couldn’t find anything he said funny anymore.

“Full house today I see?” Hoseok chirped, who just so happened to take his seat next to Jimin. He either had to be blind, or hopelessly oblivious to sit next to Jimin. He practically radiated waves of vitriolic heat from his seat that even Jin seemed to catch on to, his gaze nervously sizing him up as he took the seat furthest away from him.

Jungkook’s brows furrowed, his eyes passively scanning Hoseok as he nudged Namjoon lightly under the table. Namjoon brought his head up from his book to scan the seats, landing on Hoseok’s casually reclined form.

Namjoon gave him a quizzical look “Where’s Y/n? I thought she was with you?”

“She got tired and wanted to go catch a few z’s.” Hoseok shifted in his seat, his smile flickering just enough for Jimin to catch.

Jimin ran his tongue along his cheek to keep himself from speaking out, gripping the lunch menu in his hand with little interest–he wasn't here to eat. He’d have to keep himself together until he could get Hoseok alone.

Idle chatter filtered about the table, mostly from Hoseok, Namjoon, and Seokjin discussing their days at work so far. They tried to get Jimin to join in on their jovial discussion, but he couldn’t bring himself to give much of an answer to any of their questions. Not when he could feel fire threatening to burst from his veins every time Hoseok breathed too loud, or laughed too hard at any one person's joke.

His resolve was shattered, when in an unconscious act, Hoseok's arm brushed against Jimin’s as he went to take a bite of his meal. Hoseok’s nonchalant apology was ripped from his mouth, all mirth leaving the surface of his eyes for a fragment of a second as he saw Jimin’s damning stare. They were locked in a wordless stand off–Jimin restraining himself from tearing into him then and there, and Hoseok now finally appearing to comprehend Jimin’s brooding mood.

A voice out from the hall howled out from the foyer, warbled and distant like a warped cry bent through space and time. It was as if on a different radio frequency than Jimin that just happened to bleed into his–but he still managed to hear it.

“They call me the Devil.”

“Keep your hands to yourself.” Jimin spat, wrenching distance between the two of them and scooting his chair abruptly to the side.

Hoseok’s brows furrowed, his friendly expression dropping with his indigent defense. “Who pissed in your coffee this morning? How about you keep your hands to yourself.”

“My coffee was great this morning-if anything I had quite the enlightening time drinking it with a very high energy Y/n.” Jimin spun in his seat, giving Hoseok a pseudo face of extreme interest. “Found my mind opened to a lot of things I think you might be interested in. Care to come visit me at my office to talk over some of my concerns with my supervisor? Since you are so cozy with yours I figured you’d have the best advice.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Hoseok’s expression crumpled in on itself behind a mask of disgust.

“Don’t play dumb. Was losing your job to a newbie that devastating that you had to turn to extremes?” Jimin knew it was a low blow, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care–rising from his seat to glower down at Hoseok. “Had to go around and fuck up everyone else’s lives and jobs because yours didn’t work out the way you wanted it to? I hope whatever job they offered you for doing this is worth losing everyone else in your life.”

Hoseok’s gaze turned dark, sharper than a whip yet just as fast with his words. “You don’t know shit.” He rose to his feet, bringing his face closer to Jimin’s. “Messing with people’s jobs? That’s rich coming from you. How about you keep your mouth shut and keep your nose in your own business like you’re told. Or do you need your ears checked?”

“I think you need a reality check–”

“That’s ENOUGH.”

Jin’s hands slammed down onto the wooden table as he stood, a rare display of displeasure crossing his features and knitting his brows together. “Pull yourselves together. Shut up and eat your lunch like adults–and if you feel the need to say anything else,” He held one finger up, pointing sternly at the two, “don’t.”

Hoseok and Jimin immediately fell back into their seats, their heads lowered and fists clenched. Jin barely ever raised his voice, but they all knew when he did: You listened.

No one dared speak, the only sound being the clinking of silverware and the occasional glass scraping against the table. Their tension then shaken by the approaching sound of Y/n, her voice carrying from the landing entrenched in some discussion of strawberries and desserts with a much deeper one.

Hoseok fisted his utensil in his hand so hard it shook, unable to stop the way his eyes immediately glared in the direction of Taehyung’s voice–the wound had been freshly scraped open after all. He swallowed, forcing his anger down by focusing on the sound of Y/n’s voice, and released the utensil to clatter onto the table by the time they came into view.

Y/n’s giggles got stuck in her through, she appeared to be clearly shaken by the mood in the room by the way her eyes skirted about each face–not doing a good job at concealing her concern.

“You alright?” Y/n asked Hoseok, pulling out the chair next to him and sinking into its cushion.

Hoseok nodded, clearing his throat as he did so. “Yeah I’m fine.” He turned to regard her over his shoulder, his smile strained and his knee shaking where he promptly pressed it against her leg. “Are you feeling more rested?”

Jimin had to hold back a roll of his eyes with a sip of his drink, tuning out their discussion to keep himself in check. Y/n didn’t deserve to feel the effects of their fight, and it would be disrespectful to force them onto her, and potentially put her in an even more dangerous situation.

He kept his cool for the remainder of lunch, but took his leave without notice. He couldn't bear to see Hoseok's face any longer. For what it was worth at this moment, he was dead to him.

_________________________________________

“A slut! How vile of a young woman to be parading herself through their rooms in the evening.”

“And she isn’t even married!”

“Answer me! I will claw your eyes out in your sleep if you keep ignoring me!”

“I need something to drink. Get me something to drink.”

“내 손자를 도와주세요.”

Jimin ate his breakfast in solitude. The dining room all but empty with breakfast not to be served for another half hour, leaving him only surrounded by disembodied voices wandering hither and thither through the rooms: whirlwinds of running, pacing, sizzling pans, haunting hums, the groaning of phantom cleaning carts, running water–sounds to prove the dead still lived.

One voice caught his attention more so than the rest. A man–his voice a hurricane of contradictions: Wheezing yet clear; poetic yet vile; metered yet crazed with madness. Jimin let his slice of toast hang from his mouth while he listened to the recognizable snippet of Shakespeare, letting his eyes close with a hum.

“I’ll follow you. I’ll lead you about a round,

Through a bog, through bush, through brake, through brier.

Sometime a horse I’ll be, sometime a hound,

A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire,

And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and burn,

Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn.”

The spirit’s voice bounced from stair to foyer, their footsteps trailing around the room in pointless circles while they recited it with practiced ease. Jimin has heard them before–reciting lines from plays or old poets wherever they went. When he wasn’t lost in a role, he was miming a turn of phrase or unimportant thoughts said within his vicinity, stopping his recitation to test the sound on his tongue and imitate the way a cook, a housemate, or a friend spoke when passing by.

The measured words of a Midsummer Night’s Dream abruptly stopped–either the spirit had left or was moving to switch his focus. Jimin assumed the latter.

“Morning.” Yoongi grunted around a yawn.

Jimin let his eyes flutter open, finding Yoongi entering the dining room with his arms stretched over his head, eyes sagged and twinged purple with fatigue. He ambled around the table towards the kitchen slowly, his heavy boots scuffing across the carpet

Jimin rushed to pull the dangling piece of toast from his mouth as he nodded his head in greeting. “Good morning.”

“You’re up early.” Yoongi stated, pushing through the swinging door and disappearing into the kitchen.

“You’re up early.” The spirit sounded from the edge of the dining room, copying Yoongi’s words over and over again under his breath.

Jimin stood from his seat and followed after the man, scraping the rest of his food into the trash. “Haven’t been sleeping very well.”

“You’re up early. Up early.”

“I can relate to that.” The end of Yoongi’s mouth curved upwards into a half smile, his hands busy pouring coffee from the machine into a paper to-go cup.

“I can relate to that. I can relate to that. Relate.” Again like clockwork, the spirit (having followed them into the kitchen) chimed in with the same words Yoongi had just spoken, this time gaining more confidence in portraying the same tone.

Jimin and Yoongi danced around one another while they finished their respective tasks: Jimin washing and drying his plate and Yoongi preparing his desired drink. All the while, the sound of trailing steps followed them. For each grunt Yoongi made, the spirit made the same. For every weary sigh or languid step, the spirit mimicked it with otherworldly accuracy.

It was unsettling to say the least, Jimin had never heard him take it this far before. It left a rotten taste in his mouth when words from his discussions with one of the soldiers came back to haunt him.

There are whispers of dark entities sharing bloodlust.

“Have a safe day at work today.” Jimin cleared his throat, ignoring the strange look Yoongi sent his way and beelining out of the kitchen and into the dining room to grab his bag and hoist it over his shoulder.

When out in the dining room by himself, he thought of what he could do to break Clarence from his focus on Yoongi, his gut telling him the interaction meant more than just a warm up for his next entryway monologue.

He took out his mental folder of everything he could recall about Clarence and his life. The writings or live retellings, or any of his documented elective interviews.

A performer at heart and lover of all branches of the arts: theater, poetry, and music especially. From what they could tell, his marriage was strictly business so nothing regarding his wife would grab his attention. Jimin willed his brain to think, to dig through the flashing images of pictures and handwritten slips until he landed on the image of one: one of his own pocketbook entries of his favorite artists.

“I’ll put something on out here for you, Clarence–if you’d like that.”

He sidestepped over to the victrola, lifting the lid and skimming through the stack on the right hand side for the one he was looking for: The tattered sleeve of a Mills Brother’s record.

Pinching the disk out and cranking the lever, he turned the volume dial down to the minimum level so as to not disturb anyone else within the house. The slow bouncing start of Paper Doll crooning out with mild distortion from age, calling out to where Clarence had stayed behind with Yoongi in the kitchen.

As soon as the first few measures had warped past, Jimin heard quick steps exit the kitchen and stop next to him.

“Turn it up.” His scratchy voice wheezed out from his side, sounding if only a hair kinder than he had in the hall.

So Jimin did, turning it up just enough to be heard throughout the room but not any farther. He didn’t hear Clarence copy Yoongi’s mumbled goodbyes, nor did he hear his pacing. Clarence was too mesmerized by the music floating from the record player to pay attention to anything else anymore.

It had been days since he had shown his face at another group meal–or really anywhere for that matter that wasn’t his room, the historical society, or the Adelaide. It wasn’t entirely to do with Hoseok–he did still technically have only a week and a half to finish his conclusion and pass his last final–but he knew that if he spent too much time around Y/n that he would risk breaking into pieces and spilling everything he knew–getting him in more potential trouble than he could already be in.

He fell into a routine of waking up before everyone else, eating alone with a soldier by his side to keep whatever was going on at the estate at arm's length, and dropping in a record to see what stole Clarence away from his Shakespearean mutterings and into a standstill in the dining room. It was a win-win situation: Jimin didn’t have to listen to Midsummer for the hundredth time, and Clarence got to choose a song.

There were four things Jimin had learned during his time away.

One: Having his three new ghostly companions has been a life saver. They couldn’t keep everyone away and nor could they silence everyone, but they could at least intimidate the everyday spirits enough to give him some space–meaning Jimin had become more selective about what he was able to listen to and what he wasn’t. This coupled with burning through whatever Namjoon had given him had changed his life.

Two: The family tree that Y/n had left behind, marked with X’s and vague musings had become a wonderful tool for him to go off of. He had been able to quickly piece together through witness testimonies that there was a plague of sorts infecting spirits on the property–turning them dark and malevolent. There wasn’t much word yet on how this plague affected ghosts who weren’t family members, though there were whispers of a few passed on staff, hotel guests, and member’s of the Kim and Jung family that had succumbed; however nothing was confirmed.

He was also piecing together things about Y/n and her group as the days went by, but didn’t let himself dig too deep: he didn’t want anything to accidentally slip from his mouth into enemy ears. So he forcibly turned a blind eye to any rumors that uttered anything about them.

Three: Whatever this was, went back far longer than any one of the living. He had started to really take note of where the gaps in information were, for sometimes an empty space told just as much as a full file. The women all had lackluster recordings, an unfortunate reality when it comes to historical documentation. Nevertheless there were a few that had significantly less than the rest–most notably being Adelaide, Candida, Patti, Lisolette; and in some strange whirlwind of unexpected events: Bear. These four women in particular had almost no historical documentation, and had been almost all but wiped from but only a few photos, records, and writings that weren’t family tree outlines. The only thing left of Bear besides the few images plastered on the wall near Duane’s exposition for Jimin to find was just a few military photos, and his uniforms. Everything else was gone.

Four: Bear was looking for Y/n. his most recent message as of this Sunday making that abundantly clear: CQYL. CQYM. Please. BW AR.

The soldiers had aided him in understanding more about morse code, the youngest of the trio having been taught during his time serving by the eldest, and jumped at any chance he could to practice. They were able to put their heads together (with the help of the internet which was an entire ordeal to explain to them) and decipher that Bear was using commonly used abbreviations: CQ a call to response, and YL and YM meaning ‘Young Lady’ and ‘Young Man’ respectively–which was the name Jimin suspected Bear had taken to addressing him as.

When not working on cracking morse codes, Jimin found himself elbow deep in journals, notebooks, paper scraps, clipped photos, and bent newspaper clippings in search of any information he could devour with just as much enthusiasm as the growing pile of empty soda cans he had shamelessly lugged into his office late that previous night. The only thing that had managed to pull him from his search efforts, was the delivery of Y/n’s family tree, which he promptly sent her a text for her to come collect that afternoon with all intents to have his office tidied and organized–though fate had other plans for him.

It was close to midday on Wednesday, and Jimin was seated where he had been for the past hour–leg tossed over one arm of his cushioned chair with his nose tucked into a hand sewn photo book created by what he could only guess was one of the original Kim daughter’s. He could stop scouring her blocky mix of Korean and English writing, or the few photos she had stuck onto the pages with tape (which meant unfortunately, there would be no removing any of them to check for any written titles without potentially damaging the integrity of the photos).

There was one in particular he wished more than anything that he could remove, his eyes never failing to return to the grainy black and white image of three children standing in a small alcove near the hotel stairs: knees and skirts dusted with dirt from the yard and hands clasped behind their backs or gripping at handmade dolls. Two of them he recognized as the two Kim children, estimated around the ages of five and eight years old–one son and one daughter.

The third child, however, he had never seen before in any of his searches or documents he had access to. She was young–not older than four or five–with long lightly colored curls and dark eyes. One of her hands was clasped with the Kim daughter’s, with a small imperceivable smile lifting up the corners of her mouth. At first he suspected that perhaps it was a friend that had been photographed with them during a playdate–but that was before he registered the dress she was wearing.

Light in hue with little capped sleeves that ended hardly above the edge of her shoulder, and the skirt embroidered with tiny dotted patterns in white string. Regardless of the photo being in black and white, Jimin knew for a fact that the dress was yellow: because he had seen both Matilda and Y/n wear it on separate occasions. A Wörner hand-me-down from decades prior.

He hummed to himself, inspecting the photo and churning his mind to come forth with any sort of idea or memory as to who this child could be–like if he were to stare long enough she would leap from the pages and give him a personal monologue of her life. A thought struck him, digging its talons into his mind and swarming him with temptation yet again.

He had yet to use the stolen keys. When asked about their whereabouts by his supervisor, Jimin put on his best act of ignorance, reassuring her he’d be sure to keep his eyes out for it. Perhaps with the right discovery, this mystery child could leap from the page and give him a personal monologue of her life.

He just needed a name.

The music that had been embracing the room with lavish and grand orchestral swells suddenly cut off, the tell tale sound of the needle hitting the velvet liner of the box the only warning he had for what was to come.

“No, no, no!” Jimin was on his feet the moment the beeping started, running to grab a small pocketbook he had been using for only morse code messages now after having received a second one Sunday. “Why right now? Y/n will be here soon.”

That only seemed to spur the rhythmic pulsing to speed up, saying the same thing over and over again in one simple message that Jimin didn’t need his soldiers to translate for him:

SOS SOS SOS SOS

Jimin held his breath–a message with a completely different format–a completely different theme than the other two previous transmissions. This one struck fear within him, and had the syrupy sweetness of all of the soda he had drunk swirling about his insides with whispered threats of coming back up to greet him.

“Bear if this is you, I need you to just talk to me. If there is something wrong I can’t–” Jimin never got the chance to finish, for someone else spoke for him.

“Bear isn’t here right now. But I will take a message for you if you can tell me where to find him.”

A voice so wretched, like it was calling up from hell itself rasped from his table side, curling into his ears and scraping through his senses like nails on a chalkboard. Jimin turned on instinct knowing he’d see nothing, and he was correct–there was nothing his eyes could see. Yet his ears still picked up on a shuddering intake of breath that scratched through the creature’s lungs with each inhale like the crackling of flames.

“Not so brave now that I’m speaking to you directly, are you?”

Footsteps thumped across the tile, dragging and heavy, with a sound akin to crumbling stone, but he could still see nothing–no sign of what or who he was speaking to–and he didn’t dare ask. They wandered towards the chair he had just been seated at, stilling beside the cushioned arm. With a sharp exhale that radiated heat waves from its mouth, Jimin could see the temperature clashing with the cool air of his office, warbling into the air approximately seven feet from the ground; a height that was all the more striking.

“Oh no,” The voice growled with a disapproving click of his tongue. “This won’t do. I apologize if this…ruins anything of value to you.”

Smoke curled up from the open page of the book Jimin had rested on his chair; a black smoldering hole growing in size over the mystery girl’s face and eating any remnants of who she was and spitting her out in coughs of ash that glowed orange with the lingering heat of the spirit’s touch.

“Shame, it was a good photo too.” The voice lamented, the waves of heat wiggling the air in front of its unseen mouth.

The steps started up again, closing in on where Jimin stood frozen in terror, his record player pressing into his back from where he had backed into it to escape this obscured predator. He could feel him before he heard him again, for he was but a fever on legs–billows of hot air taking over every sense and leaving its victim ill with its wrath. A wall of smothering heat wafted off of the soul that stood scarcely inches away, and bathed him in it. A thin sheen of sweat glistening upon the surface of his skin being beckoned by the unbending warmth.

Sudden searing hot pain bloomed across Jimin’s side, and he cried out in agony. It dug deeper into his ribs to erode his flesh with its fire. The fingers–if that's what they were–retracted from his skin, leaving him unsupported and weightless. He fell onto his knees in a fit of ragged breaths and afflicted grunts, his hands already scrambling to lift his button down to check for whatever damage awaited his discovery.

“Consider this a warning,” the spirit snarled, departing towards the door with heavy steps. “Keep your nose out of our business, and you won’t be seeing me again. Shall you decide to keep pushing your luck and I might have to…remove you from the story entirely. And then I’ll find your friend too–the pretty one that likes to cause trouble.”

He waited, frozen in place with only the sound of his heartbeat pummeling his eardrums to save him from the sound of popping rock and flame until the steps disappeared entirely.

Jimin trembled, biting his lip so hard it started to draw blood as he peeled his now singed shirt from his torso where it had stuck into the melted edges of flesh of his wound. A burn–angry and red–found its home on his side, situated in the shape of three long lines as if someone had run their fingers over his ribs towards his stomach.

“Sir! We couldn’t get in, are you okay?”

“Do I look like I’m okay?” Jimin panted, struggling to find his breath and removing his shirt completely to free the welts from any friction. “Are you able to grab me one of my spare shirts from my bag? Or do you not have the energy for that right now?”

The soldier didn’t answer, but Jimin could hear his boots rushing about the office, and the consequential grunts of frustration as the young man couldn’t gather enough energy to lift the shirt from the confines of his bag. Jimin listened to his attempts for a few more minutes, using the sounds as an anchor to steady his breathing and prepare himself for the way his nerves were going to scream at him when he’d have to get up and get him himself.

“I can get it. Just–” Jimin gasped as he bent forward to press his sweat-slicked forehead to the cool tile, the movement pulling on the fresh wounds, “ –just give me one moment please. And let me know if you hear them come back.”

It took Jimin another 20 minutes and a lot of deep breathing exercises so he wouldn’t alert his coworkers to do his best attempts at dressing his wounds with his first aid kit. Luckily they didn’t look nearly as bad as they felt, the actual burn itself no larger than an two inches in diameter–but the drag of whatever it was’ fingers left irritated scratches along the surrounding skin, the abrased areas making the gauze sting whenever he tightened or applied any pressure to it. With his burns dressed and a new shirt tugged on, he was able to move with a bit more freedom to approach his desk, his ears constantly peeled for the fiery ghost’s return.

Jimin tore open his desk drawer, snatching up a lighter and a stick of incense from its packaging and not even bothering to place it on its stand when he lit it–he just wanted some sort of protection against that devilish fiend.

Jimin let his eyes close, the aroma of frankincense leaving room for no other smells or sensations as it overtook him–a welcomed temporary distraction.

“Sir, Y/n is approaching with a friend.” A soldier spoke hurriedly, his nervous hovering felt without having to be seen.

Jimin sighed, snuffing out the stick and stifling the earthy smelling smoke and shoving the half burnt stick back into his drawer. “Thanks for the heads up.”

Now Jimin just had to figure out how he was going to pretend he wasn’t just attacked by a ghost and given a festering wound while working on uncovering coveted family secrets that threatened the balance of everything they knew. He could put on a convincing act, right?

_________________________________________

Well that had been a disaster. A complete and utter disaster, he thought to himself, his hand still pressed firmly to the door to keep Y/n from coming back in incase she tried. His burn was crying up at him from having to move around the room with superficial composure–the only silver lining being that he had secured a dinner with Y/n at the Adelaide, and successfully passed along her copy of the family tree.

“Stupid. Why did I act like that?” Jimin scolded himself for what could be the worst performance of nonchalance he had ever given. “I literally couldn’t have done a worse job if my life depended on it.”

“It wasn’t that terrible, sir.” The soldier that was comforting him was different from the last, this one a bit older than the youthful spry voice he had grown accustomed to–the voice Jimin had requested guard Y/n on her walk back to the estate in case whoever had tug his talons into his side decided to spring upon her unexpectedly.

“I appreciate your input…” Jimin trailed off, unsure what to refer to him as.

“You can call me Arrow if you would like to call me something. It’s not my real name, but it is a nickname some of the other members of my squad had given me.” This voice was steadier, less sporadic and not as prone to voice cracks as the other.

“Well then I appreciate your input Arrow, but I think I may have just scared her away from me eternally.” Jimin grumbled, sitting down onto his chair in an attempt to actually get some of his schoolwork done.

The voice grew closer, taking on a more curious lilt. “You like this lady, yes? She’s pretty bricky–so I can see why.”

Jimin shot ramrod straight, his side aching in protest at the abrupt action. “That isn’t important. What is important is that she trusts me so when I start…figuring out next steps we can join forces. Nothing more to it than that at the moment.” Jimin started to turn back to his screen, but did a double take in his direction. “What does bricky mean? I better not be something disrespectful…”

“At the moment?” Arrow hid a chuckle from his words, and Jimin shot a glare in his direction, so to appease him, Arrow tacked on a teasing “It means brave, sir.”

“Yes at the moment.” Jimin cleared his throat, willing his mind to think of anything else but ghosts and Y/n for the time being. “We just need to focus on the task at hand and then maybe I can humor something else.”

“Whatever you say, sir~” Jimin could hear the smirk on Arrow’s face without having to see it, and had to force his face to stay its natural color instead of flushed.

Picking up the burnt photo, he grimaced at the damage that had been done to something irreplaceable. For all he knew, that could’ve been the only copy left. “I told you all to stop calling me sir.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Jimin was jumpy the rest of the afternoon, his music so loud that his supervisor had to ask him twice to turn it down (not that he ever listened–he didn’t feel like dying today, and the music seemed to keep them at arm's length for the most part). He wasn’t keen on digging any further into the unknown either–his paranormal encounter having shaken him to his core–they had never been physical with him, and he wasn't interested in testing how far their boundaries could go so soon after.

He was good at compartmentalizing, he concurred. With that skill alone, he managed to get through the rest of the week by the skin of his teeth, pretending what had happened simply hadn’t; throwing himself into his studies with foolish words of comfort that he was doing the right thing leaving it be for the moment, and that he would get back to it later–and it had nothing to do with fear of what would happen to him. Or worse, Y/n. Those were things he told himself to mute the guilt of being intimidated so quickly.

On the bright side of things, he had discovered that if he gave offerings or gifts of sorts to Arrow, and the other soldiers (the young one had jokingly named himself Tree after his recount of meeting Y/n; and the third, an older gentlemen who spoke sparingly to Jimin settled on being referred to as Sergeant), that they would get boosts of strength to carry out tasks for Jimin.

The discovery had been made by accident when Jimin had jokingly offered him a can of soda from his vast collection. After having taken it, he had been able to move objects around the room, and had an easier job removing unwanted visitors from his office. Of course, word spread to the rest of them, and it became a new habit to give them something when they would spend the day with him.

For example, it had taken an entire plate of chicken tenders from the Adelaide as an offering to Tree for him to be able to deliver a gift bag to Y/n’s room the previous Friday upon Jimin’s request. The bigger the offering, the more energy. This led to them each developing requests and preferences for what Jimin would offer–and whether or not them getting to choose what they got affected the outcome, or if it was just them sneakily trying stuff from the modern world–Jimin wouldn’t know.

Arrow would request to listen to specific songs on the record player, and Sergeant liked when Jimin would leave books open for him on the table, turning the page upon request as Jimin worked or eventually on his own as he gained strength. When Jimin needed to focus, he taught him how to touch his phone screen and select an audio book to listen to while Jimin worked.

The first time Jimin had seen one of them manifest was after Tree had tried a snickers bar from the vending machine for the first time.

It had been Saturday morning, and Jimin was finishing up the last of his thesis in time to enjoy the night out with everyone at the Adelaide. He wanted any additional stressors out of the way to help keep his feet grounded when he had to play friends and fake niceties with Hoseok for Y/n’s sake–she wanted Hoseok there, and Jimin wasn’t going to deny her that.

Tree was seated on his bed, a shallow indent on his comforter where his body would be, and the snickers bar was placed on a simple ceramic plate on Jimin’s desk for him to partake in. Jimin wasn’t sure exactly how they were eating food and drink when he would leave it out, but he took their word that they were–even if the plate in front of him never physically changed. Most of the time he would have to end up eating it himself or offer it to coworkers (and Taehyung, when he’d see him around).

“These are incredible!” Tree exclaimed with a slight crack in his voice.

The interruption and the accompanying crinkle of plastic caught Jimin by surprise, his eyes fluttering to the fully intact and wrapped bar to his right. He did what he always does: look in the direction of their voices and noises when he is going to address them–it was just that this time, there was someone seated on his bed.

It was a completely dark figure, their limbs stretched and lanky–the build of a boy who couldn’t be a day over eighteen–and that was a generous guess only influenced by the height Tree had on him. His shoulders were narrow and slim, and all of his features shrouded by shadow. It looked like a scene out of cheesy 80s horror film: a fuzzy black outline of a man, an exact replica of the snickers bar next to him now half eaten and pinched between his fingers growing increasingly smaller with each invisible bite.

“You’re so…tall.” Jimin commented, his mouth slack with shock and his eyes frantically scanning him from head to toe multiple times, waiting for the figure to vanish at any given moment.

“Huh?” The outline of Tree’s head lifted, tilting to the side ever so slightly. “Can you see me?”

“How old are you? I’m realizing I never asked.” Jimin inquired, not registering he had even been asked a question for he was still in a state of awe.

Tree brought a hand up to wipe at where his mouth would be. “I think I was sixteen. Maybe seventeen.”

“That snickers must really be something special…” Jimin forced himself to tear his eyes away from Tree and back to his laptop screen. “I’ve never been able to see you before.”

“It is very special, sir. I think it’s my favorite thing I’ve gotten to try from your time thus far.” Tree’s words were tilted by the sound of a smile, followed by another shuffle of plastic as he took another bite.

“Do you think that’s how you all become visible?” Jimin turned his chair back around, unable to stop his inquisitive mind from turning threads of answers.

“Candy?”

“No.” Jimin gave a curt shake of his head. “Gifts.”

Tree shifted in his seat, lowering the hand that held the chocolate to rest over his knee. “I don’t know. Some of the others just do it. I think they need to have saved up enough energy or have some sort of push.” His hand brought the last of the chocolate to disappear into the abyss of his face. “Sometimes Sergeant gets seen by civilians if he’s feeling scared or stressed. Usually around the summer we can get a bit…lost as that was around the time of the battle. Muddies our minds and makes us more scattered.”

Jimin hummed, drinking in his words and letting them pool in the crevices of his mind. “So emotional triggers or specific times can make you stronger?”

“I believe as much.” Tree shrugged, tossing the wrapper into the trashcan across the room where it dissipated. “I personally theorize that’s why the angry ones are so powerful. They are still stuck on something that plagues their minds from when they were alive, and it has bled over into this life. It’s just odd, for they weren’t always at this level when I would see them outside before you let us in.”

A light flickered within Jimin’s mind, the wheels turning even faster with Tree’s shared observation. If they hadn’t always been that way, then dates and random triggers should be temporary–like a shared Snickers bar that brings them joy, or reliving the circumstances of their death to make them depressed or stressed–not never-ending. Not the way they have been described or sounded as of late.

“Or maybe …” Jimin took a finger and brushed it across his bottom lip while the loose threads started to create a new image. “Maybe someone has learned to weaponize the things that affect them so strongly. Someone who would need someone else to do their dirty work for them.”

“That’s a possibility. But Who would do that?” Tree asked. “Bottom fact is that they’ve been angry for some time, but I hadn’t ever seen them attempt attacks against the living until recently.”

Jimin sucked in a breath. He already had an idea of someone of suspicion–someone so desperate to hoard and hide information from everyone else’s eyes. Someone who had taken to forcing everyone into silent submission through force and intimidation: blocking Y/n after she had left, bribing his supervisor to display what she approved of, taking over most of Anslem’s tasks behind closed doors, demonizing some members of the house yet recruiting others for who knows what; and the list goes on.

There was only one person that fit the bill.

Mariah Wörner.

Mariah Wörner was potentially building an army of volatile and damned souls as servants to do her dirty work–and if Jimin knew anything about history, the end goal would most likely be one thing: Power. Unchecked power.

“Tree?” Jimin called, swiveling his chair around. “Do you think you can try and tap a message to Bear? Tell him that we will all be at the Adelaide tonight, but I will be buying a morse code transmitter so we can send him messages.”

Tree had obliged, though they couldn’t be certain that their message had been received. Not until later that evening.

One moment he was dancing with Y/n in the thralls of loud music and colorful lights, and the next he was escaping to the bathroom to listen to a voice message left by an unknown caller; the message being entirely in morse code.

Tree had been able to put together his response quickly once he had called him in.

FB. CU. 0333. 88. BW AR; which Jimin had been able to translate into common speech to mean

“Excellent. See you. 3:33am. Love and kisses. BW, End of Transmission.”

_________________________________________

“He is going to kill her!” One voice hissed, banging against his door with desperate fists.

“He is here–The Devil!” Another cried, shaking the door handle. “Let me in–I must hide!”

“Stay away. Let fate run its course you filthy meddling child.”

“Grab a medical kit, sir! She’s in the kitchen!”

Jimin couldn’t breathe–he couldn’t think.

He scrambled about his room in search of his medical kit bag at the advice of Tree, finding it hanging from a velvet hanger within his closet and yanking it free. His feet blurred down the long hall, drifting onto the landing and scurrying down the stairs in a blur of speed.

A colorless and urgent Hoseok appeared from around the corner that led down the hall with the sound of his thundering feet, his expression daring to show a dash of relief at the sight of Jimin.

“Hey do you have a-”

“First aid kit? Yes, it's in my hand.” Jimin cut him off, starting towards the kitchen when one of Hoseok’s hands stopped him.

“Before you go in–”

“Now’s not the time for your excuses, Hoseok. Whatever you did we can talk about it after.” Jimin bit back in a whisper so Y/n wouldn’t hear, wrenching his forearm from his grasp and fixing him with an intense stare.

“I didn’t do anything.” Hoseok defended, his volume also lowered–but the nervous shake in his eyes and the quiver of his voice led Jimin to think otherwise. “We need to talk about-”

“I don’t want to talk to you about anything–I don’t fraternize with traitors. Just stay away from her. If she wants you in there than fine, but don’t get too close. I’ll be watching you.” With that, Jimin ran into the kitchen, not able to take another second without knowing whether or not Y/n was okay.

Y/n was all Jimin could focus on–the way she shook, the blood trickling down her temple, the glazed look in her eyes–the eyes he didn’t miss constantly looking over Namjoon’s shoulder like she was searching for something, waiting for something to be there with each glance in that vague direction.

The same direction Jimin could hear phantom howls and rattling breath–whispered words of violence and self-depreciation warbling through the veil between them.

“A devil! What a devil I am! Look what I have done! Pity my soul…”

Hoseok, at the bare minimum, had the wherewithal to listen to Jimin’s commands, appeasing him by keeping space between himself and Y/n; all the while looking like a kicked puppy whenever she wasn’t looking. Jimin could almost feel bad for him with the way he appeared to be punishing himself more than Jimin ever could–just for what he couldn’t even let himself ponder without making a scene. And Y/n didn’t need that right now–she needed help not more tension.

After leaving her with Namjoon to get herself situated, Jimin traced Hoseok’s steps back to the kitchen where he had excused himself to prepare Y/n’s food, steering himself through the door with little hesitation.

“You have a lot of nerve still being here.” Jimin seethed at where Hoseok stood slumped over a partially boiling pot of water.

“Mmhmm.” Hoseok grunted, void of any emotion and empty.

Jimin scoffed. “Is that all you have to say for yourself? After whatever you just did?”

“Mmhmm.” Hoseok repeated again in an identically disconnected manner, not even bothering to look up at Jimin from where he had hunched his shoulders inwards.

Jimin stomped over to the stove, grabbing a hold of Hoseok’s shoulder and yanking him to face him. “Look at me you–”

The rest of the words never left Jimin’s mouth, for suddenly he was engulfed in flame. The room was no longer the kitchen, but a burning blaze of wood and smoke–ember and destruction.

The room he had found himself in was smaller than the kitchen, barely half its size in length and even narrower in width. Its walls were entirely made of columns of old wooden beams that were being dissolved by blazing licks to crumble into the open mouth of the fire that spread below it. A few of them cracked and splintered, tipping to the side with a groan and thundering to the ground in an eruption of ash and orange embers.

He heard screaming. A child’s shattering cries for help swallowed by the roar of flames that enclosed around him. Jimin brought one hand up to cover his mouth from the chokehold the smoke kept trying to put him in, burrowing into his nose–his eyes, his mouth his ears–every orifice was a target.

Water pooled along the rims of his eyes that searched through the plumes for the calls of the wailing child, finding only a small lump that stirred with movement on the other end of it–blocked by a flickering barrier of fire. Only the tips of a small hand reaching up from the breaks in flame visible as its pale fingers reached to him.

“Help me! Please!”

Jimin started towards the child, his hands outstretched to reach for them–fingertips scarcely brushing each other.

“Please!” The child sobbed as their hands barely missed each other for the second time.

He grit his teeth and teetered even further forwards into the starving heat, their hands coming in to close around one another–

With just as much (or as little) notice, Jimin was back in the kitchen, his hand on Hoseok’s shoulder as if no time had passed.

Hoseok was glaring at him, imploring him to speak with expectant eyes.

“You still here with me? I asked what the fuck you wanted?” Hoseok’s voice was hot, just like the flames Jimin had been thrust into.

“I–” Jimin swallowed, frantic eyes looking at the room around him–the stove, the fridge, the counter, the saucepot of now boiling water. The child was gone. “I don’t-”

“Yell at me if you want–but I’m not gonna argue.” It was then that Jimin noticed the red swollen edges of Hosoek’s brown eyes, and the partially wiped tear stains that tracked down his cheeks. “So if that’s all you wanna do, leave.”

“Hoseok…” Jimin started again, his experience wiping all of his anger from his system and leaving him in a state of disorientation.

A crack of thunder tore Jimin from his stupor, pulling his hand from Hoseok’s shoulder to drop down to his side, letting Hoseok turn back to the pot with a huff. He staggered away from him and whatever spell he had put him under, quickly turning on his heels without another word to dash out into the dining room.

He couldn’t breathe again. Images of the child’s hand and the sound of their screams ripped through him like a knife over and over again. It had felt so real he didn’t know if he was hallucinating, or if it had been real. His shoulders heaved in ways that made each scab along his burns itch, the skin of his ribs stretching taut and releasing with his breath. He didn’t know how long he had stood there trying to regain some semblance of himself–it could’ve been seconds or hours. The only thing he did know was that the sound of the front door slamming closed told him he was no longer alone, and he had run out of time to recover in private.

“Are you okay?” Jungkook’s flat voice called to him from the foyer, his eyes dark as they scrutinized the way Jimin hung onto the table's edge like a lifeline.

“Yes–I’m fine. Go shower, you’re so sweaty.” Jimin did his best attempt at a teasing tone, but it only managed to come out sounding strained and out of breath.

Jungkook hesitated, his eyes flickering between Jimin and the stairs. “Are you sure?”

“Very sure.” Jimin tried to prove his lie by standing straight, and giving him a feigned teasing smile. “It was just that I could smell you from the other side of the door. It almost wiped me out I fear.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, but Jimin saw the smallest of smiles quirk at the edge of his lips. “Whatever.”

Jungkook ascended the stairs, and Jimin stood still, waiting until he was out of sight to let himself crash into one of the dining room chairs with his head in his hands.

“Are you alright, sir?” Arrow asked hesitantly from over Jimin’s shoulder.

Jimin was immune for the most part to startling voices, so he remained unbothered by the intrusion. “I’ve been better.” He whispered, afraid if he spoke too loudly that Hoseok would hear.

Arrow hummed, sensing Jimin’s reluctance to speak and settling for hovering over his shoulder. When Jimin had found himself ready to return to his room, he could still hear Arrow’s boots treading the carpet behind him–a sound that now brings comfort to Jimin instead of irritation.

A few days had passed since the incident in the kitchen, though he couldn’t seem to forget the experience as much as he wanted to. It plagued his dreams and thoughts, torturing him with smokey nightmares and ringing ears. He lost himself in his thoughts of the child–his brain wondering if it had anything to do with the mystery child or the malevolent energy that had attacked him at the historical building. But every times his thoughts wandered that direction, he tugged them back in fear of their return.

Jimin found a new welcomed distraction, now sitting hunched over his desk with a new morse code transmitter carefully placed at the center of his desk still smelling of fresh plastic and metal. He prayed that this would work–that Bear would be able to hear it if he wired it to his radio with the volume low enough to not disturb his room neighbors.

No one had said anything about not contacting Bear–just not to dig through the historical documents–so technically he wasn’t doing anything he wasn’t supposed to.

He couldn’t simply wait around and twiddle his thumbs after what had happened–and with his assignments finished and submitted and his graduation date approaching, he had nothing else to do but mull over everything that had occurred over the past few weeks.

Tree stood hovered over his shoulder, invisible this time, guiding Jimin to choose his first message carefully.

“I think if you keep it concise, it should be fine. Use abbreviations where you can.”

Jimin nodded, his pen hovering over the paper while he willed his mind to come up with what to say. He pulled up a website to help him condense whatever he could into abbreviations so as to not make the message too tiresome for Tree to tap out. He settled on one, his eyes rereading it a few more times just to be sure.

I HR U, II, TALK TO ME NORMALLY PSE. YM AR.

“How is this?” Jimin slid the paper over to the edge of his desk, waiting a few moments for Tree to read it and leave his comments.

“Acceptable.” Tree’s voice cracked, and he cleared his throat to cover up the sound. “Shall I start then?”

“Have at it.” Jimin fell back into his chair with a sigh, and gestured to the machine. When nothing happened Jimin turned to stare at the empty space where Tree should be. “Is everything alright?”

“I need energy to press the buttons, sir.”

“Oh.” Jimin got to his feet, striding over to his bed to rummage through his messenger back for something. “Try this.”

Jimin tossed a bent granola bar onto the desk, watching it come to a skidding halt on the empty plate he now kept in his room. He heard the telltale sound of a crinkling wrapper, and stared expectantly at the place where he was sure he stood. After a few moments of waiting Jimin spoke up.

“Is that enough?”

Tree hummed thoughtfully before deciding on his answer. “It’s no Snickers candy–but it will do.”

Jimin sat down on the edge of his bed with his arms crossed, boring holes into the machine with fervent impatience.

The buttons started to dip, bouncing up and down in a meticulous pattern by–what it looked like to him–their own volition. There were no hands and no fingerprints left behind with each touch to the metal, only the faint beeping coming through his radio with each dip of a button. After what felt like forever to Jimin and his intolerance for the sound, Tree stopped.

“I sent the message through three times before ending transmission, sir. If he responds I’ll be sure to let you know. You can go to sleep.”

Jimin dragged his hands down his face, huffing out another sigh. “I guess I should.”

“Yes. For your outing with your lady tomorrow.” Tree sang from his spot by the desk, taking on the tone that wasn’t far from that of an obnoxious younger brother.

“Oh shut up.” Jimin whined with a roll of his eyes.

“Don’t be such a noodle.” Tree pestered. “Are you going to kiss her tomorrow?”

“What I’m going to do is go to sleep.” Jimin turned on his heel, escaping into his bathroom to change his clothes for some semblance of privacy. He could still hear Tree’s boyish giggles carrying through the wall as he turned the sink on to wash his face of all of that day's stressors.

_________________________________________

Jimin stormed into his room, tossing his keys onto his desk with an exaggerated groan ripping from his chest.

“I’ll take it you didn’t kiss her?” Tree asked smartly from the corner of his room.

“Don’t press him.” Arrow chastised, following in through the door. “He did his best and that’s what counts.”

“Yeah, well my best made her look at me like I was a monster. She probably thinks I’m one of them now.” Jimin flopped onto his bed, grabbing one of his pillows and yelling his frustrations into it.

“I doubt she thinks that way. If it matters it looked like you two were snug as a bug for most of it.” Arrow reassured him, coming to stand close to the edge of his bed. “Just keep your chin up. I’m sure we will be able to figure things out soon.”

Jimin bolted upright, tossing the pillow to the side and skittering over to his desk. He turned on his radio and scribbled out a new message, his pencil gripped so tightly between his fingers he felt the wood splintering from within.

“Send this to Bear.” Jimin dropped the pencil and shot to his feet with his hands fisting into his hair, beginning a pace back and forth in front of the desk.

“Are you sure? This message seems a bit…risky?” Tree’s voice was timid–nervous.

Jimin stopped, giving himself one more moment to question his choices–but the answer remained clear to him. There was no other option, there was only being complicit.

“Send it.”

The clicks and tones rang through the room, and Jimin closed his eyes, taking deep satisfying breaths with each pesky beep.

Tell me what I need to do. YM AR.

Tree sent the message out multiple times in hourly increments. Jimin would wait for each one, sitting at his desk with his eyes set on the radio, willing it to come to life with any sort of response with his stare.

Unfortunately, between the mumbled banter of his friends and the clicking of the buttons, he must of nodded off into a restless and dreamless sleep that was haunted by his least favorite lullaby of morse code. The only benefit of the sound was that it kept the nightmares of fire away.

Jimin awoke with a start, his forehead hitting the surface of his desk as he jostled himself upright. He blinked blearily up at his clock that read just before five in the morning, and wondered just what could’ve woken him up at such an ungodly hour.

Another bout of firm knocks shook his door, answering his unspoken questions with their persistence. Jimin stood, stumbling through his dark room to open his door, fully ready to tell off whoever it was that insisted on bothering him so early.

“Howdy Jimin, are you ready to head out?” Anselm Wörner stood outside his door, smiling brightly and already dressed in one of his red work suits.

Jimin blinked at him, eyeing the travel bag tucked under his arm and his smile that left Jimin feeling more so unsettled than enlivened. “Pardon?” He finally choked out, knitting his brows together.

“I’m here to grab your bags for our trip to Maryland for your graduation! Don’t tell me you forgot?” Anselm made a move to step into his room, but stopped–jerking backwards as if the doorknob had shocked him.

“I mean no disrespect sir,” Jimin started, surveying the way Anselm's face took no time to bounce back to its preppy demeanor. “However I was told that Hana and Yeongjin would be taking me this afternoon. I’m afraid I haven’t finished packing yet.”

Anselm’s smile dropped, and his head tilted sharply to the side much too swiftly for comfort. His eyes took on a clouded expression, falling into a daze like he had just…disappeared from his mind.

“Are you feeling alright, Mr. Wörner?” Jimin reached an apprehensive hand out to lay over Anselm’s–the skin cold beneath his touch. The contact reanimated the man in front of him, and Anselm seemed to fall right back into his body with a smile that would put any working clown out of business.

“Of course I am! They must’ve slipped and told you the wrong time. I’ll wait for you on the landing to finish packing.” He turned stiffly, and with movements similar to a marionette, traipsed down the hall and out of sight for Jimin to stare off after in bewilderment.

His room was a whirlwind–clothes flying from his closet and into his bag; a black garment bag with his cap and gown tossed over his bed; and his computer bag bulging with his laptop, cords and books shoved carelessly into empty spaces. All of these things are a physical representation of his mind: Frantic and disorganized.

None of this had been the plan, and Jimin had a sinking pit in his stomach that said it might have something to do with his choices the day prior–whether it was his split-second decision to write a note for Y/n, or his choice to reach back out to Bear with a more forward request. Either way, he didn’t want to push his luck, and rushed to carry his overly stuffed bags down the hall towards the landing, stumbling over his own feet with drooping eyes.

“Let me help you with that.” Jin piped up from behind him, the sound of his door clicking shut making Jimin turn his head to see him.

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” Jimin yawned out, handing Jin the bag over his shoulder and relieving his aching side of the added weight, still healing from his burns of his encounter. “Did I wake you?”

Jin shook his head, shrugging the bag onto his shoulder. “No. I planned to be up early to say goodbye to my parents.”

Neither of them spoke during the rest of their moseyed path down the long hall to the landing, both of them much too exhausted to offer anything of interest to a discussion. They made it to the foyer when Jin excused himself to the kitchen, bidding Jimin hushed farewells as he went to find his own breakfast.

Jimin took a second to steady his nerves, shaking out his shoulders and steeling his mind for whatever this trip was going to look like. He heard the clamor of parents out near the front steps through a cracked window, and with a sharp intake of breath, shouldered open the door to join them.

Within the first two steps, his bags were removed from his hands by the staff that was helping them load their vehicles, leaving him with no other excuse for keeping his distance from the four adults that huddled on the gravel. Hana’s friendly brown eyes lit up with delight at the sight of Jimin, a smile on her lips that mirrored Jin’s glowing up at him.

“Come here Jimin, we were just discussing you–let’s get a picture before we go!” Hana waved a dainty hand to him over Mariah’s shoulder, beckoning him to join the huddle of parents that had congregated out front of the estate. She passed her phone to one of the staff that was currently loading the trunk, their gloved hands holding the device at the ready.

“Alright.” Jimin swallowed hard, his eyes still heavy from the sleep he had been dragged from and nerves firing on high alert.

Jimin kept his face neutral, forcing his breathing to remain a natural cadence as he approached their chattering group. His control was nearly blasted to smithereens when Anselm grabbed his arm and lugged him against his side, clamping his other arm over Jimin’s back and digging his fingers into the meat of his arm in an effort to guide him to stand in the center.

“Yes, a photo! We must commemorate this trip.” Anselm gave everyone a wide grin as they all stepped in. Hana sidled up to Jimin’s other side, a proud smile blessing her face and her hand slipped comfortably into her husband's who stood at her side.

“Smile.” Anselm's voice tipped into something more as the phone flashed with light–something volcanic and corroded at the edges. A shift only Jimin seemed to catch, because none of the other parents seemed to stiffen like Jimin had.

“You alright Jiminie?” Hana looked up at him, having sensed the tensing of his arm against her side.

Jimin nodded, plastering on a sweet smile. “Just tired.”

Hana’s smile returned, and she waved a hand to the wait staff again. “Can you take a few more without the flash as well please?”

They held their position for them to snap a few more photos, and Jimin had to count out his breaths in his head to keep himself from panicking with the proximity of Y/n’s parents. There was no way for them to know any of what he had done already, he lathered his mind with ignorant thoughts, this must just truly be a misunderstanding.

“Alright everyone–let’s load up. We don’t want to be late!” Mariah fretted, walking towards the car with Hana close to her side, the two of them dabbing at the edges of their eyes and sharing watery giggles.

“Heavens. I figured we’d at least make it to Maryland before the two of them started crying.” Yeongjin tutted with a chuckle, giving Anselm a gentle nudge with his elbow.

Anselm shared in his jest, the two sharing a knowing look. “I give it five minutes on the road before they are inconsolable.”

“I give it two.” Yeongjin laughed again before jogging after the two women to open the car door for them. Jimin was now left alone with Anselm, his arm still pressed down into his shoulder steering the two of them after the others at a much slower pace.

“You know, Jimin,” Anselm started, his casual tone a stark contrast to the way he gripped Jimin like he was going to bolt at any second. “I always knew you’d do great things. You’ve always been a smart kid.”

“Thank you.” Jimin nodded politely, his smile appearing more as a grimace from the crushing pressure of his arm.

“Of course. Now there’s nothing stopping you from taking over as head of the historical department.” Anselm’s grin stretched wider–almost too wide–and his arm slid down to pull Jimin into a suffocating hug. “That is, unless something were to come up.”

The hand around Jimin’s middle pressed into the half healed burn on Jimin’s side, an involuntary grunt escaping Jimin’s lips at the sting so strong that it stole the breath from his lungs. As quick as he had pulled him in, he was gone–hand retracted from the burn and lumbering off to the car to follow after Yeongjin.

He started forward, the gravel crunching under his feet with each reluctant step after him. One of his hands instinctively came up to hold at his side, shielding the wound from any other prodding or squeezing from unseen forces. This was going to be a long weekend.

A gentle tinkling sound lilted through the air, something small and shiny skittering across the gravel and stopping against the toe of Jimin’s shoe. He bent down low, his thumb and forefinger poised to pinch the small orb beneath his fingers.

“What the hell…” He muttered under his breath, lifting what seemed to be a small rotund bell–like one of the ones they would dangle on branches of their holiday trees each year. He rotated it within his hands, the faint blue hint of sun approaching the horizon glinting back a reflection of his own face up at him.

“You’ll find yourself making good use of this, young man. Use it if they give you any trouble.”

Jimin’s head shot up in the direction of the front door, which was a few inches ajar and spilling yellow light across the tops of his shoes and shins. The voice belonged to a woman–its rich tone both firm and taunting.

A voice he had only heard once before in the corners of the historical building when he was a child, urging him through the exhibit aisles and expanding his mind to the love and joy of history.

The voice of Adelaide Wörner.

Jimin dared not speak. He dared not respond. He couldn’t believe his ears, turning the bell over in his fingers with a new found reverence.

“Sir, I don’t know if I will be able to accompany you the entire time. You will be traveling far.” Arrow murmured apologetically as he approached.

Jimin pocketed the bell, and shook his head with new found confidence. “Don’t worry about it. Keep an eye on Y/n for me.”

_________________________________________

It was late on Sunday evening. His hotel room shrouded in shadow, warping the sharp edges of furniture and hanging paintings into mysterious shapes that elevated his heart rate every time they crept into the edge of his vision. He couldn’t sleep. Something felt wrong–like he needed to be awake for something. But exactly what it was, he wasn’t sure.

Jimin had done a good job at keeping his head low, Hana and Yeongjin had been the perfect buffer between himself and the Wörners. The only risk he had taken was finally gaining enough courage to add something to Y/n’s family tree, hoping she wouldn’t hate him for it. He really just wanted to call her. He wanted her to be there with him, to have been there to cheer for him as he walked across the stage to shake some educator’s hand and pose for a photo. To come running down the steps and fall into each other's embrace like they used to, perhaps even get to–

Light erupted into his room from his phone screen, a new phone call from an unknown number blazing across his screen. His stomach dropped. His instincts told him that this was what he had been waiting for.

It took everything in him to let the call go to voicemail, waiting with baited breath and twitching fingers until the call ended just to pounce on it like an animal the moment a new voicemail notification appeared, his fingers fumbling to open it and press it to his ear.

The tonal message started–and boy was it long. Without Tree or Sergeant around to help him, he had no other choice but to mess around with downloading the audio file and inputting it into an online website. He wouldn’t be able to wait until morning to ask them–he would surely explode–he just prayed that this would be just as accurate.

Letters and numbers loaded into view, his eyes devouring them one by one as they appeared.

It is only me left. If this is my last msg, stick together. 73 88 CL, BW AR.

He couldn’t lose Bear. Not when he held the key to so many answers.

In what he decided was a better way to spend his time than lying unconscious for a few more hours, he took to the internet in search of ideas–if Bear wanted them to stick together, and for him to talk to Y/n–he would find a way. His search brought a conclusion with a few common themes: Smoke. Plants. Incense. Sound.

All things he had access to. He just needed more–and he knew just the way to get it.

Because Bear was right: they needed to stick together–whatever happened in the past be damned. If there was one thing Bear had been sure to drill in all of their heads, it was to never back down. That giving in did most of the work for your enemies.

And Jimin refused to give in any longer.

With his new contract already signed during a celebratory dinner the night before–Jimin was locked into his position for at least a handful of years. Thus he didn't hesitate to meet Mariah and Anselm’s gazes at breakfast a few hours later, silently challenging them to say something–to do something in front of witnesses. He met each threatening side eye and brush of hand with just as much push back. A silent act of defiance.

He couldn’t help himself when the Kim’s had left the table to take their key cards back to the front desk, to tear a napkin into a rectangular shred with a miniscule smirk. He wanted to send them a message just as they had sent him many–to return the threat back to the sender if you will. And he had the perfect way to do so, a declaration of rebellion that only they would understand.

“You seem…full of energy this morning Jimin. Did you have a good night’s rest?” Mariah schooled her voice, but kept her eyes cold and calculating.

Jimin shined up at them with a cloying grin, letting his eyes glow with nauseating sweetness. “I had an amazing night’s rest.”

Anselm’s eyes followed Jimin’s hand as it swiped one of the pens from the table, twirling it in his fingers. “That’s great to hear.” In spite of his words, Anselm's tone fell flat and modulated. Jimin’s lack of fear was getting to him already, and Jimin relished in the feeling.

Jimin hummed sweetly, coloring in thick, swooping letters across his napkin. “It is great.”

“Jimin.” Mariah scolded, all attempts at masking her displeasure ruptured. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

“Oh I won’t regret anything.” Once satisfied with his little note, he tossed the pen back onto the table and stretched with an overly animated yawn. “I’m just having a bit of fun, reminiscing on a few things from the past.” He slid the napkin across the table as he stood, giving it a firm tap with his finger. “Some things to exercise your mind, if you will. I will see you after work, maybe.”

Mariah gasped in outrage, jerking her head to sow her rage onto Jimin only to find the space he had occupied empty. Jimin had to miss their reaction in order to afford himself the privilege of an escape, but what he wouldn’t do to have seen it. He was already halfway to the car he was to share with Hana and Yeongjin by the time she had looked up–leaving her with no victim to spew her punishment onto.

The edge of the table groaned, cracking into splinters that drew the outline of Anselm’s hands from the inhuman force he gripped it with and dug into his skip like little needles. Mariah couldn’t believe what she was seeing–she was besides herself. The coffee stains spread out in bleeding lines, the message small yet concise. An act of rebellion to share that he didn’t intend to back down.

‘Fuck!

You’ll Burn Next.’

_________________________________________

“괜찮아, 지민아?” : Are you okay, Jimin?

“내 손자를 도와주세요.” : Please help my grandson

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Taglist: @kokoandkookie @rkive-joonie

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dreamlogic · 3 months ago

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your post about the tiny model mail truck crossed my dash and I'm so glad it did as I have several friends who are both USPS workers and love putting together model kits.

it sparks such joy that that post found its target audience (postal employees who love tiny things) fbfhfhdh. i'm a mail carrier and i love having a tiny shitty LLV that reminds me of the big shitty LLVs i drive at work. they're such charming vehicles and so, so very Problems.

i keep meaning to share some of my favorite tags & replies on the metal earth model LLV cuz the responses from other mail ppl especially have been cracking me up

#asks #anon #i once drove an LLV where the check engine light kept coming on but if i laid on the horn for a few seconds it would go off #i wrote it up and the next day after they said it was fixed #the check engine light no longer came on but the gas gauge was stuck at 200% full #i was just like okay ❤️ yay ❤️ hope it doesn't catch fire while i'm driving it #most of them max out at like 45 mph tops and rattle n scream like they're about to explode just to manage that #but i'm a rural carrier so a lot of the routes i run involve driving highways where the speed limit is like 50-65 mph #nothing for it but 2 throw my hazards on and chug along while everyone backed up behind me fantasizes about dismembering me in the street #charlie vs mail

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cloudbends · 4 months ago

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Finallyyyyy a pokemon episode again....

#vi rambling #pokemon #it was interesting!!! i was initially very iffy about the ep until i learned its written by dai sato #the beginning was a little weird? as in beginning with a fast forward was a little odd.#i really liked the battle and especially the emphasis on liko's strategising being somewhat ruthless #ive been waiting for that side of her to be shown for a while and it was implemented very nicely and naturally #ONYX AND SANGO YEAAHAHHHHHHH #as for the whole area zero deal...... i admit im still not entirely sold?#it feels a bit hamfisted (which makes me suspect this is gamefreak devs intervening)#but we'll see. im very eager to see more of onyx and sango #especially seeing them in a somewhat menacing setting again which echoes their introduction but also now we know so much more #about them that it paints it in a different light. theyre kinda disposable which makes me sad... very intrigued for next episode #especially sango potentially catching scream tail....? couldn't find a more fitting pokemon for her LMFAO #And RIKAAAAAA im really sad we didnt see more of rika.... but the few shots were (mwah)

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suksatoru · 15 days ago

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smile for the camera! — ft. k. bakugo x fem!reader

katsuki bakugo is tricked into smiling during an interview when they bring up your name!

you didn't notice it at first, but katsuki bakugo developed smile lines after meeting you.

he didn't smile much as a kid. most of his baby pictures consisted of him either crying, screaming, or making some sort of vulgar gesture at the camera. it only got worse as he entered his teen years. his temper calmed down a bit, sure. but the chances of catching katsuki bakugo smiling were as rare as catching lightening in a bottle.

the paparazzi were well aware of the famous dynamight barely having any pictures of him smiling out on the internet—there were three singular photos out there that consisted of him with a somewhat pleased expression on his face, and the only reason he looked that way was because you were in frame right beside him.

it seemed to be a well known fact that getting bakugo to smile was nearly impossible—but the current interviewer sitting in front of bakugo was determined.

"great explosion murder god dynamight—or, well, just dynamight sir—what would you say is your favorite part about being a hero?"

katsuki stops himself from rolling his eyes, already anticipating the rest of the interview's questions as he answers flatly

"the glory. the strength. and kicking ass—make that the first thing, actually."

"okay! now, i'd like to ask you a few more things..." the young woman chirps up, and katsuki sighs and tells her to continue. the next dozens of questions were just as he'd predicted—stuff like asking who his biggest inspiration was, what kind of merch his team would be putting out in the upcoming months, and what he thought his weaknesses were.

"—and i don't have weakness. i'm fucking perfect, ask anybody. now, are we done here?" he snaps, rolling his shoulders as he moves to stand up, eyes flitting towards the exit with nothing but disinterest

he'd spent an entire hour answering these stupid questions when he could've been out fighting villains, finishing up his paperwork, literally anything else would be more time fulfilling than answering baseless questions like these ones.

the interviewer's eyes widen when katsuki stands up from his seat, stretching his arms above his head with a grunt before she quickly interrupts him

"what about your wife!"

"....eh?"

"your wife!" she says, quickly collecting herself

"could you tell us about her? it seems like many of your fans are interested in learning more regarding you two! you have a very private relationship, so it's only natural for people to be curious!"

katsuki blinks, absorbing her words. slowly, his feet—once pointed towards the exit—shift ever so slightly towards the woman

"well...what do you want to know?"

and that's how katsuki found himself sitting in the same seat another hour later. except this time, he had the dorkiest grin ever plastered on his face.

"oh i knew i wanted to marry her the first time she yelled at me—she was pretty feisty back in our ua days. still is, but now all the insults she throws my way usually have the word babe or honey added at the end. she has a clever mouth, i'm warnin' ya—you don't wanna get into an argument with her."

the interviewer laughs, and katsuki decides he might come back to this station another time if they asked. he's... well, simply put, having fun.

he leaves after another forty minutes, only because his manager literally dragged him out of the room—he had a meeting to attend and then his patrol—but he left waving at the camera crew and in a far more better mood than he'd arrived in.

katsuki spends the rest of the day getting through all of his hero duties, the interview slowly being pushed to the back of his mind as he focuses on finishing all his work and coming home to you.

it's nearly nine pm when he opens the door to your shared apartment—groaning about how tired he was and how you better not be asleep—when he hears your padded feet running towards the main entryway to greet him

"you're home!"

he offers you a slanted grin, opening his arms for a hug

"missed ya today," he mutters, pressing a kiss onto your scalp as you peer up at him with a grin—looking a little too happy.

"what're ya cheesing so hard about?"

you hum, tapping the back of his thigh with a knowing grin

"your ma called. guess what she told me?"

katsuki groans, shrugging off his gauntlets and boots before tugging you towards the couch in the living room, flopping onto it while mumbling under his breath and pulling you towards his chest

"you two devils were probably gosspin' about me, that old hag better not have sent you any pictures or i swear—"

"she told me to turn on the tv and head to channel seven."

katsuki pauses, staring at you with furrowed brows. well, it couldn't have been him on channel seven, right? he didn't have any crazy villains to deal with for once, so it wouldn't make sense for him to be on one of the main channels today.

"what..."

he smacks his forehead with an embarrassed groan when you pull out your phone and show him your recording of his interview. you're practically bouncing on the couch beside him with glee as you shove the screen in his face

"you're smiling! they made it the cover of their video, too—gosh you look so cute when you smile! and you're talking about me!"

katsuki huffs, but watches you play back the video with a cheesy grin on your face. your round eyes are illuminated by the screen, and you re-watch the video with your lips parted in awe

"you got the real thing right in front of you but you'd rather watch that...i see how it is." he grumbles, something similar to a pout forming on his face when you still don't acknowledge him—too busy watching his video as you bring the phone closer to your face

"i'm going to screenshot your smiling face in this video and make it my profile picture on insta—"

he snatches the phone out of your hand, powering it off before tossing it aside and wrapping his strong arms around your waist in an iron grip

"i'll make that one of you snoring and drooling all over my chest my profile picture if you even think about it."

"i'm pretty sure half the comments on that video literally have your smiling face as their profile picture."

"...well that's a lot of people i'm gonna have to sue."

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missdynamighttt · 28 days ago

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feining for frat boy katsuki…

it was hot. loud. half the girls were already screaming over shirtless frat boys grinding against windshields. your friend dragged you out with a “come on, it’s for charity!” and now you’re standing in the corner with a lukewarm lemonade and zero expectations.

you didn’t even want to come to this stupid fraternity fundraiser.

your roommate dragged you out with the promise of half-naked frat boys, but all you’ve seen so far are drenched freshmen trying to flex their way into a hernia.

but then you see him.

he’s got his back turned at first—lean muscle, golden skin, red swim trunks slung way too low on his hips. sunlight catches the water dripping down his back like it’s staged. and when he turns around?

game over. he’s gorgeous.

sharp jaw, wild blonde hair flattened from water, a cocky little smirk on his face as he wrings a sponge out over his head, totally aware of the stares.

and he sees you. right away. ruby eyes locked with yours and gives the most arrogant little up-nod like, yeah. you’re next.

you try to act unaffected. fail immediately.

he saunters over, sudsy bucket in one hand, water dripping down his abs like it’s a fucking calvin klein ad. stops right in front of you, eyeing your car, then you, then your car again. “you the one drivin’ this piece of shit?”

you blink. “excuse me?!”

he shrugs but you can see a little grin tugging on the corner of his mouth, smug and unbothered. “relax. i’ll make it look brand new.”

he puts the bucket down, saunters over, and damn—he’s even hotter up close. tall. muscles for days. and that little scar on his cheek? unfair.

then, leaning closer, voice low: “the name's katsuki bakugo. what’s yours, sweet girl?”

you tell him. maybe a little breathless.

he repeats it once—slow, like he’s trying it out on his tongue. “hm. yeah. i like that.”

and then he goes to work. but not just on the car.

katsuki bakugo washes that car like he’s auditioning for the dirtiest boy band you’ve ever seen. dropping the sponge just to bend over in front of you, ass on full display. making eye contact when he slides his hand over the hood like he’s caressing it. watering himself down with a hose and shaking his hair out like he’s in a shampoo commercial from hell.

by the time he’s done, your car is sparkling. and so are you—flushed, flustered.

he tosses the sponge into the bucket, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and smirks. “lemme know if you need a private wash sometime.”

and then he walks away, with you watching the water dripping down the curve of his spine, no better than a teenage boy ogling the back of a girl's bikini. you swear you black out for a second too.

it’s only a few hours after the car wash before he slides in your dms, smooth but dirty. you’re in your room, still reeling from whatever the hell that was, when your phone buzzes.

king.explosionmurder has sent you a message.

(yeah. that’s his actual handle. because of course it is.) then, you open it.

king.explosionmurder:

can't stop thinking about the girl with the shittiest car and the cutest fuckin’ face.

you stare. then another message pops up.

king.explosionmurder:

u free tonight?

or maybe you're too busy being adorable somewhere else?

your heart does a thing. you type out a reply—something just barely cocky enough to match him:

you:

depends

you always this forward?

king.explosionmurder:

only for girls with shitty taste in cars

so, only you

let me buy you a drink, sweet girl?

you:

fine

you can buy me a drink, frat boy

but for the record?

my taste in cars is not that shitty

king.explosionmurder:

whatever you say beautiful

8 pm, sunset bar down 5th ave

don't be late

katsuki shows up five minutes early, in a black tee that clings to his chest and jeans that should be illegal. hair still messy from his post-car-wash shower. when you walk in, his eyes track you like you’re the only person in the room.

“tch. thought you were gonna flake.”

you roll your eyes. “you’d cry if i did.”

his mouth twitches. “like a damn baby.”

then the date just... hits different. it wasn't what you expected. sure, it’s packed with college students and frat bros, but in the back corner booth? with him?

it’s quiet. comfortable. almost… intimate.

he’s not much of a talker, but with you? he tries. you ask about his major—he’s an aspiring pro-hero, of course—and he asks about yours, grumbling when you light up talking about it, because “fuck, that smile’s gonna kill me.”

and even though he’d die before saying it out loud, the minute you take a sip of your drink and laugh at something dumb he says? he’s gone. head over heels.

he walks you back to your dorm with his hand on the small of your back, even though it’s barely a ten-minute walk. says “text me when you’re in” even though he literally watched you unlock your door. stands there, gruff and gorgeous, waiting.

“gonna invite me?” he asks, tone teasing.

you shake your head, grinning. “not on the first date, i'm not.”

he groans dramatically. “damn. fuckin’ killin’ me here.”

you grin. “goodnight, frat boy.”

but he doesn’t move right away.

just stands there under the warm porch light, one hand stuffed in his pocket, the other rubbing the back of his neck like he’s trying to work off the ache of not touching you again. his shirt clings to him in the summer heat, his jaw sharp in the glow, but it’s his eyes that freeze you in place.

not hard. not sharp. not the glare he usually levels at the world.

but soft. heavy. like you’ve stolen the breath from his lungs and he doesn’t even want it back.

he looks at you like you hung the damn moon.

he takes one small step closer, close enough that you can feel the heat coming off his chest, close enough that if either of you moved just an inch, you’d be kissing.

“goodnight, sweet girl,” he says, voice low and rough, like gravel laced with honey.

it hits you somewhere deep. like he’s branding the words into you.

and then—he actually smiles. a real one. lopsided, shy, the kind of smile you’d never expect from someone who threatens to body slam people over couch cushions.

then he turns and walks away, hands shoved deep in his pockets, head down, like if he looks back even once, he’ll do something stupid like run back and kiss you senseless.

you close the door behind you, heart thudding so hard you swear your roommate can hear it.

you’re screwed. so screwed.

because things after that? they move fast.

to everyone else, he was the guy who'd scream if you left dishes in the sink, throw a beer can at you if you sat on his side of the couch, and threaten to body slam you if you so much as breathe near him.

but the entire frat house knew that their loud, grumpy, terrifyingly efficient frat dad—had a soft spot the size of a planet. and that soft spot? was for you.

you’re the only person allowed in his room during his grumpy post-practice naps. the only one who can touch his hair without him flinching. he’d grumble when you flick his forehead when he was being dramatic but he'd let you.

he might curse under his breath, but when you’d slide onto his lap during movie night, he'd wrap an arm around you like it was instinct. like protecting you came as naturally as breathing.

he had snacks stocked in the mini fridge (not for him, you liked them). he hands you your favorite snack and grumbles, “was on sale. don’t get used to it,” even though it’s never on sale but he bought six of them anyway.

and when finals week hits? he’s a damn soldier for you.

caffeine runs. your favorite takeout. quiet growls at anyone who tries to talk to you in the library. he reads your flashcards like they’re enemy coordinates and quizzing you becomes his personal mission.

but the best part? the tiny, quiet moments in between.

like when he’s losing at mario kart and you’d sit in his lap while he played, steal his fries, kiss his cheek mid-rant just to shut him up.

or when you were too tired to walk back to your place, you just curl up in his bed. not only does he let you, he tucks the blanket around you and kisses your forehead so soft it makes your chest ache.

and somehow, all of that was like magic.

sure, he might’ve acted like the world’s most chaotic, aggressive frat president, but when it came to you? he was all bark, all bite… and all heart.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

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corkinavoid · 8 months ago

Text

DPxDC "Pick Me Up"

The stream goes live on the first day of the school year. It's the usual song and dance - mad laughing, threats, poor jokes, terror, and about thirty kids huddled together in a classroom behind Joker's back. Tim recognizes it as one of the Gotham Academy classrooms. Dick can't imagine the horror those kids' parents must be feeling right now. Jason jokes about middle school traumatic experiences. Damian is feeling very justified for skipping classes today.

Bruce, all suited up in his Batman garb, is making his way to the Academy as fast as he possibly can. Those are kids.

Gotham is once again anxiously kept on the edge of their seats, watching as Joker decides to interview the kids on their learning experience so far. Something about leaving a good first impression on the new generation or some other bullshit. Most kids stutter over their words - it's true that Gothamites are way more composed when facing life-threatening events, but those kids are only fourteen or fifteen for the most part. They are not old enough to keep their cool in the face of a murder clown.

That is, until Joker points his camera at one of the girls. Black hair in a high ponytail, blue eyes without a trace of fear, a slightly displeased, even bored expression on her face. She looks straight into the camera, not even waiting for the laughing madman to finish his question, and deadpans:

"I don't think I like school. Pick me up, please."

Joker sputters.

"Not so scared, I see," he sneers, and, in the next moment, a comically large gun painted in purples and greens is pointed to the girl's forehead, "How about now?"

The girl scrunches her nose and makes a so-so gesture.

"It's kinda meh," she admits, "Like, yeah, points for style, but you know, size doesn't matter. It's all in the technique."

Dick snorts over the comms. It's a bad time for laughing, sure, but the phrase caught him off-guard. This is not what you'd expect to hear from a teen, and definitely not something you'd expect anyone to say to the Joker. Jason's comms are muted, but Barbara knows he also laughed a little.

"Technique, you say?" Joker hisses, pressing the gun closer to the girl's head, and she winces, leaning away from it, almost as if she is disgusted by the touch.

"Yeah, I mean, guns are not that scary anyway. What are you gonna do with them, blast my brains all over the floor? Been there, done that," the girl shrugs, "Kinda nasty, but overall, it's just like slime, only sticky." She pauses and looks to the side, seemingly lost in thought, "Huh, maybe we should have added Borax to it. Or was it baking soda?.."

"Listen here, you little brat," Joker's fingers catch the girl's chin, and his voice becomes sickeningly menacing. Bruce is almost there, just two more minutes. Tim is already grappling onto the wall.

But none of them get to finish.

"Put your dirty fingers away from my sister," a low, cold, and even in a way that speaks of barely contained fury, voice comes from out of the screen.

The camera spins, like whoever is holding it turned really fast, and everyone watching the stream sees a fairly normal guy standing by the window - a turtleneck and ripped jeans, same black hair as the girl, same blue eyes... Wait, they are not blue.

And that's not a guy.

The camera falls down to the floor, and there are a lot of panicked screams coming from the broadcast now, but none of them sound like children's voices. It's the screams of adults, of grown-ass men, and later, someone even claimed they heard Joker's scream among them, too. The picture on camera glitches a few times, and the angle is awkward, but everyone still gets to see how shadows in the room morph into eyes, wide open and green, and how the darkness grows sharp teeth, countless grinning mouths that don't belong to any faces.

Screams turn into gargling and then to quiet whispers, filling the ears of all those listening with countless words in languages they don't know.

Red Robin turns off the recording and looks to that same guy from the levestream, sitting across him on the couch. The guy - Daniel, or Danny, as he introduced himself - looks him in the eyes and raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, and?"

"How did you do it?" Tim asks for the third time this evening. Danny blinks.

"Did what?" He asks, completely incomprehending. Tim groans. He's been trying to get his answers, any answers at this point, from the guy for thirty fucking minutes already. So far, he's got nothing. Danny, whoever the fuck he is, proves to be the most annoying human being on Earth.

"Seven people in a coma, including Joker himself, with no physical injuries and none of the children remember a thing! How?!" He demands, and a girl's face peeks from around the corner:

"I remember!"

Tim snaps his head at her, "What do you remember?"

The girl pauses, blinks, and looks to Danny. Then shrugs, "My brother picked me up from school."

Tim drops his head down and breathes out in frustration. He can't force the information out of civilians, he is a vigilante, not a mafia.

"Would it make you feel better if I promise not to do it again?" Danny asks, and his voice is way too innocent for Tim to believe him. He raises his head to look the guy in his shameless, amused eyes.

"I hate you."

"Thanks," Danny grins.

#danny phantom #dc x dp #dpxdc #tim drake #batfam #batman #dani phantom #danielle phantom #eldritch danny #but he wont admit to it #cork prompts #i wrote this as a way to relax #theres zero plot to it #just danny being petty #and dani saying mildly concerning shit in camera #it was her first day in the new school #all in all it was a fairly okay first day

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eclipsedechoesofmywords · 20 days ago

Text

"Of All Things"

[Bucky Barnes x fem!reader]

Masterlist

Summary: When Bucky gets a new haircut, you find yourself struggling to keep your composure—and your thoughts—under control.

Warnings: Fluff, mild teasing, mildly suggestive(just a few lines)

Word Count: 1.1k words

A/N: Is this a safe space to admit that Bucky with short hair is my favorite look of his? I love all of his looks(that man can't help but look perfect at all times) but the short hair did something to me🤧 Writing this to get a break from all the joaquín reqs

It did always seem like Bucky was hell-bent on making you go insane with everything he did. That godforsaken haircut was just about your last straw.

Bucky walked around, seemingly unaware of your eyes on him. His undercut accentuated the curve of his jaw, and the way the shorter strands at the top fell just slightly over his forehead made you want to scream. Or yank him into a supply closet. You hadn't decided yet.

He leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping coffee like he hadn't single-handedly ruined your ability to form coherent thoughts. When he raked a hand through his hair—again—you nearly dropped the mug you were holding.

"You good?" Sam's voice snapped you out of your trance. He followed your gaze to Bucky, smirk widening. "Oh. Oh. You're real good, huh?"

"Shut up," you hissed, turning to the sink to hide your burning face.

Bucky glanced over, catching your eyes. His lips quirked into a half-smile, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Morning," he said, voice rough from sleep—or maybe just to torture you further.

"Morning," you managed, sounding strangled.

Sam snorted into his cereal.

---

"You know..."

"I don't," you cut off Sam immediately.

He snickered. "If you wanna keep looking like you wanna climb Buck like a tree, maybe be a bit more subtle."

"Shut up," you said, looking pointedly down at the file you were supposed to be reading.

"Seriously. Just ask him out."

"No. Shut up."

"I could set you up."

"Absolutely not." That sounded like a threat coming from Sam Wilson.

He looked offended. "I can set you two up on a date easily."

"I would actually rather jump into the ocean," you said decidedly.

He huffed, rolling his eyes. "I'm not that bad."

You make a face. It was his turn to mutter 'Shut up'. You couldn't help but laugh.

---

The next few days were an exercise in self-control. Bucky's hair wasn't just a haircut—it was a distraction. Every time he walked into a room, your brain short-circuited. The way he'd tilt his head when listening, the way the sunlight caught the sharp lines of his undercut, the way he absentmindedly tousled the longer strands on top… It was criminal.

You were convinced he knew. How could he not? The man was a supersoldier, for crying out loud—he had enhanced senses and tactical awareness—yet he remained infuriatingly oblivious, chatting with you about mission reports or the merits of Thai food over pizza like he wasn't the reason you were losing your mind.

It all came to a head during training.

You were sparring in the gym, Sam perched on a bench nearby with a bag of popcorn he'd 'borrowed' from the kitchen. Bucky wasn't wearing a shirt, sweat glistening on his shoulders as he dodged your half-hearted jab.

"C'mon, doll," he teased, smirking as you narrowly missed his ribs.

Doll. The nickname punched the air from your lungs. His eyes crinkled, playful and bright, and you swore his biceps flexed extra hard just to spite you.

You lunged again, but your foot caught on the mat. Bucky's metal arm shot out to steady you, his grip warm and firm on your waist. His face was suddenly inches from yours, his breath against your cheek. "Easy," he murmured, voice low. "You're gonna hurt yourself."

Sam's popcorn crunching stopped. The gym felt suddenly, unbearably hot.

"I'm—fine," you stammered, jerking back like he'd burned you. Bucky frowned, brow furrowing as he studied you.

"You're flushed. You overheating?"

Sam choked on a laugh. "Oh, she's overheatin' alright."

You shot him a death glare. Bucky, still oblivious, reached for a towel and tossed it to you. "Take five. Hydrate."

As you gulped down the water, Sam came to stand beside you, wickedly grinning. "You're pathetic."

"I hate you," you muttered.

"He's gonna figure it out eventually."

"He won't. His idea of flirting is asking if I want extra grenades on missions."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, well, maybe you should try the direct approach. Y'know, like normal people."

"And say what? ‘Hey, Bucky, your hair makes me want to ride you into the sunset'?"

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "I mean, it's a start—"

"No."

---

Later that evening, you found Bucky alone on the common room couch, flipping through a worn copy of The Hobbit. His hair was still damp from a shower, curls soft and loose.

He glanced up, patting the space beside him. "Hey. Sam said you wanted to talk about the op coming up?"

That bastard.

You sat stiffly, hyperaware of the heat radiating off him. "Uh. Yeah. Extraction points. Y'know. Logistics."

Bucky nodded, serious. "Right. So, we'll need—"

You weren't listening. His thumb was tracing the edge of the book's spine, his other hand gesturing vaguely as he spoke. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, and dear God—

"—what do you think?"

You blinked. "Huh?"

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "You okay? You've been… off."

"Off?"

"Jumpy."

You swallowed. "Just tired."

Bucky set the book down, turning to face you fully. His knee brushed yours. "You sure?"

The concern in his voice undid you. "Your hair," you blurted.

He froze. "…My hair?"

"It's—different. Good different! Like, really good. Not that it wasn't good before! But now it's… uh…" You gestured vaguely, face burning.

Bucky stared. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face—the kind that made your stomach flip. "It's what?"

"Shut up."

He leaned closer, voice dropping. "You've been staring at me for days. Thought I'd done something wrong."

"You did," you muttered.

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"You did," you repeated, unable to stop the words now that they'd started. "That haircut is… it's mean. Like you're actively trying to sabotage my productivity."

Bucky's grin turned downright smug. He shifted closer, the weight of his thigh pressing against yours on the couch. "Mean, huh? Didn't realize my barber choices were a tactical threat."

"Well, they are," you huffed, crossing your arms.

"Right," he laughed.

You swallowed, courage sparking. "Sam said I should ask you out."

Bucky snorted. "Wilson's a menace."

"But… is he wrong?"

His eyes snapped back to yours, blue and blazing. The playfulness vanished, replaced by something hotter, more intent. "No," he said roughly. "He's not."

You didn't know who moved first. One second, you were drowning in the space between his breaths; the next, his mouth was on yours, fierce and sweet. The book tumbled to the floor as his hands cradled your face, metal and flesh equally gentle. His lips were chapped, his kiss a slow burn that melted every coherent thought worse than his hair did.

When you finally pulled back, foreheads pressed together, Bucky chuckled—a warm, disbelieving sound. "Should've gotten this haircut months ago."

You swatted his shoulder, laughing. "Don't you dare change it back."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he murmured, stealing another kiss.

Somewhere down the hall, Sam's victorious whoop echoed. "Took you two long enough!"

Bucky groaned, resting his forehead against your collarbone. "I'm gonna strangle him with his own wings."

"Later," you promised, threading your fingers through his stupid, perfect hair.

A/N 2: I'm considering writing part 2 of this as a bucky x reader x sam. imagining em pouncing on sam has me.

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hoshifighting · 4 months ago

Note

idk if someone asked you this but i’m a new reader and I REALLY REALLY LOVE YOUR WORKS!!!

can you please make wonwoo, the nerdy president who u thought was innocent and sweet but he’s the one behind ur fave nsfw audio creator???? AND HE’S A HARDFUCKER.. not what u expected tho..

i don’t know if i make sense but please pretty please 😭☝️

Synopsis: where you discover that the nerdy class president is the one man who creates the most nasty NSFW audios that you spend long nights listening to. WC: 2.8k WARNINGS: smut, audio porn, masturbation, hard fuck, dirty talk (obviously), bad sleeping habits (because of wonwoo), fingering, spanking, dirty talk, pussy eating, penetrative sex, protected sex, wonwoo whining, a lil invasion of privacy.

you’ve been running on fumes all day, the hazy buzz of sleep deprivation clinging to your brain like static. it’s no surprise, really. your night had gone the way it always does: you got home, flopped into your chair, threw on your headphones, and let onyx_lens—your favorite nsfw asmr creator—drag you under with that stupidly deep voice of his.

it was kind of pathetic, actually. you barely remember what the script was about—something about obedience or whatever—but you do remember the sound of his voice sinking into your brain like warm honey, making you cum so hard that you blacked the fuck out right after. now here you were, bleary-eyed and trying to stay upright in literature class, the regret of last night’s poor choices catching up with you.

wonwoo, the class president who was somehow both effortlessly chill and annoyingly observant, had been glancing at you every few minutes. you could feel his eyes on you as your head dipped forward for the third time, only to snap back up like a busted bobblehead.

but, in true wonwoo fashion, he didn’t say anything. no scolding, no judgmental sighs—just quiet observation.

when class finally ended, you were ready to yeet yourself into a nap for a solid 72 hours. you were shoving your stuff into your bag when wonwoo’s voice cut through the noise.

“you good?”

you froze. his voice wasn’t the same as onyx_lens’s, obviously, but it had that same deep, smooth timbre that made your brain short-circuit for a second. it didn’t help that his question sounded so much like something out of an nsfw script. you turned to face him, hoping your face wasn’t giving away how flustered you suddenly were. “uh—yeah,” you said, shaking your head a little too quickly. “just tired.”

wonwoo raised an eyebrow. “not sleeping well?”

your brain screamed. your tired, half-horny brain screamed louder. the overlap of his voice and onyx_lens in your head was un-fucking-bearable. you managed to nod, muttering something about late nights and deadlines, hoping he wouldn’t pry.

he didn’t, but his next question wasn’t much better.

“think you could help me with the sci-fi project? your last lit analysis was good, and i could use the extra pair of hands.”

you blinked at him. “me?”

he nodded, adjusting his glasses. “you. unless you’re too busy with...whatever’s keeping you up.”

oh, you mean my nightly sessions with onyx_lens and my vibrator?

you swallowed hard and tried to play it cool. “nah, i can help.”

and that’s how you found yourself standing outside wonwoo’s apartment later that evening, clutching your bag. his place was exactly what you’d expect from him—minimalist, neat, and smelling faintly of coffee.

“come in,” he said, holding the door open for you. “make yourself comfortable.”

easier said than done. you perched awkwardly on his couch as he set up his laptop on the coffee table, your eyes darting around the room in an attempt to ignore how nice his voice sounded in person.

“so,” he began, sitting across from you, “any ideas for the project?”

you cleared your throat, trying to focus. “uh, maybe something about robots and humanity? like, exploring ethical dilemmas or something.”

wonwoo nodded thoughtfully, his gaze fixed on you in a way that made your skin heat. “good idea. we could tie that into the main themes from class.”

he leaned forward slightly, scrolling through a document on his laptop, and you couldn’t help but notice how his glasses slipped down his nose. you were so not prepared for this level of proximity or his stupidly deep voice.

“you okay?” he asked again, glancing at you.

you blinked, realizing you’d been staring. “yeah, just...thinking.”

his lips twitched into a small, knowing smile. “good. let me know if you need a break or...anything.”

the way he said anything sent a shiver down your spine. you weren’t sure if it was exhaustion, residual arousal from last night, or the sheer presence of wonwoo in his element, but your brain was a mess.

you were supposed to be helping him with this project, but all you could think about was the way his voice would sound whispering in your ear, saying things that would make onyx_lens blush.

you were so close to winning the “most pathetic college student of the year” award it wasn’t even funny. after much back-and-forth with wonwoo, class president of your downfall, you somehow convinced him to let you walk home alone. except the man still went all soft and paid for a taxi anyway, which, like… thanks? but also stop being so nice, what the hell.

it was nearing 11 p.m. when you got home, and as if on cue, your phone pinged with a notification: onyx_lens’s weekly live is starting.

you stared at it for a second, blinking in disbelief. today’s theme? "neon circuits and orgasm denial (a cyberpunk experience) 8d audio"

sci-fi-themed. of fucking course.

you almost laughed at the audacity of the universe for this one. was this some sort of cosmic joke? was wonwoo onyx_lens?! no way. no goddamn way. you shook off the thought as delulu nonsense and dragged yourself to the bathroom for a quick sponge bath.

by the time you flopped into your chair, headphones on, the live was already in full swing. that voice—that stupidly deep, velvety voice—flooded your ears as the chat buzzed with unhinged comments. onyx purred, and you were done for.

you couldn’t even focus on the sci-fi plot he was spinning, something about rogue androids, monster cock, neon vibrators and human experimentation. his voice wrapped around you like a silk chokehold, and you were gone—just a vibrating mess in your chair, coming undone embarrassingly fast.

fast forward to the next morning: you woke up feeling like a used dishrag. again. headphones still on, your phone dead, and the memory of last night’s live replaying in your brain like a broken record.

by the time you dragged yourself to class, you were running on fumes and vibes. your hoodie was scrunched up around your face, making you look like a cross between a gremlin and an overgrown baby.

wonwoo noticed. you could feel his eyes boring into you as you tried—and failed—to stay upright. you were so close to just giving in and laying flat on the floor. honestly, it might’ve been comfier than your chair at that point.

wonwoo, sitting two rows away, looked like he was internally debating whether to intervene or let you rot in peace. when the bell rang, you startled awake like you’d been electrocuted, nearly knocking your stuff off your desk in the process.

“you okay?” he asked, falling into step beside you as you shuffled out of the classroom like a zombie.

“i’m fine,” you mumbled, voice muffled by your hoodie. “just need food. like, now.”

you detoured to the convenience store on the way to his apartment, snagging an entire kimbap roll and tearing into it like a starving animal. wonwoo followed behind, holding your water bottle with a look that was equal parts judgment and amusement.

“you couldn’t wait?” he asked, watching as you ate half the roll in one bite.

“bro,” you said around a mouthful of rice, “if i didn’t eat this, i was gonna pass out on the cold asphalt. your problem now, mr. class president.”

he rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, just handed you your water like the reluctant babysitter he was.

this was going to be a long afternoon.

you couldn’t help yourself. the suspicion had been eating away at you for weeks now, ever since you first heard his voice in class and that nagging sense of déjà vu set in. wonwoo had escaped to the bathroom, and you had the perfect opportunity to snoop.

your fingers hovered over his notebook, but then your gaze darted back to your own screen. back and forth, back and forth. his notebook. yours. the coincidences were piling up like a conspiracy wall in your head. the voice, the specific vocabulary choices, even the cadence—how did i not notice this earlier?!

“fuck it,” you whispered to yourself, grabbing his notebook and quickly pulling up the site where you normally streamed your favorite asmr creator. just to check. just to confirm your theory.

your heart pounded as the site loaded, every second dragging like molasses. the channel page opened, and at first, it seemed normal. too normal. you almost clicked away, feeling stupid for even suspecting anything.

but then you saw it: edit profile. analytics.

your breath caught, and a sharp scoff escaped you as you crossed your arms. oh, my god. the realization hit you like a freight train. it’s him. wonwoo. class president. sci-fi nerd. “how the fuck did i not notice?” you muttered, half impressed by his audacity.

you were so lost in your spiraling thoughts that you didn’t hear him return—until his voice, practically kissed your earlobe.

“what. do. you. think. you. are. doing?”

you jumped so hard your knee slammed into the underside of the desk. whipping around, you found wonwoo standing over you, his expression unreadable but his jaw tight.

“uh—nothing?” you stammered, trying to slam your laptop shut, but his hand darted out and stopped you.

“‘nothing’ doesn’t look like you snooping through my computer,” he said, his voice dangerously calm.

your cheeks burned. “okay, fine, maybe i was curious—”

“you were curious?” his tone sharpened. “curious enough to invade my privacy?”

“invade your—bro, you’re literally whispering dirty robot sex fantasies to the entire internet. how is that private?”

“that’s different!” his ears flushed a deep red, and you couldn’t tell if it was from anger or embarrassment. “that’s content. this—this is personal.”

you rolled your eyes, leaning back in your chair. “oh, please. you’re mad i figured it out. admit it.”

he leaned closer, towering over you now, his hand pressing down on the desk beside you. “what do you want, huh? blackmail? are you gonna tell everyone?”

you laughed, loud and incredulous. “tell everyone?! dude, relax. i’m not gonna expose your little side hustle. besides…” you smirked, tilting your head to look up at him. “you should be thanking me. clearly, i’m a fan.”

wonwoo’s eyes darkened, and his lips parted as if to say something, but no words came out.

“you’re a what?” he asks, your pulse skyrocketing as he stepped even closer, crowding you against the chair.

“did i stutter?” you whispered, the challenge clear in your tone.

his mouth crashed onto yours, teeth and tongue and frustration. you barely had time to process it before he was yanking you out of the chair, his hands rough as they gripped your hips and spun you around.

“you want to act like a brat,” he growled into your ear, his voice so reminiscent of his asmr persona that it made you roll your eyes back slighty, “then you’re gonna get treated like one.”

he bent you over the desk, the cold surface pressing against your chest as he yanked down your college skirt and underwear at once. his fingers slid through your folds, already slick just from being around him.

“so fucking wet,” he muttered, almost to himself. “you get off on this, don’t you? knowing it’s me.”

“shut your mouth,” you gasped, but it came out more like a moan as he pushed two fingers inside you, curling them and pressing them hard on your front wall.

“make me,” he challenged, his other hand coming down sharply on your ass. the sting made you gasp, your hips jerking against his hand as you tense on the desk.

the pace of his fingers was relentless, his thumb circling your clit in time with the thrusts. every part of your body was starting to be feveirsh, and you hated—hated—how easily he was unraveling you. you spent nights thinking about how it would be if onyx fucked you, and here you are. of course you would be a mess in a second.

“sorry” he mocked you. “am i too much for you?”

you clenched around his fingers, your nails digging into the desk as you tried to hold back a moan. “you talk too fucking much actually wonwoo,” you hissed.

“yeah, that's what's paying me at nights” wonwoo chuckled darkly, pulling his fingers out and flipping you onto your back with his big arms. before you could protest, he was kneeling between your legs, his mouth suddenly hot and insistent against your core, better than any other vibrator you insisted on using at night.

the sounds—the wet, obscene sounds of his tongue—mixed with your whimpers as he devoured you like a man starved. his hands gripped your thighs, holding you open as you tried to squirm away from the overwhelming sensation.

“stop—”

“stop?” he looked up, his chin glistening. “not until you admit i’m your favorite.”

you glared down at him, breathless and defiant. “you’re such an asshole.”

“and yet…” he smirked, diving back in and flicking his tongue against your clit until your head fell back, a broken moan spilling from your lips.

it didn’t take long before you were coming undone, your body shaking as his mouth pulled your clit. wonwoo didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down, dragging out your orgasm until you were a trembling, incoherent chaos beneath him.

wonwoo doesn’t waste a second after pulling back, his hands flipping you over again so you’re bent over the desk, your cheek pressed to the cool surface as he grinds against you. the thick outline of his cock rubs against your dripping folds, still covered by the soft fabric of his grey sweatpants. you gasp, your hips jerking back involuntarily, and his pearly-white smile flashes above you.

“look at that,” he murmurs, almost smug, as a dark spot begins to spread on his sweatpants from your slick. “you’re soaking me through.”

the way he emphasizes the word makes your back contort in shivers, but you’re too far gone to care. your fingers claw at the desk as he keeps humping against you, his pace quickening. when he finally pulls back, you hear the shuffle of fabric as he yanks down his sweatpants and briefs. the soft clink of a drawer opening catches your attention, and you crane your neck to see him sliding on a condom.

“you’re still melting all over my desk,” he rubs a hand over the curve of your ass. “can’t even wait for me, huh?”

before you can respond, his hand comes down sharply on your ass, the sting making you gasp. he doesn’t stop, spanking you again and again until your skin is flushed and burning.

“you look so pretty like this,” he says, his hand smoothing over the heated skin before gripping your waist and lining himself up. “all messy and desperate for me.”

when he pushes in, stretching you inch by inch until you’re full and breathless, pussy trying to clench at his big grith to adjust. wonwoo groans, his head falling forward as he sinks in to the hilt.

your walls flutter around him, and he moans at the feeling, the sound so real and raw that it sends a jolt straight to your core.

“talk to me,” you manage to gasp, your voice muffled against the desk.

he chuckles, his pace picking up as he leans down to whisper in your ear. “you want me to talk dirty? you want me to tell you how tight you are? how good you’re taking me?”

you moan in response, your hips bucking back against him as his words send you curling.

“yeah, you like that, don’t you?” he continues, his voice thick with lust. your moans grow louder, and he suddenly remembers the videos you must’ve listened to—the whining, the moaning. the thought makes his stomach flip, and he decides to give you exactly what you want.

he starts letting out soft whimpers, his voice breaking with each thrust, the sounds spilling out almost involuntarily. “fuck, babe, you’re gonna make me cum—”

the genuine desperation in his voice drives you wild, and your body clenches around him, pulling him deeper. he groans, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you’re sure they’ll leave marks, but you don’t care.

“please,” he moans, his voice high and strained. “let me cum for you. let me—fuck—”

you push back against him, meeting his thrusts as your own climax builds, your breaths coming in short, broken gasps. the room is filled with the wet, obscene sounds of your bodies moving together, and the tension snaps all at once.

you come hard, your body shaking as you cry out, and wonwoo isn’t far behind. his hips stutter, a guttural moan escaping him as he spills into the condom, his body trembling with the force of it.

he collapses over you, his chest heaving against your back as you both try to catch your breath. after a moment, he presses a soft kiss to the back of your neck, his voice still hoarse as he murmurs, “guess i’m a little better live, hm?”

you just let out a defeated moan, the coldness of the table soothing your hot cheeks.

“keep quiet about this, and i'll keep giving you more.” well, it's just an excuse that wonwoo said to fuck you over again.

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kryllia · 1 month ago

Text

Mine to Protect, Mine to Own

art from pinterest

yandere mafia classmate x reader

Pt 1 - Pt 2

Nicolò Dellabarca had always been a mystery.

You weren’t close. You had only worked together on a class project once. He was efficient, quiet, and surprisingly attentive, but the partnership ended without much conversation.

Still, something always felt off about him.

He was cold with others but different around you. He never spoke unless necessary, yet his presence loomed over you like a shadow. Whenever you turned your head, you found his sharp blue eyes watching you, unreadable but focused.

At first, you ignored it.

Then, small things started happening.

One night, when you were leaving campus late, a stranger had followed you for a few blocks—until a black car pulled up, and the man suddenly disappeared. The next day, a few guys from your class who had been bothering you stopped showing up. And once, when you almost tripped on the stairs, Nicolò had been there, catching your arm before you even realized he was close.

"Careful."

His voice had been deep, steady. He had let go quickly, looking almost flustered.

You should have put the pieces together then.

But you didn’t—until the night you were taken.

It happened fast. A car pulled up. A group of men stepped out. Before you could scream, a hand covered your mouth.

You fought, kicking and struggling, but everything faded into darkness.

Your first thought upon waking was: This is too comfortable to be a basement.

A thick blanket covered you. A fireplace crackled nearby. The room smelled of expensive wood and something faintly floral.

For a second, you thought you were dreaming—until the door opened.

"Mom, what do you mean you have a surprise for me? It better not be another—"

The voice stopped.

You turned your head—and froze.

Nicolò.

His blue eyes went wide. His usual cold expression shattered, replaced by something you had never seen before: panic.

He slammed the door shut behind him.

"Mom..." His voice was sharp, but there was something almost desperate beneath it. "What did you do?"

From behind the door, a light, cheery voice replied.

"Oh, relax, sweetheart. I just helped you a little."

Nicolò let out a shaky breath. "This is not helping."

He turned back to you.

You met his gaze, your body rigid.

"...What the hell is going on?"

The door opened again, and a woman stepped inside.

She was beautiful—dark-haired, elegant, and radiating control. She held a glass of water and smiled at you as if you weren’t just kidnapped.

"You must be thirsty," she said, offering the glass.

You didn’t take it.

"Who are you?"

Her lips curled. "You can call me Isabella. I’m Nicolò’s mother."

Your stomach twisted.

"And why did your men kidnap me?"

She sighed as if this were a mild inconvenience. "Because my son is terrible at taking what he wants."

You turned to Nicolò, waiting for him to deny it.

He didn’t.

His fists clenched at his sides, his breathing shallow.

You took a slow step back. "You let this happen?"

"I—I didn’t know—" He cut himself off, rubbing his face. "Mamma, why would you do this?"

Isabella chuckled. "Oh, Nicolò, don’t be so dramatic. You were never going to make the first move, so I gave you a little push."

You scoffed. "Push?! You kidnapped me!"

Isabella tilted her head. "And yet, you’re perfectly safe, aren’t you?"

Your blood ran cold.

She stepped closer, her voice soft but firm. "Do you know how many people have been watching you? Waiting for you to be alone? Do you really think walking home alone at night was ever safe?"

You swallowed hard.

She smiled. "You needed to be taken, darling. If not by us, then by someone worse."

You clenched your fists. "That’s bullshit."

Nicolò finally spoke, his voice low. "It’s not."

Your chest tightened.

You turned to him, searching his face. "Then let me go."

His jaw clenched.

He didn’t answer.

Because you both knew the truth.

There was no leaving.

The Dellabarca estate was suffocatingly grand. Every hallway was lined with paintings, every door guarded.

And now, you were seated at an impossibly long dining table, facing the people who had stolen you.

Nicolò sat stiffly at the head of the table, shoulders tense. Across from him sat a man you had yet to meet.

Giovanni Dellabarca.

His father.

The room felt colder with him in it. His presence was overwhelming—calm, composed, and dangerous.

"So," Giovanni finally said, swirling his wine. "You have fire. I like that."

You set your fork down sharply. "I don’t care what you like."

Nicolò inhaled sharply beside you.

Giovanni smirked. "Feisty. Just like your mother, eh, Isabella?"

His wife chuckled. "Oh, absolutely. I see so much of myself in them."

Your stomach churned. "I am nothing like you."

Isabella smiled knowingly. "Oh, but you are." She leaned in slightly. "You think I wanted this life? That I chose it?"

You stilled.

"I hated Giovanni at first," she continued. "I fought, I screamed, I ran—but in the end, I understood."

She turned to her husband, her gaze softening. "Love in this world isn’t sweet. It’s fierce. It’s possession. And once you understand that..."

She looked back at you, her expression almost pitying.

"...it’s easier."

Your hands shook.

Giovanni exhaled, setting down his glass. "You’ll come around. She did."

Your skin burned with anger. "I am not her."

For a moment, Giovanni studied you.

Then—unexpectedly—he laughed.

Nicolò stiffened.

"You know," Giovanni mused, "when Isabella first entered my life, she hated me just as much as you hate my son now."

You clenched your fists. "Good."

His smirk didn’t falter.

"Yet, here we are."

Your blood ran cold.

Nicolò suddenly stood. "Enough."

Giovanni’s brow lifted. "Touched a nerve?"

Nicolò’s hands curled into fists. "They don’t need to hear this." His voice was sharp, controlled—but his eyes flickered with something desperate.

He turned to you, his voice lower. "Come on. I’ll take you back to your room."

You hesitated.

Then, without another word, you followed him out.

As soon as the door shut behind you, Nicolò let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his dark hair. His shoulders, always so rigid around his family, slumped slightly.

"Dio mio, that was a disaster."

You folded your arms. "That’s an understatement."

He turned to face you. For the first time since you woke up in this house, he looked directly at you—really looked at you. His piercing blue eyes, usually so cold, held something else now. Something desperate.

"...Are you okay?"

The words were so quiet, so gentle, they made your stomach twist.

You wanted to lash out. To scream at him. To tell him no, I am not okay, you psychotic bastard—your family kidnapped me!

But something about the way he was looking at you—like he was hurting just from seeing you upset—made your breath catch.

You clenched your fists. "...No. I’m not."

His jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists at his sides like he wanted to punch a wall—or worse, like he wanted to hold you but didn’t know if he was allowed.

"You—" His voice caught. He exhaled through his nose, composing himself before trying again. "You don’t understand."

Your eyes narrowed. "Understand what, Nicolò? That you let your mother steal me? That I’m being held hostage in your house?"

His expression twisted.

Then, before you could react, he moved.

Fast.

He was in front of you in an instant, his large frame towering over yours. One of his hands slammed against the door beside your head, caging you in. The other reached for your wrist, wrapping around it—not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough that you couldn’t pull away.

You sucked in a sharp breath.

His eyes, those sharp, ice-blue eyes, burned into yours.

"You think I wanted this?" His voice was low, rough, almost shaking. "You think I wanted them to touch you? To take you before I could—before I—"

He cut himself off, his breath ragged.

You swallowed hard. "Before you what, Nicolò?"

His fingers twitched against your wrist.

His lips parted like he was going to answer—but he hesitated. His breathing was heavy, his jaw tight.

Then, quietly—so softly it sent a shiver down your spine—he whispered:

"Before I could make you mine."

Your stomach dropped.

His grip on your wrist tightened slightly, his thumb brushing over your pulse. He could feel how fast your heart was racing. His expression darkened, something dangerously close to satisfaction flickering across his face.

"You don’t get it, cara mia." His voice was almost gentle now, a sick contrast to the possessiveness dripping from his words. "You were never safe outside. They were watching you. Waiting for an opportunity."

His free hand rose, his knuckles grazing your cheek.

"I was the only thing keeping you safe."

Your breath hitched.

His fingers trailed down to your jaw, tilting your chin up so you couldn’t look away.

"You hate me now," he murmured. "That’s fine. You can hate me all you want." His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, slow, deliberate. "But you belong to me, whether you like it or not."

Your entire body tensed. "I belong to no one."

His expression flickered—hurt, frustration, something deeper—but it was gone in an instant. Instead, his lips curved into something that made your blood run cold.

A smirk.

"Say that again in a few months," he murmured, voice almost teasing. Almost sweet.

He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear.

"We’ll see if you still believe that then."

And just like that, he let go.

You stumbled back, heart hammering, but he just straightened his posture, rolling his shoulders like nothing had happened.

His cold mask was back in place.

He turned away from you, walking toward the door.

"I’ll have someone bring you food," he said casually, as if he hadn’t just claimed you as his own. "Get some rest."

You gritted your teeth. "I’m not staying here."

Nicolò stopped.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

Then, slowly, he turned his head to the side—just enough for you to see the dangerous glint in his eyes.

"You don’t have a choice, amore."

And with that, he walked out, locking the door behind him.

This is inspirated by c.ai bot and it was made by @Strawberry_88

#yandere #yandere blog #yandere boy #yandere male #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere oc #kryllia talk #yandere mafia #mafia romance #mafia x reader #yandere mafia x reader #yandere mafia boss #yanderecore #yandere classmate #yandere classmate x reader #yandere boy x reader #yandere man x reader

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fushitoru · 9 months ago

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chapter 1: the debutante a bridgerton!au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, heir to a dukedom mr. satoru gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly

chapter summary ⸺ you begin to get ready for your presentation for your debut this season, and satoru steels himself to find a wife. you don't get the reception you'd wanted from some, and satoru will soon curse himself for letting his tongue loose (6.3k)

a/n tired of keeping this in the vault lol so I’ll just post it even if my perfectionist tendencies are screaming at me. thank you so much to @/sinn-clair for beta reading and lexi (@/ayyy-pee) for helping me brainstorm 💗

next. the aftermath

general masterlist | series masterlist

Dearest reader,

Another season comes as the ton descends to London yet again from the countryside. Young ladies and their mamas flock to the modiste in an effort to fluff their feathers to find a match.

The Itadoris are by far one of the most prolific families in the upper echelons of society. The sight of all the children at once⸺Miss Itadori, Lord Choso Itadori, and Mister Yuji Itadori⸺is enough to catch the attention of mamas and young suitors alike. Miss Itadori, making her debut this season, has much to be desired. The debutante is a meek and demure girl, but with many talents indeed. The oldest, Lord Itadori, has a quiet countenance that has ladies and mamas on their toes, counting the days until he finally joins the marriage market. Mister Yuji Itadori is quite the opposite; his physical prowess on horseback riding has had quite a few ladies swooning after.

Furthermore, the heir to the Duke of Gojo is a most interesting character. Although he has not deigned to find a wife during any season yet, This Author has heard whispers that he will be looking for a bride during this one.

Lady Mei Mei can certainly be expected to be on the prowl, waiting to sink her teeth into the wealthiest….

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

“Seriously?” Choso scrunched his nose in displeasure. “Why would ladies want someone who’s quiet? I use it to convey my displeasure, not to be charming.”

On the other hand, the other brother relaxed on the opposite couch, proud. “I knew I looked good on horseback,” Yuji remarked smugly. “You and my dear sister are clearly jealous of how appealing my muscles look while I’m grabbing the reins.”

“Those ladies clearly hadn’t seen you drop yourself in dung when you were younger. Or the face you make when you are so oddly concentrated. As if you just stepped into a chamber pot.”

Before Yuji could come up with a snide remark to his older brother, the two heard an incessant pacing leading up to the doors of the drawing room they sat in. The door slammed opened to reveal their mother⸺Lady Itadori⸺with a hand to her face in clear distress.

Choso and Yuji exchanged glances before Choso calmly set down the single-page newspaper he was reading. “What is the matter, mother?”

Lady Itadori moaned and sat down on a chair raggedly. “Your sister is the matter. I fear the queen will have reviewed every person in London before your sister leaves her room.”

Before Choso could get a word in, Yuji suddenly stood up. “This is a serious matter, mother. After all, she should be punctual to her debut. I will go fetch her.”

“Wait, Yuji!” Choso and Lady Itadori followed Yuji to the grand staircase of the Itadori manor. Hurriedly, they reached the foot of the stairs to see Yuji tilting his head back to take a deep breath.

“SISTER!” Yuji had his palms up to his face, as if to amplify his already booming scream. “YOU! MUST! MAKE! HASTE!” After the quite of bit noise he'd made, he cleared his throat, looking to the side to see his dumbfounded mother and brother, and shrugged. “Well, someone’s got to the job.”

Then, the brothers and their mother look up to see a peek of white and a “Miss, be careful with the hem!” You, at the top of the staircase, grab the front of your ivory dress, with your maids helping you with the train, as you start stepping down the staircase with an irritated frown. “Must you always be such a nuisance, brother?” Traversing down the stairs until your family members were visible, all you saw were dumbfounded and tense expressions. After enduring hours of painting your face and dealing with your maid Nobara’s fussing over your coiffure, you wished for a more fond reaction. Annoyed, you stomped your way past them to the exit, where the carriage was waiting for you four.

“Dear!” your mother exclaimed, rushing to your side and taking your hand as you reached the door. Her eyes, filled with concern, met yours as she nervously asked, “How are you feeling? I know this is a momentous day for you, but remember, you’ve always excelled in your lessons. It’s only natural that you’ll win the queen’s approval, dear.”

“Yes, Mother, of course,” you sighed. “It is just such a hectic day.”

“But you shall dazzle them.” Choso comes behind you, patting your back gently in his reassuring, elderly brother ways. With a proud smile, he says, “The gentlemen are not prepared for your entrance this season.”

“Indeed! They will be none the wiser to your snark, sister.” You see Yuji coming up on your other side, offering his elbow. You tentatively take it, eyeing him sourly as he continues, “I am simply elated that Mama’s attention will be on you, rather me.”

You reach to smack him on the head, eliciting an "Ow!" from Yuji just as your mother approaches next to him, frowning. "Of course, Yuji. But it won’t be long before I have to chase after you for your tutor’s complaints about your lack of proficiency⸺"

Yuji interjects hastily. "Well! Would you look at the time? The Queen is waiting!"

"I'm surprised the gossip pamphlet didn't mention how much of a rake you are," Lord Geto mused, taking a sip of brandy. At his right, Duke Nanami was stoic as always, focusing on the tastes the gin was bringing to his mouth rather than the two older men beside him.

"I'm severely offended you would even imply such a thing," Mister Satoru Gojo put a hand on his chest, feigning offense. Rather than a gin in his hand, Satoru preferred drinking water lest his mouth spilled something even more notorious than his signature calculative icy blue eyes.

He continued. "Honestly, I don't understand this whole Whistledown business. Some might even say the ton holds her words more in regards than the Holy Bible!"

"You're diverting the matter at hand, Gojo," Nanami took his tired eyes off of his drink to look at Satoru. "As the heir and first son, have your parents not urged you to cease your foolishness? There is a limit to the rakish behavior one can exhibit in your position.”

"Yes," Satoru sighed, "They have. That's precisely why I'm looking for a bride."

There was a silence in which Satoru looked up from his glass to see Kento and Suguru’s mouths agape. "What?"

Suguru leaned closer to Satoru, as if to inspect his countenance unsure if he was jesting or not. "So, is it actually true? You're going to get tied down?"

Nanami wrinkled his nose in disapproval. "Must you say it like that? Marriage isn't imprisonment, you know."

Gojo sighed. "Nanami, Nanami. It's clear that one year that separates us in age has also left a gap in experience." Nanami felt a vein pop as Satoru irritatedly continued in his know-it-all voice. "Marriage is an end. The dead end, in fact. It is when you are abroad in Paris, basking in all the fine entertainment and wooing ladies until you realize you are out of funds. Out of money. Marriage is coming home not to go out and drink, but to a wife that has endless needs of you and children that will have frustrating phases of life. An end to pleasure and an end of all jest."

Kento and Suguru exchanged a glance before Suguru asked, "So why are you looking for a wife?"

Satoru looked dejectedly at them, crossing his arms. "My parents insisted. Said they would freeze my funds and kick me out if I didn't get serious about my future." He continued on his desperate rambling, leaning back in his chair. "I don't understand. Must I have a wife to "get serious" in life? I’m serious about all the fucking mergers and dubious finances my father invests in! Look how well I managed his bets!"

"You know, Satoru, your outlook on marriage is awfully pessimistic," Suguru put down his glass to lean back as well, crossing his arms in seriousness. "Don't you wish for a love match?"

"That sounds ridiculous. Love matches are just a passing fancy young ladies have when reading their ridiculous romance novels."

"Well, of course you think that." Kento deadpanned. "No respectable lady in their right mind would fall for you and your attitude."

"Nanami, you wound me."

Suguru glanced at Satoru with concern. "My dear friend, you are making this harder for yourself than it ought to be."

Satoru groaned. "I came here for jest, not to receive words of so-called wisdom. I assure you both, all is well." He looked at both of his friends. "I do not need to be assured. I simply am looking for a woman fine enough to be my wife to appease my parents and their concerns of continuing on the line and handling the dukedom but for a woman so reserved that she'd respect my wishes and isn't so miserable. Or needy." Satoru shrugged. "I would believe these to be respectable requirements for a wife."

Suguru looked at him with mild displeasure. "It sounds like you are looking for a horse to ride, not a woman you would spend the rest of your life with."

Standing up, Satoru moved behind Kento and Suguru to give them a hearty slap on the back. "Trust me, my dear, dear friends. I will find what I am looking for and drink myself silly for the rest of my life!"

"You don't drink." Kento sighed.

"Never mind, you! Sir, more drinks!" Satoru grinned. "Here's to the bachelor life!"

The three men raised their glasses for the toast. Yet, only one of them contained thin water.

You restlessly arranged the feathers in your coiffure and adjusted the fabric essentially squeezing the breath out of your lungs to accentuate your bust. The palace waiting room was stuffy as ever as debutantes and their mamas fluttered across the room in an effort to catch the smallest of flaws on their person.

Before the Queen did, that is.

"Your feathers are fine, dear. Take deep breaths for me." Your mother raised her hands, prompting you to take a breath in and out as her hands lowered.

You gave her your practiced smile and curtsy to which your mother laid a hand on the small of your back in both approval and reassurance. With the other, she grabbed your own and rubbed comforting circles in the junction of your index finger and your thumb. "You have always excelled in your lessons, my dear. I could not be prouder of the woman you are becoming." She sniffed, and you smiled in appreciation. "The Queen will love you, I am sure of it."

You laughed. "Mama, that is what all these ladies think."

“But none of these ladies have poured in the determination you have, my dear.” Your mother holds your head gently by the cheeks. “Your character and proficiency⸺I am sure the Queen will see the promising young lady that I am proud to call my daughter.”

You felt a lump in your throat. While you appreciated your mother’s words, you could not help but think of the significance of this day. You almost felt dizzy thinking about messing up in front of the Queen; if you didn't find a suitable match as a result, what would become of you?

Suddenly, there was some fanfare from the main room. "Now, presenting Miss Itadori and the Right Honourable Lady Itadori." Your heart jumped out of your throat as you heard the call for you and your mother to walk up.

"Let's go, my dear." With a fond kiss to your temple, your mother led you by the hand to the center of the tall and ornate doors that opened to reveal the Queen and her audience. You couldn't help but notice that your mother's hand held a reassuring, yet tight vice.

When the doors opened, your vision blurred. Your heartbeat got faster, and all you could register was the stares. What felt like a million pairs of eyes blinking upon you, scanning your coiffure, garments, and carefully painted face. While the gossiping widows and mamas whispered amongst themselves, some gentlemen scanned you up and down in clear assessment of your constitution. A distinct smell of tobacco and vanilla wafted through the air, and you took an imperceptible breath in as you steeled yourself before putting your practiced, signature smile.

A memory from your childhood flashed before you.

"She is excelling in her studies," your tutor had said, discussing your performance with your mother in the drawing room. You, sitting beside them, had fidgeted nervously with your small hands clasped in your lap, sitting as straight as you could manage.

"What must she do to improve?" your mother inquired, her eyes sharp with concern.

"Madame," your tutor had said, turning his gaze towards you with a knowing look. "Your daughter is quite nearly flawless. She is of my most exceptional students; her obedience and composure are unparalleled, even at such a tender age." He then fixed his eyes back on your mother with an authoritative intensity. "But there is one element that will truly distinguish her as a diamond."

Your mother had leaned forward, abandoning her tea in anticipation. "What is it?"

"Her smile."

As you flash your smile to the room, you could feel the people in the room going silent. Your smile was what helped you focus and keep your eyes on the prize: impressing the queen. Smiling in the most innocent and demure way you could possibly muster, you straighten your posture as you advance towards the queen, your eyes serene and your expression a masterful display of delicate charm.

The stares of the ton were on your back, but all you focused on was the harmony of your countenance. Chin up, you reminded yourself. Everyone in this room is my prey, and I am the predator.

When you and your mother reached the foot of the Queen's throne, you dipped into the deepest curtsy you had to offer, keeping your eyes on the ground as you minimized your smile to a more polite and respectful one. You stayed there for as long as the Queen was silent.

Then, a rustling of fabric as the room silently gasped. The Queen was stepping towards you, and you felt a gloved hand take your chin. Not daring to breathe or rise from your genuflection by even an inch, you forced your body to stay in position as your face was raised to look at the Queen’s.

Her booming, yet regal, voice echoed throughout the room. “You, my dear. Perfect.” She then addressed the room. “I have found my diamond!”

The declaration sent a wave of murmurs through the gathered crowd. You could feel hundreds of eyes on you as you slowly rose from your curtsy, your heart pounding in your chest. Your eyes instinctively sought your mother’s, who looked at you with pride and a hint of warning.

“Keep smiling, my dear,” she whispers into your ear. “They are staring now, more than ever.”

Your mother was right, upon reflection. There were eyes observing you far more diligently than they had before. In particular, a pair of icy and brilliant blue ones.

“Choso, not today.” Your mother sighed. “I am not ignorant of your overprotective tendencies, especially towards your younger sister and brother.”

Choso was fully frowning in displeasure, arms crossed as he observed your mother, Yuji, and yourself board the carriage. “Mother. Sister is the diamond of the season. The men will be after her like hungry vultures!”

“Well, vultures have a tendency to eat freshly decayed carrion. When you get rid of those dark circles and don’t look like dead meat, you can join us.”

Choso protested further, stopping the doorman from closing the carriage door. “But, Mother⸺”

“Yuji, close the door. Your brother will join us when learns to get sleep and not work on those ledgers overnight.” As per your mother’s instructions, Yuji closes the door on him. As the carriage rolls out of your manor and into the London streets, you blow a mocking kiss to your brother, who is now brewing at the doorstep.

“Phew! Good riddance,” Your mother fanned herself. “I need this night with you, alone. God knows how many suitors will be warded off with that horrid glare of his.”

You laughed softly, leaning back against the plush cushions of the carriage. “I suppose it’s a small price to pay for a bit of peace.”

You and your mother were wrong; your brother should have been there.

Upon your arrival, you were followed by stares, whispers, and men. Bachelors appeared in droves, eager to engage in conversation, each drawn by your newly anointed title as the diamond of the season. After paying your respects to the Queen, you found yourself swept into a whirlwind of attention, each dance and conversation a testament to the allure your status had brought.

As you navigated the crowd with practiced grace, Yuji, ever the observant and cheeky sibling, leaned in close to you and murmured, “I must say, you’ve outdone yourself. They’re practically circling like hawks. Do you think we’ll need to hire a guard just to keep them at bay?”

You gave him a wry smile, barely concealing your exasperation. “Oh, Yuji, you’re so dramatic. They’re just eager to make their introductions.”

Yuji snickered and nodded towards a particularly earnest-looking gentleman who seemed to be making a concerted effort to catch your attention. “Well, if this is what the season looks like, I might have to prepare myself for a front-row seat to a parade of besotted suitors. Just don’t let them all think you’re here to catch them; we wouldn’t want them getting the wrong idea.”

Your mother, overhearing Yuji’s jest, gave a light laugh and shook her head. “Oh, Yuji, you and your theatrics. Just make sure you’re ready to fend off any advances that come your way.”

“What?” You’ve never seen Yuji’s smile drop so fast. As if on cue, there were mamas and maidens closer to Yuji’s age that were approaching, as if a pack, and he looked at you in panic. “Are they coming towards us? Sister, you’ve got to⸺”

“Mister Itadori,” It appeared it was too late. A pack of young ladies were right next to you, fluttering their fans and lashes and giggling. “Whistledown has praised you quite well in this last issue.”

Help, Yuji mouthed, but you merely winked in response. The young ladies had effectively formed a barrier around you, offering a temporary reprieve from the throng of eager suitors. Sensing an opportunity, you decided to seize the moment and discreetly made your way towards the punch table.

The cool, refreshing scent of the punch greeted you as you approached, offering a welcome contrast to the bustling, heated atmosphere of the ballroom. You filled a glass with the fruity, aromatic beverage and took a moment to savor the brief solitude.As soon as you took a deep breath in, savoring your newfound freedom, you felt a presence next to you at the punch table. “Miss Itadori.”

Upon turning, you were met with the infallible smirk of Naoya Zen’in. You had indeed heard⸺and read, in Whistledown⸺that his family adopted nontraditional ways of determining the winner of the family inheritance and leadership. While Lord Zen’in wasn’t guaranteed to be the heir, he definitely was one of the top contenders. You assessed him further, taking in his arrogant demeanor as he reached down to give you a kiss on your hand. Rather wet, you thought in disgust.

But you hid it well, fluttering your lashes up at him. “Mister Zen’in! I am flattered to be acquainted with you today. How do you find today’s ball?”

“Rather well, of course.” He reached to scoop some punch for himself. “I enjoy meeting all the young ladies and dancing with them, of course. Ever in search of my perfect bride.”

You forced an artificial giggle. “Of course. I’m sure all the ladies that have talked to you have been charmed, as am I.”

He swelled, exactly you expected, as you stroked his ego. “But none of these ladies are as valuable as you, my diamond.” To your displeasure, he took a step closer to you, discreetly tracing his finger from your upper arm to where your dance card resided. “May I have your next dance? I have been perfecting my dance skill to the point all my brothers are envious of my prowess!” He barked out a laugh. “In fact, I beat them in horse riding years ago, and…”

While Naoya kept talking, you merely fluttered your fan over your face in mock interest. You were really starting to mourn your short-founded freedom, wanting a respite from the self obsessed young man. For some reason, you could smell the same distinctive perfume of expensive tobacco and painfully sweet vanilla you had smelled in your presentation, like a warning. Realizing you were drifting off into space with the heady fragrance, you made sure to tune into his ramblings once more.

For some reason⸺that you were growing to find uncomfortable⸺he still had his hand on your dance card. You felt the previously faint aroma growing stronger by the second. “Of course, I am soon to be the heir of the Zen’in name⸺”

A flamboyant and mischievous laugh cut through the air. “Naoya, you amuse me.” To your alarm, a young man steps to the right of you. From what you can see on the side of his face, his head sports brilliant white hair and his eyes are focused on the bachelor in front of you, who is now displeased and openly glaring at the man beside you.

“Gojo, I⸺”

“Funny that you talk about the Zen’in inheritance, Naoya.” The man⸺Gojo⸺scratched his chin in faux puzzlement while cockily smiling. “Last time I checked, Naobito was discussing handing it over to Megumi over pall-mall!”

Naoya was clearly growing more and more distressed. “Father wouldn’t dare to hand that child with a whore of a mother⸺”

Gojo clicked his tongue, outwardly showing a nonchalant smile, but you could noticeably see his eyes darken. “That’s no way to talk in front of a lady, Naoya, and certainly not of a mother. Besides, Mister Zen’in, didn’t Megumi save your family from the edge of poverty?”

Naoya’s nostrils flared. Clearly at the end of his wit, he did a small bow towards you as he swiftly exited your proximity. You blinked, partially processing the conversation that happened as well as the fact that you were now alone with this Gojo. Turning, you prepared your signature smile, the act you had been presenting for countless of young bachelors today. However, what made you stop in your tracks was his eyes.

Even the pure Englishmen you had met in London didn’t possess eyes like his. They were intense and vividly blue, flashing with judgment and calculation. His face, though strikingly pretty and slightly more feminine than others, seemed carefully constructed to mask his true thoughts. His white lashes contrasted sharply with his hair as he blinked.

And then it hit you. This was the heir of the Gojo dukedom, Satoru Gojo. Known as a capital R Rake for reasons unknown to you (Nobara just insisted he was), you could see elegance and arrogance exuding off of him, yet another noble with an ego as big as his wallet. You recall, then, what Whistledown had wrote about him⸺that he has never shown interest in marriage before today.

It was only after he blinked once more that you realized he was waiting for some response to an introuction you didn't catch. In a panicked flurry, you curtsied and said, “My apologies, Mister Gojo. I fear I haven’t had the pleasure of making your acquaintance. Miss Itadori, pleased to meet you.”

Gojo’s smile widened, his blue eyes twinkling with an almost imperceptible amusement. “A pleasure indeed, Miss Itadori.” He returned your curtsy with an elegant nod, his voice smooth and teasing. “I must say, you handle yourself with admirable grace amidst such a tumultuous crowd, my diamond.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gojo,” you replied, attempting to regain your composure as you took a sip of your punch. “I do try my best to navigate these social minefields.”

He chuckled softly, the sound light and charming. “Indeed. Though it seems you’ve had quite the evening already, judging by your rapid responses to Lord Zen’in’s advances.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to draw a hint of a smile on your lips. “It appears you’ve been observing closely. Are you always so keenly aware of your surroundings, Mister Gojo?”

“Only when I find the scene particularly entertaining,” he said, his gaze shifting to watch the guests around the ballroom. “And tonight, the spectacle is quite extraordinary. I must admit, you are a refreshing change from the usual parade of predictable manners.”

“Predictable?” you asked, your curiosity somewhat piqued. “Do you find most of the guests here lacking in originality?”

“Perhaps not lacking, but certainly not as intriguing,” he replied with a playful grin. “Take, for instance, Mister Zen’in. A man of considerable ambition, no doubt, but with a flair for the dramatic that grows tiresome rather quickly.”

You nodded in agreement. “Yes, he certainly has a penchant for self-promotion. But then, one could argue that every gentleman here has his own brand of theatrics.”

“True,” Gojo said, tilting his head slightly. “But what I find most fascinating is how you’ve managed to stand out amidst this display of pomp and circumstance. It’s not every day one encounters someone who seems so effortlessly poised, even in the face of such overt competition.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Mister Gojo,” you said with a light laugh. “But I assure you, my composure is a carefully cultivated skill, not merely a natural state.”

“Ah, then I must commend your efforts,” Gojo said, his eyes gleaming. “It is a rare talent to maintain such grace under pressure. If I may be so bold, might I request the honor of a dance with you this evening? I promise to provide a diversion from the usual pretenses.”

You hesitated for a moment, weighing the potential benefits of engaging further with this intriguing man against the immediate demands of the evening. Finally, you offered him a meek smile. "Of course. I shall be delighted to dance this waltz with you."

Pleased, he guided you to the center of the ballroom, your hand elegantly placed in his. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of triumph as you noticed Lady Mei Mei’s envious glances and the heated stares from other young ladies.

Gojo positioned his hand on your waist as you both assumed the proper stance for the dance. “So, how are you enjoying your night? I trust you’re finding pleasure amidst the horde of suitors the Queen has so graciously provided.”

You smiled demurely, carefully maneuvering around him. “Well, my lord, I am very grateful to the Queen for her blessing this season.” You took a delicate step, noting Gojo’s amused smile. “However, it is quite tiring to meet so many people. Repeating my preferences for the countryside or the city can become rather exhausting.”

Gojo’s smile widened as he guided you through a graceful turn. “And which do you prefer?”

“I would argue that the city is preferable when I feel lonely,” you said, gliding with him. “Yet the countryside is ideal for moments of solitude and reflection. Naturally, it also serves as a lovely setting for fond memories with a future husband.”

“What do you enjoy doing in nature?”.

“Embroidering or practicing the pianoforte,” you replied, making sure to display a wistful smile. “There is something particularly enchanting about playing the piano with the door open, letting nature's melody blend with the music.”

“Do you have any other talents or skills?” Gojo inquired as you both continued your dance.

“Yes,” you said, “I am fond of reading and immersing myself in literature. I also have a passion for the arts and languages.”

“Which languages do you speak?” he asked, guiding you through a series of intricate steps.

“I am well-versed in the classics⸺Latin and Greek. I’ve also picked up some French and Spanish, when I was yearning to follow my older brother through Europe for years.”

“What about literature? What do you enjoy reading?” Gojo pressed, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your smile grew slightly strained as you felt the conversation veer towards an uncomfortable territory. You felt as if the duke was interviewing you for review of your admission into an academic institution rather than holding conversation. “I enjoy Byron, sir,” you said carefully.

Gojo hummed in approval. “And here I was, thinking all ladies were engrossed in Whistledown.”

“Ah, well,” you feigned a sigh, your smile tight. “Gossip has its charm for a lady, sometimes.”

“For men, too, I must admit,” Gojo said, tilting his head towards his group of friends. “But I must confess, it is rather unpleasant when the gossip circulates that I am a rake.”

That's because they're true, you whore. "I guess it's up to the smarter individuals in society to discern the truth from the slander."

Gojo’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he guided you through the final steps of the dance. “Indeed, it seems wisdom and discernment are valuable traits in navigating the labyrinth of society’s gossip.”

You nodded. “Quite so. It is the discerning few who see beyond the surface and recognize the true character of a person.”

As the music swelled to its concluding notes, Gojo drew you closer, his gaze fixed on you with a calculative expression. “And what is it that you seek to convey through your own character, Miss Itadori? In a world full of pretense, what do you wish to be known for?”

You maintained your practiced smile. "Mister Gojo, in a world where appearances often speak louder than words, I find it best to embody grace and humility. I hope to be seen as a gentle and devoted companion, one who supports and uplifts those around her.”

Gojo’s smile only sharpened, and you couldn’t help but shake the feeling of somehow being calculated, observed, even hunted as he offered, “A noble aspiration. It is refreshing to encounter someone who values authenticity amidst the artifice.”

As the final strains of the waltz came to an end, Gojo escorted you back to your starting position. He bowed deeply, his eyes never leaving yours. “Thank you for the dance, Miss Itadori. It has been an evening of unexpected delights.”

You curtsied in return, your eyes meeting his with a demure and sincere expression. “The pleasure was mine, my lord. I am honored to have had this opportunity.”

With a final, charming smile, Gojo stepped back, giving you a nod. “Until we meet again, Miss Itadori. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

After Gojo had taken his leave, you found yourself once again surrounded by a steady stream of suitors eager to engage you in conversation. You indulged a few with polite discourse, your smile unwavering as you navigated the well-trodden paths of societal pleasantries. Despite your best efforts, fatigue began to set in, and you soon reached your limit.

Deciding to take a brief respite, you excused yourself with practiced grace. You made your way discreetly to the veranda, seeking solace and a breath of fresh air away from the relentless din of the ballroom. As you stepped out into the cool night air, the sound of the revelry faded to a distant murmur, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves and the faint scent of blooming flowers.

With your mind fresh and clear from the suffocating revelry, you couldn't help but reflect back on the night. With the Queen deeming you as the diamond of the season, you knew your mother and Choso had been appeased. Of course, tomorrow was going to be a long morning; judging by the sheer number of young men approaching you today, you knew many of them would be visiting your drawing room to converse with you and gain the approval of your brother.

There were some suitors that stood out. Lord Ino seemed to take genuine interest in what you had to say, but Mister Fushiguro had both interest and quiet respect that you couldn't help but think was ideal for a marriage. After all, you just wanted a peaceful life after securing yourself and your family. While brief, you had conversed a bit with both Duke Nanami and Lord Geto, but it had been interrupted by some of their friends inviting them onto the terrace. You were sure Naoya wouldn't bother showing his face tomorrow.

That left him. Blue eyes. You couldn't help but think you had heard about him somewhere.

Gojo.

Even though you couldn't recall much other than his rakish tendencies, the future title of Duke was certainly attractive and respectable. He wasn't so bad; with dashing looks, you couldn't help but simply think that a pretty face wouldn't be bad to look at for all those years. You snickered to yourself at your sheer display of vanity in your thoughts.

If you had to think of the most vain reasons to justify your suitors, Mister Gojo would definitely top your list of the most handsome of men. With a sturdy and healthy build, you could notice the years of dedication he must put in to maintain his athleticism. Perhaps archery, you thought. Those shoulders were definitely wide for days. Or maybe horse riding. He definitely seemed to fill in his pants with his thighs.

However, it was impossible to ignore his mischievous nature. You couldn't imagine a man such as the future Duke showing any outward display of affection, and all your interactions⸺from him outwitting Naoya, to interviewing you under the pretense of dancing⸺have always had him either besting or calculating the other converser. He definitely had a superiority complex, you rolled your eyes. Clearly, your display of the simple and stupid maiden pleased him. You wondered if he treated all the other ladies with the same level of disrespect and evaluation.

Deciding you were too far into the gardens, you turned the opposite direction to join the revelry once more in fear of attracting strange rumors about your presence in the gardens late at night. As soon as you got closer and closer to the ballroom, you heard voices.

"Ah, but there is the diamond, of course."

You perked up, interested in knowing who was talking about you. The voices seemed to be coming from the entrance between the terrace and the ballroom. "Of course, I understand why the Queen has deemed her so." Crouching, you aimed to discreetly hide behind a large trimmed bush in such a manner that if someone were to be passing by, you wouldn’t appear suspicious.

Another voice chimed in. “She is beautiful. Not in the salacious way Lady Mei Mei is, but in a more authentic and innocent way.”

“I fear the ladies nowadays are salacious⸺hungry for suitors with money and power⸺so it only makes sense that the ladies appear that way. But the diamond; she is different.”

A slap, as if someone was affectionately patted on the back for attention. “Yes, yes. But let the man of the night give us his assessment. After all, he is the one who is here tonight with us, finding a wife, when no one who had ever talked to him would ever think he would be doing such a thing.”

“Well, of course. It wouldn’t take a fool to know that marriage is basically imprisonment.” You could discern the speaker’s wry tone. “The goal here is to appease my parents, and my ticket to that is the diamond.”

“Well, get on with it,” a voice pressed, rather impatiently. “What’s your assessment?”

“A bit simpleminded.” Some feeling struck your lungs, as you recognized that it was Gojo’s voice that was speaking. You swallowed, your heart pounding as you waited for more harsh words to torrent upon you. “Has no opinions of substance that should cause conflict. She’s perfectly fine for a wife. I shall begin courting her and will soon propose⸺"

You didn’t hear the rest because you soon found yourself dashing in the opposite direction, towards an alternate entrance to the ballroom. You couldn’t bear to hear any of the more degrading and embarrassing things Gojo had to say about you as you slowed your pace to a fast walk.

With the main entrance to the ballroom in sight, you thought about the other gentlemen⸺if you could even call them that⸺that must be present, conversing with Gojo. How widespread are these assessments of you? Do all gentlemen think you stupid? However, your thoughts are interrupted when you bump into someone, rather hard.

“Are you alright?”

You look up, putting a hand to your bosom as you try to catch your breath. You see Duke Nanami’s face in close proximity, as he furrows his brow in light worry. You’re clutching your forearms as you are heaving, trying to get oriented. “Yes,” you heave. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Nanami clearly didn’t accept your assurance as he helped you stand to your full height. “Is there anything wrong?”

“No, no, I assure you; I am quite alri⸺”

“Sister! There you are!” Yuji comes up from behind Nanami, and both of you turn to look at him. “I’ve been looking for you! The punch here is terrible, some of the mamas here are horribly intoxicated. Do you know Mei Mei’s mother just admit⸺” he cuts himself off as he observes Nanami, who’s still touching your arms, with wide eyes. “Di⸺Did I interrupt something?”

“NO, you didn’t.” You burst out, not wanting yet another man leaving with an unfavorable expression of you tonight. You and Nanami both take a step back to distance yourselves, and he clears his throat.

“Good night, Miss Itadori. Mister Itadori.” He gives you both curt bows as he makes his way past to his carriage.

Yuji blinks. “Oookay. Anyways. Mei Mei’s mother just barfed on top of Naoya as she was buttering him up. I must admit, Mei Mei and Naoya make a formidable match in being intolera⸺”

You could feel yourself filtering Yuji out as you thought about the gentlemen’s gossip from earlier. While you weren’t exactly surprised that Gojo appraised you as a pawn, you couldn’t help but be a little offended that he could talk behind your back. Who’s to predict the other naive ladies that would be subject to his callous and calculative behavior?

There was only one conclusion to be drawn that you swear to remember for the rest of the season: Gojo was not a man of honor, and you were not going to be one of his victims.

next. the aftermath

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