#i have a wip of him n its a royal au

[screampied]

nanami kento brain rot 😞✋

[taegularities]

candles & flames: downpour | jjk (m)

bonus chapter II: downpour

Summary: One knock at your door — that’s all it takes for the clouds to burst. Because when it rains, it pours.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: established relationship, royal!au; angst!!, fluff, smut ➳ warnings: ok ok – rain metaphors, mention of a traumatic past, daddy issues?, illegitimate child plot, backstories, mention of mentally abusive relationship, cheating (not between jk and oc), jk kinda a homewrecker, lies, tears, breakdowns, panic, fears, abandonment issues, craving/pining sigh, arguments and fighting, very sweet kids, dad!jk <3; explicit sexual content: oral (m. receiving, super brief f.), fingering, teasing, kissing/making out, manhandling, biting, big dick jk, soft dom jk, soft/hard sex, unprotected sex (shhh, they're married), he spills on her ass, cmnf for a bit, some aftercare; hm… the ending. ➳ wc: 31.8k ➳ a/n: alright. i courageously fought through the pain; not sure how this will go for you. we've waited quite a while for this, and all your support for this series really pushed me to no end <3 i hope this is all you guys expected it to be. take it easy with this one; love y'all sm and as always, let me know what you think 🤍 ➳ a/n2: this is a bonus chapter for my mini-series candles & flames. reading the rest of the story helps!! find the mpost below <3 and the collaborative playlist here!

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

It’s fall.

Orange-red, beloved, drizzling fall.

And everything falls with its emergence. The leaves, the temperature, the warmth.

You’re bummed, experiencing the prior season coming to an end again; the colours are fading and the flowers disappearing. The trees are empty; pretty but a little eerie, too.

Hana insisted on a stroll since the sun still graced you this noon; by now, it’s gone again, hidden behind grey, monochrome clouds. It looks much later than it already is; great call to march outside since you were still able to pick leftover flowers in the garden with her.

In the middle of the drawing room, Hana leafs through the basket. Jungkook is largely free today, but he’s still busying himself with papers of some guest he’s expecting tomorrow. The man wishes to open a bar in the village and asked for an appointment with the town’s royal to discuss the profitability of the idea.

Jungkook is lost in thoughts, thick eyebrows furrowed, but your eyes are scurrying across the room, settling on your daughter. She’s carefully inspecting each flower, remaining on her favourites a little longer; kneeling with pursed lips.

She resembles her father down to each smileless dimple. She’s staring down, the same shape and arch of her lips, eyes big. Whenever she finds a particularly good flower, she jumps to her little feet, walking up to Jungkook to present her choices for him to admire.

Once she reaches her last favourite, she holds it up to him with a tongue sticking out, proud and childishly joyous as she says, “This is for you.”

“For me?” he drops the papers to the table, mouth open; cautiously takes the daisy between his fingers. “Gorgeous. I thought I was not allowed to have one?”

“You can have this,” she mumbles, lisping here and now, “I have many.”

“Right. Let’s see.” He lays it onto the documents he inspected, stretching out his palms for her. Obliging, she lets him pick her up and place her on his lap, immediately pumped when he asks, “Where did you find it? Want to tell me about it?”

And she does, with sheer enthusiasm so, explaining the spot and the colours vaguely. You know Jungkook still isn’t any smarter, probably not quite remembering where the daisies grow. He prefers the field in the distance over the garden.

Concluding her story, she soon tells him, “Can you keep this? Until I am big like you?”

“Oh…” You tilt your head. Your cheeks are hot like the summer that passed, watching him blush, melting with her in his arms. “Of course! Do you want to tell me why I am getting this one?”

“It’s pretty.”

“Ah. Like you then. You’re pretty.”

And Hana, aware and oh-so-humble, responds with her eyes on her fingers, nodding, “Yes.”

They do this sometimes. Exchange pretty things. She enjoys sharing her food or her collections with him, stuff she loves. She’s learned to show affection like this; makes him and you a part of herself this way. It’s a slightly different dynamic with the others in the room, though.

Because the moment her tremendous eyes look up, they darken a shade, displeased with the little body crawling to her basket, close to reaching in. Hana wriggles and jumps off Jungkook’s lap, her voice high-pitched when she starts whining, “Nooo! Not you!”

Right. There’s that, too.

The miniscule hand almost knocking over the basket, the same eyes as his sister’s, but the expressions a lot closer to yours. The surprise in his gaze is similar to the one you see right behind him, belonging to the partner in crime.

You rush to lift the near-accomplice before Hana can reprimand them both. And he looks just like you when he stares at you in shock, not minding the warmth, hands close to his body before they settle right on your clavicles.

He averts his gaze, following the drama on the ground. And the other twin, the one he’d been hurrying to, looks like your occasionally whining self, too, when Hana reaches him.

Jungkook might have enjoyed a copy of himself in her for years now, but you got two boys with your features instead. They clutch at you at all times, much as Hana sticks to her father.

Jaehoon, clever and thoughtful, secure in your arms, and then Jaehyuk, usually radiant, on the floor. Only right now, he isn’t as cheerful anymore.

Rather devastated, startled as Hana opens the small fist crushing a flower. He ogles around with wide eyes, already breathing towards crying, and then, finally — juts out his lower lip. Seeks your attention; and when he catches your tilted, worried look, he starts weeping.

As if your presence permitted his breakdown. You sigh.

His fist is closed tight, but when Hana sharply orders again, “Let go!”, he does, scrabbling away from her. She collects her possessions with a grunt; you inch closer to her the same moment Jungkook rises from his seat on the diwan.

Lifting the crying Jaehyuk in his arms, he plants a soft kiss onto the child’s temple, shushing him with a gentle, “It is alright. Look, nothing happened.”

But Jaehyuk still buries his face in Jungkook’s chest, crying harder, actual tears this time around. Jungkook squats down to Hana with a scolding look in his eyes, one eyebrow cocked as he explains, “Suhana, it is good to share.”

She doesn’t quite look at him; throws the remainders of the demolished flower into the basket, grazing the petals. Sulking, she defends, “But he destroyed them.”

“He is little. You did this as well when you were small.”

Hana shakes her head, convinced, “I do not think that I did.”

“Ah… really?”

“I don’t destroy pretty things!”

Jungkook mimics your sigh, kneeling down, and you shift your eyes for just a moment to check on the baby in your arms. He’s the calmest in the room, observing the rest of his family with curiosity. You smile a little; he’s beautiful, so innocent, so clueless.

So empathetic.

Worried when he sees his brother still crying, not imitating his sobs, but pointing to his other half before he looks at you as if you understood. Awaiting your answer.

You did understand, actually; you often do. So you nod, telling him, “I know. Jaehyuk is a little sad.”

Jaehoon points again, and then suddenly leans forwards. You hold him tight, walking closer to the rest, and he relaxes. Happy you obliged, a finger in his mouth. You set him on the ground when Jungkook does the same with Jaehyuk, listening in as your husband tries again—

“Look. You gave me a nice flower, so give him one, too. He’s your brother, right?”

Hana hesitates. Then, “Yes.”

“Don’t you love him, too?” You hum at his words, enforcing the message. “You should give nice things to people you love.”

“Yes. But he is annoying…”

She grants her siblings a look, a little calmer when Jaehyuk sniffles. Jaehoon shifts closer to his disheartened brother, touching his hand, knees close. They can finally sit on their own now, and they use the ability to keep themselves glued to the other.

A second passes before Hana adds, “Alright, he should have one. He is too small to get his own.”

You agree, “That’s right.”

Holding two different flowers towards the now far calmer Jaehyuk — Jaehoon’s presence seems to help — she inquires, “Good, which one do you like better?”

Her voice is authoritative, the classic older sister. It affects the twins for just a moment as they blink at her; but then, Jaehyuk regards the choices presented to him — though his eyes settle on the marigold quickly.

Opting to grab it, he hits the void when Hana pulls back, shaking her head. You’re about to nag again, seated on the ground next to Jungkook, much like royals should as your sister would jest, but then hold back when Hana speaks again.

“No. Grab it from here, yes?” She hands him the stem, and he listens, takes it as carefully as a baby can. “Yes, like this.”

And then he’s raising it to his cheek, fascinated by it, touching the petals after all. Jaehoon watches quietly before his beseeching eyes drift to his sister. His plea is soundless, but she understands; says, “You can have this, Jaehoonie.”

The daisy he receives is from the same spot she plucked Jungkook’s from. Pretty things for her pretty brother. He’s not sure what to do with it, though, but he imitates the way Jaehyuk plays with it so tenderly, more than happy to accept.

You catch the smile spreading on Hana’s countenance, balanced out by her sassy little, “But you have to work for more. These are mine.”

You laugh, content, “This is good enough.” You reach out to her cheek, caressing for a moment. “Be nice to each other. They love you a lot.”

She only nods, yet baffled when Jaehoon suddenly opts for her, climbing half onto her lap. She gives in, though she can barely properly hold them yet; so she reshifts him as well as she can, placing him in front of her, between her legs.

Like this, they look through the basket; he’s kind and soft, so he doesn’t do much anyway. Just stares while Jaehyuk busies himself with the flower until he gets bored and targets the toy he abandoned minutes ago.

They’re cooing and conversing, Hana speaking, Jaehoon incoherently babbling. You’ve heard this is good, talking to your kids; apparently, they’re vocal much more later on.

But the room is filled with noises and a stack of papers, so you turn to Jungkook and suggest, “I can take them somewhere else. You’re working, so I reckoned…”

“It’s alright,” he, however, assures, “I am already done. This is rewarding, actually.”

“Isn’t it tiring?” You regard the scattered children, full of love for them, but brimming with fatigue, too. “I am so… exhausted.”

“I know. I understand that you are,” he says, grasping your hand, knuckles to his lips, “which is probably why I should stay, too.”

He gets it. You know he truly does, never just says it.

Ever since the birth of your twins, stress, anxiety and restless nights came together to an undesired mix. Barely sleeping makes you prone to headaches and mood swings; one child was already difficult to manage, but three…

You haven’t rested in years. Your skin and your eyes have changed. More tired, more sensitive, your heart a little more feeble.

And the birth wasn’t easy, either. You lost a ton of blood again, another source of Jungkook’s resurfaced panic; but this time because there were two kids at once. You feel grateful, you do — but the days and weeks after they were born were hell on Earth.

You didn’t quite feel like yourself for so long.

But their warmth and Jungkook helped. Honestly, you can’t anyhow fabricate a world without him and his support even just in theory. And beware, such love isn’t given; you’ve seen friends and relatives wade through terrible experiences.

Jungkook is a man they don’t place in every corner of the world, so you’re thankful beyond imagination.

Because you survived due to him. You live because of the humble personalities in this brightly lit room, dimmed only by the grey afternoon sky. It’s a cruel world at times; some pasts are an accumulation of everything bad. Jungkook’s more than anyone’s you know.

Looking at him now, you can hardly believe he was once the sad boy stranded in the rain.

That crying, sobbing mess, freezing, seeking peace when he was inundated by misery. But…

Things came together well, right? The world is less terrifying like this.

You guess the warmth might fall outside all the time, but it never does in these rooms.

“And?”

The answer echoes less than it did a moment ago. The peeking head is retracting just slowly, still frozen between the open door and its frame. You don’t think his eyes are spying much of concern, and he confirms it when he shakes his head, responds—

“Nothing.”

“This should be good enough then.”

“Hm, yes. I don’t know. It took hours last time, as well.”

Without a piece of context, it’s a hilarious picture. Somehow, it even is with context; so you can’t help the quiet chuckle, silencing quickly to avoid waking up the tiny bundle slumbering in your arms.

You reprimand your husband, “But you can’t keep standing there for hours.”

The sigh you receive is deep and long. You understand his worries.

It hasn’t been long anyway — the night transpired just a while ago. Still in the back of your mind since Hana waddled to your room, knocking with the might that her fist could possibly conjure; you barely heard it, but you did.

You have been a light sleeper since she was born, so you were shaken awake rather fast. You welcomed her in with softness, veiling the horror in your voice. You were devastated when you saw her feet bare, standing in the dark hallway.

Luckily, the moment turned out not quite frightening — she couldn’t sleep. That was it. So you pulled her into your arms and off the ground, stroking her back and her head, planting kisses in her hair.

It took a while to lull her to sleep; to be certain, you kept her right next to you for the remainder of the nightly hours, even though her room was next door. She’d mumbled something about a poor bird, and you’d understand only minutes after her silence that she had seen a dead pigeon in the garden that day.

The nightmare this scene called forth prevented her from sleeping comfortably in her chamber for some days to come.

Jungkook had come to bed late that time, so he was long knocked out when Hana came. The regret doubled the next morning when you told him about the occurrence, and Jungkook blamed himself for the coming hours — only, the guilt extended. Still prominent.

Because he’s still glancing out, fearing she’ll come and knock again; fearing it might go unnoticed once more.

“I would hear it,” you reassure, “I always will.”

“What if you don’t?”

“I will,” you try again; you keep your voice low, soft, understanding his string of thoughts. But you miss him next to you, and you want the door to close. You insist, “I will, love. Don’t blame yourself for not hearing it, yes? You were tired.”

Jaehoon moves in your arms, a small fist loosening. He’s fast asleep, but you still wait before you speak again, assuring that he won’t wake up again. Jungkook must be thinking the same, because only once you sigh a breath of relief, he says, “You are tired, too. Don’t undermine your importance here—”

“Just come to bed, darling.”

Interrupted, his lips morph into a pout, round eyes regarding you for a moment. But it seems you render him at least a little delicate, aware of your effect on him, tilting your head by a few degrees. Your smile must be jarring; because the second you flash it, he gives in.

The door shuts behind him, and he offers an upward twitch of his mouth in response before he asks, “Would you reckon she’s too young to have her own room?”

“Perhaps… I don’t always feel very comfortable with her absence at night either. We have gotten too used to her, haven’t we?” You shake your head as he steps towards your side of the bed. “But she wanted this so bad.”

“Hmm… good thing she spends half of all her nights here anyway.”

“True. She got too used to us, as well,” you say before sitting up, eliciting a brief groan as you prepare yourself to put Jaehoon back in his crib. You can barely stand up; your body is exhausted, begs to stay in the resting state for now. “Alright then…”

But by then Jungkook’s helping hands are already reaching out, his back arching, bowing forwards. Carefully, sweetly, he mutters a little, “No, let me—” before he’s sheltering his son in his hold, slow and gentle as he tackles the task for you.

For a minute, he remains there, standing over the crib, gazing at the babies so peacefully dreaming away. He does this sometimes — lose himself in the sight. This is a fairytale for him. When he read all those books on parenting years ago, he didn’t think it’d come this easily to him.

Not that parenting has ever been particularly easy. Tears and arguments were frequent at points in time, but so were sacrifices and compromises. You knew what such a change did to a vulnerable heart and mind, so you fought through the difficulties with courage.

And it was worth it every single time. All in all, you don’t regret a thing; you’d repeat it all if you could. Jungkook is your dream; this life is your dream.

Never ceased to be.

Even now, as he returns to the bed and jumps under the blanket, you register an odd, sparkly feeling in your tummy. It always existed underneath, never diminished or decreased. Ever-so-present, you still cherish its intensity, even after all these years. Or perhaps because of the time that has passed.

Such passion isn’t a matter of fact. You know it isn’t.

Triggered by the funny, pleasant feeling in your body, your smile grows a little. Softer and more loving when he kisses your shoulder as if to greet you. Proceeds to place his head on your chest as his arms snake around your body, settling in his very own safe space.

“Are you feeling well?” his drowsy voice questions, just a little muffled as the lips graze your gown’s cotton.

“I am. You?”

“Just cold. I need a bit more of this,” he cuddles in, kissing underneath your breasts, right above your ribs. “It has been raining so much.”

“It has been indeed.”

“But,” he shifts, closer to you, “I’ve learned to appreciate it now.”

You chuckle. Time steadily passes, but some memories stay right at their assigned spots, like an immovable anchor. You’re proud, having replaced his terrifying images of nature’s showers with fond ones. And ever since, the rain has felt closer to you, too.

“That is something, then,” you say, “I’m just sad for the kids… they can’t stay out too long without feeling under the weather. If I could, I’d show them the sky all the time, too.”

“And how we’re connected to it?”

You laugh again; you wonder if he’s feeling warmer now. You’re inundated with the heat, at least. “Yes, this.”

His grip tightens just a little, a fragile attempt to draw you deeper into him. This is all the laws of physics allow — no gap left for him to close. Yet, he tries. His kiss wanders up as he raises his head, lips missing your clavicles by a bit; thumb stroking the side of your mounds.

“Love,” he calls quietly; when your eyes move to his, you see a change in them. They’re fog-shrouded and somehow questioning. “Do you feel tired?”

You’re surprised; you expected something else. The question doesn’t match his expression.

For a moment, you assume that your answer might serve a bigger purpose, so you weigh it back and forth before you decide on a straightforward, “Less than usual. It’s been so long since we fell asleep together.”

Maybe that’s what’s keeping you awake. Maybe that’s what he wants to hear.

Because he nods fervently against your breasts, cheek pressing against them, and agrees, “It has been. Yet, do you know it has been only three days in reality?”

Oh. Dang. You guess there is no true limit to your mutual obsession. You shrug, “Feels much longer.”

“Well, in that sense…” Warm digits touch your arm, circling your elbow and then travelling up your skin. “There is one good thing about Hana sleeping in the other room, yes? We’re alone for once.”

“Unless she once again catches us in the middle of—”

“Don’t remind me.”

You giggle, but the sound dies when he pushes his palm under your short gown sleeve, caressing your shoulder and then the lower part of your neck. Angling your head, you close your eyes, somehow spitting, “Are you planning something, Sir?”

His leg moves further over your own; there’s a growing firmness between them that you can’t ignore. He teases, “Sir? Now, that is new.”

“Mmh, do you like it?”

“Admittedly, it is somewhat odd, but… it’s still something.”

“Then, what is going on now?”

“Well, it’s… very boring to talk about it. Lemme just—”

The palm covering your tits is sudden, but the mouth exploring them isn’t. You felt the touch from miles away, satisfied and alight when his teeth graze over your perked nipple. His hand, restless, works on pushing down your nightgown to bare one side, and he’s…

Impatient, as you’ve known.

His tongue is hot and soft, the tip of it merely teasingly brushing over the freed nipple as his hand pushes your tit up, further into his face and towards his mouth. You sigh. He sets fire to your nerves; you feel each of the licks affecting your body.

Then, amidst the comfortable, sweet journey, he suddenly bites.

You gasp, followed by a tiny exclaim of an, “Ouch,” and work on playfully escaping his advances — to no avail. He laughs against your bud, his hands stronger than your dishonest attempt as they pin your arms to the mattress.

His eyes are evil, an eyebrow cocked, lips parted as he breathes, “What?”

“You’re about to lose it again. I can see it!”

“Ah… do you— do you not want me to?” He’s still in a daze, his words mumbled. He moves back just a little, wondering if you’re not quite where he is tonight. But you shake your head the moment he suggests, “I’ll hold myself back if I need t—”

“Oh, can you?”

You’re smiling, so he’s quickly encouraged to offer a grin of his own; honestly admits, “No… but I will for you.”

“You will for me?” The everlasting beam on your face is inevitable; how could you keep your cool, pretend you’re not thoroughly warmed when he says things like these? “While I appreciate how thoughtful you are… I’m not a fool.”

Not a fool. I won’t decline.

“Then… May I kiss you?”

“You’re asking so politely, how could I—”

There’s no time to reject, even if you wanted to. His kiss is abrupt and hard, though his lips still refrain from any aggression just yet. He lifts his hands from next to your head to above it, dragging your captive arms with them.

As his head tilts, deeper in the kiss, his tongue mingles with yours with a tempting hum so unique to his voice — as if he’s tasting a delicatesse. Your mouths are in main action, but both your bodies are reacting in their entirety, too.

In constant motion, winding, closing in.

His upper body urges you down until you’re flat on your back; the nightgown settles back over your tits again as you move, but he grabs your flesh above the clothing, kneading. Clumsily, with his eyes still shut, he attempts to unlace the front of your gown.

You wait for his intention to manifest into reality, readily letting his palm brush over your hot skin, your neck, your jaw. But once he opts to undress you fully, your patience dwindles, and you let him know, “I don’t want to wait this time.”

“Ah, alright, alright… This is how we’re doing things tonight?”

Your poor dress will be wrinkled up by the morning; you know by the way he’s hiking it up your leg this time, stopping at your waist, force of habit. There’s a satisfying, delighted smile on his face, mixing with a pleased sound when he discovers you’re bare underneath the gown—

And it seems it motivates him more rapidly to tug at his own trousers. You nod as if to encourage him further, hands seeking out the hem of his pyjamas. But you’re as useless from this angle as can be.

So he sits upright, slipping out of it, pushing it down his thighs until it’s wrapped around his knees. He’s no better, really; just as naked, just as uncovered underneath the trousers, as if the two of you planned this, or hoped for this.

Kneeling, he pushes your legs apart, spreading until your flexibility stops. He settles between them properly, leaning down, and uses the position to kick off the rest of his disruptive trousers. The length of his cock, as unbelievable as ever and quickly hardening, presses against your damp cunt — bliss for the moment, but torture for the next.

The way his cock dips between your folds and rubs along your pussy’s growing dampness feels almost deliberate. As if he’s tormenting you, demonstrating his power over you, stiff past your hole and up your tiny clit without ever diving in.

But you won’t lie — you could probably come from this alone. It’s embarrassing, being so weak in his presence. And the filthy sounds, wet and inappropriate, don’t help a bit.

So you’re not sure whether you’re relieved or agitated when the touch finally vanishes but his mischievous smile doesn’t. It’s somewhat weak, hindered by the lust clouding his brain, but it’s insane and misbehaved either way.

He’ll kill you one day; or you might kill him. You don’t know who might end up asserting the more hazardous dominance.

For now, it’s you who’s surrendering. How could you not, considering he’s conjuring his own battle plan right above you, hand reaching between his and your legs and underneath the blanket to—

Damn the tip of the digits against your clenching cunt. He’s not even inside, but you react immediately. Know to bite your lower lip when he circles your clit a little, the position and the spread legs keeping you from shutting your thighs.

Your head falls to the side; Jungkook considers it an opportunity. He plays around your nub further, testing the waters, and when you moan out, he closes the gap between the two of you, latching onto your neck to suck and kiss and bite.

“Fuck,” you curse, incessantly hoping the kids are deeply asleep and won’t have to witness their mother’s foul language this early on. “Fuck, start already—”

He knows you aren’t talking about his fingers; they’re already in action, tapping your clit, drawing over it. Then moving down, slipping along your wetness, already drenched when he decides to ram a finger in.

Yet, he understands you’re still referring to the member standing tall, anticipating and urging for you but holding back either way. No, instead he chooses to drive you crazy first, using a free hand to grab your chin and turn your head back to him, going for another messy kiss.

And you can’t do more than give yourself to him so willingly, wincing and whimpering as he finger-fucks you as well as the position allows. It’s not ideal like this, and to your chagrin, he can’t use his skills fully, but the fact that he can turn your thoughts this incoherent speaks volumes already.

You can’t wait… can’t wait for him to bury himself in you.

Half hovering over you, he soon loses the strength to keep himself afloat, dipping and retracting his fingers to lead his cock there instead; still, once again, without fucking you dumb yet. You’re drifting, but still too sane for your liking.

Your wetness helps him toy with you some more; he keeps pumping with his hand as he humps you once, twice, and you mutter his name and a couple mumbled pleas — but he remains as wicked as ever.

But when the dam breaks and your mind explodes, you exclaim his name again in pure desperation, half your brain gone when he pushes just his tip inside you and continues jerking off to make himself as hard as he can.

Eventually, you demand, “Put it in!”

The shake of his head is vile. Your eyebrows furrow at the man, and you try to grind up into him — he doesn’t let you. Only the head remains inside you, and he keeps doing his thing, not leading it in or out, just drenching himself.

You reprimand, “You’re being impossible tonight.”

“Aren’t I?” he responds, like a naughty child who’s caught and proud of its sins. He presses another peck to your lips, his words breathy when he reveals his true thoughts, “No, sweetheart, it is just that— you aren’t ready. That’s it.”

You aren’t ready? You feel like you’re overflowing. But you understand; there’s no room for impatience after all. It’s happened before — him pushing in, only to realise it was too early, that it pained you instead of pleasuring you.

“Well…” you start, dumbfounded. He noticed and you didn’t — the ultimate proof that he knows you inside out. “You could’ve said this earlier. Put it in my mouth then.”

“Huh?”

“Right now. This will help, too.”

“Oh… yes? I— I won’t reject the offer.”

Of course he won’t. In fact, he climbs up the bed quickly, lifting, caging your body between his knees. The sight is incredible; thighs as wide as your face, muscular. You hold onto them, bask in the sight of the dangling package, harder by the moment.

With effort, he says, “Just for a second.” The tip taps against your mouth, hot as he pushes it inside. Thick and heavy on your tongue, his cock twitches, affected by the swirl of the wet muscle and the hollowing of your cheeks. “Yes… not long, no—”

He must be talking to himself. Keeping himself from thrusting and fucking your mouth all the way to the end. And when you bop your head up and down, lightly touching his balls and the parts of the length you can’t swallow, he restates, “I really do not want to wait.”

You let go for a moment with a slurping sound, agreeing, “Fine by me,” before you come back to go in harder. Giving him all you can, crossing your legs, seeking reprieve.

And you think you’d quickly overflow, by virtue of his enticing reactions, if the moment wasn’t so short lived.

Because it seems he reaches a limit when your drool starts flowing down the side of your face, nasty and warm, your throat still working full time on not gagging. On staying quiet. It’s become a task by now.

And for the first time tonight, Jungkook doesn’t serve the devil, but pulls back.

While it’s a pity — why didn’t he finish in your mouth? — you won’t deny your selfish part. The one that craves and awaits, glad when his body disappears beneath the sheets again, his head with it.

What—

Won’t he start? You didn’t expect him to fall out of your sight entirely. And there’s not much guessing needed until you understand that he’s aiming for his favourite spot, his tongue lapping up your juices a moment later.

He kisses your cunt just once, slides a stripe between your folds, and you’re certain his goal is much more profound. Normally, you’d be fully down for this, but you’ve reached a limit you can’t bear anymore.

So you whisper, “You don’t need to.”

He doesn’t register it right away, spitting and feasting further; more kisses, more tongue, untamed until you grip his hair and raise his head off of you. He obliges surprisingly easily when you pull him back to your lips, reiterating, “I don’t want to fucking wait. Just…”

“I know,” he says, peck after peck, in between each word, “I know. I have had enough, too, I have—”

His arm steals your breath when he twines it around your body like a vine, arching your back, lifting you by mere inches. Both his hands are busy; caressing your sides or your face; he’s confident about the touch, about the eagerness the two of you harbour for each other.

Which is why he doesn’t even guide his length towards your pleading heat anymore, gliding up and down; hard enough to stand tall against it, poking as if knocking. The thought makes you laugh for only a moment before your lungs suddenly empty—

Part of his cock slips in effortlessly; there’s no resistance, no struggle, no need to glance down and complicate matters. You welcome him easily; match his smirk, proud and unsurprised about your keen craze when he says, “Wasn’t supposed to happen already. I wanted another moment to—”

You vigorously shake your head. “Too late. Too damn late—”

The last word comes out strained as your body comes in motion, moving against him. And he matches your pace and fervour, shoving himself in harder. Unable to resist anymore, all the teasing vanishes along with his patience.

Instead, he bottoms out at once, and you yelp, an unintentional volume that he immediately shuts with a hand over your mouth and a chuckle. Jungkook enjoys playing the beast when he’s with you like this, but he can’t suppress his amusement when he shushes you.

“Are y-you trying to wake the mansion, huh?”

But his words are nothing but a breath, airy and quiet. Such a whistling whisper that it, much as your noise, might just be enough to wake everybody, too. The irony is comical.

You shake your head and his hand with it, relying on your nose to breathe the oxygen still left in the room. Your neck feels hot, your face and body burning up. Not quite sure whether it’s the way he’s handling you or whether your leg is actually trembling like this.

His strokes, slowly starting, shake up your body at least. The friction drives you insane; his length, reaching a mind-boggling depth, renders you so stupid each time. Thick against your walls, leaving no gap, no spot untouched. 

You’re boiling under his hand, somehow glad about the muffled sound. Because if he didn’t silence you like this, you’d be wreaking havoc right here, an unbridled mess wrapped in your husband’s body.

They say love and passion fade sometimes; that affection lessens when you get used to it, bored of it. But the two of you haven’t reached that stage yet — you doubt you ever will.

Because the flames that have surrounded you ever since you fell into these depths for the other… they don’t ever seem to dim. Who would’ve thought that a candle could turn into an inferno?

No, your body signals more than enough; this isn’t boredom. This isn’t a reduction in adoration. You feel the devouring and the worship in each thrust and touch and kiss and gaze.

In each curse and movement, how he shifts you and you wind. Dancing in the sheets and shivering under the goosebumps as he hears your stifled moans drowned out by his palm. If he could, he’d listen all day; if the circumstances allowed…

He rams into you hard but slowly and only raises the pace gradually; once he’s gotten used to the effect, however, and seeks to possess you more, he sends your body up the sheets. Each time, over and over again, restraint thrown overboard.

You mewl with a raised head and tightly shut eyes; his hand drops just a little, and you, in your misty moment, dig your teeth into the finger still covering your lower lip. The sound he lets out suggests pain here, but then again… lust there.

His voice is feathery, mellow; as if he’s softly charmed, seduced rather than achingly bitten.

Lips apart and eyes hooded, he relocates his hand just a little, twisting it until the thumb grazes your chin, hand laying on your cheek as the forefinger dips into your mouth. It’s difficult to focus; what does he look at?

The way his digit is gently trapped between your teeth, the tip of it teased by your tongue? The arch of your mouth and how his finger presses against the lower lip? Or the heat that grows under his palm, the rise of your chin, the eyes rolling back before shutting?

A feral urge expands in him, growing like a well-watered seed; he doesn’t know how you do it, but you encapsulate all his beginnings and ends in a moment, now and always.

Your hair is a mess by the time he removes his other hand from it, not quite sure when he grabbed a patch at all. He pins one of your legs to the side, angling it, and you breathe unsteadily, mumbling a tiny, “Oh— Kook—”

“Yes.”

It’s not quite a dialogue, but neither of you cares for it. There isn’t much to say at all. And neither any calls of his or your name, nor his quiet, “I love you so much,” do the emotion bubbling in his stomach justice.

In all honesty, he could explode just looking at you. You’re a wonder of nature, aren’t you? You pump relief and craze and comfort and insanity into him, one after another and all at once.

“Baby,” you call out the moment his teeth drag your damn gown down your tits again, kissing them, nibbling at your nipple. “I think I might already— soon…”

You don’t know whether it’s because it’s been so long, or because Jungkook knows just well how to fuck you right, but you’re nearly bursting. Or is it the mental picture of the movements he’s granting you?

Elegant yet beastly thrusts, hips and ass and upper body swaying up and down steadily; slow, then fast, then soft, then hard… rhythmic and then stuttering—

He wipes the hair off your forehead, and then whispers warm and close to your ear, “Hey, do you… know how obsessed I am with you?” A peck to your earlobe, and you wind, ticklish and pleased. He shifts to your lips, the kiss an inch away. “You—you’re all I’ll ever need.”

You can’t serve as much of a smooth and rational answer as him, but you still tell him all lost, “Then— be with me… me, always, yes?”

He chuckles; you’re not sure why. Perhaps this is such a matter-of-fact for him that he doesn’t need it spelled out. “Yes… yes. What else? Where else would I go?”

Away from you — even for a moment, even just a bit. Right now, you can’t bear the thought of a hint of a distance between the two of you. You want him close, closer, part of your heart, thawing with you in cool falls and cold winters.

“You’re pretty,” he then proceeds, tugging at your lip, “don’t know where to touch you. So pretty.”

“Everywhere. Just don’t stop— touching me,” you begin, every now and then interrupted by an exhausted kiss, “at all.”

“Right.” And still, he backs away out of the blue, all touch gone except the gentle rub along your hip, and you stare up at him with big eyes, body so empty before he orders, “Turn around.” He’s acting tough, but you see the madness in his eyes the moment he says it. “Quickly.”

Quickly.

You know what he’s thinking without him vocalising any of it. Know what he’ll do before he does it.

With quivering limbs, you oblige, helped by his hands as he hauls the gown easily over your body, crumpling it up and placing it next to the pillow. Within a moment, you’re bare, head to toe.

He keeps you on your knees, reluctant to wait a second before he enters you again. His hand lands on your ass, pulling apart to see better, and once all in, he starts moving again.

You don’t need to glance back to know that the muscles of his back and his ass are flexing, tanned and golden. The veins of his arms are probably protruding, his abs and chest damp, latter heaving. You know he probably resembles some textbook God, and maybe that’s what topples you over the edge.

That and… the hand on your clit.

Softly circling, the nub immensely sensitive, limbs buckling and weak. You require all your might to not fall and close your legs and sob.

But the tears are inescapable; one or two tip over your waterline when you finally come to an end. His prior teasing and the anticipation already drove you too close to the peak, and it seems that now you’re surrendering eventually.

You shake, your arms more so than the rest of your body. Wobbly, you try to keep yourself upright, but as the blur covers your vision and the waves crash over your pelvis and stomach, you let your cheek fall to the pillow. Hands clutch the sheets.

The tremor is out of control.

And you’re still riding out that high, aided by his continuing shoves and hammering. He’s generous when he pushes you all the way down, a hand on the small of your back as he says, “Take your time— I’m almost there, fu—”

Take your time with what? You don’t know; the chances are high he doesn’t either. Or is he talking to himself again?

To no avail, though, because he’s manic, uncurbed. Your cheek digs into the pillow, the bed moving more than it has during these moments lately. He’s chasing ecstasy, calling your name and little words, such as, “Love, sweetheart, darling,” over and over again like it’s his sole vocabulary.

His lips move over your shoulder and to your back, featherlight as opposed to how he’s fucking you. The care with which he kisses your skin leaves you gasping, affects you whole, and you feel the shiver down your spine, along your arms.

You want to stay awake all night. Want this to keep going.

Funny, how this very thought is followed by a question you neither expect nor grasp, “Have I… kissed you too much already? Are you sick of it?”

You think your eyebrows furrow, or perhaps you imagine it, because there is no way your facial muscles still have that much energy left. But he must be out of his mind, daring such questions. Is there such a thing as getting sick of him?

“Why—”

This man never lets you finish. There is an art to interrupting without irritating, and he’s mastered it — because you can barely complain when his hand wraps around your neck, cautiously lifting and turning your head to make out with you again.

The tongue sneaks into your mouth right away; the kiss is barely a kiss, too filthy and chaotic to be called such. Rather, you’re eating each other up, mixing your moans, crazed by his drilling until his breaths turn laboured and his sounds hoarse.

They come straight out of his throat, sweet in your ears. And before you know it, he’s getting to his knees and rapidly pulling out; you feel vulnerable and tender, thoroughly worn out. The heat is blistering and your mind gone — but you still notice the ropes landing on your ass.

Sticky and hot and plenty. Scattered over your flesh; you contribute some, too, moving your ass left and right just a little, and it seems he’s enjoying it. Groans as he pumps on; when you look back at him, eyes halfway closed, you give him the rest.

And a couple seconds later, tongue poking the corner of his lips, he’s done.

Panting, whispering something you can’t understand, weak… but done. Close to falling onto you until he realises he probably shouldn’t.

Instead, he lays down next to you. Your eyes are closed, but you immediately feel a loving brush over your cheek, ridding it of the strands sticking to your face.

You shake your head — or at least, you think you do. It’s probably more of an attempt, just a slight movement before you playfully scold, “Great… what do we do about this now?”

Jungkook swallows, calming down as he responds, “Over there— there’s a jug of water on the table still.”

“…And?”

“I will go and find a cloth?”

The careful question in his tone is so sweet. You’re not sure if he intended to stain your skin like this before the lust took over him. What a fool for you. Enough to barely ever think of the consequences, be they big or small.

In this sense, you could say that falling for you happened without a single thought for him, too, didn’t it?

He was chasing a different plan. Didn’t fathom that he was losing himself in you. And when he did, he didn’t consider the aftereffects and the risks of what his uncle had come up with; Jungkook didn’t care much about anything at all but being with you.

He’s told you many times.

Back when you hid in that room, or touched in the carriage — in those fleeting moments, the future didn’t consist of what his relatives needed, but of what he could give to you. Who he could be to you.

In hindsight, he was so in love with you. Looking at your relationship, you can’t compare the affection you started out with for each other with the overload of passion now, but… goddamn, he was so in love with you. You know.

And the truth is that no matter what obstacles life may place on your road ahead, neither of you will love the other less than the minute before.

You laugh when you meet his big, brown eyes, asking, “Is there any cloth in this room?”

“I… I think I brought one before. Should be on the table…”

“Might be good enough.”

“Or I can get one from the kitchen.”

You scoff. “You want to sneak around the mansion now? Really?” You lift your upper body, balancing it on your arms, catching him as he licks his lips at the sight of your bouncing tits. You nod towards the table. “That will do. Go and free me from your stuff.”

“Tsk. Good.”

You were right; his idea sufficed. And the kids are still asleep — a double win for you. In theory, you’re ready to crash for the night, succumbing to fatigue. But the truth is that only your body feels spent; your brain doesn’t just yet.

So as Jungkook wipes over the flesh of your ass, you confess, “I’m still not tired enough.”

“Mmmh, me neither.”

“…So what now?”

He falls back to his side with another grunt, throwing the dirty cloth to the floor. You reach out, grazing his chest, playing with the cotton he’s still sporting. He probably knows what you’re hinting at, despite being already battered, but he ignores your advances just to—

“Mh-mh,” he rejects, “I want to talk. I just… I need to hear your voice for a bit.” He stops the finger on his chest, raising your hand to his lips, and kisses each knuckle. Dramatically, he adds, “What would I do without your voice?”

You ponder. Then jest, “Still hear it in your mind somewhere.”

“Yes, very true. I still always do in the office.”

You laugh, so gripped by the emotions stuck to your heart. “So, what would you like me to say?” He shrugs, an indicator for, “Anything.” So you ask, “Would you like me to tell you a story?”

“Yes… story. Yes, tell me one.”

“I can think of one right away. Sort of a lullaby.”

“So it’s got to be a good one,” he says as he covers you with the thick blanket. An arm over you pulls you closer to him. “Right?”

Your eyes drift to the window. You’re lucky, sleeping in a bedroom with a view. Jungkook’s office has one, too, but Hana’s room, while next door, doesn’t. You’re at the far end of the corridor and this mansion’s wing, risking much, so exposed.

Perhaps you’ll move your room to a safer place in the mansion soon. But for now, you’re grateful for the sky, the stars, the moon. The pouring cloudburst.

Jungkook might have caught your distraction; because he wraps one of your hair strands around his finger, inquiring, “May I guess?… Is it a story about the fall and the rain?”

Your lips twitch upward to a smile. Flooded by past pictures, you refuse to end the night, preparing for a concluding tale as you say—

“How did you know?”

When it knocks at your chamber door the next sunrise, you could swear you haven’t slept more than a handful of hours. The exhaustion weighs on your eyes and muscles, body limp as you stir awake. Your voice is still hoarse.

So you’re startled.

Not just because it’s early or because of the interrupted, peaceful slumber; and not just because there’s a knock at the grand, adorned door, either. In reality, it occurs regularly — for Jungkook and his work, or to remind you of your children’s riding and violin lessons, or to inform you of the arrival of guests.

This time it’s the latter. Yet, you’re alarmed, not even because of the guest, but because it’s Sunday, and you don’t usually expect a visitor on Sundays — unless, perhaps, something is transpiring down in the village that needs your urgent assistance.

But — these things are rare. People here regard it as their rest day, too. It’s why you wake up drowsy and confused, ready to sleep the fatigue off and hoping it’s nothing too grave. Squinting an eye shut, you glance at the longcase clock in the corner of your room.

Seven in the morning.

You register a mumble of a voice next to you, low and gravelly, welcoming the staff inside who, a second later, informs, “Visitor for you, Lord Jeon.”

Jungkook sighs. A hand emerges from under the heavy, floral blanket, rubbing his tired, puffy eyes. He hums in gratitude, telling the informant he’d be downstairs in a minute; and when the young man has stepped away, Jungkook half turns to you.

His voice is still husky and half asleep when he gently wipes a strand behind your ear and says, “Go back to sleep. Might be Byun for the boxing ring. I should be back in a little.”

You only nod, moving his cradling hand with it. You can barely speak, fighting the urge to yawn. Frankly, you wouldn’t know what you’d be uttering anyway, though your mind is still present enough to understand that he’s kissing your knuckles and then leaving his side empty.

Falling back into the mattress, you once again hope for a speedy get-together on the floor down below; but when you awake again, the clock indicates the passing of over a full hour. The bed is still half vacant.

You wonder what’s going on, gradually cracking your eyes open to the ceiling until your brain fathoms well enough that a meeting this early shouldn’t take so long, and that anyway, there’s no reason for a business visitor to come by this soon into the day.

So you clear your throat, sitting up at the edge of the bed. You wrap yourself in your gown and your silk coat, arms folded as if to protect yourself. It’s just cold; a chill autumn day.

And as you walk down the staircase, you hear faint chattering from the main hall, like a tiny whisper from here. There’s only some staff in the welcoming hallway, but they’re guarding the parlour. That’s where the voices are coming from.

Nobody hinders you from entering the room when you do. Of course not; there’s no reason to.

But the atmosphere is still oddly charged when you step in, meeting Jungkook’s pale face from afar. You blame it on the sleepless night, just as much as the somewhat dark circles under his eyes.

Still, it gets weirder as you near; because he’s looking at somebody who has their back turned to you. A woman with long black hair, gazing down; and when Jungkook detects you, he looks terrified.

Uprighting himself, blinking, drawing a breath too deep to not worry.

You automatically assume the worst; bad news from the city? Some issues in the village? Or a girl trying her charm on your husband? Wouldn’t be the first time.

You round the chair she made herself comfortable on; and your surprise increases, skyrocketing when you notice that she didn’t come alone. There’s a child next to her. Proper and sweet, certainly older than Hana.

His hands are neatly folded in his lap, hair combed back. He’s just listening, it seems, to whatever they spoke about. And his face… his face looks familiar somehow; as does the girl’s, yet in an entirely different way.

“Good morning,” you greet the woman and she responds with a nod. “Is everything alright?” you finally ask, turning to Jungkook, a hand on his shoulder. “You didn’t come back.”

But Jungkook doesn’t answer. Your heart grows a little more wary. Because, why is he so speechless? Why does he look scared, eyes wide, chest risen, as if he’s holding his breath? Blinking faster.

The woman is back to staring at her legs, shifting her hand to grip the little one next to her; and the boy looks like he doesn’t want to be here at all. At the same time, however, he starts to admire the fancy interior of your mansion.

The lustre, the floor, the table, the chairs. Everything you’ve grown used to.

“What is wrong?” you try again. Panic watered by Jungkook’s lack of response, you gulp, but still steady yourself and remain polite. “May I ask… who are you?”

You’re looking at the woman again. She glances up to you. She’s gorgeous — full and curved lips, light brown eyes, pitch black hair. Looks young; about your age. She doesn’t answer, but Jungkook’s quivering voice does.

“This is Jihyo, darling.”

Well, alright. Doesn’t tell you much. You’ve seen her, maybe even heard the name, you think. Is she from your town? But you can’t assign her any significance…

“What does this mean?” you inquire.

“She… She wanted to talk to me,” he explains, “she came all the way from a village close to our hometown.”

“Ah. To say what, exactly?”

You don’t want to sound agitated; but the suspense is growing unnecessarily, and you want whatever truth out. And honestly—

The tension forms a little something in your head. Not enough time has passed for him to properly answer, but you still repeat, “To say what?!”

You feel like you have a hunch… you’re starting to come up with theories. And the worst of them dizzy you, make you want to yell and throw up, tempting you to smash a nearby vase.

Did he… could he do this to you…

No. 

“Jihyo and I knew each other… way before you and I got married. Way before.”

He echoes the last two words as if to reassure you; like the verbal equivalent of a soft hand on your back, rubbing you in comfort. But… the tactic doesn’t quite bear fruits. Your chest tightens more; the fatigue of the morning eventually fades.

“And?” you prompt, regarding her. “Why aren’t you saying anything then?”

“I have… to him. I—I do not quite know if it is my place to—”

“No, it is not,” you interrupt, “maybe you’re right. My husband should explain, no?”

But he’s stuttering as much as her. You don’t lose your patience often with him, or with people for that matter. You’re a cheerful person, fuelled by the miracles of the world. But…

This is pulling out your worst self.

“I—” he starts.

Terrified. What the hell is going on? You wait — wait more as he swallows. And then, when he drops the explanation, your heart falls with it. Bursts, plummeting from such a height.

“Jihyo and I met for a while and… she just came and told me that this… he’s—”

You understand.

You understand immediately because your guts warned you the moment you saw his expression. You look back and forth between him, her and the child, realising the similarities once and for all, well aware from experience why similarities are a thing in a family and…

You can barely hear yourself emit the words once they tumble out; like your voice isn’t your voice, and your thoughts aren’t your thoughts, “This… is your son?”

Like you’re living somebody else’s day who’s about to trudge through a life-changing, agonising event. Because this can’t be happening to you. Actually, it’s not sinking in at all; you’re fantasising, and you refuse to believe reality. 

“Jihyo says he is my son,” he paraphrases, as if he doesn’t really believe her, either, “he’s uhm. He’s six years old.”

Your mind begins to calculate immediately. Sudden dread fills you — because wait. Weren’t you together at that time? Did Jungkook hide from you, lingering in the dark, and yet another past is catching up to the two of you?

No. Hold on once more.

You got married to him five years ago. Were engaged and together for a year before. That makes six. You curl in the fingers in your mind, keeping up your math.

It’s been wrong all along, so you need to be correct this time.

Okay, so, if her — no, his, their son was born six years ago, it’d mean that Jungkook had been with her not too long before you. That’s not way before you got married, is it?

Your breath hitches. You blink the way he did before — not sure what to do or say. Your eyes move over to the rosy cheeks of the child again. He looks so innocent, still clueless, even though he perfectly understands what Jungkook just said.

Who the man is to him.

Of course. Same doe eyes, button nose, shape of face; like a damn copy. Not that the truth hurts enough, no — it had to be accompanied by another of his faces. Not in your own sons, somewhat in your daughter, but in him.

But you guess everybody is confused.

Even Jungkook. Most of all Jungkook, right?

Jihyo says he is my son.

Why? Does he not realise it?

That must mean he didn’t know, did he? And the child didn’t know either.

Jeon Jungkook, your husband of half a decade, has a son he never knew of. Older than Hana. Predating all of your history with him, alive and a toddler already back when you so profoundly believed that you were the first to share this very bond with this man.

To be the first for him at least once. But…

You’re not.

“Say something,” you hear him plead.

His voice is a little farther away. Your eyes drift back to him; he looks miserable, a hand reaching out. His fingers graze the tip of yours, but you retract in time. He sighs in absolute sorrow, face falling, as if his chest is surrendering.

You barely whisper when you answer, “What do you want me to say?”

It’s him and you; the woman is quiet, and you’re shattering. She can’t do anything anyway. Only contorts her face in pure guilt when Jungkook, defeated to the core, begs, “Anything.”

“As you wish.” Another glance at her. She’s looking at you, too. “Why are you here now?”

Her eyebrows raise; she’s caught off guard, but she still has an answer ready. Of course; Jungkook heard all of it minutes before you are, so it must be easy.

“I… I haven’t been doing well. The man I was supposed to marry left when he found out I carried somebody else’s child… even— even before that, actually.” Jungkook breathes air through his lips as she explains; you can’t tell why. “And I need help. Any help.”

“I see… And you couldn’t come years earlier, I assume? When I didn’t have three children of my own?” You lift the corresponding number; your cheeks are fiery hot. “When there was nobody I’d have to explain this to? How…”

You shake your head, disgusted with your attitude, but more devastated by the situation. So you spit, “How selfish are you?”

Her mesmerising eyes are so big; with her and Jungkook’s lives combined, their son could only end up with these grossly sweet eyes, pupils fracturing your heart. She’s looking at you as if you’re about to eat her.

Then she apologises, “I’m sorry… I tried to get by for as long as I could.”

“Didn’t you know we have a family?!”

“I knew! I— Of course I knew.”

Jungkook is royalty; people in your city know the two of you. Know your story. You wonder what this will do to you both.

“And,” you continue, “you still thought it’d be a good idea to bring chaos to our home.”

“I did not wish for this at all,” she defends, “I felt terrible all the while, and… I was so desperate, please try to understand. I need something, anything and… If his father can provide any of it in any way…” 

His father… his father…

You might spiral. The same thoughts circle your head at a pace that might make you faint.

This woman. This child. And his father.

You can’t breathe.

So you don’t respond to the sheer idiocy she just uttered, still in disbelief; the denial will be over in a minute. But for now, it hurts and you’re confused and absolutely out of touch with reality, and… fuck, your stomach—

You put a palm to your chest; the rise and fall is heavy. And just as he calls your name, you bolt away.

Just a second before you once again feel his fleeting digits miss your wrist, a lingering ghost touch as you run.

The first instinct your feet follow leads you to Jungkook’s office.

Somewhere in a corner of the mansion, you have your own chamber, dedicated to your time and your moments; but somehow, you still land in a room drenched in the scent you’re fleeing from.

And it’s counterproductive, the way you’re moving. Fast enough to dim his calls, but slow enough for him to catch up, too. Like you want him to follow. You know he’d find you even if he wasn’t hot on your trail, because you like to hide there.

But on other days, it’s you finding solace in him, not away from him.

You’re dizzy, deeply breathing when you shut the door behind you, both palms on the heavy door. You keep them there as if they could guard you from the disaster outside. But they don’t. None of it might.

Because he’s still right there, busting your glass heart when you hear steps outside, nearing; closer, too close, the corresponding voice hesitating for not a moment—

“Open… open, please.”

And suddenly, you’re crying.

There is no warning, no quiet tear falling, no steady progress. The stream of shock and grief is immediate, and it leaves your eyes, passes your cheeks, collects at your chin so fast that you barely notice the door blurring.

You’re sobbing; your forehead collides with the cold of the door, the carvings unpleasant against your skin. Where are your kids? They must still be asleep. Or maybe somebody is already — hopefully — taking care of them.

Jaehyuk gets all moody when Jungkook or you stay away for too long. You don’t think he should be this attached to you, to not learn to trust others. But trust is fragile and the child seems to know and… and… you know as well. You wish you could be as oblivious as him, though.

The world doesn’t work that way. No, it’s cruel and painful and everything good spoils someday, becomes rotten.

Doesn’t it?

Why does the voice on the other side cut you in pieces?

God. You want to return to your children. You want back to what you had last night; you crave their warmth, and his warmth. Of your children, his children.

But wouldn’t it remind you again? That the number isn’t uneven as you thought. That there’s more out there; he has more pieces out there that you’re not part of and… fuck. Fuck.

“I d-do not want to,” you finally reply, stuttering, words cut.

He silences. Maybe because he can hear you weeping. But he tries again, ���Please… open.”

You shake your head against the door, but you know such a choice won’t lead anywhere. He’ll stay right there and you’ll keep telling him to leave, and despite his guest downstairs, he’ll persist.

So your hands sneak to the handle, weakened by the shaking. Jungkook doesn’t barge in until the door cracks open a slit; and when he steps into the room, you tumble back, out of his reach.

You don’t want his embrace. You don’t need his arms.

No, that’s a lie.

You do, but you can’t brave them right now. Body weightless, you rely on your voice, stating, “You never told me.”

His face is fallen, cheeks rounder when he looks to his feet. They’re flushed; the hue is so different from what you’re used to seeing. It’s always accompanied by a smile and crinkles around his eyes, sometimes shy, sometimes delighted.

This time it’s something else. Embarrassment and guilt and pain.

There’s a crease between his eyebrows, smoother due to your quiet tone; but it’s still there, distressed. Pained when he admits, “I didn’t know. I didn’t know a thing.”

“Who is she?”

He knows that, at least. You need to move away from pointless questions and throw those that you’re certain he possesses knowledge about.

He says, “She’s somebody I knew… so long ago.”

A thought after another creeps into your head, like a parasite, feeding on your sanity. You feel crazy and sick when a horrifying idea makes its way through, but you can’t resist the question regardless of the answer.

“Was she… was she one of the people you tried things with? To escape town…”

“No… she wasn’t part of any of this.”

And you cannot say if this is better or worse than what you expected. He wasn’t as terrible as to try with this many women. But if she wasn’t part of that stupid plot, and you were, does this place her higher in worth than you?

You weren’t good enough to be approached without a deal. To be fallen in love with unintentionally. But she was something else. It seems there was something, right?

But he’s with you. He chose you. You’re his wife, the woman he spends his days with, the only thought in his head. He’s loved you throughout the years; he’s devoted to you like the moon to the stars, not to her.

And he’s standing here, his eyes begging, his fingers quivering. You’re the subject of his desire and the name in his heart; he never even mentioned her. Fuck, he breathes for you… but you can’t seem to breathe.

You’re the mother of his children, yes. But so is she.

“Did you… did you get with my sister or me to forget about her?”

Fuck, you’re breathless. Why are you breaking like this? Why does the moment feel like this? When is it going to be over? Will you wake up easier?

“No…” he says, shaking his head immediately, “no. You know how it started. It had nothing to do with her, just with him…”

“So what?!” you spit, unable to contain yourself, somehow not affected enough by the big, sad eyes, pleading and fearing. “Who was she?”

It hurts. It hurts not only because of the obvious circumstances but — your love was born out of a facade, out of a lie. Even if he loves you genuinely now, even if you’d die for him without hesitation — the two of you happened as part of a different purpose.

But she never did.

She was real. Whatever he had with her or felt for her, it stemmed out of something authentic.

Your face heats up when you inquire, “…Did you love her?”

“I…” He hesitates. Fucking hesitates. But then says, “I didn’t.”

“You’re lying.”

You don’t know if he is. You can usually tell; this seems a little more complicated. One, you’re clouded by your own judgement. Second, the situation isn’t easy; Jihyo so obviously belongs to parts of his history.

Jungkook insists again, “I didn’t love her.”

“But you felt something.”

“I don’t know,” comes back, and something inside you falls, even if it shouldn’t, even if you had nothing to do with whatever was before you came along. You hate it, but you can’t stop yourself from plummeting face-forward into pain when he says, “But she was nowhere close to where you are now. Or where you were even back then.”

Can you believe this? The but pierces through you, repeating in your mind, as if saying, “No, she was less than you, but still something.” How do you know none of it will return with a child present in his life?

“But she was enough for a child,” you retort, “and… I don’t know how careful you were with others, too…”

“I was. I was careful.”

“But not with her!”

He doesn’t respond. This isn’t you; you don’t make others feel bad. You endorse empathy and joy. No, this isn’t you and it frightens you. If you had it in you right now, you’d take him into your arms. He’d deserve it, considering that he’s as surprised as you, falling as much as you.

Suffering like you.

But your thoughts are going haywire, and they keep falling out, “I thought I was the first one. I wanted our children to be our first—”

“I thought so, too,” he defends, “it’s what I would have preferred, baby, I… If I could just…” He gulps; it’s as if you can hear it from afar, in this quiet, empty room. There’s a pause between his words before he steps closer, whispering, “Please, I love you—”

“No, I…” You back away again. Shield yourself. You can’t take a single touch right now.

“Can we mend this?” Jungkook asks; the question splits you in half.

Because what could you do, really? This very real fact looms over you, might do so forever.

“Mend what?” you echo. “That you have a child with another woman? What is there to mend? This is reality and you cannot undo it.”

When you look closely enough, his eyes shimmer with tears, too. The sparse sunlight seeping through the windows for the first time in hours upon hours highlights the glimmer, but there’s nothing soft about it. You recognise dread in it.

Jungkook has been abandoned before, and ever since he married you, he’s been just as afraid, too. It took months and years for the two of you to find a remedy, to decrease the terror. To make him trust your presence entirely. To help him understand that you’re here.

Now, by the looks of it, it seems he isn’t sure anymore.

He tries again, desperate, out of his mind, “Just somehow. Somehow, we can fix this, right?”

“Fix what, Jungkook…?”

“Please.”

You’re moving in circles. He keeps imploring you to reconsider, and you remain clueless about what exactly he’s begging for. You just want to know where this is going. Who she is. Who she was. 

“Please what…” you whisper, eyes drifting to the ground. “What are we going to do about it, Jungkook? It’s important to think about, right…? Who was she to you?”

Who she was?

Jungkook’s memory is fragmented.

Pieces of what she really used to be to him evaporated long ago, just when he turned to look at her properly for the very last time on that warm early summer night. Back then, her smile was fake, apologetic, as if she’d committed an unforgivable crime.

As if sorry for wasting his time, for hurting him, for watching him leave when she wished for him to stay a little longer.

A similarly sad smile, yet so different in nature, appeared when she greeted him so gently in the hallway today. He was frozen in the staircase, stuck on that damn smile that haunted him for weeks and months back then, trying to understand whether she was actually here.

Wondered how he could make her disappear again. It wouldn’t fare well with how he lives his life with you now, he already knew. She was interfering.

And… the familiar smile told him she wasn’t here to deliver any good news. And even though he doesn’t remember it all anymore, he hated how the expression brought back the flood of past images.

The first fuzzy image was of a smile, too, albeit incredibly faded. More optimistic, tender. Enthusiastic, craving the solace and joy of the night as much as Jungkook had.

She stood on the far opposite side of the spacious hall back then; even through the dancing couples, he could see her gleaming, absorbed in a conversation with her dearest friends.

Jungkook had seen her before; perhaps once or twice, but he could barely remember her face. It was as if he was actually looking at her for the first time that night. He didn’t think she generally attended too many parties; and when they’d crossed paths before, they’d probably been a little younger.

He just…

He couldn’t remember her being this striking.

He couldn’t recall the dimples or the vibrant smile or the sparkle in her large eyes. Far away in the room, Jungkook lightly bit his lip as he observed, cocking an eyebrow when she gasped to something her friend had said.

As if he was standing next to her and hearing it, too. Mimicking her reaction, caught in a bubble.

And it took her a little to notice him, too. But when she did, her friends’ eyes followed, an immediate elbow teasing her sides as much as their words. Jungkook could only imagine what they were saying.

What are you looking at?

Is it your turn already? With him, yes?

Oh, and the season has barely begun!

He could read parts of it off their lips. Lifted his ego a little. But he averted his eyes nevertheless, despite the resistance in his movements, only to shift back every now and then.

To his chagrin, the night didn’t offer too many opportunities to near where she stood, but as the event snuck to its end, at least a sliver of hope twinkled, even for just a minute. Approaching the carriages at the same time, he found her waiting not too far from him.

Her family was missing just like his; but he was comfortable here, staring at the sky, breathing in the late spring breeze. But her gown, while heavy, wasn’t accompanied by a shawl, her arms bare.

He used the chance to ask, “Aren’t you cold?”

She stared up in surprise, not quite expecting a conversation. Yet, smoothly, and either bold or courageous or sweet, she answered with a confidence so enticing, “Hmmm, no. I guess I felt warmed enough throughout the night.”

Interesting. So very interesting.

Jungkook’s lips twitched upwards, an enthralled smile; his voice sounded somewhat different when he asked, “Is that so?”

“Mhm. I’ll thank you another day, though.”

Behind her, her folks neared, and he looked ahead and then down, smile still plastered to his face. Even when she’d left, the sparkle remained in his eyes.

That was it for now.

Jungkook’s and Jihyo’s paths crossed again merely a week later. He understood in that time apart that the tiny interaction had caught him somehow; he was relieved when he saw her again at the next party.

Brave, he joined her where she stood, scanning the finger food before settling on some tartelettes. He’d been hopeful throughout these days, yes, but Jihyo didn’t show her face too often; so he didn’t lie when he confessed, “I didn’t expect you here.”

“Well…” she answered, “I hoped to see you. I told you I’d want to thank you.”

“Mhhh, I’m still not sure what for, though.”

She shrugged her shoulders, smile so vibrant. “It was a pleasant night. I felt warm throughout.”

She’d said the same thing last time, waiting at the carriage, moonlit and breathtaking. He smirked a little, satisfied by the flow of the dialogue; then argued, “But it is the summer season. Heat is all that is ahead.”

“…Isn’t it?”

Something stirred in Jungkook. He wouldn’t analyse her words on other days, but her expression was telling. Made him fearless, whirling his mind as he asked, “Have you explored this place yet?”

“No. I never get to do so much. But,” she said enthusiastically, licking cream off her snack. Jungkook couldn’t look away. “I wouldn’t mind walking around. It is hotter inside anyway.”

And matching her fierce response from before, Jungkook added, “…I doubt it.”

He was right. She’d prove it quick minutes later. In the backyard, stopping in the middle of their walk, he felt the warmth, the heat when she pushed him into an empty corner, lips crashing against his.

Jungkook’s blood scorched indeed; the outside wasn’t cooler. In fact, it burned. He burned. And she burned, too. Her skin, her shoulder, the mounds of her breasts underneath the dress that he pulled down.

There wasn’t any room or chance to proceed too far, but somehow, Jungkook was content with this.

It made him crave harder; and he enjoyed the feeling. The temptation. The yearning for all he hadn’t yet seen, yet felt. He hungered for her; she was the opposite of what the world held, brought him excitement.

Today, he doesn’t know if it was this very exhilaration or the need for distraction or something else that dragged him back to her over and over again. He recalls his heart nervously jumping, but he can’t recall it blooming. Never the way it did with you. Never.

But she still evoked something different. Reprieve from his days, his sorrows, the grief in his big, old home.

He never told her any of this, but he assumes she saw. Sometimes, she’d raise his chin when they met in private, mouth breathing close to his, asking if something was wrong. He’d deny. He’d dive into her eyes and lips instead, forget about it all, enjoy her empathy.

She’d somehow worry, he thought, and then kiss him, tell him it was alright, no matter what it was. That she was there. And he’d appreciate it. Would like the warmth, the care.

And still, he’d go home to tears, suffer all over again. But when he fell asleep, he’d think of her, forbidding the last thought of the night to be anything dreadful, anything but the same pretty smile.

She offered madness. She offered humour, sweetness, and most of all, relief.

Jihyo always refused to walk around town. She never hesitated to decline his offers.

Jungkook was alright with this; didn’t question her rejection at first; he didn’t know what the two of them were, anyway. There were fuzzy feelings somewhere, something twinkling in his mind and his guts and his chest.

He didn’t think love felt this way, however.

He regarded love as a much stronger sentiment than what they had. What was it that they indulged in anyway? Ablaze days and nights, baring themselves behind locked doors, lips on her skin, her sides, her waist, her flesh. Hands on, under, between her legs.

The digits would dig into her hips and remain; his tongue tasted her up, up and down, in and out. Taking in her scent, lapping her up, showing her new things. Body against body. Buried in her, glued to her — could that be love? No.

It was just that, wasn’t it? Yes, he’d stopped meeting other women. Yes, he’d be distracted at events.

He would spend his time with his boys, but let his mind and eyes travel far from them; even the presences hiding in those halls that he’d usually mock or annoy or disregard, projecting his own insecurities onto them, dulled.

Jihyo was beautiful. Jihyo captured focus. And he called Jihyo’s name until he even muttered it when alone; she breathed it until he could only hear his own name in her voice.

But.

It wasn’t love. Even today, he knows it never was.

Yet, even then, he could imagine this for a while. If he couldn’t love her now, he thought, maybe he could love her some day. He couldn’t tell, but he could imagine it. Who knew? 

Then again, it seemed he would never find out, anyway.

Some days, some time later, Jungkook eventually started thinking how odd it was that Jihyo never wanted to go out. To tell somebody about them; would it be so bad?

He presumed it was because she didn’t want others to know. He understood, truly; at an age where people would pressure one into obligations just when they saw others together, he didn’t want them to rumour yet.

Then again, Jihyo and he were connected somehow; sometimes he thought that was enough, too. Deep under the sheets so often, sharing stories sometimes, and perhaps they weren’t for the public to hear.

And there was something mysterious about them that nobody would understand, anyway. He couldn’t wrap his finger around the mystical nature of the two of them, but he started to understand she had him good.

Yet…

Yet. Something was wrong with her. So entirely wrong when she’d keep him hidden in rented rooms or in the dead dark of the night.

When she’d refuse his offer to promenade through the park, be fully against his invitations on some days without a proper reason at all. Or, when she’d skip events that she promised to attend, and then told him she hadn’t been sick — just not in the mood.

And one day, he decided to ask.

A very futile intention; the urge to ask was quickly overshadowed by kisses too intense. He already wanted to see her again even before the evening was over, no matter what she’d answer. He was already dreaming of her body, despite towering over it right now.

Would these dreams ever stop?

His nights were sleepless anyway, just like this approaching one. Hands on his own skin, today replaced by her, pumping and fondling. All over him when he climbed onto her and pushed in again.

He couldn’t free himself of the itch she caused just yet; kept scratching. Then again, he was so clueless about who she was at this very moment. Fond of her, but confused, too.

Aware of how much he thought of her, but having no issues retorting things snarkily, like when she mumbled underneath him, “You can’t live without me,” and he effortlessly rose from her neck, swollen lips answering, “Oh, I can.”

And he could. They were confusing in nature, but he knew that he could.

Because she was veiling something that he thought might distance her from him, so he started keeping himself mentally distanced either way. Even though it proved harder these days.

But the two of them were still something. They got along; there was humour in this, attraction and fire. And he felt heavenly inside her every damn time.

In the midst of it, he told her, “We could try harder.”

Perhaps she misunderstood; perhaps she couldn’t read his eyes and his tone yet, because she pulled him closer, deeper. He let her. Wouldn’t voice these thoughts properly again until he dropped next to her and said, “I like spending time with you. And I want to try more.”

He didn’t notice right away — her hesitation, her silence.

It took a second to even look at her; and when he did, he recognised the sudden guilt in her eyes instantly. Remorse, pain. Like he’d just broken something with his idea that she’d kept whole. Only now, she couldn’t save it anymore.

He didn’t know what it was, so he wondered, “What is it?”

“I…”

Then again, it wasn’t hard to figure out anyway. He deduced, “…You don’t want it.”

“It’s… not that I don’t want it.”

“I mean. It’s alright, you see? We aren’t this far, so if you want to reject this, I do understand. I will live.”

“I might have to reject it… you, Jungkook,” she confessed, and he had to admit that he wasn’t overly enjoying what he was hearing, “not because I want to, but it’s…”

And the universe had cruel ways of interrupting. Always.

Because her words halted somewhere between him and her and then vanished into thin air. Cut by strong, arhythmic knocks at the door. The sudden interjection startled them, dropped the quiet hearts into the pit of their stomachs.

As the door worked on being unlocked, she whispered a tiny, anxious, “Please… you might get hurt.”

And Jungkook understood; jumped off the bed, slipping into his trousers within seconds before dashing to the back. The wardrobe was empty, ideal to hide; it’s what he knew she wanted, for him to stay anonymous.

Jihyo, still bare, sat up on the bed, and Jungkook, in the dark with only a gap to observe the outside happenings, waited. Waited until the door opened. Until a man, more or less a stranger to him, only minimally familiar, stormed in with furious eyes.

He didn’t stall a second before his anger ambushed her. Jungkook’s fingers tingled to crash the door of the wardrobe open; even from here, it was abundantly clear that the man struggled to not hurt her.

But right now, he relied on the fury in his tone; Jungkook assumed it was a brother or friend raging about her indecent behaviour. But it soon became all too obvious that he wasn’t. Somebody of such a relationship doesn’t snap like this.

No, Jungkook understood. Knew what the issue was when the man asked, “So you’ve started getting naked for others? Is that it now? That’s what you whore have been doing?”

For others…

She tried, “Listen, I—”

But he cut her off, “No! I promised you everything. Why do you despise me so much? You couldn’t wait for us to be wed, but needed to satisfy your needs elsewhere? Why do you despise me, huh?”

Jihyo didn’t hear much of what he said, zeroing in on specific statements, and whispered, “You do not give me everything. Not even close.”

Fuck.

If it wasn’t clear already… Jungkook’s mind spun.

Jihyo was promised to somebody else and was using Jungkook with a purpose and intention, as a means of fulfilling whatever she needed to fulfil. And he— he was the homewrecker, the third wheel, not her focus the way she was his focus.

Despite the mistakes he’d ever made, despite his damn flaws, he never wanted this.

What was he? A placeholder? Thrown aside the moment she’d marry him? Why was it that Jungkook’s existence was regarded as something so low, stomped beneath people’s feet, like he was nothing at all?

Who knew? There wasn’t even a second to think about it, to ask about it.

Priorities shifted, inquiries shoved away; when the man reached low, snatching a patch of her hair to pull her off the bed, sirens chimed in Jungkook’s head. It still mattered to him, not seeing her hurt; but his instincts were deep-rooted.

Nobody, including Jihyo, should have to experience this.

So Jungkook pushed the door open, met with a gasp, surprise and wrath. The man didn’t need to ask who he was or what he was doing here; he knew immediately, more than cognisant of the wretched situation.

Jungkook was ready to throw some insult onto him, words already on his lips, arms reaching out to defend her. But he didn’t need to; the guy had already let her go, taking a swing within a second before his fist landed on Jungkook’s jaw.

It could’ve been worse; he could’ve broken it. Jungkook knew right away that the damage wasn’t as terrible as it had the potential to be.

But his tongue still felt warm, tasted metallic. He took a deep breath through his nose, dizzy for a moment, still sane enough to hear the stranger say, “You can have the slut.”

There was another blob of disgust landing on Jungkook’s face; no doubt that the man bid him farewell with one last literal spit on Jungkook’s cheek. Then, the door fell into its lock, and it got quiet again.

Or… not quite.

Jungkook lacked words; there was nothing to say anyway. He was the culprit after all.

Worried hands settled on his body; he didn’t notice how much he’d sunk to the ground, one knee hitting the floor. But when the exploring fingers touched his waist, up to his armpits and his elbows, he stood tall again.

She was trying to lift him. To check for wounds, despite the clear drops of scarlet red he was leaving on this rented room’s floor. Eyes shutting for a second, he slapped the concerned palm off his arm, dodging it when she came back with a quiet, “Jungkook…”

“Shut up.”

“Please listen—”

“Listen to fucking what? You’re…”

There was no ending to the sentence. He didn’t know what she was. A fraud, maybe. But he didn’t have it in him to insult her somehow; perhaps because she, too, was already in enough pain as it was.

When his eyes opened, they glared. To his feet, to the side, into her wet gaze. She was nearly hiccuping, but he couldn’t get himself to give into the empathy entirely; the anger simmered in the pit of his stomach, threatened to come to a full boil.

Yet, he registered when she said, “He doesn’t treat me well, he— he’s controlling. And emotionally abusive, he— please,” she grabbed his hand, but he pulled out of her grip, “I can’t marry him, not if— not if I’m scared he might raise his hand at me.”

“Then don’t fucking marry him. You have this choice,” Jungkook said, spitting into the corner; the colour was disgusting. “Controlling and abusive, however? You sound perfect for him.”

“I don’t… I can’t. I can’t stay with him, but I— I could stay with you. I would.”

Jungkook scoffed. She had to be joking. Undoubtedly; there was nothing in him capable of believing she meant this. Not when she’d refused just this idea mere minutes ago.

He shook his head; he wouldn’t have any of this. Even if she left this man… even then…

He couldn’t do this because she made him do something so easily that he abhorred. He’d seen the love between his father and his mother before, and then witnessed the hatred between her and his uncle.

After all these years of affliction, he knew the difference between love and despise.

Knew where affection could grow, where it would wilt. Where it’d be replaced with hostility.

She wasn’t made for him; he wasn’t in the mindset for her. And he was wrong after all; he didn’t love her and he never could have.

“Please, don’t go,” she begged as he picked up his clothes, wiping his mouth on the bed sheet, ready to leave. “Please, I—”

She followed him all the way to the door; Jungkook resisted each push and pull, charging towards the exit with resolution. And when she blocked the door for too long, sobbing onto her body, he fletched his teeth, sharpened his jaw, clasped her wrist before he turned her around.

Arm pinned to her back, cheek pressing into the door, she kept crying, and then, finally, sighed. She gulped; then lowered her face, forehead to the cold of the wood, and too courageously as always pleaded, “Be with me one last time. Just… just once.”

And her tone… her voice… her curling fingers…

They tempted him. Something about this, something about her tugged him in again, like an invisible force. And for the tiniest moment, he hated himself for thinking this way. But deep inside he knew the truth.

That he still craved her. Still wanted to feel her once more. Still hungered to bury himself in deep, leaving scars and marks as if to punish her just once. But…

But he remembered. She’d turned him into somebody he wasn’t. So he couldn’t. He’d carry the regret to his grave.

So he let her go, using the moment of weakness, shoving her away slightly — she let him. She understood to give up. And he, with a coat over his shoulder, left.

A hand over the bleeding wound, and the other over his injured mouth.

If he wakes up now, you won’t be able to take it.

It was already difficult, breathing through every second of the rest of the day. Overthinking, but never quite processing the information you received. From the very moment you woke up to the story Jungkook narrated and everything that followed, the seconds have been hell.

Everything… everything—

The remaining conversations. With her, with the village bartender he expected. You don’t know how he survived any of it, functioned at all; using his brain at full capacity, reading through papers when you were sure the letters were blurring in front of his very eyes.

And how he looked at you after he was done and returned to you, reaching for your limp hand…

The hurt was prominent, your heart still reluctant, but you let him; what good would it have done to send him away? He kept coming back. Sat there for an hour until you told him to tend to his guest, to discuss whatever he needed to.

Truth was, you didn’t want him to go… but you didn’t want him near, either.

Your mind kept circling around a hundred and thousands of things. The woman sitting downstairs, fiddling and nervous, the child still next to her. Possibly bored. She’s aware of her past as much as you are, of the role she played. Of the hurt she caused.

The more you think about it, the more it pains. The more it seems like a tragedy, like an anti-fairytale. Fabricated.

So unreal.

It’s as though thinking it senseless could make it less real. You’re married to him now, but you still feel small, shrinking, insecure and hurt and unable to make any of this coherent.

You needed silence today. You wanted your mind to divert, conjure different, more pleasant thoughts, memories of better times. But this proved worse; so somehow, you ended up overthinking the situation to death.

You don’t want the children to wake up again. Hana is fast asleep, Jaehyuk dozing. It was Jaehoon’s subtle whimpering that finally shifted your attention twenty minutes ago; your arms were too weightless to carry him, but you did, swayed him, blended out your brain with his sounds.

By now, he’s already drooling over you again. You hope he stays just like this; hope Jaehyuk doesn’t notice the empty side of their crib. 

There’s something about this, the twin intuition. You had heard about it before, but it is truly fascinating, the way they communicate. You’re still baffled that Jaehyuk stayed as unmoving as he did when you pulled his brother towards you, comforting yourself with his warmth.

But you have to admit…

You’re exhausted. More so mentally than physically. Your body yearns to drop. The up and down pacing only drains you further.

You should set him into his crib again. He’s fast asleep anyway; everybody is. Just you aren’t. And your husband isn’t.

In fact, he’s not even in this room with you. Heart palpitating and chest paining, you’ve been waiting. He slipped in and out of the rooms you were in for hours, and you kept sending him away, sickened by the apologies, not even certain what exactly he was apogising for.

For having a child? For once tending to secret meetings with a woman you don’t know, ambiguous about what he felt for her? You don’t know.

And…

Honestly — your heart isn’t splintering because he made a mistake, really, did he? You and him were nothing back then. No. You’re fractured because of your own damn expectations. And because you wanted life to lead somewhere else.

You didn’t want somebody to become such a part of your love and marriage like this.

You sigh to breathe out the ache, deep from your stomach, hoping it’ll lighten the load. But it doesn’t really. Not even Jaehoon’s little hand over your chest does, his head on your shoulder, the scent of his baby hair.

And once the door to the bedchamber creaks open, you don’t feel relieved, either. Your heart stirs more, if anything. Scared your son might hear or notice, you hurry to put him down again, draping a blanket over his little body before you shut your silken robe.

Jungkook appears as if he’s lived a dozen lives in a day. His pupils have shrunk, shoulders low, hair as uncombed as in the morning. He didn’t bother; as little as you. He halts when he sees you standing in the middle of the room, surprised about the random spot you chose.

Endless affection flashes across his face, transparent yearning, as though he hasn’t seen you in days. Within a moment, the expression calms a little, and he pulls himself together enough to ask, “You are still awake, darling?”

You hold yourself tight, as if binding your body together. Clearing your throat, you say, “It’s… I don’t know if I will be able to sleep tonight.”

“…Me neither.”

“What happened?”

You gesture to the ground, referring to the parlour. She’s probably not even there anymore. She was all day; and she journeyed. She must be tired.

Jungkook explains, as if reading your mind, “Jihyo… she’s in one of the guest rooms.” You nod. He cards through his hair, continuing, “She said the guy she was supposed to marry never told anyone what had happened that night… I— I don’t know why. He never came back at all, but I figured that bit. She didn’t want him to, and I told her he shouldn’t have either way.”

He sighs; so do you. Feelings or not, you guess Jungkook has never been a bad person. It still feels odd. He then says, “And then she was abandoned by her family when they learned of her pregnancy and she wouldn’t tell anybody who the father was…”

Of course not. Somewhere, she must have cared.

“They sent her to some faraway aunt who was apparently a tyrant… and she ran away when her boy was a year old.”

Your dropped chin lifts, an immediate response forming in your mind. Your boy. Your boy, too. But you don’t spill it. In truth, you don’t even need to. As if written all over your face in big, bold letters, Jungkook sees right through you.

He halts, gives himself a moment to be sure it’s what you’re stuck on, and then tells you, “…I know but… I have no connection to him. She does. I have none at all.”

“She does, and now she’s here… actually here…”

“She’s here because it was nearly impossible to survive for her,” he insists, the tone of defence sharp and clear, “but somehow she still did. It’s gotten more difficult now, however, and—” He’s struggling more now; while some words pour out, others are whispered. Like, “As the father of her child… she says it is both our responsibility to ensure he is well. But…”

As the father of her child, as the parents of their child.

He’s not wrong; and you guess that if it wasn’t happening in your own household, you’d be much more lenient about this. You’d be nodding along, agreeing that a father should be present, that a child deserves it.

You’ve been part of an orphanage filled with lonely kids for too long to think otherwise.

But it surely is different in moments like these. You feel like a hypocrite.

“But?” you prod.

“She understands if I say no, too. I have my own family now.”

Yeah…

Did she need to tell him that? Did he know by himself; are these her or his words? You wonder…

“You say she always struggled,” you draw back to again, “why did she never reach out when she knew she was with child already?”

He rubs his eyes. Tired, his body somewhat more worn out than ever. Barely looks active; the shoulders are in an entirely new position. Or no… not new. You’ve seen it before — it’s just been years now.

“She thought I wouldn’t bother,” he says, “she thought… I’d abandoned her once and for all. Which I reckon I did.”

“And…” You’re scared to ask. You swallow. “Would you have aided her? If you’d known.”

He quietens. You’re not too fond of the hesitation loudening the silence. You know he’s thinking, eyes unfocused, imagining the scenario you narrated without probably really wanting to. You brought this to yourself, so you’ll need to be patient.

And you are, until he finally concludes, “I would have… I— I would have felt like I owed this to my child. I can’t— sweetheart, it’s not my nature, please understand. I wouldn’t leave a woman alone with this if I was anyhow part of it and—”

“And… If you’d known… we wouldn’t even have happened, right?”

Jungkook shakes his head again, the movements even lazier now. You’re afraid he might drop and faint. But he breathes in, then out, uprights himself, “It doesn’t matter what would have or could have happened. I did approach you and I did fall in love with you and we did happen. Isn’t… isn’t that enough?”

You blink; then blink more. A shaky breath escapes your lips to keep your voice as steady as doable. “Yes… I assume…”

Another pause. More stalling until the thoughts previously forming in your head become less of a tangled, messy garn and get clearer. You just do not know how to voice them; to keep the man who brought stars down to the ground to you whole.

You don’t want to hurt him. But you don’t understand how to handle the next few days any other way.

But you don’t say it yet. You wait. Listen as he begs, “Please tell me… tell me what you’re thinking. I don’t know what to do.”

You lie, “I don’t know, either, Jungkook.”

His strong hands get ahold of tufts of his hair again, butchering his mane more. The gesture isn’t aggressive, but he still looks so out of his goddamn mind. Desperately, he steps closer, breathing, “You know that I love you, yes?”

…You’ve seen needles at your seamstress’ place before. They always strike you as effective, professional. Sharp. The sting you feel reminds you of when her needle digs into fabric. Perhaps worse.

Perhaps it’ll turn into a sword in a moment.

“Only you,” he adds, but then halts, a shake of his head correcting himself before he tries again, “no. Only you and them.” His eyes briefly dart to the crib, a reminder to lower his voice, even though the shudder makes it hard. “I haven’t thought about her in yea—”

No…

“You haven’t thought about her once?” you interrupt. It’s one of the things your derailing mind tried to convince you of today. That she never really disappeared. “The woman you were involved with like this… you never ever thought of her or regarded her important enough to tell me about her? To think about her?”

And now he’s confused. Why do you keep asking questions? You’re your own worst enemy, really. Then again, how does one stop this toxic curiosity from overflowing in a moment like this?

“I don’t know,” he admits. Not a needle anymore… “She might have crossed my mind as somebody who once existed in my life. Not in a romantic manner. Nor in a yearning manner. I did not miss her, you see?”

He moves closer, hands lifting. You only now see how pale he is, his skin so close, eyes nearly lifeless, but not quite. They’re still filled with so much emotion and pain as he continues, “And I certainly did not care enough to prioritise her over you anyhow.”

Palms cradle your face. Usually so warm and comforting, they’re icy today, as if his blood has frozen in his veins. And he sounds so utterly dehydrated when he says, “She was never important enough, no…”

“I— I see.”

He waits. His breath falls on your face before he runs his tongue between his lips nervously. His waterline is damp, but holding back. You wonder when he last ate, when he last drank.

You guess he’s not as concerned about himself when he requests, “Tell me what you are thinking.”

A lot. Too much to condense into one single thought. But you still pick out one of the million swirling around and throw it out, “I am wondering… about what you will do now. I will assume you will help.”

You see how much he hates to admit it; you nearly take it back before he, however, tells you again, “I may have to.”

“And… if you do. What will it look like? Will you— I do not know. Will you meet her regularly, send her money, see the child? Build a bond? Have… have two families on either side?”

“I d-don’t think it will be like this, I—”

“How will it be then?”

His hands drop. He shuts his eyes, but opens them again a minute later. “I will provide… I might get to know him. But I do not plan on making them an integral, main part of my life. I don’t want this to come between us or have the children think wrong of me, and… you’re my priority.”

You know…

As the wife of somebody like Jungkook, you have seen the hardships that come with a traumatised mind. One that so deeply fears he will step into his family’s shoes, mimicking the misery he once experienced.

He’s been afraid of passing on generational trauma for years, and he battled the fear… you know he doesn’t want to start at zero. You don’t want it either. And you genuinely do not perceive him as a bad father; quite the opposite.

Jeon Jungkook gives his all. He loves with his all. He worships with his all.

But you still think this needs time and patience.

So you confess, “I believe you… I do. I just. I think this will change things. I cannot stop thinking about you moving back and forth, nurturing two families, and yes, I am selfish, but… I always assumed I was the only one.”

Not before. Not long ago. But now.

You would’ve been content with somebody like her being out there and never finding out about it. For the very first time in your life, you’re selfish, and it hurts, it burns, and you loathe that you cannot turn it off.

“I did, as well…” he confirms. “But you’re the only one that matters.”

“What about your son? Do you have it in you to not care?”

“He’s a child I never spoke to!” he argues, voice rising by an octave. “I just… fuck, I do not know. Baby, I… I don’t want to be a pendulum. I’m not swinging between two spaces… I will never perceive anyone as more important than you.”

“I see.”

Pause. Then, “…Please look at me.”

You feel another clump rise to your throat. It’s more dense this time, inevitable, and it affects your speech. Accompanied by something lifting to your head and making it heavier. You tell him, “I can't.”

“…Why?”

“I just can’t.”

“You ca—” He shifts, eager to bring you back to him; you’re already miles away and he knows. “Baby… Do you still love me?”

You could scoff. But you don’t; instead, you feel the liquid starting to pour. Like the rain these days, less comforting now, it drops out of your eyes. You somehow very well expected it, but the amount of the drops still surprises you.

Like a grey sky indicating a gloomy day, yet not a reliable preparation for a downpour.

Your inhale is sharp, cuts the air, and your eyebrows painfully furrow when the tears collect. You answer, “Of course I love you, I— Fuck, of course I do. It’s why this hurts so much!”

“I… I know.”

His gaze is similarly wet, suddenly an ocean, but he blinks the despair away before he crushes you in a hug. Jungkook is never afraid to cry, but restraining himself is something he’s practised for the kids… and even for you, it seems.

Shit, but— you’ve told him so many times. So many times to not hold back for you. You don’t either. You don’t either, right?

“I know,” he repeats, “I— I don’t know why these things happen, I’m—”

You shake your head against his chest, sogging his clothes as you mumble, “I can’t blame you, can I? It was your past, yes, but I wasn’t part of it, and… it’s still so much.”

“For me, too… for me as well, darling—”

“I just— I think I need distance, Jungkook.”

Wait… 

Wha—

That’s when the world stops spinning, frozen like his blood. The heart he has so gently guarded so far detaches from the rest of what lies beneath his ribs, and jumps into his throat, pounds in his ears.

The profound hope that he misheard you is needless, he already knows. He’s been hyper aware of your every movement and word today; he knows what you said and he knows he’ll have to let you. But…

“…What?”

The decision still leaves him stranded on an island. Away from this house and you and his children. Desolated, he as its lone habitant. And the image is surreal.

“I need to go away,” you elaborate again, digging deeper into the wound. Can he rewind the morning? No. You add, “Just until you have this sorted out with her and it’s done, and—”

“I have,” he carefully voices, convinced, so, so convinced, “there is nothing more to say.”

But you’re not with him just yet; you argue, “But she should stay for a little, shouldn’t she? I… I am not too fond of the scenario, but from an empathetic perspective, you should know about your son. Be in the loop…”

Yes, you do hate the idea. Yes, it contradicts your distaste for the image of him walking to and fro between families, providing and keeping her in his life. But, after all is said and done, his son will still be his son.

And you are only heartbroken, not heartless.

“I just…” you continue, gulping. “I can’t be here while she is. And I don’t want you to send her away already, either. Her journey seems to have been long and… she’s just trying to live.”

“Where… where do you want to go?”

“Home.”

The resolute tone you decide on hurts. Not because he’s against your family or your place back in the city, but because you seem to have thought it out already. That you want to leave. That you want to be away from him.

The woman that latches onto him the moment he crawls into bed after work; from the man who clutches your body throughout the night, wakes up delirious from your scent.

It stings. It burns.

“Just for a little,” you say, as if to cure the injury. “I… I need to be away.”

Jungkook’s throat is knotted up and dry. He almost doesn’t dare to ask, but he knows he’ll keep wondering when you’re gone. So he spits, “And then?”

“And then… I will see.”

Doesn’t matter anyway. He guesses that the wondering part won’t change, no matter what he inquires, no matter what you respond.

“…Why does this sound like a possible goodbye?”

He might faint. He doesn’t know how long he’ll have to be awake without you. Doesn’t know what’ll follow this disaster. Doesn’t know anything. Most of his life, he’s been haunted by this uncertainty, and he hates the return of it.

And you’re not saying anything; the moment gets worse as you close your eyes for a bit, staring down, unable to answer because you probably don’t know, either.

But…

“Please say something,” he urges, abandoning questions and pleas, diving straight into statements as if this could make them definitely true, “you… you will come back. You won’t leave after this.”

There’s agitation in your voice, merged with desperation when you speak again, “Jungkook, I can only think so far right now—”

“No, please…”

“What do you mean, pl—”

“I can’t lose you, no matter what.”

“But right now, I can’t take this either, Jungkook!” you snap. Perhaps it’s his big eyes throwing you off guard or the unknown future or the fresh hurt. Something in you breaks as your voice starts to vibrate, eyes watery. “I don’t want to be— another. And I can’t fully make you abandon them either, and… I still don’t know how to live with such a change and—”

And. And. And.

The list goes on. That’s the problem. It’s an overwhelming mess, a never ending string of thoughts. 

As the light in your eyes dims, usually so blindingly bright on other days, Jungkook’s eyes overflow. First a single drop of a tear, then half a dozen. He blinks them away, but suddenly there’s a river across his cheek, collecting to a sea at the chin.

And you look similar.

Shattered like glass. Your broken pieces are tiny; they resemble dust. God, albeit without a single intention, Jungkook has hurt the wrong person.

Desperation at the front of his tongue, he doesn’t know what to say. Nothing more to do but to revert back to pathetic begging—

“Please… don’t go.” His voice quivers, the sigh even shakier; his soft hands, the ones that held you just last night, rub his face in anger towards himself. “It’s who I used to be… I didn’t know.”

“Yes, it’s what used to happen, b–but it doesn’t hurt any less, fuck, and…”  Breathing is as hard as speaking. Your tears run again when you add, “And what if there are more? What if more of them come knocking at our door and we don’t know yet?”

His chest is rising high, falling low. Lower lip never still. You know panic is growing beneath his chest, and you want to wrap your arms around him, keep his pure heart from breaking. But what can you do?

Yours is splitting, too.

Worse when all he whispers again is, “Please don’t go.”

It’s a hopeless attempt. You know; you hear it. He’s still trying but he’s not truly expecting you to change what you decided on. Yet, you ask, “Please understand.”

He’s still not moving; but you think he understands indeed. Because he nods. Doesn’t look at you anymore. The sniffles are familiar, painful as he questions, “What about the children?”

You feared this question. The delivery of it proves harder than you thought; your tongue nearly gets tied, “I… I will leave the twins here. Travelling might be difficult with both of them when I am alone.” You look to the wall; to the little beds on the other side of the room. “Can I take Hana with me?”

You know it’s killing him as much as it is messing with you. You know what it means when he breathes in, but doesn’t argue with you as he nods again. Jeon Jungkook loves you; he loves you to every end of the universe.

And you’ll love Jeon Jungkook for the rest of your life, too, despite it all.

But this is needed.

He asks, “How long will you be away?”

“I don’t know…” you admit. “Hopefully not long.”

“I see.”

“I am sorry.”

All grand arguments end in silence or insults or apologies. There are no more words to utter. Jungkook is at a loss for hope, at the far end of a tunnel. If he could still convince you, he would; but your decision sits.

So all he manages is—

“I am, too.”

There’s a nod. Your tired eyes. You looking to the side, then to the bed, approaching it a moment later with a body falling so weightlessly. When he joins minutes later, you’re turned to the side, and he watches the back of your head, the mane falling, urging to touch it just a little.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he turns away, too. 

Until you fall asleep and for the rest of the night, you don’t feel a touch on you as you do on other days; but relying on your remaining senses, you do hear the sniffle. Do register the movements next to you.

One more time for a little, approaching while.

The place is empty when Jungkook wakes up. He’s woken up three days in a row now, and he’s never wanted to — every damn time, the place would be empty.

And he can’t breathe.

Ever since she stepped over the threshold and re-entered his life and you chose the sheer opposite, he hasn’t drawn a proper breath. This isn’t how things should be. They’re switched up, plainly wrong.

The room is empty; it has been this vacant before, but the void is yawning now, tormenting. Feels like it might never end.

A couple sunrises ago, you left with a lasting, gnawing touch. Before you stepped down the porch, your palm lay in his for a minute; despite the hurt, you still seemed to want to leave remnants of what he means to you.

Your hand was warm in his; and your eyes, albeit filled with some sort of cold distance, still carried some of the warmth, too, your gaze glassy. You were pulling yourself together so well. For him, yourself, the confused child clinging to you.

Hana thought you were visiting the grandparents out of nostalgic longing. She thought she’d be away from him for a fleeting moment. She’s too young to understand the passing of time, after all.

So she didn’t complain, but she looked dissatisfied. Unwilling to embark on this little vacation. Pouted at her father, but listened to her mother.

For her, he was keeping himself whole, too — but when your fingers slipped away from his, the heat still lingered. Like a red scald, as if he’d held his palm into a flame. Perhaps that’s what set him off.

Perhaps just as much as when the hole between your bodies widened bit by bit, and you disappeared in the distance after the carriage had engulfed you. The impulse to run after you grew consistently and rapidly, but his feet were cemented to the spot, legs stiff.

When the carriage turned, however, and only then, they carried him down. There was a faint sound in the background, like the whispering breeze of autumn, and Jungkook barely understood what it was until he realised his lips were moving.

It was him, not the wind.

Him, in a quick downward spiral, bedazzled by the lunacy and the tears obscuring the world; repeating something he knew you were already too far away to hear. You wouldn’t register any of it anymore; he hoped you’d feel it somehow.

“Please, don’t leave,” it was, wasn’t it? A desperate, “Why would you leave?”

The echoes in the mansion were suddenly much more prominent. Not just of his steps; his own voice in his head had an echo, too, but it was a lot louder, pure torture. Pressed against his ears, as if he was falling from the clouds and into burning hell.

The sounds were blocked by nothing but the wind.

This has been feeling neverending ever since. So infinite.

And maybe it’s this very horrendous fear that disables his lungs; that he might end up like this, without your touch, without your smile, without the future he drew in his mind every single day. It always, always contained you.

He loves you; he’s told you so many times, but it’s never been this apparent. And it’s drying him out, the goddamn loneliness. Blocking his throat. Shit, this place he settled on for you and his family, to give you the best life possible — its vast size is backfiring.

Because—

Fuck. Fuck. What is a spacious room good for if he can’t fucking breathe?

There isn’t anybody in here to hear him panting, surviving; he forbid it. But the loneliness dawns on him again, and he chants with tears dropping on the ground, not making any particular sense, over and over again, “Don’t leave. Please. Please don’t leave—”

As if his brain got stuck here the moment you left, playing the pleas on loop to drive him insane. His own brain is driving him insane. The betrayal is beyond belief.

He’s losing his mind; he’s well aware of this. Pondering, thinking whether the empty rooms in this mansion compete with the vacancy in his mind. Maybe not.

Because the mental rooms are plenty; his hand trembles to push down any handle on his way. There’s this long corridor, leading to these rooms, and whenever he does find the courage to open one, he finds himself in a void.

And he opens them every day, all the time. When he’s asleep. When he’s eating. When he’s wandering around, downing yet another bottle. Always hoping there are scenarios where you’re still with him, in his arms, leaving the pain behind to steer towards the same eternal love you’d been targeting before you left.

But he comes out hopeless each time. And it’s cruel, how vast the corridor is. As if his mind is deceiving him, making him believe there’s a future somewhere that you’re in… but your absence says differently.

He understands; the rooms in the mansion are empty because you’re physically gone, but the ones in his mind inhabit only him because the joyful hopes faded the moment you stepped into the carriage.

Now they’re filled with darkness and fear. What if you don’t come back? What if you do, only to deliver words he doesn’t want to hear, and then to depart again?

He hears nothing but his own voice in those rooms, and it keeps convincing him of his own barely-there worth, and that he always fucks up and that people leave and that they stay away. Convincing him that this is it.

This is how his life was supposed to go. To lift him up, but then to throw him into purgatory again  because somehow, this is what he deserves. Karmic payback.

The times he ever stops hearing these accusations and destructive statements is when other sounds interrupt them. Which has been rare, since he’s avoided conversations and social touch, except for when it was necessary and the village demanded it.

Luckily, this hasn’t been the case, and he’s been able to wither in peace.

There are still exceptions. He still has his children. He remembers; he tries. But his body is frail. Attempts its best to keep him a good father, like now.

Now, when it reacts to the incoherent call. It’s a quiet cry, a sign of waking up; Jungkook can’t remember arriving in his bedroom, but he knows exactly he’s here when he hears the sound.

Ah… right. He told the maid to get them to sleep and then bring them to their crib only ten minutes ago. He did, right? There’s been plenty his imagination has been conjuring, but the conversation feels real.

Even in a state like this, he doesn’t think he’d ever leave his children alone in this room, if he could prevent it. Sometimes, staff is around. Sometimes, he is. Sometimes, you are.

Were.

Right. Right. You might not return. But then again, you will, won’t you?

You love your children as much as he does; you’ve given all of you to the boys as much as you did to him and Hana. They have captured possibly bigger pieces of your heart than he has. You will return, even if just for them.

And then…

What if you take them with you? Or, what if you leave them here? What if, either way, he has to live a life without you?

These little pieces of him would remind him of you, too. They’re part of you, they’re half of you — but he’d see the entirety of you in them. He does even now as he walks over, watching Jaehyuk stir and Jaehoon weeping.

He hasn’t woken up his brother, but he surely has shot an intense ache into Jungkook’s chest.

Looks like you when you cry. Is this odd? Is it even possible, comparing such round, young features to your more defined ones? He doesn’t know, but he can’t unsee it either way.

And his hands burn and pain, his eyes on fire when he lifts him up, whispering Jaehoon’s name with a shush. There’s a change in behaviour immediately, but it’s not enough. The sobbing turns into quieter cries when he sees his father, but…

There’s something else Jungkook interprets.

Your scent is still everywhere. And for those few days, their way of feeding has been slightly different, too. They’re probably noticing the sudden shift. And yes, Jungkook offers comfort, but your absence lingers, and they understand it as well as he does.

“I’m here…” Jungkook whispers, standing in the middle of the room. For a second, Jaehoon grips the strings of his father’s white cotton shirt, but then his lips arch downwards again. “I know. But I am here, you see?”

As Jaehoon’s sorrow doesn’t lessen, Jungkook sniffles, too, lifting his head for a moment to prevent the tears from falling onto his boy. He takes a couple steps back until he plops back on the bed. Offers a hand to Jaehoon who wraps his tiny fingers around one of Jungkook’s.

Jungkook shakes his head, his sigh tired, and then opts for a nod instead as he repeats, “I know. I don’t think it’s enough either, me being here.” He gulps. “And her being away.”

His throat clogs up. He clears it, the tremble coming back to his lower lip as he asks in his son’s direction, “You miss Mama, don’t you?”

And as if aware, Jaehoon cries harder again, winding in Jungkook’s arms. He doesn’t know what to do to calm the tantrum, doesn’t know how you do what you do that he’s not able to do. He doesn’t think he’s failed as a father. He doesn’t think of himself as incompetent.

But he’s helpless without you. The two of you operated as a unit so far, as one big part of this universe. With half of it gone, he feels like he’s lacking half a brain, not quite functioning.

So he adds, “I do, too. Believe me, I miss her so much, too…” Ongoing crying. “I know.” Ongoing crying from both sides. The adult and the child, hurting the same. “I am sorry, sweetheart.”

And he’s not sure who he’s saying it to. To Jaehoon; to Jaehyuk. To Hana. To you.

To the hurting child he used to be, and the longing young adult that craved for too much. He’s apologising to everyone and over all the mistakes he’s made, all the regrets he carries with him.

And as he does, he’s not certain when his cries overshadow the ones of his son, or when the latter’s finally stop, only Jungkook’s misery still sounding. He doesn’t know how to stop this from hurting and how to nurse two children in a room without you, because you’re a piece of this—

You’re a piece of the picture. With you ripped out of it… isn’t it too lonely?

It is. God. God, the void swallows him whole.

And he doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know where to go and how to bring you back; if he ran to your city now, where the two of you grew and loved, would you appreciate it or hate him more?

Wait…

Do you…

Hate him?

He doesn’t know. How could he, sitting here, breaking down, mind all empty yet filled. Cruel. This is cruel.

So cruel how he forwards his mood to his children the way he learned never to do. How he can’t breathe, can’t think. How his words lose their meaning after a while, yet stay a mantra, still true  but so out of your reach.

I’m sorry.

I messed up.

I’m sorry.

Please come back.

Your seamstress is as clueless as you'd like to be.

It's probably part of her occupation, the cheerful, sweet, chatty nature, or perhaps, she's in that line because of that very characteristic of her. She's always been like this, so you shouldn't have expected anything different today.

It isn't as though the world joins you in your grief just because you're feeling it. Earth keeps moving.

Coming back home alone was hard. Hana was asleep most of the time, but the moment she woke, she sought his presence profusely.

You wonder if she noticed why he kissed her goodbye so often and told her he loved her a dozen times and gulped down the first hints of yearning with a clogged throat and damp eyes.

She probably doesn't know. His adoration was quieter than hers — because she wailed when he didn't come home, hated the surroundings she'd already seen before but forgotten.

Her father isn't around and she's angry about it.

Maybe you should've left her there. She isn’t as connected to you as she is to him, and while the twins might notice your absence, they won't quite make sense of it yet.

And you, you're stuck in this absolute consciousness that comes with adulthood, aware of everything.

Aware of where you are, who you're with, who is missing. Aware of how you won't be able to weep in your sister's arms forever; so aware that having beautiful dresses sewn won't bring you permanent satisfaction.

But everytime you think back to the last days, you break. The picture of him home alone, theories about what he might be doing, how he might be coping. Whether he's crying like you, fallen like you, feeling incomplete because he's in those rooms with only half of him.

That's how you've been feeling. You're a fraction of yourself.

After three days of solitude, Hana has learned to settle on pouting. It’s odd, the contrast between her and the town, always the same. The latter is as alive as you knew it. And Seung, the seamstress you used to frequent, is still the same amazing woman, too.

Grown, a little older, but the sheer opposite of a quiet Suhana, of a dejected you.

Your sister is holding Hana’s hand, the other tiny fingers busy with the fabric of the dark yellow dress. You’re in a cursory surface conversation with Seung, trying to be polite despite everything, asking how she’s doing, how her husband has been.

She got married years before you did, and she was always incredibly vocal about her relationship with her spouse. They’ve been a key and a lock; she’s spread hope for love amongst many other girls before.

You were one of them. And the hope bloomed, even when you were met with hurdles and thought you’d end in misery.

In all honesty, you truly thought you were an exception to the many rocky marriages. Sure, you never assumed yours would end up a constant fairytale; Jungkook and you have your days, too.

You just… held onto hope, more so when you fell for him, and you never ever thought you’d experience such a low.

Seung still tires of babbling about her husband soon; she enjoys detailing her fabulous life, but she never makes the entire talk about solely herself. So you expect it when you soon hear a question back, “Lord Jeon has also always been such a gentleman, too, though. I enjoy his company thoroughly. Is he not with you today?”

You barely manage the lazy shake of your head, but you smile to cloak the hurt covering your heart, flooding your insides. The agony is always searing; you feel it everywhere, as though a torch lit you on fire. Every damn mention of his name makes your body sink.

In this town, the people have gathered that he’s a fragment of you, that he’s right wherever you are. But not today. Today, he’s with somebody else entirely; it enrages you, and yet also reminds you of how much you miss him every sickening moment of the endless day.

But you still act as though the praise towards the wonderful man you know doesn’t drag another knife across your heart. You suppress your tears and nod, agree with her.

Of course you do. You enjoy his company, too. You’re not oblivious to your husband’s charm; he’s the heart of every conversation. The poetry in every novel after all.

“He did not join me this time,” you answer, smiling away the seconds to hide the difficulties in your home. Hana sighs, as though she’s understood that something went awry; as if she doesn’t believe it when you say, “But perhaps next time!”

Perhaps. Hopefully. 

Your sister brushes the topic off with a wave, focusing on the task on hand. You welcome the diverging topic, just in time for the finishing touches on the dresses you ordered. Seung asks you to slip into them for a final inspection.

The first one is a light purple gown; you do not have a clue where you might wear it, but you enjoy the feel of it. Your sister nods in approval, compliments, “This colour suits you well. You haven’t worn it in so long.”

“I have. I wear it a lot back at home,” you say, remembering a similar shade in your mansion, unaware of where your thoughts are heading until you say, “Jungkook got me a gown in this colour once.”

She pauses for a moment. Seung fumbles at the hem of the dress, busy making it and you pretty; but your sister notices, sighs for a second before she responds, “He has a good eye, then.”

“Yes… he does.”

He likes you in almost every colour, though. He’s baptised you with the name of the rainbow many times before. Thinks every hue brings out something different in you; and that you lend it some additional meaning. Your aura and your energy mix the colours in a palette.

“To something new; to something special.”

You nearly whimper when his voice returns in your head. Despite the circumstances, all you ever remember it in is in joy. When his words are followed by a chuckle and dimples. When the bangs, not cut recently, fall into his eyes, like curtains.

You don’t think of the shaky goodbye days ago… rather, you recall the moments before the world fell apart, drenched in sweetness and grace and warmth.

It becomes difficult to stand here, to let Seung fondle with the fabric. To listen to your sister’s praises and watch Hana’s feet dangle off her seat, hitting the leg of the chair with puffy cheeks and a jutting lower lip.

The view is already too much, and you close your eyes, blending it out. Which proves hard when your husband is mentioned over and over again; of course he is. Two halves of a soul… of course he is.

It’s been like this at each visit, so nobody would expect things to change this time.

And every damn time his name falls, Hana looks up. Big eyes, akin to a doe, personifying hope and love and yearning. If… if there was a way to contact him and let her talk to him for only a minute, you wouldn’t hesitate.

In fact, leaving her there with him could’ve been an option. But you need some comfort, too, don’t you? And he might not be in the proper state to take care of anyone right now. You intensely hope he is looking after himself.

But she keeps sulking. Despising the distance as much as you fear it, asking over and over again, and your dam only breaks and overflows when you step down the podium, asking, “Do you like this?”

And she, uncaring, shrugs, asking, “Can we go back to Daddy?”

You take a deep breath. Your skin tingles, a wave of discomfort filling you head to toe. Head heavy, you yet again register the change in your throat and voice, holding back as you try to pacify her, “Soon, darling. We’re just visiting aunty and the grandparents for a little, remember?”

She does, but it doesn’t help. Somehow, it makes her pout harder. Yesterday, she was crying; now, she’s handling the bad mood differently. Maybe this is worse. You thought children forget, that they distract themselves easily, but Hana’s affection is infinite. Integral to her.

How could she forget? You know who you’re talking about. How could anybody forget about him, ever?

You tuck in one of her black locks, inquiring, “Which dress do you reckon I should get?”

Another shrug. Seung tries, “Would you like to take a look for yourself, as well?”

“Be nice, Hana,” you say, “do you want to? You can say no, too, though.”

It takes a moment until she looks up. Her eyes change when she sees the variety presented to her; as if she didn’t regard any of it since you stepped into the shop. But eventually, she says, “Alright. I will.”

She hops off the chair, small hand in Seung’s palm, walks around to take a look at her choices. Her forefinger is hooked in her mouth as she focuses, only coming out, slightly damp, when she points at something she likes.

Your seamstress approves of most of what Suhana prefers before moving to the colour, “Which one shall we pick for you?”

“I like them all,” Hana says. It’s tough to choose until it isn’t. Once she’s settled on one, staring at it with intensity, you understand she’s decided, calling for you, “Mama.”

“Yes?”

“This is Daddy’s favourite colour.”

A tender shade of sea green. She’s right, it’s his favourite. Or at least a preferred one. You guess you can’t escape him, no matter how much you try, no matter how many miles you leave between him and you.

You ask, “Do you want to take it?”

But she seems unsure all of a sudden again. The finger has dropped with her expression, and she digs the heel of her shoe into the floor, yet nodding, “Yes… I want to surprise Daddy.”

“He will love it, baby,” you say, blinking rapidly. You point to the colour she chose. “This dress then, please?”

“Certainly. Measurements?” Seung says, material already draped over her shoulder; she walks over to the measuring tape, readying herself but…

Hana has long lost her motivation again. You see the light dim with each second, and you prepare yourself to convince her to bask in the excitement a little longer. But she won’t. Instead, she declares, “I don’t want to.”

“What?” Seung voices. “It only takes a moment—”

“I don’t want to,” Hana repeats, “I want to go home.”

“The dress?”

“No.” She inhales, arms dangling at her sides, the childish whining painful when she pleads for the millionth, aching time, “I want to go back to Daddy now.”

Fucking hell, Suhana, how?

How do I take you back already?

If you could, you’d step out and curse into the world. He’s too far away. You’re too far away.

You left with a purpose, bid him goodbye to find peace within yourself. Peace with the fact that a woman is probably still sitting where you have welcomed guests so happily before. The woman that presented him yet another child, his blood and soul.

How do you explain to your daughter that returning might hurt worse than being here, and that his expression will shatter you? That he’ll fall to his knees again, remind you that nobody has ever loved a girl before like he loves you.

That nobody will ever find this much adoration again. But that then, a second later, you’ll remember that until you die, you won’t be the only one anymore?

How do you cope with this? How do you bring your child back into this home, in a mood like yours, without a solution just yet?

In that house where he’s grieving like you, you’ll hear the echoes from everywhere, and the pain will intensify. His touch might linger on you, and the walls will scream and the bed will scream and the rooms will scream.

Yell the memories you made there.

The dinners you shared. The food he fed you with his spoon. The times he’d spill soup on you in the process and laugh it off, crack a dirty joke when the tissue drew over your cleavage.

And the times he kissed you at his office door, promising he’d be in the bedroom soon; the times you still knocked an hour later because he isn’t just a good husband and father, but a good leader for his people, too.

And… and…

The bare skin on the mattress next to you. Warm, sweet, hugging you in, lips on your shoulder, your back, your ear, your body. Engulfing you. Under you, above you, with you. The whispered words and the promises.

Vows that he fulfils during the days and the nights. Raising his children with deep-sitting sentiments, turning his own pain into power and using it to bring happiness to them and to you all the damn time.

Sleepless nights, giggly days, dances in empty rooms and conversations in laughter and tears and hurdles and successes.

Every wall and bed and room will scream out the question whether you remember.

Do you remember it all? Everything you’ve become with him in all those years. Do you remember? Do you? Will you ever forget?

Everything falls. The leaves, the temperature, the warmth. Your damn heart.

And it’s then that you can’t take it anymore. Maybe because you see him in your own daughter’s eyes; maybe because she keeps trying to manifest him, as if he’s right here.

So you break. Quietly but aggressively, grabbing her hand as you say, “Enough. No dresses for you. We’re leaving.”

And you do. Suhana doesn’t like the way you pull yourself and her out of the shop. It’s not painful and you’re not violent or rushed; but maybe she hears your altered voice and sees the torment in your face, because she keeps calling for you until you’re home.

Your sister attempts her best to distract you, promising she’ll grab Hana’s gown before you leave and whatnot — but you’re lost in thoughts, still overwhelmed by a flood of memories. You don’t snap at Hana, even though she taps your wrist, asking why you’re mad and where Daddy is, and once you enter the hall in your previous house, you finally snap—

“Get yourself together!” You’re glaring. You never usually do. “I cannot fly to him. Practise patience for a while, alright?”

It shuts her up, but it does something to her expression, too. She’s tearing up, sniffling all of a sudden. Close to breaking, too, when your mother comes out to greet you, and you ask, “Could you just… could you play with her for a bit? Distract her? I just…”

“Yes,” she immediately says, offering Hana her hand, who takes it reluctantly. She’ll be a little angry at you for a few hours. Won’t want you near her. So she obliges. “Take your time, love.”

So you do. Instantly so. Your sister helps, dragging you up to your old room by your elbow, just in time before you finally break down.

She wraps her arms around you as your tears cascade, your chin on her shoulder, shaking, hands unsteady as you lower the sound of your sobs. This isn’t your first time crying here; but it’s the first time the tears blind you entirely.

Your sister lets you mourn for a while, rubbing your back, sitting at the edge of the bed as she mumbles something you can’t make sense of. She’s always been good at comforting you, but this time, she doesn’t know much about the issue itself. Unable to say much.

Instead, she asks, “This isn’t just a casual fight, is it? You had a very bad one.”

“I’m just…” you try, but she shushes you again, tells you it is alright to take your time. You gulp, then start again, “I don’t know what to do.”

“It is this serious? What happened?” She’s concerned, but curious, too. “You still don’t want to tell me?”

You shake your head against her shoulder, and she sighs. You say, “I need to figure this out with him first. Unbiased…”

“I understand. I am here, though. You can stay here or with me… Seokjin knows, so he won’t mind.”

“But… I just—”

“These things happen, love. You know it. Marriage is all compromise and patience.”

You know. Of course you know. Didn’t you have these same exact thoughts all day? You’re aware of the basic foundation of marriage, but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

“Does it… always work out?” you ask.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. I have a strong feeling that he and you will.”

“…Why? How?

Maybe she’s saying it because she’s trying to lift you up. Maybe it’s part of comfort, to say things people want to hear. But your sister isn’t this type of person; you’ve appreciated her straightforward nature since the beginning of time, and if she didn’t believe in what she said, you’d consider her switched with somebody else.

Which is why you trust her words when she speaks, partly because the sincerity seeps through them from beginning to end, or because you’re well aware of this universal truth, “It’s rare… seeing somebody love like this even after years. Of course there’s always affection, but… sometimes love fades. His doesn’t. He really does feel strongly about you.”

“…He does.”

“See, you’re not doubting it. Maybe that’s enough for now.”

You would never leave such a statement open to debate. Even if a dozen women stood at your doorstep, reminding you of his lustful past and little mistakes, you’d send them away with a nonchalant wave.

Yes, the situation now differs from such a fantasy to its core, but even then, you know to trust in his heart. It’s just the future you’re scared of. The back and forth, the facts presented to you; in the form of a memory and in the form of a child.

Breath heavy and chest aching, you tell her, “I just don’t know what to do.”

“I don’t know either,” she admits, voice quieter now. “But— my first instinct would be… to tell you to go home. I think you need it. Your actual home.”

“And then what…?”

“Whatever your guts tell you to do. What are they telling you now?”

You puff out an exhale; you’re sick of crying. Your head hurts, as if devoid of oxygen. “That I am scared.”

She nods, well aware, digs further, “What else? If you think about the situation, do you see a solution at all?”

Thinking about it… thinking about it…

Properly pondering, you guess you’re not quite at the end of the road. There’s a wall in front of you, but it’s shrinking; if you give it an actual thought and look up, you might be able to climb over it. It’d just need… inhumane strength.

“Maybe… in theory,” you say. “Perhaps.”

Short pause, silence cutting the air. It’s still light outside, but the sky is grey again. No birds chirping, streets and alleys quieter. You think you hear a couple voices, a carriage passing under your window…

You miss the noise. You miss his voice.

You miss the way he sighs in the evenings, staring into a book you might have annoyed him into reading before looking up, noticing your gaze. Smiling at you, overwhelmed by love, leaning in as the novel closes and his lips open…

So your answer shoots out of you when your sister asks, “What else are you thinking?” Clear and ardent and brimming with certainty as you say—

“That I love him.”

The smile she flashes is tiny but telling. Something blooms in her eyes, as if filled with hope, and the little, unconscious gesture, manifesting in her expression, returns the longing to your heart.

A thumb wipes your tears before her hand covers yours, and with a voice so soft and gentle, she concludes, “You really do. Go back, yes?”

And you don’t have it in you to consider her wrong anymore. No matter the hurt, you don’t think you should stay any longer at all. You won’t deny that you needed the escape for a bit; but maybe this suffices.

And in hindsight, maybe you knew how this would end all along.

THE CHAPTER ISN'T OVER YET!! PLS READ 👇🏼

tumblr doesn't allow making very long posts due to the 1k block limit, so you can find the rest of the chapter and its 7k portion in this reblog! <3

[emry-stars-art]

JELLY NEIL AND SHARK DREW PRETTY PLEASE（╹◡╹）♡

I AM NOT JOKING I WOULD READ >100k WORDS ABOUT THEM FUCK IT LETS SAY INFINITE CUZ THAT NUMBER IS CLOSER TO WHAT I HAD IN MIND, I WOULD LOVE TO READ ABOUT THEIR DAY TO DAY LIVES BECAUSE YOU’RE AN AMAZING WRITER AND AN INCREDIBLE ARTIST AND I KNOW FOR SURE YOU WOULD MAKE THAT INTERESTING. YOU ARE SO CREATIVE AND IT SHOWS- I MEAN LOOK AT YOUR AUS THEY ARE SO COMPLEX AND SO INTERESTING AND SO WELL WRITTEN AND THE ART OH THE ART AHHHHHHHHHHHH WHEN I LOOK AT YOUR ART OF THEM ALL IM THINKING ABOUT IS “THATS WHAT THEY LOOK LIKE THATS HOW I IMAGINE THEM”

(Also I agree with previous anon i also love the royal au (°▽°)) AND I C A N N O T STOP REREADING THE POSTS YOU MAKE ABOUT THEM)

YOU MAKE YOUR AUS SO SO INTERESTING IM ALWAYS SO DRAWN TO THEM

I LOVE YOUR ANDREIL AND AUS SO MUCHHhhhhh

Sry for rumbling but I really liked that wip you posted and I just HAD to let you know I love how jellyNeils and Shardrews relationship is progressing and how they’re beginning to communicate it’s so cute (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵) ALSO LIVE, LAUGH, LOVE WHALEMACK? HAH

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR EVERYTHING (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o)))♡

(Anon when I tell you I am on the verge of TEARS. SOBBING EVEN. How dare u come into my inbox and be so nice and then APOLOGIZE for it. LIVE LAUGH LOVE WHALEMACK. CRYING

Thank YOU, you beautiful nice people and messages like these are the entire reason I have the drive to put so much work into this stuff so give yourselves a little credit too!! Man how do I even continue from this. Genuinely thank you so much 🥹 you deserve so many mer cuddles) ⤵️

8 nov 2023 ww game

Find the mer au masterpost here 💕

"You still can't carry me," Andrew said. Neil chirped.

"Carry," it said. Andrew heaved a breath.

"You know what? Fine. But if you sting me too much I'm not doing it."

Neil seemed pleased as Andrew let himself drift down, hesitating before he touched Neil's skin. This was foreign. He'd never slept on anyone's chest before, but he wouldn't be able to hang onto Neil in his sleep. Not like he could Aaron. So Neil would have to hang onto him.

Its skin was only a little textured, mostly slippery soft under Andrew's. The bell especially was pillowy and giving, doing almost nothing to support Andrew's tail but it was something. Neil's body held up Andrew's with only a little sinking. Its arms wrapped around Andrew's shoulders as Andrew linked his own around Neil's middle. Neil's claws pressed lightly against his back. Carefully, Andrew rested his head high on Neil's chest and felt its heartbeat under his cheek.

It must not have been a long sleep, but Andrew never once was jolted from it. He didn't feel vaguely panicky like he did when he slept on his own. He slept soundly through the time Neil gave him, and when Neil chirped to wake him, Andrew felt a little better.

[twinkleallnight]

Book: TRR AU/ Once upon a time prequel

Pairings:Liam x Savannah 

Word count:1367

Disclaimer: All characters belong to pixelberry. 

Rating: Mature

Warning: none

A/N: The @kingliamappreciationweek (day 1 ) was an excellent excuse to revisit my very old WIPs. Thank you @lizzybeth1986 for brainstorming the title for this fic that hopefully will be a mini series.

Prompt: That's how the story goes @choicesflashfics and flower, sunrise @aprilchallenge by @peonierose for @choicesmonthlychallenge

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

The island of Corsica, 

Mediterranean sea, 

France. 

The first rays of the rising sun kissed the peak of Monte Cinto igniting the deep red of the granite and then bowed at its foothills before bathing the valley of Lozzi. With the thick backdrop of chestnut forests and the evergreen sheet of the shrubs, the village of Lozzi brightened to its glory. The fragrance of the flowers of the Maquis carried far out across the land as life stirred awake on the “Scented Isle.” 

Savannah was already up on her toes, hastening through her morning chores before she reached her workplace. 

It had been a couple of years since she left Cordonia and had made her little abode on this island. She had no regrets, no complaints. With her qualifications she was able to pick up a job that helped her manage her expenses in Corsica. Moreover, she was grateful for having a reason to live. A reason to look at the world through the innocent blue eyes of her little munchkin. She thanked the Almighty in her prayers and then got ready for the day. 

After a couple of hours, she walked down a curved path to a cream building that had a dull blue board with a large print of 'Middle school of Moltifao'. This was where she had found her happiness. She was re- living her childhood teaching history lessons to some ten year olds here. She entered a modest room decorated with hand made amateur charts. 

Twenty one curious little minds were eagerly waiting in that room for an interesting story from their teacher, whom they adored. They were all delighted to see her and so was she.

Except, the topic for the day was a bit difficult for her to deal with. It was going to bring back memories of her 'Prince Charming' and so much more. But, 'the show must go on' she thought and began…

"We discussed Vatican City last time. Today let's talk about Cordonia. Can anyone tell me what's common between these two countries of Europe?" She made their little minds work. 

The plump girl on the first desk shot her hand high in the air. Savannah smiled at the Hermione of her class. 

"Yes, Susan, tell me." 

" They are both absolute monarchies." She beamed proudly. 

"You are right." 

Rio, who always had doubts about anything and everything, interjected, "But why? I understood the reasons for Vatican City in the last class Ms Walker. Why is Cordonia ruled by a king when the rest of the countries in Europe have elected governments?"

"Good question, Rio. Cordonia had its own struggle too. There was a period of unrest when a group of people revolted and did not want the royals. But everything changed when King Liam took over the reins." 

She felt the blush rising to her cheeks. She was irritated, realizing what effect his name had on her even after all these years. 

She covered up her nervousness and shifted her gaze from Rio to the rest of the class. "Anyone know about him and how he brought about the change?" 

Susan again stretched her hand high, but so did Sana, the quietest of them all. Savannah smiled at Susan in an understanding and then asked Sana to speak. "He is King Liam, the wise. He is very kind, cares for his people and loves them." 

"Very good, Sana!" She encouraged her.

Sana coyly looked at her classmates and when she saw everyone smiling, she continued, "King Liam belongs to the Rhys dynasty. Ever since his coronation he has helped his people. He relaxed many rules to ease out the life of common people. Unlike other nobles he gels with commoners and is comfortable with us." 

The last word sent Savannah's mind on a spin. 'She said 'us'. What does she mean by 'us'? Is she from Cordonia? What are the odds? Will my secret be revealed?' her thoughts were racing yet she maintained her poise and politely asked, "That's very nice,Sana. How do you know these details?" 

"My aunt lives in Cordonia. They have apple orchards there. Aunt Cher told me there was an attack once by bad people and all their orchards were destroyed. She says King Liam waived off the taxes and came down himself to work with farmers.  That's how the story goes." Sana concluded. 

Savannah would have been lost in her thoughts, of her time with him around the apple trees, had Nader not raised a question, "Did he fight the bad people?" 

Sana shrugged her shoulders and looked at her teacher for an answer. 

Savannah composed herself again, "Not exactly, Nader. The attacks happened when King Liam was just crowned." 

Nader interjected wide eyed, " You mean there were more than one attack?" 

Savannah nodded sadly. "Cordonia had a tough time. Liam had to face another such attack before he could prove himself. But under his command, the military became stronger, the council became more sympathetic to the needs of citizens and the country started flourishing. The bad people had to give up their fight and accept that Liam is the best ruler they have had in a century." 

Emanuel, the wise boy of the class shared his opinion, "He seems to be a very nice person." 

Savannah felt a wave of pride as she added, "Indeed he is. Liam is liked by not just his countrymen but he is even a favorite in meetings held at global levels. And guess why?" She spurred the kids. 

Emanuel replied or rather questioned back, "Is it because he is very kind and always respectful?" 

Savannah agreed, "Yes Emanuel, he is affectionate and gentle. He is courteous and obliging to all. That is the whole reason he is called people's king."

Rachel asked in a shy tone, "Is he handsome?" 

Savannah almost snorted at the little girl's interest, "Very much! He is the most gallant and chivalrous gentleman you will ever meet."

"What does he look like?"  

Savannah realized that she had turned as red as Rachel, blushing while she answered. " He is tall and a strong man. He looks at you with the calmest blue eyes and he is ever smiling, making you forget all your worries." This was getting a bit out of hand so she thought of changing the topic but the children seemed unstoppable.

Dave raised a point that turned out to be the most disturbing for Savannah, "Did you ever meet him or see him?" 

She closed her eyes for a moment. 'I was supposed to be with him but I can't tell you that.' She took a deep breath before she spoke. "Yes, I was lucky to see and meet him a few years ago." 

Some of the kids gasped at that. She responded with a weak smile. Rachel seemed to be fascinated just as Savannah was as a little girl. So she inquired, "That must be like a dream come true!" 

Savannah nodded through teary eyes and tried to curb the choking feeling in her throat. 'No more.' she couldn't fight her emotions for long so she decided to wrap up the session. 

She swallowed thickly, "I think that's enough for today's class. Your assignments are due next week. Till then, read well and enjoy the tales from the past." She waved off with her signature line. She picked up her belongings and scurried away from the class in an effort to hide the overwhelming feeling she had. 

Her students were to just read their history books but for her it was revisiting those excruciating wounds that were left from the memories of the man she loved. 

She moved out of the door and started to her left without looking. She thought she banged into a wall but it was cushioned and smelled familiar. Too familiar. Like a part of her. No, it was the missing part of her. She shut her eyes tight to shoo away the daydream but the sound that followed, confirmed that it was real. 

Estranged - Chapter 2

"If you like me so much, why did you leave me?" Liam lamented in his deep tone.  Savannah slowly opened her eyes, to face the set of peaceful ocean blues. She tried to hide one thing behind her glazed eyes- fear! 

(Thank you so much for reading 😊)

Tags: @3pawandme @alj4890 @angelasscribbles @annabellewynter @bascmve01 @bebepac @busywoman @dcbbw @choicesficwriterscreations @harleybeaumont @iaminlovewithtrr @karahalloway @kingliam2019 @lovingchoices14 @nestledonthaveone @neotericthemis @mom2000aggie @phoenixrising0308 @princess-geek @sazanes @secretaryunpaid @sfb123 @sillydg @tessa-liam @tinkie1973 @txemrn @walkerdrakewalker @rubiwalker @703cowbarn @kyra 75 @likealotus @kskvb20 @marietrinmimi @juan-francisco-palencia

[raysletters]

get to know your fanfic writer!

i have to be honest, the lovelies @14carrotghoul and @suseagull04 tagged me for this like a week ago and i have incredibly bad memory, but here i am anyway (thanks for the tag and sorry for being late lol 💀)

when did you post your first ever fanfic?

oh my god,,,,,, i think it was 2015(??

first character(s) you wrote for:

before i say this, i need to explain i was a child with a very early access to internet. also, i am, as a great mind said once, a pathological people pleaser, and my sister was a directioner,,,,,,,,, so yes ofc i wrote a fanfic about harry styles for my sister, even though i never published it, and it was just a dumb y/n story,,,,,,,, (this was like 2012). though, since harry styles is a real person and not a character like my 9yo self thought, then i assume the next one would be,,,,, damon salvatore (it was posted on wattpad and absolutely horrible, i had an hyperfixation and created an oc and everything)

main character(s) you’re currently writing for:

alex claremont-díaz, henry fox-mountchristen-windsor, beatrice fox-mountchristen-windsor, june claremont-díaz, nora holleran, and percy "pez" okonjo have all had their points of view written or worked on at some point on my docs. between that and them seeing the light of day is another thing.

character(s) you haven’t written about before but plan on writing about soon:

i- i guess, since they haven't been posted yet, bea, nora and pez will get their time to shine (soon, hopefully) on my next fics. ive also been trying to write a bit of catherine for the diabetic!henry au,,,,, but its been really hard bc its all just too close to home.

fandom(s) you’re currently writing for:

red, white & royal blue

platonic pairing(s) you currently write for:

at this moment im obsessed with writing alex interacting with both bea and pez, bc we didnt get enough of that on the book and fics always show june being besties with henry and i kinda wanted to pull an uno reverse on that trope. also, im really interested in writing some henry and nora, bc they're besties on the book that gossip about drag race and stuff,,,,, but i want to maybe dive into it a bit deeper.

romantic pairing(s) you currently write for:

firstprince and junopez, and ive already have two wips where i give bea a girlfriend,,,,,, so theres that

your top 3 tags on AO3 (if you post your works on AO3):

i literally went to my dashboard to look it up, the first one is my different alterations of the tag "not beta read", but we're not going to count that one. next we have (surprisingly to no one) "angst", "mental health issues" 💀💀, and lastly "songfic" jskssjsksjsksjsksjskswjsksjsksjsks

your current platform where you post your works:

you can find me on ao3 as raysletters

snippet of the wip you’re currently working on:

i am working on SO many wips rn bc ive been sick and that has meant being in bed and not doing shit most of the day bc it hurts to breathe sjsksjsksjsksjskssjsksjkssjsksjsjsjajkssj

here, i give yall a snippet of the musician!alex au yall saw on the wip title game (that can be alternatively called "fulfilling most of smut saturday prompts in one single fic bc i wanted to try writing smut and it quickly got out of my hands")

so, idk if this would be nsfw bc it is not the smut itself, but more like smut-adjacent narration, but still putting the break so y'all can decide if you want to read it or not

This exact moment, though? It might not only embarrass him in a very public setting, but might also make him combust and collapse from sheer lust.

The entire place is crowded to the point of asphyxiation, the fans are spinning at their limit speed on the ceiling, and Henry feels like this is probably how hell feels.

That is, if hell ever had the pleasure of getting Alexander Claremont-Díaz on his knees, making the most obscene and erotic guitar solo known to mankind, thrusting his hips to the rhythm of She by Harry Styles on his guitar while the lights focus on him; his open white shirt shows the chain he now knows contains the key to his family's home at Texas, his glistening chest and the sweat that rolls over his collarbones, his pectorals, his abdomen and then disappear on his navel behind the guitar. It makes Henry reminisce of that first video he ever saw of Alex, and can’t help but compare the performance to seeing it live after more than a year, while knowing how excited he had been at the rehearsal, jumping and moving around while refusing to practice because of his own jitters.

Of course it paid off, Alex, the bloody show-off, has the entire place entranced under his spell, not even the clients sitting on the bar stools, who had shown little interest in the performance through the night, could take their eyes off of Alex.

Henry absolutely gets it, but can't help the feeling of jealousy that courses through him. He desperately wants to drop to his knees to show Alex how marvelous he is, hoping he thrusts in his mouth like he does on his guitar.

[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning into Stone, Chapter 5

A/N  Sorry for the long break between chapters.  As some of you might have seen from my Tumblr blog, I’ve been off on vacation these past two weeks.  Plus, when I felt the urge to write, it was my new Vaquero AU that kept calling to me (21,000 words and counting!), rather than this fic.  Which is probably a good argument for why I don’t like to post WIPs.  In any event, here is the next chapter some of you have been asking for, entitled Third Appointment.  Be careful what you wish for.  Angst ahead, plus a trigger warning for infertility trauma, miscarriage.

The first four chapters are available on my AO3 page.

The Thursday after her impromptu encounter with Jamie and his niece at the Royal Hospital for Children, Claire woke with a strange twisting pain in her gut.  Skipping breakfast, she was halfway to her office before she diagnosed herself with an acute case of nerves, the kind that sprouted between her lungs and ribcage like a vestigial organ whose sole purpose was to unsettle her.

She wasn’t in the habit of meeting patients outside of the clinical confines of her practice, but it was more than that.  Jamie had caught her in a moment of weakness, with both her personal and professional armour missing.  What he might have seen and how he could have interpreted it had occupied her thoughts ever since.

Eating lunch was out of the question.  By the time two o’clock approached, her insides were a buzzing hornets’ nest of anxiety, her palms clammy with sweat.  A half-empty bottle of Xanax called to her from the bottom of her purse.  Before she could weigh the implications of taking one at work on an empty stomach, Jamie’s familiar knock intervened.

She could tell as soon as he entered that Maggie hadn’t needed a transfusion that week.  His russet curls shone like garnets in the midday sun and his uncanny eyes glittered like sapphires.  Still, he avoided looking directly her way as he settled into his usual chair, and she wondered if the overlap of their personal and professional lives had left him feeling unnerved as well.

“No wheat grass smoothie,” he commented, his gaze running over her desk.

“No, I didn’t have time for lunch today.”  It was a blatant falsehood, since she’d spent her lunch hour picking her cuticles until they bled, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Ye should eat more, Sassen..., Doctor Beauchamp.  Ye canna help anyone else if ye’re no’ properly nourished.”  She caught the slip, and for some reason it angered her.

“Is this your attempt to negotiate a reduction in your fees, Jamie?  Dietary advice in return for counselling?  Because if so, I’m afraid I don’t bill on the barter system,” she snapped, despising her churlish tone.

Jamie’s eyes narrowed, then dimmed.  Message received, he sat up straighter in the armchair and crossed a foot over his knee, assuming a position of poised and detached calm that had no doubt served him well during business negotiations.  She regrouped by pretending to glance at her journal for the notes from their previous session, although the space next to his name was accusingly blank.

Boundaries thus defined, the session went surprising well.  Jamie spoke of his relief that Maggie’s latest round of chemotherapy was over, allowing her to return home and to some semblance of a regular life for a child of six.  Claire coaxed him gently towards the topic of his overwhelming guilt for abandoning his family when he was most needed.  Jamie processed pain through the recounting of stories, coming to terms with his self-decreed transgression by weaving together the tale of those he loved and pointing to the holes his absence had caused.

As his resonant voice spun its web of words, Claire became aware of an underlying hum.  At first it was subtle, like the mumble of traffic from a far-off motorway.  But as their hour together ticked by, it grew in strength until she could no longer ignore the buzz that pressed against her from all directions.

“... saw that it was really Jenny and Ian who I was... Claire?  Doctor Beauchamp, are ye well?”  Jamie was watching her with concern, and she realized she’d been shaking her head, trying to dislodge the omnipresent hum.

“Yes, I’m... yes.  Sorry.  Just a funny noise that’s...  Please, continue.”  When Jamie didn’t immediately pick up the thread of his narrative, she tried again.  “You were saying something about Jenny and Ian?”

Instead of continuing his previous thought, Jamie picked that moment to broach the topic she’d desperately hoped he would avoid.

“I hope ye’re no’ upset about the other day, at the hospital.  I didna mean tae impose or tae... o’erstep the bounds of our relationship.  No’ that we have a relationship, mind,” he hastened to add.  “Only a professional one.  But when I saw ye, I couldna resist introducing ye tae wee Maggie.  I hadna told ye about her yet, and I thought...”

“Jamie, it’s fine,” she cut in, halting his rambling explanation.  “She’s a lovely girl.  They all are.  It’s only that, I’m sort of...”

“Ye’re verra good with them.  Children, that is.  Ye’ll make a fine mother one day.”

All the oxygen left the room at once.  Her heart beat so hard there was a bruised feeling behind her sternum.   Launching to her feet, Claire stumbled blindly away from her desk.  She wanted to run, to scream, but her vision was a narrow chasm and a now-deafening throb filled her ears.  She only made it a few steps before her knees buckled and the carpet floated upwards to meet her.

“Ifrinn!”  Jamie leapt to her side, catching her by the shoulders before her head could hit the floor.  He lowered them both carefully to the ground, resting her body against his lap.  “Sassenach?  Claire?  Can ye hear me?  Do I need tae call an ambulance?”  The words reached her from very far away, but the threat of medical intervention acted like a dose of smelling salts.

“No,” she groaned, the room spinning around her like a kaleidoscope.  “No hospital.  I just... need to eat,” she grasped at the most innocuous explanation for her current state.

Without dislodging her, Jamie stretched his long arm and brought back the small basket of miniature muffins that were the day’s offering from Geillis.  With surprising dexterity, he peeled away the paper one-handed and broke apart a bite-sized morsel, holding it gently against her lips.  Realizing that her dignity couldn’t get any more battered, Claire opened her mouth and allowed Jamie to feed her.  After only a few bites, the buzzing disappeared and she was able to sit up on her own.

“Thank you,” she murmured, afraid to look into his eyes for fear of the pity she knew she’d see there.  “You were right. I  should have eaten lunch, I guess.”

“Claire.”  Jamie made a prose poem of the single syllable of her name.  She looked up at him through her lashes, stunned to find him looking back, not with pity, but with something akin to adoration.  “Mo nighean donn,” he ran a tender hand through her loosened curls.  “Ye need tae care more for yerself.”

“I will.  I’ll try.”  And when she said it to him, she really meant it.  Jamie made the impossible seem probable.

They stared at one another, shoulder to shoulder on the floor of her office.  She couldn’t think of anything else to say, but nor did she move.  Her gaze flitted over his face, noticing a vestige of boyish freckles across the bridge of his nose, a mole hidden in the harvest stubble on his cheek.  Jamie was performing a parallel inventory, eyes finally coming to rest at the level of her mouth.

“Ye’ve got a wee crumb, jus’ there.”  Unconscious, her tongue swept out, triggering a predatory response, twin blue laser beams narrowing on the target she had just painted on her lower lip.

“I... I’d verra much like tae kiss ye, Claire.  May I?”

An amputated moan was all she could manage in response, but Jamie must have understood its meaning.  He bent his head until only a whisper separated them.  The air crackled, sending that extra organ plummeting towards her hollow womb.  Clenching her eyes shut in defeat, she closed the infinitesimal gap until they met in an effervescent caress of lip and tongue.

Cold washed over her skin, bathing her in gooseflesh.  Jamie tasted like he looked; a banquet of fresh, volatile flavours that called to mind a picnic in a meadow, a spray of sea foam, the warmth of hearth and home.  She could feel him trembling against her, his moist breath rushing against her cheek in shallow pants.  For a score of heartbeats, Claire was the happiest she had ever been.  Then, reality crashed down around her.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered, pulling away.  “I... this can’t... I’m sorry.”

Jamie leaned back with a mixture of longing and resignation.  She hated adding herself to his list of regrets, but it was for the best.

“I’m your doctor, Jamie.  This isn’t right.”

“Aye, I ken.  I should apologize, but I canna seem tae find it in me tae repent.”

Jamie stood, reaching down to help Claire up as well.  As soon as it was apparent she was able to stand on her own, he dropped her hand as though it burned.  The line between his brows deepened, and she could see the question forming before he gave it voice.

“What if ye werena my doctor?  Would it be right then?”

“That’s neither here nor there, because I am, Jamie.  A relationship between patient and doctor of a romantic nature is ethically off-limits.”

Jamie nodded, apparently accepting her explanation at face value. Her heartbeat calmed.  He moved slowly, gathering his coat and starting to leave.  

“But what if ye weren’t?” he said, facing the door.  “If we’d met at the hospital, or out on the town?”

“I...” she stammered, searching desperately for any answer except for the truth.  “No, Jamie,” she said at last, watching as she destroyed his last bastion of hope.  “I’m sorry.  I just don’t feel that way about you.”

Nodding abruptly, Jamie let himself out of the office.  She listened to his low murmuring voice through the door as he spoke to Geillis, heard him make an appointment for the following week, then the loud snap of the main door closing.  Only then did she allow herself to collapse once more to the floor, angry sobs overtaking her.

***

“Are ye out of yer fuckin’ mind?” Geillis inquired with her usual brutal eloquence.

With the help of a Xanax, Claire had managed to see her last two patients of the day, and only needed to navigate the shoals of her office manager’s ire before she could go home and fully medicate herself into a dreamless sleep.

“Jes so we’re clear, ye want me tae write a letter terminating your services as a doctor an’ suggesting suitable alternative providers?  An’ ye want me tae send this letter, over email, tae Jamie Fraser?”

“That’s right.”  She had determined that icy calm was the best antidote to this conversation, which was fortuitous, since she felt numb all over.

“An’ what reason am I tae give fer this abrupt conclusion tae yer association wi’ Mr. Fraser?”

“I don’t owe him an explanation.  Only sufficient notice and an opportunity to seek counselling elsewhere,” she said, feigning reasonableness.

Pushed past her limits, Geillis rose from behind her desk, a tiny tempest of moral indignation.

“Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, ye are a good friend, a fine doctor an’ a fair employer.  But I swear by the Almighty that if ye dinna drop the façade and tell me wha’ is going on I am going tae smack ye until yer ears ring!”

There was a certain relief in knowing that Geillis wouldn’t take no for an answer.  And unlike Jamie, she knew where Claire lived and would not let her rest until the truth came out.

“He kissed me.  Or rather, I kissed him.  And I liked it!  That’s why, Geillis.”

Her friend’s shoulders sagged, all righteousness gone in an instant.  She reached around Claire’s frame and held her in a bone-crushing one-sided hug.

“Och, hen.  An’ ye figured ye could deal wi’ those pesky feelings by jes, what? firing him as yer patient?”  

“I can’t deal with this right now, Geillis.  I can’t feel the way he makes me feel.  And this practice is all that I have left.  There’s no way I can risk losing it just for an affair that won’t even last the summer.”

She didn’t need to elaborate on her reasons for that dire prediction.  Geillis knew them as well as anyone.

“He’s an intelligent man, Claire. He’s gonna ken something is up.  Moreover, he’s a good man.  He deserves tae hear the truth.”

Shaking her head sadly, Claire walked towards the door.  Just before exiting, she called back softly to her friend.

“Geillis?  Make sure to include Dr. Rafferty’s name on the list of referrals.  I think they’d be a good match.

***

Monday morning dawned with little promise for the fledgling week.  Moving robotically through her weekend routine, Claire thought frequently of chickens.  How their bodies kept moving once their heads were lopped off, nerves and muscle and bone continuing to function for a time despite the fatal blow.

The elevator chimed its arrival on her floor.  As the doors slide open, Jamie was the first thing she saw.  He loomed by her still-locked office, a sun-topped thundercloud gripping a sheet of printer paper.

She’d worn her best black suit and a pair of chunky heels that brought her closer to his height.  Perhaps, on some subconscious level, she’d anticipated this confrontation.  Perversely, she relished it.  Vitriol and deceit didn’t suit her, but it was preferable to feeling absolutely nothing.

“Do ye mind tellin’ me,” Jamie began before she’d even set foot in the hallway, “jus’ what this is about, Claire?” He brandished the paper like a wanted poster.

“I would think it was self-explanatory, actually.  I’m terminating our professional relationship,” she huffed, golden eyes coming to life for the first time since Thursday.

“Via email.  Sent tae me by Miss Duncan, because ye dinna have the guts tae do it yerself.  Christ, Sassenach, even my ninth grade sweetheart didna dump me so cruelly!”

“I’m not your sweetheart!” she burst out, a flood of emotion cresting with her rising anger.  “Don’t call me that!  I was your doctor, Jamie, and now I’m nothing to you.  Nothing.  Just go.  Please.  Just go,” she finished weakly and without any hope that he’d listen.

“All this jus’ because I kissed you?” Jamie persevered.  At her stubborn silence, he continued, “Nah, I dinna think so.  Ye’re many things, Claire, but a coward isna one of them.”

She found this hysterically funny, since a coward was the only role she played to perfection.  She didn’t have time to laugh, however, because Jamie was suddenly standing much closer, forcing her to lift her chin to meet his stormy eyes.

“Nah,” he continued smoothly, a big cat alerted to the smell of its prey.  “If ye’d objected tae the kiss, ye would have told me so.  Read me the riot act or kneed me in the bawls.  I think ye’re scared, Doctor Beauchamp.  I think that kiss terrified ye, because ye realized ye liked it.  Somethin’ ye couldna  plan for in yer wee journal, right there under yer nose.  Bet it made yer heart beat so fast. So fast, jus’ like it is now.”

Jamie’s hand rested gently over the placket of her suit jacket, where he could surely feel the trip hammering of her pulse.

“Please,” she begged.  “Don’t.  I can’t...”

“Can’t what, Sassenach?” he whispered back, goading her.

The truth hung on her lips, and the toll of the past few days meant that she no longer had the strength to stop it from spilling forth.

“Can’t have children.  Ever.  I tried, for years.  Fourteen miscarriages, fourteen lost chances.  And seeing you with those children last week.  I know it’s presumptive, but I could never deny you that chance, Jamie.  That’s why I can’t see you anymore.”

She was looking down, watching the buttons of his shirt rise and fall with his agitated breath, but as she finished speaking, their movement ceased.  Chancing a glance upward, she was stunned by the fury that had overtaken his expression. 

Jamie opened and closed his mouth several times before he managed to speak in a gritty growl.

“Mutation of the RUNX1 gene tha’ causes leukemia.  I was tested, along wi’ Jenny an’ Ian, after Maggie was diagnosed.  I have a fifty percent chance of passing it along tae my children.  An’ since I canna stand the thought of ano’er bairn havin’ tae suffer as Maggie has, as soon as I got the test results, I went out an’ had a vasectomy.”

Claire recoiled as though she’d been slapped, a high pitched whine in her ears.

“Ye’re no’ the only one who’s hurting, Claire!” Jamie continued, voice dashing against the rocks of her name.  “We’re no’ meant tae suffer alone.  Ye, of all people, should ken that.”

Stunned in the silence following the thunderclap of his revelation, she couldn’t find the words to express her sorrow, her outrage, and her crippling shame.  By the time the power of speech returned, Jamie was gone. 

[junhuiste]

break the code (ex-wip)

pairing: soonyoung x fem!reader

wc: 1900

tags/warning: basketball!soonyoung, college au, slightly suggestive language, cursing

a/n: this was something i started way back in 2017 when i was 15 lol and i tried going back to it and finishing but i just can’t seem to continue it!! but i don’t want it to just sit in my drafts so i’m just going to post the unfinished wip! i might do this with a lot of wips i’ve had collecting dust over the years (and they’re like 99% svt lol); if i ever do find some stroke of inspo to finish it i might but for now enjoy the 1900 words i wrote when i was a sophomore

“But babe, you’ll sit on my side, right?” Soonyoung continued to pester you with countless little questions to which he knew the exact answers to.

You pursed your lips at your boyfriend; mild sorrow and guilt clouded your eyes. In return he pout your favorite pair of plush pillows to kiss, with dull bleakness and dismals fogging his irises. It was hard, really, to resist the pull of a magnet, who was trying every trick in the book to coerce you to sit on his school’s side of the bleachers for the upcoming basketball game on Friday.

Had it been that both of you were just your run-of-the-mill university couple, tachycardia would’ve caused you to blurt out “yes” instantaneously just by being gazed upon by Soonyoung, but alas, the big guy upstairs made it to be so that you technically couldn’t through the rulebook of the sibling code.

A flushed palm extended to your denim-covered thighs, with the utmost desire lacing his fingers.

“Pretty please? With a cherry on top?” His digits creeped towards your inner thigh, getting closer to the actual cherry he wanted on top.

“Soonyoung, no matter how well you do me, I’m still obligated to sit on my side of the bleachers.”

None of Soonyoung’s coercions could persuade you to decide about where to sit. You really would’ve preferred to sit on his side, but with your current situation, none of that was possible. It was a precarious oscillation between blood and water, and neither did you want to drown in with regret for embracing one over another.

“Fine. If you can’t cheer me on–which is a pitiful shame–let me take you out to eat after the game. And we can make out in my car or something so he won’t have to know.” Soonyoung’s gaze no longer held flashes of fervor, but rather a decadent gleam of sheer admiration.

“It’s a done deal, but you better promise me to dunk on him, or be prepared to get dunked on by him. As of right now, however, you owe me some kisses for making me wobble continuously back and forth between your side and his before I go,” you taunted, “come here you little rascal.”

Soonyoung gleamed at you piercingly, yielding you to lean forward against him as a shock of joy sparked up your back. His hand feathered along the back of your thigh, brushing it so longingly, with a tinge of impertinence here and there. You could feel the urgency radiating from him as he struggled to press you even closer to him, as there were no more gaps to be filled. He grasped your chin gingerly, before connecting his lips with yours, wanting to revel in dire coalescence he’d been awaiting upon your arrival.

Soonyoung is the warm bath you dip yourself into after constant exhaustion, the meager yet compelling and needed breeze as the sun beats down you, the red mark that’s actually relieving and boasts “A+” on a hard worked assignment, the last basket shot as the clock dashes away with the snickering seconds, and he is what has you torn on where your loyalty stands, but you can’t thank him enough for that strife.

You pulled away first because getting you two to separate would be a long ass haul, and maybe it was also getting late, just maybe. Your eyes glimpsed at the badgering hands that indicated 11:35 PM, and nothing but a sullen sigh managed to escape your lips.

It wasn’t fair, how time sashayed away, but there were no seconds left to spare to sulk about it, so you caressed the tranquility Soonyoung’s face possessed and left a lingering peck upon it. Knowing him, you’d expected him to grip your waist and pull you down with him into the waters of his joyous yet yearning ways but the coal haired boy enveloped you in an enticing embrace and with his lips hovering slightly above your ear, whispered, “Tell him to get ready.”

“I swear to God, I hate basketball,” your brother exhaled out in utter annoyance, to which you furrowed your brows at.

You always shifted in your seat restlessly, your heart palpitating at an ungodly speed of McQueen, eyes sought frantically to avoid meeting your brother’s, upon the dreaded word of “basketball” ringing in your ears. It wasn’t that you abhorred it, no, not at all; you absolutely appreciated the art of dunking and the pleasing note of swish through the hoop, but just not the people you knew personally who partook in it.

There’s always a Montague and Capulet narrative happening somewhere in the universe, always, and it just so happened that you were struck with the curse by some godforsaken entity of destiny of landing a role in your life as the fresh faced, ever so naive, youngest member of the Capulets–Juliet. And you dreaded the direction your supposed fairytale was headed the first time your boyfriend asked you to watch his basketball game, which oddly enough, was the same one your brother requested you to “bring all your hot friends” to.

As strange as it sounded, it wasn’t your brother’s undeniable libido for your friends that irked you and made you hesitate going to a basketball game, to which you’ve never thought twice about before, but it was the statement of, “God I am going to crush number 10’s ass.”

Number 10. Number fucking 10. Of course, it had to be the player that sweat through blue polyester and nylon, donning number 10 in white on the front and back. It could have been player number 13 or 17, for God’s sake it could have even been a negative number sported on the jersey, yet it all had to align in the cosmos to be player number 10.

You didn’t certainly deem ESP to be something legitimate, but on that day you swore to god your mind fucked you royally in the ass and placed you in Soonyoung’s dorm room the night before. It was nothing out of the ordinary, really, nothing but the sight of a teenage boy’s niche, because a lot of basketball players had to have chosen the number 10 for their jersey, right?

The environment malfunctioned instantaneously with the repetition of “I am going to crush number 10’s ass” circling about a short circuit in your mind. From that moment onward, the sight of the jersey was unquestionably more radiant that it could have ever been, with the blinding, white number ten atop Soonyoung’s chair cackling obstreperously at your oh shit moment. Tuning in to your brother slander your university’s rival, Soonyoung’s school, was always such a joy (not) to participate in.

Every “basketball” here and there snagged you by the ear and dragged you to hell and back with it, provoking the cracks of your palm to drench in sweat and legs to quiver more than you had felt around Soonyoung before dating him.

“Yeah I mean it’s not like you’ve worked your entire ass off the past 4 years or so to even set foot on the college court you've been dreaming of since you were 13!” Diverting your brother’s mental debate on his love of the sport, it was a necessity to pluck something else from thin air to talk about, and not your school’s rival when they had games against each other, which was seemingly a bloodbath in their perspective.

Trying to escape your brother’s trash talk of Soonyoung’s team was walking through an eternal, pitch black, underground tunnel, no goddamn escape.

“They only got us last time because of number 10’s foolery. Jesus Christ, the kid better slow down or he’s wasting stamina. Can’t believe he holds the title of captain, like me. I motherfucking swear to God if I have to listen to his loud ass winning chant–” yadah yadah, number 10 this, number 10 that.

You would have dozed off to your brother’s lovely lullaby of scorn towards your boyfriend had it not been for a text…from your boyfriend.

[spoonyoung]

hii hiiiii heyyyy hello bby Hhhii babe i miss youuuuu hi!

[y/n]

i can tell u’re tired :( don’t be

[spoonyoung]

he's going to crush me dang flabbit

y/n

so ur nervous ??? bby it’s just a game istg,,both of you treat it like warfare

[incoming call: spoonyoung]

Shit, what the hell? This bitch, right now? In this economy, at this time?

Inside your chest was a drumline pounding, giving it their all, threatening to burst out and announce to your brother that “Hey, your rival is dating your sister! They’re probably going to fuck later but you don’t know about any of it!”

You would plummet into poignancy if you didn’t pick up his call, because there was no chance you could see him everyday, so honestly fuck that you guys attended different schools, and resorting to calling each other did bring both of you to ease, but not at this goddamn, forsaken time, with one you love phoning you with 17,000 vibrations per second, and the other idiot you were practically forced to love, perched next to you, indignantly gripping the wheel with such force you couldn’t decide which one generated more turbulence within you.

Tensely clutching what was now a scorching piece of metal, you held it up conscientiously to your ear, and forced yourself to breathe out calmly and collectively. Every single mention, tidbit and strand, bob and fragment of Soonyoung that was mentioned around you when you were with your brother grabbed your trachea in its firm hold and forced the wind out of you.

“Hey, Hoshi,” you managed to choke out in a level headed manner.

Hoshi. That was what you and Soonyoung agreed to nickname him if you ever picked up a call from him around your brother or his teammates, but god forbid you were actually allowed to have a life of any sort!

“Babe,” Soonyoung mewled out from the other line, “I actually can’t do this. Don’t tell him, but your brother is really good...of course he is.”

Frowning because of Soonyoung’s lack of usual mirth and brimming confidence, you sighed, “If you let it get to you, then your thoughts affect your actions, and you don’t want that to happen right? You’ll be fine...and I’m not just saying this to say something, but you’re really good too, and you can’t let one person bring your entire mood down...even if...you know…”

“Will you at least come with me to my dorm after the game?”

“Oh you know I’ll be doing more than that,” giggling into your phone, trying to sound as enticing as possible, completely engrossed in this very conversation, as it was all the time talking with Soonyoung.

Both of you had a habit of drastically turning your talks from upside downs to those of obvious elation. They were conversations sometimes needed to be kept in the comforting privacy, selfishly not wanting to let anyone else in on the baby i missed you’s and the do you need anything from the boba shop’s and literally you don’t have the right to look this good’s.

Startled by the grunting and hacking oh so wonderfully expired by the total jackass to your left, you contended to the third degree, with the patience that was never really there starting to thin out, “Do you need something?”

It wasn’t uncommon for Soonyoung to call coincidentally at the times you were with—more like right next to—his rival, probably because his

[blurglesmurfklaine]

Death Cannot Stop True Love

Summary: After being kidnapped from his kidnapper by the Dread Pirate Roberts, Blaine reminisces on the poor farmboy who once held his heart.

The Princess Bride AU, one shot, 1.7k words

A/N: did i work on ANY of my wips this weekend? no <3

BUT DID I WATCH THE PRINCESS BRIDE TWICE AND THEN SUBSEQUENTLY WRITE THIS? YOu BET YOUR ASS I DID

I've never really written anything like this??? But I surprisingly had a lot of fun with it, so let me know what you think! :D

Read on Ao3

*** 

Blaine’s hands land a bit too roughly against the grey granite for his taste, rather put off by the masked stanger’s manhandling.

He supposes being kidnapped by Willaim Schuester, then having the Dread Pirate Roberts kidnap him from his kidnapper wasn’t quite the delightful way he’d expected to end his evening ride, either.

“Rest, your Highness,” the man in black commands, the strands of tattered fabric that secure his mask tied behind his head billowing in the wind. Blaine refuses to shiver at the cool air of the highland whipping across his face, not wanting to show this man any signs of weakness. “You’re going to need it.”

“You’re the one who’s going to need rest,” Blaine spits, turning to face the man and take a proper seat on the stone. “My betrothed will come for me. Prince Smythe is an excellent tracker. He could track a falcon on a cloudy day, and he and his infantry will have me back in the castle and you in shackles by dusk.”

He should not make such bold claims at a time like this, and certainly not to someone as deadly as the Dread Pirate Roberts. Well, Blaine is only mostly sure he’s speaking to the infamous Pirate known for his murderous voyages on his ship, “Revenge”, but he’s certain enough.

“Ah, yes,” the man says bitterly back, fingers drumming ansty along the handle of his sheathed sword. “Prince Smythe. You have much faith in your most beloved, don’t you?”

Having his daily outing interrupted by that faux-philosopher Schuester from earlier and his two henchmen was unpleasant enough, but of all the things he’s heard come out of someone’s mouth this was the foulest. The law of the land gives Smythe the right to choose his spouse, and he chose Blaine. Despite this, Blaine knows he could never love Sebastian back. Now when he’s really known and lost his true love.

“I never said he was my most beloved,” Blaine snarls.

No. That title belongs to a name too precious to be uttered in front of the likes of a cheating, stealing, slaying pirate.

It’s been five long and lonely years since his dearest Kurt left him to venture out to sea, but Blaine can still feel Kurt’s hand in his sometimes, can still feel the residual warmth, as if it were yesterday. When he closes his eyes, it’s Kurt’s beautiful blue ones that are waiting for him when he falls asleep. Every round that his heart beats, it beats for the long dead Kurt Hummel.

Kurt had been Blaine’s family’s farm boy, and Blaine, in his infantile arrogance, loved nothing more than to boss him around. Whether it was “Farmboy, shine my saddle. I want to see my face shining in it by morning,” or “Farmboy, take these jugs down by the river to wash,” Kurt always responded with the same simple sentence that sent Blaine’s heart aflutter.

“As you wish.”

Blaine didn’t understand it at first—how could he, when he’d never been in love—the quickening of his pulse when he was near Kurt, how his knees seemed to careen and fail when hazel met piercing blue.

He didn’t understand why, when he’d asked Kurt to clean the stables, Kurt had looked at him with electricity in his eyes like a thunderstorm, and Blaine felt compelled to add a meek, “Please?” to the end of his request. He didn’t understand why when Kurt so softly answered him with those three little words— “As you wish” —Blaine would light like a lantern from the inside out.

He didn’t understand why he asked Kurt to fetch him a pitcher hanging right by his own head, just so he could be graced with having him in such close proximity, chest to chest.

“As you wish,” Kurt had said, and Blaine didn’t understand the magnetic force drawing them closer and closer.

And then Kurt’s lips were on his, and oh, how Blaine finally understood. He understood why wars were waged over Helen of Troy, and why lutists serenaded the public with foolish tunes of love that were actually the least foolish things in their nature.

He understood that every time Kurt said, “As you wish,” what he truly was saying was “I love you.”

He understood so clearly, and everything that wasn’t Kurt was reduced to complete and utter nonsense.

For a short year, they lived on borrowed time. Kurt’s family wasn’t from money, so he left the farm—and with it, Blaine—to seek wealth enough to ask for Blaine’s hand in marriage. It wasn’t long until the news came back to him that Kurt had encountered the Dread Pirate Roberts on the high seas.

There are three things Blaine knows to be true. Kurt Hummel was his one true love, death takes everyone and does not discriminate, and the Dread Pirate Roberts never takes prisoners.

Kurt never returned to him after that.

“No, I suppose he’s not your one true love,” the Dread Pirate responds, unimpressed. “I wonder whether a royal-to-be like yourself has ever truly loved.”

“I’ve loved and been loved deeper than you will ever know!” Blaine counters. “He was stolen from me, his blood on your sword. I know who you are. You’re the Dread Pirate Roberts, admit it.”

The Dread Pirate gives a little flourish, his night black outfit a stark contrast to the verdant grass of the highlands. “With pride.”

“You killed my love.”

“Quite possible. I’ve killed many of noble blood aboard my ship.”

“You know nothing,” Blaine says. “He was poor. Poor and perfect and with eyes like the sea after a storm. I received notice that he’d crossed your path on the high seas, and as we all know, you never take prisoners.”

Roberts shrugs, displaying such upsetting nonchalance at Kurt’s demise. “Can’t afford to make any exceptions. Once word leaks out that a pirate has gone soft, people begin to disobey you, and then it's nothing but work, work, work, all the time.”

Being held hostage by Schuester while the Dread Pirate fought off Michael Chang, one of the best swordsman ever to walk the earth, was nerve wracking. Hearing how he then proceeded to physically conquer who is probably the tallest man Blaine has ever seen, and then listening as he sat blindfolded to this man outwit William into drinking from a poisoned cup was a hellish enough adventure on its own, but it was not as dreadful as hearing his anguish ridiculed by this stranger.

“You mock my pain!”

“Life is pain, Highness.” The pirate gives Blaine a look that he would consider hurt, if he did not hate him so. “Anyone who says different is selling something… I think I remember this farmboy of yours. This would be about what, five years ago?”

Five years, three months, and sixteen days, Blaine refuses to say. His silence doesn’t deter Roberts from continuing.

“He died well, if it pleases you to hear that much.”

“With all due respect—which is little to none—nothing you can say will please me. Likewise, nothing you can say will harm me.”

“He made no attempts at either bribery or blubbering. He simply said Please. I need to live. It was the please that caught my attention. I need to live for him.” The pirate’s eyes grow misty and distant and so painfully reminiscent of his love’s that Blaine is forced to look away for a moment. “He spoke of a boy so lovely, and of enduring faithfulness. Sad to see he died for nothing. Tell me, Highness, when you heard news of his death, did you immediately become engaged, or did you wait a week out of respect for the dead?”

“Had I a choice in this matter I would join him among the realm of the dead!” Blaine yells back, surprised to see a bit of shock in the thief’s eyes. “You mocked my pain once, do not do it again. I died that day!”

The unmistakable sound of hooves pounding into the ground of the hillside opposite them causes Blaine to sigh in relief. He never thought he would be so elated to see his fiance. Still... elated may be too strong of a word.

The Dread Pirate turns to scout the incoming commotion, and Blaine acts before he has time to second guess himself.

“And you can die, too, for all I care,” he grits out, and shoves hard on the Dread Pirate’s back, sending the murderer tumbling down the hillside.

Blaine’s expecting to hear shouts of terror coming from the pirate, but what he hears next makes his stomach pool with dread.

“Aaaaaas yoooouuuuu wiiiiiiish!” echoes through the hillside, coming from the Dread Pirate Roberts and Blaine’s jaw drops.

“Kurt,” he gasps. “Oh God, what have I done?”

“Over there!” he hears Sebastian’s familiar and grating voice call out from just beyond the hillside. One glance behind his shoulder and Blaine knows they will come for him, and when they do, he will never see Kurt again.

So he jumps forward and follows Kurt rolling down along the slope of the hill.

Small rocks and flowers swirl past him in a blur, dirt kicked up every time his boots collide with the ground, and after falling for what feels like ages, his body finally comes to a halt, right next to Kurt’s warm one.

Blaine shifts to see Kurt better, body bruised from the fall, but soul absolutely jubilant.

Kurt scrambles over to him, black mask having been knocked off in the tumble. “Are you alright? Can you stand?”

Blaine laughs and reaches out to grab Kurt’s— Kurt’s —hand on top of his chest. as if to keep them physically tethered this time. “Stand? You’re alive. If you want, I could fly.” He buries his head deep into Kurt’s shoulder, inhaling the scent of him mixed with the grass and the dirt and the absolute joy of him being alive.

Kurt holds him back just as tight. “I told you I’d always come for you.”

“I thought you were dead.”

“My sweet Blaine,” Kurt murmurs, hand warm against Blaine’s cheek. “Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while.”

Blaine barely has time to smile before Kurt’s lips are on his again, back in their rightful place.

[randombtsprincessa]

Blackthorn Creek

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Park Jimin x Reader (2nd POV)

Words: 24.1k

Genre: Beauty and the Beast AU! Fantasy, Angst, Fluff, Smut!

Rating: NC-17 ranging till 18+ during the last scene, just to be safe.

Warning: Curses, magic, violence, conspiracy for treason, heavy insecurities, imprisonment of sorts, animal attacks, description of blood and injuries, mob mentality, invasion, stabbing, falling from heights, death, marital sex, first time, kissing, fingering, unprotected sex (be careful folksies!) And a whole lotta cheese cause it’s Jimin and I love him.

A/N: The following work is part of the Twisted Fairtytales: Members in Distress for @ksmutclub​ I had the idea for this story sitting in my WIPS and thankfully, the project came at the perfect moment! I hope you all like it as much as I loved writing it! 

A major thank you and a glomping hug to @cuziloveyou7​ and my amazing best friend for all their support for the fic!

The night was chill.

Pale, gossamer links of snow knitted across the glass of the castle, the granite of the stairs seeping the cold through to the skin.

A light chatter was interrupted when the front doors thudded – once, twice and then another time.

It was late, after all; much too late for any visitors, too rude for guests to show up…

The King, a benign man, stood from his seat near the fire, guards surrounding their liege. The Queen looked up at her husband, worried but the King patted her shoulder, beckoning for the doors to be opened.

It would be rude to leave the doors barred too, of course. It could be someone in need.

He watched, curious, as his Maitre D’, Seokjin, walked slowly to the doors. His arms flung the heavy oaken doors open, a flourish to his actions.

“Welcome,” Jin spoke in his exaggerated voice, “to the Castle of Blackthorn Creek. To what do we owe the pleasure, and to whom, may I ask?”

There was silence, much too thick, much too tense to be someone in need, to be a friendly visitor.

“I am here, to see your King. Bring me to him.”

Seokjin stuttered in his vigor, an unnerved stance taking him over as he glanced back to the royal couple, a question to his eyes.

The King cast an eye to his right corner, where his trusted advisor sat, his shoulders visibly tight. Namjoon cleared his throat, a warning sound. “I will see him.” The King said instead, knowing it would be better to see what the stranger wanted.

His guards circled him, his wife remaining behind as he approached and stood behind Seokjin.

“You are in the presence of our Lord and King.” The man announced, drawing away with a stiff bow – unlike any he had performed before.

The King stepped forward, and looked at the man who stood at his doorstep. The man, in turn raised his head, allowing for the dark hood atop his head to fall back. His head was cast in shadows, the whites of the eyes visible as he spoke.

“Your Majesty, I have come from far lands for the pleasure of your company.”

“Consider the pleasure ours, please do come in. What can we do for you?” The King waved a hand, dismissing the surrounding guards as the stranger tilted his head, walking in with his head still held high. He stopped right inside the threshold, as the inmates of the house gazed with wonder and some horror at his visage.

His head was shaven, dark marks etched into the near blue-white skin of his face. His arms bore similar marks, sheathed in crimson robes that were certainly not the fashion of those times.

“Well,” The King pressed.

The stranger slowly blinked his unnerving eyes, a flash of green lighting them. “I hear tales of your kingdom, your generous reign in my homelands. I must say I am not disappointed.”

He finally turned his head to where the Queen sat. “I also hear tales of a beautiful daughter. Your little Princess,”

There was a ringing silence. Guards shifted in their positions, Namjoon and Seokjin drew closer to the Queen and the King froze. To all but the mysterious stranger’s eyes unknown, a small figure crouched at her mother’s skirts, face turned curious to the sudden tension in the air.

“What do you want?” It was the Queen who spoke. Her crown glinted in the firelight, her body clenched on her chair. The stranger didn’t look at her when he answered the question.

“I come with a proposal. I offer my hand in marriage with the Princess.”

There was another pause, albeit much less tense as movement started.

“Preposterous; she is but a child.” This came from Namjoon.

“I am willing to wait.” The stranger said coolly.

“Then you will be waiting forever. I will not give my child to any godforsaken man who happens across my door and throws around absurd ideas. You will never have my daughter.”

“I will be a good husband, and a good king.”

“My Liege; do we have permission to draw arms?” The guard closest to the King asked, his hand already drawing closer to his sheathed sword.

“Nay, no bloodshed; just throw this madman out to the snow.” The King spat, his cloak whirling as he turned to go back to his family.

Behind him, his men converged, arms raised to push the stranger out the palace gates.

Time seemed to slow as the men gathered around his form, which had straightened to as tall as he could get.

“You’ll find you’ve made something of a mistake…Your Majesties.”

A cruel smile curled his lips, hands cupping near his stomach. His large sleeves gave way, revealing the etched marks and even as they pulse green, his form erupted in green light, exploding out till it engulfed the entire estate.

The King buckled, his arms wrapping around his wife and child as the men began to shout, and darting away from whatever it was the demon man unleashed.

“Hear me, O great King; for your impudence, I place your most beloved under this curse. You will be reduced to nothing but a fixture; your entire household will be mere pawns to be used by commoners. And your daughter,” The smirk widened, finding the small girl who still hid, now visible to everyone as their horrified gazes found the young princess.

“Your daughter will be left all alone. Her beauty will now be gone, her temperament destroyed. She will be feared, loathed, a monstrosity that will live with your enchantment.”

“She is a child! You are hurting a child!” Finally, an anguished wail escaped the Queen but the wizards over spoke her, drowning her words.

“At the age of twenty and three, she will be rendered thus permanently. Not a thing but the truest of love can rescue her and break my curse. Only the one who will look past her form will win that honor.”

The light faded with the man’s silhouette, the only thing that remained in the blazing glimmer of the settling curse. Movement ceased, the fire died into its embers…

“You will soon find that I am the only man who is merciful and worthy enough.”

These last words echoes in the halls, sealing through the stone and glass until another sound replaced it.

The screams of a terrified little girl…

Time seemed to flow like water after the screams died.

Nobody took courage to go up to the Palace, find their rulers…the town forgot they even had rulers. Administration moved into common hands, spread to the citizens and the legend of the lost royal family became a ghost story.

The path to Blackthorn Creek remained abandoned, silent, and derelict.

In the town of course, the ghost story didn’t matter. Life had moved on, become busy, become full of bustle.

Park Jimin threw the doors of his father’s work room open, sticking his head in to check once on the aging man.

“Father, I’m out to the baker’s. Shall I bring back something?”

There was no answer from his father, just a distant sigh that said there was nothing that could be brought back that would satisfy him.

Jimin drew back, unable to curb his rising disappointment. There was something in the slump of his father’s shoulders, ever since they’d moved into the developing town of Blackthorn Creek that, as much as the exuberant Jimin tried, he simply couldn’t shake.

Perhaps, it was his mother’s death that took their house and worldly belongings. Perhaps it was the sinking of his father’s patent ship, causing such debt that there was no hope to pay it back with nothing to put up for interest.

The Park family had to relocate from their luxury in France to the eastern countryside, to this small place. It had taken all the merry from his father’s life.

Jimin, however, worked hard to keep his spirits up. This was a setback yes, but his father was a genius. He was sure to come up with another pitch that would work out. And even if he didn’t; well, Jimin would always be there to take care of his beloved father.

A basket in hand, Jimin cocked his hat, setting out for the day.

The town, as small as it was, was full of life around midday. The market bustled, the streets running with people and the pub was always open, till as late as it could get.

But even through the color, there were shades of grey. The cheerful Creek had one mighty legend; one of the local royals’ disappearance. There was a long winded street that was barred from the public, leading up to a small hill, behind which there was said to be the palace.

He had taken these myths with a small smile, aimed at the person trying to call for his attention with these stories.

But even he had to admit, such tales of mystique piqued his fancy in the most delightful way. France had been exciting, especially for a young man such as himself. Plucking him out and placing him in a much smaller world where things were…stagnant, did cause something of a blow to his vigor.

Jimin stopped, contemplating the bookshop that lay just at the edge of the forbidden path. He had a few books still remaining back home, left to be read – but perhaps, he could squeeze in another couple?

“My boy,” The shopkeeper chuckled at the frown on the young man’s face. “Are you done with those piles that you took already?”

“Not quite, sir,” Jimin grinned. “I might just pop by again soon enough.”

The shopkeeper gave him a toothy grin, watching the man glance in some wonder at the blocked off road. The mountains had already started to grow slick with frost – sign of another passing winter. “Here,” he said suddenly.

Jimin stuttered in his forward steps, retracing back to where the stooping elder held out a pale bound tome from the front window. “Sir,” he raised his eyes in puzzlement.

“It’s a little something special I had lying about collecting dust. It was surprising that this one hasn’t caught your eye as of yet but I’m sure you will enjoy it.”

Jimin gave the friendly man a smile, letting the soft book fall open upon his palms, sifting through the delicate pages. “What’s it about?”

“The very thing you’re so curious about; lost princesses, brave knights, curses, fairies…” The book keeper burst out laughing at the soft blush that crept along Jimin’s cheeks. “You don’t need to be coy, son. Our little legend is bound to attract someone.”

“I must thank you sir. I will return it as soon as I’m done.”

“Oh by all means, keep it. It’s better suited to your hands than the shelves in this old place.”

Jimin blinked. “That’s a generous gift. I hope I do it justice.”

“I’m sure you will. Now off with you; the market isn’t going to stay open all day.” The man waved Jimin off, returning to his shop.

Jimin found himself quickly immersed in the fantasy, the short stories of courage, chivalry, sacrifice and fire keeping his nose well buried in the musty pages as he found the daily shopping that he was required to do.

All was well, until the book was snatched out of his hands, a giggle soon to follow.

“Hello stranger.”

“Hyebin,” Jimin sighed, looking around to where the young girl had snapped the book shut decisively.

Hyebin had been the girl to whom Jimin owed most of his knowledge of the town. Raven haired, slim and tall, she was the beauty of the town, sister to one of the most renowned hunters in the nearby vicinity – Kai. He and his sister had taken over most of the social scene of the town, near to becoming the law itself.

And Hyebin had her eyes set on Jimin ever since he set foot within the pub; by proxy, leading her brother to pester him with offers of her hand.

“May I have my book back?”

Pale glimmering lips pouted at him, the book still clutched in her hands. “You never pay attention to me, Jimin. Not when you have books about,” she said.

“Of course that’s not the case.” The man said smoothly.

“It is so. What’s so special about books anyway?” Hyebin took a step further back, too quick for Jimin’s reaching fingers. She pried the book open rudely. “They don’t lead to too much around here.”

“There’s more to books than just material gain, Hyebin.” Jimin was becoming impatient – his eyes fixed on the way her nails dug into the delicate binding.

“If you say so, when we’re married; would you still pay more attention to books than me?”

Jimin dearly wanted to say that that would never happen but he settled for resignedly bouncing on his toes. “What if I read to you?”

“I’d fall asleep.”

“I see.” This time Jimin moved fast, hands grabbing the book from Hyebin’s distracted hold long enough to fall back a safe distance. “I need to go back home. Give your brother my best.”

By the time he got home, his father had put away his new working equipment, instead pacing about in the handkerchief living room.

“Father,” Jimin greeted, putting up his hat.

“Son, how…how was the day?” His father stopped marching, coming up to take the basket of shopping from him.

“Normal, had to dodge Hyebin as usual,” he muttered, making his father chuckle.

“One of these days that girl will marry you still.”

“Such a horrifying thought,”

“Then let me put you to ease.” Mr. Park put his hands on Jimin’s shoulders, making his son look him in the eyes. “There has been some development. The ship that I lost at sea, a year ago, has been heard from. I have been called to attest to it.”

Jimin took a moment to process the news, watching his father’s eyes light up with something that was fearfully hopeful. “Do you mean that --?”

“Possibly; if it is true, we can go back to our old lives again! Think of it, Jimin! Paris, France, the beautiful sprawling house that we had to give up. Your education…” The man smiled affectionately, “We’ll have to find you a lady to wed who is at par with you.”

“Father,”

“I set off tonight! It will be a day’s journey but I know you can watch over things here.”

Jimin watched as his father hurriedly moved to the door, a coat and hat finding their way on his body and his cane and horse whip clasped to his breast. “Wish well for us, my son, our lives could be soon close to change. Do you wish for me to bring you anything back?”

“No father, just you,” Jimin bid farewell to his father, watching him disappear within the small stable to gallop away.

When Mr. Park had set out for the harbor, his spirits had been up soaring in the clouds, visions of his life returning to him in his previous splendor. Now, stood at the wooden ledge, watching crestfallen as merchants, traders, moneylenders, once his friends but now…now they had gathered around his returned goods and scavenged and distributed everything among themselves.

“Your debts are clear, Park.”

“Jimin won’t have to be in debt to us anymore, sir.”

“Go back home sir,”

Just words…nothing more, no comfort found his heart when he straddled his horse again, starting the long trek home.

The horse wouldn’t gallop, possibly sensing its master’s indolence and Mr. Park was overcome with a sudden wave of gratefulness for the animal. After all, he would have to strengthen his bones; he had to deliver the news to Jimin.

The idea of disappointing his son was probably more harrowing than that of losing his wealth yet again.

At least now they were free from debt.

There was a small whinny, attracting the older man’s attention as he looked up to see which path he was on. It was long, thin, winding up a hill he had never seen before in his life.

“Hey boy, I think we took the wrong way.” He patted the horse’s head, before getting off, grabbing the reins. “Let’s find a way out.”

A few miles in, Mr. Park stopped, short of breath.

“Where in the world are we?” He growled low, ignoring the shuddering animal behind him as he trudged on when a high, pitched sound made them both freeze.

A wolf’s howl…

There were wolves around. Mr. Park was alone with no weapons and no idea of where he was. His horse let out a sound of protest again.

“Damn it all too hell,” Mr. Park quickly climbed the horse, kicking it to speed. “Take off, boy; we don’t have any time to lose.”

His ride raised back its front legs, before racing down the way they had come.

Jimin had been anxious all day, toiling in the small garden that his father had managed to build in the front of their house. Sweat had gathered his dark hair into clumps, matting his eyes so when he hear the familiar whinny of Geureum, the horse, he smiled naturally – relieved that his father was finally back home.

“Ah father, nice to –,” he turned, his smile vanishing slowly when he saw the horse alone, pawing his hooves into the dirt, snorting impatiently.

“Geureum, where is he?” Jimin grabbed for the horse’s reins, pulling it closer to soothe it. “Where is Father?”

All Geureum did was shake his head roughly, stepping back and forth.

“Can you show me where he is, huh, boy? Come on,” He slipped his foot in the stirrup, hauling himself into the saddle. “Take me to him, Geureum.”

Geureum stopped only once when he reached a huge, wrought iron gate, roses and swans intricately welded to the metal, now rusty from disuse.

Something had prickled Jimin’s hairline when Geureum had approached the blockaded hill up to the legendary Blackthorn Creek palace but the horse had circumvented it, riding up a much thinner path up.

Jimin slipped off of the horse, patting Geureum on the side. “Stay here, boy.”

And then…with a creek that echoed through the cold night, he entered the palace, walking through huge oaken double doors to find his father.

He had to admit, for a second, standing in the atrium of the castle, he was struck by how grand it must have been. The ceiling peaked, now broken in with many of the granite slabs gone, the starry night sky clearly visible. Dirt and mud had accumulated on the marble floors, muffling the clicks of his boots just a bit.

“Father,” he called loudly before cursing to himself.

What if someone heard him? He wasn’t exactly supposed to be here.

Jimin shook his head. Who would hear him? It was a deserted castle with its family long gone. There probably had never been a family; the town had probably spun a yarn to make it special to tourists.

He crept up grand staircase, sticking close to the rails.

“Father,” he called again.

“Jimin…?”

He whirled, looking around for the source of the sound. “Yes, father it’s me.” He ventured, noticing a hand slipping out from the bars of a door. “Father!” He dropped to his knees in front of the door.

“Jimin, what are you doing here? You can’t be here, you have to leave!” His father was wailing from within, his hands grasping air in search for Jimin.

“What are you saying? Of course, I had to come! Who did this to you?”

“No! Don’t you see, Jimin? It’s true, the legends, the stories, they’re true!”

“What is true? Father, tell me who did this to you?”

“The monster; there is a monster in this castle!”

Jimin paused in trying to pry the door open, widened eyes swiveling to his father’s outstretched hands. “What?”

“It’s true! Please you have to leave! It’s dangerous!”

“Father, that can’t possibly be true!” Jimin said adamantly only to be proven wrong the next second.

A roar that sent Jimin’s hair rising to its ends erupted, echoing around the cavernous halls. A heavy weight landed on his shoulder, throwing him away from the door.

“What are you doing here?”

If there was a god, Jimin had better start praying to it, he thought, cowering away from the hunkering shadow that loomed over him. All he could discern were bright yellow eyes, slanting dark pupils glaring at him and the appendage his father had left hanging out the bars.

“Jimin!” His father chose to shout at the very moment.

Jimin watched the – the – thing – rise upon its legs, prowling further in but still remaining in the dark corner. “What are you doing here?” It asked again.

Jimin blinked slowly, trying to make sense of what was happening to him. Here he was, in an allegedly cursed castle. His father was locked up, raving about monsters and now he was face to face with what appeared to be a huge animal…only, it talked like a human.

“I…I came for my father.” Jimin stuttered, trying to push himself back up.

The yellow eyes flickered, between Jimin and his father, before creeping back into the shadows. “You came in vain. The prisoner will not be released.”

“No wait!” Jimin called, shuffling to his feet as the figure began to draw back. “You can’t keep him here like this! He’s an old man, he’ll die!”

“THEN HE SHOULDN’T HAVE TRESPASSED IN MY HOME!”

Jimin froze at the sudden roar, managing to grab onto his father’s hands finally. This was real. The legend was true. The people living in the castle were monsters, cursed.

“Your…please – I’ll do anything.”

“No! He’ll stay here, locked up because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself.” The monster began to disappear.

“Take me.” Jimin took a step forward.

The figure paused.

“What, Jimin, no – no, listen, you can’t do this!” His father yelled.

“I mean it. You take me, let him go.” Every word strengthened in his throat, conviction pushing him forward till he was barely a meter away from the monster.

“You – You’d do that? You’d stay here, in exchange for him?”

Jimin met its eye. Bright yellow to Jimin’s deep brown, when it stepped finally into the small lighted part.

Coarse, shaggy fur coated a huge, lumbering form. The bright yellow eyes that seemed so unnerving were set in a canvas of a ferocious face, the fur streaked with grey and black, a huge snout for a nose and huge fangs that protruded from its mouth.

A lesser man would’ve burst a lung screaming at the horrifying sight but Jimin managed to hide his face, backing up till he could feel his father trying to clutch at the back of his shirt.

“I…I would. Let him go and you can take me.” Jimin finally said and he was proud to say that his voice remained steady.

There was a ringing moment of doubt, flickering in the golden orbs of the monster, before with a growl it raised its paw. Jimin flinched, cringing away from the blow but it never fell. Instead, he heard a dull, metallic thunk and the heavy padlock fell to his feet.

Mr. Park fell out; the door giving way under his weight and he clung to Jimin. “No, no, please, don’t take him, keep me – I have nothing to live for anymore but my son has a whole life.” His father begged to the monster but the only reply they got was a ferocious roar. “GET OUT! If you value your life and your son’s, leave; or I will kill you both!”

The monster turned on an enormous heel, stomping back into the darkness.

The tower that Jimin was pushed into had one small window, a little too high for him to reach, but he managed to hike his nimble body up till he swung from the ledge. His fingers reddened from the strain but when he finally peeked through the window, he just barely caught the end of a huge cart, led by a snorting and neighing Geureum.

He dropped from the ledge, landing squarely on his feet upon the uneven flagstone and cursed, running two hands through his ruffled hair.

“Hello sir,”

Jimin jumped, whirling around at the smooth voice that sounded nothing like the awful grate of the monster’s growl.

“Right down here.”

Jimin backed up as far as he could against the wall before casting his eyes downwards. There was nothing on the floor, soft moss growing within the cracks with one slightly buffed up candelabrum left behind.

“Hello,” the voice said again.

“Where are you? Look, I’m not scared of anything anymore so you’re doing nothing,”

“Of course not, sir, it’s me…Kim Seokjin, the…” a sigh, “the candle holder.”

Jimin took a shuddering breath, before very slowly diverting his eyes to the golden instrument on the ground.

It wasn’t very huge, just barely above average but the sweeping extensions made it seem bigger than it needed to be. Dripping wax clung to its arms where the candles stuck, the gold sheen pale yet glinting in the bare light. Just on the handle, there was an etching…just like one of a face. Even as Jimin watched, the candles lit up, making him flinch.

“Please follow me, sir.”

Jimin gulped.

“Follow you where?��

The candelabrum, to Jimin’s astonished eyes, seemed to turn on the base.

“The Mistress is installing you in a room of your own. The household doubts you want to stay in the tower.” There was something caustic about the smooth tone of the thing. It made Jimin almost bristle and refute before he looked around the tower he was put in.

It was one of the spindle shaped ones, too thin and a little rickety. The window that he had tried to peek out was the single one allowing light in and he could feel some vertigo setting in already, if the nausea was anything to go by.

“Fine – lead the way.” He said.

Jimin had already gauged that the palace had been luxuriant in its time but now, walking quietly through the long hallways with…an animate object bouncing along in front of him, he had to admit; that the ruin that now faced him didn’t seem adjacent to what the palace must have been before.

The stone, now greenish grey had gnarled carvings etched into them. The statues that stood at corners had most of their heads broken or missing and the small beam that the candles gave off only made him all the more unsettled.

“We know it’s a little…dull – around here but we hope you’ll like it.” It was as if the thing knew what was going on in Jimin’s head.

“You said ‘we’…and ‘household’ before…but except for you…and…well, the monster,” Jimin stopped talking when the candelabrum winced.

“You…might want to be careful about that. The Mistress is sensitive and none of the people in the castle will appreciate you calling her that.”

Jimin nearly tripped on his feet when he finally processed something. “That…that thing is a she?”

He was ignored. The candelabrum stopped in front of one of the doors, double door, handles of glum silver. “This is going to be your room, sir.” Jimin didn’t answer, quietly reaching for the handle and turning it, letting himself in cautiously.

The room wasn’t lighted, most of the darkness only marred by the light streaming from a glass window. He could spy a bed at best.

Jimin was about to step in further, squinting his eyes when he heard a loud creak, possibly a considerable weight upon a floorboard and then the clink of metal.

“If you don’t like the room, we can move you.” He heard but instead of the smooth, cool voice of the candelabrum, it was gruff, low and sullen.

He whirled to see a huge part of a shadow standing well back into the room. A heavy cloak wrapped up the body, concealing it further within the darkness.

Jimin didn’t speak as the form lumbered to the open door.

“Your needs will be seen to here. My servants will attend to you.” There was a pause before it took hold of the door. “And you will meet me for dinner; every night.”

The slam of the door made Jimin jump; his immediate reaction was to run to the door and look through the keyhole. There were footsteps and a murmur of conversation but aside from that, the entire palace seemed silent.

Jimin huffed, walking over to the window to open it, casting a furtive look outside and letting out a scornful laughter. He was a good way up the ground. Jumping from the window would mean certain death and even if he only escaped, it would be with broken bones and with no horse.

He doubted the ‘Mistress’ would nurse him back to health.

“My sweetest sister,” A finger brushed under the supple cheek of Hyebin, turning her attention to her brother who loomed over her at the counter of the pub. “What has you down?”

Hyebin pouted, throwing Kai’s hand off. “I went by Park Jimin’s house this evening to see if he would take a turn with me. He wasn’t there. The house was empty.”

“Maybe he went off with that father of his.”

“Why would he? There is nothing to do for him.”

Kai cast a glance at his grumpy sister, feeling the brewing of an odd emotion that he had had for her for months now. It was a mixture of pity, annoyance and yet the unyielding need to present whatever she wanted on a golden platter. He knew that Jimin did not return even half of a quarter of affection that his sister had and while he was annoyed at her overzealous devotion, he knew that she would never falter.

She got her stubbornness from him, after all.

Now, there may be better men for Hyebin than Jimin, but she wanted him and Jimin would marry her – Kai would see to it.

“Sister,” he began.

“You promised, Kai! You promised me you would make him marry me. You don’t love me. You can’t even do this much for me!”

“Now, now, dearest,”

Hyebin’s face had reddened; her hair crackling as she swelled like a bullfrog, ready to rail at her brother when the doors on the pub crashed open, with Mr. Park falling, raving against it.

“Help,” he panted, grasping at whatever was close at hand to heave himself up. “Help, my son, my son please.”

Heads turned, eyes falling to the soaked man as snow melted and pooled around his boots, the cloak wet and snug around his head. His eyes shifted from one astonished face to another, growing more restless.

“Please! I need help. My son has been taken by a monster!”

Behind him, Kai heard Hyebin’s squawk of indignation die down, releasing instead a dainty gasp. He watched the loony man walk around, trying to clutch at the sleeves of the patrons who shook him off with scoffs until he neared the siblings, finally tumbling at Kai’s elbow.

“Please, Kai, my last hope – you…have to help. My son, my only son – gone! – taken! – I can’t take this.”

Hyebin shrunk away from the delirious old man, bundling her dress to her knees even as Kai shook his arm free. “What’s the matter, Mr. Park? Be a little clear.”

“The monster of the palace took Jimin! Trapped him in the big castle on the hill…I couldn’t do anything!”

There was a pause as Kai furrowed his brow, before a patron shouted. “Leave him, Kai. He’s probably mad with the cold!”

“I am not!” Mr. Park immediately protested, wringing roughly at the coat before slumping his head and walking out the pub, defeated. They could hear wails of anguish in the cold winds outside but none were met with sympathy.

“He ran away!” Hyebin finally screeched, sinking her nails in her brother’s arms, ire flaming again.

Kai didn’t answer, letting his arm lax while his thoughtful expression slowly merged into that of a smirk. “Hyebin, my sweet; you might just get to marry Park Jimin after all.”

Jimin didn’t know when he’d dozed off. It must have been the exhaustion of the day, the pressure, the sorrow but he had curled up in one of the dusty armchairs, closed his eyes for possibly a second, only to gather his thoughts. Now he woke up to a pitch black room, stars visible from the window and he knew it was very late into the night.

His back had cramped in his position, obliging him to get off when he heard the gentle knock on the door. He took a wary stance, waiting for the doors to be barged into but to no avail. It was probably Seokjin the candle holder, Jimin decided, going to open the door.

“My now, I thought you’d wait for all the milk to go cold before you opened the door.”

Anticipating it, Jimin was already looking to the floor, only to be met by what looked like a tea set. He watched eyes boggling as the tea pot, a tall, sleek work with a rotund belly hobbled into the room, followed by a cup, and a sugar bowl.

“Um, what…who – are you now?” He asked.

“I’m the head cook, boy. Min Yoongi’s the name, also known as the best damn teapot in the kingdom. This right here,” the snout of the teapot tipped down to the cup, “is Taehyung, the assistant cook but not the best cup even in the room because he can’t keep himself on one stupid shelf.”

“Yah Hyung,” the cup opened at its seam, as if they were lips. “Don’t be mean.”

“I wasn’t going to come at all but I can’t leave you alone. Now then to business, boy; the Princess is taking a late supper so you can eat with her. You can have some milk before you go. You look like you’ve been crying and you’re just going to upset her.”

“Upset her?” Jimin glared, as the tea cup, filled with milk jumped into his reluctant hand. “I am the one trapped here.”

“Look on the bright side.” The teapot waved its spout and all the tea materials gathered in one line, heading out the door. “There’s a splendid welcome supper to be had. Come Taehyung.” He called as he exited.

“Oh but,” the tea cup sloshed some of its content onto Jimin’s hands when it jumped down, skidding across the stone before the door shut again. The sounds of the tea cup’s protests reached Jimin even through the heavy door.

Jimin wiped his hands of his trousers, grumbling at the way he made a mess when he backed against something large.

“No need to worry, young sir. Wardrobe is always here to help!”

Golden but dusty doors banged Jimin on the face, nearly tossing him onto the floor as the wardrobe advanced, rows and rows of pristine, shiny outfits ready to be worn. Jimin gasped, clutching his nose in pain as he shook his head.

“Many apologies! It’s been a while since I’ve been opened for any event at all. I am Jung Hoseok, the royal master of robes. Please do look through the selection to pick something out. I daresay you’ll want to change out of your outfit for dinner.”

“No thanks,” Wincing, Jimin managed to get to his feet. “I’m not going to dinner with Princess Monster down there.”

“Oh dear,” he heard the wardrobe as he crossed his arms, turning to the window to glare out of it.

The long dining table had been decked out for the first time in fifteen years. Silk cloths had been draped over the mahogany, candles put up, torches wiped and lit, plates and tableware sparkled in the dancing flame of the fireplace.

Yet, none of the chairs had been pulled back.

Seokjin and Yoongi, watched, anxious as the Mistress of the Castle, their Princess prowled in front of the table, each paw taking further weight from your animal bulk.

“Your highness, perhaps…you should sit and wait.” Seokjin suggested.

“No; I will wait for the man.” You said. Your voice had dipped down to a warning growl but your household items…your staff had never been very afraid of you.

Maybe they had, once, when you had first transformed and not taken to what you had become. A monster, a huge, hunkering loathsome thing which wanted to claw and destroy anything that stood in its wake…

It had taken years, but you had somewhat been ‘tamed’ since then.

“Princess, please, do consider that if we play our cards right, this man could be your salvation.”

“You think I don’t know that? I do…I know that but…how can he be if he won’t even come to dinner?”

“Perhaps also take into consideration that the boy is trapped here. He won’t see his father or his previous life again.” Jin’s statement wasn’t met with any geniality, instead the candelabrum found himself in the vice grip of his Mistress.

“Then what should I do? Do I throw him out? Let him leave so he can bring back a mob? No! I won’t do anything and if he wants to be difficult, I can be too.”

“We know that, your highness.” Yoongi said, his spout quivering. “We just have to remember to keep our tempers in check.”

The last statement was spoken pointedly and the monster blinked its huge yellow eyes, looking down to where you were almost squeezing your Maitre ‘D. You dropped the candle holder, Seokjin bouncing back a few steps when the door to the dinner room opened.

“Ah, there he is.” Yoongi’s belly turned, the porcelain splitting into a smile.

You turned, eyes trained in anticipation but what peeked in was an ornate long grandfather clock, its rose gold arms clasping the door in trepidation.

“Namjoon, where is the boy?” Seokjin asked immediately.

The royal advisor hemmed, glancing anxiously at the bunched up bulk of the Princess. “He says, he won’t be coming, your highness.”

There was a ringing silence, torn by the groans of Yoongi and Seokjin before you stood up, your clawed feet digging into the stone floor so hard it hurt.

“Fine, if he wants to be so stubborn then let him have his consequences too. Yoongi, you will bar the kitchens. He will not eat anything unless he first comes to me.”

“Princess, we can’t woo a dead man.” Namjoon said calmly but you were already dropping down from an upright position to what you were used to, on all four feet, crouching.

“I don’t care! Just…just let him starve! I don’t care if we find bones in his room.”

The three items converged, all talking together and you slammed a paw on the table, shredding the cloth. “Enough; let me go!” You roared before taking off, leaping over their heads so you could head and lock yourself in your quarters.

The silence that brushed up and closed around you as soon as the doors shut behind you and automatically locked was bliss. Yet your mind was anything but.

Hateful thoughts swirled in your mind, mostly aimed at yourself, some at the enthusiasm that your staff seemed to show for this new addition to your home and finally, venom spilling out to the man who had now entombed himself in one of your best rooms but couldn’t even show the decency to come down for dinner.

What was so difficult about dinner?

And why was he allowed to shut himself in his room when all your life you had been told to never hide yourself from the rest of the house?

Granted, all your people were now objects, magical but still just objects. Your parents had been turned to statues, forced to weather out in the overrun gardens and you had been raised by Seokjin, Yoongi, Hoseok and Namjoon mostly. Children your age; Taehyung and Jungkook had hated you in the beginning and you had never sought them out yourself.

Over time, Taehyung had forgiven you but Jungkook turned to a Duster never saw you, working quietly where you would never tread.

The rest of your household never came forward and said it; having never witnessed the event that had transformed you all but the malice was palpable. The rejection hurt, you were a child shunned and you sprouted claws much too early for anybody’s liking but you had tried.

You had tried, before giving up. You gave up because nothing happened. Fifteen years and no prince came; no fairy godmothers pointed their wands at you. The wizard never came back to see if his spell wrecked you.

All the stories that showed that Princesses would be rescued fell short at one crucial juncture.

No one told the story about the cursed princess who was ugly, who was a monster, who wasn’t the pale skinned beauty in a glass case or silk bed.

No, nobody came to save the ugly princess and over time you learned to see yourself just that.

This man – this Jimin, would be no exception.

“After all, what’s to love?” You muttered.

You vowed not to weep. Not for a man, not for the humanity that judged who was worthy of love.

Jimin had dozed off again. When he woke, it was with a start, groggy and fumbling in his movements. This was a bad habit. He needed to collect his wits about himself. Maybe it was the magic of the castle but he had to remember that he wasn’t safe in here, no matter how friendly and polite everyone…everything was being.

Somehow, in his slumber, the torches in the room had been lit, casting the place in a dazzling golden glow. The chair he had fallen asleep in again was pushed right to the edge of the room, near the window. He spied that the bed had been made with brocade bedding, surfaces had been dusted and to his surprise there was a pool at the very centre, filled with clear, almost glittering water.

Jimin’s stomach, having refused dinner with the Monster out of pride was already protesting, tossing him out of the chair in the direction of the pool. Maybe a cool drink would cheer and lift his spirits.

He sat at the engraved stone border, looking down at his haggard expression in the water, running a hand through the pool, cupping the soothing liquid up to his lips.

The minute the water passed his lips, a new sense of relief and rejuvenation passed his body, coursing through him as though adrenaline itself. Jimin got to his feet, looking about if he could ask the Wardrobe – Hoseok – where he could go to find food.

He found the spot empty, instead there stood a mannequin. On it, hung was a brand new outfit; a white spotless shirt, black trousers and blue silk coat. The mannequin stood lifeless even as Jimin stripped it, and then with apprehension brewing at his belly at accepting the gift, himself. However, unease had to wait; he was soaked, cold, and soiled. He would fall sick at that rate and then all his plans of escape would shatter. He also didn’t want to be indebted to the castle in any way.

So with a bite at his pride, he put on the outfit before pressing his ears to the door, listening for any movement. He couldn’t hear the pounds of the Princess’s paws, the clatter of any objects moving, no conversation, nothing at all.

Wary in his gait, he stepped out, keeping a light foot to lead him on when something whimpered from his side.

Jimin jumped, whirling in anticipation of roars, of overwhelming friendliness but instead a small pair of eyes beamed up at him from behind a moth eaten curtain. Running a hand over his panicking heart, Jimin’s lips tugged into a soft smile.

“Hello there,” he cooed at the pup that ventured out the curtain with three more at its tail.

“Oh, wow, puppies.” Jimin wanted to laugh at the simplicity, at the adorableness but the pups only let out soft gurgles, wrapping paws around Jimin’s legs, trying to nudge him along.

“What is it? Where are you taking me?”

Jimin allowed him to be prodded and nudged along by four small dogs, along the hallway, down the stairs and through another until he was pushing open a door, clearly the kitchen.

“Oh my,” his eyes fell first to the teapot on a wooden table, followed by the grandfather clock and candle holder he’d seen already. “What are you doing here? How did you,”

The teapot stopped when he saw the four puppies cuddling around Jimin’s feet, something of a softness melting the intricate seam of it. “Ah, of course,”

“Forgive me, I didn’t know. I was just hungry.” Jimin shyly dipped his head, knowing he was probably trespassing on some late night gossip among the staff.

“No, no, of course you’re hungry, you did show some nerve. It must’ve made you ravenous.” Seokjin bobbed towards him, wrapping a gold arm around his coat tails, dragging him to the table.

“Don’t worry, sir. We’ve spoken with the Mistress. She’s going to show some leniency. She won’t come down to dinner the same time as you do…unless you request it.” Namjoon the clock lied smoothly.

Jimin was sat at the table by Seokjin, a napkin pressed at him by the teapot as dishes and plates of food began to dance around the length of the table, piling upon the plate presented to him to eat.

“I…thank you.” Jimin frowned, unable to think of anything more to say.

“You may also wander the castle and grounds as you wish. One of us will always be found around and the Guides,” Yoongi pointed its spout at the four pups that stood lined near the door, “will be your companions mostly.”

Jimin looked down at the hearty meal in front of him before digging in. “That will be very nice. Thank you.” He said around a mouthful of potatoes.

True to their words, the castle and grounds were left wide open for the curious Jimin. He woke up to a wonderful outfit slung on the mannequin; suits, coats, wonderful silks and soft cashmeres to drape over his body. The wardrobe – Hoseok, had returned, helping Jimin dress for the day’s adventures.

Jimin would eat breakfast in his room, sitting at the edge of the pool where – he wondered if it was his imagination – the water seemed to move to entertain him. He would climb over stiles; sniff the glowing flowers, count stars and fireflies if he stayed out too late. The castle, upon inspection was vast. Huge statues imposed upon him, Grecian, roman and baroque architecture worked itself seamlessly in the palace and he had fun listening to Namjoon talking about each was worked in or acquired.

He was very rarely alone.

The Guides, as the staff called the small pups were always with him. He had learned their names from Taehyung, the tea cup. The fluffy brown one was Holly, a pair of small Pomeranians that shaded darker was Mickey and Yeontan and then finally a pure white one named Monnie.

They led him in and out the lands, sometimes through a grotto where the only thing that nestled was a pair of entwined huge statues. He had stopped and stared up at them for quite a while. They were probably the biggest in the entire castle, both wearing a pained, sorrowed expression that bore Jimin’s own heart down. He didn’t venture in that particular grotto again. It felt too…private somehow.

Jimin was given dinner in the main dining room, the long table decked out only for him. He would sometimes cast a look upon the opposite chair, feeling lonely even if he had multiple entities to talk to.

The Princess never came upon in Jimin’s presence for days. He could sometimes hear the paws of her feet on the floor when he was roaming about, but she never once tried to impose herself on him. It was almost as if she watched him watch her home from afar.

Something in Jimin tugged when he thought about home, how he had completely left behind his straggly little town for this palatial world. He missed his father terribly yes, but here in the estate that he was free to roam, with people whose knowledge he was free to peck at, the silence had turned blissful very quickly.

Thoughts of escape never strayed further from his mind but for now, he wanted to stay cocooned in this silence.

It was almost two weeks till he was made aware of the very real presence of the mysterious Princess. He was used to her being a phantom by now so when the Guides playfully nipped at each other, chasing down a corridor, Jimin followed at ease, not feeling the pricks of unease until he reached the darker end of the corridor.

It was a whole quarter, possibly belonging to one of the royal family. He peeked into the empty bath before venturing further into the darkened opening.

The palace that had been warmed by fire for their new guest – or prisoner, however Jimin wanted to look at it had failed here. There was an odd chill running through the walls, as if someone had sucked the temperature and doused the room in ice.

The furniture was all dusty, clearly not attended to, and silver and cream paint peeled from the walls. He could almost spy the moss that collected in the cracks of the walls before he came to stand in front of the wall of paintings.

Each and every face on the walls, Jimin noted had been slashed. It was a brutal mutilation, clearly from the Princess’s claws. There was one painting that remained, of what had to be the royal couple. A tall, regal man stood at the side of an equally prim lady who sat on an armchair. One of his hands clasped her shoulders while hers held on to a young child, poised delicately upon her knee.

The child, a girl wasn’t having it though. He could tell the struggle of her flailing arms and kicking feet yet her face was void of distress. Instead he stared at the laughing, playing child, baby curls fluttering around her ears, thick fingers and chubby cheeks – the full deal. A small golden tiara nestled upon her head, crooked from her movement.

The picture was so happy; it brought a catch to Jimin’s throat, looking back up at the couple, tearing his eyes from the once human Princess. There was something hauntingly familiar about the faces yet Jimin couldn’t put his finger on it.

So engrossed he was, in staring at the pictures, moving on to where he tried to put together shredded pieces of the painting together that he failed to notice the silence. There was no yapping of the puppies to be heard and this silence was anything but comfortable.

When the door squeaked open, Jimin turned, coming face to face with the monster who had been diligently avoiding him. Half her furry face was shadowed, but he could tell from the single wide open yellow eye that he wasn’t an expected sight.

The eyes darted from his face to his hands, placed upon the paintings. Jimin had barely opened his mouth, to apologize, to explain, perhaps to snap but the Princess had already dropped to her haunches, a low growl ripping through the back of her throat.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING? HOW DARE YOU COME HERE?”

Jimin stumbled back, pressing against the wall as the monstrous Princess leapt, scrambling towards the paintings and covering them up.

“I…I was just,”

“LEAVE! I WANT YOU OUT. GO! NOW,”

Jimin had heard enough and it presented a brilliant opportunity to him. She wanted him to leave. He could leave.

So quick he was, sidestepping the crouching girl that he had no time to see her fall to the floor, the cloak that covered and hid her body wrapped protectively around as a whimper replaced her roars. The Princess’s sobs never reached Jimin’s ears.

He didn’t wait to find any of the household staff. He knew that they would ultimately attempt to stop him, try to make sense of the Princess’s commands. So he hurried down the stairs and out the side to where he’d found the stables.

His own Geureum was gone, with his father but he yanked on the reins of a white stallion; titled Jjangu on his crest. Jimin saddled the panicking horse blindly, patting it only once to soothe it before he was mounting and taking off in the distance of the town.

Your roaring yells had reached the ears of the household, of course. Namjoon was the first to respond, sliding into the royal quarters; his wooden stand skidding as he found you curled up under the one painting that you couldn’t bring yourself to destroy.

It was your family portrait, commissioned just two years before your lives would change forever and while you had torn up every picture of your face that hung up, you couldn’t destroy your parent’s.

Namjoon could tell from the shudders that shook your form that you were just finishing crying. Propriety dictated that he wouldn’t trespass on a royal in distress but you were his charge, he had raised you, taught you, attempted to feed you since he could bring your fear and panic at being transformed into a beast to heel.

“Princess…Y/N,” He coaxed, golden bars running through the shaggy mass where your hair would be. His heart ached at the soft sniffles that sounded too loud because you…you weren’t human after all.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. And it’s okay to not be, you won’t be less of a person for your troubles.”

You raised your head with a deep scoffing laugh. “I am not a person, Namjoon. I’m a monster; a loathsome creature.”

The clock ticked angrily but didn’t prod the issue. “The boy -,”

“Left; I scared him off. That’s that then.”

Namjoon shook his head, casting a glance out to where the snow had become wilder, until only white could be seen. “Your highness, he left in a terrible condition. He’ll get lost.”

“I don’t care.”

“Princess, Namjoon,” Two heads turned to where Seokjin rushed in, candles burning on his many wicks. “The boy, Jimin, he has taken off on your horse! He’s taken Jjangu.”

“WHAT IN THE WORLD?” You screeched loudly enough for both grown men…objects to flinch. “MY HORSE…HOW COULD HE DARE, HE -,”

“Princess, the wolves, if the wolves find them, it will be too late,” Seokjin murmured softly.

There was a heavy pregnant pause in which Namjoon and Seokjin stared at their Mistress, holding her shaggy head aloft as if she was praying for pity. Finally, under the gaze of your caretakers and advisors, you slumped, admitting defeat.

“Alright, alright, I suppose we can’t leave him to die in the blizzard.”

When you had first transformed, a howl had been the first thing that had scared you. Your small hands and feet had turned into paws, huge claws protruding from the nails. Your hair seemed to grow everywhere until you were taught that it was fur, too coarse and too matted to be what had been a well taken care of head of hair.

Your first memories after the transformation had been running away, tripping and falling multiple times because you weren’t used to your new body until Namjoon and Yoongi had found you, cowering under a broken branch. Howls had pushed you into a scared ball and when they’d found you, they’d spoken. You could still remember a clock and a teapot trying to act brave as a single wolf, too big and gleaming in the moonlight curled back its lips, issuing the threat that had locked you in your castle forever.

Of course, with age and your guardian’s patience you had honed your new abilities; speed, agility, strength and keen senses.

It was easy finding your fearful horse and Jimin, running on all fours as if a wolf yourself. Your ears pricked, picking up the yells of the man and whinnying as wolves surrounded your charges on all sides.

It was stupid to charge in head first, but when you saw a wolf snap Jimin’s weapon, a single stick in two between its jaws, it was exactly what you did.

Your first powerful spring, landed you clean behind Jimin’s now buckled body. The wolves immediately halted, intelligent eyes darting from the curling boy at your feet back to you, tongues rolling perversely.

You felt rather than saw Jimin raise his head, wondering why the wolves hadn’t ended him already. When he felt the larger presence behind him, he turned, gaping up at you as you placed one paw to the front, marking a line, marking a territory.

Loud snaps surrounded you, the wolves reorganizing till they circled you now, ready to attack from every direction.

Your eyes, however, sought one wolf out, finding its way back, sitting on its hind legs, tail wrapped around them. You snarled at it, the wolf obviously smirking at you before it rose up, stalking over to the head of the pack. It gave a short yap and the wolves, in once sleek, collective move, pounced.

You only had time to jump over Jimin, drawing the attack away from the human and your precious horse before you felt the first swipe of claws at your back. You whirled around, your own paws frantically hitting and lashing out, trying to bat away as many wolves as you could with as much force as you could muster.

You knew you couldn’t kill them, of course but it wouldn’t be for the lack of trying.

The wolves landed as many blows as they could on you, punishing you, sinking in teeth around your wrist, snapping around your ankles until you could smell the warm, metal in the air, from mostly your wounds.

“Enough,” You finally heard the one wolf, it’s comrades backing away with one word until you were left, swaying, eye to eye with its imperious gaze.

“Back off.” You growled but the only reply you got was a rough snicker, animalistic and feral.

“We would, just to see you fail in this attempt, Princess. We still wait for our master, and the day he becomes King, we shall have the boy for dinner. Another time,” The wolf tipped its tail at you, before turning and trotting off.

Jimin only raised his head when the sounds he could hear was the stamps of the horse’s hoofs, the whistling of the wind through his hair. When he peeked through slatted eyes, he could see you, tall, bulky, standing up to your full height as he caught the wolf farther away, dainty steps carrying it till it melted in the snow.

Jimin’s black robes that he hadn’t changed when he rushed out where wet, dirty again and he picked himself up, trying not to make too much sound lest you turn and put him through the same assault as you had the wolves.

He had heard the heavy thuds of your paws, the throwing around of the wolves as they banged against trees and rocks. He knew you could shatter his skull with one paw but then he’d also heard your screams of pain, each singing through him as you tried to keep the wolves away from him and your horse.

He reached the reins, about to climb on when he saw the horse’s eyes for the first time. They were wide, the neck bobbing as it tried to free itself from Jimin’s holding.

Jimin frowned, turning from the horse to where you stood and for the first time, he saw the damage inflicted upon you. Your heavy cloak had been ripped to tatters, hanging off of you in ribbons that exposed him to you. You wore pants, to contain the large hind legs, a simple men’s shirt. It was now smeared in stark red, the crimson pooling from your feet and arms into the pure snow below.

He watched as you tilted to the side, your weight finally tipping extreme and you collapsed, snow and blood flying from the impact.

Jimin turned to the horse again, reading the pain in the horse’s eyes.

It loved you.

Jimin once again turned to where your body lay, shivering just so slightly.

You were just a child, a cursed little baby girl.

Jimin’s mind flooded with images of a small girl in the painting, phantom giggles in his ears.

You saved him. He couldn’t leave you to die.

Jimin dropped the reins, his feet sinking into the inches deep snow as he ran over to you, kneeling down to turn your face towards him.

Your eyes were long closed, your mouth parted just enough for him to see the fangs within but he looked past that. Your fur was wet, both from the melting snow but also from your blood and as he cupped your huge head, he knew you wouldn’t last in this cold. Already, your breathing was erratic, your chest falling further with each exhale.

He looked to the horse that trotted closer, responding to the man who was helping his owner. It took severe effort, hefting the Princess but Jjangu was unexpectedly strong. The Princess lay across the horse, feet and head dangling and swaying as Jimin took the reins again, deciding to walk as he made his way back to the Castle, your home.

If the household staff was surprised to see Jimin back again, especially with an injured Princess lobbed across her horse, they didn’t express it. Instead they swarmed, concerned around where Jimin heaved and unceremoniously dropped the Princess at the base of the stairs.

While a coat rack took a shivering Jjangu back to the stables to be fed and warmed, Jimin helped the rest of the objects drag their Mistress to the sitting room.

“Great, what’s she gotten into now?” He heard as he unbuttoned his coat, rolling up his shirt sleeves.

“Not now, Jungkook; she’s injured badly, near death. Either help, or stay out of the way as always.”

Jimin tilted his head towards the sullen reply, straining to hear. “Gladly, if I never see her face, it will be too soon. She’s the reason we’re like this, or have you forgotten?”

“Jungkook, that’s enough!” He heard the low angry rasp of Namjoon’s voice when there was a shuffle in his eyesight.

The Princess seemed to be able to tell that she was safe again, grunting and whining as she sat propped up in a huge winged armchair. Her tattered robes had been shed off, her modesty preserved by the fact that she was entirely covered in fur but Jimin kept his eyes averted respectfully anyway. Her large legs were drawn up as she clutched her wounded, slashed appendage close to her body.

As Yoongi hobbled over, full of hot water, followed by medicine bottles on a spidery tray that clattered, Jimin ripped bandages. He filled up a golden bowl with the steaming water, dipping medicine and cloths in it.

The moment he stood up, intending to nurse the Princess, she flinched, surprising Jimin as she cowered away from him. She turned her back, and he could hear a distinct whimper, as she licked at her injuries.

She’s not used to being vulnerable, Jimin realized, his slack frame pushed to movement with the fear that her licking and prodding would infect and worsen the slashes.

“Now, now, don’t do that.” He moved too fast, grabbing a hold of the Princess’s shoulder and was immediately met with a wide open maw, her ferocious roar shifting his hair back.

Jimin dropped his hand, scowling at the stubborn slump of her arm, drawn back to her tongue. “You’ll make it worse. Just let me help.”

“It hurts.” She snapped when Jimin leaned right over her, attempting to wipe at the mangled arm.

“If you hold still, maybe it won’t.” Jimin tried to keep his voice steady, not wanting to snap at the already pained girl. Her screams at the biting and slashing wolves were still too fresh in Jimin’s mind. He wanted to show some kindness but she was just so…pigheaded.

“Maybe if you hadn’t run away, I wouldn’t be hurt.”

Jimin raised his eyebrows at her petulant tone. If he wasn’t already aware, he would’ve believed the Princess to still be a child at the sullen note of her voice. Something tugged at the corners of his lips as she attempted to cross her arms; the clawed up one still dangling in his hold.

“You told me to leave, remember?”

“I didn’t mean the castle.”

Jimin dropped the bloodied cloth in a waste bowl. “I suppose the lesson here is that you should watch your temper, isn’t it?” He made an exaggerated show of dipping another cloth in the medicine bowl, ignoring the Princess as she huffed and dropped her huge head on an equally huge paw, distinctly pouting.

“Please hold still now, this is going to pinch some.” He used the same tone as he would on his father, concentrating at digging out some remaining bits of grime from the claw marks. A few of his swipes made the Princess cringe and try to pull away but not once did her strength win against his sharp glances and sudden tightening of grips as he repeated the process on her feet.

Finally as he did the bandages he spoke again.

“Thank you, for saving my life.”

The Princess was quiet for so long that Jimin had to chance a look up, catching her quickly smoothening her expression into one of nonchalance. “You’re welcome.” She growled lowly.

But Jimin had already seen the bitten lips, the downward slope of her brow and the glassiness of her eyes.

He stayed right there, on the floor at her feet for a while, until the Princess, who had been staring into the fireplace had her eyes drooping. He stood when he was sure she was asleep, snores shuffling the fur near her mouth and nose.

Jimin folded back the sleeves on his muddy shirt. He knew he needed to change his clothes if he wanted to stay well, if he was sick as well, who would take care of the Princess? He hardly thought Seokjin’s candle hands or Namjoon’s golden bars would be able to change soiled bandages and he could already feel a chill coming.

Placing a huge blanket on the sleeping Princess, he went up to his room to change.

“How is she?” Hoseok asked immediately, as he shuffled inside for something to wear.

“She’ll have a few days with that bandage. It’ll probably scar.” Jimin answered tiredly, dropping his clothes and entering the bath where Yoongi was already pouring hot water in the tub.

“Thank you,” Yoongi said as he stood by. Jimin turned his head to look at the gleaming pot in question. “For not leaving her to die,” Yoongi clarified.

“Of course not…I will admit I had the thought but, I couldn’t. Not after she’d risked hers to save mine and Jjangu.”

“Jjangu was a gift foal from her father. She loves the animal more than anything.” Jimin heard before with a click of the bathroom door, he was alone.

He sighed, laying his head back along the porcelain edge. He was desperately exhausted, aching and needed to sleep, but there was a gnawing in his chest. He knew the Princess was in good hands now; he would only be needed when she needed her bandages changed and he knew she could manage that herself but he found it difficult to not be worried for the girl that somehow seemed so small and scared in all her ferocious enormity.

“Maybe…maybe I could try to be her friend.” Jimin mumbled, more to himself than anything as he closed his eyes.

Jimin took his vow seriously.

The first thing he did when his eyes popped open and fell on the customary outfit left for him; a simple powder blue shirt and black trousers – was to jump up and get dressed even before Hoseok had opened the eyes on top of it.

Quietly, he made his way down to where the Princess was still snoozing in the chair, flinging open curtains and inching closer just in case she woke up and panicked.

“Princess,” Jimin called gently, her head moving just so. “Your highness, wake up.”

With a groggy groan, her head fell towards his direction, yellow eyes blinking open in the filtering morning light.

And to the Princess’s dawning wonder and shock, Jimin gave her a beautiful, wide grin; possibly the most beautiful sight she had ever witnessed in her life.

From then on, both Jimin and Y/N tried to make an effort.

Y/N still felt her temper flare up quick as a snake’s attack but she quelled it in fear of the look on Jimin’s face. Jimin learned that despite her age, the Princess was still just a sheltered child who knew only what had been told to her.

Jimin tried to get you to participate in various activities. He taught you a few card tricks with a very old battered set that Seokjin unearthed, he told you stories of France, his life, what the world had to offer outside of the small town that had forgotten and abandoned her, he even tried to paint with her – although that ended in a disaster that had Yoongi steaming from his spout, Taehyung quickly sent to supervise the cleaning.

You, on the other hand, took Jimin outside.

Even though, Jimin had had the Guides to lead him places, no one knew the Castle and its grounds like you did, having spent fifteen years prowling and growing in it.

You allowed him to ride Jjangu while you walked, sometimes raced him. He had to change your bandages multiple times during these rides, noting with some joy that you healed faster than a human.

With four wild puppies and Jjangu, you took him to the top of a stile where in the falling night; he could count a multitude of stars and constellations. You threw Jimin in fountains; let him sift through flowers in the crumbling greenhouse, taste the fruits from the Grottos.

“My parents,” you pointed with a clawed finger, up at the huge entwined statues that had haunted Jimin before. He looked, focused on their faces more now, recognizing them from the portrait.

“Are they…gone?”

“No, just left frozen, to watch over what happens to me,”

Jimin turned to see you staring down at your palms, the story of the curse now making him enraged for your sake rather than sad. However, he kept mum, afraid of upsetting you rather than providing comfort. Instead, he took your huge gnarled hand, leading you quietly back.

Jimin and you took meals together now, lunches and dinners. He had unintentionally grimaced when he saw you simply lower your face and devour the food directly from the bowls and plates. In time, once he saw you try for him sake, he realized that your hands were simply too big for the dainty silverware and fragile glass goblets that fitted so perfectly in his.

So the next meal, Jimin surprised you by asking Taehyung to simply not provide any at all, raising his own bowl to his lips to eat as you did.

Your smile, huge, fanged, fur creasing in the corners of your mouth yet so happy, golden hue shining in your eyes, made him make it a habit to accommodate you, rather than ask you to change for him.

“Can I open them now?”

Jimin followed the trail of your cloak, sight barred by his hands as you attempted to lead him off for a surprise. You had been excited, the morning you simply strode into his room before he was even dressed. He had rushed behind Hoseok, who laughed at the pink of his cheeks and flustered backing away from you, until you claimed that ‘it was ready’ as he hurriedly put some clothes on.

“Not yet,”

Jimin heard the creak of doors, the clangs of curtain rings and felt the warmth of the sun on his skin.

“Okay, open them.”

Jimin dropped his hands with an indulgent smile, first looking at where you stood at the window, paws clasped together, and a nervous grin on your animal face. Your ears stood on point, waiting for his reaction as Jimin’s eyes wandered…and then widened till they were ready to pop right out.

It was a library.

A wonderful, glorious library, better than the dingy bookshop in town, better than any he’d seen in Paris. This was better than anything anyone could create in the whole world. Towering till the eye could see, with ladders and actual staircases leading up, his neck strained trying to fathom just how many books there were there.

“Oh my god,”

“Do you like it?”

Jimin looked down at where you were nearly vibrating with nervous energy.

“I had it cleaned, that’s what took so long. Seokjin told me you loved reading so I thought you should have this. I don’t know if everything is alright, but I checked last night and,” You stopped rambling when Jimin said your name. It was just a soft whisper but it tore a shiver through you at the tenderness, the fondness in it.

You had never heard anyone speak to you like that – not even your caretakers.

Jimin was practically aglow. His eyes shone as if someone lit coals underneath, his teeth blinded with the power of his smile, before his eyes turned to invisible slits.

“I absolutely love it, Y/N. Thank you; no one has ever done something like this for me before. This is perfect.” He strode forwards, his hand reaching for your face where his fingers nestled within the shaggy fur on your cheeks. He kept his smile fixed, nails gently scratching as your breath caught at the affection.

Jimin stared up at you, his own eyes and face sobering at the wide eyed look on your face. His fingers slowed till they just rested there, the both of you staring at one another.

“Ahem,” Jimin finally cleared his throat, removing his hand from your face. Was that disappointment he saw across your face? He turned to the shelves. “What shall we read first?”

Something thudded in Jimin’s chest, racing his blood with adrenaline as you and he sat on the floor in the sitting room, books strewn around you and the fireplace bathing you in heat.

“…and they lived happily ever after.” Jimin finished, closing the fifth book.

He had laughed and placed his head on yours when he discovered that you loved stories as much as he did. You had demanded him to read for you with one, two and the next three books. Jimin had happily obliged, enjoying the way you now sprawled on your front, arms cradling your head, looking at him with such a rapturous expression, he could melt.

“Read…one more…?” Jimin looked down to where you slid another book in his lap. Your eyes were big, hopeful and the rush of emotion that swirled in Jimin’s stomach was nowhere polite. He thought back to Hyebin, wanting to be married to him and yet knowing that she would fall asleep at the one thing Jimin was so passionate about. He cursed himself for the comparison. There was none. Hyebin wouldn’t even occupy the shadow of who you were.

“Y/N…I’m tired. How about you read for me now?” he leaned back on his arms, nudging the book back at you.

You paused, sitting up slowly before taking the book in your huge hands.

“I…I’ll rip it.”

“I’ll fix it back for you.” Jimin said immediately.

Your face fell as you opened the book, taking some time to flip it to the first page. Jimin watched; somewhat concerned as you slowly read the first of the fairytales.

“Once…up – on, a time…”

“Y/N, love,” Jimin had no time to worry about the endearment that slipped his mouth. “What’s wrong?”

“I…I can’t,”

“Can’t…read…?” He guessed.

You nodded quickly, fearfully.

“Oh, I thought Namjoon taught you.”

“Alphabets, a little book of stories and history…but I…I can’t read big literature. I can’t even hold books.”

Jimin’s heart cracked as you glared fiercely at your hands again.

“No matter, I’ll teach you, here, come now. I’ll hold the book for you.” Jimin grabbed the book, holding it open for you as he slowly, pronounced the words, you following him.

Behind you, unbeknownst to both of you, Yoongi, Namjoon, Seokjin and Taehyung sighed dreamily.

“Think they’re in love yet?” Jungkook drawled from behind them.

“Not just yet, I suppose, but they’re getting there.” Namjoon said.

“They need one more push.” Yoongi muttered.

“And what better than…a ball,” Seokjin glanced at Taehyung, wearing identical smirks.

Hyebin lay on her front, draped along the chaise in a manner that would have most men in the town be willing to do her bidding. The one she wanted, however, hadn’t even gone past the town in ages. She was bored; dejected from the lack of attention and her brother – she cast a venomous look to where her older sibling paced in front of the fireplace – hadn’t done a thing for her.

“Don’t look at me like that, Hyebin. I’m thinking.” Kai said, catching her eye.

“Well, perhaps you could think later. Isn’t this the time for action?” Hyebin cupped her face.

“Not yet; your impulse is what ruined your chances with the boy in the first place.”

Hyebin scowled.

“But don’t you worry your pretty head, darling sister, for your brother has a wonderful plan in mind.”

“Which is…?”

“Never mind you, you will go about ruining things and Jimin won’t marry you as well. You will only blame me.”

Hyebin slammed a small fist on the chaise. “Kai…tell me!” She whined but Kai only walked to the door, opening it as he tossed her a cloak. “Come on, we’re going to play nice and talk it out with Park Jimin.”

Much to their disappointment, however, and to Hyebin’s rage, when they arrives at the cottage of the Parks, it was completely dark. Not even one candle had been lit on the porch.

Kai knocked; once, twice, thrice even yelled for both Jimin and Mr. Park but the only thing to reply was the keening silence.

“They’re not here.” He mused.

“You don’t think they…left, do you?” Hyebin whispered.

“All their things are still here.” Kai’s eyebrows creased, flickers of annoyance and true anger flaming in his own eyes. “Well, we won’t stop. They have to come back some day. We’ll be ready.” He ignored the smack of his sister’s hand at his back, striding back towards the pub.

He needed a drink.

When you entered your quarters after a day of playing in the gardens with Jimin, watching him weave a crown of roses and dandelions which he placed on your head, you weren’t expecting to see Seokjin standing there with a bunch of standees and mannequins that used to be ladies in waiting for your mother.

“Um…Seokjin,” You queried even as you were swarmed with too many ceramic hands.

“’Tis the day, your highness, it is the day of your birthday! We have to have a ball in the honor!” Seokjin exclaimed.

You were shoved in a tub full of hot water and bubbles, the soap soaking into your fur. The words were enough to shoot a tendril of doubt through your heart, snaking till it looped around and squeezed. Your breath deepened as the mannequins began to scrub at you, rubbing in the water and soap till it reached the skin underneath.

It was your birthday already? No, it couldn’t be. You would remain a monster for all eternity otherwise. You would be condemned to live like this. Loveless, because who would look at you and feel anything but disgust and terror?

“Seokjin, my birthday isn’t till one another day.” You reminded the Maitre D` from behind the screen.

“The actual day isn’t of import, Princess. Besides,” He lowered his voice, “the day of your birthday will be the last day of the curse. It is make or break for us. You have to tell Jimin of your feelings for him and he has to return it. We simply cannot leave these things till the last minute.”

You remained silent, watching the mannequins use huge metal buffers to file and shine your claws.

“You…you do – you do have feelings for him, don’t you Your Highness?” Seokjin asked, misreading your silence.

You sighed, dipping further down into the water. Of course you had feelings for Park Jimin. Only an idiot would have a man like him around and not fall for his kindness, his generosity, and his open mind. Also, the small slants of his eyes, the way his lips split to reveal a gleaming smile that could halt an army, with shiny dark hair that fell into his eyes.

He was an angel.

And you were a hideous beast…

“It’s not my feelings that are a problem, Seokjin. How can someone like him ever feel for me, unless it’s fear? Maybe I haven’t earned his affection still.”

“Ah phish-posh, you forget, dearest Princess; we have all watched you and him very closely. We have seen the way he looks at you. Only a man that loves someone will have such a beam to their face.”

You sunk down further, Seokjin’s words easing the nervous grip in your chest a little. Perhaps…you did stand a chance. You could tell him of how you felt, he would tell you what he felt, and maybe you and your people can become human again.

You held the hope close as you were ushered to your own wardrobe, gowns that you had never once had the occasion of wearing, now shoved against your body and you into them, made to twirl in front of a huge mirror to check for anything to improve.

The time had come.

The gown that both Seokjin and the lady in waiting had chosen was approved by Hoseok finally, him making you swish the skirt and twirl in front of it, while pins and needles were floating around you, just in case things needed to be loosened or tightened anywhere.

You, who for almost all your life had only donned on the left behind clothes of your father of the male staff had almost giggled at the fancy attention, enjoying the feel of silk and gossamer curling around you and pooling out from your waist.

The dress was a pale gold and silver, shimmering with crimson jewels strewn about the skirt. A heavy diamond brooch glittered to where the bodice and neckline fell in a waterfall of fabric and your hair had been lifted from the mass of fur at your neck, rolled up elegantly till it lay in a soft mass on top of your head.

“Your highness,” Seokjin said finally and you were surprised at the sniff he let out discreetly. “You look beautiful. Come, your gentleman waits.”

You followed the candelabrum, exiting the room as Seokjin led you to the ballroom, to where the stairs led up to where royals made their grand entrance. You could hear light conversations down below and if you close your eyes, you could almost imagine that it was really a ball of people come to wish you good fortune on your birthday.

Maybe, if you could put aside your doubts and the harsh truths that crushed hope in your chest, you could have it someday soon.

You heard the Maestro, now transformed into a sprawling Organ, strike up a tune and Seokjin swished a golden bracket, gesturing you to walk down.

You lifted up the enormous skirts, praying to anything divine that your claws, now shortened down and sparkling, wouldn’t rip the dress anywhere and walked down the stairs, seeing everyone gathered at the base of the staircase, smiling up.

Mostly, though, you only noticed Jimin.

It was true, you hadn’t paid much attention to what kind of clothes Hoseok had been putting on Jimin for the duration of his stay here. Before, it used to be rich fabrics and embellishments that glimmered with his movements. The moment of your friendship and he began to step out had caused for simple cloths, sans coats and cloaks unless it was snowing.

Now, Hoseok seemed to have pulled all stops.

The suit that Jimin wore was all black, form fitting with studded rubies along the lapels and buttons the same shade as yours. Gold lace wound around his neck and his hair shone with the same effort, as if he’d undergone the treatment you had as well.

He smiled widely when your eyes met his, stepping forward till he reached you.

“You’re stunning.” He said and you could only muster a shaky smile, fluttering from the sincere compliment. “Happy Birthday, Y/N,” he whispered, bowing as he extended a hand for you to take.

You let your paw rest gently on his, deliberate and careful not to let him feet the real weight of it. “Thank you,” you managed a smile as wide as his, before the rest of your household gathered around you, wishes poured out and rushed words carrying you off to the cake.

Jimin was excited to see the cake, three tiers of it. Y/N’s eyes popped open wide, gaping at the sheer size of it but even as he grabbed her hand, leading her to cut into it; she was looking down, trying to muffle a smile.

He had to commend Yoongi and the entire kitchen staff. The cake was rich, fudgy and even he was rushing after that very last crumble. Finally, he felt the nudge of Taehyung, the cup around his ankle and he moved into action.

“Could I request for the birthday girl to bestow me a dance, your highness?” He stood up from his chair, slyly winking over to where Y/N put down her plate quickly, looking almost as if she was going to laugh.

“Of course, kind sir but I should warn you – I may step on your toes.”

Jimin chuckled, pulling her onto the glittering marble dance floor. “I don’t mind; you can step on my toes anytime.”

Y/N blinked down at him, Jimin could feel her breath catch at the way he would his arm around her waist and clasped her hand and couldn’t help but smile. She tried not to, moving slowly along with the way he led her, her attention focused down mostly to keep from actually crushing his feet when he stopped moving.

“Come on, let’s go look at the stars. Tonight, they’re as much more gorgeous than ever, as if they’re shining solely for you.”

He walked back with Y/N in tow, opening the balcony doors and letting her go out first before he shut them again, turning to see her stand at the rails, looking up where the stars mirrored in her golden eyes, twinkling in the sky and on the earth alike.

“So,” Jimin cleared his throat, gaining her attention again. “Are you enjoying your early birthday festivities?”

Big eyes blinked yet again at him, something shifting beneath as they were lowered. “I am, much more than I would usually, I suppose. I haven’t had a birthday in fifteen years.”

It was Jimin’s turn to blink, only in horror. “Not one in fifteen years?” he asked.

“Well, Taehyung tried, for the first two years, but then…I had no one to share it with. I had no one.”

Jimin closed in to where she stood with her back to him. His hand ached to rest along her cheek, turn her so he could look at her face but he resisted. “You have me now.”

She still didn’t turn. “Jimin…” A breath was drawn, as if steeling her for some deep resolve. He watched as your shoulders, clad in golden shimmers he wasn’t used to seeing her in slumped finally. “Are you happy here, with me?”

Jimin’s first instinct was to blurt out a simple ‘yes’. Was he happy here? Yes, he had everything he could possibly dream of and more here. He had the library, the gardens, the long winding hallways, the grottos…the silence, oh god, the blissful silence where no one bore down on him, no one judged him for not eyeing girls, not being interested in hanging out around the pub, not being Kai’s lackeys.

Was he happy with you? Of course, he, for the first time, felt someone was completely understanding and kind to him. No matter that he was perhaps the first to show her human kindness too but she let him be when he needed, listened to him read, asked him questions and challenged him. She fulfilled him in a way no one had.

No, they were two whole people. They had just found fulfillment in each other, and he was happy to call her home as much as the castle. He was happy. He was content.

Y/N didn’t seem satisfied. Her head turned fractionally, peering at him in such a fashion as to confuse Jimin. “Wouldn’t you ask for anything else, if you could? There must be something more you could ask for.”

Jimin hesitated, once again hand hovering over her but unable to touch. “I…yes,” he sighed, dropping his hand. “I would ask to see my father again but,” he quickly rushed on, lest she be upset. “I know I can’t, so I won’t press for it.”

She turned finally, too fast for him to not be startled. “There is a way. You can see your father.”

Jimin frowned, crossing his arms, more to protect himself against the temptation than defiance. “How?”

The Princess quietly walked by him, opening the doors and carrying on, Jimin taking a moment to follow hurriedly after her, still confused and a little worried before he realized that they were tracking a familiar path to his room.

“You had a way of seeing your father all the time.” Y/N spoke, stopping by the pool in the centre of the room. She bent down over it, gesturing for Jimin to join her. “You can call out for the waters to show you what you wish for. The waters even have healing abilities. The Wizard’s token, left behind to torment me with everything I can’t see but still so that I wouldn’t be able to harm myself in any way.”

Jimin heard it all; unnerved by the way someone could hurt a little child. Yet, the allure of seeing his father was way more than the urge to console the Princess. He sat at the edge as Y/N drew away to give him space.

“Please, show me my father.” Jimin said, his voice sounding desperate even to his own ears.

The water swirled clear, one turn, two turns before deepening into a whirlpool. Images swirled at the very bed of the pool, bubbling up till they hovered over the spin of the water. Jimin watched eyes tearing from horror as his father stumbled from one tree branch, to another, panting, struggling to stay on his feet.

“Oh no, father.” He nearly shouted, before remembering his father couldn’t hear him.

“Jimin, Jimin, Jimin,” his father chanted before finally dropping down into the snow, shuddering and curling up in the frigid ground.

“No!” He sprang to his feet, the illusion breaking with his movement, subsiding into the waters again, still and clear. “My father, he’s sick. He’s alone, wandering the woods, looking for me. He could be dying. Y/N, the wolves…what if the wolves find him?”

Jimin turned around to look at you, facing the window, silent as before. He wondered if you had heard him at all.

You had heard him.

Your ears pricked, flattening against the side of your head as you processed the frantic desperation to Jimin’s voice, your mind racing with a million thoughts.

You thought back to your childhood, soft smiles and misty words now fogged with time…and then all you remembered was pain. The pain of changing and growing too many sizes too big, the eruptions of the fur, claws, having to get used to them. The pain of being unable to eat and the consequent process of starvation until Namjoon figured out how to feed you – like a dog.

The fear of being hunted mingled with the uninterrupted loneliness that no matter how much your staff tried to ebb, would never cease.

You remembered back to spending hours upon hours with the statues of your parents, wailing when it got too much, with even your own people afraid to approach you.

Then you thought back to the first day you’d met Jimin; brave and strong and so sacrificing, martyring himself for his father to stay here…with you; showing you kindness, helping you, teaching you, and even saving your life.

He’d sparked companionship for you.

How were you repaying it?

By holding him captive here? You had seen the devastation on his face that first night, the same pain that had been your constant. How could you claim to feel anything for him when you were hurting him?

You had lost everything as a child, and you had grown up used to it. You couldn’t put Jimin through the fresh agony of it. He had a life to get back to, loving people to help him.

He was human. He didn’t deserve to live with a paltry princess living in a curse.

And with that came the final blow…

How could he love someone who had torn him apart from his father? How could Jimin be fond of someone who had basically subjected his father to a pitiful, lonely death?

So you quelled the cry of your heart, steeling bands of iron around it until you could nurse its break alone. You made the decision simply because it was already set in place.

“You should go. Go back to him.” You said quietly.

There was a pause.

“What did you say?” You heard him, too close to you and you flinched away from his proximity.

“I grant you your freedom. You’re no longer my prisoner.” You turned to face him, grateful for the fur that absorbed any stray tears before they were obvious.

Jimin’s eyes were shiny as well, but you knew they were tears of joy. He gaped, his breath catching before he spoke, choked up – “Thank you.”

You watched, leaning against the window as he hurried to take off the heavy coat, instead shrugging on a simple, heavier cloak. He pulled on boots, easier to wade in the snow.

You, on the other hand, went to one of the dressers, unearthing a vial and moving to the pool, dipping and collecting the water in the shimmering glass.

“I’ll be back before you know it, Y/N. I think I’ll have to bring my father along sometime – convince him that you’re actually a big softie, none of the roaring monster that you were so kind enough to act as.”

His voice was teasing; light, even jovial as he eagerly approached you. You remained silent, handing him the vial.

“Here, take this. It’ll be useful to you. If you need to be healed…or it can help you remember me.”

Jimin’s smile faltered, looking from the proffered container back up to your eyes, now obviously dripping.

“I’m not going to be very long, Y/N. At least, not long enough for me to forget you.” He laughed, still pocketing the vial when you didn’t withdraw it. Sighing, you shook your enormous head.

“No…you can’t come back. You have to stay away. Stay with your father.” You refused to meet his eyes.

“Wait, what…what are you saying? What do you mean I have to stay away?”

“It means that you shouldn’t come back to the castle.” Your voice broke. “You have to stay in the town, maybe even go back to Paris. Live your life, Jimin; you have the rest of it. You deserve much better than living in a dilapidated castle with a monster.”

“No! No, I can’t…Y/N; you’re part of my life. I can’t…I can’t just, let you think that of yourself and your home. Y/N, you’re so important to me.”

He was reaching for you, his hand going to wrap around yours but you backed away quickly, unable to let him touch you lest you break down and beg for him to come back, to stay with you. You wouldn’t do that. You couldn’t subject him to that.

You loved him too much for that.

Instead, you fled, turning on your heel and exiting the room on all fours, ignoring his rough calls of your name. You knew he wouldn’t waste time chasing you, not with his father in that state, not with the threat of the wolves hanging about his head.

When you entered your room, your whole staff was already present, with expectant beams on their faces. You even spied Jungkook in the midst, the feather duster nearly reeking of disdain.

“Well, how did it go? Did he say it back?” Seokjin nearly shook from excitement.

You dropped your head, already dreading their reaction. “I…I let him go. His father is sick. He needed to go back.”

There was a silence so deep, so disappointed; you inwardly cringed even when Jungkook broke it with a caustic snicker.

“But…but we were so close. Why would you do that, Princess?” Namjoon asked.

You walked to the window, throwing them open to see the last vestiges of hooves vanishing in the snow. “Because, I love him,”

Y/N had been right. There had been no time for Jimin to process what had just transpired in his room, not when the cries of his father echoed through his head. He mounted Jjangu and sped off in the direction he’d gleaned his father would be. He had to be single-minded for his father for now, he decided. He couldn’t take care of the old man if his thoughts were littered with questions, with confusion, with hurt as to why it was so easy for Y/N to just tell him to leave. Did she not feel the same for him as he did her?

He knew he couldn’t disrespect her by showing up with his sick father at her doorstep after she’d told him to leave. Perhaps, after his father was healthy, he would map the course again, ask for answers, and plead to stay with her. Perhaps, he’d hurt her somehow and this was her way of protecting herself…?

Jimin sighed, laying his father back before warming water, laying thick cloths soaked in hot water along his forehead to fight the cold back. It took him back to when he’d patched Y/N up after the wolf attack and he had to shake off the thought when his father stirred, looking blearily up at him. “Jimin…you’re back!” His father sat up too quickly, holding his son at arm’s rest to check him before pulling him to his breast.

“Ah, son…I never thought I would see you again. But how…how did you escape the monster?”

Something tugged in him at his father’s tone, making him pull away from the man. “She’s not a monster, father. The legend of the Castle is true. She’s the cursed Princess…” Jimin sat at the edge of the bed, his eyes taking on the sheen of reminiscence as he recounted his journey with her till he was told to go back to his father.

He hoped perhaps, that his father would encourage him to go back, but he needed him to be stronger first, so once his tale was over, his father still gaping at how Jimin made the monster who had imprisoned him and his son sound so human, he fell asleep.

Jimin, however, didn’t. He paced back and forth from the fireplace to the bed, interrupted only by a quick, sharp knock on the door.

Scowling at the late hour, Jimin opened the door, not too pleased to see who it was on the threshold.

“Jimin,” Kai beamed, almost too familiarly as Hyebin tipped her hood back, studying Jimin as if she was planning to gut him. Her nails were digging into her brother’s arm and Jimin wondered how strong Kai had to be to not wince.

“Kai,” Jimin modulated his voice coolly. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Entirely too late, my good man,” Kai turned his head to his sister. “Didn’t I tell you it would be rude to show up right now?”

Hyebin didn’t answer.

Jimin ran a hand through his hair, frustration making him further annoyed. He needed time and space to think, to process things. His father was sick, he had been a prisoner in an enchanted castle where he had found more solace and acceptance than he had in freedom, he had fallen for a cursed Princess who might or might not return his feelings but had forbade him to return to her. He needed to make plans for his future.

He couldn’t be discourteous though, not when they’d taken the trouble of coming by.

“Come in please; my father is ill and sleeping so if you could keep your voices down and be quick about this…” He let the door fall open further. Kai and Hyebin walked in as if they weren’t going to take no for an answer anyway, shedding off their cloaks and making themselves at home.

“Well Jimin, I must say it’s a relief to see you. Your father had been by the pub, you know, raving on about you being kidnapped and all by some monster and imprisoned. We dropped by a few times later to see the house empty.” Kai said. “We all thought he’d gone mad, or you’d run away and he was just lying to make us all look for you.”

Jimin didn’t look at the taller man, feeling the pinpricks of anger flare again at the accusation. “I…yes, I’ve been away. I was at the castle. My father wasn’t lying, neither is he mad,” He said coldly.

There was a silence in which unbeknownst to Jimin, Kai and Hyebin exchanged looks.

“Wait, you’re talking about the palace? The royal palace on the hill…that’s where you were and the monster is real?” Hyebin asked, bug eyed.

“Yes, the monster is your Princess and she’s not vicious or anything, Hyebin, unlike how you described her when you told me the story. She doesn’t devour children and she doesn’t make their bones into furniture.” Jimin snapped, crossing his arms before sighing as he glanced into the fireplace, eyes and voice softening. “She’s a little short-tempered, yes but she’s kind hearted and caring and intelligent and curious. She’s my friend.”

Kai watched Jimin calculatingly, while Hyebin clenched her jaw.

“It sounds like you like her.” She said finally.

“I do. Also, it’s really late. I think I should go to bed as well.” He said. His voice left no room for argument.

Kai gave him a tight smile, his too white teeth glinting almost maliciously in the firelight. “You think…it wise to harbor such feelings for a monster, Jimin? Need I remind you this…thing is cursed and is a bad omen in our town?”

“No Kai, she isn’t. Now please, I am tired.”

For a second, he thought that Hyebin would refuse flatly but even as he steeled himself to assert himself yet again, she was standing and with Kai in tow, moved out without another word.

Jimin puffed a breath of relief, moving to douse the fireplace. The swab plunged the living space in darkness and he stretched his arms above his head, arching his back, already looking forward to his bed when he heard the hushed conversation not too far from the house.

The one thing about living so far from the town and right in the middle of a disused farm was that there was nothing to absorb sounds. Each and every noise reverberated and echoed loudly in his house, enough for him to never be startled.

He went to the window, keeping back enough to see Kai, now holding his torch above him and Hyebin, talking. While Hyebin didn’t bother to lower her voice, Kai was trying to shush her, low and hissing but even his voice carried back to Jimin’s focused ears.

“…you didn’t see his eyes, Kai. He doesn’t just like this bitch. He loves her. He won’t even hear any truths about her!” Hyebin screeched.

“You sure know how to pick them, sister. A man who’s into bestiality,” Kai snidely replied, stopping when Hyebin grabbed his collars.

“This isn’t funny. You have to talk sense into him…or…I don’t…I don’t know, we have to kill this Princess of his.” Hyebin said.

“Keep your damn voice down, will you? Is that all you can think of in your pea brain? Jimin, Jimin, Jimin; all the time…it’s annoying.” Kai snatched away his coat from Hyebin. “Think of it like this, little sister. This girl is a Princess. She is our Princess, a royal. We cannot truly establish a government because a monarch is alive.”

“What the hell does that matter?”

“Darling sister, do use sense. Jimin is here, which means this Princess doesn’t have a man around right now.”

“So…?”

Jimin heard Kai snap his jaw. “So, sister, I go and I marry her. Simple, and effective; I become King, all powerful and she is out of your way. I will command Jimin to marry you and since you will be royal; he cannot hope to refuse.”

“You…you cannot be serious, Kai. I mean, are you really going to do that? She’s an animal.” Hyebin’s shock was palpable even to Jimin.

“Well, of course I don’t intend to honor the marriage wholly. I’m a hunter, aren’t I? Think of it like my greatest hunt, one that makes us the most powerful pair here. Plus, who’s to know…? Maybe the Princess meets a little accident a few days after our wedding. At least the kingdom will have a king they know and trust; they will only see it more as a sacrifice on my part.”

“You’re…despicable, brother.” Hyebin’s lips trembled before stretching into a cruel smile that looked odd on her beautiful face. “But a genius,”

“I know that. Now hurry up, we need to go to the pub and collect a mob. I cannot go alone in case the Princess tries to get aggressive. I’m going to need witnesses just in case we need to come back and convince Jimin his lovely Princess was actually a monster after all.”

Jimin was moving even before the fleck of light completely vanished from sight.

All thoughts and feelings of exhaustion melted from his body, arms and legs regaining energy as he burst into his father’s room. The old man started awake from the sound, jolting and clutching the sheets as he looked at the manic light in Jimin’s eyes.

“Son, what – what’s the matter?”

“I have to go father. I have to go back to the castle. Y/N is in danger.” Jimin rushed his words, tossing things from dressers till he found a bag, throwing some matches and a torch into it. He patted his pockets for the vial of pool water Y/N had given him, about to turn for the door when his father clasped his shoulders.

“No! I just got you back; I cannot let you go back there!”

“Father, you don’t understand. Kai…he’s taking a mob to her! They’re going to kill her, all because I opened my mouth.”

Jimin’s father wavered, his grip loosening only slightly.

“Come with me, then. See for yourself.” Jimin moved past the old man, not waiting for him to follow. However, when he reached Jjangu, who raised his head quizzically, his father, was right there, climbing on behind his son.

Praying that he wouldn’t be too late, he leaned over to Jjangu’s ear.

“Come on boy, we’re going home to our Princess.”

Jjangu whinnied, rising up on his front legs and then they were racing from the stable, in the direction of the palace.

Jjangu thankfully took the way that they were most familiar with, through the woods. Even as they surpassed the town, he could see the lit fires, domestic weapons of all sorts raised as cries and shouts filled his ears. They were breaking down the blockade; he realized when he saw the closed bookshop, going only the way they knew.

His fault…his fault…

Jimin shook his head, nudging Jjangu to go faster. He had to reach Y/N before Kai did, or he would never forgive himself.

The fire leapt high and powerful, licks of warmth flaring out against where you sat with your back to the muttering and mourning gossips of your royal staff.

You knew that the moment you’d spilled out the truth about how you’d sent Jimin away, even forbidding him to ever set foot back in the castle, you’d basically condemned your entire household and yourself to a grim fate, but could you condemn him to one as well? No, you couldn’t. Besides, you were used to this now, used to living like an animal. Jimin shouldn’t have to live in company of one for the rest of his life.

Behind you, Jungkook led most of the ranting. “I’m telling you; this was the plan all along. Get the Mistress all soft and mushy so he could get out of here first chance he could get.”

“Jungkook,” Yoongi sighed. “His father was sick.”

“So, all our families are probably dead now. We won’t ever get to see them now, or even to see their gravestones.”

You knew he was right. Maybe it was ok to live with yourself like this, but sacrificing your own people to this curse made guilt creep up your throat tenfold.

“Perhaps, we shouldn’t have gotten as attached to him as we did, even before knowing what his obligations were.” Seokjin said.

You were about to turn to snap at them all to get back to their chores when Namjoon suddenly squeaked, the clogs of his clockwork chiming anxiously.

“Wait, wait, there’s someone coming…OH lords above! Princess, Princess, it’s the townsfolk, invading the castle gates. It’s a mob!”

“Wait, what…?” You nearly fell off the chair, confused when the doors to the sitting room were flung open again, a squad of soldier armor leading a panting Jimin in.

“Y/N…mob, people are coming for you…run!” He managed to puff out before leaning his weight on his knees, drawing heavy breaths.

You blinked quickly. Didn’t you tell him not to come back? But he was here now, come to warn you about the mob…worrying for your safety.

“Jimin…” You breathed, “You came back.”

You drew closer to the wheezing man, a paw running along his smooth cheek.

“Of course, I did. I had to warn you.” Jimin looked up at you, time slowing as your gazes remained suspended. He placed his own hand on yours, squeezing it even as Jungkook broke it in his rasp.

“Well now, that’s sweet. So, are we to assume you led the mob here before promptly losing courage?”

You and Jimin both turned to look at the feather duster now propped up on a dresser, eyeing Jimin with as much disdain as you had seen him do you. Jimin gaped, flabbergasted while you were ready to rip out all his feathers.

“Jungkook, he came to warn us. Don’t be an idiot.” Namjoon said roughly.

“I can’t believe you’d lap that up, sir. He left here, went back home to tend to his ill father, so he said, and now he’s back…with encroachers on his heel. Why would you believe him? Because of the pool; the waters are also subject to imagination, Namjoon, or have you forgotten?”

“Enough, we cannot fight amongst ourselves, we have to protect the castle and our Princess.” Yoongi said. He turned to the soldiers, ordering for them to gather the rest of the household up and prepare for defenses.

“Ask him, Princess. Ask your dearest if he told them or not.”

You rolled your eyes at Jungkook, turning, however, to Jimin. It was better to put this to rest. “Tell him, then, tell him you didn’t.”

Jimin was still looking at Jungkook, a peculiar expression of conflict gathering his eyebrows together.

“Jimin…” You prompted.

“I…” He looked at you then, and just the look in his eyes – wide, pleading, had your hand slipping from him.

“See,” Jungkook said, as Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi and Taehyung gaped at their friend. “I told you, he told them.”

“Jimin, tell me you didn’t.” You whispered.

“I – I did, but I had no idea -,”

“That they were going to take advantage of the fact that a whole castle was left unattended and come to loot it? Or that they were going to come to kill and behead the Princess so they could mount her head upon their walls?”

“Why…how could you?”

Jimin looked at you again, away from the brewing anger and distrust of the staff. “Y/N, try and understand. I only told the truth, I told them you were harmless.”

“You’re lying.” Jungkook hissed.

You watched his hand try to reach for you, pull at you, but you drew away, cringing away from his touch. He stuttered in his steps, looking at you, beseeching.

“Princess,” Namjoon called softly, “what are your orders?”

You looked away from Jimin, reminding yourself you had duties to perform. “Keep safe the castle. My parents…they shouldn’t have to see their home seized in front of their eyes.” Your anger flared as you glared at Jimin finally. “Remind them that there still is a monster in the castle.”

Without another word, you dropped down on all fours and leaped clean over Jimin’s head, bounding for the roof from where you could see everything and lead stray invaders away from your people and home.

Your orders were followed to a tee. Thousands of household goods launched an attack on the people who were mostly comprised of men, having no idea how to operate the basic home wares.

Drawers smacked into jaws, hot water and oil were poured on head, knives and burning torches chased men around until they thought it better to just leave the castle alone and crawl away, defeated.

You stood on top of the parapets, watching your subjects nurse and curse over their bruised and burned extremities, retreating from your home. Perhaps, there would be no reason for the monster to show up after all. No legends would pass around; no one would spread talk to lure hunters and thieves to your home.

You didn’t go down though, instead, curling into yourself on the edge of the roof.

As happy as you were about the prospect of people leaving you alone, you had to contend with the fact that it was Jimin, the man you trusted, the man you loved who had ruthlessly allowed people to come hunt for you. You had mattered nothing to him. It would’ve been better to have someone draw a knife through your heart now, it might’ve hurt less than the betrayal.

“Oh Princess,”

Your ears pricked.

“There you are. You know, when I didn’t see a huge, hunkering monster down below I was worried Jimin might have lied.”

The voice was unfamiliar, nasty and it grated on your nerves so you stayed still, hoping the person would mistake you for a statue and pass by.

“Apparently, the poor boy hadn’t lied. He was so in misery you see, had to come back, leaving his little lady behind. Someone had to convince him that a princess needs a real man around for a husband.”

You frowned, feeling it draw closer.

“So I have a proposition. You marry me and we live happily enough. I’ll even throw in a wedding kiss.”

The footsteps behind you stopped, and you hoped that your silence had fooled him enough until they started again. “Now, Princess, it’s rude to not acknowledge a man talking to you. Turn around; let’s see what got Jimin so dewy eyed. I have to see if you’re worth all the talk.”

You remained still.

“Turn around now.”

You ignored him.

A sharp, plunging pain ripped through your back, making you gasp and seize up. Something pinched at the centre of your back, protruding out and you knew it was an arrow, turning to see the tall man, draw another from his quiver, placing it on his bow.

“Well now, looks like we’ve found our communication link. Are you going to be nice, now?”

You flailed, clawing behind to draw out the agonizing spike from your body.

“No use. I have perfect aim. Now, stop dancing and listen unless you want another to keep it company in your chest.”

He drew back the bow string.

“KAI, STOP!”

You stopped as well, seeing the man – Kai – turn around to look at where Jimin stood on the top most balconies, leaning almost all the way down. You took advantage of the momentary distraction of the hunter, throwing your full weight at him.

Your muscles and joints screamed at your movements, huge as they were, weighing you further down as the man turned quickly to you, trying to aim the arrow towards your body. You gripped his hand, twisting it out of the way.

“This is a nice surprise! Seems like you really are a monster, and here you were hoping for a human companion!” The Hunter laughed maniacally, shaking hair out of his eyes.

You growled, pulling the hunter close enough to snatch his bow, snapping it with a simply pinch of your fingers. “Get out of my house.” You gripped his throat, squeezing just enough for him to be able to tell. “Never come back…or I will kill you.” You flung the man away from him as the disgusting being that he was, backing away.

Adrenaline fading, the fatigue of blood loss raised its ugly head again, faltering your steps and blurring your vision.

“Y/N, here, come here, you’re hurt.”

You turned once again to where Jimin stood, his hand extended for you and stumbled towards him, shaky feet nearly throwing you over the edge more than once. You reached near him, raising your hand to grasp his and began to climb.

“You’re still here.” You choked.

“Of course, I had to clear things up.” Jimin smiled, eyeing you carefully.

You made to return the smile when another scream of pain tore through you, making Jimin jump before he saw the knife embedded deep in your side.

“NO!” He roared, feeling you slip from his fingers when he saw Kai’s added weight clinging to your cloak.

Your back curved backwards; Kai gripping the back of your cloak and hair in a tight fist. His lips split in a wide, sinister smile. “Go on Jimin, pull us up. You save her, you save me.”

Jimin snarled a curse at Kai, eyes darting from your drooping eyes to Kai’s bright ones. He couldn’t save Kai, he knew that. Left alive, he’d keep coming back again and again. You would never truly be safe with Kai alive.

“It’s okay…”

Jimin’s eyes snapped to Y/N, narrowing at the small smile tugging at your lips in puzzlement.

“It’s okay; you have to let me go…”

“What, no, I’m not going to -,”

“It’s better this way.”

“Y/N, no, Kai let her go!”

“I love you, Jimin. I’m…I suppose this is goodbye.”

Jimin opened his mouth to shout for you to hold on when all sound stopped short. You opened your paw, his own hand too weak to hold up all the weight of your body and Kai together. He watched, too slow to move, too stunned to understand as your eyes closed, still smiling while Kai’s eyes widened, almost comically, smile fading and mouth opening in a silent scream as you both fell.

There was no time for Jimin to even scream for you.

Everything was numb. Everything was silent.

Well, in all actuality, a battle had waged around him, promptly won by the small but mighty objects of Y/N’s household. Cheers of victory and joy could be heard from the lower rungs of the Castle. It was just that Jimin’s eyes could only see Y/N’s last smile, hear her last confession and feel her hand slipping from his.

All he knew was that Y/N was down here somewhere – ironically, falling right into her parent’s grotto – and he had to reach her. Nothing else mattered.

The soft grass of the grotto crushed and crumbled under Jimin’s boots, as he walked and broke into aching jogs as he spied the huge mass of fur on its side, reminiscent of when he’d seen Y/N topple over after saving him from the wolves. The memory stung his chest now.

“Y/N,” he gasped seeing Kai’s body almost completely trapped under hers, his fist still closed around her clothes.

He bent over, ripping his hand away and rolling his dead body away till it lay feet away, open eyes dead and unseeing, his laughter finally fading into nothingness.

Falling to his knees, he heaved Y/N’s head onto his arms, propping it against his shoulder. Her eyes were closed as well; smile gone and he could spot a trickle of blood running from the corner of her mouth into the fur. His hand trailed down to the knife in her side, slowly, gently easing it out and tossing far away from her as both arms came to wrap around her, rocking.

“Y/N, hey, it’s okay, come on wake up. He’s gone. Kai’s dead and every one fled. You’re safe now.” He hushed.

She lay still, too still, not even shifting a little in answer to his voice.

“Y/N,” Jimin vowed now to give up so soon. She had to be alive, she was probably just unconscious. He tapped her cheeks, ran his fingers through the mass of her hair and fur.

“Y/N, please, I’m so sorry.” He buried his head against her neck, taking in a whiff of the musk that he was so used to now. There was a change now; it smelt too metallic, too…sodden. “Please, wake up.”

She couldn’t be dead…she couldn’t leave him like this; not after saying she loved him and pulling off such a ridiculous stunt.

His body shook, feeling the chill settle in. Somehow, Y/N’s body that radiated so much warmth normally wasn’t enough to keep the cold away now. Jimin shuddered, drawing her closer before closing his eyes finally. A sob choked its way out his lips, followed by a sound that was too close to Y/N’s own agonized ones.

“Please, come back, Y/N, please, I love you too. So much, so much, please,” he rocked faster, more to keep himself moving than to shake her awake. He couldn’t stop moving, it would only mean for him to accept that Y/N wasn’t moving as well and that she was…she was.

His tears soaked through her fur.

“Now, this is quite the unfortunate situation.”

Jimin hiccupped, looking up to where someone new had joined them in the grotto. For a wild second he thought that it was Kai but no. This man was much taller, skinnier, even unhealthy looking.

A snap echoed from behind him and he jumped, looking about to see a very familiar pack of wolves surrounding him, grinning and tongues lolling. He pulled Y/N closer but the wolves didn’t seem to intent on attacking, instead collecting behind the new arrival.

Jimin squinted, wiping off the blurring tears to see the man was known to him.

“You,” He said at the bookseller who peered down at the cursed Princess with something akin to bitterness.

“Me,” The old man hummed, turning to face the wolves and Jimin was astounded to see that a wave of this man’s hand was enough to line them neatly up.

“How…I thought you never left the bookshop. Did you come with Kai?”

“Kai?” The bookseller laughed, caustic casting a cursory glance at the dead man feet away. “That pathetic excuse for a human and you think he’d have any sort of influence over me?”

Jimin watched as the man drew himself to full height before light erupted out from somewhere in his chest, blinding Jimin and making him feel colder than he did before. Once he felt the light fade from his screwed up eyelids, he peeked through, gaping in disbelief.

Long black robes swirled around the now, considerably younger man, almost as if it was sewn directly from the shadows around him. Long sleeves fell back to reveal tattoos in a language Jimin had never seen before, glowing even till the skin of his bald head and face.

“Not quite who you expected, I see.” The man said.

Jimin was still trying to put together the old bookseller who had been so friendly to him transformed into this being when with a clatter and loud clangs they were surrounded with more things – this time on Y/N’s side.

Namjoon’s clock chimed angrily, Seokjin’s fiery wick gleaming in the dark as they caught the man standing over Jimin and Y/N. “The Wizard,” They gasped, followed quickly by Yoongi and the others who skid to a halt.

“Be gone, monster! You have killed our Mistress!” Yoongi clattered.

“You’re the one who cursed Y/N.” Jimin said, realization dawning over him like a pot of cold water. However, there was no fear in his voice. After all what was the use? Y/N was dead, neither she nor he could be hurt any further.

“Now, now, calm please. Is that any way to greet the man about to grant you salvation?” The Wizard raised his palms.

“You cursed us too swine!” Namjoon yelled.

“I did. And I fully intended to come back on her birthday to remind her that she owed herself to me if she wanted to have her life and loved ones back. It seems,” He looked down at Jimin cradling her body and again there was strange bitterness to his gaze, “I have been rendered useless. She has found love…I didn’t think it would’ve been possible.”

He looked up.

“So now, here, my word means something in the world.” Light shone again, only this time it was blue.

Jimin watched the light move out from the Wizard, creeping slowly to where Y/N lay against him. The light cocooned her, moving forward till it had surrounded everyone present in the grotto and on and on till all he could see was blue.

Jimin’s proximity helped in seeing Y/N, and he clasped her protectively, worried the light was going to further cause her harm. Only, it didn’t. Instead, her weight began to ease up off of Jimin. Fur receded and fell off from her body to reveal smooth skin, wet and smeared with visible blood, fangs shrunk back, and ears flattened and became smaller.

The huge mass of a creature began to slowly shrivel, until all that remained in his arms could no longer pass off as an animal. No, this was laughably, astonishingly, human.

Jimin raised a hand inquisitively, running it through the strands of hair that were now free from the matting of fur, his hand coming back red.

“She’s…”

“Back to normal…or rather what she would’ve grown up to be; that’s about as normal as I can make her.” The Wizard snorted at his own joke.

“Is…your highness,” Jimin turned to see that there were people in the grotto, no longer just objects.

A tall tanned man stood foremost, dimples poking out as a wondrous smile lit up his face, hands running over his suit. “I…I’m a man again!”

“Or how much you were before,” Another spoke, taller than the first, golden hair falling into his eyes.

“Gentlemen, calm down!” A shorter man barked.

These were strangers to Jimin, or maybe not. He looked back up at the Wizard, ignoring the joyous reunions behind him. “She’s…still dead.”

“Yes, but then, the way to bring her back to life is with you, isn’t it?”

Jimin was about to ask what he meant when he remembered the vial. The vial full of the pool water, that Y/N had said had healing abilities.

He delved deep, bringing out the mercifully intact vial before upending it completely into Y/N’s open mouth.

He waited, with bated breath as moments passed. And then – skin knitted back together, the grey pallor of her face smoothed till a healthy glow seeped in her cheeks.

With a huge shaky breath, Y/N opened her eyes again, fumbling with her body as if it scratched at her.

“Y/N, hey, Y/N,” Jimin grabbed her hands, much smaller and claw less, fitting into his easily.

Big, wide, fearful eyes met Jimin’s. “J-Jimin?”

“Yes, it’s me.” Jimin placed his head against hers, taking in a deep inhale that wasn’t of musk but of bloodied skin, of sorrow, or uncertainty. Closing his eyes and hoping for the best, Jimin turned his head to place his lips swiftly on yours.

There was no reciprocation at first, worrying Jimin that perhaps, he’d pushed you too far too fast. However, he felt your small hand move past his neck into his hair, entwining with the strands to hold him against you.

He moved away from your face, reminding himself that you still needed time and space to learn physical love when your eyes, now bright with unshed tears landed on something behind him.

It took him a bit to register the utter silence, hushed conversation behind him and he turned to see that the huge statues that used to be the only decorations in the grotto were no longer there, instead right behind him stood a couple, too familiar.

“Mama! Daddy!”

Y/N fled Jimin’s arms, instead throwing herself into her parent’s arms. Jimin fell back from the impact; quickly picking himself up to see the pair wrap their tight arms around their daughter, tears streaking through dirty, muddied faces.

The man was tall, his wife regal as they still retained the glow of youth, having spent their lives inanimate. Their daughter may have grown in front of their eyes but there was near to no difference in ages, Jimin noticed. He turned his head, but the Wizard and his pack of wolves were long gone.

Y/N shirt and pants were also now tattered, too huge on her now smaller body. Jimin tugged off his coat, wrapping it delicately around her shoulders when a hand stopped him from moving away. He looked at the queen, small crown still perched into her mussed hair who smiled at him.

“Thank you,” she mouthed, tugging him closer till he was hugging Y/N from the back as well, and Jimin couldn’t be more grateful at the gesture.

The moments, hell, the days after the…incident, or rather your birthday had been all muddles and stumbling through time. As a cursed monster, time had seemed to stretch, with you craving love and companionship simply because you’d been told that they would break your curse. The very notion of these emotions had become a means to an end.

You had so much to learn, you realized when you stepped back into a castle that had no broken ceilings, no gaping holes, no smears of dirt and growing moss. The stones gleamed, jewels sparkled, sculptures loomed, just as they had in your distant memories.

Everyone stared, even the members of your household who had lived with you forever. You supposed you weren’t the only ones in need of reacclimatizing.

Chamber maids and maids in waiting dragged you and your mother away almost immediately. You were washed, scrubbed, hair oiled and washed and scented, similar to the ball but only this time the gown they put you in felt too big, too airy for you. Your skin, used to being protected by masses of fur and hard muscles shuddered at the gauzes and weightlessness of your new things.

Mirrors and portraits, previously smashed or torn by your claws had been reinstated and you had spent hours just staring at the unfamiliar face in the reflection. You weren’t a child anymore; you weren’t the beast you were used to seeing in cracks of glass and shards of mirrors. You had grown into a young maiden and you had no idea who you were.

The resurgence of a bustling royal palace, with many of the staff setting out to locate their families had created a buzz. Kai, the hunter had been dragged away and Hyebin, his sister as Jimin told you had been tried for conspiracy for murder.

Of course, things hadn’t become hunky dory fast. Things still needed to be sorted out, a monarchy had to be established because the so called government that had put Kai in charge in the first place was found now corrupt, seeing how easy it had been to rile up the public on the word of one man with no proof at all.

You left your father to handle these matters. Your mother had something much more stressful for you to think about.

Whether or not you wanted to marry Park Jimin…

You knew he was in the palace somewhere, along with his father. He’d come seen you but there hadn’t been much conversation. You had been too unsure of your own self, of your new or rather old body and you wondered if Jimin liked you as a human as much as he had when you were a creature.

“Don’t be silly,” Jimin had said, once on a slow walk around the garden. Your steps were much slower now, smaller feet tended to do that but none of you were in a hurry. It seemed Jimin was as eager to know the new you as you were. “I loved you when you were covered in fur and I love you now, even though I must say I was hoping to introduce a few of my friends to my beastly fiancée.” You had smacked his arm, unsettled at the joke even though he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Don’t worry so much about this. The curse is past. No one and I mean it, will ever hurt you now. They’ll have to go through me.”

The burning sincerity in his eyes and voice left no room for you to argue or doubt.

And so, you shyly visited your parents that very evening, hand looped in your lover’s, asking for their blessing to marry him.

Your engagement to Jimin lasted longer than any a royal was supposed to have, stretching out for months as you relearned human life. You were taught to walk properly on two legs, carrying things with a tiara affixed to your hair. For days you would bat at your hair when the pins keeping it in place pinched or pulled at you.

You learned how to dress yourself, how to put on various forms of jewelry, how to take baths and resumed your studies and royal duties.

Suffice it to say, you were now missing your animalistic life at times, you were so exhausted.

However, Jimin was a constant, learning with you, talking you through the harder aspects, supportive, encouraging, and absolutely perfect. It was also getting hard to keep your hands to yourself when it came to your private moments.

Physical love was one aspect that you absolutely dreaded touching upon. You wondered if you would be good enough, if Jimin would find pleasure in you or if you would find pleasure in him. He did place chaste kisses against your skin and lips when he thought it was okay to do so and you had only found him losing control once. It had been late at night when he visited you and had read to you till you were drowsy. With only a mind to gently kiss you goodnight, he had leant in only to be trapped by your hands, trying to get as close as you could to him.

He’d gripped at you, trying to pry out of your touch but had melted fast, molding and pressing you to your mattress. You had felt him growing aroused against your pelvic bone, rutting against you, gasping when he pulled away, blinking and shaking hair out of his eyes.

“Now now, love, we have time.” He’d pecked your cheek, disentangling himself from you before almost limping out.

Soon enough, it was time for the main event of your life.

Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Taehyung and Jungkook returned in days time, bringing what was left or added to their families and they stayed on till after your wedding took place.

Jungkook had mellowed in the face of his parents being alive, fifteen years older of course but delighted to have him back. He’d wished you well, but not apologized for his earlier behavior – you didn’t expect him to either.

Your parents had gone above and beyond for the wedding, throwing the lavish event for the entire town and further to come attend. Your gown was created for weeks, Hoseok personally supervising the process so that when you walked down the altar finally, upon your teary eyed father’s arm; you erased all thoughts that you had been a monster for most of your life prior.

You left the palace for your honeymoon, following Jimin’s advice to leave the royal duties to your still young and hearty parents while you took some time with your husband, so you could acquaint yourself both to him and to the world that he wanted to show you.

You knew where to start the journey of course, with your groom’s lips twitching at the very first words that tumbled out during the ceremonial dance.

“Please,” you’d whispered, laying your head close to his heart.

“Anything for you, darling,” Jimin had whispered back, smile obvious in his voice. “Paris it is.”

Jimin might not ever get used to the feeling of you fitting into his arms, you thought to yourself, glancing at your now husband, ever so often.

He’d lifted you up into his arms the moment you’d stepped off the carriage, beaming about something called the threshold ceremony, carrying you through the doors of the French villa carefully.

“Satisfied?” You asked when he stood still, eyeing the windows in contemplation.

“I’m wondering if I’m missing something but I can’t think of anything as of yet. So yes, here you go.” He placed you down, letting you walk through the house while he watched over the servants who carried through your luggage.

A late meal later, you stood at the mirror in the bedroom, painstakingly pulling out the multiple pins from the up-do your hair had been twisted in, your husband peeking in with a mischievous grin.

“Having fun?”

“No,” You grumbled, your arms dropping from the strain. Jimin walked up behind you, beginning to quickly pull out the multitudes of metal from your hair that would make a magnet drool. “Why are there so many?”

“Look on the bright side,” Jimin muttered, delving deeper into your scalp, “For the rest of our honeymoon, you could be completely free from all of this, until of course we have to go back.”

You glanced up at him quickly, seeing the darkening expression brooding on your husband’s face as he dropped the final pins on to the dresser.

“I was thinking.”

“Yes,” you squeaked out embarrassingly.

“Well, we’re all alone now, so we don’t have to be worried about anyone walking in on us.”

You turned around completely, confused. “That’s what you were worried about?”

“Of course,” his smile flickered. “What else would I be worried about?”

Your eyes fell, feeling all sorts of stupid now. “I just thought…maybe you didn’t…you know, feel that way about me now.”

A finger brushed under your chin, tilting your face back up. “Love, I married you.”

“Yes but,”

“Mm, but nothing, come on; let me show you what I feel for you.”

Jimin’s arms, much stronger than you had given him credit for swooped under your thighs, lifting you up to wrap your legs around his waist swiftly. As a monster, you had never given thought to how powerful Jimin really was, but now when you were human, much more fragile than you were used to, he was blatantly flaunting his strength.

You couldn’t fault him for that.

Your husband dropped you onto the centre of the massive bed, arms balancing his weight over you. “Are you okay about this? I don’t want to force you into anything that you’re uncomfortable with.”

“No,” you reached for him, winding arms around his neck. “I’m fine, I want to feel you. I want to learn this with you.”

Your eyes closed automatically when he kissed you, sweetly but strongly, tongue laving over your lips, slipping between with less to no battle from you. Your mouth parted easily for him, letting him plunder moans from you.

“Fuck,” Jimin breathed, pulling away before his eyes were widening. “Oh, I’ve never cursed like that before.”

His cheeks were so red, you couldn’t help but laugh. “No worries, I’ve never made someone curse like that before either.”

Jimin’s fingers trailed to the ties of your night shift. “Perhaps, we’re a bad influence upon one another.”

“Perhaps,” your breath caught in agreement, Jimin’s fingers pulling at a peaking nipple while his head lowered to suckle on the other. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, my darling wife,” his lips were curved wickedly when he resurfaced; sitting up to remove the cotton night shirt he wore and tugging off the gown from your body right after.

You lay naked under him, open for his perusal and taking. Your hand shifted up, trying to pull the sheets up to cover some of your modesty until Jimin caught up, taking your hands to place them right there.

“There,” His mouth opened, tongue rubbing over his swollen bottom lip. “Do you feel that? That’s what I feel for you. You don’t need to hide from me love, never ever. I have loved you before, I love you now and I will continue to love you more for all our days to come. Do you understand?”

You meekly nodded.

Jimin’s eyes flashed down your body, knees parting yours before his hand touched your bare core, running over the nub in circles. “Am I understood, love?”

“Yes-yes,” you gasped, neck falling back for him place kisses even as a finger slipped through inside of you, thick but gentle, stretching you just so.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“Good,” Jimin removed his hand, placing the digit in his mouth, eyes still firm between your legs. Normally the lecherous look on any man would have you burst with rage but Jimin had you nearly quivering in anticipation, especially when he finally pushed down his trousers.

You had never seen a cock before, never having any contact with a human male, but you had to say Jimin’s was an impressive specimen. Thick in girth and flushed a sensuous red, the head throbbed in need before he was guiding himself to your body.

“Ready, love, I need you to breathe with me.”

Jimin dropped low on you, lips tugging and pushing at yours, his spare hand clasping your breast to distract you as he pushed in. your knee bent, curving over his hip as you gasped, eyes watering at the sharp pinching sensation deep within you. Your husband halted, waiting for the expression of discomfort and pain to pass from your face, fingers brushing away any stray moisture from the corner of your eyes.

“I…I’m okay, please move.” You told him, Jimin studying you carefully before he drew back, thrusting in experimentally. The first drags of his hips, followed by the slow plunges still made you bite down your lips, screw up your eyelids before you found your rhythms.

Jimin ended up with his hand at your nub, rubbing it in gentle circles, lighting sparks in your nerves with the motion of his lovemaking, your nails digging into your lover’s back and shoulder, trying to get as close as possible.

The first jolt of climax nearly made you cry out, burying your face in his neck to muffle the sounds when he followed, heavy grunts falling unabashed from his lips, hands twining with the strands of your hair to seal your lips in a clumsy kiss as he spilled deep into you.

Rolling over, with your head safely clasped in the nook of his arm, Jimin sighed contentedly, warm hand against your back.

“Jimin,”

“Yes, love.”

“So…what happens now?”

Your husband turned his head to give you a sleepy grin.

“Now we’ll live happily ever after.”

[popsunner]

'Cause I Was Just Thirteen (when I got my first taste of danger)

@cubedleo​ this isn’t what you’ve been waiting for but it’s somethin’ sjdjb

A/N: I was trying to write the Spirit Sokka AU but my brain wouldn’t let me until I finished this,,, so. AO3 link!! 

Summary: 

“We’re just kids.”

“Are we?” Sokka asks, and the silence stretches between them.

(The answer is yes, but it’s easier to pretend they grew up a long time ago than admit they’re just broken children trying to fix a broken world)

When Sokka was twelve years old he carved a promise to be a warrior into a block of ice.

It took him an hour to chop out the crude symbols with the tip of his boomerang, and when he was done he was sweating, and his arm ached. War was in his blood, it was his main drive, his life.

He never understood the people who didn’t want to fight.

(Later in his life, he would meet a boy with a scarred face and a girl with dangerous eyes, and he’d know that in a different life, that could’ve been him and his sister)

(The desire to fight would all but fizzle out at that realization)  

There are few people left in the world who weren’t raised for war.

Bumi is one of them, and so is Aang. Sokka can see it in the way they speak, the way they move. The way they don’t shy away from fire or loud adventures that draw attention. He can see it in their smiles, wide and fearless and kind.

Bumi and Aang weren’t born into a world of destruction and stifling fear.

(Maybe that’s why Aang looks so much more hurt by the charred forests and waves of injured troops finally coming home)

(Sokka hurts too, but he’s tired)

(He’s so tired)

When the war ends, Sokka breathes for the first time in his life.

It’s like a wave of exhaustion hits him all at once, and if Suki hadn’t been supporting him and his broken leg, he would have crashed to the ground.

“We won,” Katara whispers.

No one cheers. No one smiles.

Slowly, Zuko stands, Katara’s hand hovers next to his hip and the second scar his family gave him. He holds a hand out to Aang, his face stone.

Aang doesn’t shake his hand or nod back grimly. He launches himself at Zuko and laughs with so much relief in his voice it reminds Sokka just how young he is.

(Aang wasn’t raised for war, but he was shoved into the middle with no warning, and expected to fix it)

Zuko shudders and stumbles, and Katara catches him and Aang before they all fall.

Sokka watches her, his baby sister, and realizes she’s been catching people her entire life. His eyes go blurry, and he staggers out of Suki’s grip to grab her shoulders and crush her against his chest.

“You made it,” he says into her hair.

Katara starts to cry.

Sokka isn’t sure how long they stand there after Toph burrows her way between them all and Suki wraps her arms as far as they can reach over the group, but it’s long enough for his leg to scream painfully in protest, and the weight on his chest to return.

Because it isn’t over yet.

Sokka looks down at his friends- his family , and realizes with a shaking breath that the war might be over, but the fight is far from done.

***

Getting used to a post-war world is more difficult than Sokka could have imagined.

For Toph, it’s not very hard. She was raised sheltered, and even despite her attempts to shun that lifestyle, she was never exposed to the loss of war or the scar it left.

Sokka is proud of Aang and Katara, who despite everything, held onto their wonder and inner light.

(the nights he spent pouring over strategies and plotting routes, burying evidence of scorch marks from around their campsite, the days he spent cracking jokes and letting them take out their frustrations on him through light hearted teasing paid off, and he’s so, so proud)

Suki was always an optimist, and Sokka is grateful for her every day, especially at night when he feels the guilt and fear grip his heart and threaten to undo him.

(She holds him and they whisper uncertainties and reassurances to each other until the sun rises)

Sometimes, though, Sokka just wants someone who understands what it’s like to live with what feels like the weight of his people on his shoulders, who knows what it means to grow up training every day for a fight he never asked for.

He finds himself sitting with Zuko more and more often after the war is over.

“Do you think they can ever really forget?” Zuko asks, watching a group of kids fly kites in the courtyard a ways away from where they sit.

“Them?” Sokka shrugs. “Yeah, they’ll forget. They’re just kids.”

Zuko’s eyebrows lower into something sad. “We’re just kids.”

“Are we?” Sokka asks, and the silence stretches between them

(The answer is yes, but it’s easier to pretend they grew up a long time ago than admit they’re just broken children trying to fix a broken world)

***

Hakoda is by no means old, even though his eyes crinkles at the corners and his hair is lined with wisps of white from years of stress, but war takes its toll on everyone, and the warrior has seen too many battles.

He walks with a permanent limp now, and when he asks Sokka to succeed him as chief of the Southern Water Tribe, he favors his right leg.

Sokka is eighteen, the same age his father was when he took charge, technically a full fledged adult now. But the sag in Sokka’s shoulders and the numbness in his eyes didn’t appear on his father until Kya died. His father grew up in a war just like he did, but he didn’t fight in it until Sokka was twelve.

There’s guilt in Hakoda’s eyes, so Sokka doesn’t stop himself from grinning and accepting happily, erasing any sign of the aching exhaustion off his face.

“Is this really what you want?” Katara asks him later, staring into the fire that crackles quietly between them.

Sokka wants to ask her if she’s ever asked Aang that, or Zuko. He wants to tell her he doesn’t have a choice, none of them ever had a choice.

Instead, he smiles. “Well, yeah! I was getting tired of Zuko being the only royal one.”

He can see it in Katara’s face, that she doesn’t believe him.

(But the war is over, the war is over so she lets him lie, the war is over and the worry lines on her forehead are slowly going away)

(Sokka knows now, more than ever, that the war isn’t really over)

(He lets her believe it is)

***

Sokka is at another meeting, another day long discussion of how to achieve peace when the sight of fire and red emblems still scares children, when all that conceals Ozai’s fallen statue in Omashu is a large, green canopy, when Sokka’s people are still scavenging for any food they can find, when Aang is still the only Air Nomad left.

Sokka forces himself to sit straight instead of prop his head on his hand and roll his eyes at Aang as the Earth Nation ambassador goes on and on.

Usually, Toph would be here to cut in with some crude one liner to break up the tension, and Katara would take notes for him when his mind wandered. Usually Suki would squeeze his hand under the table to keep him present.

But this is a closed meeting, as stupid as that is, and only recognised officials are allowed inside.

Zuko sits next to him, hands folded on the table, the epitome of royalty. Even Aang, who’d gotten such a sugar rush from his fourteenth birthday the day before that he tried to teach Momo to swordfight, sits stoically and nods along to the speech that’s been going on for an hour.

“-focusing our rebuilding efforts at this time on Ba Sing Se would be our smartest move,” the ambassador finally finishes.

Sokka raises an eyebrow. “Rebuilding what part?”

“Excuse me?”

“In your entire drawl you didn’t mention the outer rings of Ba Sing Se once. Do you really think we should spend more time and money on a rich inner ring that thrives off the other citizens' poverty?”

Aang looks surprised, like he’s trying to walk back through the meeting to figure out why he missed that. Zuko nods. “I spent time in the lower ring of Ba Sing Se personally, ambassador. I agree that you should be putting your main focus on the people there.”

If the ambassador were a firebender, he’d be blowing smoke out of his ears. “All due respect Fire Lord, but you’d really take the side of a chief of the most desolate land in the world over mine? A non-bender no less?”

Sokka’s wolf tail flips over his head as a rush of hot hair whips past him, from the Fire Lord and Avatar respectively. Aang is standing, his staff in his hand, and Zuko’s hands are clenched, his eyes flashing a warning.

Sokka holds up a hand, and Aang sits down, Zuko relaxes slightly.

(Because he might not be able to do the things they can, he might not have their power, but he does have their respect)

“You forget, ambassador,” Sokka says coolly, “that your king himself is a non-bender, and a personal friend.”

The underlying threat is understood loud and clear, and the ambassador sits down.

The discussion goes on, and Sokka has the taste of bile in his throat for the rest of the meeting.

It isn’t the first time he’s been disliked, like not being able to bend somehow makes him unfit. He sees the looks people give him when he walks alongside Aang on the street instead of behind him, when he tousles the great Toph Beifong’s hair or spars with the Fire Lord, when he teases his sister in public.

It isn’t the first time he’s been disliked for being a non-bender, but it’s the first time someone has said it to his face, in front of his allies. It’s the first time he’s heard the disdain voiced, and the ambassadors words cut sharp like a wip.

(The bile returns later, when he realizes his mind changed the title ‘family’ to ‘ally’)

***

The first thing Sokka does as the official Chief of the South is make plans for a memorial to commemorate the men lost in the fight, and the waterbenders lost in Ozai’s attempts to make sure that his grandfather's plan worked, that the Avatar wouldn’t survive.

(Sokka and Zuko find the place where the waterbenders were held a few weeks later, an entire underground fortress of cages)

(Every cage is full except one, there are no survivors)

(Sokka stares at Hama’s empty cage and forgives her)

It’s Katara’s idea to make the old Fire Nation warship part of the memorial, and with Toph’s help, the two of them build a statue that intertwines with the tarnished red flags and snow beaten metal. It means remembrance and hope.

Sokka’s tears freeze on his flushed cheeks when it’s finished.

“You know,” he tells Zuko the first time the Fire Lord sees it, “that ship isn’t all bad memories. It’s the reason we met.”

Zuko scoffs. “I thought that was a bad memory?”

“Funny how things can grow, isn’t it?”

Zuko has never looked more thankful than in that moment, and that night, sleepily sipping wine while Toph snores in his lap with her feet propped against Suki, watching Aang and Katara dance around the fire, he tells him so.

Sokka smiles, and looks around at his family. It seems like a lifetime ago when all he had was gran gran and Katara.

(Funny, how things can grow)

***

Rebuilding the South is… not easy.

Even with the men home from war, the South’s trade systems and outreach to the other nations had been completely demolished in the war.

The North, despite all its talk about rebuilding its sister tribe, does very little in the way of help.

The Northerners who moved with Sokka’s grandfather are angry, and a group of them plan to sail back to the North to convince them to bring aid.

Sokka lets them, and the day after they leave a blizzard hits the South.

Only four of the seven return.

(After the funerals, Sokka stands on the wall of ice surrounding their village and begs the moon for an explanation until his throat is sore and his voice is hoarse and raspy)

(She never answers)

***

Aang shows up one day, bouncing on his toes and grinning so brightly it hurts Sokka’s eyes, and tells him they’re taking a vacation.

Sokka has things to do, responsibilities and work that he can’t just blow (ha) off, and he just about says so when Appa roars, and Sokka remembers a time when he didn’t have to be chief or have the weight of his entire tribe on his shoulders.

(Somehow, the weight of the world felt lighter than this)

(Maybe because he grew up carrying it, or maybe because he never did, he only ever carried his friends)

Hakoda agrees easily to take over the Chief’s duties for the time being, and Sokka sees relief in his eyes when Sokka picks Aang up in a hug, and the two run off to the flying bison waiting for them.

Sokka sits in the saddle and stares at the back of Aang’s head, and tries to remember what it felt like when this was his life.

“Aang? Do you ever… miss when it was just us?”

The way Aang’s shoulders slump tells Sokka everything, and the younger boy nods. “Sometimes.”

(Sokka climbs up next to Aang and wraps his arms around his shoulders, and takes the reins when Aang turns to bury himself in Sokka’s shirt, because being Chief is hard, but being the Avatar is infinitely harder)

They meet at the Western Air Temple, because that was the first time they were all together.

Usually, there would be workers milling about, restoring all they can, but Aang got them to take the day off.

Katara hugs them both when they arrive. She cups Sokka’s face with her hands and squints at him like she knows he’s hiding something, and it takes all Sokka has not to crumble.

“Move aside!” Toph shouts, not giving Katara a chance to listen before she slides the stone under her out of the way. Toph punches Sokka’s arm hard, enough to make him wince, and then she drags both him and Aang into a bone crushing hug that they barely get out of alive.

Zuko laughs at them both, which is a welcome sound. Sokka only ever heard him laugh a few times during the war, and even fewer when they were all still navigating the new world. He steps forward and bows to Sokka, “Chief.”

Sokka doubles his dramatics when he bows back, “Fire Lord.”

Zuko snorts and stands. He pulls Aang into a side hug, and grips Sokka’s forearm. “It’s been too long.”

“The South Pole isn’t exactly a short walk away from the Fire Nation.”

“No,” Zuko smiles. “I guess I’ll have to plan more diplomatic meetings.”

Sokka groans.

Suki is a lot gentler in her hello, kissing Aang’s cheek and squeezing his shoulder, then wrapping herself around Sokka where she’ll stay for the better part of their meetup.

“Look at us,” she says, and she’s beautiful. “We’ve all changed so much.”

(Sokka hates how as the others smile, his stomach churns)

***

The anniversary of the end of the Hundred Year War is filled with celebrations, the steps of Zuko’s palace are transformed into a festival, a symbol of the Fire Nation opening its gates with kindness for the first time in a century.

Important people from every nation attend, and Zuko works with the Earth Kingdom to pay travel costs for as many citizens as possible, especially children.

Sokka has never seen so much food.

His stomach growls and his mouth waters, and Katara laughs at him when he’s led off to be formally introduced instead of being allowed to eat until he bursts.

Katara falls into step next to him, and Sokka takes a few seconds to take in how amazing she looks.

Her travels with Aang aren’t rushed or secret anymore, her eyes are brighter than he ever remembers seeing them, and she wears the Air Nomad cuffs Aang gave to her on her last birthday, a green headband holds her hair in place, and Sokka recognizes it as Toph’s. She kept the light-weight red shoes from their time hiding in the Fire Nation, and her blue dress has been altered to handle the hot climate most of the world shares right now.

Sokka thinks she’s the only one who could pull off wearing an outfit that includes all four nations, and he thinks she looks happy.

“I love you, you know,” He tells her, because he hasn’t seen her in months, because he missed her.

(He won’t admit it, but Sokka is still getting used to not having his sister at his side. His whole life, she’s been there. There’s something missing in him when she’s not)

Katara looks surprised for a moment, and then she smiles, and slips under Sokka’s arm, leaning against his side. “I love you too.”

Eventually, Sokka gets to eat, and relax, even if it’s only for a moment.

He watches Aang and Toph laugh at something Momo is doing as he devours a leg of meat he can’t name, and the sound of people enjoying themselves fills his ears.

Sokka had spent so much time staring at plans and treaties, organizing trades, building houses in the South, teaching people to fish and wash fur, that he hadn’t stopped once to look around him.

He’d spent so much time trying to heal the world, he never realized it was working.

(He loses his appetite then, but he still dances with Toph until his feet hurt, and he still tries to play Airball with Aang again, and he still smiles, and he still laughs)

(Because maybe he spent so much time trying to heal the world, that he hadn’t realized he was healing himself too)

***

People have tried to assassinate Zuko before. Sokka gets a letter from Toph (from Iroh, really, but they all pretend he’s not the one she dictates to) explaining a failed attempt in great detail at least once a month.

Toph finds it hilarious, but that’s because she’s there to take down the guy before they even make it into the palace.

Sokka finds it terrifying, because he’s halfway across the world with no way of helping.

It’s one of those sunny days that makes Sokka glad to be in the Fire Nation, and he’s sparring with Zuko, and for once, he might be winning.

Zuko’s dual swords clash against his singular one, and the two grunt as they both try to gain the upper hand. Sokka smirks and sweeps his foot out, tripping Zuko and knocking him onto his back. “Ha! I win!”

He reaches out to help Zuko up, fully intent on bragging for the rest of the day.

“Zuko move!” Toph shouts suddenly, and it scares Sokka so bad his instincts kick in, and he drags Zuko back to the ground, rolling away as a spike of ice longer than his wingspan flies through the air right where his head used to be.

Zuko breathes heavily under him, and Sokka slowly lifts himself off the ground, staying crouched as he scans the area.

Toph is on her feet, Katara at her side with a hand on her shoulder, and Aang is rushing forward, pulling Zuko to stand.

“Just so we’re clear, that wasn’t you, Katara, right?” Sokka asks, pulling his boomerang off his hip stealthily.

“What? No!”

“Didn’t think so,” Sokka says under his breath, and whips around to throw his boomerang towards Zuko and Aang.

Aang yelps and ducks behind Zuko, and there’s the sound of metal hitting something soft, and a loud ‘oof’.

Sokka barely has time to move before a wave of water forms a tiny tsunami in his direction. “Zuko, you need to get inside!”

People had tried to assassinate Zuko before, and it wasn’t out of the ordinary for the assassin to be from a different nation, though most of them were firebenders, loyal to Ozai.

Sokka realizes too late that this one being a waterbender is no coincidence.

His legs are swept out from under him and he hits the ground with a grunt. He’d slipped on ice like an amatuer. Sokka pushes himself up, reaching for his sword, and is met face to face with the assassin.

His eyes widen. “Nia?”

She snarls at him and yanks him into a choke hold, Sokka watches as his friends circle her.

“Let him go,” Zuko says, and it's only because Sokka knows him that he hears the tremor in his voice. “This is about me and you.”

“You think I’m here for the Fire Lord?” Nia spits, tightening her grip on Sokka’s neck. “I couldn’t care less about you or your people.”

And oh. Sokka should have known. He should have known because he knows Nia, he knows what she’s been through, what she’s lost. “This is about your sister.”

Nia’s breath quickens in his ear and she snarls. “You sent her back to the North, she died on that ship!”

Sokka should tell her it’s not his fault, but he doesn’t, because it is.

(He learned a long time ago that when you’re a leader, everything is your fault)

“You’re weak,” Nia continues, and Sokka can see Toph stiffen in the corner of his eye.

Katara’s glare is sharp. “Leave him alone. What happened to your sister was an accident!”

“It never should have happened!” Nia shouts, and her voice softens when he talks to Sokka’s sister. “If you were Chief, it wouldn’t have happened.”

For a moment, no one does anything. Everyone is still, frozen in a stunned and confused silence. Finally, Aang says, “What does that mean?”

“Our leader should be a bender! You and your father have made us weak! I saw it when I moved to the South!” Nia yanks on Sokka’s head, cutting off his airway with her grip. “With you gone, a bender will be in charge, as it should be.”

Sokka gasps on air, and closes his eyes.

That’s it. That’s always been it. Sokka can’t bend, which makes him less, which makes him weak.

History will remember the Avatar, and his three masters. History won’t remember Sokka.

(History has never remembered non-benders before)

(The world may have changed, but it hasn’t changed that much)

Maybe it would be better, with Katara as chief. She’s cool headed and smart, she pays attention in meetings, she’s respectful and kind and responsible.

Ever since they were kids, Katara has been everything Sokka is not.

Sokka coughs as a rush of air fills his lungs, and he grabs at the closest thing to him, which happens to be Aang’s hand, and holds tight. Zuko is holding his shoulders, searching his eyes for something Sokka isn’t sure is there. Katara has an arm around his back, and Toph is squating next to Zuko.

“Nia?”

No one answers, and Sokka understands. They caught her. She’ll be shipped back to the South for a trial. A trial Sokka will have to rule over.

(He’ll have to banish her, he knows. He knows and he hates it because she’s a child)

(She’s a child who was raised for war, and when it was won, she found another one to fight)

(Sokka knows, he knows and he understands)

His shoulders start to shake, the mask he’d been wearing for so long starts to shatter, and the hands holding him tighten, Toph says, “You’re not weak.”

“I would hate to be a chief,” Katara assures him.

But none of them say anything about Nia, and none of them try to stop his tears.

(Because in a world where children fight the battles, who really wins?)

***

Sokka is accompanied by his friends when he returns home, which sounds a lot better than saying he’s bringing back the Fire Lord, the Avatar, and the two most powerful water and earthbenders in the world.

He’s welcomed back with open arms.

The South has grown, refugees of the Water Tribe are returning home, the warriors are all home, the children are growing up on their own terms.

Hakoda tells him they found a place for Nia in the North, a school for kids who’d been traumatized by the war or the resulting events after it ended, and Sokka is so relieved that he spends the rest of the day letting Aang drag him penguin sledding and teaching Toph and Suki to spear fish.

They have a feast, and it’s the first time Sokka laughs in a long time. Aang doesn’t let go of his arm the entire time, and Zuko promises another spar.

Sokka isn’t perfect, and he isn’t all powerful. But when he looks at the shining, beautiful, alive faces of his family and his people, he knows he’s not weak, and he knows eventually, they’ll be okay.

When Sokka was twelve years old he carved a promise to be a warrior into a block of ice.

Now Sokka is nineteen, and he carves his name into a tiny corner of the icy memorial, right above Katara���s, to the left of Zuko’s, to the right of Toph’s crude fist print, and just above Aang’s.

Sokka was raised for war.

He held his sobbing sister as his father explained that the Fire Nation killed his mother. He watched the warriors ships sail away without him. He spent years teaching himself to fight so he could protect his family.

He was the newly redeemed Fire Prince’s first friend and the first (honorary) male Kyoshi Warrior. He fell in love with the Moon Spirit and crafted a sword from meteorite. He taught the first metalbender it’s okay to cry. He taught the Avatar how to deal with nightmares.

Sokka was raised for war. He was raised in fear and hate. He was raised to fight.

As the years go by, there are more people in the world who aren’t raised for war.

Sokka can see it in the way they speak, the way they move. The way they don’t shy away from fire or loud adventures that draw attention. He can see it in their smiles, wide and fearless and kind, and with those new faces and new hope, Sokka learns to forget.

(Of course he does, he was just a kid, and he learns to stop pretending he grew up a long time ago and admit he was just a broken child trying to fix a broken world)

(They all were)

[mintseesaw]

↳   navigation

↳   WIPs

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Studio cuddle

⇀ Tired from work, you went straight to Genius Lab in the hopes of being able to cuddle with Yoongi. You did not hesitate to press the passcode of his studio, knowing he might get pissed off for interrupting him from his work.

Matched

⇀ When you tried to offer Yoongi a small present, the anticipated disinterest or rejection to your offer was downplayed by his unexpected proposition.

love like that

⇀ You fainted during your shift in the hospital. And Dr. Min, whom your colleagues have no clue of your relationship with, has to be the one to check up on you.

Perks and a Touch of Repercussion

Prompt: “Why am I not being praised like them?”

Prompt: “Where’s my kiss?”

Pristine Sheets (est. relationship au, ceo!yoongi x reader)

✎ ✐ ✎

Fierce & Delicate 

⇀ Jungkook and y/n had been brought in two different worlds. Jungkook living an unfortunate life and y/n being controlled by her parents all her life. Despite the imperfect relationship, they completed each other like a puzzle there is.

one | sequel

Aurora

⇀ A story which centers on a forbidden love in the midst of centuries-long battle between the royal empire of Joseon and its neighboring nations

one | two | three | four

Puffs and Touches

⇀ alternatively: “Stop doing that with your face, someone else is going to snatch you up.” from this list.

Northeast monsoon

⇀ Jungkook, not out of ordinary, decided to celebrate his 24th birthday in his favorite place on earth, the closest place to heaven—on a mountain summit. However, even before he reaches the highest peak of the mountain range, he was trapped, enthralled, and coincidentally found his true nature.

Unwarranted Desires (boxer!jungkook x reader)

✎ ✐ ✎

Written in the Stars (dad!au)

one | two | three

Rose and Diamonds (ceo!taehyung x reader)

✎ ✐ ✎

Mad Passion

⇀ While you’re thrusted back to the lavish life you had abandoned years ago for a matrimony with an influential businessman, no one forced you to bear feelings towards the same man you would probably never meet in your life, if it weren’t for the unwanted marriage. Living with him for the past several months has changed your perspective of him. Yet, you know so little about him, especially of what kind of person he is.

Attractive (idol!au, established relationship au)

Prompt: “I thought you left” 

Lure you in

⇀ alternatively: “Why do you have to look at me like that? It’s making me weak, please stop.” from this list.

✎ ✐ ✎

Hoseok and you in the practice room, dancing

Bittersweet Affair (producer!hoseok x dance instructor!reader) soon...

✎ ✐ ✎ 

Lavish Taste (ceo!seokjin x teacher!reader)

✎ ✐ ✎ 

Reputation (idol!jimin x police officer!reader)

✎ ✐ ✎

PARALUMAN DRABBLES

Kapag Lasing Malambing | myg

⇀ translation. (you’re) only sweet when (you’re) drunk | angst, smut

chorus. verse i. verse ii.

Harana | jjk

⇀ translation.  the act of wooing/courting someone by serenading him/her | fluff, f2l

Ngayong Gabi | kth 

⇀ translation. tonight | smut, est. relationship au

Huling Sandali | knj

⇀ translation. last moment | angst, est. relationship au

✎ ✐ ✎

*updated as of 12 September 2020

I do not allow reposts and translations of any of my stories. Please notify me via ask or pm if you happen to see any of my works posted in other platforms aside from my blog in Tumblr.

Note: Stories on my masterlist are cross-posted in AO3 mintseesaw © 2019 - 2021

[storytellerofuntoldlegends]

Trapped

A/N: I have... several other WIPs that I should be working on, I know. But I stumbled upon @fanartfunart‘s Daydream AU (@ts-daydream-au-fanartfunart) and I absolutely adore it! So I couldn’t resist something writing a lil fic inspired by this particular comic. Also I swear I intended this to be fluffy, but some angst wormed its way in, cause y’all know me. Enjoy!

Warnings: argument mention, running away, mild injury, near kidnapping, passing out, being trapped, near hypothermia (lmk if anything should be added!)

Really, Logan should have known better. He shouldn’t have lost his temper and flown off, but Roman was being… irritating. As per usual. He wasn’t even fully certain of what Roman had done to get him so annoyed, but he had been loud and dramatic about it, so Logan wanted no part of it. Thus, he flew off. And almost immediately got mistaken for a firefly.

The part of the forest Logan was in was far closer to a village than he realized. A child had been wandering about- Logan dimly wondered where their parents were… humans were so irresponsible- and upon seeing Logan’s glowing form, let out a squeal. They leapt up, and through some unfortunate luck, the child managed to clasp Logan in their hands. The fairy immediately went into a panic, squirming and desperately trying to free himself.

The hands suddenly clenched tightly around him, and Logan let out a gasp of pain as his vision blurred for a moment. He felt his wing fold uncomfortably against him, and if the child held him any tighter, Logan was sure he would be crushed. He continued to struggle, albeit weakly, in their grasp as he found it becoming harder to breathe. He needed to get free, get back to his family-

The child let go, and Logan was stunned for a moment, both because of being free, and because of his last train of thought. Had he really just considered the others to be his family? The thought was almost involuntary, probably burst past his careful emotional guards in his state of panic. But there was no time to deliberate such a thing! He was free, he could fly up, and up, and-

SMACK

Logan flew into some unseen barrier, and was thrown back to the ground. Well… a strange, fleshy ground. The child’s hand. Logan groaned as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. He was vaguely aware of the child excitedly chattering about something, but between the glass jar now encasing him and the pounding headache he now had, he couldn’t quite make out the words. He shakily rose to his feet, one hand held out to steady himself, while the other massaged his temple, hoping to assuage the headache. He gently shook himself off, wings fluttering as he glared up at the child indignantly. He could now tell that they were chanting “I CAUGHT A FIREFLY” over and over again.

“I am not a firefly!” Logan cried defiantly. The child’s eyes widened as they finally fell silent. That silence lasted approximately five seconds, as the child screamed and flung the jar- and therefore Logan- away. The jar tumbled end over end in midair, poor Logan too disoriented to try and fly out. It eventually fell to the ground, opening down. Logan laid sprawled in the dirt, the fall having knocked the wind out of him. He tried to push himself up to his hands and knees, but being batted around had taken a lot out of the fairy, and he fell into the dark embrace of unconsciousness with a pained whimper.

Logan woke up some time later, still sprawled in the dirt with the glass jar keeping him trapped. He struggled to his feet, leaning on the glass wall that kept him trapped. He dusted himself off, wings stretching out and fluttering gently to work out any wrinkles. After glancing over his shoulders to assure that there were no tears in his wings, he turned back to glare at his glass prison. He crouched down to see if he could try and lift up the edge of the jar and slip out, but it was far too heavy for him. He stood back up, frowning as he pondered what to do.

Glancing up at the top of the jar, Logan was struck with an idea. It wasn’t necessarily a good idea, or a safe one, but it was an idea nonetheless. If he could fly up and try to tip the jar over, he could be free. However, doing so would require a lot of strength and energy- two things that Logan was rather lacking in at the moment. But he had to get back to Roman, Virgil, and Patton.

Taking a deep breath, Logan flew up, and pushed at the glass wall with all his might. The jar tipped slightly, but not enough, and Logan fell back to the ground with a huff. He scrambled to his feet, and took off again… and again… and again. Each time the jar tipping only slightly, but not enough for him to escape.

Finally, after one last heave of effort, the jar tipped over on its side, and Logan flopped down at the mouth of the jar with a tired groan. He rolled over onto his stomach, and crawled out of the jar, free at last. He looked over his shoulder to check his wings again, and was relieved to see that they were still in good shape.

Logan was about to take off and find the others, but a drop of water suddenly fell from the sky and landed on his head, almost completely drenching him. More droplets of water fell around him, and Logan looked up and cursed his rotten luck. Of course it would start to rain. He scrambled back into the glass jar as the rain started to pour down.

“How interesting that what was once my prison now becomes my sanctuary,” Logan mused, hugging his knees to his chest.

“Logan!” Roman cried out, walking through the damp forest.

“Do you think he’s okay? I hope he’s not soaked through with the rain we got last night!” Patton fretted, trotting beside Roman.

“Is this really our plan? Walking around, shouting Logan’s name in the hopes we’ll find him?” Virgil huffed, pulling his cloak tighter around himself. Roman halted his steps, whirling around to glare at him.

“Do you have a better idea?!” he fumed, incredulous.

“Yeah, staying where we last were all together! That way when Logan finds his way back, we’d be there waiting for him!” Virgil shot back. Roman opened his mouth to retort, but Patton gasped in surprise, causing the two of them to turn towards the unicorn.

“I think I found him!” he cried, nudging at something in the dirt with his nose. Patton shrunk their eyes, and Roman and Virgil exchanged concerned glances as they went over to where the unicorn once stood. Virgil crouched down, picking up a glass jar. Inside was Patton, having shapeshifted into his fairy form, and Logan, who was shivering. Patton gathered the other fairy into a hug, and Logan leaned into the touch.

“I think he’s been here all night, we’ve gotta warm him up!” Patton exclaimed. Roman’s eyes widened, and he immediately took off his sash, cradling the fabric in his hands. Patton scooped Logan up and carried him over to Roman’s outstretched hands. He bundled Logan up in Roman’s sash, and the fairy practically melted into the soft fabric, humming contentedly as his shivering gradually subsided. Roman swallowed nervously, a nagging voice in the back of his head telling him that this was his fault.

“Let’s go back to where we were camped out the other night. We can get Logan properly warmed up there,” Virgil said, breaking Roman from his guilt-ridden train of thought.

“Erm… yes. Let’s do that,” Roman replied. Virgil raised an eyebrow at his response, but didn’t say anything.

“Sounds good! I’ll stay fairy-sized, and cuddle Logan to keep him warm!” Patton piped up, crawling into the folds of the sash beside Logan. Roman smiled down at the two of them, then gave Virgil a soft nod. He gave Roman a gentle smile in return, and the two of them set off deeper into the forest.

Some time later, Logan awoke to the sounds of a crackling fire. He wasn’t quite sure when he had fallen asleep, but he remembered the others finding him, and Patton wrapping Roman’s sash around him to keep him warm. In fact, he was still curled up in Roman’s sash, and he sat bolt upright at the realization. The ground suddenly jumped beneath him, and that was when Logan realized that Roman was still holding him as well.

“Logan! How are you feeling?” Roman asked in a hushed voice. Logan blinked up at him, taking in his surroundings. Patton and Virgil were curled up together, sleeping peacefully a few feet away from Roman and Logan.

Logan sighed, and flew up out of Roman’s hands to land beside him. He focused for a moment or two, and soon shifted to a more human size, albeit a bit taller than Roman. He sat down beside him, shoulders hunching as he stared into the fire.

“I’m sorry for making you angry earlier,” Roman blurted. Logan blinked in surprise, turning to face him.

“I should be the one apologizing. I’m the one who flew off,” he replied.

“No, your response was completely justified. I’m just happy we found you,” Roman sighed, reaching out to place a reassuring hand on Logan’s knee. Logan felt a slight flush take over his face, and he adjusted his glasses nervously.

“I- erm, thank you, Roman. I’m happy you found me too,” he replied, a bit awkwardly.

“Let’s agree not to make each other so angry that one of us runs away, hmm?”

“Bold words for a runaway royal.” Logan’s words caused Roman’s eyes to widen in surprise.

“I- but how-”

“The insignia on your tunic. It must mean that wherever you ran away from, you were someone of importance there,” Logan explained. Roman looked like he wanted to disagree with the fairy’s statement, and a forlorn expression took over his features.

“I’m not sure if that’s the terminology I would use, but yes. I was-” Roman’s voice broke off for a moment, and he cleared his throat. “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is the here and now.”

Logan frowned for a moment, then scooted closer to Roman and did something that surprised both of them. He wrapped his arms around Roman’s shoulders, pulling him into a firm hug. He froze for a moment, but quickly wrapped his arms around Logan’s abdomen, burying his face into the fairy’s chest. Logan’s wings fluttered anxiously behind him, but he didn’t dare move. Sure, Roman could be irritating at times, but Logan hated to see him hurt. Because he realized that the desperate train of thought he had while trying to escape was true. Roman and the others were his family.

Tag List: @adorably-angsty @alix-the-skeleton @allthemetalsoftherainbow @armageddonhascome @backatthebein @bangthekobrakid @bloodropsblog @cefinitely-rolo @coffeestudylive @cosmic-chu @cyndaquil17 @dani-jeanso @didsomeonesayprince @emphoenixcat @every-day-insomniac @fandomsandanythingelse @freekiphotography @freepaperie081 @hanramz-the-fander @i-need-a-social-life-2710 @i-really-dig-the-purple @ironwoman359 @justanotherpurplebutterfly @kanejandkruge @kitsuneprideleader @kittycake574 @le2712 @littlemiracle05 @loganpatton @lollingtothemax @look-its-meme @loverofpizzaandallthingssweet @lynlinked @mewsicalmiss @midnightcandy @moonstonefox @musicsavedmefromdeath @mystrangedarkson @nightmarejasmine @not-as-smart @of-treble-and-dragons @punsterterry @purplepatton @quoth-the-sparrow @radioactivehelena @royallyanxious @ruuworld @sanders-trash-4ever @save-me-oh-dream-of-mine @shadowsfromthesun @shygirl4991 @sleepyssnail @softbludemon @softnic @sombraplayslazertag @sweetinsomniac @the-fandoms-are-takin-over @theresneverenoughfandoms @thisrandomperson102 @thuriweaver @vigilantvirgil

[alteredphoenix]

Red Fruit (WIP)(Sailor Moon/Madoka novelette)

A/N: This is an old WIP from July 10, 2015, as part of a crossover series between Sailor Moon and Madoka Magica, in an AU in which (and I put this in the simplest terms possible, because 2015!AlteredPhoenix was and still is super big on metaphysics and ontology) the cast of Madoka existed in a more high fantasy/military fantasy, Warcraft-inspired version of the Silver Millennium and were also reincarnated in the present day but in a separate timeline outside the Sailor Moon continuum. In this AU, all the planets of the universe were Earth-like and existed within their own Dyson Sphere, but the fall of the Millennium and Queen Serenity’s sacrifice (here described as an event called the Diaspora that is remembered now only by the remnants of the Mau race that exist in the shadows) saw the natural balance of life and death torn asunder and persist in atmospheres that they are known for today.

When constructing the series (which went under the name “Until We Meet Again”, although that version is old and discontinued, but is planned to be salvaged in some capacity and can be read on Fanfiction.net), my goal was to make the girls of Madoka deviatory from their canon personalities. Here Kyoko is a nondenominational girl that is very much anti-police and anti-establishment. She does not have faith in the pantheon of Mars and cares little for the interplanetary affairs that prelude the war that would destroy the Golden Age of the Silver Millennium. This fic would have her be put in the crosshairs of Mars’ law force and see her sentenced to serve as a pack mule to Endymion and his Four Guardians as they go on a mission (that I can’t remember the life of me what it was).

This mission would change Kyoko’s worldview and mold her as the person she is depicted in canon, and would carry over into the main AU story in the present, post-Rebellion world that would see her and Sayaka jump through timelines trying to reclaim Goddess!Madoka from hiding from Devil Homura’s hunt to recapture her.

(Mami would be elsewhere in the present day Sailor Moon timeline (which, at the time of that story, “A Passing Glance”, set it around 2017), infected with a parasitic version of Walpurgisnacht that is only held at bay by Nagisa’s watchful eye and the hope that Rei will purge and cauterize the blight before it overcomes Mami.)

-

“I thought you said you weren’t interested in seeing them?” said the voice, and Kyoko nearly dropped the apple she was holding.

Tightening her grip on it, she glanced behind her to see Mami and her damn pleated fan, unfolded to display a watercolor scene of flying fish with their oval mouths open to swallow the stars; a sleepy, rural village basked beneath a sky full of alien moons. It was a surreal image, one she did not understand, and staring at it for too long made her nerves itch in the way sliding a rusted nail down a used chalkboard would. “With all the noise they’re making, it’s hard not to ignore them,” she said, and peered over the balcony. “Look how garish they dress! Are they supposed to be soldiers or stoplights?”

Mami joined her and studied the cavalcade of men marching down the cobblestone road. She studied their uniforms for a moment—sharp, finely-pressed plated suits ranging from black to royal blue to ashy grey. “They look like they could blend right in at night.”

“Not those guys! The ones grouped around tall, dark, and pale.” Kyoko nodded their way, just as they were crossing beneath them.

Mami finally saw the quintet and nodded. “Ah, Prince Endymion and his Four Heavenly Kings. I don’t see King Aethlius among them. He must be in the Basilica with the other dignitaries and magistrates.”

“I don’t care about the King or any of that drivel!”

“Then what troubles you?”

“Just look! They’re not wearing any helmets! They’re not blending with the rest of the crowd! A sniper could put a round in every one of their heads and they wouldn’t even know what hit them!”

Mami watched the rest of the procession arrive. “I highly doubt an enemy of the state would risk his life attempting an assassination with this many people.” She waved the fan airily at her face. “We can’t see them from this angle, more or less be able to even if we tried, but the Talonites are all around us. They know all the secret places of the Forum as well as the Eternal Flame knows all about them.”

“So say I throw this apple at blondie there,” Kyoko said, pointing at one of the Kings with short, wavy hair the color of wheat. “Or that guy with the bleached roots.” She indicated a taller male towering over his brothers and Prince. “Would the gods see fit to cast a compulsion on their warrior-priests and make me spontaneously combust with a snap of their fingers? Or perhaps someone will jump out of these very shadows and turn me into a pile of ash with a single swipe of his uchiwa?”

“Any and all threats will be dealt with, depending on how severe the order the High Priests gives them,” said Mami. “If I were you, I wouldn’t waste precious food.” She leveled a pointed stare at the bag of apples pressed against the other girl’s chest.

Kyoko scoffed. “It’s not wasting food. It’s sustenance and makes for good ammunition.” She sank her teeth into the fruit and chewed.

Mami sighed. “Not only would you face possible death to the warrior-priests, the local merchants would have your head if they hear about it.”

“Why should they? There’s plenty of arable land, and no one’s howling for blood this year. Human sacrifices are so last millennium.”

“The Republic of Mars hasn’t been ‘howling for blood’ in over seventy-five years, since before the King’s father Aeolus passed away,” Mami groaned. “Must you always sleep through history, Kyoko?”

“None of that matters to me,” she said, and dropped the apple core into the bag; she was not about to incur Mami’s ire over leaving her spoils in a place that wasn’t a container or trash receptacle. “It shouldn’t matter to you, either. You’re not from here so that’d be understandable. But why should I go through all the trouble learning about the history of the Alliance when it’s written by gods-fearing victors?”

“You shouldn’t say that!” Mami shouted, and started, surprised at her outburst. Her cheeks coloring, she looked over the balcony and saw that the retinue had come and gone. She breathed a sigh of relief. “Need I remind you the consequences for spouting heresy?”

Kyoko rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes, I’ve heard it all: the forty lashes, exile by vote of majority, the public stoning, the burning at the stake. ‘S nothing new.”

“You can’t just say stuff like that in a place like the Republic, especially in a region that boasts the highest population of Talonites and religious adherents on the entire planet.”

“I’m entitled to my rights just as much as the next person.” She pulled another apple out of the bag, polished it off against her shirt, and took a hefty bite from it. “’Tough titty,’ said the kitty.”

“Kyoko,” said Mami, and the tone of her voice was like tempered steel, “you’ve been warned twice by the political police. If it happens one more time,” her eyebrows knotted worryingly. “If it happens one more time,” she pushed on, more softly, “we’ll never see each other again.”

Kyoko stopped, no longer feeling hungry. She sighed, dropped the apple into the bag and wiped her hand of its juices against the brown paper. “Mami—“

“Have you ever stopped and wondered what your family thinks about you?” Mami asked suddenly. “What your neighbors must think? When they see you with the heretics, the non-believers, taking to the streets, wreaking havoc and disrupting the peace with your beliefs, what do you think goes through their minds?”

Kyoko’s mouth went dry, her tongue arid as the red deserts that lend credence to Mars’ name. For one brief, absurd moment, she kicked herself for not having brought something to relieve her thirst. “Hey now…I’ve never actually hurt anyone. The ones that incite all the riots and clashes with the police…I’m not part o’ that crowd.”

“But surely you were a part of them?”

“Well, when I’m tryin’ to get away from everything, then yeah, I have to push and shove my way through. I’ve gotten into a few scraps, but it’s not like I cause them. There’s a reason for getting off scot-free and claiming self-defense by having the aggressor throw the first punch.”

“And for everything else? Do you put a halt to evening traffic and topple vehicles to delay the opposition in their pursuit? Do you fight back with restricted magic as per the laws of the Basilica Carta? Do you vandalize holy sites like the Face of Vulcan? Have you been injured by a Talonite and asked yourself ‘I will give unto him what he has given unto me tenfold’?”

“I don’t regret what I do,” Kyoko said testily. “I’ve been beaten and kicked like a sack of rice while being pinned down and bound by spellweavers. I’ve been sent to jail and harassed by officers and prisoners alike that my efforts weren’t worth the trouble. I nearly had my hair burnt to a crisp by one of those priestly chaps. Hell, at one point I got trampled by my like-minded brothers and sisters making a hasty retreat and almost died.”

“But have you?” Mami snapped the fan closed and jabbed it under the girl’s nose.

Kyoko growled and swiped at it, but Mami was faster and pulled away before the fan could be ripped from her grasp. “So what if I have? I’m human! I don’t claim to be perfect or a saint! Not like you,” she grumbled the last part.

“I am as imperfect and sinful as you are,” Mami said, frowning tiredly. “As are the free peoples of the Alliance and the far-flung races of the known universe. But you must be careful, Kyoko! The sons and daughters of Kagutsuchi will not tolerate any more of your antics.”

“They’re not antics! And I’m not afraid of those flame-worshipping lapdogs. They’re going to have to do more than dress like festival dancers to scare me.”

“You’ll be scared when they come into your house one night and drag you out—by force—to the execution grounds,” Mami snapped, and then, more softly, “No amount of pleading on the behalf of your family will sway them to ignore the Word bestowed by their elders…or that of the Eternal Flame. Peace, Kyoko, must be maintained…and you’re not helping.”

Kyoko sighed, ran a hand through her hair. “Nothing’s gonna happen to me, Mami.”

“I want to believe that,” she said, turning away. She looked out beyond the conical spires of the high-rises, past the cupolas and lighted braziers of the Church of the King of the Hunt, to the horizon. It looked like rain, and where there was rain there would be lightning and thunder, and there would be fire. Vicious, hungry fire, dancing and out of control. “I want to, but I can’t bring myself to. Something’s got to give.”

“You mean something I’ve got to give.” And she wasn’t going to. Not her beliefs. Not her cause. Not her life. Nothing.

“How else are you going to stop them? It’s either that or you’ll die.” Mami looked at Kyoko, and her face was long and haggard and sorrowful. “And I don’t want you to die. I will heal any injuries you might sustain or ease any anger or worries you might have, but I can’t cure death.”

“Ah, yes. Death. The Talonites can stamp out religious persecution and all manner of crime, but they can’t stop what’s inevitable.” Kyoko gathered the bag in both arms and, putting all her weight into her haunches, pushed herself onto the balls of her feet and rose. She joined Mami at the balcony and breathed in a lungful of air through her nose. The air was charged, thick and heavy with the coming downpour. It was pure and refreshing, but it was nothing like the smoky, sulfurous odor flames were wont to exude. “Kinda ironic, isn’t it?”

Mami nodded. “Aye. But for the phoenix that builds its nest atop the tallest mountain and sets itself ablaze, it rises anew from the ashes.”

“It’s just a bird,” Kyoko scoffed.

Mami sighed and pressed the tip of the fan to her forehead, brow furrowed in resignation. “Once again, you fail to see my point. Kyoko, I won’t ask you to promise me not to get into any more trouble than you already are…but at the very least try to stay out of it. I’m not always going to be there for you when you need a place to hide or words to whitewash any misgivings. I’m only here until summer’s end and—”

“’I won’t be here forever.’ I get it. Thanks for the warning, Mom.” Kyoko quashed the guilt skewering her breast at the hurt that flashed across Mami’s face. She couldn’t let that bother her. Not here, and especially not in front of Mami. She could feel like shit later, away from everything in the privacy of her home.

“Very well,” Mami said calmly, stiffly. “I entrust you to be on your…ahem, best behavior. As you were.” She stuck the fan into her waistband and glided past Kyoko, as a skimmer does on the surface of a still lake.

[scriptmin]

Was tagged by @94hixtape (hi friend!) to do the WIP tag. All titles (and its corresponding summary) can be found in my masterlist!

100WTSILY | 068. “You didn’t have to ask.” | Jungkook (M) | 80% complete

You knew any threats against him now would fall to deaf ears. In fact, you had known this from the moment you conceded to wearing a pair of vibrating panties to school after losing a bet to him the night before.

If These Wings Could Fly | HYYH-Wings AU | progress undetermined

It was easy to assume that the number of moments one had to live before the end of his life was different for everyone. But Seokjin thought that if he found the right one, one profound enough to consume and link all of them to one another, they could possibly live forever. That same moment, on repeat over, and over again.

Three Inches of Heaven | Time travel AU | 10% complete

You wondered how pretentious the royals of this era must be to have named their home something as superfluous as Silvercrest Palace, but you had quickly come to learn why.

Leaving behind dirt roads and forest paths, you were granted passage through multiple gated walls which had hinted at the approach to the capital city. Unhindered by thick green canopies, sunlight beat down on the streets lined with small, cream-colored stone buildings. Deeper in, the quietness of what must have been a residential area then became a hub roaring with crowds. People of all statuses roamed the street; peasant mothers and their rowdy children, scholars traveling in packs, noblemen and women in their silks, always accompanied by hunched servants. Merchants manned their stalls, buyers haggled with the owners, somewhere further, you could hear the shrill hammering of metal against metal, the squawks of livestock.

The Way Stars Burn | Witch AU | 30% complete

Over the centuries you had lived many interesting lives, ones that could only start when you had demolished old ties, but none of the jumps ever put you in a body already on the move. You glanced down at the ticket stub clenched in your fist. Departure at 9:15AM, Westhill bound; a region three hours out where they say heaven met earth. With purposeful fingers, you dug through the purse nestled in the empty seat beside you, fishing out the important things like ID, keys, old mail; anything to shed light on the life you’ve just stolen.

Twenty-three years old; unmarried. She had a decent address in Franc City. Her name was Cara, now it was yours.

Morning Dew | Tokyo Ghoul AU | progress undetermined

“Is it the start or the end?” You had articulated this phrase with utmost weariness, lithe fingers combing through the messy locks of hair as you stifled a lion’s yawn.

The room which you had occupied for the last half year was flooded in orange, warm autumn rays pouring from the single grimy window fixed in the rightmost wall. The irregularities of your sleep schedule had skewed your perception of dawn and dusk, your eyes could no longer differentiate between the twilights—there was no meaning in keeping time when one had nothing to look forward to.

There was only the start or the end. Days were short when you lived in the seconds.

“The start,” your companion replied evenly, hunching down to the floor where he had carefully picked up a plastic box. “You’ve bled out of your bandages. Let me dress your wounds again and I’ll get you something to eat.”

21 Grams | Android AU | 70% complete

A force tugged at your wrist this time, the inertia swinging you backwards into his arms. You braced your arms against the impact of his chest while he steadied you with one strong hand to your waist. Your heart drummed in shock and adrenaline, but slowly, you began to pick up on a steady hum on the back of your arms. It was low and faint, the sensation hypnotizing—it was his heart.

“Don’t send me back,” he murmured, sounding genuinely fearful, “Please don’t send me back.”

You shoved him away, goosebumps rising, your ears singing with heat. “I’ll do whatever I want with you.”

Rose in the Night | Magic AU | progress undetermined

You were seated between Yoongi and a pair of bubbly girls—magicborn, as far as you could tell.  Their energies were overwhelming compared to yours and Yoongi’s. They spent the entire train journey gushing over the lavishness of the capital, how everything was new and fast and shiny, unlike the weathered, ancient stones that made up much of the Preparatory’s structures, and perhaps even their homes, which were surely designed to be conducive for their magic.

Blue Knight | Royalty AU | progress undetermined

“Your highness! Your highness, I’ve- I’ve found the way! Straus Hall is… is just up the hill on our left!”

You would dare say the only thing, the only person, anchoring you down to reality was the frantic, fervent boy now barreling hysterically in your direction. If you had been in a better state of mind, you would surely have balked, have felt acutely the judging stares of the passers-by, gone red in the face before hissing at your one and only bodyguard to shut his damn mouth before your identities were exposed and your asses booted back to your country.

“I- I’m truly sorry, your high- I mean, Y/N. Old habits are hard to kick, a- and calling a royal by name is traditionally punishable by death.”

[NEW] Scum’s Wish | College AU | Summary only (same AU as 051)

Scum like you had not the right to wish, yet wishing was all you had ever done—was all life could ever give.

[NEW] The Strings We Pull | Fantasy AU | Yoongi | Summary only

The strings we pull, pulled us together; and the world pulled us apart.

That was a long ass ride. If you’re still reading, I’ll tag my mutuals: @jjkfire, @inktae, @bxebxee, @sseudanym, @softjikookie, @hobmew, @bluekyun and @todoroklh. Please ignore me if you’ve already done it or don’t want to.

Also general broadcast to all: tell me which WIPs you’re most excited for!

[sulkyprince]

Daemon Omegaverse AU!

Noctis Lucis Caelum, 114th King of Lucis

-Alpha

-Daemon by way of infection by Starscourge when he attempted to purge Prompto’s daemonic nature.

-Simplistic. More animalistic, primal thinking.

Daemonic features include:

Red SOULLESS eyes that burn like embers.

Think Legion at the end of Ghostrider.

Also STFU I know Ghostrider sucks, I have a thing for it.

Skin cracking ala the Ring of the Lucii with black shadow oozing.

I’d like to think the tips of his hair get all wispy and shadowy and just trail off. Noct your hair does that now. FOR IT HAS BEEN WRITTEN!

These features become more prominently displayed the more aggressive Noct becomes.

Noct in a nutshell:

-can I fuck it?

-can I kill it?

-i like this knife ( Prompto) i’m keeping it.

Hobbies:

Sleepfucking Prompto

Eating Chocobos

Daemon!Noct Shaming:

Drank from the toilet.

First kill was his own Chocobo.

Offered its throat to StillHuman!Prompto. Prompto accepted of course because he’s supportive, but he just wet his lips and tried not to hurl.

Prompto Argentum, Queen of Lucis

-Omega

-Daemon by way of birth/creation. ‘Pureblood’.

-Advanced Intelligence.  Primal, instinct driven thinking influenced by human emotions.

Daemonic features include:

Eyes: Triple ringed irises in multiple shades of blue. Pupils ringed with molten gold. Pupils cast a pearlescent light.

But prettyprompto! Didn’t you steal that shit from Laurell K Hamilton’s Meredith Gentry Series?

FUCK YEA I DID. It’s amazeballs. And Omega Queen!Prompto gets to be a stunning bitch!

-Platinum hair. I’m sorry but I have this kink where if they have blond hair I just want it blonder and blonder til it goes platinum and then just I guess the next level is blinding light.

We’ll hold off on the hair that radiates glory for now. DLC. //_>;

Features display prominently. Features fade under distress or injury.

Prompto in a nutshell:

-babies

-nesting

-mating

-this is mine! *grabs Nocts crotch and waves a gun* this is where my babies come from!

Hobbies:

Eating Flowers

Utilizing his suppressed humanity.

Being a super smart daemon.

Daemon!Prompto Shaming:

Tried to get Noct to attack Ignis by daemonically vocalizing. Tried too hard and instead of saying -this guys a threat to your claim on me, kick his ass!- Noct understood it as -that guy scares me you better fuck me now and make me your mate-

Noct obliged.

Bonus: HumanCapableButDaemonicallyInclined!Prompto Shaming: Totally knew what he was doing as he ran around Ignis in circles, then pulled the baking cabinet open and scattered every cake pan across the kitchen tile. Ran away and continued by chewing the back of the couch.

Miscellaneous:

Ignis: We’ll find a way to change it!

Prompto: *Phoenix from X-Men tone* I DON’T WANT TO CHANGE IT!

Ignis Scientia, the Royal Advisor

Considered Beta ( Ignis is writing the book on Noctis and Prompto as he studies them. He doesn’t know he’s Beta to them)

Human

Poor Loyal Ignis.

-Along with Gladio, Ignis runs the remodeled house at Cape Caem. He cooks, cleans, feeds the kids. He manages the daily routines. He expands his knowledge on Noctis and Prompto in the hopes of helping them.

-Maintains a strained contact with Prompto and encourages his humanity.

Gladiolus Amicitia, the King’s Sworn Shield

Considered Alpha.

Human

Back-up for Ignis. Babysitter. ( babies and Noctis and Prompto. )

Supportive

Gladio: *tearing at his hair* WTF IZ HAPPENING TO MY LIIIIFE!?

Noctis: I DO NOT LIKE YOU AND SHIT IS GOIN’ DOWN SOON.

Iris Amicitia, Future Daemon Slayer ( !?)

N/A

Human

Brave Soldier Marching On

-helps Ignis and Gladio with the day to day affairs, such as bathing the children and all that jazz.

Supportive but SHOOK

Puts on earphones and cranks that jam to drown out the sounds of rampant daemon fucking.

~Children~

Pre-Daemon Omegaverse AU Children

Cyrus Lucis Caelum: Black hair, sky blue eyes. Loud, noisy, rambunctious. 2 ½

Tobias Lucis Caelum: Blond hair, blue eyes. Preemie. Very advanced, intelligent, aware. 1

That One Awesome Gangbang On Daemon!Prompto That Went Totally Down Into Ifrit’s Parlor Children.

Triplets by Father ( S.T.F.U. DON’T YOU JUDGE ME/HIM)

Ignis: Oliver Scientia.  Strawberry blond. Green eyes. Newborn.

Gladio: Crocus Amicitia. Chestnut brown. Amber brown eyes. Newborn.

Noctis: Aurora Lucis Caelum. Black hair. Deep blue eyes. Newborn.

Named by their fathers.

Prompto: “Oliver and Crocus!? You guys are assholes! I got frog spawn and chibi nerdlinger here!”

SPECIAL THANK YOU TO THE PERSON WHO WROTE THAT ONE FIC AND CAME UP WITH THE NAME CROCUS!

I adore it.

If this comes your way please take credit.

This is a WIP RP based story.

Noct may not have been able to retrieve all data from when shit got kinky but we are now recording posts.

If you like what we have so far please let us know!

Plotting ideas, suggestions, comments and all other forms of feedback can be directed to my Ask box or personal messaging.

Tagging interested parties: @sunshinechocobro @insomniacapples Your still untaggable. @lullanita @ashthewitch @evalana

@sulkyprince

Edit:

@expectogladiolus

[sadlittlenerdking]

My ‘The Magicians’ fic masterpost

So, I’m just gonna start adding all my Magicians fic here as a masterpost . . . it’s mostly Queliot, but there’s also stuff focusing on the Quentin x Eliot x Margo friendship dynamic, and idk what else I’ll end up writing at this point. 

Comfort - Margo and Eliot realize they care about Quentin while they’re trying to comfort him.

Untitled drabble - Quentin comforts Eliot after Eliot kills Mike.

Misguided - Oneshot about Quentin getting texts from a mysterious stranger.

Magicians Moon - drabble turned oneshot. Eliot’s a secret romantic. 

Untitled drabble (Spooning) - Eliot and Quentin spoon. 

The Death of Magic (Rains Hell on Us All) - Magic is dead in Fillory and Eliot refuses to accept it because it means he’ll never see a certain someone again.

 another untitled drabble - Quentin checks on the clock after Alice tells him magic is going to get shut off. 

Home - Quentin will do anything to get back to Eliot. Even if it means he has to slay a dragon.

breathe it in - angsty drabble about Quentin’s loneliness after the finale.

Truth - Quentin makes Eliot talk to him about what he’s feeling post Mike via truth serum. 

to love, to die: Chapter 1, 2, & 3 - A brief glimpse into the past 39 lives from eliots perspective. 

Project Seduce Quentin Coldwater and So Lift His Spirits (WIP): Chapter 1, 2, 3, - Quentin gets wiped after Penny sells him out post beast attack, and Eliot follows through on his promise. Only it’s not going at all how he planned. 

cuddling drabble - they cuddle. 

baking drabble - nothing every goes as planned with these two - more crack than anything. 

eliot’s blanket - prompt was Eliot has a secret baby blanket and Quentin finds out. 

Soulmates - Margo’s point of view through the whole evolution of their friendship with Quentin. 

R&R - fluffy little kind of hurt/comfort Queliot fic

Quelioet kisses - little drabble about kisses

Glasses - eliot has to wear glasses.

Angst and Anger - part one of a drabble series. This is Penntin, not Queliot.

Denial Ain’t Just a River - part two of the pennin (Angst and Anger) drabble series

Whole - took a whole lotta time to write (hahahhaha) no but its about quentin being an oblivious idiot and figuring out he’s in love with eliot. Queliot obviously

Teach Me - “do your lips move when you read?” Queliot

pda n’ shit - a little drabble about penny, margo and alice walking in on quentin and eliot.

Waffles - Penntin, domestic stuff. 

Sing Me To Sleep - angst good god this is angst. don’t say I didn’t warn you. 

There’s This Idiot - wrote this to counteract the devastating blow of the sing me to sleep angst. Read the angst then read this and feel better because its fluffy af. And has the line “That boy is more bi that a bicycle at a tricycle convention.” 

No Mercy for the Living - Mega angst. Eliot dies, and Quentin has to face it. 

Expectations - Fluff, what if the threesome happens, but there’s no alice to worry about come the next morning?

Hold On - Angst. Margo’s killed by the beast.

Can’t Stop This Feeling - eliot ends a loop the wrong way. 

I won’t Let You Go - Quentin doesn’t want eliot to be alone. drabble.

Power - Niffin Eliot. 

Self Sacrifice (is Bullshit) - Quentin and Margo friendship - Quentin almost gets himself killed and margo isnt having it.

Got A Bad Case of Loving You - a spell backfires, and Quentin’s finally learning what it took from him. Queliot. 

Game On - Quentin has no will power in the face of a bet.

The Price We Pay - Quentin pays the price to get magic back. And Eliot does what he has to.

I’ve Got You Carved On My Heart - prompted with queliot + post-it notes

Prickly Like A Porcupine - just some fluff to sate your needs.

Insanity - Quentin accidentally makes the entire campus fall in love with him. 

Hot Chocolate - Margo and Eliot think Quentin’s having a depressive episode.

This Moment - Quentin and Eliot are reunited after season 2. 

The Woods - Quentin, Eliot and Margo’s day of bonding in the woods doesn’t go as planned.

Diamond Kisses - "Did you steal that $100,000 diamond?” “... Maybe.”

Little Lamb - It’s Quentin’s birthday and Eliot just wants him to be happy, but he’s reasonably distracted. 

The Mad Royal Family of Fillory (WIP) - Chapter 1, - Timeline 31, where they do defeat the beast, but are driven so far beyond the brink of madness that Jane has no choice but to reset the clock. 

Wake Me Up - Eliot’s pretty sure Quentin keeps dying. Fluff. 

Petrichor - We never see Quentin and Eliot bond over their shared angst … and I really wish Eliot had talked to Q about his past. So. Here they are, bonding in what I like to imagine as an offscreen conversation.

otp questions - a series of short drabbles based on otp questions. 

stupid tattoos - a drabble. pretty much just crack

Roots - (WIP) soulmate fic?

Read Me to Sleep - who reads the other their favorite book? 

Twenty Five - angsty as hell. Jane and Dean Fogg go further back. 

Don’t Panic - prompt “I hate seeing you like this” 

Home - post 3x04. Queliot reunion drabble

Magnetic - After everything settles, Quentin and Eliot find some time to discuss what they really see when they touch the truth key.

I been looking at the stars tonight (and I think oh, how I miss that bright sun)

-   Q and El get a little emotional once they’re alone. (Title from The Strumbellas song, Spirits

The Test - Quentin dies after acquiring the last key. But nothing is what it seems. 

That Which Binds - Eliot’s sure Quentin will stop his marriage to Idri. 

Fifty Year Break - two bickering married couples. Quentin’s and Eliot are old, and still really dumb about things. Featuring; The Grandkids! 

“300″ word drabble prompt; sacrifice - eliot finds out about the depression monster key. 

“300″ word drabble prompt; sharp - quentin accidentally cuts himself cooking. 

“300″ word drabble prompt; warm kisses - quentin’s seduction techniques could use some work. 

“300″ word drabble prompt; date - rupert plans a date for his dads. 

“300″ word drabble prompt; cry - quentin’s been holding the depression key for too long. (MargoXEliotXQuentin friendship dynamic)

“300″ word drabble prompt; proposal - there’s a wedding to be had. 

“300″ word drabble prompt; rupert’s death - quentin makes an upsetting revelation. 

“300″ word drabble prompt; Ruperts birth - eliot comes to terms with being a defacto father. 

“300″ word drabble prompt; Rupert - rupert is a teenage matchmaker for his parents. 

“300″ word drabble prompt; Eliot and the depression key - eliot accidentally touches the depression key. 

Dark Places - Everyone’s dead, and q can think of only one person who can bring them back. aka the q gets Real Dark fic.

“300″ word drabble prompt; untitled - todd and margo friendship

a series of itty bitty drabbles - just one of those otp questions w/ short drabbles that i said i’d finish and never did

“300″ word drabble; todd and a puppy - todd, eliot and a puppy. 

“300″ word drabble; fillory (todd) - margo takes todd to fillory

Promise Me - post season 3, Q gets his memories backs & the creature gives him a few minutes w/ eliot

Holding Out for a Hero - Todd saves everyone from the beast and bonds w/ Q’s dad. (tbh it’s probably not going to get finished bc of my other todd wip seen below) [AO3]

Lifeboat - (WIP) Todd is a time traveler au. he’s q, el and margo’s son from the future trying desperately to find a way to save their lives. [AO3] 

Not Today - ao3 link bc i can’t find the damn thing on my blog, poppy hits on q, and q just wants to talk about eliot. 

“300″ word drabble; proposal take 2 - quentin’s tired of goodbyes 

Todd -- todd has a backstory too and its sad af