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zepskies · 3 months ago

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Lost on You - Part 12

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

AN: And here we go, with our Avengers: Civil War moment…

Song Inspo: “I Go to Extremes” by Billy Joel

Word Count: 5.1K

Tags/Warnings: Violence, blood, and death. Angst, peril, hurt/comfort, and fluff.

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Part 12: A Fire in the Blood

Ben walked into the kitchen the next morning in search of coffee and food. He added some grounds to the coffeemaker on the counter and grabbed a bagel from the fridge, then slammed the door shut.

“All right, get the fuck out,” he said, as if to an empty room. “I’m gonna lose my breakfast before I even eat it.”

Slowly, Charlie and Donna stood up from behind the kitchen island. Both of them looked wrecked. Her hair was wild and disheveled. He had dark red lipstick smudged all around his mouth and neck. Their clothes were bundled in their hands, but they needed no further prompting to run butt-ass naked out of the kitchen. Ben shook his head.

“Fucking animals,” he muttered.

But he didn’t blame them for being bored.

Meanwhile down the hall, Donna pulled Charlie into the shower with her. She got him to start washing her hair while she bathed the rest of herself with a bar of soap.

“He took it a lot better than I expected,” she said.

“Well, he’s probably known since at least last night,” Charlie said, smirking. “The man’s got super hearing, and you didn’t exactly keep it down.”

She reached back to smack his thigh teasingly. “That’s not what I meant. I just thought he’d raise more hell.”

She actually frowned at the thought. Part of her had indulged with Charlie because she thought it might piss Ben off, but to her surprise, he didn’t seem to give much of a fuck. In the past, he once snapped a man’s wrist for touching her ass at a gala. In fact, he’d ruined a lot of perfectly good hookup opportunities for her by being his jealous, caveman self, even though he was whoring himself out with any willing female.

So now, either Ben hated her that much, or…he actually did care about you.

Ben answered his cell when it rang. It was a familiar number.

Arthur. This better be fucking it.

“Did you find her?” he asked.

“Yeah, I found her,” Arthur said, with a grim sigh. “You’re not gonna like it.”

“Where?” Ben demanded. His hand clenched on the phone, threatening to crack the frame.

“Nottingham, West Virginia. It’s one of Vought’s most high-security labs. I didn’t even have clearance to know about it when I worked there,” he said. “It’s easy to miss though. Somewhere between a national forest and a couple of cemeteries.”

“Good enough for me,” Ben said. He finished his coffee in one quick slurp and headed over to his room to get the rest of his suit on. He was only half dressed.

“I hope you find her. Now I’ll be fucking off to Belize. Stan’s probably already got eyes on me,” said Arthur.

“Don’t you worry about Stan. After I get Sirena, I’m chopping the head off the fucking snake,” Ben said angrily.

“Okay, well, good luck to ya.”

After hanging up and lacing up his boots, Ben headed out of the room and down the hall. He banged a fist on the bathroom door, hard enough to rattle its hinges.

“Suit up, kids! We’re headed out.”

Arthur’s directions were direct enough. Donna had to park her car somewhere along the main road, but it was another mile or so before Ben finally found what they were looking for: a solitary building that looked like a nondescript farmhouse from the outside.

“This is their top secret high-security lab?” Charlie said. “Looks abandoned.”

“That’s exactly how they want it to look,” Ben said. It reminded him of the lab in Siberia. He was willing to bet that the lab itself ran several stories and floors underground.

Once they stepped out from the safety of the trees, gunshots rained from above and up ahead. There was a line of armed guards emerging from the front and the back of the building, while a helicopter descended from above.

Donna took out most of the guards on the ground, while Charlie shot his guns at the helicopter and took out the glass in the windshield. Ben threw up his shield at it, causing irreparable damage to the vessel. The pilot was forced to initiate a crash landing.

The helicopter doors opened, revealing Black Noir. He grabbed another man and jumped from the helicopter. The other man screamed, but the landing was swift. Noir made sure that Mindstorm landed on his feet, more or less, while the helicopter carved into the ground behind them and combusted.

Ah, the gang’s all here, Ben thought grimly. It saved him the trouble of hunting those two down as well.

“So it’s true,” Mindstorm said, taking in the sight of Ben with both astonishment and dread.

“Hey, Dan,” said Ben. “Looking rough.”

It was true. The man appeared to be a shell of his former self; thin, with lines of age around his eyes and across his forehead, his skin pale and splotchy. A decade of paranoia and reclusion hadn’t done much good for Dan. Noir must've scrounged him up from his hiding hole, like fishing out a rat from the sewer.

“Look, we don’t have to do this,” Charlie tried. “Just let him get Sirena out of there. After what you guys did, she doesn’t deserve that.”

Ben glanced at his former sidekick. He actually seemed sincere.

Too bad Noir wasn’t about to go for it. He had Vought’s dick so far up his ass, he wouldn’t likely take a shit without Stan Edgar’s say so. He crouched into a fighting stance and unsheathed his katana. The rest of the guards poured in to flank around him and Mindstorm.

Ben rolled a crack out of his neck.

“Fine. If it’s a war you want, it’s a war you’ll fucking get,” he said.

Noir started charging at him first, but Donna shot off a fireball in his direction.

Chaos ignited from there.

Something’s wrong. You felt it, with so many energies converging high above you. It must’ve meant that you were underground, yet again.

There were still men in the compound itself. You now felt their energies being stuffed out, closer and closer in your direction.

Ben? You wondered. You stood up from your cot in nervous anticipation, wrapping your arms protectively around yourself. After Vogelbaum dropped his news, you’d spent the entire night battling your shock, followed shortly by your panic.

No matter what they did to you now, there was no way you were going to let them hurt your child.

Ben…

More than anything, you wanted to see him. You wanted to tell him that his dream was coming true, whether he was ready for it or not…

But there was something coming, and it wasn’t him. You would’ve felt it if it was him. By the rate the men were dying somewhere outside of your cell, however, it was getting closer to your cell. For some reason, you just couldn’t identify the energy signature itself.

You got your answer when your cell door forcibly opened. You gaped in shock.

“Countess?” you said.

She was panting for breath, but she whipped a sweaty lock of red hair out of her eyes and reached out a gloved hand for you.

“Come on, before I change my fucking mind,” she said.

You were still in shock, but you managed to break yourself out of it to follow her out of the cell. You had to stop short though, as an entire unit of Vought security came pouring into the hall with raised guns.

You opened your mouth and began your siren song. Within seconds, every man curled in on themselves as they screamed in pain. Some of them managed to rip their helmets off as they gripped their heads. Tears of blood dripped down from their eyes, and they all soon fell into lifeless heaps.

You stopped singing, and your eyes faded from glowing violet to their normal hue. Donna looked at you, both stunned and wary.

“Don’t worry. It doesn’t work on women. Even frigid cunts like you,” you said with a grin.

She smirked back. “Come on then.”

“Where’s Ben?” you asked, joining her in hastening down the hall.

“Up there fighting,” she replied, pointing up to the ceiling. “You’re about fifteen floors down from the outside world.”

“Fucking figures,” you muttered, but your heart swelled to know that Ben was here, and he was all right. Your hand went to your lower belly on reflex.

“Wait,” you gasped, as something occurred to you. “We need to find someone.”

“What the fuck do you mean? We need to get out of here!” Donna said.

“There’s a kid somewhere in here, and I’m not leaving without him,” you snapped. You began opening doors where you sensed a presence inside. Most often it was a lab technician or other employee, and Donna vaporized them.

You opened one door and found Dr. Vogelbaum. Finally, you saw him react with widening eyes. You felt his fear.

Donna eviscerated him too, in a bloody mess of limbs.

You grimaced at the gore, but you paused, noticing a thick file on the man’s desk.

THE HOMELANDER PROJECTwas stamped at the top in large red letters. You picked your way through the mess and grabbed the file. Then you and Donna continued heading down the hall.

There at the end was a red door. Something about it called to you. You reached out with your awareness, and you felt a familiar male energy, young and scared and alone.

You beckoned Donna over. The door was heavy and locked, but the two of you worked together to twist it open by its large circular handle, like the hatch on a submarine. It swung open with a creak, and inside the room was a bare white cell, not unlike yours.

A young boy sat against the wall, arms wrapped around his knees, wearing a white shirt and plain gray sweatpants. He was blonde and blue-eyed, and he felt familiar to you on-sight.

“John?” you said, stepping inside the cell.

He tilted his head, like he recognized your voice. He said your name uncertainly as he got up to his feet.

“Yeah, it’s me,” you said, approaching him with cautious steps. “I’m getting out of here, but I want you to come with me.”

John looked reluctant, even as he glanced at your outstretched hand.

“Vogelbaum is gone. He can’t hurt you anymore,” you said. “John, please, let me help you.”

After a moment of his indecision, John reached out and carefully grasped your hand. You led him out of the cell, and encouraged him to stay close to you when you and Donna started back towards the elevators.

The three of you rode all the way up to the top level, where the sounds of an epic fight raged behind the doors of the building. Still, it was a familiar balm to your frayed mind to step outside those doors and find a bright sun beating down on a dusty clearing. Beyond it was layers of forest trees.

Donna said that her car was about a mile in that direction, but before you guys could attempt to get to safety, Noir landed right in front of you.

“Irving—” you said in warning.

Donna raised her hands, prepared to blast him into pieces, but John threw the first punch. It landed squarely in Noir’s chest and had him flying several feet away, into a nearby tree. Your mouth fell open in shock as you gave the kid a wide-eyed look.

John smiled up at you, in a—Did I do good?—kind of way.

“Holy shit,” Donna muttered.

You huffed a short laugh and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Good job, bud.”

You shifted your attention to the rest of the battle, and it caught on Ben with a gasp. He was striding toward Mindstorm with his shield held in front of him. He backhanded Mindstorm in the face and quickly got him pinned on the ground.

Charlie was already lying unconscious, trapped in his own mind. Donna went to try and help him, while you started running headfirst toward the other two men.

“Ben!” you shouted out.

He glanced up at you on reflex, but it proved to be an unfortunate distraction, giving Mindstorm the opening he needed to reach out a hand and touch Ben’s forehead. His eyes closed and he collapsed to the ground.

“No!” the ragged yell tore from your throat. You knew full well what Mindstorm was capable of.

You rushed forward and tried to capture Mindstorm with your siren song. It managed to hold him in place, making him grip at his temples with strain. You knew you didn’t totally have him under your spell, however. Not until you knelt down in front of him and grabbed his face with both hands. Your eyes illuminated brighter as you focused all of your power on him.

Mindstorm fought it tooth and nail, but ultimately, the pull of you was too much. He screamed as blood trailed down his face from his eyes, nose, and ears, until his voice faded, and his blue eyes became unseeing. When you released him, he slumped into a heap.

You fell back onto your ass and heaved for breath. All the while, you stared at his unseeing eyes. Part of you felt sick with yourself. The other part felt vindicated, and a little more free.

With a gasp, you remembered Ben. You turned over and crawled over to his body where he laid unconscious in the dirt and dead leaves.

Fuck. You shouldn’t have killed Mindstorm. He was the only one who could’ve brought him out of this.

Unless…

An idea struck you, and you knew you had to try. You shuffled onto your knees and took Ben’s face carefully in your shaking hands. You closed your eyes.

Focusing your powers on his being, you entered his mind. You waded through waves of darkness as they lapped at you, trying to draw you in. But you were a brighter light. You went deeper, layer by layer.

You began to see moving images, like scenes from a reel. You saw his father, berating him. You saw the moment Compound V was injected into his arm, immediately filling his veins with pain. You saw his mother’s funeral, a day marked by falling snow and a stoic set of Ben’s young shoulders.

You saw so many days and nights at the facility where you both were kept, but one in particular struck at your own heart—the day Dr. Eisenstein had you brought you into Ben’s cell and slammed you down on the table in front of him, prepared to inject an unknown experimental serum into your body.

Ben’s face seemed angry on the outside, but this deep inside his mind, you felt his anger, as well as his fear, and his desire to protect you.

You weren’t sure it would work, but you needed to get his attention somehow. You needed to wake him up.

“Ben!” you shouted to him.

To your relief, he actually looked over at you, meeting your gaze with surprise in his own.

Until you were ripped away from him, out of his mind and into the waking world. Your bleary eyes eventually focused on the dark shape above you. On Black Noir.

He hauled you up by your arms and began to drag you across the clearing, away from Ben.

“Stop!” you struggled. Noir ignored you, just tightening his hold.

He dragged you past Donna’s body. She was dying on the ground, with her throat cut and bubbling with blood. Your eyes widened, but you quickly took in the rest of the clearing.

John was trapped under the massive trunk of a fallen tree, struggling to get up. He was being swarmed by Vought security guards.

Just over Noir’s shoulder, you caught sight of Ben. He was starting to wake up, and he turned over and pushed himself up onto one knee. Relief filled your chest.

In a fit of desperation, you dug your heels into the ground. “Let go! Let go of me!”

You opened your mouth and took in a breath to sing, but how quickly Noir’s hand wrapped around your throat, choking the breath right out of you. He tightened his hold, little by little, until you began to feel lightheaded. Panic gripped at your heart.

“Stop, Noir, please! I’m pregnant!” you pleaded, with tears in your eyes.

Beyond him, you met Ben’s gaze. His mouth fell open as he stared at you, after half scrambling to his feet.

You returned your attention to Noir when you realized you could feel his shock, and the tension through your hand on his glove. He glanced over his shoulder at Ben, then back at your tearful eyes. You felt Noir’s disgust, swiftly followed by his anger.

You gasped when he let you go, just so he could unsheathe his weapon. Ben gritted his teeth in anger. Before he could throw his shield, Noir swung his katana down on you.

You instinctively raised up your arms to protect yourself, but the blade only shattered against your skin. You raised your head, blinking in shock. You clenched your fists, and you realized that you felt different, somehow. You were strong.

You shoved Noir hard in the chest, and he flew several feet away, rolling in the dirt as he landed.

Ben ran over to join you. He wrapped his non-shield wielding arm around your waist and pulled you tight against him. You melted into him in relief, resting your head against his chest.

“I don’t know how I did that,” you admitted.

“Looks like knocking you up comes with some added perks,” he said, grinning down at you.

Once you understood what he meant, another wave of shock hit you. The life inside you was not only carrying his genes, but some of his power as well, making you strong.

You looked up at his smug grin and rolled your eyes in amusement, but you also wanted to grab his face and pull him down for a kiss. The look in his eyes told you he wanted to oblige, but you both stopped short, coming to attention when you saw Noir picking himself up from the ground.

“I’ve got him,” Ben said darkly. He let go of you and took a step toward Noir, putting himself in front of you.

Two old enemies faced each other. This time, Ben began to make the first move.

Just then, a pair of red laser beams broke through the clearing and cut through Noir’s mask and skull. He dropped to his knees, and then fell to the ground.

What the hell…

Slowly you turned back to see that John had broken free of the guards. All of them lied either passed out or dead at his feet. He stepped over them and went to your side with shaky hands, shocked at even his own power. Had he known he could do that?

“Are you okay?” he asked you in concern.

You were still reeling, but you nodded and grasped his shoulder. Ben was unsettled looking at John. You knew the look on his face. He wasn’t sure whether the kid was a threat as well. Ben slid an arm around your waist and pulled you closer to him.

“Ben, this is John,” you explained. “He was a ‘guest’ in the lab, same as me.”

Ben seized up the kid. Eventually he rested his shield on the ground and reached out his hand.

“John, huh?”

The kid nodded and shook his hand. “Y-Yes, sir.”

“That’s a strong name,” Ben said. John smiled.

With that small peace won, you slipped away from Ben and went to Charlie. You knelt down and felt for his pulse at his neck. You shook your head in sadness.

“He’s gone,” you said. Ben helped you stand again.

You were disappointed about Donna too, even knowing she was the one who helped sell you out in the first place. You were sure it was probably under duress, but she had saved you today.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Ben said. You agreed, but first, you looked back at the lab.

“They took vials of my blood. God knows what else they have in there,” you said.

“They took your fucking blood?” he said, through furrowed brows.

“Yeah, that’s how I know I’m pregnant,” you said, again, holding a hand to your belly. Ben softened slightly at that.

He blew out a breath and nodded. “Okay, you and the kid hang back. Far back.”

You grasped John’s shoulder and led him over to the dense line of trees. You both hunkered down behind a fallen tree trunk and watched Ben approach the lab.

He set a firm stance and concentrated, until his chest glowed with power. Letting loose a yell of strain, he summoned a blast that destroyed the entire building. It not only created a backlash of debris and flames, but it also shook the earth. He stalked forward and angled the blast downward, so that it would consume the floors below as well.

You had to duck down further as the impact of the blast was too much. John covered you with his arms around your shoulders.

When it was over, Ben struggled to regain his breath. He even stumbled a bit on his way back to you, but he kept a steady pace, until he found you and the kid again. Ben reached a hand for you and once again helped you up from the ground, guiding you into his arms.

His chest still felt hot, but you didn’t care. You curled a hand around the back of his neck and brought him down to you for a kiss. It was relief, it was passion, and it was home.

You parted slowly, his forehead pressing against yours.

“I love you,” you whispered into the small space in between.

Releasing a subtle breath, Ben nodded. You opened your eyes and cupped his cheek.

“You can say it,” you prompted, teasingly. “It’s not gonna kill you.”

You could hazard a guess at what he was thinking. This close, you could feel him, and his reluctance. But his lips hinted at a smile.

“Yeah, I fucking love you,” he said. He thumbed at your chin, his gaze roaming over your face before he met your eyes. “I love you.”

Tears made your vision blur a little. You nodded, smiling, and reached up on your toes for another kiss.

“Are you guys done yet?” John asked. He shifted on his feet, all antsy and tired. “Can we go?”

Ben’s face fell into annoyance at the kid. You gave him a rueful smile, and one last stroke of his cheek.

“The car’s about a mile out,” Ben said.

“Yep,” you said. “I guess we start walking.”

John slept in the backseat of the car while Ben drove down the highway going northeast. His gaze roamed over you as you stared out the window, seemingly calm with that file you stole from Vogelbaum’s office resting on your lap.

With a sigh, you turned your attention to it. Ben couldn’t help but distract you first. His hand reached over to rest on your thigh.

“Hey,” he said. You perked up at him.

“You okay?” he asked. You smiled a little and slipped your hand over his.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Considering.”

He alternated between watching the road and watching you a bit closer.

“Did they hurt you?” he pressed. You shook your head, squeezing his hand.

“No. They pretty much left me alone,” you said, though his concern warmed you. You also sensed something else underneath…the sting of regret. It took him a few beats, but he eventually spoke.

“I shouldn’t have let you go out alone,” he said, briefly meeting your eyes. “I should’ve been there.”

It was as close to an apology as you’d ever gotten from him. You almost smiled.

“Look, we’re here now,” you said. “Pretty soon, this is all just going to be a bad memory we can put behind us, like everything else.”

You rubbed his arm and glanced down at the file sitting on your lap. Your curiosity had you flipping it open. The more you read over its contents, the more your face slackened in shock.

“Oh my God, Ben,” you whispered.

“What?”

“Pull over for a minute.”

“We can’t stop here. We need to get to the airport.”

“This is important. Stop the car.”

He huffed in annoyance, but he pulled the car over. He left the car running and got out along with you.

You later leaned against the passenger side while he read the file. You watched the shock descend over his face as it all began to click together in his mind. He turned and pointed at the backseat of the car.

“He’s…”

“Yeah,” you said.

“Christ on a damn cross,” he said.

“Yeah,” you repeated. You covered your mouth with a hand. “And the poor kid’s been kept in that basement his whole damn life… It was Vogelbaum’s project, but how did he do it?”

A realization fell over Ben. He joined you in leaning against the car. The file fell to his side.

“Back in…’81. No, beginning of ’83, before you joined up. Vogelbaum wanted a sample of my swimmers for an experiment. Something about genetics,” he said. He still remembered the Penthouse Forum he used to give his “sample.”

June. Danielle Deneux. Bush like a Pomeranian. He almost smiled at the memory, but the rest of it soured that part for him.

You gave him an incredulous look. “And you didn’t ask questions about what they were going to use your sperm for?”

Ben rolled his eyes and gave you the file. You shook your head.

“The point is, John is…more or less your son,” you said.

“What?!” John exclaimed. He spooked you and Ben when he popped up in the car window.

You should’ve known he’d have enhanced hearing. Just like his father.

John came out of the car, and both father and son looked at one another in assessing ways. Even though they had different coloring, you started to notice the similar shape of their jawlines, the line of their noses. John soon had tears in his eyes.

“You…you’re my dad?” he said.

Ben’s hands went to his hips. His posture was stiff and awkward.

“I guess I am,” he said.

He didn’t expect the way John literally flew over and hugged him with a strength that impacted Ben. He grunted and grabbed the kid’s shoulders.

“Okay, all right, lock it up. Don’t be a little girl about it.”

John’s face fell with dejection, but he dropped his arms and took a step back. You became both dismayed and angry.

“Ben!” you said sharply. “Let your son hug you, for fuck’s sake.”

He shot you a warning look, but you had your hand on John’s shoulder as you glared back at Ben. He crossed his arms.

Then he uncrossed them with an exasperated huff. He went to John and dropped a hand on his shoulder. Smiling in satisfaction, you moved back to give them a moment.

Ben looked down at the kid’s face. His blonde hair and blue eyes weren’t his. He must’ve taken after his mother, whoever she was, or whatever genetics Vogelbaum manipulated, but he did see his own strong jaw in the kid.

“Well, it’s unfortunate that we couldn’t meet sooner, but…looks like you’re my son,” said Ben. “I'm thinking you want to stick around with us.”

John nodded vigorously.

“All right,” Ben said. “Then let’s get going.”

John nodded again, quickly wiping at his face to clear away his tears.

Good, Ben thought with a quirk of his lips. He squeezed John’s shoulder and let him go, so he could return to the driver’s side of the car. You gave John a warm hug. Ben saw it through the window and almost shook his head. He could already tell that you were going to try to mother that boy.

Somehow, that thought just softened him, at least a little. Because it reminded him that you were carrying his child as well. Not to mention, his blood was making you nice and strong.

When you slid into the passenger seat, he grabbed your hand and pressed a kiss over your knuckles. You smiled at him.

“Where are we gonna go?” John asked.

Ben glanced at him in the rearview mirror. Ben's brows drew together as his expression firmed.

“To finish what we started,” he said.

You knew what that meant. He wanted to go to New York to finish off Stan Edgar, Stillwell, and anyone else who had a hand in their capture.

“Ben, they’ll never stop trying to get him back,” you said, gesturing at John. “And…when Vogelbaum took my blood, he said they wanted to monitor me. Apparently this has never happened before…a supe getting another supe pregnant.”

Ben paused.

“He talked like I was a rat in his lab, and he wanted to document the findings,” you said, as tears welled up in your eyes and made your throat tight with emotion, and the remnants of dread.

Ben frowned and squeezed your hand.

“That’s not fucking happening,” he said. You sighed and wiped at your cheek. After taking a few steadying breaths, you managed to get a hold of yourself.

“If we go back to New York, it’s a big risk,” you said.

This time, Ben actually considered what you were saying. He was stubborn though.

“I can’t just fucking let it go. What Stan Edgar did, what they all did—”

“If you take out Stan, they’ll just put another one in his place. I doubt it’ll ever end,” you said. You moved his hand to your stomach. “But if you want this. If you want a family, this is it.”

Ben glanced down at his hand under yours, and then your face. As much as he wanted the rest of his revenge, he also wanted, and needed to protect you. He couldn’t make another mistake like last time. If you were taken from him again, he’d have no one to blame but himself.

That also posed a harder question. Where the hell could he take you where you’d be safe? Even Arthur had fucked off to Belize.

Ben stroked your hand in contemplation…until an idea came to him.

A grin raised his lips.

“All right,” he said. “How do you feel about Colombia?”

AN: Lol! Suffice to say, there's going to be a big BMD easter egg in the Epilogue, but did you like how the final battle shook out? Was there anything that surprised you? Do you wish some members of Payback had lived?

I went back and forth on how some characters would meet their end, but I felt that this is the story I wanted to tell, with her, Ben, and John escaping together and forming their strange new family. 😂💚

Next Time: The Epilogue...

A phone dock rested on the coffee table. The call was on speaker.

“That child represents a multi-million-dollar investment,” said Stan Edgar.

“You should’ve thought about that before you shipped us off to motherfucking Siberia,” Ben snapped. “Hell, before you decided to steal my goddamn DNA. But guess fucking what. He’s my son. He belongs with me.”

You gave him a look of pride, resting a hand on his thigh in support. He glanced at you and grabbed your hand.

“You’re not leaving me with much recourse here, Soldier Boy,” Stan replied.

Ben leaned forward. He took that as a very real threat.

▶️ Keep Reading: The Epilogue

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colormepurplex2 · 3 months ago

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Beneath The Boughs | A Kiss Hello

↳ Namjoon x f.Reader ⤜ Robinhood Retelling, Strangers to Lovers/Soulmates, Ruined Arranged Marriage AU ⤜ Rating: MA🔞 ⤜ WC: 8,752 ⚠️ crass language, mentions of parental illness, melancholy feelings, crude innuendos, light descriptions of smut/v. sex

⇽Previous Chapter ◅ Back to story masterlist

Namjoon

“This is madness. A terrible idea. What’s wrong with you?”

Namjoon tunes out Hoseok’s constant string of uncertainty. No matter the risk or how reckless it might be, he can’t let this opportunity slip between his fingers.

“If you have a better one, let’s hear it,” Namjoon grumbles as he adjusts the strap of his bow across his back.

Hoseok sighs, glancing Jungkook’s way. “Why are you so silent on this? You can’t possibly think this is a good idea either.”

There is a moment of silence as the trio trudges through the thick underbrush of Sherwood Forest. Jungkook finally breaks the silence, saying, “I think this idea is better than not taking action at all. If what Friar Park provided to Namjoon is indeed true, then this is fate guiding us. Who are we to question that?”

“Never been much of one for trusting fate,” Hoseok huffs, dragging a thumb over the scar that angles along the side of his jaw and down his throat, courtesy of The Sheriff of Nottingham. Yoongi is the reason Hoseok disappeared into the Woods all those years ago, bloody and nearly frozen to death in nothing but his underthings. It was dead of winter, and he was lucky that Namjoon had found him before the wolves could.

The history between Hoseok and Yoongi is nearly as thick with tension as the one between Jungkook and Seokjin. Namjoon glances between his two closest friends, wondering not for the first time whether or not he’s leading them to their demise. They both escaped the crown’s wrath once; there is no guarantee of a second time.

Namjoon knows Hoseok is right; traveling to Nottingham in an effort to participate in the Royal Games is absolutely nonsensical. But on the chance that Namjoon might once again lay his eyes on the ones that tracked him with hawk-like grace nearly a week ago, it’s a risk he’s willing to take.

“You’re both welcome to stay behind,” he reminds them. “I can do this on my own. It’s my risk to take.”

“No,” comes Hoseok’s terse reply. Despite his woes, Namjoon knows there is no way Hoseok would abandon him to do this alone.

“As someone with experience in these Royal Games, I can say that you, in fact, could not do this on your own. They wouldn’t allow you to compete without at least a squire or attendant by your side. Even the low-born must bring a partner. It’s simply the rules,” Jungkook explains. His easy stride is so full of assurance that it is as if walking into the place he was exiled from is just a casual stroll through a meadow.

Namjoon just grunts his acknowledgement. Because, once again, one of his friends is right. He knows, without a doubt, he’d be lost without them both and is tremendously grateful for their company. He tells them as much before a comfortable, if anxious, silence befalls the group as the stone walls of the city come into view.

“Name?” the gruff guard asks before hawking a glob of phlegm into the dirt beside Namjoon’s leather-boot-clad feet.

“Haejoon of House Lee,” Namjoon says, pointedly ignoring the ill-manners of the guard. Best not to draw more attention than necessary by commenting.

“That a local house name?”

“No. We’ve traveled from—”

“Don’t care. How many?” The guard barrels over Namjoon’s carefully constructed story that he guesses is not actually needed.

Taking a shallow breath to keep his head, Namjoon answers, “Just one, with two escorts.”

“Specialty?”

“Archery.”

The word is barely out of Namjoon’s mouth when the guard jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Stable seven. Next!”

Jungkook grabs Namjoon’s elbow and hauls him forward around the guard before he can say anything further, the guard having already moved on to the next person in line.

“Best to move on,” Jungkook mutters. “We can provide names that aren’t our own, but our faces will always be the same.”

A pang of guilt twinges in Namjoon’s chest. It’s very likely that the gate guard worked under Jungkook before his knighthood was extinguished. There is still a sour bitterness that coats Namjoon’s tongue whenever he thinks about his friend’s topple from the highest ranks.

There is a dark underbelly to this city, controlled by a man who prefers slithering through shadows and dabbling in the darker arts. Jungkook’s future changed the moment he was discovered to have overheard the Prince’s mage, Taehyung, divulging his nefarious courtly plans to Seokjin. According to Jungkook, King Seokjoong is on crusades under completely false pretenses thanks to Taehyung’s dark magick and trickery.

Of course, no one in the city believed Jungkook thanks to those same dark methods. There was nothing he could do to prevent it. The only thing that kept Jungkook from the gallow ropes was his pristine reputation and the fact there would have certainly been a mutiny of the masses.

The story that circulated through the public after his exile was a web of lies concerning Jungkook’s moral compass and supposed salacious dealings. These were all falsities but better than the truth…which would have found the Prince and his mage at the mercy of the King. Well, better for them, at least. Indeed, if King Seokjoong knew what his brother and Taehyung were up to, he’d ride post-haste from the frontlines to reclaim his throne.

All of the stables are open, giving a grand view of the competition field beyond. A dozen other participants, all with bows of varying quality, dot the straw-covered space. Hushed conversation filters through the air, eyes on swivels casting cursory looks their way before sliding away once more.

Namjoon has never attended one of these competitions, much less participated. So, all he has to go on is the little Jungkook was able to impart to him as they journeyed through Sherwood Forest.

“Look there,” Hoseok whispers, nodding to somewhere off in the distance. “The dais.”

Even from so far away, you steal the breath from Namjoon’s lungs. He’s frozen, paralyzed in his admiration of the regal figure you cut against the crimson backdrop of the dais. The deep plum-colored gown hugging your body shows Namjoon all the places his hands itch to trace.

A throat clearing snaps Namjoon out of his reverie. “Can you feel it?” Jungkook mutters, catching Namjoon’s eye.

By it, Namjoon knows Jungkook refers to the pull described in Prophetia Somniorum. The book provided many details, some more vague than others, as the experience can vary from person to person. However, one thing was sure with each storied account: the subtle echo of another heartbeat alongside your own.

Namjoon can feel it now, that soft lub-dub that he knows is the match to his own heartbeat. It’s right there. He presses a gloved hand over where that rhythm thumps in his chest. “I can,” he finally replies, words low and full of awe. “With every glance, it grows stronger.”

Just to prove to himself he’s right about that, he chances another look in your direction. If it weren’t for the grip Hoseok has on his shoulder, Namjoon would be on his knees in the dusty stable. You’re looking right at him. Can you feel him? Do you know he’s here? He has to know—

“Whoa, hey, not so fast.” Jungkook and Hoseok both have a hold on him now, and Namjoon realizes he has taken a few steps forward. “All in due time, my friend. You can’t just go approaching the dais. You’ll earn a sword to the belly before you make it five feet before her. Best to do this the way we planned.”

“By winning,” Namjoon sighs, resigned.

His friends echo murmured agreements, “By winning.”

🍂🍂🍂

You can feel it. Him—he’s out there somewhere. Your best guess is between stables five and nine. It’s impossible to tell precisely, considering your view is obstructed by the hundreds of bodies packed into the staging stables. However, you can feel it all the same: the same sensation that carried you away on foreign currents that fateful night nearly a week gone.

What you once thought was a soft hum in your chest, you can now tell is actually a heartbeat. Though it is separate from your own, it is a subtle echo that you know, without a doubt, belongs to the mysterious man from the road. How you know that, you’re not sure, but you know it is the truth nonetheless.

It started shortly after your first encounter, once the adrenaline had subsided and you had a moment to reflect. Each thready pulse is stronger than the last. You swear the longer you let your eyes drift between stables five and nine. The intensity increases until it almost seems like you have your ear pressed directly to a chest—one you’ve become intimately familiar with, if only in your dreams.

The hours tick by, filled with shouts from the jeering crowd and the scuffle of the first few games. You watch, bored and barely able to keep your seat without fidgeting, as faceless men are paraded before you. They all smile and bow, hats tipped off their heads and pressed to their chests as they scrape and beg favor. You do your best to smile and nod, maintaining a polite facade, all the while screaming in your head.

You almost miss him in the monotony of it all. The moment he strides across the field before the dais, your eyes slide right over him. It’s not until you feel your heart leap into a gallop in your chest that your eyes scramble backward and alight on his formidable figure. The heart knows, even if the eyes are unsure; something your mother once told you and that you can now attest to be true.

He cuts a regal form against the dark wood of the stable, his height putting him above many of the other participants, though he’s of a similar size to one of his attendants, the other slimmer and almost as familiar as the man himself. The brown rough-spun wool garb and worn leather boots from the road have been replaced with sleek riding leathers and shiny, new boots with brass buckles, though the dark green cloaks are the same.

Thick, inky hair peeks out from the hood, feathering across the man’s forehead as his eyes scan the crowd on the dais before landing on you. All the air in your lungs heaves out in a strangled gasp. Those dark depths beckon you, will you to come closer and fall into their endless beauty and intrigue.

You’re out of your seat before a vice-like grip on your arm tugs you back into your chair. “Are you well, My Lady?” Prince Seokjin’s pleasant, though terse, voice carries to you, drawing your focus away from the mystery man on the field and to the one sitting by your side.

Prince Seokjin’s focus is on the field, but you can tell by his rigid posture that he’s displeased by you. You clear your throat, settling back into your seat and carefully rolling your shoulder as a means to dislodge his grip on your upper arm.

“I’m well, Your Majesty. I was just trying to adjust my seat, that is all.”

“Do you desire more cushion?” Before you have a chance to respond, he barks, “Yoongi! More cushions for my beloved. Now.” As if Yoongi needs the emphasis, Seokjin snaps his fingers several times as he speaks.

By the time two more cushions have been added to your chair and you’re finally settled back down, the man is just a dot on the horizon. All of the archers are milling about in the distance, just specks against the steel-grey sky, and the dozen targets they’ll be aiming for are lined up right in front of the dais. You have a front-row seat to their marksmanship skill display.

Each participant is announced as they take aim and loose their arrows in an effort to impress. Many find their targets, while others fall short. But there is only one that genuinely draws awe from the crowd and the dais. A singular arrow that splits the wooden shaft of another arrow. A round of applause follows the feat, the game crier announcing the participant as a representative from House Lee.

“House Lee?” Duckie mutters softly beside you. “Must be from the east.”

Somehow, you know it’s him, but something tells you that’s not his proper name. Clearly, a highwayman—though you hate to think of him like that anymore—would not be able to enter into the Royal Games without providing some sort of alias. It makes you wonder about his attendants; who they are to him because surely they would have to have a fierce loyalty towards him to risk being here.

Though, that thought has a thrill all its own inching its way down your spine. You don’t want to be presumptive, but you can’t help thinking he’s here to see you, to be near you…that he’s here for you.

Your thoughts are spinning, your mind trying to devise a scenario where you can abscond away into your highwayman’s arms. Forget being a princess, forget the titles and the money…the power. You couldn’t care less about those things, not when what you truly want is right there…walking across the field—towards you!

“Haejoon of House Lee, Your Majesty, My Lady,” the game crier announces, addressing Seokjin and then you.

Prince Seokjin stands, flicking an impatient hand your way. You lurch to your feet, closing the distance from your seat to the railing guard of the dais. Everything narrows to a singular point of focus; the world could end, and you’d be none the wiser with as consumed as you are by that mahogany stare.

“Impressive shot, splitting another’s arrow. I believe that feat alone has earned you the fair maiden's favor,” Prince Seokjin announces as if he’s doing you both a service. “Please, come claim your prize, Haejoon of House Lee.” He adds a flourish with a begemmed hand in your direction.

Duckie tucks a square of embroidered cloth into your hand from behind. “For the competitor, My Lady,” she whispers.

You glance down at the handkerchief, noting the soft purple thread forming your initials on one corner and the white rose denoting your status as a maiden on another. Lace frills line the edges of the dainty fabric.

The railing digs into your belly, but you don’t care as you press forward and lean out over it. He’s so close, inching up on his toes, arm extended. You silently plead for a breeze to flutter through, your body craving just a small taste of his scent. If only to add another piece to the puzzle that is this mystery man of your dreams.

“I know you,” you whisper. “I’ve dreamt of you.”

The sound of his breath is audible as he exhales, a warm smile cutting across his handsome face. “I was worried you wouldn’t recognize me. There is so much I need to tell you. Where can—”

“Kim Namjoon!” Court Mage Taehyung’s hiss cuts off whatever it is he was about to say. “Guards, seize this criminal! Ah! A fool you are, Jeon Jungkook, to dare step foot back in this city! Guards, his attendants, too!”

“Wait, no!” you cry as a mass of red and gold figures descend on him—Namjoon. “Please!”

The handkerchief in your hand is snatched away, crumpled and lost in the fray of bodies. Chaos erupts around you as the two men who were standing as Namjoon’s attendants spring into action, producing blades from under their cloaks.

“Come away from the railing, My Lady!” Duckie tugs on your arm, but you refuse to be moved.

It’s a quick, fierce battle that somehow sees the two men escaping through the thick crowd. Part of you is angry at them for leaving Namjoon behind, but another part of you knows it would have been a futile attempt to disengage him from the guards surrounding him. Your heart aches, but you try to remain hopeful that perhaps they’ll return with help. Though, what kind of help would be needed to free him from Prince Seokjin’s clutches now…well, you’d rather not think about that now.

Maybe…just maybe, you can do something.

“Come on, Duckie,” you mutter, finally tearing your eyes away from the anguish shining back at you from Namjoon’s. Glancing at Seokjin, you want nothing more than to wipe the smug look off his face but instead ask, “Permission to retire, Your Majesty?”

“Yes, yes, as you will.” He barely pays you any mind, dismissing you in favor of barking orders at the guards to have Namjoon taken to the dungeon to await the gallows with the rising sun.

That gives you a timeline, one that your heart beats frantically against. You glance at the sky, judging how many more hours there are until nightfall. That’s when the real testament of time will begin. Under the guise of darkness, you must find a way to free Namjoon, lest he become a man only in your dreams.

🍂🍂🍂

Namjoon

The stench of hopelessness nearly overwhelms the stink of death and decay that Namjoon knows is soaked into the weathered stone of the dungeon cell he was tossed into.

There are half a dozen other limp bodies clumped into the small cell. It’s hard to tell if any of them are even breathing, but the occasional hacking cough and groan tells Namjoon that there is at least one other pitiful soul with him in the darkness.

“Ye ought be askin’ for a last words wi’the priest, ach,” a gravelly voice cuts through the dank air. Namjoon squints into the darkness, trying to find the source of the voice. “Tha’s right, I be talkin’ to ye.” Movement sounds from the far side of the cell. There are a few muttered curses, the shuffling of feet, and the rattle of chains, but slowly, a figure materializes out of the dark.

“Who are you?” Namjoon asks tentatively.

Namjoon barely makes out the wave of something—a hand, maybe—in the air before him. “It is not me ye should be worryin’ ‘bout, ach. It be yer head fittin’ for the gallows wit the sun. I ‘eard all about ye, the guards like ta talk. Ye best ask after a priest for yer forsaken soul…or wha’er else might be in tha skull o’yers.”

Believing he’s picking up on what the man is insinuating, Namjoon slowly nods. “Right. A priest. For my last words.” A plan begins to form in Namjoon’s mind almost instantly.

Shoving to his feet, he shuffles around the man, glimpsing a gnarled face and scraggly grey beard, until he’s close to the large, iron-clad wooden door. All it takes is a few pounding knocks on the door with his fists to draw the attention of the guard stationed outside the cell.

“Fuck off with that noise!” the guard snarls. His pock-marked face appears suddenly in the small barred window in the door. “Sit back down before I come in there after you!”

“A priest,” Namjoon says. “I’m owed my last words. I need a priest, as is my right. I must—I need to see a priest.” The guard’s eyes narrow. “For my soul,” Namjoon tacks on. “For absolution.”

Namjoon watches as the guard absently fingers the crude iron chain with an even cruder cross dangling from it around his neck. The guard tucks away the chain when he realizes what he’s doing, but not before giving Namjoon a gruff nod.

The guard turns away, taking a sliver of Namjoon’s hope with him. Just in case the guard disregards the request or decides better of it, Namjoon needs to come up with something else, another plan that might could see him released from this cell without the immediate meeting of the gallows.

Night set in a few hours ago. Even though he can’t see the outside world, Namjoon’s internal clock has always been reasonably accurate. If he had to wager, the moon would be approaching its apex sooner rather than later.

There is still no sign of a priest, not so much as a whisper from beyond the cell. That sliver of hope the guard took with him has festered into a gaping wound of anxiety at this point. Namjoon’s eyes grow heavy, and he’s fighting sleep when whispers carry to him from outside the cell door.

“Open the door at once.”

“Listen, Brother, we have rules—”

“I said open the door!” Friar Park’s voice echoes, rousing a few of the slumped bodies pressed in close to Namjoon.

He perks up, fatigue quickly washing away at hearing his dear friend's voice.

The guard grumbles, “Pompous arse.” But not a second later, the telltale sound of metal grating against metal screeches through the air before the door heaves open. Weak torchlight floods the space, illuminating countless dirty faces and even grimier bodies.

“Namjoon,” Jimin’s voice greets him. “Please, come kneel with me, and let us pray.”

The iron circling Namjoon’s wrists chafes, but the cool air in the hall outside the cell is a welcomed inhale into his lungs as he moves around the guard who is half-blocking the doorway.

“Make it quick, Brother. This one has a courtship set with the hangman. Just as soon as the sun kisses the sky, he’ll be kissing this life goodbye.”

The guard makes an obscene, wet smacking noise before falling into a fit of phlegmy laughter. He slams the cell door and turns his back on Namjoon and Jimin, returning to a small table set off to the side where a discarded, worn deck of playing cards sits half-shuffled.

There is a small alcove near the entrance to the dungeons, created for just this very thing. Namjoon kneels beside Jimin, barely registering how the rough stone digs into his knees.

“Friar Park, there is something that I need—”

“Bow your head. We’ll start with a prayer to—”

Namjoon knows he’s being uncouth in his approach, but there is only so much time left, and if Jimin agrees to this, he’ll need every minute that can be spared. “Jimin, please. I’m sorry, but this can’t wait. I swear to you that I’ll say as many prayers as you wish upon me once I get out of here…but only if I get out of here.”

Jimin’s frown vanishes, his eyes growing round. “Get out of here?” he mumbles as if the words are odd to him. “Right, of course,” he says a little more assuredly.

“Please. If you’ve ever considered yourself my friend…”

It’s there in Jimin’s eyes, the memories of their shared history on the streets and all the ways Namjoon sacrificed in order to see to it that Jimin never met the same fate as Namjoon.

Namjoon can see when Jimin makes up his mind, a small, private smile tipping up the corner of his mouth before he says, “Tell me what you need from me.”

🍂🍂🍂

It’s impossible to sleep. You’ve tossed and turned for hours now, all to no avail. Not that you want to sleep anyway, not when you know what the sun will bring with it in the early hours of the morning. Something you refuse to allow to happen, only haven’t figured out how to prevent from happening. All the ideas you’ve managed to come up with have been blunders, things that simply would only lead to disaster.

So, here you are, lying in your bed and wishing you were anywhere but. The pillows aren’t as soft, and the goosedown mattress might as well be lumped with stones with as much comfort as you find in it now. All you can think about is cold, damp stone floors and the greasy air from the fat-burning torches they use in the dungeons.

You’ve only been to the dungeons below the castle once. The stench of unwashed bodies and wet-moldy rot lingered long after Seokjin allowed you to escape back up the stairs. You know he’s down there…the man who has breathed life back into your existence despite being a total stranger.

Kim Namjoon.

His name tastes as sweet on your tongue as it feels saying it in your mind. You whisper it to the silk canopy hanging over your bed, “Kim Namjoon.”

“Did you say something, My Lady?” Duckie’s voice startles you. She peeks her head through the door that connects her small servant's room to your bedchamber. The bonnet on her head sits askew as if mused from sleep, the loose silver curls of her hair hanging around her robe-covered shoulders. “Trouble sleeping?”

“It’s been a dreadful day,” you inform her with a restless sigh.

You know she doesn’t understand your true meaning, so it doesn’t surprise you when she says, “Terrible criminals ruining the day, trying to steal a Lady’s favor.” Her slippered feet shuffle over the rugs covering your floor as she draws closer, the light from her candle sending long shadows dancing across the tapestry-covered walls. “I could send down for some warm milk. That used to help you sleep as a child.”

“No, Duckie, that’s quite alri—”

Knock, knock, knock.

The soft but succinct rap on your door cuts through your dismissal, drawing your and Duckie’s attention.

“Whoever could that be this late? Nonsense, a day full of nonsense dragging into the night,” she titters a string of comments as she swiftly approaches the door, clearly ready to throttle whoever is on the other side.

The one thing you were not expecting was to find a frazzled and out-of-breath Friar standing in the hall, a large green book clutched to his chest.

“I beg your pardon, My Lady. May I come in?” He’s pushing past Duckie before you can even respond. “I have something very important to show you. This isn’t proper, I know, me showing up like this, but it could not possibly wait.”

The Brother bustles through your rooms, making a beeline for the small sitting area near the balcony doors. “Friar, what could possibly be so important you must burst in here like a madman? My Lady is in naught but her shift, at least give me a moment to see that she’s properly dressed!” Duckie squawks after him, flapping her hand, which is not holding the candle, as if she could shoo him from the room like she would a fly.

Bewildered eyes swing around the room and land on your maid, the Brother startling like he’s only just now realizing she’s also in the room. “What? No. This cannot wait, I’m sorry, Good Ma’am, but a man’s life is at stake.”

“A man’s life?” you ask eagerly. You tumble from your bed, quickly snatching up your overcoat and shrugging into it. You’re across the room by the time you’ve got the belt hastily tied around your waist. “You bring word of Namjoon?”

If the Friar is at all surprised that you know that name, he doesn’t show it. “Yes, that’s exactly right, My Lady. But we must hurry, there is much I need to tell you and our time is running quite short. Please, please, sit…sit and listen.”

It all makes so much sense now—the feelings, the heartbeat echoing in your chest—soulmates. Something you once believed could only be found in fairytales and fables. You can’t help but think back to how your mother reacted when you asked about the dreams you had, how wistful and lost in her thoughts she seemed, her whimsical words about always daring to dream.

Part of you wants to take a moment to write to her and tell her what Jimin just explained to you. Maybe even show her the book, Prophetia Somniorum, the prophecy of dreams. It explains the connection that goes beyond someone’s heart, right to their very soul.

“So, you see, it’s inevitable. He is to be your future,” Jimin reiterates, closing the thick tome with a whispered thump of finality. “If he falls with the rising sun…well, I’m afraid the repercussions would be devastating.”

Yes. Something else the book provided grave details concerning. Because a soulmate's match is one of the soul, once the bond has begun to form, the life forces of all those involved are irrevocably tethered together. If something untoward happens to one, the other would be grievously depleted, even to the point of perishing.

This whole time, Duckie has paced behind your chair, an unusual quietness in her demeanor. So when she speaks, you’re unsure what you expect to hear. “And you believe this, Friar Park? A man of your faith…you’re certain?”

Jimin—Friar Park—picks at a loose woolen string snagged in the knee of his rough-spun brown robes. He’s quiet for a moment before finally looking up and catching the clinical gaze of your ladymaid. A beautiful smile graces his face as he says, “With all my heart, Verna. With all my heart.”

“It’s settled then,” Duckie announces. She sets her nearly burnt-out candle off on a side table and quickly disappears into your attached dressing chamber. “You’ll need to dress warmly,” she says, reappearing a moment later with a thick velvet and wool garment draped over her arm. “A few minutes, please, Friar Park. I’ll have her ready to flounce into the night in no time.”

“Really?” you laugh softly, bewildered by her proclamation.

“Don’t just sit there, My Lady!” Duckie pipes up, successfully shooing Jimin away this time. He disappears into the hall with a promise to wait while your maid hastily strips you of your nightwear and trusses you into a warm and, most importantly, practical dress.

You’re shoving wisps of your hair beneath a bonnet that’s tied under your chin as you slip from the room. The supple leather gloves on your hands are meant for riding, but they’re warm enough and not nearly as fumbly as the velvet ones Duckie tried to press on you as you laced up your boots.

“You’ve brought friends,” you note, taking in the two cloaked forms framing either side of Jimin.

Duckie stays behind just in case someone checks in on you during the night. It’s for the best, you think, as much as you will miss her motherly presence and charm. She refused to let her tears fall, but the emotion was there in her whispered words of luck and hope.

“A man must need to know when to ask for help. Tonight is very much one of those times, My Lady.”

One of the figures steps forward, the cowl of his hood slipping back as he brushes a gloved hand across his forehead, allowing you a small glimpse of his face. “Name’s Hoseok, My Lady. It’s a pleasure.”

“Pleasantries can wait. We need to move,” the other figure states gruffly. He’s larger than his counterpart. Even with his bulk covered in the dingy green of his cloak, it does little to hide the breadth of his shoulders. “We only have a few minutes at most before they blow the hole.”

“Blow the hole?” you question.

Hoseok gestures with one of his hands for you to follow after the other man, who is now striding down the dimly lit hall. Jimin falls into step behind you. “Don’t mind him, that’s Jeon Jungkook. He might seem prickly, but he’s harmless…mostly.” The name is familiar to you—everyone knows the exiled Jeon Knight. You’re just not certain many have realized that he is now part of the band of highwaymen that had been harrying the King's Road. Hoseok continues before you can give it much more thought than that, “But, to give you the short of it, My Lady, we need a distraction if we’re to get into the dungeon and get out with little issue. The eastern wall of the coffer holdings has a few minor weak spots, and we plan to exploit them.”

That explanation is vague but provides enough information that you can piece together some semblance of what might be coming. Mere seconds later, the stones beneath your feet shudder, and you catch the distant sound of thunder. Only, as the floor continues to quake and rumble, you’re certain that’s not thunder at all.

“Are they using dynamite?” Jimin sputters from behind you. “Those fools will bring down the whole city!”

That earns a chuckle from Hoseok, who shrugs before urging you to continue. “We had to use what we could on such short notice, Brother. Surely, even you can admire that.”

There is no reply from Jimin, not when Jungkook increases his pace, leaving your group solely focusing on breathing and putting one foot in front of the other. It’s not exactly pleasant running in the low-heeled boots you’re wearing, but they were the only somewhat sensible footwear you had with you here at the palace.

Not a single guard is in the hall as you careen around corners and shuffle down sets of stairs. It would seem that every man-at-arms in the palace has been called to whatever distraction is still rocking the far side of the palace.

“How many…holes…are they…blowing?” you huff out the words between puffing breaths that cloud in front of you. The farther down you go in the palace, the deeper the chill that’s hanging in the air.

“As many as it takes,” Hoseok offers, his words far less broken than yours. He lopes at your side with ease, the falls of his feet a mere whisper compared to your ground-pounding steps. It’s apparent these men are used to being light on their feet, all the better for being shadows in Sherwood Forest, you suppose.

The stairwell to the dungeon looms ahead like a gaping maw of darkness waiting to swallow you whole. You don’t give it a second thought, barreling down the stairs after Jungkook, hoping your feet find their way with each step. The last thing anyone needs right now is a tumble to the bottom.

You wind left and left and left some more, spiraling right into the belly of the palace. It’s a dizzying and disorienting experience, hurtling down the steps in the dark. But, eventually, you catch the faintest glow of guttering torchlight in the distance.

It draws you like a beacon, your feet moving impossibly faster. Your stride barely changes as you hit the bottom. Jungkook is sprinting ahead of you, his green cloak billowing wildly. You glance to your right at Hoseok, who still keeps pace beside you. There is a manic smile cutting across his handsome face, and you can’t help but smile, too.

That echoing thump in your chest has been growing, increasing with every step closer to its source. It’s like an erratic war drum now, beating so heavily you can feel every pulse all the way down to your fingertips and toes.

Another blast rocks through the palace, rumbling the ceiling over your head and causing a few loose rocks and dust to tumble from the weaker joist points. Shouts sound from up ahead, gnarled fingers jutting from between the bars in several doors.

“Help us!”

“Let us out!”

“The ceilin’ is comin’ down on ‘or heads!”

“Jungkook, is that you? Hoseok?”

The man in question abruptly skids to a stop in front of one of the cell doors. You nearly collide right into the solid muscle of his back, only stopping just short of him thanks to Hoseok hauling back on your arm.

“Namjoon!” Hoseok shouts. “Stand back, as far away from the door as you can.”

“Please don’t tell me you brought dynamite down here, too,” Jimin pants from behind you. “You’ll kill us all on top of bringing down the whole city.”

Hoseok laughs softly, moving to stand beside Jungkook. “Don’t be silly, Brother. We would never waste dynamite where simpler tools can be of use.” He pulls a slender, wrapped bundle from the small of his back.

Simple iron tools are displayed in a row as Hoseok unfurls the roll. Jungkook pulls several small implements from it and goes to work, setting pins against the hinges. With a few quick smacks of a rounded hammer, there are iron pins sticking out from all of the hinge joints.

“Door’s coming down, Namjoon! In three, two…” Jungkook and Hoseok both heave themselves against the solid wooden door. “One!”

The crash is so loud that you slap your hands over your ears. Dust hits your nose a second before the stench of unwashed bodies spills from the gaping doorway. Your heart thuds hard against your ribs as a tall figure lurches into the hallway, shackles hanging from his wrists clinking loudly. Several gnarled and frail bodies follow until the hallway is filled with wheezing and half-starved men.

“We don’t have time to open all the doors,” Hoseok mutters. “Hard to tell who belongs here and doesn’t.”

“Ach, this be the only door ye want open. The rests ‘er full o’murderers and scoundrels alike,” a gravely voice hacks into the silence, answering Hoseok’s question though you’re sure it was rhetorical.

“Shall we be on our way, then?” Jimin asks into the silence that follows.

As if to punctuate his query, the ceiling rumbles once more.

Jungkook swivels on his heel and presses through the gaggle of disoriented men. “Gladly. Those cuffs will have to wait. Let’s go.”

You get your first real glimpse of Namjoon as he steps through the crowd. His gaze immediately lands on you, and time seems to stop. He’s so close; all you have to do is reach out, and you can touch him. You are touching him. Your hands cradle the sides of his face, thumbs tracing over the smooth contours of his jaw.

One moment, you’re standing there, awestruck at having your hands on him, and the next, you’re using that grip to pull him to you. You push up onto your toes and slant your mouth over his. Your eyes slide shut, stars bursting behind your lids, lighting up like bursts of luminous effervescence. Namjoon’s lips are soft, pliable, and welcoming against yours.

A throat clearing draws you back, and you suck in a stilted breath, feeling light and giddy.

“Hi,” you breathe, blinking up at his wide eyes. You’re far too full of bliss to be embarrassed.

“You’re so beautiful,” is his reply. “I can’t believe you’re here…you’re real. I thought I had dreamt you.”

“I am—”

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but we really do need to get out of here. You love birds can sing to one another more later,” Hoseok says, breaking through your bubble.

Reality bounces back around you, and you’re instantly aware of dozens of pairs of eyes looking at you and Namjoon. Your cheeks heat now, and you drop your hands from his face. Only for him to slide one of his shackled hands into yours at your side.

Nothing further is said as you and Namjoon jog down the hallway back towards the spiraling staircase. Already, there are several of the escaped men scrambling their way up the steep steps.

You can’t help stealing glances at Namjoon every few steps. Even in the pitch black of the stairwell, you find yourself glancing over. His presence alone is reassuring, the ever-consistent warmth of his palm pressed tightly to yours.

There is a giddiness that’s bubbling inside of you, itching for a way to get out. Adrenaline is pumping, coursing through your veins, and you want nothing more than to throw your head back and laugh out loud in delight. You don’t, though. Not yet, at least.

Jungkook is a brown and green streak through the night. He seems intimately familiar with the grounds. As a former knight, you expect no less from him. It’s almost too easy how quickly he leads your small band out of the palace grounds. The dark, moss-colored leaves of Sherwood Forest are overhead before you realize it.

A few of the escapees follow behind, sharing low words amongst themselves, only to be hushed several times by Jimin. You’re surprised the Friar is still with you. Though, the fact he helped Namjoon—and you—to begin with, gives you an inkling of his connection to these men—this band of merry men, as you’d like to think of them now, highwaymen no longer.

“Wait, wait,” Namjoon urges, pulling you to a gentle stop. Everyone else continues on. Hoseok is the only one casting a curious look back, but Namjoon just waves for him to keep going.

“What is it?” you ask. You’re not sure, but you can’t imagine you’ve made it all that far into the forest. If you stay here, you could get caught. Undoubtedly, the guards are in pursuit by now. You glance around anxiously.

Namjoon loosens his grip from your hand to cup your face. The chain connecting his shackled wrists brushes against the column of your throat. “I couldn’t go another moment without doing this…again.”

The word is barely out of his mouth before he kisses you this time. It’s brief but no less fierce. Fire ignites deep in your belly, and the echoing heartbeat in your chest thunders into a pounding rhythm.

The whisper of your name on Namjoon’s lips is like the most beautiful sonnet. It breathes life into you. He says it again, fervently as he searches your face. “This is truly real, isn’t it?”

“It’s real,” you confirm with a smile.

“I’ll spend all of my days learning every beat of your heart,” Namjoon swears. “If you’ll have me.”

“You are mine, as I am yours. I’ll follow you wherever you go. Take me into your world.”

Sherwood Forest stills for a moment as if the entire wood is holding its breath and waiting. And as Namjoon nods, slipping his hand back into yours, and you disappear with him beneath the boughs, the forest exhales a sigh of relief, coming to life once more.

6 Months Later, Sherwood Forest in the Spring

Life in the little city suspended in the treetops of Sherwood Forest has been more than you could ever have imagined. At first, you were intimidated and anxious, traversing the wood and rope bridges between the platforms. But you grew in confidence and now are pretty sure you could walk from one end of the community to the other with your eyes closed. You’ve yet to test that, though, of course. You might have given up your station as a Lady, but you’ve still got your wits.

You’d be remiss in saying you haven’t had a single worry since stealing away into the night with Namjoon and his band of merry men. In the beginning, you entertained many worries. All of which have since been eased.

For weeks, you jumped at every little sound and brush of the breeze thinking it Yoongi and Taehyung come to steal you back to Seokjin. Jimin assured you after a month had gone by that your name had practically been erased from any and all stories.

It’s like you never even existed, a runaway, lost to the world. When you asked him about your parents, he told you that they’ve gone through a mourning period, but there hasn’t been much else said about it. You love your parents dearly, but perhaps it’s for the best this way. Luckily, Duckie and all her motherly energy joined you shortly after you were whisked away. She insisted and pestered Jimin so much that he had no choice but to show her the way through the Sherwood Forest.

For a while there, you also weren’t sure how you would be welcomed among Namjoon’s community. Nor where your place would be exactly. Sure, you’d be by Namjoon’s side. But you wanted more in your life than just that; you needed purpose, some way to contribute.

So, you decided to offer your services and knowledge to help Namjoon. Now, you work closely with Jungkook and help secure the goods and services needed. You’ve been so successful in this endeavor that a small team of masons has even come in to begin excavating and renovating the stone ruins.

By this time next year, there should be enough rooms prepared so that some of the families can move down out of the treetops. It will especially be suitable for the elderly, who have had limited mobility so high up.

“Flower for your thoughts?” Namjoon asks. You blink away your drifting thoughts, focusing on the brilliant purple petals in front of your face. You nod, and with delicate fingers, Namjoon weaves the flower into your hair just above your ear.

“I was just thinking about my time here.”

Namjoon’s steps don’t falter as he continues to lead you through the stone ruins that spread out a short distance from his humble community in the treetops. The flowing cream-colored gown you’re wearing swishes around your feet with every step, the lacy train held tight in your hand to keep it from snagging. Your other hand is clasped steadfast in Namjoon’s.

You haven’t let go of his hand since Jimin tied them together with a length of velvety ribbon and pronounced you as one. It’s been a magical day so far. One that you’re sure will only grow more so if the grin on Namjoon’s face is any indication.

“A marvelous time it’s been. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me. I wonder how Seokjin fares,” Namjoon laughs with the last part, giving you a charming, coy smile.

There was one last thing you wanted to accomplish before genuinely giving your life over to your own wants and desires, which was to see Prince Seokjin and his cronies put into their proper places.

The courier you sent last month should have well and truly reached King Seokjoong by now. You were able to provide him with an extensive account of everything nefarious that Seokjin and Taehyung have orchestrated. Having once been a Lady has its perks.

“I’m sure there will be plenty of correspondence about it with our next bushel of goods from Jimin,” you trail off, frowning as Namjoon winds you further and further through the ruins. “Where are we going?” you ask.

Namjoon leads you through a few more turns, past half-constructed scaffolding and piles of building supplies. The masons have taken a few days off, the whole settlement in jovial celebration for this special day.

“We are….” Namjoon sing-songs the words, drawing them out as he pulls you around a corner. “Going right here.”

You blink slowly, momentarily struck with astonishment.

Before you is a romantic dreamscape with blossoming spring flowers and mounds of silky pillows. A tinkling spring cascades in a series of small waterfalls coming off a slick cliff face that forms one wall of the sprawling space. Ivy-covered stones make up the other walls, and the doorway you’re standing in is cut into one of them. The floor is polished marble, swept free of debris and litter. Alcove windows mark the two far walls, and clay pots of blossoming purple flowers cover the elegant sills.

In the center of the open space, there is a large platform bed covered in a mountain of pillows and downy blankets. A washing basin and pitcher sit on a small wooden table in the corner by the waterfall. Riverstones are stacked about three paces high, creating a small retaining wall that keeps the water from the falls contained and from flooding into the room.

“What is this place?” you ask in wonder, gazing up at the thick panels of stained glass overhead that allow in a cascade of colorful late-day sun rays.

“The histories I’ve managed to find indicate that this part of the ruins was where the royal family resided. They used the natural falls as a life source, drinking the crisp water to ensure their health and longevity. Now, it’s yours…if you want it.” Namjoon gives you a sheepish look. “I asked the masons to restore this area first. They’ve been working in secret for weeks to make sure it was safe.”

You move within the room, your fingers slipping from Namjoon’s as you make a slow turn to take in the whole space. “This is for me?” you ask, finally facing him once more. “Truly?”

He answers you with a kiss, closing the distance you created between the two of you and wrapping you up in his arms.

“Truly,” Namjoon murmurs against your lips before deepening the kiss until you’re breathless and your lips are swollen and wet.

The smart brown and green doublet Namjoon donned today slips easily from his shoulders under the insistence of your trembling fingers. The fashionable shoes, hose, and underthings Hoseok pressed upon him go next. You welcome the press of his body against yours, moaning into his kiss as his hands disrobe you with just as much ease.

The fragrance from the lavender plants in the pots and the running jasmine that mingles with the ivy is a heady attribute to the spicy cinnamon and clove scent of Namjoon. You like to tease him about the amount of spiced tea he consumes. But, when it makes his lips taste like fire and his skin smell like warmth and comfort, you bless the merchants who introduced the drink to him.

Namjoon follows you down onto the soft mound of pillows, his bulk fitting into the clasp of your thighs. The heft between his legs sits heavy against your belly, leaking wetness every time he presses his hips against yours. You writhe beneath him, digging your heels against the small of his back, silently begging him to give you what you both so desperately want.

“I love you,” you whisper, lips finally breaking from Namjoon’s.

Those dark-honeyed eyes with their endless depths bore into yours as Namjoon shifts over you, using one of his hands to ready himself against your entrance. “And I you, my love…my soulmate.”

Your lips part, a silted gasp-turned-moan escaping as he gently presses forward, sliding into your body. He’s gentle, staying his hips to let you adjust before pressing even deeper until he’s finally sheathed to the hilt, and you’re both gasping.

The light coming in through the stained glass overhead bathes Namjoon in a myriad of tones that shift and darken as the sun sinks lower in the sky. It feels like he touches your soul as his hands move over your body, his lips plucking and drawing out each and every pliant moan and shudder.

You are finite and yet infinite all at once. Every breath you take is spelled with triumph and disaster, a coalescing of the cosmos that you know could rip apart the universe with its power. Your body breaks against his over and over again like a tempest against a neverending shore. Only this shore is full of life and light, drowning out all your worries and leaving nothing but beauty and decadence in its place.

With one final, desperate cry, Namjoon gives himself over to you. His liquid heat floods your body, and you welcome it with a languid smile, luxuriating in the bliss you’re sharing. Namjoon cradles you to him, stroking the glistening beads of perspiration from your skin.

“Are you happy?” you ask him after some time. The sun has long since slunk beneath the horizon, its bright light and warmth replaced by the calm serenity of the moon. It hangs full and silvery overhead, creating its own beautiful tapestry of colors through the stained glass.

Namjoon turns over onto his back, draping an arm around your waist and pulling you close to his side. His hand absently brushes over the lush curve of your waist as he stares up at the night sky.

“Mm. How many stars do you think are up there?” he asks.

You cast a glance in the direction he’s looking, letting your eyes sweep over the endless number of sparkling facets spreading as far as you can see. “Too many to count.”

“Well, then, the amount of happiness I have right now rivals the amount of stars in the sky.”

He smiles, those eyes twinkling with the reflection of his joy. “Tell me about it,” you urge, your voice low and sultry as you push up and slide a knee over his hips. “Tell me of what your heart speaks.”

His words come whispered and fevered, full of truth and passion, punctuated by the sounds of your bodies coming together as one. It echoes through the forest, a proclamation to nature and the heavens above, a love sparked and forever kindled beneath the boughs.

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