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pennyserenade · 10 months ago

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the devil hath power

pairing: coriolanus snow x f!reader, coriolanus snow x you, coriolanus snow x nameless reader (no use of y/n) rating: e (explicit, 18+) tags/warnings: talk of sex work (sometimes negatively), sex work, dubious consent, illusions of sex, talk of previous sexual acts, class differences, classism. word count: 4.4k summary: Coriolanus Snow catches up with an old acquaintance. Neither of them really recognizes the other, not in any way that matters, but that's just as well for the scion of the Plinth family fortune. Well, until the meeting takes a turn he hadn't expected it to. a/n: well. fiction is such a slippery slope sometimes. i in no way condone the actions of coriolanus snow, nor am i romanticizing him or what he would come to do later. i think he's a vile person. having said that, i wouldn't consider this a scathing, well-crafted critique of him, either. i wanted to explore this character, to see what made him tick by putting him in a situation where he has to confront issues he merely bumped into in the book/movie. there is a high possibility of a part 2.

part two | part three

She had not asked for Coriolanus’ name because she had not needed to. Tonight, when she had turned to look at him, she knew. His white locks had been made iridescent under the shine of the club lights and he had pressed an orderly hand to the crease of her elbow before leaning in and asking her about her services, but even beneath the cool facade of his professionalism, she knew. Even despite the fact that she hadn’t seen him since they were children, she knew.

Illuminated in a soft hue now, Coriolanus looked sharp. He was not only angular, having retained the features of his youth, but honed in, acutely attuned to the surroundings in which she had taken him. Dressed in his Capital attire, he achieved the effect of looking both handsome and ever-important, even merely standing at the end of her bed, arms bowed behind him. His eyes, seas of piercing blue typically, were darker now, covered by the veil of orange thrown from her bedside lamp. He looked impossibly grown, so much older than even herself, the way adults had when she was a child.

She would describe him as a statuesque beauty, with hair so blond it faired white--like stony marble under a wash of sunlight. He had bow lips, long lashes, but they were paired with a generous nose and hard, serious eyes, masculine twists meant to overrule how pretty he indeed was. He reminded her of the paintings of kings, standing ramrod straight, noble in essence as much as material. Beneath her gaze, he attempted to wear a face of careful neutrality, and it worked—aside from the occasional tic of his jaw.

The backsplash of her bedroom, which had smelled vaguely of mildew for a long time, and which was void of any real material excess, seemed to embarrass them both. She was not used to men like him—men who had a sense of themselves within these four walls. Seduction was easier when men were rendered stupid by their desire, but Coriolanus seemed neither possessed nor particularly interested in his. If he was aroused, the sleek design of his suit did much to conceal it. Given, she had not so much as taken off a single layer of clothing but then, most men were stumbling at the door frame of her apartment building, swelling from the mere anticipation of what she offered. But not Coriolanus. He studied her with a surgeon’s precision, clinical and measured.

His throat bopped and their lapse of silence, which had begun after she had escorted him out of the club, continued on, steady. She’d been with men like him before, many of them. They all had the designs of fortune and wealth written into their fates, had since they were born, but eventually it ran deeper, weaving into their accents, their dress, their stance, their occupations, their beliefs. Rumor had it that Coriolanus Snow had his sights on the presidency. She could see it to be true. Word of mouth had it that he was already what they called a Gamemaker’s assistant, and young one. Brilliant, tenacious, and perfectly angry. It was odd to see him as such, having remembered him as something of a precocious fawn—a white haired boy who sat quietly and absorbed the world through azure eyes when they were children. But then this was life.

If wanted her to she'd praise him for the Games, tell him about the brilliance of his young mind for contriving such a sinister punishment for the little ruts of the Districts. She’d done it before. At first it had felt like selling a part of herself she had not been prepared to auction off, but it came to mean next to nothing, just another act. Like the men that entered her ruined home and laid her down despite the noxious fumes of an expired dream wafting around them, she felt as if this interaction did not count. As if it wasn’t real. They grunted and huffed and used her, but she used them, too. For money. For power. Sometimes even for pleasure—but very rarely.

“Do you want me to undress?” she spoke demurely.

His face contorted with a flash of distaste before it went back to cool indifference. She made a note of this. Vulgarity, directness—it was not his flavor. Maybe he liked Avox silence; men had such proclivities. The rich and powerful typically had wives who could play the part of the beautifully silent, but some of them still wanted it.

He wetted the bottom of his lip. “I remember you.”

“Yes. I studied with you,” she confessed. There was no point in lying.“As children. Not so much when we got older.”

“Right,” he nodded, “I knew you looked familiar.”

He began to inspect the meager contents of her room. Everything felt anachronistic when he stood next to it, ugly and decrepit in comparison to his modern look. He picked up a music box she had been gifted as a child, his lips twitching into a grin as the ballerina began to twirl mechanically. For a moment he watched it, filling the entire room with the melodic sounds of her childhood. It was dream-like and bitter.

Did he remember what she had looked like back then? How the sleek red uniform fit her, or how the shiny Mary Janes on her feet were always polished, or how the ruffles of her white socks were perfect, never out of place? They’d all been so grandiose before the Dark Days, so conceited and pleasantly happy. And now—well. This.

The lid of the box snapped shut. Over his shoulder Coriolanus said, “As I grow older, I’ve begun to find music terribly frivolous. I’m sure you can agree.”

He continued to look, fingers poking around in trays of old jewelry, picking up compacts of makeup and smiling softly as he turned the items in his hands. “It’s like a museum,” he whispered. His eyes searched out for her. Something infinitely softer took hold of him for a moment. “This is what I remember from before…Incredible.” Then, almost instantly, a perceptible change: “Why, if you sell yourself to clients as rich as you do, do you live in squalor? Surely you don’t do what you do for fun?”

The criticism latent in his tone made her defenses rise, but her resignation made her stronger; she sat up, stock straight, and looked at him through a narrowed gaze. This wasn’t the first time a man of his stature had done something like this. It was common at first. They snapped at her like she was the one who had guided them here, but eventually they accepted it for what it was, or they pretended it wasn’t anything at all.

“Why are you here, Coriolanus?” she asked evenly.

The compact was replaced on her table as he turned to face her fully. He smiled and somehow it was cruel because it belonged to him. “Because I want to know,” he answered, “how the other half lives.”

Her lips twisted up. “The other half?”

“Those who didn’t make it out of the Dark Days. Those who have resorted to—“ he swung his hand, motioning to the room, to her “—to this and other acts like it.”

She turned to look out the window. Outside the Capital sparkled in the night; it was a city once again bustling with life, beautiful and ornate, no doubt at the bloom of its productivity. This view made everything seem worth it at times. “And your estimate?” she asked.

“Not finished,” he answered plainly.

Out of the corner of her eye she watched him shrug off his overcoat. He slung it over a wooden chair that sat by the door.

“Sorry there’s no coat check; I’ve seemed to have left it in the past,” she taunted.

He answered her sharpness with a look of haughty disdain.

“Bad customer service,” was the remark that carried over to her — a verbal tsk tsk. There was an impishness to it, too. Her inability to read him from moment to moment — or rather, the fact that she was constantly having to reanalyze him — was confounding. It discontented her.

“Mr. Snow,” she began, but he interfered almost immediately.

“Please — Coriolanus.”

Her eyebrow rose. “Is that what you prefer?”

He read between the lines, smirking. “It’s what you said before —it’s what you prefer.” A laugh, less wicked than the smile but not entirely void of it, sounded through the room. It was so goddamn rich, not velvet and warmth, but cold, calculated. Like the cool of gold on warm skin. “Believe it or not, I’m not here for the sake of illicit pleasure. I can’t say this particular occupation feels me with—“ He waved an absent hand “—joy, for lack of a better word.”

She breathed out through her nose. “Do let us not pretend that you don’t know the word lust. Arousal. Horny. You’re brilliant, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you know about these things?”

His angular jaw ticked once more. “Whores are all so crass, aren’t they? The ignominy of being a body that someone can buy–doesn’t it make you sick?”

She scoffed. “You’re terribly repressed, given that you sought me out.”

He shook his head, as if steadying himself. “I want to be President one day and I’m not so naive as to think what you do isn’t in demand—or that it will ever cease to be. Especially here.” His anger began to ebb as he continued. “People are crass; it’s human nature. We are all brutes, primal, ugly when it comes down to it. You watch the Games–you see” His took up his rigidity once more. “I want to learn about it, what you do. The ins, the outs.”

She stared unblinkingly at him.“That information will cost–a good deal,” she said.

A flicker of a smile twitched at his lips. “Everything does eventually. That is one thing I do admire about your occupation: it is purely transactional. Perhaps if love was half as simple as this, you wouldn’t have a job.”

“Perhaps not. But it isn’t.”

“No,” he shook his head, “It’s certainly not.”

She smoothed out the fabric of her dress. “Why me? There’s many women who do what I do.”

The question incited him. She was beginning to pick up on the patterns of his erratic behavior; there was a flare in his eyes, a perceptible twinkle, and his eyebrows lifted slightly. And his lips—they twitched whenever he felt something strongly. “I watched you for a few weeks and I noticed that you were more clever than the other women. They were tactless, too obvious. But you—you played the game beautifully, like it was an art.” He seemed to smile to himself. “You dress Capital, you talk Capital. If you’re hungry, you don’t make it too obvious. You’ve gone into painstaking detail to ensure that you’re undetectable and people want you more for it.”

“So you picked me because I have manners?”

She wanted to guffaw, to tell him no, but something told her not to. It was not fear as much as the slow drip of anticipation. He hovered near her like a predator getting ready to pounce, a glimmer of unnerving honesty shining in his darkened eyes, and she could see him now for all he was. But she could not understand him. This incited her.

With the unwavering confidence of a young God, he lifted his chin up and said, “I picked you because I think you know better than most what it is to hunger. You remind me of myself in that way.”

Maybe this should’ve repulsed her most of all, to be put in a box so narrow, so utterly against how she viewed herself. But it didn’t; it made her comfortable, not pilant to wishes but more certain of her own. He’d done a fine job nitpicking her up until this point, but now she had the upper hand again. This was her domain, her game.

The smug smile that grew on her lips was a mirror of his own. Without taking her eyes off of his, she rose to her knees on the bed and crawled to the end, the blue velvet of her dress pillowing around her knees, her waist. He was an avid watcher, seemingly holding his breath as her arms reached behind her and unzipped the dress. The fabric slipped down her arms, unveiling a creamy silk bra, so thin as to be transparent.

“It’s new,” he spoke softly, surprised. He seemed to be questioning this. His eyes looked to hers for answers—or maybe they were trying not to look elsewhere, lest they find something they liked.

“My home may be out of fashion but I am not,” she cooed. Charm. He wanted charm. She could see that plainly now. Coriolanus was a man who needed to be in control but he wanted to be seduced. He was just like the rest of them.

Peeling off the rest of the cocktail dress, she bared to him the matching cream bottoms, which were just as sheer as the top. She knew what he could see: her mons pubis, the seductive patch of hair that promised more. And he looked, too. Of course he did. They all said they wouldn’t and then they did and this man, however brilliant he may be, however cool and calculated, was just like the rest of them. This simple fact thrilled her more than anything had in a long while.

To think if life had gone the way it was supposed to, she might’ve married someone like him. Maybe it might have even been him. His family had come from what her mother would’ve referred to as “good stock” and his father Crassus had been a close acquaintance of her father’s. It seemed, however, that Crassus had prepared more adequately for his own children than her father had his. If she hadn’t contended with the fact so long ago, she might’ve hated Coriolanus based on the simple fact that he’d remained intact after the war and she hadn’t.

“I won’t sleep with you for money,” he spoke up. His voice did not quiver but she could sense the weakness settling in.

Her fingers tucked beneath the collar of his dress shirt. “And I won’t sleep with you for free,” she said in response. She leaned close to him, so close she could feel his breath on her face. “And moreover, to answer your question from earlier: there’s no ignominy to being a body for sale because it sells for an awful lot, Coriolanus. I’m wise with my money. I’m headed towards a staggering amount of wealth, and I’ve got good sense. You pegged me right, but you also got me terribly wrong.”

“This place—“ he began but she cut him off.

“Is hollowed out and pathetic, I agree. But one day it won’t be, and when that day comes I won’t take people like you to it.”

Another lip twitch. “How much?”

“For what?” She smoothed out the fabric, running her hands down his arms.

“What you do—your services.”

“It depends.”

He stiffened. “On what?”

“What they ask me to do. How long. Where. Who they are.”

His head hung before he came out with his next sentence. “And for me, what would it cost?”

“What do you want?”

“This is hypothetical,” he reminded her coolly. Placing his hands over hers and moving them, he attempted to sway them back to their uneven dynamic. She could feel the tremble in his hand as he did.

“Hypothetically, what would you want?” she corrected. She sat her hands in her lap.

“Tell me what you do.”

“That’ll cost,” she reminded.

Though he smiled, she could tell his patience with her was wearing. “I’ll pay anything,” he repeated. For effect or perhaps for power he added, “And I do mean anything. If you want to once again take your rightful place amongst the people in the Capital, I’ll see to it.”

She licked her lips and considered him. “For a man who hates people like me, you’re sure forgiving.”

“Like I said, you remind me of myself.” He gripped her chin between his fingers and she gasped from the unexpected coldness of his flesh on hers, but did not flinch. His hold was not rough or commanding, but oddly familiar, almost affectionate.

“When I was younger, there was this girl,” he began, staring down at her lips, “She was just someone in a dark alleyway that my friends had gotten me as a dare. We kissed and kissed, but it felt like nothing. It was just kissing—and that’s what I thought it was for a long time. It wasn’t particularly exciting, nothing to ruin yourself for. Then there was another girl.” His jaw set. “I’m sorry to say I loved this girl, to the point of destruction, to the point of foolishness. After her I understood why a man might seek girls like you out. I find it distasteful, but that’s what we are as a people. Stupid, primal. We want it all and we always have. That’s why the Districts came to be, and why they always will be.”

He let her go. She watched carefully as he stepped back and began his searching pace around her room once more. His movements carried more deliberation, and none of the objects kept his attention this time. She let him speak, let him run himself into whatever dark, myopic hole he was headed towards.

“They like their cocks sucked,” he spoke with open vulgarity, almost as if delighting in the freedom of the word. He was like a school boy who tries out a naughty word for the first time and finds it fits in his youthful mouth too well; he’ll go his whole youth trying not to say it again around the adults. “I imagine rough too, and in impersonal positions, except for those few unexceptional men who have wives that don’t particularly like them or want them. Maybe they don’t even have wives, your men.” He laughed through his nose at the idea, and let himself get carried away in the broken world he made of these men. “Yes. You’ve got insecure men at your door, ones who are ashamed and pleading and they fuck you like you mean everything to them. They hate themselves and what they’ve done. Weak men who can’t cope with their power or their riches. I knew a man like that. He would’ve paid you billions. Would’ve asked you to marry him before you even touched him out of some imagined indenture he had to people like you.”

Coriolanus smiled ruefully, but his voice was hard and bitter. “He was a goddamn fool. Not all are like that, though.”

She caught his eyes in her old vanity. His eyebrows rose in question. She nodded, though not necessarily in agreement with anything he said. She wanted him to continue.

“Sometimes you get men like me. Of course not exactly like me, but they aren’t the weaker of us. They’re strange, exotic, and think that whatever takes hold of them will ruin them one day so they’ve got to go to you. They can’t ask a Capital girl to do what they want. It depends on the upbringing, but I imagine these men have a wide selection of desires, some decidedly repulsive and some so wholesome, so mundane, you find them endearingly, or even irritatingly, prudish. For example, a man who likes to get on his knees and taste you.”

Her mouth opened as if to speak, and he seemed to sense this imperceptible movement, turning around. She looked at him and he, back at her. “It’s not repulsive,” she said softly. “Nothing I let them do to me is ever repulsive. I have my boundaries.”

This seemed to excite him most of all. “Of course. Where’s the line, then?”

“When they ask me to pretend to be a District girl. That one…your tribute—“

“Lucy Gray,” he whispered. If she didn’t know better, she’d think she heard reverence in his voice. Anguish.

“Her. I got a lot of requests for a while.”

She could not tell what went over him in that moment, only that it was overwhelming. He ran his hand through his hair and swallowed hard. “And you never did that?” he asked her, his tone almost accusatory.

She was happy to answer honestly: “Never.”

He nodded, pacing the floor again. He was more manic, as if set off by this information. “Do they tell you secrets, these men?”

“Yes,” she answered simply.

“Do you tell their secrets?”

She shook her head once in answer. He was made of stone, total nothingness. “Not once. It’s why I’m so popular,” she added. He nodded.

“Your favorite clients, what are they like?” This question seemed like a throwaway, one he asked because he couldn’t think straight.

She frowned watching him. “They’re somewhere between the men you call weak and the ones you think are most like you. Some of them are young, about our age. There’s nothing wrong with them, not even what they ask for.”

He continued his pace. “And what do they ask for?”

“For normal sex, sometimes slow, sometimes fast. Sometimes they just want to kiss me. One of my favorites asked me about my life, this room, the hallway, the pictures no one ever seemed to notice. In turn told me about himself. He wanted normal conversation, a man and a woman speaking as if nothing in the world had ever gone wrong. He wanted to pretend, I guess.” She shrugged. She didn't remember his name, only that he was important in an insignificant way—at least that’s how he described it. She never saw him again.

“What else?” Coriolanus began to slow. He chewed at his fingernails and remained vaguely distracted.

“Another came in his pants, tasting of me, like you called it.” He wasn’t one of her favorites, but the vividness of it did what she wanted it to: Coriolanus appeared interested. He titled his head to the side, as if approving of the story. She was putting on a show for him. If he was more transparent she could imagine him asking for more like that. So she gave more. “And another wanted me to rub against him, clothed. He wanted me to sit in his lap and make myself orgasm. And another, he wanted to watch. Some men are like that. He stood where you are now and he touched himself as I spoke. And another touched himself while I touched myself. Though I guess you figure that might be crass.”

His sleek suit did little to conceal what the last image inspired in him. A red tint gathered on his cheeks and he raised his hand. “That’ll be enough.”

She stopped speaking. A seed had been planted, and this victory was hers even if she did nothing with it. How terrible this was for a composed Coriolanus Snow. His hand clutched at the bedpost and he looked at her then with unflinching distaste. And then it came: a wave of astounding want when the band of her thin bra slid down her arm. She reached out for him but he did not go.

“Why?” he whispered.

She looked up at him earnestly. “Why not?” she returned.

Cupping her cheeks in the hollow of his hands, he leaned in and kissed her with a bruising intensity. No affection, no illusion. He kissed much like he did business: straight to the narrow point. It was the shortest minute of her life and yet also the longest. When he released her, he looked as he had before. Strong. Unwaveringly cool. His blue eyes shut her out and his freshly kissed lips did not even so much as twitch. But something had changed.

“That’ll be enough,” he echoed again. He was trying to find strength in his convictions, but not doing very well with it. It was not often he found himself in the position of relenting his control, but where there was hunger, there was a divine need to quelch it, no matter the cost. And he did hunger: for knowledge, for desire, for her. How he despised the pang of it in his chest, no foreign object but an unwelcome visitor.

His finger trailed down her neck to her shoulder. He took the strap of her bra between his hands and drew it down. She let him. The anticipation came back to her. He was like a game, something she would contend with later. It was like her job, like her position in life: things she dealt with one incremental step at the time until what was big felt little. This would not make her a bad person.

She shimmed the fabric beneath her breast and he looked apathetic, almost as if she had driven him past the point of even frustration. But the bulge in his slacks grew. Pride swelled in her chest but she remained stoic, pliant, hoping against hope that he’d give in, do what a thousand men before him had done, if only she could convince him it was his doing. What a better way to learn what the Capital wanted than to experience it for yourself? She wanted to ravage him, to take from him his stubborn distaste, to make him into one of those pathetic, warbling men in his imaginings. One day you’ll be ruined by this.

But sense came to him, bit by bit. He heaved a sigh, as if disappointed by some external factor that had forced his hand, and returned a silky strap to her shoulders. She watched, both surprised and confused. He smiled, but it was void of anything substantial as joy. Maybe there was defeat, but she wasn’t sure.

“I’ll be seeing you,” he said, stepping towards the door and towards his coat on the chair. She watched the muscles of his back ripple beneath his shirt as he slipped the red fabric back on, quietly astounded by the abrupt way he had changed track.

“My money,” the words found her.

He nodded his head, but did not turn. “You’ll get it,” he promised. His voice bounced off the door, hollow and thin.

She eyed him carefully, waiting for him to open the door and escape out of it. She wanted him to. There was a certain cowardice to this action, too, something that she could cope with and he wouldn’t be able to. His hand went to the door, white on gold, and he clinched it. “Next time, the game will be different,” he said.

And with those parting words, he was gone.

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colormepurplex2 · 8 months ago

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In Memory of Him | It's Cold In Here

↳ Florist!Taehyung x Artist!f.Reader ⤜ Non-Idol, Late Husband's Best Friend ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 13,558 ⚠️ Mild language, death/loss of a loved one, deep depression, high anxiety, loads of guilt, hidden feelings, realizations, hurt feelings, repressed feelings, hurt/comfort

Next Chapter⇾ (coming soon!) ◅ Back to story masterlist

With trembling fingers, you smooth out the letter that you found attached to a bundle of flowers on your doorstep.

To the love of my life, For after the funeral Take a deep breath, baby, I know it’s not easy. Even as I sit and write this, I can feel your energy in the next room. You’re always such a worrier, I’m sorry I’ve added to that. It’ll all be better soon, I promise. But, I know you and I know that you’ll pull away, you’ll cut yourself off…and we can’t have that, now can we? You have to keep going if we’re to stay connected even after I’m gone.

So, here’s the first of a collection of some things that you can hold and look back on when the storm starts to roll in. There are only so many words in existence to describe what you mean to me. So, instead of words, I want you to remember these feelings: Warmth - like the sun on your face while you read a great book Satisfaction - the way you sigh softly after a good, lazy day in bed Contentment - waking up with a smile on your face every morning Peace - that moment of quiet before the rain starts, when the scent of petrichor filters in These are all the things you’ve brought into my life the last seven years. I’ve never been able to look at the sun, sleeping, smiles, or storms the same. Never did I imagine I’d meet and marry such a beautiful, kind-hearted soul with a genuinely unique outlook on life. I never had to be reminded to smile because it just came so naturally whenever you were around. You have brought so much light into my world and gave me the best years of my life. You also gave me Sujin, the perfect little replica of myself even if you think he looks more like you than me (I secretly agree, but that’s not something I’ll admit outloud). When I look at our wonderful son, I’m reminded of the beauty that first drew me to you all those years ago. Being his father is the second greatest achievement of my life, the first being making you fall madly in love with me…don’t laugh, you know it’s true. Many people see things in black and white, a beginning and an end…but our life isn’t like that. We’re full of color and everything in between. You’ve supported me at my best and have loved me at my worst. Everything good in my life is because of you. I know you’ll always love me, and I know it won’t be easy once I’m gone, but I need you to promise me you’ll continue to wake up with that smile on your face and never forget how the sun feels or how beautiful the quiet before the storm is. I need my light, my girl, to keep going. Be that guiding light so I know exactly where you are in the world as I watch over you and Sujin. We knew forever wasn’t guaranteed, that’s just the way life is, right? This doesn’t mean it’s over, not by a long shot. You still have so much more to give, so much more love to offer. I know you’d never forget about me, that’s not what this letter is for—it’s not a reminder of me, it’s a reminder to live, love, and keep shining. There are more where this came from, Taehyung has them and knows what to do, but not until you’re ready for them. I love you so much, never stop living—for me, for Sujin…for you. Love forever, Your Yejun

The letter crumples in your fist, the bundle of hibiscus and lavender it was attached to forgotten on the step between your feet as you bury your face in the crook of your elbow and scream. It’s better that way—the symbolism of the hibiscus flower on a letter from Yejun is a punch to the gut when he’s no longer here. Eternity? Bullshit. The sound is muffled into the thick wool of your coat but no less filled with agony. As if the day wasn’t hard enough, everything went belly-up when you found the flowers and the letter on your door step. You choke on a breath of air as you try to control yourself.

“Yejun.” His name drips from your trembling lips, absorbed into your jacket sleeve like your cries. “I miss you so much. Why did you have to leave us?”

A hand on your shoulder makes you flinch, jerking away from the potential comfort, despite it being exactly what you need right now. You crowd against the wall, knees knocking into one another as you huddle in on yourself where you’re sitting in the stairwell outside your apartment door.

“Hey, hey, hey, come here,” a strong, soothing voice coos. Your limbs protest weakly for a moment, your heart raging with guilt at the prospect of finding solace in another man’s arms—even if that man is Taehyung, your now late husband's best friend—but the desperate need for someone to hold your pieces together wins out. You fear if you let yourself truly break, you’ll never be able to be made whole again. You frantically launch into those open arms, keening a wail into the solid chest between them. “Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

💔💔💔

Two years later

“Mommy, are we going to Uncle Tae’s house today?” Sujin asks from behind you, where he’s strapped into his booster seat.

You glance in the rearview mirror, angling yourself so you catch a glimpse of his smile as he stares out the window, patiently awaiting your answer. It’s gotten easier over the last two years to look at him without growing weepy. He looks like and reminds you so much of Yejun. They have the same chestnut-colored eyes and floppy midnight tresses. When he smiles, the tiny dimple on his left cheek is a near mirror to his father’s and something that your eyes seek out every time he flashes you a grin. Little pieces of his father that fill the gaps in your heart.

“Did you not want to stay at Grandma’s tonight? That’s what you said you wanted yesterday,” you remind him.

Sujin hums like he’s thinking hard about your question. “Well, I did want to go to Grandma’s, but I also want to see Uncle Tae, and plus, he always has good ice cream. All Grandma has is boring vanilla.”

“How about we see if Uncle Tae wants to hang out this weekend? I think Grandma would be sad if you decided not to stay with her tonight.”

In truth, you’d also be a bit disappointed if Sujin changed his mind. Being only four when his father passed, he doesn’t remember Yejun much, mostly knows him from photos and stories he’s heard. So, it’s not surprising he’s not able to put together that today is the second anniversary of his father’s passing. He doesn’t know that tonight isn’t just about your mom getting a visit. It’s also about you having an evening to grieve without being under your son's watchful and inquisitive eye.

Though maybe you’re wrong, perhaps he knows more than you think as he responds softly, “It’s okay, Mommy, I’ll stay with Grandma so you can go visit Daddy.”

If it wasn’t for tightening your grip on the steering wheel, you might have driven right off the highway. “You know what today is?” you ask hesitantly once your initial shock passes.

“Of course I do,” Sujin says with another smile, his dimple catching in the afternoon sunlight coming in through the car window. “I might not remember him, but I could never forget him.” It’s a wonder there aren’t more six-year-old poets, as what he just said is easily the most eloquent thing ever uttered by a child. Your heart swells, and you feel that telltale burn in the back of your nose and behind your eyes as you blink away the flood of emotions threatening to spill into the open.

You nod, taking a deep breath. “That’s right. He’d be so proud of you and how much you’ve grown.”

“He’d be proud of you, too, Mommy.”

It’s another blow, directly targeting the cracks already forming in your armor. Fissures zip and snap over the surface of the wall you’ve spent the last two years building. “Thank you, buddy. I love you,” you manage to get past the lump in your throat.

The rest of the car ride home is spent with Sujin telling you about his day at school and how one of his classmates snuck a salamander into the classroom after recess. You hum, haw, and laugh as he recounts the way the class reacted to the discovery of the amphibian.

It makes you feel lighter, listening to his words and hearing the clear whimsy his heart possesses as the salamander suddenly becomes a dragon and Sujin, the fearless knight that saved the teacher—the damsel in distress—by scooping it up and putting it in an empty lunch box.

“She said since I was so brave and such a good helper that I could go outside with Mr. Kim, the science teacher, and help him release it back into the wild,” he proudly proclaims. “Did you know salamanders like water? Mr. Kim said they’re kind of like frogs even though they look more like lizards.” Sujin continues on, spouting off facts he learned about the salamander from his science teacher.

It’s a short drive from the school to your apartment. You’ve often thought about moving, using some of the life insurance money from Yejun to buy you and Sujin a lovely place outside the city. But, your mom lives just a floor up, and it’s been convenient having someone so close to look after Sujin when you need them, like tonight.

Having your mom close by, not just as a babysitter but also as an emotional support outlet, has been a blessing and far outweighs the other feelings—the seemingly endless void that now lingers in place of your late husband. With that, though, you can’t help looking at your small apartment as more like a preservation of memories. It was the first place you and Yejun moved into after getting married. It’s the place you both brought Sujin home to when he was born. It’s still filled with so many memories…you’re not sure you want to leave—at least, not yet.

The building has no elevator, just several winding flights of steps right up the middle. “Go on up to Grandma’s. I’ll stop by with dinner before I leave. Remember, homework first before you play.”

Sujin gives you a beaming smile and nods his head in understanding before vaulting up the stairs, his strong six-year-old legs carrying him far faster than your own. You watch him disappear up the stairs—the last flash of his face so reminiscent of Yejun racing up those very same steps the day you moved in—followed by the familiar sound of your mother’s voice drifting out over and down the stairwell as she welcomes him into her space—a safe space, away from the looming cloud of darkness over you.

Knowing he’s occupied and cared for, you allow your mask to slip just a little. The weight on your shoulders eases as you let the emotional fatigue roll in and replace your typically calm and collected demeanor. Even after two years, it’s not gotten any easier when this particular day comes. The holidays are hard, sure. There are plenty of days where you find yourself feeling like it’s too much…but nothing truly compares to this day. It’s not filled with happy memories the way those other days are. It’s nothing but darkness. There is a constant ache in your chest, which is amplified when the calendar turns over, and you find yourself once again reliving that fateful day all over again.

You spent nearly every waking hour sitting beside Yejun, the uncomfortable, stiff hospital chair becoming your permanent perch. The ventilator was always loud, but the punching swoosh grew to be comforting because you knew that meant he was still there. All the lines and tubes hooked up to him made it look like a scene from one of those sci-fi films he enjoyed making you watch with him. Yejun was so full of life when you first met, many years before. But, the image stuck in your mind—the one you can’t seem to get rid of—is of him with sallow cheeks and pale, greyish lips, drained of life.

It’s weird to think of watching someone die. But that’s precisely what you did over the six months Yejun was in the hospital. The disease moved quickly, the cancer stealing your husband away bit by bit, and you were powerless to stop it. That’s probably one of the worst parts, the helpless feeling that no matter what you do, you can’t prevent it from happening. No amount of prayer, begging, or screaming would change it. He’d still die, just the same. Day by day, the best parts of the man you loved vanished, and by the end—you feel guilty even thinking the thoughts, so you push them out of your head.

After unlocking the door, you step into the quiet space of your apartment. Your shoes join the ones discarded by the door before you drop your purse on the small console table against the wall and make your way across the living room to the hall leading to the bedrooms. Sujin’s room is the first door. You peek inside to see that he had made up his bed before school this morning. You make a mental note to grab one of his chocolate popsicles from the freezer before dropping off dinner tonight. He deserves a little treat for being such a good kid.

The small single bathroom sits between Sujin’s room and the larger of the two bedrooms, the one you shared with Yejun for almost five years. You haven’t changed any of the decor. Everything is the same as it always has been, right down to the pillow on Yejun’s side of the bed. It took months before you mustered the courage to wash the pillow case and cried the entire time you stripped the pillow and plopped it in the washer.

The pillow was small fish compared to the closet. Going through all of Yejun’s clothes nearly took you out. Thankfully, Taehyung was there to help. You weren’t the only one that lost someone two years ago today. Taehyung and Yejun grew up together and worked together for the last dozen years, starting out as teens together at Taehyung’s parents' florist shop. They are—were—as close as brothers, and not just for the fact that Taehyung’s parents took Yejun in when his parents both passed, but because of their unbreakable bond—a bond nearly as strong as the one you had with Yejun.

Taehyung has been there for you whenever you’ve needed him since Yejun’s passing. All it takes is a phone call or a text message, and he drops everything for you. You try not to take advantage of it because you don’t want him sucked into your empty void any more than he already is. No grown man should be attached to a woman like that, especially when he has no obligation for it.

But, you must admit, it’s nice knowing he’s there…especially today. This is the one day of the year that you know you don’t have to text or call Taehyung for him to show up. His one promise to you. He’ll be there, waiting for you at the cemetery, just like he was last year.

You pull off your oversized t-shirt and worn jeans covered in splotches of paint from your time in the studio today. Once a well-known local artist, you haven’t been able to create anything worthwhile since Yejun passed. He would always joke about being your one true muse. It seems he wasn’t wrong. Everything you’ve been able to create in the last two years feels wrong, like it’s missing something.

The life insurance you received from Yejun has been more than enough to keep you and Sujin afloat. However, you feel like a failure having even to touch that money, even if it’s just to pay the bills. If you could just get your life together, you’d be able to provide for yourself and Sujin the way you once did—before everything happened. Shoving that line of thinking away, you focus on the here and now, just getting through the next handful of hours.

A quick shower later, and you’re dressed in a warm sweater and a clean pair of jeans with thick wool socks. It’s cold, winter having well and truly taken hold outside, but when the sun goes down, the bite from the wind grows more bitter. Grabbing the large, lidded bowl of beef stew you had cooking in the slow cooker all day. You wrap it in a dish towel to keep from burning your hands on the hot sides, snag a popsicle for Sujin, and make the short trip upstairs to your mom’s place.

“Hey, sweetheart,” your mom greets you when she opens the door. She’s gotten a lot more grey in her hair in the last year or so. The steel-colored strands stand out against her temples, framing her strong but still soft face. You used to think she looked too austere, but then you realized that was just the permanent mark of motherhood and time.

“Hi, Mom. Did Sujin get his homework done?” You follow your mom in, shutting and locking the door behind you as she ambles into the kitchen on the other side of the living room. Her apartment is a near mirror of your own, her second bedroom set up for Sujin as well.

“He finished a bit ago and wanted to break out the paints. Was nattering on about some sort of lizard, I think. He wanted to try to paint it,” she explains, putting the tea kettle on without needing to ask. Peppermint tea with a dollop of honey can fix even the worst of woes in her eyes. She’ll insist you have some just as she has any other time she can feel your darkness crowding in. You’ve grown to appreciate your mother's intuition, both for yourself and your son's sake.

“There was an incident involving a student bringing in a salamander at school, it seems. Sujin helped the teacher and was allowed to go out with Namjoon—Mr. Kim—to release it.” You recall the conversation in the car, your mother chuckling softly when you tell her about the salamander turning into a dragon.

She busies herself, packing the tea steeper with her own blend of mint tea. Tending the small garden of herbs and spices that she keeps on the fire escape off the living room, is how she spends most of her days since she retired a few years ago. Even in winter, she keeps a small plastic greenhouse over them, opening it just enough to care for them each day. “So, you’re on a first-name basis with that science teacher now?” she asks. You can tell she’s lightly probing, trying to figure out if there is anything more between you and ‘Mr. Kim’.

“I met him at the beginning of the year when we had parent-teacher meetings. He insisted I call him Namjoon, that’s all, Mom.”

Humming, she grabs the kettle just before it begins to whistle. “Still, he’s nice?” she asks, casting you a glance over her shoulder.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, wishing she’d not try to go down this path of questioning. You know she means well, but you’re just…you’re not ready to think about those things.

“He’s nice enough, Mom, I guess. It was just a slip of the tongue. I’m used to greeting him at drop-off in the mornings. It’s not—I don’t, it’s just being cordial, y’know? I’m not ready…” you trail off, hoping your mom picks up on what you’re trying to say so you don’t actually have to say it; not today.

Her free hand goes to her mouth, covering her frown. “Oh, sweetheart, I didn’t mean—you know I’d never, not like that. I’m sorry. Forgive an old fool for her loose words.”

“It’s okay, Mom, really,” you offer with a tight smile as you set the stew on the counter and pop the popsicle you brought for Sujin in the freezer.

She sets down the tea, the cup slightly trembling on the tiny saucer she serves it on. “I made some pajeon to go with the stew. It’s warming in the oven. Are you going to stay for dinner?” she asks, seeing that you need to move on from the previous subject.

You settle on one of the chairs at her small dining table, pick up the tiny teacup, and blow across the surface before taking a tentative sip. The mint is a cooling contrast to the heat of the liquid, coating your throat with a soothing sensation. The blooming sweetness of the honey lingers on your tongue, helping combat the intense punch of the minty flavor. It’s comforting. Reminds you of home.

“I’m not all that hungry. You and Sujin enjoy it. You’re sure you’re okay taking him to school tomorrow?” She gives you a fond smile and nods. “I’ll pick him up on my way home and we’ll come have dinner.”

“That’s fine, sweetheart.”

You finish off the tea, suppressing a grimace as it goes down a little too warm and nearly scalds your throat. The sun will be completely down soon, and you’d like to get to the cemetery before it’s too dark out. “I should get going. Just going to say hi to him real quick.”

Your mom watches you stand. Her eyes are hyper-focused on your face. “Okay, sweetheart,” she says slowly. It’s clear she wants to say more, but you’re glad she doesn’t push.

The room your mom has set up for Sujin has a small bed pushed into one corner, leaving the rest of the space for him to play—unlike his room at your place, which has a writing desk and dresser taking up the majority of the play space. He’s never complained, though, choosing to get creative with the small room he does have. “Hey, buddy, Grandma said you’re painting. Can I see?”

You lean on the door jamb, peering into the room. The easel Sujin is using is angled away from the door. All you can see is smears of bright color peeking around the edge of the canvas.

His bright eyes meet yours as he grins extra wide. “It’s not done yet, but of course you can see it.”

Stepping in and around the easel frame, you take in the canvas covered in paint. When your mom said he was going to paint the salamander, you knew there was a possibility of said ‘lizard’ being portrayed as a dragon as it was in Sujin’s story in the car. But what you didn’t expect were the characters surrounding the dragon. You count them, six in total. The brunette woman at the top of the castle tower is clearly Sujin’s teacher, Mrs. Min. Sujin himself is astride the dragon, and who you think is Namjoon stands in a corner near some trees, his large-frame glasses are what lead you to believe that’s who it is. The other three characters are where you’re a bit lost.

“Who are these people?” you ask, gesturing to the other feminine figure framed by two men; one with unruly black hair and the other with small angel wings extending from his shoulders. It dawns on you the moment you ask.

“That’s you, Daddy, and Uncle Tae, of course,” Sujin proudly states. “You were in the tower with Mrs. Min. I’m rescuing her, and Uncle Tae is rescuing you while Daddy guides him.”

You’re not sure what to say. But you can’t help looking at your son in a different light. He’s only six, but in moments like this, you feel like his soul is older and wiser than yours. “It’s lovely,” you finally say, because it truly is, and everything else you could say would definitely start the waterworks, and there will be enough of that later. “I’ll be back tomorrow to get you. Be good for Grandma. There’s a treat for you in the freezer, but only after dinner, okay?” You feel like you’re running away—and maybe you are, but the darkness creeps in just a little bit further the more you look at his painting.

“Yes, ma’am,” Sujin beams at you sweetly. He lifts his chin, angling a cheek in your direction for a kiss. You plant one there, throwing an arm around his back for a quick squeeze, too. “Love you, Mommy.”

“Love you, too, buddy,” you murmur, shoving down the suffocating feeling bubbling in your chest—just need to make it a few more hours.

💔💔💔

The cemetery is about an hour's drive from your place in the city. Yejun grew up in the countryside, and the columbarium where he’s interred is at the cemetery closest to his and Taehyung’s childhood home. It’s a quiet drive, a typical Tuesday evening if it were any other week. You don’t even bother with music, haven’t in the last two years, preferring to just soak in the quiet and try to center yourself.

As you pull into the parking area outside the gate to the grounds, you spot Taehyung’s black SUV. He’s standing beside it, leaning against the driver's side door with his chin tipped down below the line of the thick scarf wrapped around his neck. Your headlights swing across his vehicle, illuminating him in the process as you park.

You take your time climbing out of your car, casting fleeting glances in his direction while you gather your courage and resolve. He’s wearing a thick grey-colored tweed coat that covers him to the knees, and khaki slacks lead down to shiny brown loafers. His hair is windswept, the fluffy waves moving across his forehead with every gust of chilly air.

“Hey,” you say as you swing open your door and step out. He catches your eye over the roof of your car and gives you a soft smile.

“Good evening. Drive okay?”

You nod. “Not too much traffic, which is always nice.”

“You should have let me come and pick you up.” It’s the same thing he said last year, to which you decline politely just the same as well.

“Thanks, but I enjoy the drive. Gives me time to think.”

His eyes flick over you, taking you in from head to toe. There is understanding clear on his face. “Shall we?” He gestures toward the entrance gate. You notice a small bundle of flowers held in his other hand that’s hanging by his side. “Oh, this is for you.” It surprises you when Taehyung offers you the flowers, having thought he was bringing them to leave in Yejun’s vase.

You take the offered cluster, automatically bringing it to your nose and giving it a delicate sniff. It’s hard to smell the fragrance in the cold, but as you peer down at the flowers and take in the deep purple and soft pink, the scent of lavender and hibiscus filters through as if on a memory. It’s a combination that reminds you painfully of Yejun, as this was always his go-to whenever he would bring you home flowers from the shop after work.

“Thank y—“ your polite words cut off as you hear the distinct crackle of paper as you shift the bundle of flowers between your hands. “What’s this?” you ask, holding the flowers up until you see the small envelope attached to the hemp string holding the bunch together.

“A note,” Taehyung responds slowly as if he’s trying to decide if that’s all he’ll say. “Perhaps wait until we’re settled to read it?”

You finger the crisp fold of parchment, wondering. “Okay, yeah,” you agree, chalking it up to most likely being a grievance note from Taehyung, and it might be awkward for you to read it right now in front of him.

The cemetery typically closes at sundown, but Taehyung has access as the gardener. When he and Yejun took over Taehyung’s parents' floral shop, they expanded the business to include landscaping for local companies and establishments. The cemetery is one such establishment they took on. He produces a key from his pocket, unlocking the small pedestrian gate that must have been locked up not too long ago, judging by the sun barely having dipped below the horizon.

“Moojin left about ten minutes before you pulled up,” Taehyung explains casually, confirming the thought you just had. “It’ll just be us, so we can take as much time as we need.”

Maybe you should feel bad that Taehyung gives you preferential treatment and access to the cemetery after hours, but it’s hard to care about that when other, darker feelings have you clutched so tightly. The walk to the columbarium is relatively short, being one of the newer buildings erected within the grounds just some twenty years ago or so.

“The trees are doing well, even in the winter,” you note, nodding toward the row of young pines along the fence line. It was one of the last projects Yejun worked on with Taehyung before he became ill.

“He’d be able to tell you all the properties of the tree that make it sustainable during this time of the year,” Taehyung responds, his voice carrying notes of sadness. Yejun doesn’t come up much in conversation between the two of you, most things not needing to be said, merely understood without a spoken word. So, it’s surprising and endearing to actually hear Taehyung talk about him, especially now.

You smile, knowing he’s right. “With enough scientific jargon to make you go cross-eyed trying to keep up, too.”

That earns you a soft laugh from Taehyung. “And he wouldn’t even realize it until you’re so lost you can’t even pretend to have understood.”

“I miss that,” you whisper with a sigh, your warm breath misting lightly in the cold.

Taehyung slips his arm through yours, hooking his elbow around the crook of your arm. “Me, too.”

💔💔💔

Taehyung

It’s never easy, watching the way you suffer through your emotions. Taehyung knows you try to hide them, and sometimes you’re successful. But others…like right now, he can read you as clear as a bright spring sky. Only instead of pastel blues, pinks, and yellows, you’re a stark monochrome of Pantone grey. Just as clear, but decidedly less alive. He hates it. Knowing just how vibrant of a person you once were. When Yejun left your life, so, too, did the color, it seems. Leeched away with the slow death of your husband. It’s a cruel fate, Taehyung has decided, and it’s one you never deserved. Yejun also knew this. He saw this in the way you mourned at his bedside, even before he was gone. It’s why Yejun made Taehyung promise to take care of you, to never let you forget how to smile.

As more time passes, Taehyung isn’t sure whether or not he’s done a good job by Yejun’s request. Not when the dark circles around your eyes seem to get more permanent every time Taehyung sees you. It’s why he brought the letter—the next letter. He’s curious if you remember the first one, the one that came the day of Yejun’s funeral; the one that had you crawling into Taehyung’s arms for the first time, seeking the comfort you knew was there.

That’s happened a few times in the two years since Yejun now. Any time you begin to fray at the edges and unravel a bit too quickly, Taehyung’s been there, weaving you back together the best he can. It might not be pretty, but a patchwork quilt is better than shredded rags, he likes to think. He hopes, at least.

“Are you warm enough?” Taehyung asks, realizing your arm is trembling around his. The jacket you’re wearing is far too thin, meant more for warding off spring rain showers than winter chills. Your lips are formed into a thin, bloodless line as if you’re trying to keep your teeth from chattering, and your brow is pinched.

The lift of your shoulder is subtle, dismissive and nonchalant. “I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not. Here,” Taehyung insists, pulling you to a halt on the walking path. “Take this.” He shrugs out of his jacket, draping it over the thinner trench you’re wearing over your sweater. You instantly relax, a soft sigh misting the air in front of your mouth.

“Thank you. I forget how cold it gets out here at night,” you mumble, encouraging Taehyung to continue walking toward the entrance to the columbarium, where Yejun’s memorial awaits. “Are you sure you’ll be okay without it?” Your eyes are round and glassy when you look up at him, the moonlight overhead reflecting in their depths.

The thick sweater Taehyung has on paired with his wool scarf is enough to stave off the wintery bite, but what warms him the most is seeing your eyes flash with a brief flicker of life when you snuggle into the depths of his jacket, bringing the tweed collar up around your neck after he assures you he’s fine without it.

Your feet shuffle, your stride slowing as you approach the columbarium. Taehyung can feel your hesitancy. The air around you is suffocating and full of static, something Taehyung wants desperately to help dispel.

“Come on. Together.” Taehyung offers you his hand, splaying his fingers wide in invitation. You lick your lips, eyes flicking between Taehyung’s face and his offered hand. Finally, you sag a little and slip your fingers in between his.

Your hand is soft and delicate in his. Taehyung has always admired your ability as an artist, being able to take your hands and a simple tool like a paintbrush and create something profound and breathtaking. Some might argue that what Taehyung does is also a form of art, but he swears it’s nothing compared to the pure magic you create. He’s found himself under your spell more than once, entranced by your art.

Even the works you’ve created in the last two years, the things you keep hidden away in your studio, are still quite beautiful—if more haunted. Taehyung knows you’re not selling any art and you haven’t hosted a gallery night in almost three years now. The few times he’s been inside your studio since Yejun, you’ve indulged his curiosity and let him look at the things you’ve worked on.

Taehyung cherishes those private moments you allow him within your space. He uses them as a time to reflect on what life has brought to you and to him. You have a shared experience of losing someone, but it’s clear you’re both working through your pain differently. Your studio, once a bright and vibrant space filled with inspiration and captured moments of love, is now more of a tomb, silent and full of the whisper of death.

Taehyung eases open the door to the columbarium. The motion-activated lights within flicker on and fill the space with a soft yellow glow. It’s better than the typical fluorescent white lights they used to use. Taehyung thinks the bright, sterile lighting is far too reminiscent of a morgue or hospital, not exactly places people should be reminded of when coming to visit their dead loved ones. So, he suggested the change when he took over doing the gardening for the cemetery.

Yejun’s niche is towards the back of the space, near the bottom. You separate yourself from Taehyung, letting the bundle of flowers droop upside down in your hand as you step lightly across the floor. You look like a specter, gliding across holy ground in search of what’s keeping you tied to this plane of existence. In many ways, Taehyung thinks that’s precisely what is happening with you. You’re suspended in time, stuck in a limbo of heartache.

In the two years since Yejun, you haven’t been able to move on, even though that’s exactly what Yejun wanted you to do. Yejun never wanted you to mourn him for long. He told Taehyung there was far too much love for you to give, and you had a heart big enough to love someone else while still holding true to Yejun. What Yejun failed to realize, Taehyung thinks, is that without Yejun, you didn’t want to love again.

Taehyung holds back a few steps, giving you some time to have a private moment as you kneel down in front of Yejun’s niche. The placard covering the niche is engraved with his name, birth and death dates, and a small metal frame that holds a glass engraved likeness of Yejun. It pains Taehyung to see the smiling face and crinkled eyes behind his wireframed glasses. Yejun was his brother in all ways, except for being born to the same parents. That didn’t matter to them, though—still doesn’t matter to Taehyung. They love—loved—each other just as fiercely as if they had been.

“Yejun,” you whimper his name, pressing a hand to the placard, head hanging low. Taehyung watches your shoulders shake with silent sobs, and he can’t take it anymore. He moves across the space and kneels down beside you, ignoring the cold that instantly leeches through the knees of his trousers. Before he can think better of it, he has his arms around you, trying to hold you together…trying to keep your seams from unraveling too fast.

Taehyung coos softly, murmuring as many words of encouragement and solace as can work past his quivering lips, “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. It’s going to be okay. I promise. He loved you so fiercely. I miss him, too. I’m here for you. Shh, it’s going to be okay.” Over and over again, Taehyung repeats it like a mantra until your sniffles subside, and you slump into his arms, feebly returning his embrace.

Feeling your arms around him is a comfort, one that helps him keep his own tears in check. “Thank you for being here,” you sniff before burying your face in his scarf and inhaling deeply.

“I’m always going to be here for you,” Taehyung offers, smoothing a hand over your hair in what he hopes is a soothing fashion. He watched Yejun console you enough times to have a good idea of what might help. After Sujin was born, you battled postpartum depression for a while, and Taehyung helped wherever he could, giving him those brief glimpses into your emotional turmoil. Yejun always petted your hair and let you ground yourself in his embrace. He never even had to say a word; just let you draw on his strength. So, Taehyung has always tried to emulate that for you whenever you’ve needed him.

You sigh, and Taehyung reluctantly lets you pull away to sit back on your heels. “I’m such a mess. I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Taehyung says, capturing the side of your face in one of his hands. You sway on your knees; big, round, red-rimmed eyes locked onto his. “Never apologize to me. You’re human, not a mess. Okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper, lips barely moving. You slowly turn, sitting with your back against Yejun’s niche.

“Okay,” Taehyung repeats, and settles in beside you. He barely notices the cold this time as it seeps through the seat of his pants. There are far too many fierce emotions rolling through him to be bothered by the chill.

“Is it okay if I read this now?” you ask after several moments of shared silence.

Taehyung looks over at you, fingering the small envelope attached to the bundle of fresh flowers he brought. He swallows past the thick knot in his throat, worried about you reading it but knowing you need to. Perhaps it’ll be best read when he’s around and not in the solitude of your apartment where you could fall apart without someone there to catch you; Taehyung knows Sujin is staying at your mother’s tonight.

He clears his throat. “Uh, sure, yeah.”

“They really are beautiful,” you say, voice so soft it barely carries to Taehyung. You admire the flowers for a moment, and the anxiety Taehyung had earlier in the shop when he was wrapping them goes away. He was worried that he got the flowers wrong. He knew Yejun always brought you fresh flowers, different types for different occasions. Yejun was all about the spiritual and emotional meaning of flowers, something that Taehyung hardly paid any mind to until after.

Finally, you tug the end of the string that attaches the envelope to the flowers, and you set them to the side. The flap is tucked into the envelope, so you slide it out and remove the tri-folded parchment from within. It looks the same as it did the day Yejun gave it to Taehyung a few weeks before he died. It’s the same as all the other letters waiting in a box under Taehyung’s bed—waiting for the right moment, waiting for you.

“If you need a moment—” Taehyung begins to say, but you hold up a hand to silence him. Slowly, you unfold the paper and smooth it over your thighs. Your eyes flick over the paper, snatching on random words until they hit the name signed at the bottom.

“What is this?” you whisper, yet your voice cuts like steel. “Is this a cruel joke?” You hold the paper up for Taehyung to see. At the top, it reads ‘For if you haven’t moved on’. Taehyung can understand why you might think so.

“N-no. It’s…there’s…” Taehyung pauses and takes a deep breath before trying again. “It’s not a joke. It’s from Yejun.” The look of hurt that ghosts across your face brings a prickling heat behind Taehyung's eyes, and he has to blink them several times to hold his emotions at bay as he explains. “The letter I gave you after the funeral?” He waits until you give him a subtle nod. “This is another he gave me…along with many others.”

“Many others?” you ask, incredulity seeping into your tone.

“He wanted to leave you something, something more than just your memories and heartache. So, he spent a few weeks, before he got bad, writing letters to you. He gave them to me and made me promise I’d give them to you when the time was right. This one—” Taehyung nods toward the letter held between your fingers “—was one I wasn’t sure if I’d have to give you or not. It was one Yejun specifically said to only give you if…well, if you hadn’t started living life again.”

“Hadn’t started living life again?” You balk at that, rearing back from him with an angry look pinching your face.

Taehyung feels like he’s botching this, not explaining it properly to you or something. “Just, just please read it.” Taehyung has no idea what the letter says. He never wanted to invade Yejun’s and your privacy. He’s hoping, though, that maybe the letter might hold some key information to help you understand…to help ease your anger in a way that Taehyung’s words can’t seem to.

You stare at Taehyung for a moment, and he’s certain you’re about to spit in his face and leave him sitting here alone. But, you finally shake your head and sigh, settling back into place and focusing on the paper. Taehyung is sorely tempted to try and read over your shoulder, but he doesn’t want to further your ire. So, he slides a few inches away, opening up a wide, cold gap between the two of you…and waits.

💔💔💔

To the love of my life, For if you haven’t moved on Hi, baby. I hope this is a letter Tae never has to give you, but if you’re reading this, then that means we’re not doing so well. I say ‘we’, because I’m still there with you. Just like I promised in my other letter. I told Tae to use his discretion on whether to ever give you this or not. He knows you nearly as well as I do, so I trust him. So, if you ever read this, know he doesn’t mean any harm by it…I don’t mean any harm by it. But, baby, you gotta start living again. At this point, I don’t know how much time will have passed since I had to go away, but I do know you can’t let much more time pass. I need you to live, my love. Live for me, live for Sujin…live for yourself. No more standing by while the world continues to spin, you have to spin with it, baby, let it carry you away, and on to better days. Please. Find something that makes you laugh, find something that makes you smile…even if it’s a someone. I know you’ll always love me. There is no doubt about that. But, don’t let that love stop you from living. Let someone in, let someone help…love again, for me. Show the world that it can’t tear you down. Go on a date, go skydiving, go to one of those fancy art galleries in Italy you used to fantasize about…just go, baby. Go and do, and be free. Don’t be afraid…please, don’t be afraid to live. Love forever, Your Yejun

The memory of the other letter, albeit a bit fuzzy, drifts through your mind as you sit and try to come to terms with how you feel at this moment. You absently trace the neat scrawl of Yejun’s handwriting covering the page. Don’t be afraid. Are you afraid? Is that it? You’ve never thought of it like that, in terms of being afraid to live. But, if you think about it, you suppose that’s the root of it. You are afraid. Afraid of moving on. What if you do find happiness? What if you do find someone else? Yejun is clear that he’s confident you’ll never forget him, but what if you do?

You don’t want to be sitting somewhere thirty years from now, with your head thrown back, laughing at the joke from some other guy, with Yejun having not crossed your mind in years. It’s not that you don’t want to be happy. You just…you don’t know.

Taehyung is sitting so quietly beside you that if you closed your eyes, you’d think you were alone. Guilt pricks against your heart at how badly you first reacted, the harsh tone and words you lashed at Taehyung where he didn’t deserve it. You clear your throat, drawing the flicker of Taehyung’s eyes in your direction.

“I’m sorry, Tae. I really am. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.” The words are thick on your tongue as you work through the emotions threatening to obliterate your existence. You think you might cry, but give yourself an imaginary pat on the back when you manage to maintain eye contact with Taehyung while successfully blinking back the tears.

Taehyung is quiet for a moment, a muscle in his jaw working, flexing the dark stubble you can see shadowing along his jawline. It’s in this moment that you feel like you see Taehyung in a new light, with added clarity. He looks haggard, tired. You didn’t notice it before, the sunken circles around his eyes or the lack of a clean shave…until now. It’s not fair, you realize, that he has taken care of you so much the last two years when you haven’t even so much as bothered to check on how he is doing.

You’re just about to break the silence with another feeble apology when he smiles, it’s faint, but it’s there. “You don’t need to apologize to me. Yejun and I might have shared a different kind of bond than what you two had, but I have at least an inkling of the keen sting you’re feeling, the one that never quite goes away no matter what you do.” He brings a hand up and presses it to the center of his chest. “The one that slices a little deeper after the sun goes down and everyone else has gone about their lives.”

Chilled goosebumps pop up along your arms, despite the warmth from the added layer of Taehyung’s jacket. That is exactly what it feels like, a lingering sting that won’t go away, one that grows when you’re alone.

You lick your trembling lips, tearing your gaze away from his and focusing back on the letter clutched in your hand. “Yejun,” you whisper. “He—he wants…he wants me to move on.” A soft sob catches in your throat. “But, I can’t do that. How can I do that?”

Your shoulders heave as the emotions you were able to hold at bay before come crashing through the walls you managed to put up. It’s not like the weeping from earlier. That was simply the quiet cries of a mourning wife. This is bone-deep, soul-rending agony that shakes your entire body.

Taehyung pulls you into his arms, and you press your face into the cushioning of his scarf and scream. The sound is muffled, but you can still hear it echoing through the columbarium when all the air finally empties from your lungs. You try to replenish the air, sucking in stilted breaths, but it’s not enough. Panic ensues, your heart launching into a heavy, staccato rhythm as if trying to pound right out of your chest.

“Hey, hey,” Taehyung soothes. “Slow down. Try to breathe slowly.” He pulls you firmly into his lap. You’re heedless to the intimate position your body falls into with your knees on either side of his hips. All you care about is getting air into your lungs. Taehyung holds you by the face, angling yours so you look up into his worried eyes. “Come on, slow. In…out…like that, come on, another one. In and then out.” He breathes with you, exaggerating the way he inhales air through his nose and pushes it back out through his mouth.

His warm breath puffs across your face with each exhale, carrying with it the faintest sharp tinge of mint and the earthy tones of tea. Something that instantly makes you think of home. It helps bring you back to reality, slowing your rampaging heart, and subsiding your shuddering cries.

“I can’t do it,” you mumble.

“You can. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

“No, no. You don’t—I can’t. It’s…it’s cold in here,” you whisper, pressing a trembling hand over your heart. “No one wants that.”

A soft, sad smile forms on Taehyung’s face as he continues to stare down at you. “Good thing that I know a thing or two about keeping things warm.” He drops his hands from your face and grabs the lapels of his jacket that’s still draped over your shoulders and gives it a tug, pulling it tighter around you. You can’t help but smile, even if it’s a watery one.

“What would I do without you?” you ask, not expecting Taehyung to answer.

“You’d make it.” He sounds so sure. “I know you would, you’d do it. But, I am glad to be here, to help however I can.”

Taehyung doesn’t urge you off of his lap, just allows you to rest there with your cheek pressed over his softly beating heart, finding whatever comfort you can from the proximity of another source of warmth. His words linger there, filling the space between you with a comfortability that you know you’ll never find anywhere else. You don’t say anything else, as there isn’t much else to say. At least, not words you think you could say out loud. Not here, not now.

But, an hour later, as you’re driving home, you decide to try. So, you do something you haven’t done in a while and turn on the radio, letting the music fill the silence from before. It’s a small step, but a step nonetheless; the first of—you hope—many.

The next morning, with the light of a new day spilling through the gap between your bedroom curtains, you decide you feel…good. As you lay in bed last night, full of revelations about how you’re going to start making steps toward Yejun’s desire for you to be happy again, worry began to set in. Worry over whether or not you can do this. Now, though, you feel decidedly different—light, in a way—as you push back the blankets and climb out of bed.

With your mom having taken Sujin to school this morning, it afforded you some time to sleep in, which is something you haven’t done in years. You weren’t sure you were going to, considering how poorly you’ve been sleeping the last couple of years. It feels nice, stretching your arms over your head and not feeling as groggy for once.

There is one thing you want to do before heading to the studio, where you know you’ll probably just piddle around until it’s time to pick up Sujin, but it’s just baby steps for now. It’s not lost on you that your work, the art you create, no matter if you manage to move on or not, might still be something that you’re never able to recover. Yejun wasn’t far off when he joked about being your one true muse, but you try to remain hopeful that you can surprise yourself.

The box in the back of the closet is exactly where you left it almost two years ago. It holds some of your most treasured possessions. Things you’ve held on to dating back as far as your teen years and as recent as two years ago. You kneel in the bottom of your closet and slide the box out from behind the stack of empty shoe boxes you can’t seem to toss out.

It’s a bit faded, the blue exterior, once a brilliant navy, is now more denim in color. You’ve had the box since you were a child, given to you by your father the summer before he split from your mom. That really hurt your family, when he cut himself out of the picture without so much as an apology; he ran off with another woman. It was so hard for you to believe in love after that.

Lifting the small silvered latch, you ease open the box lid and sigh as your eyes land on the folded paper nestled on top. Yejun’s first letter. It’s the last thing you put in this box. The paper still feels crisp in your fingers as you delicately pluck it out and unfold it. You worry at your bottom lip a moment before letting your eyes devour the same words you read once before.

This time, they don’t hurt nearly as much. You still feel that piercing ache, but it’s accompanied by another, fresher feeling—one of hope. What stands out the most, now, though, is the confirmation that there are other letters waiting for you. Yejun says as much himself in this letter, you just hadn’t ever put the dots together, too distracted in your grief.

There are endless possibilities for what those other letters might be for. But, what’s clear is that you won't get another one until you do something to deserve it. Knowing Yejun, you have a few ideas of what those things might be. There is a thrill but also a sense of trepidation as you think about that. You want to move on and be happy again, and in doing so, you know you’ll get the other letters, but there’s also that sense of overwhelming dread.

Where do you begin?

You spent most of your day rearranging and organizing supplies at the studio. But, now that the sun is beyond its zenith and casting longer shadows across your paint-marked studio floor, you feel like you’ve done nothing but waste time. You still haven’t decided where to begin with Yejun’s letters and you’re no closer to coming up with an idea for your next project either.

With frustration coloring your thoughts, you lock up and welcome the reprieve of going and picking Sujin up from school. That’s one part of your life that you do know up from down with.

As you pull through the pick up line, you don’t see Sujin anywhere out front. You spot Mrs. Min ushering a few students to their cars, her friendly face sporting a smile as she does so. Her eye catches yours and she holds up a hand, rushing over to your passenger side window.

“Hi!” she says when you roll it down. “So glad I caught you before you waited too long. Sujin volunteered to help Mr. Kim with his terrarium and it’s taking a bit longer than expected. He should be out in the next fifteen minutes or so, feel free to park in the teacher’s lot or you can wait here if you’d like.”

“Mrs. Min!” a rambunctious gaggle of students call her name, requesting her assistance.

She gives you an apologetic look. “Sorry, duty calls. He shouldn’t be too long!” she calls over her shoulder as she jogs towards the cluster of students beckoning her over. One of the kids has what appears to be a large diorama that they’re having a hard time carrying to their car, even with the assistance of their friends.

“Well, great,” you mumble to yourself, checking your rearview mirror and seeing a long line of cars waiting behind you.

Pulling ahead, you slip around the side of the school and pull into one of the empty teacher spots and cut the engine. You haven’t been inside the school since the parent-teacher meeting at the beginning of the year, so it wouldn’t hurt if you went inside now, it would give you a chance to peek into Sujin’s classrooms and see what he’s been up to. If it’s one thing he loves, it’s learning.

Mr. Kim and Mrs. Min have adjoining classrooms at the end of the hall for Sujin’s grade, a storage and supply closet connecting the two rooms. The door to Mrs. Min’s room is closed but the light is still on inside. You take a quick peek through the view window on the door and see colorful drawings and paper projects hanging on the wall, books scattered across a few tables, and a large container of art supplies opened on her desk. She teaches English, Reading, Art, and History while Namjoon covers Math and Science.

The gym teacher, Mr. Jeon, startles you as he breezes through the double doors at the end of the hall that lead out to the playground. “Oh, hey! Sujin, your mom is here!” he calls, stepping back and propping the door open with the heel of his sneaker.

“Mom!” you hear Sujin’s voice sound from through the open door. “You gotta come see this!”

Mr. Jeon holds the door open for you, his face lit with a pleasant smile. “A future scientist, I’d bet,” Mr. Jeon stage-whispers as you pass him and that makes your own smile blossom further.

“What’s going on, buddy?” you ask, taking in the scene before you.

Namjoon is crouched down beside Sujin, helping him sort through a collection of rocks spread out on a sheet of plastic. There are dozens of them, all various shapes and colors.

Sujin excitedly points out a few of the large rocks. “These would be perfect to create a hiding space!” he loudly proclaims before turning his bright eyes up to you. “Mr. Kim is letting me help him choose the rocks to go into the terrarium. We’re going to get our very own class salamander! Isn’t that cool, Mom? A class dragon!”

A soft chuckle comes from Namjoon as he pivots on his heels and squints up at you, the sun catching on the thick-framed glasses that are slipping down his nose. “We had so much fun yesterday talking about the salamander that was brought into Mrs. Min’s class that I couldn’t resist. I’ve had this old aquarium sitting in my garage for years, it just seems perfect.”

“Wow, yeah, that’s really cool.”

“Sorry for keeping him,” Namjoon suddenly stands, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking contrite. “I didn’t realize the bell had rung until Jungkook said something.” He turns to Sujin who is happily stacking a few of the smaller rocks into a pile. “I think that’s all for today, Sujin. We’ll finish it up tomorrow during class.”

Sujin frowns, his warm brown eyes flicking to Namjoon. “Okay,” he sighs.

“I tell you what, for all your hard work today, how about I let you be creative director during assembly tomorrow? Does that sound okay?”

The frown is quickly replaced with another excited smile. Sujin gives a whoop of delight and slaps his hands together before dusting them off. “Thank you, Mr. Kim, that sounds amazing!”

Seeing the interaction between Namjoon and Sujin gives you an idea, one that you hope you won’t regret. “Go grab your backpack, buddy, I’ll meet you outside Mrs. Min’s room in a second.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Sujin pulls open the door and scampers through, his sneakers squeaking on the tiled floor as he skips down the hall.

“Thank you for that, Namjoon, really. He was so excited about what happened yesterday and now this? He’s been wanting a turtle for a year now, so this will be a good test on whether or not we should get one.”

Namjoon pulls one of his hands out of his pocket and grips the back of his neck as he smiles shyly, his cheeks pinking slightly. “He’s a great kid, loves to learn. Though, turtles are a bit more needy than salamanders. It would also depend on the type of turtle. The standard box turtles are…” Namjoon trails off, his brow pinching as he throws furtive glances your way. “Sorry, you didn’t ask for a science lesson.”

That makes you laugh, which seems to ease the awkward tension in Namjoon. “Sujin isn’t the only one that likes learning.” You don’t intend the words to sound flirty, but they come out that way and you can distinctly tell that Namjoon keys into that.

“Yeah?” he asks, the shyness leeching away by the second.

“Um, yeah. Er, well, I should—” you jerk your thumb over your shoulder toward the door “—Sujin is probably waiting.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” Namjoon sidesteps over the plastic sheet of rocks and fumbles with the door handle before yanking it open. “Have a good—”

“Are you free Friday night?” you blurt, wincing at the rudeness of interrupting him but knowing if you don’t ask now then you’ll lose your nerve.

“Friday?” he parrots back, eyes wide behind his glasses.

Panic slices through and you immediately want to take it back. “Sorry, that was—I didn’t, it’s not appropriate is it? I’m so sor—”

“I’m free,” he states, the words silencing your backpedaling.

“Oh.” Now that he’s confirmed, you’re not sure what else to say. It’s been so long since you’ve done this.

“Is there something you wanted to do?” Namjoon asks hesitantly, clearly picking up on your trepidation.

You swallow around the choking feeling in your throat, the one that’s ingrained with the idea that you’re still married and still madly in love with another man and this is akin to cheating. “Maybe dinner? Or a late coffee? Um, or…I’m sorry, it’s been so long since I’ve done this.”

Namjoon gives you an easy smile. “Dinner sounds great. Let’s say, seven?”

“Seven is good. How about that new pizza place that opened up near the park, do you know the one?”

“I’ve had my eye on that place for weeks! That sounds perfect.”

Are you really going on a date…with Sujin’s Science teacher? “Okay,” you say, chewing the inside of your cheek as you take a few steps down the hall. “Great.”

“Great,” Namjoon confirms with a smile, his deep dimples making an appearance. “See you then.”

All you can do is nod, not trusting yourself with any more words with the influx of emotions now swirling through you. Sujin bursts through Mrs. Min’s door, his backpack and lunchbox in tow.

“Let’s go!” he trumpets, thrusting his free hand into the air in a fist. “I’ve got some homework to do before I can work on my diagram for the terrarium!”

Namjoon’s soft chuckle carries to you from down the hall as you usher Sujin towards the exit. You can’t help casting one last glance behind you, taking in the way he’s lazily leaning against the doorframe of his classroom. He’s quite handsome, there’s no arguing that.

A giddy feeling adds itself to the uncertain emotions rolling through you. A fluttering in your tummy that you haven’t felt in over seven years. You can’t help but wonder, as you load Sujin into the car, if this is really what Yejun wants for you or are you making a mistake?

💔💔💔

Taehyung

It’s a weird sensation when you expect to feel one emotion but end up feeling another. That’s what Taehyung thinks anyway, as he reads the text message he received from you for the dozenth time. You have a date. With Namjoon.

Taehyung has never met the quirky Science teacher, but he’s heard plenty of stories about him from Sujin. Charming, educated, and completely and utterly perfect for you. And that should make Taehyung happy. Yet, all he can feel is mild annoyance when he thinks about Namjoon sitting across from you at a dinner table making you laugh and smile.

He wants to chalk it up to being overprotective in a brotherly sort of way, but Taehyung knows better. It’s no secret—well maybe it is to you—that Taehyung cares for you deeply. Even before Yejun, Taehyung always had a soft spot for his best friend’s wife. Something that he drunkenly confessed to Yejun once a few years ago. Yejun took it goodnaturedly, something that Taehyung still thinks about to this day, and simply told Taehyung he understood the attraction because hell, who could blame him?

They never talked about it again, until the day Yejun asked Taehyung to take care of you and Sujin—the day he was given a box of letters addressed to you. Yejun had given Taehyung a knowing smile and said something along the lines of fate knowing and that’s why Taehyung already had so much love for you.

He wasn’t sure, at first, if Yejun had ever shared Taehyung’s little secret with you. But, as time went on, it was clear that he hadn’t. That, or, so lost in your grief, you’ve been keenly uninterested in that prospect. But, now, you’re going on a date and Taehyung doesn’t know how to feel about it.

The twinge of jealousy in his chest doesn’t sit right with him. He has no right to feel this way. It’s just something that he can’t seem to shake, hasn’t been able to since you told him about it two days ago. So, instead of expressing that, he forces himself to try and share in your joy.

That’s great. Let me know when you’re home, I have something for you.

A letter perhaps??

Your eager reply makes him smile despite himself. If anything, that helps his mood to improve. The ‘first date’ letter is already sitting on his counter, waiting.

Perhaps. Now stop texting me and go have fun.

There is no reply to that. So, Taehyung waits patiently, phone in hand. Hours pass in a mindless, sluggish way. He’s far too wound up to do anything productive but also has nervous energy that needs to be released. So, Taehyung spends the four hours it takes for you to finally respond by squeaking out haphazard notes on the alto saxophone he’s taken to trying to learn to play.

His phone lights up where it sits on the coffee table and he nearly drops the instrument in his haste to snatch up the device.

I’m home.

That’s all it says and it makes Taehyung frown. Not that he expected you to tell him how the date went over text message, but he was anticipating something more than just those two words. He is startled to realize just how late it is, though, being past eleven already.

Is it too late? I can always just swing by tomorrow.

Sujin is staying with mom. It’s not too late.

Taehyung is contemplating his reply when another text from you pops up that makes him drop everything else and grab his car keys, not caring it’ll be close to midnight by the time he pulls up outside your apartment. It was a knee-jerk reaction to also grab the letter that was sitting beside his keys, but now he’s thinking about whether or not it’s a good idea.

Those thoughts quickly fade as he focuses on the road, intent on reaching your apartment in record time. His phone sits on the passenger seat, still open to your text thread, the single word might as well be an alarm blaring to Taehyung, urging him on faster.

Please.

💔💔💔

As soon as you send the last text message you want to take it back. Not only do you feel whiny, but you know Taehyung will drop everything and come over which makes you feel terrible and like you’re using him.

But, fuck. The date was so horrible all you want to do is crawl into familiar, comforting arms and cry yourself to sleep. You’re about to pour your third glass of wine when there is a sudden knock on the door, followed by it swinging open. Taehyung stands there with your spare key in his hand, eyes wide with concern.

“Are you okay?” he asks, breathless as he clearly sprinted up the stairs to get here and now you feel infinitely worse for it.

You shake your head which earns you a pained sound from Taehyung but you hold up your hand, silencing him. “I’m not shaking my head no as in no I’m not fine, it’s more a I’m such a fool head shake. I’m sorry, Tae. I’m fine. I shouldn’t have said anything, I just—”

“I’m glad you said something. What happened? Do I need to go pay a certain science teacher a visit?” For all his bravado, you know he wouldn’t hesitate if you said yes.

“No, no. It’s not his fault. Well, not entirely. Look, I’m sorry you drove all the way over here.” You discard the empty wine glass in favor of taking a large glug directly from the bottle.

“Hey, hey,” Taehyung says, deftly taking the bottle from your hands before you have the chance to take a second gulp from it. “Stop apologizing and tell me what’s wrong.”

“It was a fucking disaster.”

If Taehyung is surprised by your cussing, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he stills beside you, brow slowly pinching and forming deep furrows between them. “Did he hurt you?” he whispers, but his tone is cold and hard. “I’ll kill him.”

“What? What, oh no, Tae, no. He didn’t hurt me, god no.” You sigh, propping your hip against the lip of the counter and wrapping your arms around your middle. “He was lovely, actually. I was the disaster. Or maybe we were. I don’t know, it was just a terrible night. A terrible idea.”

“Talk to me about it,” Taehyung encourages, his hands landing lightly on your shoulders to steer you toward the couch in the living room.

So, you spend the next hour recounting all the horrid details for him. Everything from the way Namjoon wouldn’t stop talking about rocks and mineralized dirt to the way he tried to kiss you at the end of the night only for you to duck and him to lose his balance, effectively making him face plant into the brick wall of your apartment building.

“See, it was a terrible idea,” you lament, letting out a frustrated sigh.

Taehyung hums softly. “It doesn’t sound like a complete disaster to me. Namjoon was polite, even if he did nothing but talk about his own interests. Did you try changing the subject, or did he ask about you and you gave a dismissive answer?” You give Taehyung an annoyed look. “I’m just saying, you have the tendency to avoid things like that. So, it’s only meant as a means to try and understand. Maybe it can be better next time.”

“There won’t be a next time.” You throw up your hands in defeat. “He said he had a lovely time, but I could see it plain on his face, he was just trying to be nice. He left with a bloody napkin pressed against his mouth for crying out loud!”

“Well, maybe he really—”

“But, most of all,” you continue, speaking over Taehyung, “I didn’t have a good time. I don’t want to do it again. It didn’t make me happy.”

That seems to subdue Taehyung. “Oh,” he says, nodding slowly. “Well, okay, that’s different.”

“I’m broken, defective.”

Taehyung scoffs, giving you a withering look a moment before dragging you into his arms, squeezing you tightly. “You’re not defective. You’re human. All this proves is that maybe the science teacher isn’t the guy for you. Simply just a lack of…chemistry.”

You can’t help but laugh at his bad joke. “You’re terrible,” you say in a lighter tone, meant to tease more than chastise. “But, you’re right, I guess. I just…this was the first date I’ve been on in a long time and it all went so horribly. It’s hard not to think that I somehow messed up, that I’m just…not right, just broken, y’know?” Taehyung’s eyes are soft as you look up at him, trying hard not to let yourself grow too accustomed to the comforting feel of his arms around your shoulders.

“You are perfect, most certainly not broken,” he whispers. You watch from beneath your lashes as a small crease etches across his forehead and you can tell he’s warring with himself over something before he slowly presses a soft kiss against the side of your head. “You just have to give yourself grace. I’m proud of you.” As he says that last part, he gently pulls back, hands resting on your shoulders. His right hand trails down your arm and you feel the soft caress of paper against the back of your hand. “Yejun would be proud of you, too, taking as big of a step as you have, I just know it.”

The envelope is small, but you instantly recognize the shape and feel of the paper. It’s just like the one you got earlier this week—like the one from two years ago. “Should I wait to read it?” you ask, not really expecting an answer.

“I’ll leave if you’d like some privacy.”

And in that moment you realize that’s the last thing you want. “No, please stay. Umm, that is, unless you have something to do.” It’s after midnight, the sour twist of jealousy rears as you think of everything that could possibly take Taehyung away at this hour. You tamp it down, knowing you have no right to keep him here, regardless. “I’m okay, I promise.”

Taehyung’s lip twitches as you wait for him to answer. He shakes his head. “No, I have nothing else to do. I can’t promise I won’t end up crashing on your couch, though,” he says, stifling a yawn in his elbow before lacing his fingers behind his head and stretching out. “I’m here as long as you need me.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, grabbing a blanket from the back of the couch and spreading it out over Taehyung’s legs before curling up on the opposite end of the couch. Taehyung shifts around the blanket with his feet, making sure the other end covers your legs as well.

“Don’t have to thank me,” he sighs sleepily. “I just want to make you happy.”

You’re not sure if he misspoke, because surely he meant only that he wants to see you happy. Because, as it is, him saying he wants to make you happy…well, that does something funny to you. Though, you can probably blame that on the terrible date with Namjoon or the half a bottle of wine you drank. Either way, you can’t help but smile as you look at Taehyung laying on the other end of your couch, eyes closed, and chest rising and falling with deep, even breathing.

You take a moment, running back over the date with Namjoon in your head, fingers idly moving along the edge of the envelope. It started out so nicely, Namjoon standing outside your apartment with a bouquet of flowers. They made your nose itch and your eyes water a bit from how overly fragrant they were—clearly some mass grown clippings from a supermarket—but you smiled anyway, appreciating the gesture.

Dinner was lovely, the new restaurant proving to be worth the drive and money spent. It’s perhaps your own fault for thinking Namjoon might pay for the meal and it didn’t hurt you any to pay for your own, but it felt oddly…impersonal? Less like a date and more like a business meeting or something. You’re not too old to be naive in the sense that women are just as capable of paying for dinner as men, as well as the fact that men shouldn’t hold the complete burden of expense on dates. It’s just…it was unusual and he didn’t even bring it up, simply told the waiter to split the check before it was brought.

It’s not helped by the fact that Namjoon wouldn’t stop talking about work or soil deposits. And perhaps Taehyung was at least half right in the fact that you didn’t put forth a lot of effort to change the subject, but the way you see it, if Namjoon was interested in knowing about you, he would have asked. Though, is that expecting too much? Are you being too harsh? Maybe you’re projecting and Namjoon really wasn’t that bad.

Before you can continue to spiral any further, you force your thoughts to the letter in your hand. Hoping it’ll put your ill heart at ease, you extract the folded parchment and smooth it out.

To the love of my life, For after your first date Hi, baby. First, I want to say that I love you. Second, I hope he at least made you smile. If he didn’t bring you flowers or even those cheap ones from the supermarket, don’t think too much of it. I’ll let you in on a little guy secret, not all of us are well versed on flora and even less so on women. Even if it didn’t go so well, though I hope it did, you can’t give up. Go on another date, with the same person or someone else, you just can’t stop now. Take as many adventures as you can, do something spontaneous. You never did take that dance class you wanted to a few years ago. Paint, travel, explore the world. Take Sujin to places we never got to go. Just don’t stop, keep turning, even if it’s slowly. I’m so proud of you, you know? No matter what, I know you’re going to be okay. You’re going to make it. I can’t wait to see all you do. You’re going to be wonderful. You’re amazing, keep shining, baby. I love you so much. Forever With You, Your Yejun

Tucking the letter against your heart, you snuggle down in the couch, mind racing. You feel lighter somehow, like Yejun’s words have given you far more affirmation than you thought possible. The terrible date doesn’t seem so disastrous now.

“You okay?”

You startle at the soft question, thinking Taehyung was fast asleep. His eyes are barely cracked open, peering at you over his bent, blanket-covered knees.

“Mm, yeah. I think so,” you say after clearing your throat.

“Good…good,” Taehyung murmurs, his eyes falling shut once more.

“Hey, Tae?”

“Hmm?” His eyebrows raise but he doesn’t open his eyes. You take a moment to truly see him, the soft light from the stand lamp on the other side of the room illuminating him in profile. The soft curve of his cheek, the delicate slope of his nose, and the pouty bow of his lips aren’t new features, but you’re not sure you’ve ever truly paid attention to how breathtakingly handsome he is.

“Will you help me?”

Taehyung’s lips twitch as a mild frown turns down his lips. “Help you?”

“With whatever comes next.”

“Whatever you need, I’m yours,” he mumbles, a soft smile replacing his frown. You watch him for a moment longer, his lips going even softer as the smile fades with sleep. His chest rises and falls, your eyes tracking the motion in the dim lighting until you feel the pull of sleep yourself. Taehyung is the last thing you see before you close your eyes, and for the first time in over two years, you sleep peacefully; with a subtle warmth blooming in your chest where once there was only cold.

Next Chapter⇾ (coming soon!) ◅ Back to story masterlist

◅ Back to Main Master List ©️ 2024-03-18 ColorMePurplex2

#taehyung x reader #bts taehyung #taehyung smut #taehyung angst #taehyung fluff #taehyung fanfic #taehyung imagines #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #kim taehyung #bts non idol au #bts imagines #bangtanwhq

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ilovereadingandstuff · 1 year ago

Text

Izuku, I love you...but you're so complicated.

That’s what I got to say.

With the recent manga chapters…I’m emotional.

Back at chapter 401, I went through my gloomiest, saddest, most depressed state I’ve ever been since following this manga. At that time, I was already submerged in this whole atmosphere of ‘war’, and after Stain’s apparent death, I got a realization…It hit me like a brick: AFO was frightening.

I never measured the true impact and weight of AFO’s actions. I never understood Izuku’s perspective of AFO’s first appearance at the series back at chapter 88.

When I understood that, I really… I genuinely believed of the possibility of AFO’s winning…and I was waiting for AFO’ victory: I could hear his goddamn laugh. I could see the blood, the tears…I was drowning in hopelessness.

After all that I went through those few weeks, chapter 403 came…and I could breath. I smiled with the biggest grin I could physically do…I was excited with the panels of “the new beginning” and that bakudeku glance we had. Then, as if the sun never left our side, shining its light through all crystals of tears…Katsuki rose from death and saved All Might, along with Izuku’s help. He and All Might hit the roof of a building and, it that moment, we were blessed with one of the most beautiful smiles he have ever gotten inside this universe: Katsuki’s genuinely smile as the nerd he is by All Might’s compliment.

I can not express in words the gladness, the satisfaction that grin left me with.

Katsuki has always been a truly complicated character for me since the beginning. But I really like him. I think that he, as a character, has been through quite a lot of experiences that always left with a bittersweet taste of him never truly achieving what he dreamt of: being a hero. But he came to a new light, even after death…his smile, the first genuinely smile we got from him…It made me happy. It made me nostalgic, satisfied with the fact that he, who has suffered so much, finally was given the opportunity to shine, to be.

But then, immerse in that bliss…I could not help but think of Izuku. Compared what I felt for Katsuki in that moment with what I felt for Izuku…

and I felt so empty.

...

Izuku is so…miserable... right now.

I’ve loved his character since the first time I saw him back at that day when I was presented of the existence of Boku No Hero Academia. I remember beginning to read the manga and his character just made its space into my heart. I saw him overcoming obstacles, defying the prejudices everyone put him into, challenging and coming on top among his classmates, other heroes, becoming the true successor of the symbol of peace…but then, I saw the fog surrounding me.

At that point, back at chapter 256, I realized the situation we were: the beginning of the predestined and inevitable war.

Izuku was stronger than many, happier with his life...but there were traces of painful sadness in his words.

I could see that: there were so many things unspoken and unresolved topics about his character. What does he feel about himself? Did he feel strong at that point? How did he feel about the upcoming battle he had to face against AFO? What is the plan he has to reach out for Tomura? What about his self-sacrificial tendencies? Those are really gone or not? What about his health and body? What about gearshift and the deadly consequences it has to his body? What about his relationship with All Might? with Toshinori? Will he ever stop calling Katsuki by Kacchan? Does he still cling to that past he had with Katsuki when they were friends (before Katsuki manifestated his quirk)? There are still those insecurities he had before? Why does he insist so much that he must not cry? What about his father? Does he have any repercussions about the fact that he did not have a father figure for most of his life? Does he keep thinking of OFA as something special? What were those feelings about Katsuki that he felt that were ‘so gross’ and unworthy of addressing? What about his qurikless past self? How does he feel about his quirkless condition (reference to what he said to Kota back at chapter 72)? Has he ever thought about the bullying Katsuki put him through? What does he feel about that? Did he really forgive Katsuki?

Then, the war started. And I mean the totality of it: things were not being addressed: Everything become ‘battle’, ‘fight’, ‘live-or-die situations'...as it has to be, obviously. In the middle of a war, who in the world will rest for a few seconds to question their reality?

Everything was accelerating, moving.

Many died, many suffered. Including Izuku, whose pov was taken away from us. He went through his Dark Hero Era, his feelings were hidden at the most recondite space possible. He saw his friends and pro heroes bleed, his childhood friend thrown away there in the middle of the battlefield, presumably dead…His idol/father figure almost die at the hands of the greatest villain of all times while fighting with the most dangerous one out there who could touch the ground and destroy the whole world…then he saw how Katsuki got up and saved All Might, leaving him with more time and space to continue the battle…

At the newest chapter, we only got the scene where we see Izuku’s figure, demarcated and exhausted face, thinking how he can defeat ShigAFO.

I think that his character has gone through the correct path, but has cornered himself (or was cornered against his will) into this situation of exhaustion, with so many questions left unanswered, with his character left there with a hurricane of emotions that are not even explained and the readers have only actions to interpret from this.

While Katsuki has overcome his troubled-life and can smile, laugh af AFO's face proclaiming victory…Izuku can not.

Izuku was left behind, even though he was so far ahead of everyone. He can not smile, he can’t rest, can’t let his guard down, can’t even think for a moment what he has been feeling this whole time.

This is a situation, where sooner or later, Izuku will have to face all this things he never addressed even in the slightest…and I want to know how that situation will be.

I want to see him smile, see him become the hero, the symbol of hope he has always dream of to be…I want him to stand tall and strong, smile bright... next to Katsuki.. as it should have been all this time.

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marsbutterfly · 2 years ago

Text

The Boy Who Cried Your Name

a/n: HI!!!! I'M BACK AFTER SUCH A LONG HIATUS!!!! I MISSED YOU GUYS! This story was based on this postI hope you all enjoy!

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: none, just fluff <3

2:07am > manjiro: ok this movie genuinely seems really stupid 2:08am > manjiro: i think i'll watch it and tell you all about it during our date tomorrow. 2:11am > manjiro: oh shit, i've seen this actor somewhere 2:13am > manjiro: i know you're asleep but like 2:13am > manjiro: when you wake up can you help me find out this dude's name? 2:13am > manjiro: *image*

It's a Tuesday night, or at least it was when you first went to sleep. The nonstop vibration of your phone combined with the light that comes from it is enough to disturb your deep slumber.

You grunt, eyes squinting as you try to adjust to the brightness. Your warm hand comes out from its place underneath your pillow, only to be received by a rush of cold air that comes from the AC. Your fingers tremble gently while trying your best to type in your passcode, though your brain isn't fully awake.

Ultimately you decide to simply shine the phone on your face in the hopes that it will recognize your features even in the dark of your room.

Before it can even unlock, another notification.

2:16am > manjiro: i am learning so much from this movie already 2:17am > manjiro: did you fucking know that you can make your own butter if you shake milk for long enough?

You can't help but giggle at the sight, 17+ messages from Mikey. Before the two of you became a real couple, he would hardly ever text first, maybe because he could never remember where he put his phone in the first place or maybe it was because he was actually afraid of getting his feelings hurt, after all, a girl like you was hard to come by.

When the two of you decided to become official, his texts became more and more frequent. Most nights, you were forced to put your phone on Do Not Disturb because you desperately needed a good night's rest and lord knows you wouldn't be able to achieve that goal as long as Mikey was awake.

Your thumbs aren't moving at the speed you would like them to, your vision is still partially blurry and your throat is so dry that it feels like you are swallowing nails. Nevertheless, you open the messages to encounter a great variety of content.

Tired eyes skim through the various paragraphs, some quite lengthy as he declares his endless love for you and everything you have done / do for him on a daily basis, describing how you are the most beautiful person you have ever met and how the light that radiates from you reminds him of a sunset lit inside of your chest. How the color of your hair is his favorite because, whenever he sees it anywhere else, he feels like the universe is sending him a small reminder of how lucky he is. You smile at the sight of his gentle words.

However, you can no longer ignore the rain of incoming texts now that he has noticed the "seen at 2:14am" at the bottom of the page. He feels awful for waking you up but he cannot help himself. Every new thing he learns, every new detail of the movie he thinks you will enjoy knowing, he must share with you.

2:15am > manjiro: THIS DUDE JUST ATE HIS MOTHER-IN-LAW WHOLE? 2:16am > manjiro: IS THAT A FUCKING THING THAT SNAKES DO? EAT PEOPLE WHOLE? 2:16am > manjiro: I HAVE TO GOOGLE THIS HOLD ON 2:17am > manjiro: I have learned that, in fact, they can. I'm actually going to jump, I cannot do this 2:18am > manjiro: oh shit, i didn't mean to wake you up, but now that you are here! 2:19am > manjiro: did you know that drinking too much water can kill you? I read it somewhere, let me find the link. 2:19am > manjiro: Oh and also that when the dinosaurs walked the Earth, days were 23 hours long instead of 24?

You take a deep breath, knowing that he is coming from a place of love and care but you can't help but be a bit annoyed. Not wanting to snap at him, you use your full mental capacity at the moment to type a response to one of his many, many texts.

2:19am > manjiro: typing... 2:19am > you: Mikey, I love you, so so much and I wish for nothing more than for you to be here cuddling with me, than to feel the warmth of your body against mine, but you know I have an exam early in the morning. 2:20am > you: but baby, I am begging you, STOP THIS MADNESS.

His texting ceases and it feels like an eternity, certainly long enough for you to regret the way you spoke to him, even if it wasn't malicious or even purposefully mean. You understand that, other than Draken, Mikey doesn't usually confide in anyone else, especially not in a way that makes him seem weak or "stupid."

A sigh escapes your lips and you blink intensely for a few seconds in the hopes of stopping your eyeballs from burning. Time seems to slip by you and the next time your eyes open, twenty minutes have passed.

You bolt awake for a few seconds, heart beating faster than a race car, an irrational fear that you might have missed a message from him taking over you so the natural course of action is to check your texts. It would be a lie to say you weren't a little disappointed that there were no new messages from Mikey in that short period of time and your heart sinks just slightly.

2:41am > you: Mikey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you, I'm just nervous about my exam and super tired. I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I hope you can forgive me.

Not even thirty seconds go by before the three dots inside of the blue bubble appear at the edge of the page. The full sensation of relief doesn't wash over you until you hear back from him, a simple message, spelled completely wrong because you knew he was keeping an eye out on whatever he was watching on the television.

2:42am > mikey: all gpod bsby, u luv u. (all good baby, i love you)

With a smile on your face, you finally allow yourself to relax and place the phone down underneath your pillow, giving Mikey time for himself as he enjoys his tv time. Now, you are finally going to be able to have a good night's rest before your big exam tomorrow. Eyelids become heavy and your breathing finds its own perfect pattern, your pillow is cold and underneath your covers is warm, everything is simply falling into place.

When you are within seconds of falling asleep, your phone buzzes from beneath your head. You refuse to open your eyes and simply roll over, pushing your body away from the device.

Some time passes and you find yourself in the same peaceful vibe as before, a gentle smile on your face as you fully allow yourself to be submerged in the cold feeling of the ac against your face while the rest of your body is nicely tucked away. The feeling doesn't last long for Mikey, once again, decides to start texting you every few minutes, if not seconds.

You grunt loudly, reaching for the edge of your pillow to pull it over your ear. In moments like these, you truly had to remind yourself of how much you loved him and why because he does, in fact, test what little sanity you have left in you. But you didn't know that all he was doing in that moment was being his usual self: the guy who is deeply and madly in love with you.

3:14am > manjiro: oh yeah 3:14am > manjiro: i forgot to tell you 3:15am > manjiro: good luck on your exam tomorrow, you got this! 3:15am > manjiro: i love you so much <3 3:15am > manjiro: have a great night <3

#mikey brainrot #mikey x reader #mikey x you #manjiro sano x you #manjiro sano x y/n #manjiro sano x reader #manjiro sano #manjiro sano fluff #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x you #tokyo revengers x y/n #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo rev x you #tokyo rev x y/n

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iwishiwas-anita · 2 years ago

Text

My Baby

Inspired by @emzerdoo artwork of recom! Paz Socorro

(I Hope i posted this right and it doesn't look funky)

(ENJOY!)

(part 2)

They say a mother can feel it in her when her child is near, it's something instinctive, something that she creates, that they developed together throughout those long grueling but wonderful nine months, that it grows and strengthens throughout the years, binds them together for all their life.

And Paz..

Paz wasn't a mother for very long, in fact she can count on one hand the amount of times she held her son, but she can be sure that each time, it felt like the first, that every time she looked into his eyes, she fell in love once more.

She loved holding him in her arms, being together in her room after a long day, just enjoying each other’s company. She never thought she would have a child so imagine her surprise when she found out she couldn't contain herself, something that many women on earth wanted but never could have achieved was made possible for her, it all just felt like some blessing, like a miracle, but of course there were downsides to the baby growing inside her belly.

The first being that she slept with the Colonel— which in itself was highly inappropriate— but Miles was charming and sooner than later they were wrapped around each other together tighter than a rope.

The other being that they were literally on another planet.

But she never dared regret to cross her mind, that child will be born no matter what, and it was, she gave birth to a beautiful boy, with the brightest golden hair, the pinkest mouth and chubby cheeks that made her heart melt.

She named him Miles.

When Quaritch found out he had laughed at her, told her that she really wasn't planning to keep it a secret, but then for how long were they planning to keep it a secret?

The baby was here and there was no way she would ever make him feel that it was a burden, that she was ashamed of him, he was her greatest joy, her greatest love, her greatest miracle.

She loved him so much, so much that she would do anything for him, that's why she left that day, she left to fight for humanity, she wanted a home here… On pandora, where her child would grow and play and be as strong as his father, but as smart as his mother.

That’s why she left. She left for him, to fight for him and in the end come back to him, with victory in her hands.

She expected to win, they all expected to win, but what they didn't know, what they couldn't possibly think of was that Pandora… She was a mother too.

She was a mother and we were hurting her children, murdering them and ruining them,

And a mother…

A mother always protects.

She protects her children and eliminates the threat, so that's what she did.

Pandora saw us as the threat, we were hurting her children so she defended them, she protected them, she eliminated us.

And so, I died,

I died with his name on my heart.

She fell into a deep sleep, a sleep so deep and for so long that she forgot who she was, what she was and where she was.

But suddenly, a light shined through, a light so bright that blinded her, a light so bright that had her shooting up from where she was laying and gasping for breath with a stranger's name on her lips.

She looked around and noticed how everything seemed so much smaller but bigger at the same time, that everything became much more, every feeling, scent, sight and sound heightened.

Her thoughts became muddled and her movements sluggish.

She looked across the room and saw a giant blue person staring back at her. She immediately tensed up. It looked like a woman version of the Navi, She took note of the blue markings and white dots on her face, when she noticed that wherever she looked teh women followed. She frowned and was confused as to why the woman copied it.

“Hey! What’s—”

She stopped short.

That woman was her, the blue woman was her.

She was confused, how did she become this?

She could smell something familiar, something strong, something of love.

There were tiny people around her in strange white clothing, asking her millions of questions at a time. She could barely keep up. Suddenly, some metal doors slid open and a Navi man came in and instead of wearing the usual loincloth and different colored beads and feathers, he wore military style clothing. His hair instead of long all around was cut short, a long strand trailing after him.

He looked familiar.

He smelled familiar.

The man was standing in front of her, a detached look on his face,

His face….

The more she looked at it, the more her heart quickened, the more the memories flashed through, the more her eyes watered, the more intense a sob escaped past her lips.

She threw herself at him, arms coming around his shoulders, his around her waist. SHe pressed her face to his neck, smelling that comforting scent.

She blubbered.

“Miles”

He pressed a large warm hand to the back of her head pressing her further into his neck. There was something missing, she could feel it, she was missing something. The more she smelled him the more her heart ached.

Miles

Baby

That's what it was. Baby. She has a baby, but where was it?

Where was her baby?

She pulled away from him and he looked down at her, “Baby?” she whispered to him.

His face did an ugly thing there, it twisted up into itself, a grimace taking over his face, his eyes becoming glossy, he shook his head once, and then one more time until he was just stuck shaking his head at her.

Her lips trembled. “Baby?”

He opened his mouth, tongue wetting his lips, His voice was gruff when he spoke, “No Paz, No baby.”

She felt her heart shatter.

A sudden coldness creeping into it, freezing it up and then shattering into a thousand little pieces, she felt numb. Her thoughts slowed down as Miles continued to rub at her back and apologize to her.

Her baby…

Her baby was gone…

There was no more baby.

No more of his darling brown eyes, of that golden head of hair, that shined like a beacon under the lights. No more sweet gummy smiles or the shrieking giggles.

“No.”

She pushed herself up and away from Miles, “No. No. No.”

“Paz, Im sorry”

She grasped at the foreign strands of hair, gripping onto them tight, “No. No, No. No. No!”

She heaved a great sob. “Not My baby.”

“No, Not my baby”

“Miles, Please”

Tears poured down her face as she grasped at her own skin, his hands coming to her and pulling her scratching claws away from her face and arms. He pulled her into his chest as she sobbed into his shirt, wet spots forming where her face lay.

His hand coursed through her hair, his mouth releasing, quiet ‘Shushing’ sounds.

She didn't know for how long she cried against him, she just knew that by the time it was over her throat ached, her eyes hurt and tear marks stained her cheeks and his shirt. He still continued to caress her hair.

She could feel each breath he took, hear his heart beating and it seemed to be lulling her to sleep until he suddenly spoke,

“I know that… I Know that you hurtin’ right now, and trust me it kills me to see you like this, but we… we got work to do.”

“We’ve got another chance, Paz.”

He looked down and with his hands raised her face to look up at him, “I know you got that fire in your belly, itching for revenge, And don't worry, we’re going to get it, Alright?”

His thumbs rubbed at her cheeks, looking at her dead in the eye, “I need you with me, soldier. Can I count on you?”

God, she was tired, she didn't want to do anything but lay on the ground, curl up and die, but as she stared deep into his eyes, she could see a fire burning there, eating up at him and she bet that when he looked into hers he would see the same thing. She was tired, but she didn't want to waste this opportunity, she had a second chance and if she couldn’t win last time for her son, then maybe she can use this time to win for someone else’s.

She steeled herself, planted her feet and stood up straight, staring deep into his eyes, “Yes, Colonel.”

A tired smile curled up on his lips, he pressed his lips to her forehead, “Atta girl.”

3 days after she ‘woke’ up, they were on the move, Miles had explained to her what it was they were doing, how they were here.

And… shit.

She never would have signed that paper if she knew it would have come to this, she is grateful to be with miles once again, but it's not the same, it's not the same if it means that the only reason she is here was because she had to let go of one of her boys.

She didnt have time to mope but how badly did she want to, the others they couldn't understand, not even Z-dog who at some point in her life must have had a maternal bone in her body. She felt as if she had eaten led, her body ached like a limb had been torn from her, but still she walked, she performed like the soldier she was trained to be.

They were flying to the Hallelujah mountains, where their new ‘boss’ , a tight-lipped bitch called Ardmore, had wanted them in the hive’s nest, to ‘test’ how they fit in with Pandora's defensive system.

Being in a scorpion brings shudders to her arms, last time she was in one she had an arrow striking out of her chest and she was plunging fast to the ground, sometimes she could still feel the sting of it. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on the breeze that flew in, she felt something tap her shoulder and she quickly turned to look.

Lyle was looking at her, a question in his eyes, she firmly nodded her head and turned to look back out, soon enough they were getting ready for the drop off, the team got clipped onto their harnesses and slowly slid down the rope.

Feet touching the ground, they were off. They sneaked past animals and wandered through the beauty that was Pandora, she couldn't find it in herself to hate her, it felt as if she now understood what had happened, that they were at fault for the destruction.

That only if they’d listened in the beginning none of this would have happened, that she would still have her… Her baby, that they could have been a happy family, if only they’d listened, which is why now that she’s here, she feels uneasy, that a cycle is just repeating and that the events might be different but the ending will be the same.

She followed behind Miles as they stumbled upon an abandoned pod and a broken Skel suit, she stayed behind as she watched him poke around it. She moved further into the abandoned pod and looked through it, moving colorful leaves around and a few branches, in the end she found nothing special.

She made to move out when a piercing scream echoed around the jungle, she saw Miles freeze before Ja gave his location on what he had found. They moved quickly and as a team, but the uneasiness in her grew, it rattled her heart and made it hard to focus, up ahead Miles had broken through the undergrowth onto a small clearing where Ja and the rest of the team were.

She caught up with them and saw how they had managed to catch what looked to be Navi children, she saw how they were each restrained by their Queque, she positioned herself at the back, feet steady, when a scent made her falter.

It is true what they say, how a mother’s intuition is never wrong, how they are able to just tell when something of theirs is near.

Paz wasn't a mother for a very long time, this body of hers didn't know what it was feeling, didn't understand why whenever she looked at this boy her heart ached, why her eyes became wet and her knees weak.

But her soul knew.

It knew.

Because how can this feeling be wrong, how can it just be grief being cruel once more.

How can this scent, this wonderful familiar scent that makes her drop her gun, —something that went against her training— be wrong, be just a figment of her imagination.

She desperately searches for it when she suddenly spots it, right there being restrained by Mansk, a boy.

A Human Boy, dressed in Navi clothing.

Her heart beating out of her chest as hands shake and tremble at her sides, this boy… This boy is a lot bigger than her baby.

But she knows, she knows those eyes.

She knows why her belly tightens and her heart aches, why her breath falls short.

And she knows that the feeling in her chest, the way her heart aches and tightens, is not a mistake, or hallucination.

It's real.

She can tell when the Boy notices her, notices her looking, notices the way her hands shake and her eyes are brimmed with tears.

They watch each other, ignoring whatever is going on around them, and they know. They just do.

She wants to get closer, she wants to see him, wants to touch him.

Her feet begin to move, as her lip wobbles and hands clenched at her side, Her voice trembles when she speaks, “Miles?”

The boy’s eyes widen just slightly, she walks over now standing in front of, “Miles?” she asks again

She can feel quaritch looking at her, She reaches over, bending slightly so she could look straight into his eyes, her palm makes contact with the soft cheek and she gasps as it tingles.

A tear slips past the boy’s eye landing on her hand, and that’s all she needs. She pulls the boy into her arms holding him tight against her. Wrecking sobs work out of her mouth as she caresses him all over, “My Miles”

“My sweet baby.”

She cries as she touches his hair and runs her hands down his arms and neck before gathering him up in an embrace once more.

She wants to hold on to him and never let him go.

She holds him against her chest as she whispers apologies into his hair, the boy finally reacts and brings his arms up around her, falling limp in her arms. She can feel the tears, slipping out of his eyes and landing on her shirt.

“I'm so sorry”

“I'm sorry.” she sobs

She pulls his head away from her chest so she can look at him, his face is just exactly the same, but god, he’s grown up so much, she’s missed so much.

“I wish I hadn't gone. I wished I had stayed there with you” she whispered into his eyebrow.

He does say anything, just keeps on holding her tight, cheek pressed to her chest and when he speaks she can feel his lips moving against it, “Mama” he whispers.

And she feels as if a thousand angels are roaring in her ears, as if the sun had chosen this moment to shine directly onto her, warming her up from the inside out. She breathes out, strands of his hair lightly shift, “Yes… Yes it's me” she sobs out.

Almost as if he needed that confirmation from her, his arms tighten around her and she feels the spot where his face is pressed against her growing damp, he lifts one hand and buries her fingers in his hair.

“My baby” she murmurs against him.

“Mama”

Paz wasn't a mother for a very long time, some may say that she didn't spend enough time with her child to be able to have this bond with him, that he wasn't supposed to even be here, that it was a mistake, but just like the first time, he proved them wrong.

He survived.

He lived.

She was given a miracle, she wasn't going to waste it.

She wasn't going to let him go, she will stay by his side no matter what.

#spider socorro #avatar the way of water #avatar recoms #recom squad #Colonel Miles Quaritch #paz soccoro #james cameron avatar #Miles Quaritch #atwow fanfiction

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lalal-99 · 5 months ago

Text

of dirty cheats {h.j.} | track 6

©July 2023, June 2024 by lalal-99

Han Jisung x afab!reader | trope: slice of life, coming of age | word count: 5.8k

Synopsis: The one where you're hungover and visit home.

Check Chapter Overview for complete list of warnings

Note: Aaaand, I'm back! I'm sorry for the long wait, but if you've kept up with my life, there's been so many things going on... Anyway, this chapter concludes the overwork of previously posted chapters, and the next one will be brand new. I hope you enjoy this. If you do, please leave comments and reblogs. They always encourage me so much!!!

Tumblr works on a reblog system. Please consider reblogging this post so that it can reach more people. Thank you :)

Please don't flag as mature or repost this story - Thank You

You woke up the following day with the sun shining in your face and your head spinning.

Nausea overtook you within seconds, so you rushed one hand to your temple in an attempt to massage the pain away. It lifted some of the discomfort while also shielding your irises from the light, but it was hardly enough. Every effort to get up got cut short when you noticed Jisung’s arm snug around your waist, holding you close. It took you a couple of seconds to untangle one arm and reach for your alarm on the bedside table.

7 am. You shouldn’t have gone out yesterday.

Five more minutes of dozing and some careful wriggling later, you sat up, taking a moment to asses your state. The initial urge to throw up subsided once you came to a standing, although you still moved with care. It wouldn’t have been the first time, your initial assessment was completely off.

Your whole body was in a state of freezing, even once you had gotten dressed. Slipping yesterday’s clothes back on, you snatched one of your boyfriend’s hoodies, so you wouldn’t catch a cold on your way to your place. Also, your mini-skirt was too mini to be considered everyday attire. The length of the hoodie would shield most unwanted attention to your exposed legs.

Worry spread in your veins when you noticed Felix’s empty bed while gathering your belongings.

After the party Jisung and you had decided to sleep over at his place for convenience. It was distinctly closer, and you needed to get him into bed sooner rather than later. Which turned out to be tougher than expected. He had quite a lot to drink as the night progressed, so you stayed with him. Felix hadn’t made it home after your run-in in the bedroom back at the frat house, and his absence filled you with concern. He couldn’t have been avoiding you on purpose, could he?

“Baby?”

You turned to your hoarse boyfriend, whose eyes remained shut as he searched for your body next to him.

“I’m here. You alright?”

“I don’t know. Ask me in two hours when I’m all caught up on sleep.” After about 4 hours of actual rest, you weren’t doing much better than him on the tiredness scale. Still, you were up, and he— wasn’t.

“You’re not going to your class this morning?”

A sarcastic chuckle and Jisung rolled over, pulling the blanket deeper into his face.

“Can you close the blinds before you leave?”

You did so after slipping into your shoes. It annoyed you that Jisung was skipping class—this habit being one reason his grades had suffered back in High School. Yet, there was nothing you could truly do about it. He was in no state to tend to anything but his sleep deprivation, and you knew how he could get when overtired. After all, you were driving back home later today. You figured he would be less annoying once he had caught up on at least some of his sleep.

“I’ll be back at 10 to pick you up. Can you be ready by then?”

“Sure.” You knew there wouldn’t be a further answer, his mind already dozing off again. You left the room to be on time for your own morning lecture. One of you had to be responsible, after all.

The morning progressed so slowly, it was painful.

By the time you reached your class, you had somewhat woken up. A very intended goal, achieved by two double shots of espresso and a cold shower. Although your headache never truly left you, you made it through the first two hours of the day. Turned out, Jisung wasn’t the only one skipping morning classes today. About a third of the chairs in the lecture hall remained empty, thanks to Jackson and his gift of throwing amazing parties.

Unfortunately, that third also included Yuqi. Without her and her endless chatter about the latest trends or her latest crush, it was harder to stay awake. You must have dozed off half a dozen times, so you might as well have stayed in bed after all.

The anticipation of home was the one things that helped you power through. It had only been about two weeks since your move, though you already missed your family like crazy. This, by far, was the longest time you had been away from them. Ever. The thought of walking your hometown streets again was the light at the end of the tunnel— in this case Macroeconomics 101.

You must have mentioned your excitement about visiting home countless times to Jisung. So, why was it that when you reentered his dorm three hours after leaving, he hadn’t moved at all?

“Dang it, Jisung, you said you’d be ready by 10.”

“Why are you mad? I’m perfectly on time.”

“It’s 10:05, and you are still in bed. Unshowered.”

“I’m getting up already.” Your annoyance rubbed off on him, his tone raspy from alcohol, lack of sleep and irritation. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”

Said panties, mind you, the same ones he couldn’t wait to get into the night before. He definitely hadn’t sounded so frustrated at you then.

You suppressed a scolding reply, aware of how it held power to start a full-on fight, making you even less on time. It took a lot of willpower to push the urge to confront your boyfriend about his choice of words down.

Stumbling out of bed, Jisung picked up some fresh clothes and his shower gel, before leaving with mumbled sounds of disapproval. A heavy reek of sleep and alcohol veiled the room despite the open window, so you moved closer to it. The nausea, yet again, vanished.

You ran your hand down your tired face, letting your bag fall onto his sheets.

“Is he always in a mood when he’s hungover?”

You sighed, “It’s really frustrating.”

Felix nodded, letting his phone fall onto his pillow. You could feel his eyes lingering on you, lip caught between his teeth and his leg bouncing, restless. It didn’t take more than a glimpse from your peripheral vision to identify his mood. Tired, nervous. Anxious. Of course, you knew what he was biting his tongue about. Remembering his shock and angst when you had walked in on him yesterday, it surprised you, he even spoke to you. And you were even more surprised when he was the first to mention it.

“Y/N?” You met his glances with a kind smile, leaning up against the wall. “I wanted to talk to you about something. About what happened— yesterday, actually.”

“You mean when I walked in on you?” His earrings dangled along to his nod. You swore you heard his heart pounding through his chest.

“I was wondering... If you— whether you saw—” He struggled to find the right words to voice his question before giving himself a push. “Exactly how much did you see?”

“Well,” you started, getting up and walking over to his bed to join him. Having this conversation with him called for physical proximity. “I saw you in bed. Naked, and with someone. With—” You cut yourself off, sending him a comforting smile. Felix’s face was about as white as fresh snow. By the time you ended your sentence, fear clouded his irises, “A boy.”

A tear slipped out of his eye and into his lap as he stared at his hands. He was avoiding your gaze, so you brought your hand to his back, rubbing him through his shirt. Hopefully consoling him. You could feel his shallow breaths become steadier, so your comfort must have worked in some ways.

It took him a few more deep breaths to speak up, your silence helping him voice his thoughts.

“I haven’t really told anyone. Ever.”

When he turned to face you, you saw a hint of dread in his eyes. As though he was expecting a negative reaction to his revelation. Or that you’d out him to everyone. Had it been anyone else, that assumption would have hurt you. Though you figured this reaction was only fair, coming from him. He barely knew you. He couldn’t have known how unreasonable his fear was.

“How long have you known?” you questioned, trying your best to not overstep the boundaries. To help him understand how you wouldn’t feel any different about him because of what you saw. What you now knew about him, as apparently the only person on earth. Well, apart from that guy he had been with the night prior. He must have figured from contextual clues.

“Honestly, I always sorta knew. But I only started accepting it a few months ago. I tried dating girls for years, but it never felt right. The guy from yesterday... He was kind of—” Felix stopped again, trying to find the right words. “He was my first guy.”

“Oh, honey!” You pulled him into your chest, your hands wrapping around his body. Felix soon hugged you back, holding on so tight your shirt wrinkled. As though he had needed this hug more than anything. It lasted for a couple of seconds, maybe even a minute, tears hitting your shoulder and drying on your shirt. “Thank you for telling me,” you mumbled against his skin. The burden of keeping his secret hidden fell from his shoulders with every tear.

“Thank you. For accepting me.”

“Of course.” As you drew away, he wiped the tears from his cheeks, eventually calming down. “And don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”

“I appreciate that. I don’t think I’m ready yet. I should tell my family first, but I’m afraid they won’t take it as well. They don’t really— believe in this stuff.”

“Well, you can always come to me when you need someone to talk to.” You shared a moment of eye contact, smiling at each other. “Now to the important stuff. Who was the guy?”

Chuckling at your question, Felix took a tissue from his nightstand, blowing his nose. When he met your gaze, you saw a spark behind the watery curtains. “It’s this guy from my Psychology class. We never talked before yesterday. But then we shared a moment and somehow— I don’t even know how, but one thing led to another. Kinda like in the movies.”

“Damn, that sounds like straight from Hollywood. Was he any good?” Judging from Felix’s suggestive expression, eyebrows raising and eyes gleaming, you could tell his answer. “I take that as a yes. Well, I’m very happy for you.”

“Thank you.”

You wouldn’t have minded some further details on last night. Whether Felix would be seeing the guy again outside of classes. Or whether he even wanted to or rather explore his options, now that he had the opportunity. Felix, too, seemed eager to finally have someone to talk to about this.

It was the creak of the door thrown open that stopped your conversation. Jisung rushed in, hair wet from his shower, fresh clothes clinging to his moist skin.

When he noticed your proximity, Felix’s eyes reddened, Jisung’s eyebrow quirked. “Did I miss something?”

“Nothing,” you replied, sending Felix a wink as you rose from his bed. “Are you ready?”

“Two more minutes. I need to pack some things.”

“Are you kidding me? I told you to pack your stuff two days ago.”

And just like that, your mood suffered another hit, although you tried to not let it affect you too much. When Jisung started throwing random items onto his bed, you sent Felix a sarcastic eye-roll. He couldn’t help a relieved grin from spreading, the Mount-Rushmore sized rock finally lifted from his shoulders.

“Well, since you’re already pissed, I might as well tell you now.” What an awful way to start a sentence. “I’m not sober enough to drive yet. So, you’re gonna have to get us home.”

Not the easiest task with your brain still thumping against your skull, but at least Jisung could help you stay awake.

When you were younger, you used to be embarrassed by where you lived.

You had always felt bad for your privilege. Guilty even, seeing none of your friends lived a life close to the one you had. Most of your friends lived in small and run-down apartment-complexes, confined to little space and sometimes even sharing a bedroom with several siblings. Blame the recession that had taken its toll on their parent’s income.

It mostly seemed like they had made due with it, finding their content in it. It was still uncomfortable whenever you invited anyone over to your place.

You felt the worst about growing up rich when you met Jisung.

His dad had left the family when he was seven. His mother stranded alone in an apartment she couldn’t pay for and with two children she hardly had the money to feed.

She already worked one full-time job when his piece-of-shit father left. She needed to pick up another part-time one just so they could afford their most basic needs.

By age ten, Jisung supported his mother’s second job, cleaning the houses of the rich and wealthy on weekends. With his sister in a time-consuming gifted program—paid for by a scholarship—he had no other choice. Jisung needed to put his own interests behind if he wanted to keep the roof over their heads. Being the sweet son he was, he did exactly that. Without a single complaint about the afternoons his friends spent hanging out at the mall or enjoying their hobbies.

When you invited Jisung over the first time, your friendship only weeks old, you felt ashamed. He lost control over his facial muscles, his jaw slacking when he saw the entrance of your house. He almost passed out when you showed him your new Nintendo in your room. Jisung forgot all about the expensive gaming console once he realised you didn’t have to share it. Neither your toys nor your room, which already took up the space of his whole apartment. A Queen sized bed occupied the middle of your room, and still left enough room for a motherland of games.

It wasn’t until Jisung invited you to his apartment, that you fully understood his mesmerisation with the simplest things in your house. Like the fridge, which was taller and broader than the two of you combined. Or your couches—plural, not singular.

You tried hard not to let your pity show while meeting his mother and sister. You feared you’d say something to offend them, making them feel bad or appearing like a snob. Needless to say, you didn’t talk much that afternoon.

Jisung never once gave you any reason to feel any more guilty than you already did. He assured you time and time again that you had nothing to be ashamed of. You had your own hardships, your own problems. And his family was doing fine. He couldn’t remember a time not sharing all their meals at a tiny table or sleeping in the same room.

Nothing about that changed when you fell in love at 14, two years after meeting.

Still, that same guilt knocked down your self-esteem whenever you passed the mansions of your street in Jisung’s rusty, old car.

Your boyfriend had slept through the whole two-hour drive from campus to your home. It had annoyed you in the beginning as you had hoped to get some time to talk. As your carefully crafted playlist progressed, all annoyance faded into the air. Plus, speeding down highways and crawling through neighbouring villages made you nostalgic. By the time you arrived home, Jisung had caught up on his sleep and you were beaming in excitement.

Your dad was already waiting for you, ever so happily smiling as he hugged you.

“I’m happy you’re home,” he mumbled against you as he pulled you in. His statement wasn’t needed with how visibly content he was, having his only daughter and future son-in-law back.

“I’m glad to be back. I missed you.”

“We,” Jisung corrected, nodding to your dad. “We missed you.”

“Well, I’m happy you’re here. Brunch is ready as soon as you are.”

At the mention of food Jisung’s stomach rumbled, sending him into a laugh.

“He’s ready, too,” your boyfriend translated the sounds as you placed your bag beside the door.

The TV played in the living room, overshadowed by the juicer-sounds in the kitchen. The smell of fresh oranges filled your nostrils, your mouth watering as you stepped through the doorway.

“Is that orange juice I smell?”

“Y/N!” The young woman jogged around the island, pulling you into a bone-crashing hug. “I missed you!”

“I missed you, too, Jia.”

“What about me?” Jisung questioned, taking over your space once Jia let you out of your hug.

“I missed you too, but a little less.”

“Wow. Thanks, sis.”

“So, how’s university? Tell me everything.”

Jisung did. He told his sister all about his dorm, new friends and courses he visited. All the while, you only had one ear with them. The other was searching the attached dining and living area. Soon enough, your eyes joined as you wandered the lower floor of your house. You identified a pair of tiny dinosaur-themed socks discarded on the coffee table. The couch stood buried under plastic toys and books, a children’s show playing on the flatscreen.

When you found the rest of the room empty, you exited the living area altogether. As soon as you set foot into the hallway, you finally heard a familiar voice call out to you. Your head turned and you found a small figure running towards you. Quick reflexes came into play when he all but jumped into your arms, making your heart jump through your chest.

“Mama!” Tiny arms wrapped around your neck and tears immediately filled your eyes.

“Hi, baby.” His breath hit your neck as your heartbeat accelerated. “I missed you.”

“Me too,” he answered as you picked him up, giving him a small peck on his cheek.

“He couldn’t stop talking about seeing you again. He barely slept tonight.”

With your dad by your side and your baby in your arms, you reentered the kitchen. When he saw Jisung, your son’s eyes reshaped into hearts.

“Papa!” You couldn’t set him down quick enough before he began sprinting towards his father.

Jisung picked him up and spun him around once before hugging him tightly against himself. “Hi, Ki. You miss me?”

“Yes,” the boy agreed, his smile reaching from one ear to the other. Seeing him so joyful made your heart swell and you swiftly wiped your tears away. For the first time in two weeks, you felt at home.

“Should we eat?”

Your dad was already one step ahead, carrying the pan filled with pancakes from the stove to the table. Four sets of tableware were set up neatly as fresh-cut flowers decorated the scene. Food from all sectors of the food-pyramid occupied the dark wood, making your mouth water.

“Did you set the table, Dad?”

He laughed at your assumption, “I wish. It was this wonderful lady right here.” He pointed at Jia. “Remember, you can move in whenever.”

“You might say that now,” Jisung interrupted, taking the seat between Ki and his sister, “but wait ’til you actually live with her. She’s a slob. A big-brain slob, but a slob.”

“Says the boy who uses his dirty underwear as parquet flooring.”

Ki giggled at that mental image, munching away on the food his grandfather had set on his plate.

“We haven’t lived in the same room for 3 years. I’ve changed.”

“Y/N, back me up here.” You looked at Jia while filling the fresh orange juice into the glasses by everyone’s plate. “You’ve lived with him for the past 3 years. Does he still keep his dirty clothes anywhere but in the hamper?”

After he had moved from his childhood room into yours a few years back, you remembered this habit of his. Vividly. It had been the main reasons fights would break out between you. Other than the constant debate on how to raise a baby, of course. Over the years, it had gotten better; his clothes landed closer and closer to the laundry basket each week.

“He tries, but he never mastered reaching into the hamper. I don’t know how someone’s aim can be so off.”

Jia laughed, Ki joining in once he understood your words to be of the joking kind. He was at that age where he tried mimicking the people around him. That included emotional reactions from the ones closest to him. And to think you were missing this crucial part of his childhood.

“Complain as much as you want. Ever since we moved to campus, I’ve been very diligent about keeping things clean.” Your expression told him that you had seen his room and didn’t quite agree. “At least Felix never complains.”

“This Felix guy sounds like a catch.” That you couldn’t disagree with. “Glad you got a decent roommate.”

“He’s alright. Although—” Setting his fork and knife beside his plate, Jisung took a sip from his glass. “What were you two hugging about before? You seemed… close.”

There was no undertone to his question other than wanting to know the content of your talk. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Jisung was hinting at something.

“Nothing. Just small-talk.” Not a lie, but not the truth either. Though you figured a little white lie couldn’t hurt, knowing all it did was hide the secret Felix had shared with you. Jisung wouldn’t have judged Felix if you had told him, but you didn’t believe it was your right to out him. Especially after promising you wouldn’t tell anyone.

“Really? I could swear he was crying or something.”

“Oh, that? He was going through some personal things.” A little closer to the truth but still not revealing the whole story. Jisung seemed to believe you, and why wouldn’t he have? Had it been something that concerned your boyfriend, you would have told him. Didn’t have a reason not to. “Nothing to worry about, though.”

“Alright.” Your boyfriend picked his cutlery back up, slicing some of his son’s food for easier eating. “You’d tell me if it was serious, though. Right?”

“Of course,” you agreed as you beamed at your son. His mouth was stuck in a grin while he shoved spoons full of pancake into his mouth. “Everything’s alright.”

Brunch continued with little distraction. The topics reached from your future sister-in-law’s studies, which she was about to finish, to your son’s upcoming birthday. Still over a month away, but you could never start planning too early. It almost felt like you had never left. Your family, spending the late morning like you had any other weekend before moving to live on campus.

Your son’s lack of sleep showed right after he finished his plate. Despite his best efforts to keep himself awake, his eyes fell shut every few seconds. After missing you so much the past weeks, he wanted to spend any minute with his parents. It broke your heart. Of course, you knew it was better this way— staying close to campus and concentrating on your studies while your son stayed with your dad. Providing him the childhood he deserved. Still, it hurt you, knowing Ki missed you so much. Your own pain played a critical role in that feeling as well.

“I’ll take him to bed,” Jisung explained as he lifted his son from the high chair. Ki waved at you, already half asleep, as his father carried him out of the room.

Your dad had left a minute or two earlier, telling you about a discovery he had made while cleaning the attic. Thus, Jia and you were left to clean up the table, which you didn’t mind. It gave you a chance to catch up, something you had wanted the past few weeks but had never found the time for.

“So? How’s Uni for you? Did you make a ton of friends already?”

“I don’t know about a ton. But I did meet some people already,” you told her as you filled the sink with soap and water. “There’s this girl, Yuqi. She’s in my marketing classes, and she’s very nice. We get along great. And then, there’s Felix.”

“Sungie’s roommate?”

“Yes. He’s also very nice. I can see us becoming close.”

“That’s good. You never know when you’ll meet those people, but some of them will stick forever.” You nodded at her words, feeling like you had found two of these forever people in Yuqi and Felix. You had hardly met anyone you could open up to like you could to them, not even your High School friends. “How’s my baby bro doing on the friendship front? Is he adapting?”

“Surprisingly so. Jisung found a group of boys he’s been hanging out with. They seem cool; down to earth. They’re having a positive impact on him already.”

Had Jisung overheard your conversation, he would have most likely confronted you. Why would you talk about him behind his back like this? As though he was a social outcast you had to chaperone in his endeavours to make friends? However, he would have had to agree with you in the end.

Since you met him, Jisung hadn’t had the easiest time meeting new people. He was often awkward in social situations, and the lack of a filter caused him more problems than it fixed. You for one, loved him for it, as you always knew what was going on in his mind. Other people, not so much. In the past, Jisung had gotten himself in trouble due to saying the wrong things in tense situations. His social anxiety had only worsened the older he got. Having made friends already—without much effort—was a big deal.

Jia, being his older sister, knew about his issues.

“I’m glad he’s doing alright. It sounds harsh, but I wasn’t expecting him to make friends. Or worse.” She placed the dishes in the dishwasher as her eyes met yours. “He could have made the wrong friends.” You could tell where she was going with this. Her transition felt rather forced, but who could blame her? You, for one, had expected her to ask even earlier. “Speaking of—” And there it was. “Did you run into him already?”

Sighing at her words, you started scrubbing the pan below the soapy surface of the sink.

“We did.” Jia nodded, eyebrows furrowing in thought. “Seems like Jisung and him kept in contact. He invited us to this party at his fraternity yesterday.”

“So you talked to him?”

“Yup.” From her reaction you knew that she wasn’t satisfied with that. Jia was trying not to get too caught up in how you had talked to the one person she never wanted to think about again. After all, she couldn’t control who you ran into and chose to spend your time with. That went for both you and Jisung. Although, you were a bit more reserved about your relationship with the one who shan’t be named.

“I’ll regret asking later, but—” Again, you knew exactly what she was about to ask. “Did you meet— her?”

You placed the clean pan onto the rack to dry, taking off the cleaning gloves to hang them over the tap. You had thought a lot about how to approach this, but couldn’t come up with a painless explanation. So, the truth it was.

“I think so. I’m not 100 percent sure, but I believe she might be my roommate.”

A huff escaped Jia’s lips at the irony. “Of-fucking-course, she’s your roommate. And let me guess. She’s super nice and not at all a bitch who stole my boyfriend.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t cheat on me and break my heart. That was all him.”

The glimmer of hurt in Jia’s eyes reminded you of that afternoon you found her crying on your doorstep. Her makeup smeared over her face and body trembling in your embrace. The pain wasn’t the same depth as three years ago, but you could tell it had left a scar. How couldn’t it have?

Jackson and Jia had been together for three years when she discovered his infidelity. There had been talks of marriage already, when he decided to throw it all out the window. And the worst thing, Jackson even tried to deny it when she confronted him. What he didn’t know was that Jia had seem them together. Two hours she had driven to campus to surprise him one weekend, and all to see him hugging and kissing some hot piece of ass. That’s how Jia had described her boyfriend’s affair after spotting them together. It had taken her around a minute to realise what was happening, then she up and left again.

A surprise phone call later that weekend Jackson answered with shock and denial. Not five minutes later, Jia decided she couldn’t hear it anymore. Like that, three years ended in what you could only describe as the second most heartbroken you had ever seen a person.

So, yes. The woman was still hurt. She was still in pain. Although that pain had morphed into hatred along the way.

“If it’s any comfort, she doesn’t seem to know you existed. And—” The next part was a shot in the dark. Hopefully, Jia would understand the humour in it all. “She started dating a woman immediately after Jackson. Said he made her realise she’d be better off without a man.”

That, Hwasa had told you in confidence. But seeing as it lightened the mood, you didn’t regret telling Jia. “Okay, that does make me feel better.” The atmosphere lightened up after that, though Jia needed to get one last thing off her mind. “But, you should keep track of that friendship between Jackson and Sungie.”

“You think?”

“Jackson himself might not be the problem. As hard as it is for me to say, he has a good heart. But that hardly goes for those friends of his. They’re some sketchy people.” Jia’s eyes showed honest concern. So much so that it worried you a little. “To this day, I believe he wouldn’t have done what he did, had his friends not had as much impact on him. They kept telling him he was too hot to let opportunities for hookups with random girls pass by. That our relationship was holding him back from reaching his full potential. And that’s a literal quote I overheard one of them telling him over the phone.”

“What? That’s crazy. Why did Jackson let them talk like this about you?”

“Who knows? But the matter of fact is that Jackson is a confident man. Always was. My brother, however...”

You understood she was hinting, again, at his social introversion.

“Since Dad left us, he’s been searching for a father figure in the older men around him. Do you remember that guy, Wonho, he hung out with in High School?”

“Do I? The dude was the personification of steroids.”

“Exactly. And Sungie had the biggest man crush on him. You do recall how that ended, right?”

“He broke his wrist trying to lift double his weight.”

“I love Sungie to the moon and back, but he has serious daddy issues. Not that it’s any his fault.” Jia had a point in everything she said. Even though you hoped Jisung couldn’t be manipulated, you understood it wasn’t impossible. “That Wonho-guy was his hero for months, and he wasn’t even trying to be. Imagine what could happen if some seriously sketchy guys meet him and see a trainable puppy.”

There was a moment of consideration as you imagined what Jia had described. Jackson and she had been happy before they went to university. Much like you and Jisung, they had been together a long time. Still, something inside you told you that Jisung wouldn’t hurt you like this. Jackson was a good guy, and they had been good together. But they also had their fair share of issues. Jisung and you, that was a whole other thing. You were soulmates. You had a son. Other than sweeping them under the rug, you talked about your relationship problems.

You wanted to voice those thoughts to Jia, but before you could do so, your dad and Jisung entered the room. Your dad carried a thick book, showing it to your boyfriend, who laughed at whatever he saw on the page.

“Baby, how were you so cute as a baby? I could eat you up.”

Your confusion resolved when your dad explained the situation. “I was showing an old photo album to Jisung. I found a stack of them in the attic.” Flipping the page, another chuckle escaped your dad’s lips. “Look! It’s you and your father. Gosh, I haven’t seen this picture in ages.”

At those words, a smile spread over your face as you made your way to his side of the book. And sure enough, there you were. Sitting in a flowerpot as your father held you up, smiling into the camera. The unfamiliar image warmed your heart, despite the tinge of sadness that appeared whenever you saw a picture of him.

“Your father was so handsome,” Jia said as she caught a glimpse.

“The most handsome,” your dad agreed, looking up from the page. “He did some modelling work while we attended law school and was good at it, too. Even made it into some magazines. He was so handsome even, it took me months to finally muster the courage and ask him out. And thank God, I did.” With those words, his eyes met you, still completely captured by the picture. “He would have been so proud of you, honey.”

A single tear rolled down your cheek as a smile plastered your face. Oh, what you’d give to have the chance and talk to him one last time. You would have told him so many things. Most importantly, you would have told him about the family you had found between all the grief and loss. The ones surrounding you, being the closest to you. And, of course, Ki. The love of your life.

No doubt, he would have loved your father as much as you did.

Next Chapter >>> coming soon

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rjthirsty · 3 months ago

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Deceit and Decay

What if Belle didn't fall in love with the Conqueror Beast? What if his last hope abandoned him simply because she didn't know he existed? Would his black heart break and crack or grow as hard as stone?

An AU where Chevalier is crowned for Rhodolite, Gilbert lost his last shred of humanity, and MC (Dahlia) is thrust into a nightmare world where deceit and decay are everyday occurrences.

CW: Major Character Death, Graphic Violence, Explicit Sexual Content. Full list on ao3.

Chapter One

Rating: T

Word count: 3,391

Chandeliers sparkled from dozens of candles, their flames dancing along the crystal, reflecting and refracting the light to create a ballroom of stars for the nobility invited to King Chevalier’s coronation. The ceremony had concluded earlier, and now foreign nations and the highest members of Rhodolite society mingled throughout the brilliant ballroom. Every person was dressed in dazzling finery, with women sparkling just as brightly as the chandeliers from gold and silver embroidery on their dresses, and men decorated with medals and accessories that told of their achievements to their kingdoms.

No matter how many times Dahlia saw the nobility dressed to the nines, she always found them captivating in their clothes that cost more than her home had when she was a commoner working at a bookstore. Now a minister of the court in training, her clothing was also of a higher quality than she used to own, but still rather modest compared to the guests in attendance today. She had to keep her station in mind and dress appropriately.

Nearly a year ago, she had come to the palace as the new Belle, and after a month of learning about the kingdom and the princes, she had chosen Chevalier to become the next to sit on the throne. It took some time before it was announced that the former king had passed, and then more time to name Chevalier as the successor to the public and surrounding kingdoms. There were reasons for the delay, but none of that mattered now that he was formally recognized as the ruler of Rhodolite.

Locating Chevalier was always easy in these situations due to his chilly and impersonal interactions with others. Today, however, instead of most people keeping their distance from Chev and his cold aura, more people than one could easily count were grouped around him, making introductions, offering their congratulations and respect, and some were already leveling talk of new reforms or future marriage proposals.

Dahlia did her best to bite down a smirk. She knew Chevalier very well and could see how tiresome he was finding all the interactions, but he was doing his best as a leader for the country and she considered praising him later for that. It warmed her heart how much he had changed over the last year. Most wouldn’t see a difference, but she did, and his brothers did as well. She counted herself lucky to have been able to witness the change in him - Sariel offering her a position to be a court minister was not originally part of the Belle process.

The celebration had begun shortly before dusk, with the ballroom dyed in shades of oranges, reds, and pinks just like the roses of their kingdom. The ballroom’s large windows faced the west in order to achieve the effect, and Dahlia had to appreciate the architecture and symbolism that went into constructing the palace for something she would have never considered before coming here. As the sky dims, and darkness threatens to penetrate the festivities, that’s when the chandeliers shine their brightest and mimic the night sky full of stars and wonder.

Another party attendee entered the room, announced by name and title by the attendant managing the door. The lower lord went largely unnoticed by the rest of the party goers, who mixed and mingled and drank, having polite conversations and politely laughing when appropriate. There were so many rules Dahlia had learned in her time at the palace, and her time in training to be part of the court.

“Don’t you think you’re staring a little too intently at King Highness?” A voice purred in her ear. Dahlia smiled and breathed in Nokto’s seductive scent, turning her gaze on him as he slipped an arm around her waist.

“I think I’m staring an appropriate amount for a minister in training who is proud of their King.” Her eyes moved from Nokto’s cherry colored irises to his lovely lips pulled into his signature smirk.

“Hmm? Not at all like a lover gathering intel on those who he might wed?”

He was toying with her. Teasing as he tended to do.

“Are you feeling a little jealous and perhaps projecting?” Dahlia grinned at her own quip.

Nokto laughed. “Not in the slightest. I’m enjoying my life, and enjoying you as well.”

Nokto casually slipped his hand down Dahlia’s waist to her rear and gave it a firm squeeze. Subtly, Dahlia leaned closer to Nokto, giving him as much attention as she dared in front of a room full of nobility who were aware of her status.

“I think that’s enough of that, Prince Nokto. I’m sure there are plenty of ladies here who would fight tooth and nail to have some of your attention. I’m not in need of company.”

Dahlia’s eyes met Nokto’s, and for a moment the two of them simply stared at each other. Nokto watched Dahlia to determine if she really was doing as well as she claimed, and Dahlia holding fast to her resolve to show him a wife for King Chevalier would not break her.

“It wouldn’t be an issue if you visited me before the guests leave. I’m just a philandering prince, no one will care that we’re lovers.” Nokto murmured before taking a step away from Dahlia, letting his fingers drag along her waist as they fell from her form.

“Thank you, Prince Nokto. I’ll keep that in mind.” She curtsied with a bow to her head.

Nokto departed, swarmed almost immediately by others who gave Dahlia a few sharp glares. She was used to that, at least. She had shown up at the palace and been granted access to every location under the guise of being a minister in training, though at the time she was Belle, a commoner with a pure heart who was to choose the next king. She had yet to be elevated into society, needing the king to bestow her a title befitting that of a court minister. That day wasn’t far away now, but being in the palace for nearly a year, and the not so secret mistress of more than a few of the princes didn’t earn her any kindness from the noble class.

“Announcing Prince Gilbert von Obsidian, First Prince of Obsidian.”

A hush overtook those standing nearer to the door and Dahlia glanced over to see the worldwide disaster himself, head to toe in black, pleasant smile on his lips and a dangerous glint in his blood-red eye. Black boots thudded on the rose-quartz tile. Black cane thunked with every sure step he took. Gilbert’s presence sent other attendees politely moving away from his location as if he carried a fog of fear around him wherever he went.

Dahlia couldn’t blame the rest of the guests, Prince Gilbert was a symbol of death and destruction. Obsidian had invaded once before, ten years ago, a day known now as Bloodstained Rose Day. It was a tragic part of Rhodolite’s recent past, and had devastated more than one settlement near the border. Dahlia didn’t understand when it had happened, living in the capital had her far from the danger, but she was aware of the consequences and the effects that invasion had on the populace and politics now.

Seemingly unphased by the cold reception, Prince Gilbert moved through the room. Not a single person spoke to him, though he had plenty of eyes on him. Dahlia had also been instructed not to speak with him unless absolutely necessary. Sariel was adamant about her avoiding interacting with him. From the way he spoke of Prince Gilbert, she had thought of him like some sort of vicious villain out of a novel. It was surprising to her on first meeting that he was quite good looking and congenial. He spoke politely and never dropped his smile.

He reminded her of Clavis. Clavis hid behind his smile. No matter if he was scared, nervous, angry, or otherwise, he put a smile on and presented that to the rest of the world. Sometimes Clavis even wore his smile with her, but she had learned to tell his real smile and his mask apart. There was more to Prince Gilbert than his smile, though. It didn’t matter how handsome he was, or how polite he spoke, Dahlia could feel the darkness that clung to him. Like the black that he wore, he was shrouded in something that caused her heart to beat quicker with fear.

As Prince Gilbert sliced through the crowd, Dahlia realized the empty space around him was headed directly towards her. She quickly glanced around attempting to locate Sariel - he was no doubt busy handling foreign guests and nobles alike. Under King Chevalier, Sariel held the most power in the palace, though most wouldn’t know it unless they resided here and interacted with the princes like she had. Unable to find the black hair of her mentor who stood taller than most, she spotted Jin making his way through the party in her direction. Luckily, Jin was also taller than most and easy to notice.

Hastily, Dahlia headed for Jin, discomfort growing in her chest. Too late, she realized why her heart had begun to beat erratically. Too late, she realized the discomfort she felt was tendrils of fear attempting to root her to the spot. A shadow of malice and smiles stepped in front of her, blocking her path, his red eye trained on her.

“Where are you running off to, Little Rabbit?”

Prince Gilbert somehow had cleared the distance much faster than any normal person should have. He stood between her and Jin. He stood between her and the rest of the party. With every person giving him a wide berth, Prince Gilbert was the only one within at least 15 feet. She felt cornered. She felt like prey that had been separated from the safety of the group.

Dahlia clenched her hands in her skirts, attempting to hide that they were trembling - she wasn’t even sure why they were. Offering a slight bow of her head and a curtsey, she put on her best smile and met his gaze. “Good evening, Prince Gilbert. If you are looking for an attendant, allow me to find someone to assist you.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Prince Gilbert smiled a little wider.

“It won’t be?” Dahlia looked confused. Surely there was a reason he had approached her.

“You see, I’ve already found who I was looking for.”

Dahlia quickly glanced around, it was just the two of them, so there was no one else he could be referring to besides– “Me?”

“Ahaha,” Gilbert laughed. His laugh was youthful and bubbly, and felt completely out of place with the way his presence made her feel. “You look surprised, Little Rabbit.”

“I am.” Dahlia admitted, her eyebrows knitting together for a moment before she remembered to try to be pleasant with him. “Did you perhaps need something for your stay? I can speak with my mentor about tending to you.”

“There is something you could help me with. I seem to continually misplace my guide. Perhaps if you’d escort me around the palace, I could get a better idea of the layout of the place.”

For some reason, this felt like a trap. Dahlia couldn’t explain it, but everything was lining up too easily. She had never spoken to Prince Gilbert before, and only saw him when he was welcomed as a guest to the palace. Why he’d single her out and be showing such an interest didn’t sit right with her. Maybe he mistook her for one of the palace servants? He was being so friendly as well, the request was just that - a request. He didn’t demand her escort him, but the way he asked it seemed like he didn’t really give her a choice to say no.

“Hey, Dahlia, there you are.” Jin’s deep voice cut through Dahlia’s thoughts and she tore her eyes away from Gilbert to see Jin smiling down at her.

“Prince Jin.” She responded in greeting. “This is Prince Gilbert.” She hadn’t forgotten that it was an expected formality for her to introduce the princes to any guests, even if they were aware of who they were.

Jin took a spot slightly in front of Dahlia, almost like he was attempting to shield her from Gilbert, but couldn’t be obvious about it. He looked down on Gilbert, who was several inches shorter than the Rhodolite prince. His smile that he had offered Dahlia fell away, and he practically grunted a non-committal noise to acknowledge the Obsidian prince.

“Haha. You’re so cold. And after I came all the way here to offer congratulations to your newly crowned king. The least you could do is offer a bit of hospitality and proper greetings.” Nothing had changed with the way Gilbert stood, nor his tone or even his smile, but Dahlia suddenly felt even more uneasy than when she imagined being cornered by Gilbert.

“Yeah, evening. Glad you could make it. King Chevalier is over that way.” Jin fired off the expected pleasantries in a monotone that said he was doing the bare minimum and no more for the foreign prince. He nodded towards Chev, who hadn’t moved since the ball started.

Dahlia subtly shifted her foot silently along the tile to inch a bit further behind Jin. She didn’t want to make it seem like she was hiding from Prince Gilbert, but the aura he gave off felt like he was angry– no, it was more than that. It was like silent rage, and it started when Jin arrived.

Gilbert’s red eye slid in her direction and she froze, the tendrils of fear she had felt earlier wrapped fully around her lungs and it felt impossible for her to be able to draw in breath. Her hands began to tremble again, still held in her skirts from where she had hid them earlier.

“Dahlia, Sariel needed something from the ministerial office. Said you were the one to talk to about it. Mind letting me borrow you for a few?”

“Huh?” Dahlia all but squeaked, Jin’s words echoing in her head like she had heard them on the other side of a cave. She looked up at Jin, trying to make heads or tails out of what he had said. Suddenly she was able to draw breath again. Suddenly everything came back into focus. “Oh! Of course, Prince Jin. I’ll get right on that.”

With her hands balled into fists, Dahlia curtsied again to the Obsidian prince, keeping her eyes downcast. “If you’d excuse me, Prince Gilbert.”

“I’ll see you again, Little Rabbit.” Gilbert left those parting words and strode further into the room. The crowd continued to split and filter away from him as he moved.

His boots thudded sure-footedly against the tile, though he seemed aimless in his direction. His cane gave a precise thunk that felt like there was a heavy finality in the sound. Dahlia watched him move away, and finally the fear that had gripped her slithered away, following him like a shadow.

Jin set a large hand on her shoulder, gently aiming her towards the door to the ballroom. “About that thing Sariel needed.”

“Right. Yeah.” Dahlia agreed and the two of them exited the ballroom.

The sounds of the music and chatter faded quickly as Jin and Dahlia moved through the familiar hallways towards the ministerial offices, far removed from the social areas and guest quarters. Several nobles from the outer edges of Rhodolite were staying in the palace, and all foreign guests were granted rooms fitting their station for the occasion. The hour was still early in the evening, and the castle staff was bustling about, but in this section of the castle there weren’t many attendants around.

“It won’t be long, now, will it?” Jin mused out loud.

Dahlia looked up in his direction, curiosity pulling her thoughts away from the strange and frightening encounter she had just had with the First Prince of Obsidian. “Until what?”

“Until Chev gives you a title, and you can be a real court minister. Sariel tells me you’re a quick learner and I know you’re diligent with how many times I’ve seen you studying on your own.”

“You’re watching me while I’m studying?” Dahlia smirked amusedly. That was exactly the thing he was looking for from her, a real smile. He had worried that Gilbert had said or done something to bother her before he arrived to wrest her away from him. He didn’t trust the guy at all.

“Only when you’re doing it past adult hours. You should be living rather than working, trust me on that as an older man.” Jin puffed up his chest like he was proud of the years he had on her.

“Jin, when have you ever thought of yourself as an old man?”

“Never. But I call myself one when it suits me. And I have a lot of experience in enjoying life.” He offered a bright grin.

“Mhm. I see. So, according to my wiser, experienced, older lover, I should forego improving myself as quickly as possible so I can trawl the breweries and taverns with him to experience living between the legs of another person. Do I have that right?”

“Nope. Between the breasts of another person. But I suppose preferences are preferences, and you have a nice set of your own so you don’t need another woman to cuddle up to for that.”

The quiet hallway filled with Dahlia’s laughter. Jin chuckled along with her.

“Thank you for that, Jin, but I am very satisfied with the people in my life at the moment.”

“Yeah, well…” Jin trailed off as they came to the door of the ministerial offices. It wasn’t like him to not finish a thought and Dahlia quirked her head to the side as she looked up at him. An unhappy expression briefly crossed his face, his eyebrows drawn together and a slight frown at the corners of his mouth, but just as she opened her own to ask him about it, Jin spoke. “You know, I’ve forgotten just what it was that Sariel said he needed.”

Dahlia gave him a blank stare. “You’re not serious.”

Jin gave a shrug and reached into his pocket, pulling out a lollipop. “Very serious,” he said as he stuck the candy in his mouth.

With a sigh, Dahlia turned back towards the way they came. “I’ll just go ask him myself.”

“Naw, don’t do that.” Jin side stepped to put himself just slightly in front of her, not actually blocking her path, but showing he wanted her to stay for a moment. “If it’s that important, he’ll send someone else.”

Dahlia looked down the long corridor in front of her, then narrowed her eyes at Jin. “You’re suggesting we don’t return to the party.”

“Got it in one.” He pulled the sugar candy from his mouth and brought it close to her own lips. “How about we ditch the stuffy affair and go do some living.”

Her eyes moved from the sucker to Jin as she contemplated the choice. She wasn’t really needed at the party, and King Chevalier would be busy into the night, and then likely for a few days afterwards as guests slowly trickled out of the palace. She couldn’t entirely help Sariel tonight with anything, being still a trainee, her place wasn’t speaking to the nobility. It was probably better for her - safer for her - to not return since it was clear that Prince Gilbert was in attendance.

Delicately, her lips parted and tongue gingerly traced the side of the lollipop. Dahlia watched Jin as she licked his candy, deliberately drawing it out to see the slow smile that crawled on his lips. “Mmm. My room?”

Jin slipped the sucker back into his mouth. “You’re so damn cute.”

With a quick step and a bend, Jin snatched Dahlia up into his arms. Her laughter once again rang through the otherwise silent hallway as she reveled in the joy of the moment. Jin carried her towards her room, knowing the way by heart, and Dahlia giggled and kicked her feet, planting kisses along Jin’s neck and jaw, knowing how it would work him up before they got to their destination.

#rjthirsty fanfic #rjthirsty deceit and decay #ikemen prince #ikepri #gilbert von obsidian #chevalier michel #fanfic #jin grandet #ikepri au #repost from ao3 #rjthirsty on ao3 #bad end gilbert

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wesleysniperking · 6 months ago

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One Piece Film: Red and What It Meant for Usopp

Part 1 (TL;DR)

(beware spoilers!!!)

I was catching up on the One Piece anime last night and a particular special, SP13 (aired a week before episode 1101) didn’t sit right with me. What bothered me was the lack of mention of Usopp (or even his alter ego, Sniper King).

The focus was on the CP9 agents, illustrating how far both the Straw Hats and CP9 (now CP0) had come. But the omission of Usopp’s significant contributions at Enies Lobby felt like a slap in the face.

Haters often consider Usopp and Sniper King as two separate individuals, ignoring that Usopp is the one behind Sniper King. It felt like reading a prejudiced abridged version (*cough cough* US History books *cough cough*) of a major historical event. They even omitted the part where Usopp inspired Luffy with his speech and told everyone to get on the Merry. It’s frustrating and disheartening, especially for those of us who are deeply invested in Usopp’s journey.

This brings me to my main point regarding Usopp’s role in the Wano arc and the Onigashima battle. There’s a significant amount of criticism and ridicule aimed at Usopp for his performance in this arc. I believe he did great, providing crucial support and not being a sitting duck. Yet, many fans view him as useless and fodder, fixating on the toad oil cream incident (he didn’t do anything wrong) and his plea to Nami to lie about Toko’s condition (there’s nothing wrong with that, I’d avoid fighting someone head on too! That should be the last resort). And the whole thing where he also wanted her to lie and say Luffy won’t be pirate king (so she—a friend—wouldn’t bite the dust!).

Some fans argue that Usopp should have showcased his marksmanship more during the battle. They blame Usopp rather than acknowledging that this might be a flaw in Oda’s writing. They say that all the Straw Hats got their power-ups and moments to shine, but this isn’t entirely accurate.

Luffy achieved Gear 5, Sanji embraced his genetic enhancements, Zoro mastered Enma and burst his haki, Robin enhanced her Devil Fruit to defeat Black Maria, Brook showcased new abilities, Nami summoned Zeus, and even Jinbei, Chopper, and Franky had their (notable?) contributions. However, everyone besides the monster trio got only a small slice of the spotlight. Yet, some fans still defend the non-monster trio Straw Hats while putting Usopp down as if he’s a pariah.

When fans praise Wano and the Onigashima battle, it feels like being at a party where everyone had a great time except you. They continue to talk animatedly about their experiences while you sit there, knowing you had a terrible time. It’s disheartening.

So, I had to look for a pick-me-up. I had to focus on what Wano and the Onigashima battle actually meant for Usopp. I needed to find the light at the end of the tunnel, hoping there’d be a light.

next part

Part 2

Part 3

Usopp fan club (feel free to join)

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acalamity · 4 months ago

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author's note

synopsis: you are inui's sun; the reason he can live

tokyo revengers! inui seishi x reader

more under the wubbaboo!!

To Inui Seishu you are like the sun; the unfailing, glorious sun that will always rise.

"Good morning, Inui-san." You approached the delinquent in crimson heels, like a flutter of iridescent light in his eyes, "How have you been?"

Inui Seishu of the tenth generation of Black Dragons is not one to smile, hardly one to enjoy anything at all. In fact, the person before you is someone who lives in violence and profiting off of it, bloodshed has become familiar and all that is wonderful has withdrawn from his living days— but you see the little blossoming smile of his eyes as he greeted you with a small nod, "[Name], I'm fine."

A pause, and after a moment, to continue this little conversation, he spoke again, revealing a part of his personal life. You are well aware Inui is a more private person, not always willing to share tidbits of his life and most definitely on guard a majority of the time. Yet, the delinquent tainted in violence before you, scrunched nose and eyebrows furrowed, was trying to make himself bare before you, "I bought these heels recently. . . How do you find it?"

You are like the sun that bestows light upon the moon, to shine in the deep darkness of endless nights.

You gazed down at the heels he was wearing, smiling after a moment, "I like it on you, Inui-san."

"I see. . ." You think you saw his lips lift (and you think you heard your heart freeze), "It's from a thrift store nearby."

You are like the sun: the centre of the world, and the brightest star within the sky.

". . . I'm sorry if this sounds intrusive, but you considered being a model?" You eventually responded, letting out a light laugh as shock enveloped his face. Inui blinked, staring at you inquisitively, "You have a good sense of style, appearance and composure for it."

"If you wish to do it, then I'm sure you'll succeed. But. . ." You clutched your school bag, your hearing drowned out by the heartbeat ringing within your ears. Unwittingly, as your gaze held affection that Inui didn't know was possible, and as heat burned upon his face, you admitted what was very much true to you, ". . . I'm sure, Inui-san, that if it's you, then you'll achieve something greater than I can imagine."

Inui Seishu of the tenth generation of the Black Dragons is a person of violence and bloodshed, by every standard he is in no way good. By no standard is he deserving of the utter faith you had in him. And you have neither evidence nor reason to believe in him so earnestly.

But you are like the sun; the reason good can prevail within his tainted heart.

— —

"Inui-kun, good afternoon. Recently, I went to the thrift store you told me about, thank you for that. How have you been?" You caught up to the walking delinquent, proceeding to walk by his side. Inui greeted you with a nod, more blatant this time, "[Name], I've been well. Black Dragons is gone now but Toman is treating me well."

"Eh? What happened to Black Dragons?"

"Oh. . . you see. . ." And so, the blond explained his Christmas to you, sighing at the end of his story, "Really, what the hell was I doing?"

There was a gentle squeeze upon his hand, "Inui-kun, you did a lot of horrible things."

A stab through his heart, ". . . I'm sorry."

"But I'm glad you look happy now." And the warm hand upon his own was gone. You took a step ahead and gazed at him over your shoulder, "It's a much better look on you."

Inui Seishu is still not a good person, he is someone who has yet to atone for all the grievances he caused and the many lives he ruined. He has yet to do anything deserving of a reward.

"The stilettos you like, the Black Dragons' uniform, wounds and scowls, branded clothing. . ." You started. Before him was an honest person, your eyes were clear and sparkling, as though spring waters had cleansed you, "I'm sure you'll look great regardless of what you wear, but I think you look much better when you're happy, Inui-kun!"

But you are like the sun who casts light indiscriminately, and whose light will always be there for those who seek it.

— —

"Inupi, may I write a piece after you?"

"Huh?"

"Was that too intrusive?" You took a step back, only to have the blond shake his head, "No, not at all. It was unexpected, that's all."

"But yes, of course you can."

"Really?" You grinned, "Thank you. I'll make sure to work really hard."

He's certain you will, he's also certain that it'll turn out wonderful— but his own heartstrings tugged at his heart and before he knew it the words slipped out on their own, "Are you sure. . .? I'm not somone admirable or anything."

"Yes. . . I'm not sure what you think of yourself but regardless of that, I want to let you see yourself through me. . . Our views of you might not align, but I think you're a lot more incredible than you know." You placed your hand in front of you, "So, please read it once I'm done."

Inui accepted your hand— his won palm soft and gentle upon you despite his wounds, "[Name]. . . you. . ."

"What is it?"

"No, nothing." And in the moment, the though occurred to him, [Name] [Last name]. . . without you, I truly am nothing.

For you are like the sun that illuminates all that is beautiful— and in your heart he is a part of that too.

— —

"Here." He placed a palm upon the piece, suddenly very bashful and meek. He turned his head away from you, staring at his feet, ". . . I know you wanted to write but I wanted. . . to do this for you. Please read it once I'm gone, [Name]."

And just like so, once Inui left, you've read the paper he gave you.

It is undoubtedly born out of his blood, sweat and tears— born out of the pounding, beating heart within his chest. And most importantly—

You glanced over the letters upon the paper, the world around you faded as you stood frozen on his spot. It was just you, your erratic heart thundering within your ears, and the combusting warmth within your entire being.

— it is born out of his love for you.

For you are his sun: the centre of his world and the reason he can live.

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers #inui seishu #tokyo revengers inui #tokyo revengers x you

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gozine-translate · 3 months ago

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Terminally-ill Genius Dark Knight - 147

147 - Mask [1]

'Brazen newcomer. No, Nox von Reinhaver.'

How on earth did he master the Moonlight Sword?

This is Jagan's base

The ruins of the gambling and auction house.

Avilat, once a place of fierce battles, has long lost its initial grandeur.

A mountain of dazzling gold coins and chips. The green flag that once symbolized neutrality is now stained a deep red.

This is the result of the water prison Jagan unleashed.

Desolate.

There’s no other word that comes to mind for this bleak battlefield.

A pale mist rises where the bodies of the dead have been abandoned.

Luna clicked her tongue as she witnessed this.

Moonlit night.

A lonely silence and clear moonlight washed away the grim battle that had just taken place, pouring out pure white light.

But her expression remained unpleasant.

Thud.

"....!"

Luna, catching the falling Nox, couldn’t smooth out the frown on her delicate brow.

Why?

While looking at Nox, still weak in her arms, Luna made a self-deprecating face.

'I almost fail to protect again.'

For her, who cherished her comrades, such things were something she could never get used to.

A sense of helplessness wrapped around her once more.

Why did such painful things keep happening to her? Even if she had long since thrown the idea of whining like a child . .

No matter how much she thought about it, this was too much.

Sure, some people are born under unlucky stars, but this was excessive.

Should she worry about a companion's death all the time?

Something like this, she wanted to quit it right away.

Even though she leads, and takes charge as the leader of Lunatic, which is a fancy title. Her true goal was entirely personal.

Her birth. Revenge.

And, fulfilling the wish her master couldn’t achieve.

But if it meant losing so many lives . .

Is the path she walks on truly the right one?

It was her who assigned the mission to Nox this time.

She hadn’t anticipated such a big shot would be hiding in Avilat’s gambling house and only learned about it through communication devices when Nox was about to arrive.

[There is one of 72 demons nearby. I need your help, Captain.]

[What?]

It was an absurd story, but the newcomer's words had a strange persuasiveness.

Hadn’t he shown his capacities in the past battle with Paimon?

She judged it was worth listening to his story.

In fact, his words hit the mark, leaving her speechless.

‘Newcomer even saved Marin… He knew he might die, yet he did it. That’s no easy feat.’

"Cough! Cap…tain..."

"Newcomer!"

Nox, who briefly regained consciousness while coughing up blood, took a deep breath. His sorrowful violet eyes looked at her, shining transparently and radiating a calm light.

She wanted to say something but couldn't, there was a brief silence. It felt like a long moment.

There was a brief moment of silence where she wanted to say something but couldn’t.

Unexpectedly, it was Nox who broke the silence.

Staring straight at Luna, he spoke.

"… I want… to get stronger. Please take me as your discip...""

His figure is somewhat awkward

Watching this, Luna couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle.

[This punk.. trying to fool me]

Nox is in pain right now, but it wasn’t as serious as he's making it seem. So why was he stubbornly pretending to be so hurt and giving this pitiful look?

The reason was clear.

Her swordsmanship is something handed down only to one disciple.

He was probably trying to take initiative before she could refuse to teach him.

'Honestly, he's not lovely at all, same as Marin'

Nox probably was putting on an act while knew everything

Just from seeing how he thought to learn Moonlight sword in a flash of moment, and acquired preliminary requirements like stances, etc in advance too.

Besides, the most surprising thing is . .

'He’s been hiding his strength.'

The [Moonlight Sword] can only be mastered by warriors who have reached at least advanced level of swordsmanship.

Moreover, it's only possible after you have unmatched skill in horizontal slashes and the ability to infuse each strike with energy

But all these conditions were already prepared from the start?

'There is no way'

"You’re already scheming, huh? Truly cheeky."

Now she understood.

Luna realized that the boy in front of her was merely wearing the mask of a ruffian.

But she didn’t show any displeasure, calmly brushing his blood-matted white hair.

Thud.

Still carried in her hands, Nox let his head droop

It was his way of saying, "I’ve fainted."

'What an interesting kid... A disciple, huh?'

Luna briefly wondered if this was how her master felt when she took her in.

Luna sank in her thoughts,

But even it didn’t last long.

"Nox!""

"Young Master Nox! Where are you?!"

"Noble Sir!"

From a distance places, voices calling for Nox echoed.

They are probably his comrades.

She had heard that the perfect team was assembled for this mission, so it must be them. For someone from the dark family, he seemed to have earned considerable trust.

The fact of his past engagement to the princess, and his stricking appearance that outshone everyone..

'Maybe there's a reason that princess fell for him.'

A cheeky newcomer.

Luna pondered briefly about him.

Should she really teach him the [Moonlight Sword] that had been passed down from her master?

Not only did he inherit Theo von Reinhaver easygoing personality and brilliant talent that surpassed him, but he also upheld his own sense of justice.

In fact, the answer was clear from the start.

Luna stood up and gently laid Nox on the ground.

Either way his comrades would treat him, and unlike with Paimon, his internal injuries weren’t that severe. There was no need for too much concern, he was just exaggerating.

"I don’t know if becoming my disciple will be a blessing or a curse for you. But...""

Luna placed her hand on his chest, letting a part of her moonlight seep into him.

"I swear by the moonlight that I, Luna, the leader of Lunatic, that I will make you the best."

Not long after, a familiar system notification rang in Nox’s ears.

[The ‘Moonlight’ element has settled within you! Your natural healing and recovery abilities have greatly increased!]

[Random stat increased by 1!]

[Mana stat increased by 1!]

At that moment, Luna had already made up her mind.

She would place this frail boy and his sword on the path to becoming the next Sword Emperor. Even if it meant risking everything she had, she would make it happen.

'His sword has a clear will and purpose.'

Nox had already tried to sacrifice himself for her once.

Not only that, but he was also willing to do the same for others.

Nox had said it himself:

There are two ways to save everyone.

But in the first method, he wasn’t included.

Luna quickly realized why Nox had said that.

'He was willing to sacrifice himself to protect everyone.'

From olden times, a person’s true nature is revealed when they’re cornered to their limits.

That was the kind of person Nox von Reinhaver was.

Though he was called a troublemaker of Reinhaver family and was said to live a reckless life, In fact, that wasn’t the truth.

Nox was just trying to protect others even if it means sacrifice himself

"Interesting."

Her heart began beating faster.

A subtle tension filled the air between the two, now bound as master and disciple.

There was still so much they didn’t know about each other, therefore Luna felt that the time they would spend together would be incredibly valuable.

"Then, until we meet again, brazen newcomer. That time, as master and disciple."

rustle

With that, Luna disappeared into the thick darkness.

Her flawless movement and the way she vanished into the pitch-black night were the very essence of a Sword Emperor.

Her flawfless movement leaves no trace, and the figure of her vanished into the pitch-black night, even at a glance, is the nature of sword emperor itself

And so,

about five minutes later, Nox’s comrades found him lying on the ground.

They all sighed deeply and clicked their tongues in unison, looking at Nox.

'This man did it again, huh ?'

But even in such situation, it was only Zitri who cared for him unconditionally, she hurried over to him, her face pale, and shouted

"Young Master! Young Master, are you okay? Please wake up! Can you hear me? Young Mas—"

"Hey, you’re going to make us deaf. Your young master isn't dead, so calm down."

Paracelsus folded his arms, looking at Nox with a displeased gaze. Leon’s also had a somewhat doubtful gaze.

Is that all?

Even Talia, who's crazy about Nox, and Eleanor, who's cold but never jokes about matters of life and death.

They all looked displeased in silence.

"Huh?"

Zitri finally noticed that their gazes were a bit off.

The way they were looking at her young master, and the way Nox’s chest rose and fell. She felt something wasn’t quite right.

In that moment, even she realized.

"No way... Young Master, are you... awake?"

Crunch!

Zitri clenched her fists so tightly that the yellow canary mask she held was crumpled beyond recognition.

"You wouldn’t, would you?"

"Umm. Hey, Nox…? Zitri seems really angry. She’s smiling but… she’s not smiling.."

Even Talia couldn’t fall for such a lousy act.

That’s right.

At this exact moment, with one eye slightly open, Nox saw a notification about his [Genius of Acting] trait wavering.

Should I get up now?

But if he did, he'd die for sure...

For now, Nox lay on the ground, unbefitting of a noble, facing his comrades for a while.

He finally got up only when Zitri tried to perform CPR by pressing on his chest, but without actually breathing into him.

----------------------------

'Honestly, you really know how to cause trouble, don’t you?'

Eleanor thought that and frowned.

Her arms crossed, glaring at Nox.

For reference, Nox, who had now woken up, was receiving Zitri's kind treatment (?)

"That's enough. aren't other people watching us ?"

Nox said sternly, but Zitri adamantly refused, thoroughly inspecting his body for any injuries.

Although a cloth was draped over him to cover his upper body, Nox was still bewildered.

"You're really lucky, don't you, sir? By the way, you’re going to have to explain everything properly, including what you meant by what you said before the demon attacked us."

"You lowly thing. Is this how you treat a patient?"

Nox snapped back, but Paracelsus ignored him.

Leon chuckled softly and replied.

“Still, Mr. Paracelsus did shout at the top of his lungs trying to find you, Mr. Nox. He really did his best. I was surprised. Mr. Paracelsus who seemed like someone who only cares about himself, to save someone ...”

"Shut up! If you’re going to compliment me, just do it, why add all that extra stuff ?!"

"Hmm? Ah, sorry if I made a mistake."

When Paracelsus growled, Leon scratched his head and closed his mouth.

Anyway, the situation is more or less settled.

Eleanor decided to review a few issues.

"As you requested, all the slaves have been sent to the carriages heading to the academy. Once their identities are confirmed, they’ll either be reunited with their families in their home regions or, as you mentioned, they’ll move and start new lives in Chaders"

Nox had already informed Eleanor regarding slaves.

‘As expected, she’s quick with her work. Even if her personality is awful, I have to keep her on my side.’

Nox rudely thought, standing up.

Now that Zitri’s thorough care was finished.

"Sigh... Young Master, can’t you be a little less reckless with your body?"

Zitri asked with a concerned look, but Nox didn’t reply.

As silence filled the air, even Talia sighed as she looked at Nox.

"Zitri, Cheer up! I know it's tough"

"Thank you..."

Since the two of them experienced the same problems, they have enough room to share this.

After letting out a deep sigh, Nox glanced around.

Soon, this place would be swarmed with professors from Eldain.

Since the incident happened here, Nox planned to sync stories with his comrades and report that a mysterious woman, in other words, Luna, had handled the situation.

Of course, he had an intention to not say his own involvement.

'If things get too complicated, Dean Noah will start getting more suspicious. I might actually get killed...'

But before thinking about that.

And before explaining things to his comrades, there was something else Nox had to do first.

Thud

Nox got up, and when he was staggering he walked, Talia and Zitri asked with suspicious gazes

"Nox? Where are you going?"

“Young Master? You should rest a bit more before you start moving...”

"No, I have to do this now."

But, Nox said firmly.

Paracelsus and Leon exchanged glances, gulping.

"Hey, sir, what’s the matter? If it’s serious, I can help..."

"I’ll help too."

The only one who still didn’t look pleased was Eleanor, It was because she already knew why Nox was moving.

"You all should move quickly too. If not now, there is no other chance."

"What chance... oh"

Leon hummed as if he realized. Nox quickly added.

"I will have 80% of what’s here. Since I took down the demon, there shouldn’t be any objections, right?"

That’s right.

Nox was after the gold coins scattered around the wrecked casino!

Eleanor sighed.

"I had a feeling. He did say he’d repay the 200 million in a day..."

Nox had a plan.

A perfect plan to multiply his assets several times over,

while also extending his lifespan.

'Huu... How much is this all worth?'

Jackpot.

With that thought, Nox opened his spatial inventory.

His comrades behind him could only watch in disbelief.

#terminally-ill #terminally-ill-genius-dark-knight

11 notes · View notes

its-adeucen · 1 year ago

Text

the other itoshi

Oikawa Toru is an extremely skilled volleyball player, who can not help but feel inferior to prodigy's with natural talents and higher skillsets. A boy who loves his sport with his entire being, but can not help but be distressed at the idea of those who surpass hm

thinking about a third itoshi sibling who's like oikawa. a third sibling who fell in love with volleyball at a young age, who couldn't help but put in their all into the sport they love. a third sibling who shows the same ambition that their brothers have with football towards volleyball.

a third sibling who would always be over looked. it's common knowledge that the itoshi family held football prodigies, coming from the great itoshi sae who was so amazing that he went international at such a young age to blue locks number one itoshi rin. why on earth would the family see any value in any other sport?

a third sibling who can't help but be jealous. why does it matter if their siblings are prodigies in football, can people see all the hard work that they put into volleyball? a third sibling who can not help but resent their brothers talent in football. even though they're praised for being so 'highly skilled' in volleyball, they can not help but feel inferior to sae's title as prodigy, or rins higher skillset and natural athletic abilities.

a third sibling who tries to take this feeling of inferiority as motivation to do better. and yet, not matter how many congratulations or awards or games they win, they know that in the eyes of their family, this is nothing. the knowing feeling that no matter how hard they work, how well they improve, how many achievements they receive, that football will always come on top in their family. but, they continue to preserver, for love conquers all battles, and they can not help but love volleyball with all their being.

(a third sibling who can not help but wish. wish that they loved football just as much as their family. then, maybe, they wouldn't feel so alienated. then, maybe, they would be able look into the crowd and see the proud faces of their family. be able to have bonding moments with their brothers who never seem to look at them. maybe their trophies would stand clean and shiny right up there with their brothers instead of lying in the closet collecting dust. but, even if they did love soccer, they know that they would never compare to the shining lights that are their brothers talents. that all they would be was the other itoshi.)

idk if you can tell, but I also kin oikawa, lol. anyways, I might add on, idk