#the notes in the drawing are part of my own au meaning I am disregarding cannon

[jack-crow-lantern]

You guys really liked my last dca fanart of the boys, so, here’s some Sun.

[ktheist]

take my whole life too | m

muses. jeongguk x heir!reader

genre. chaebol au. arranged marriage au. expecting parents au.

words. 5k

warnings. dad!jeongguk, house husband!jeongguk, simp!jeongguk, implied smut verging on actual smut, mentions of break up and arguments

x

you never gave much thought for jeon jeongguk - not for how he looks, not for how much he makes, not for how compatible you are together. nothing. so much for promising to stay together through health and sickness till death do you apart.

but that’s just the thing, you were willing to let go of your heart in exchange for the wealth of your family. which is inherently yours until the findings of your grandfather’s will appointing his administrators the task of safeguarding the billions of dollar estate against his unmarried granddaughter who to be fair, has always had her eyes on that bejeweled ring of his. it’s less about the diamond and more about what possessing - legally, of course - the ring could do. for one, nobody could challenge your legitimacy as the chairman of luxean. and boy, do your overbearing aunties like to nitpick every little thing you do at the board meeting just to put their sons and daughters in a better light.

so yeah, you would say sacrificing your non-existent possibility of falling in love would suffice. plus, jeongguk can go shopping for convertibles with a swipe of a card, fly from london to italy to greece and back to london within one night. heck, he can even have a steamy hot night with the locals and bring back a greek goddess of a mistress if he wanted to.

except for one problem: he wants to do all those things with you.

well, considering how he stripped down to just pants with the buckle undone and protrusion of well defined abs that leads to a tantalizing v-line beneath the contrasting black band of his calvin klein halfway to the bedroom of your suite after the ceremony, completely disregarding the fact you never spoke to him unless you were in the presence of other people - watching eyes - and the limited time you have to change into your second outfits, you figured he’d want more than just hot and steamy nights in paris and peaceful quiet mornings in athens in your sundress and off white spring hats.

he either hasn’t figured out that he’s just a tool for you to gain public opinion or he doesn’t particularly care as long as he’s getting some.

“you’re leaving?” the voice that asked the very obvious question bears a sort of despondency to it.

when you turn to face the man lying naked - and looking like a well sculpted greek god at that - in the bed, you curse yourself for forgetting the one simple thing that you promise yourself not to do: look at him in the eye. by god, you’ve never seen anyone -  any man - who could be so good at weakening your resolution and making you want to climb into bed and cuddle him like a puppy.

“didn’t soyeon tell you i have a meeting?” you manage to sound casual about it for the most part as you put on the earrings that lie abandoned on the vanity when jeongguk came in just before you were almost done with your make up and bent you over the vanity to fuck you once before carrying you to the bed and fuck you in your sensitive state.

“i know,” he mumbles.

and when only silence follows suit, you can’t help but let your hands rest on your hip as you raise your eyebrows, “but?”

it takes a moment of the man trapping his bottom lip between his teeth and leaving it with a sort of pinkish shine when he releases it, “can we have another go?”

“you’re hard?” this time, the surprise in your voice is unconcealable, “again?”

“i know - i’m sorry - it’s just... that dress looks really good on you,” he doesn’t even bother to hide his ogling.

so to answer the question of whether you fucked him that time at your suite when you were supposed to change, yes you did.

“sounds like a you kind of problem,” you wave with the hand that picked up your purse - all your essentials already there, “go out and have a look at athens before we fly for london tomorrow - oh and maybe grab some dinner for yourself.”

“when will you be back?” as much as you like to think you’re indifferent to your husband, you can’t help but think he looks endearing for shying away from your gaze and rubbing the back of his head hesitantly, “i thought maybe we could have dinner together.”

there’s a strain in his voice but you brush it off, shrugging, “what do you think meetings like this are held over? i am going for dinner,” you want to take that back as soon as it escaped your lips but instead, you turn around, “anyways, don’t wait up.”

that’s one habit that he seems to have - waiting for you until you climb into bed with him after long hours of frying your eyes in front of the laptop in the common area.

either way, you strut out of your suite, leaving your husband with a semi-hard cock, you didn’t miss the way it twitched at your blatant rejection just before you turned your back on him.

and so you go about your day, the meeting coming to a close flawlessly as with a signed contract and a meal worthy of the restaurant’s reputation. by the time you thought the approaching figure from the corner of your eyes is the waiter bringing your desserts, kim taehyung was in the middle of thanking you “for meeting me on such a short notice, on your honeymoon at that.”

“i should thank you for reaching out to my secretary when you heard i’d be here too,” you chuckle, hand pushing a stray hair to the back of your ear before your gaze travels up to meet the man’s, “my grandfather always says, there’s no security on this earth, only opportunity,” raising the wine glass mid air, you offer him a smile, “and god does not help anyone seize it unless they do so themselves.”

“the late chairman was a wise man,” he raises his own glass, only to freeze at an awkward angle when the waiter finally approaches you.

except it isn’t the waiter. 

it’s-

“___,” a voice fills your ears like velvet on skin, you already know who it belongs to before you even look up at the man whose out-of-character furrowed brows and pressed lips all but makes you want to shoot up from your seat and spout out explanations you don’t even owe him, “i thought i’d pick you up since it’s,” he checks his rolex - it was the first thing you bought him after assessing his lack of accessory after you’d both signed the contract, “half an hour till midnight and the polignotou isn’t going to wait for us.”

taehyung is the one to break the silence, “it seems i’ve taken up too much of your time.”

before you can even refute it, he’s already standing up and fixing his blazer before stepping to the side to properly face your husband. 

“congratulations of your marriage, mr. jeon,” then he turns to you, his smile just as excellent at yours when it comes to hiding your emotions and that could only mean that tonight is drawing to an end on a bad note thanks to your husband’s interruption, “mrs. jeon.”

and with a final words of ‘i’ll have my secretary send you the papers soon’, he’s gone like the wind.

“what are you doing here? i told you i had a meeting! not gallivanting with some greek men!” the words come out in a low hiss when he takes the abandoned seat across from you as you gaze around the vicinity in case there are other business acquaintances that happen to know you.

“i’m sorry -” he mumbles out, “i was walking down the streets and i saw you at the balcony of the restaurant and-” he stops short of his words, tongue darting out over his lower lip for the briefest moment.

“and?” you echo, brows arched.

“i got jealous of seeing you with another guy,” his voice is barely above whisper but you hear it loud and clear.

you’re almost sure that you’ve slipped but and let your eyes narrow at him like a puzzle that you can’t figure out but it’s gone in a heartbeat as you pick up your purse and clear your throat. possibly in search for the right words to say but perhaps also an admittance of your caught-off-guard situation.

either way you stand up, “let’s go, the street starts getting scarcer by 2 and i’d rather stay safe and walk with more people than less.”

x

you did end up walking.

it was a halfway walk but it’s still a walk, that was, until you saw jeongguk pulling on the material of his pants every two minutes. the lack of lights did well to hide it but even then, your eyes automatically pans towards the noticeable protrusion in between his legs. as if your body has completely adapted to his scent - that subtle but evident scent of masculinity, his gaze - the pure, unadulterated desire within the shadows in his eyes and his touch - the way his hand seems to inch lower down your ass before he traces back up to settle on the dip of your spine before it left you cold and unattended when he started to tug on his pants.

“jeongguk -ah, fuck,” you bite back the moan that spills over your lips, “you’re making too much noise.”

“yeah?” his voice bears a lull to it as he thrusts in and out of you in the way that makes your legs come together and your heart leap all the way to your throat as your hands grip onto the dampened cart jeongguk pushed you against in the closest alleyway you were walking towards before he bent you over, lifted up your dress and pulled your panties down.

not even a minute passed before you felt him inside you. and by god, did you feel filled to the brim. the sheen of sweat coating your skin is cold against the chilly night air, the sinful sounds echoing off the walls makes you pray for the first time in a long time that no one is nearby and the way jeongguk is hitting all your sweet spots has you gritting your teeth in hopes that it’d be one less sound to get you arrested for public indecency.

in a country that you’re not a citizen of, at that.

you’re not sure how you got back to your suite and how the hell did you switch into your night dress but you have an inkling that it has something to do with the man whose arm traps you against a hard, muscled body when you started shifting to wake.

his breath fans the back of your neck as he slurs his words but you can make out a ‘five more minutes’ after a grumble and a faint ‘chaeyoung’ at the end.

“no,” you’re not sure what or who you’re saying the words of rejection to, but you slam a fist into arm that’s holding you, “let me go! jeongguk! let me go!”

he finally does at the bloodcurdling scream that could wake up the whole city. but somehow security hasn’t come bursting through the door and the streets in front of your room hasn’t halted its hustling and bustling.

“wh-what happened?” jeongguk’s wide eyes scan the room for the one, solid minute before they rest on you but instead of settling with the deduction that your scream was caused by his own entrapment - possibly the unfamiliar name he blurted out - he crawls over to you, “are you okay?” hand on your cheek as he checks for something.

they return to your eyes when you slap it away though.

you’re not even sure why you’re seeing red but you attribute it to the fact that- “how did i get in this?”

he takes one look and blinks, “i changed you because you fell asleep in the cab and i carried-”

“why?” arms crossed over your chest, you speak over him.

“i... i thought you might be uncomfortable sleeping in that dress,” you can almost hear the screws in his brain turning in search for answers.

“stop, okay? don’t act like you’re some award-winning husband - you’re not, you were broke and was about to lose your only source of income when i came to you and asked if you wanted to not have to work a day in your life,” he must’ve not known that his eyebrows twitch at the words, “it’s always been about the money - i get it, so you can stop now. we don’t have to play house when no one’s around because this isn’t an actual marriage and we don’t even love each other.”

you expected the stars in his eyes to dim out, expected him to avert his gaze somewhere to the most random thing like the ugly vase next to the door or the phone on the nightstand or the window where the sound of kids laughing and vendors across the street obnoxiously greeting his neighboring competition.

but instead, he looks straight at you, “what is it then?” he asks, “what are we if those good night kisses, cuddling into each other in the middle of the night when we woke up briefly before falling back to sleep, holding hands while walking and making love every night-”

“i don’t know where you got that because i never kissed you, i never asked you to wait for me to go to sleep together and i never touched you first - they were all you,” your head dips to the side just the slightest bit, “and we had sex every night. that’s it - it’s just sex.”

the last thing you see before you climb off the bed and lock yourself in the bathroom, dialing up your secretary’s number to book a plane ticket for yourself, is what you’ve initially expected to see.

stars that don’t shine as bright as the morning they twinkle and greet for the first time of the day. brows that knit together but not because he’s anxious or nervous about telling you something.

when you stepped out, he’s gone and you don’t leave any notes. not even a text after you packed up your belongings, hailed a cab and went straight to the airport in your darkest shades and brightest dress.

and so it goes, not a single rumor about your early arrival in seoul and your lack of spouse with you. mainly because jeongguk and you have put up quite a show for those watching eyes. a love story worth spectating and an ending keenly awaited. but you’ve made it clear, during your about-to-hit one month honeymoon that you’re truly, deeply, madly in love with your chosen husband, so much so, that you’re willing to leave the chairman seat unguarded. 

it’s a gamble but it worked like magic. the board members welcome you back into the company without any inquiry even though you’re one week too early. mr. yoo even seems relieved to see you when you’re on your way to your office on your first day back.

“it’s nice to see you again, miss ____ -” he stops himself, “i mean, mrs. jeon.”

you shake your head, laughing, “miss ___ is fine for me, everyone’s known me as that for so long.”

when you reach the end of the hallway where you have to part to go to your office, and him to his, you tap him on the arm once with a hand that lacks a wedding ring but he doesn’t seem to care as he dips into a bow and bids you a good day.

and so it goes, you start burying yourself in your pending works while also juggling surprise visits from two of your aunts, to which each does not fail to not-so-discreetly give your left hand a once over. but you’re faster, having kept your ring in the drawer and pulling it out and slipping it on under the desk before standing up to greet the elder women both times without fail.

on the day jeongguk and you were supposed to return, you’ve debated on booking a hotel just because you don’t want to face him - soyeon briefed him about your sudden departure back to korea and that there was no reason for him to come back with you. and so he stayed. travelled to london and then to glasgow with a black card and unlimited possibilities - just liked you promised him on the day you signed the contract.

things might have gotten off track but coming back to the familiar scent of ocean from your candlewicks and the bonzai that belonged to your deceased grandfather in the corner of the room, you’ve found your purpose again - the reason you would go so far as to sacrifice your heart for this position.

you’re never going to lose sight of it ever again.

but when the door beeps once after you punched in the code, the smell of something delicious waft in the air after you stepped into your apartment and jeongguk greeting you with a pink apron with printed with hearts all over it, you feel yourself freezing in your spot.

“oh, you’re back?” his back is on you as he redirects his attention to the sizzling goodness in the hot pan, “i’m making fried noodles, it’ll be done it 10 minutes - why don’t you go and change first?”

it takes a moment of you staring at the black tresses of his head and the broad shoulders with a pink string hanging over the back of his neck before you actually take a step towards the stairs. once you’ve showered and dressed in your pajamas - you prefer those than the lingerie jeongguk has only ever seen you in - it takes another moment for you to stare at the golden strings layered with button mushrooms, beef slices and prawns and a fried egg over them.

“okay,” you shake your head, as if to shake away the trance that seems to come over you - jeongguk’s already looking at you with a curve on his lips, “what is this?”

“friend noodles,” he says simply.

“no,” another round of head-shaking passes, “i mean, what are you doing? i literally insulted you and called you a bum and a gold digger.”

he takes a minute to mull over the matter, bottom lip jutting out as if to say, “yeah, i kinda am.”

“you must also not realize that i only talk to you when we’re in public or when we’re having sex,” you point out, fork gripped tightly in your hand to which he gives a glance at before reaching to pull it out of your grasp and setting it on the napkin next to your plate.

“love making,” he reiterates but before you can even get a word out, he holds up a hand and tilts his head in a ‘wait’ kind of manner, “and a relationship is 50-50, you work and i cook and clean.”

your eyes narrow at him for the longest moment before you pick up the fork again, this time dipping it into the strands of gold and twirling it before directing it to yout mouth. an appreciative moan leaves you as the spice and sweetness spread over you like a whole new experience.

“good right?” jeongguk mimics your action, digging in and smiling proudly with the first bite.

it’s only when you’re done and loaded the dirty dishes into the washer, as you watch him take off the apron with his back on you whilst you lean against the edge of the counter, do you finally ask, “who’s chaeyoung?”

the way he freezes up with hands middair, in the middle of hanging the strap over the hook - isn’t the least bit surprising.

“wh-who?” the hesitant way he looks at you and then to his feet and then to the sink with a hand rubbing the back of his neck - is familiar. welcomed even but you don’t show.

“you tell me,” you shrug, “must’ve been someone important - someone who you’re used to having wake you up.” you let the silence hang in the air for several heartbeats, watching as his adam’s apple bob whilst his wide-eyed gaze shifts from the sink to the block of knives to the stool before they rest on you.

“maybe a girlfriend you left behind in exchange for money - the money i offered you,” and with that, you watch as his gaze shakes and his pink move but no words come out.

it’s only a long moment later, that he finally manages to find them, “i... i haven’t seen chaeyoung ever since we got married.”

“well, congratulations!” you bring your hands together in a crisp applause, lips curving into one of your schooled smiles, “soyeon contacted her and guess what she said? she said you told her you were going to the city to find a job and didn’t want her to wait on you which was why you broke up but poor little chaeyoung is still waiting for you on the country side - you can go see her and your parents.”

and with that, you turn your back on him for the first time since you left him to an empty suite and a cold bed. 

“why are you so...” but just as thought you could walk out of this like a winner, jeon jeongguk somehow manages to pull you several steps back with just words and eyes that bears more emotions than you can handle, “mean?”

“you’re always smiling and laughing with your secretary like you’re best friends, you always look sad when you talk about your grandfather and you always kiss your parents on the cheek every time you meet them... why-” he stops short when he meets your gaze - you’re not sure what he sees that makes him look like he’s been punched in the face with a wild ball. 

“i’ve always been mean,” you feel your eyebrows rising before you blink once, “you just had your head in the clouds, dreaming about how you can make a girl with a rotten attitude change and maybe fall in love with you along the way - well guess what? i’m not her,” and just like that night in athens, something in the way he stands, stiff like a rock and eyes darkened with a sort of desire, your eyes travel down to his pants where a painfully obvious erection protrudes against the fabric of his pants, “...and you like it.”

“no, i - this - it’s...” he fumbles on his words as he clasps his hands over his crotch, but the way his eyes seem to find solace at the sight of your cleavage screams desperation and agony.

“___... you don’t have- fuck,” the first moan falls out of his mouth when yours wrap around him. 

“only because i can’t have a proper conversation when all you’re concerned about is how to take my blouse off from all the way across the room,” you say after a delicious ‘pop!’ when your cheeks hollow out just before you pull away.

it takes only a few more pumps before he’s begging you to “wait- please - i want you.”

it’s the ‘please’ that gets you.

“fine but don’t come inside,” you relent, hands fiddling with the zipper of your skirt before jeongguk’s polite ‘let me’ as he bends you over the counter, chilly air kissing your skin as a tear echo against the wall and you wonder if you’re free in the weekend to go shopping for-

“oh my god,” the moan slips out of your mouth in a pleasured surprise - you didn’t expect him to get your pantyhose, panties and skirt out of the way that fast.

thought with the barely noticeable discomfort of your panties digging into your hips, you figure he opted for keeping them pushed to the side instead of getting rid of them completely.

they do come off anyway, left in the trail of clothes strewn along the way to the stairs where jeongguk decides to have you bend over because “it’s a perfect place for a doggy,” and you concur as you moan and whine while he fucks you like he owns you. hand keeping your hair in a lock whilst he holds your upper body up whenever you’re about to lose yourself and bury your face in the steps. 

but you do manage to get to the bedroom, just not the bed. you made a mess on the carpet - it’s going to stain an ugly shade of sex and lust but soyeon will probably not even bat an eye once you ask her to schedule an appointment with an interior designer. might as well give your room a make over.

so it goes, jeongguk likes to call your eye rolls and offers to lend him a driver to drive him to his hometown to meet the love of his life - cute. alternatively, jealousy. which you simply roll your eyes at, again.

at times, he comes over to your office - mainly to take you out for lunch but ends up fucking you over your mahogany table. and later in the car on the side of the road where an officer came knocking on the fully tinted window - you had at least 60 seconds to button up your shirts and pull down your skirt while jeongguk zips up his pants with a whine before you roll your window down.

how the rest goes, you rather not say.

but you’ve sworn against car sex - at least in daylight and in an open space.

so when you end up walking past a mirror in your room, just as you’ve donned an off white blouse and a grey pencil skirt, you find yourself freezing in shock. hands coming to cup your stomach, you squint at the woman who’s squiting back at your belly.

“honey, breakfast is ready,” jeongguk pokes his head into the room, the infamous pink apron tied around his front and a pair of light orang oven mitts on his hands.

“do you think I gained weight?” you quiz, knowing full well that he’ll spout a heartwarming but blatant lie about-

“no, i think you’re a healthy weight,” a man that looks like him comes to hug the woman in the mirror, kissing her head before glancing at his reflection once and turning back to it, squinting his eyes at the part where your hands are.

“uh,” he hesitantly starts, “how much chipotle did you have last night?”

“not enough that’s for sure,” you turn to him with an incredulous look, “i went to bed hungry,” a light smack lands on his chest - to which he doesn’t even bat an eye, “cause you keep stealing my food!”

“maybe we should book an appointment,” he suggests, voice smooth but the glint in his eyes and the suppressed smile on his face gives away his exitement.

“no, i can’t be pregnant,” you shake your head, walking over to the vanity to pick up your purse and keys, “it’s not the right time.”

“but what if you are?” you hear the hurt in jeongguk’s voice but your interest overrides your emotiones.

“i just can’t be,” and with that, you place a kiss on his lips, “i’m sorry, baby.”

and with that, you left for the kitchen when jeongguk still tried to reason with you. he tried again for the next few days until you set your food down and told him a baby is never going to be in the picture.

but two months down, you barely fit your clothes and jeongguk has been kissing you good morning before bending down and pressing his ear to your belly, “and good morning to you, my little blueberry.”

and he’s been kissing you good night before pecking your stomach and wishing the life form growing inside you a ‘come out fast so mommy and daddy can meet you, okay?’

“good news and bad news,” soyeon said exactly one month ago after you’d fainted in a middle of a meeting and woke up in a hospital room, “you can’t be pregnant but you are and you’re gonna need an heir soon anyway so...”

“it’s bigger than a blueberry now,” you point out  - jeongguk’s been calling your child a blueberry ever since he rushed to the hospital after getting a call that his wife fainted and once he was there, got flashed with a sonogram the size of- “the doctor said it’s as big as a blueberry, not chipotle,” you’d been indifferent, mainly because a child wasn’t in your plan and you’d been taking birth control since way before you got married.

but jeongguk had been overjoyed. taking care of you everywhere you go, he didn’t even let you drive and instead searched up for drivers with a long list of the lowest rates of accidents in their records. he gets into the shower with you because he “can’t wait to have a family shower together” and packages of baby clothes have been pouring in with matching shirts and ‘mom’, ‘dad’ and ‘baby’ printed on each one and he shows them to you after you got back from work.

his love for your child had made you fall in love with being a mother. with having a family of your own - the two notions you never thought you could wrap your head around as you made your vows to each other two years ago. 

and it’s somewhere down the line, as you watch jeongguk rock your baby in his arm as she sleeps soundly amidst the beeping of the heart monitor, jeongguk’s voice like a lullaby as he murmurs ‘you’re so beautiful, you have mommy nose, and my lips, thank you for being born,’ and when he twirls around, probably feeling the heat of someone’s stare from all the way on the bed, he looks at you with that lost, wide-eyed wonder before his lips curl into a smile, eyes disappearing into crescents.

-it’s then, do you realize that jeongguk has become the person you smile and laugh with, the person you greet with a kiss and the person your heart beats for.

he’s your husband, lover, soulmate.

x

note. i have another preview with the same title and characters but from a historical era which i haven’t managed to finish but if you see a marquis!jk and x heir!reader then yk hehe. also if you like arranged marriage au’s do check my masterlist! i have a lot of them apparently (i just realized while writing this fic lol)

i’ve been super stressed and feel like i haven’t actually been doing anything i really like in the weekend so i sat down and decided to finish this draft idea once and for all! 

first off, oc is a douche bag who cares about herself a lot but it’s written in her pov which i hope portrays a justification (which isn’t necessarily okay) to the things she do. but in other people’s story, she’s that woman who stole a person’s man, or she’s that hard ass boss that nobody really likes but pays good, or that graunddaughter that seems to think about her grandfather’s money only. but no one is easily good or bad, it’s more than that just like oc. and i hope to send at least that message through this story. not one can be just ‘good’ or ‘bad’.

in my opinion, there’s no development in her character bc of the word count and the fact that i didn’t plan for it to be long enough to include a development. i just wanted to write about an asshole who has feelings and can be nice to certain people. she’s probably still an asshole but her feelings for jeongguk changed and so is her treatment towards him (as per foreshadowed) and he became one of the people she loves - and i say probably because we’ll probably never know for sure and it’s also not up to my interpretation alone. you, the readers, may think she has or may think she hasn’t - either way, this is just a story about someone who you might know, maybe someone who you’d dupe as selfish. either way, i hope yall enjoyed it!

[daily-dipcifica-doodles]

If your Tangled AU includes TTS- I NEED to know who fills the role of sweet angsty baby Varian

great question HJDFKJDS I don't think I'll be able to make everyone fit into each role very neatly though :O because of many, many technicalities such as: pacifica is closer to, say, cassandra and dipper is a bit more believable as varian but they're current roles are as rapunzel and eugene, the overall existence of the stan brothers, pacifica's actual parents being more believable as gothel than as the king and queen etc. etc. etc.

BUT the nice thing about aus is the improvization and adaptation!! i don't know how much i'll be able to actually ponder on it drawing-wise before my next break but i can tell you i'm not gonna be following canon religiously cause that would not fit with the characters we have inserted into this universe

ah also, i might be disregarding part of the series canon from the finale of s2 til the end of the series oops - i've been in the fandom since 2018 before s2 was even out so i have. a lot of opinions on some things lol esp since i saw them happen in real time and have been active in discussions about them

with all that being said,

>:D

here's a bit of my current ideas for who's who in this and what they're doing sdfdsjkds

note: these are very much a work-in-progress hah

gonna put it under a [keep reading] cause it's a lot - never ask me about my opinions or ideas i have too many always forever and i will talk your ears off about them if given the opportunity

so i already established that pacifica fills rapunzel's general role and dipper fills eugene's, but i never specified if i was gonna follow canon much or not ;) well i'm gonna be moving some stuff around

remember lance strongbow? and how he's very much not there in the movie cause him and eugene separated and only reunited in season 1 of the series?

well that's mabel's overall role, minus some of the separation and obv her own personality dsfhjds

i'm not gonna poke the series much yet in this post but movie-wise, my plan is for mabel and dipper to both be thieves, running away from the royal guards cause they stole the crown

no maximus involved unfortunately

they split up and make the guards think mabel has the crown so that they follow her, but in reality the crown's with dipper who ends up at the tower where pacifica convinces him to take her to the lanterns

and they meet again when they've almost reached the kingdom - around where rapunzel and eugene met maximus again

so yeah mabel's gonna be more prominent than lance or max ended up being canonically JFSFKL (even though i'm so sad lance in particular didn't end up doing that much... lance my beloved why would they do that to you)

also mabel will end up filling most of cassandra's role as rapunzel's best friend cause i love mabel and pacifica as best friends they're very good sue me

bill is zhan tiri. who else could he be.

wendy's gonna be more or less filling cassandra's role as the daughter of the royal guard, b u t

one, i already established that mabel's gonna be the best friend so wendy will still be a friend! just not as close to pacifica as cassandra was to rapunzel

and two, I'm definitely not keeping Moonsandra's motivations in mind and none of the whole moonsandra drama

could wendy take the moonstone? yeah but she's not gonna become a villain from it unless i involve actual corruption in there which. is an idea but i haven't thought far enough to consider it properly yet lol so

(i love moonsandra but i just can't view her as the same character cassandra was, and in relation to wendy i feel like that just would Not work)

soos is gonna be a member of the royal guard (think - stan and pete), but his overall presence in the story is gonna be closer to shorty, not in his contributions but in how often he appears DJDSLK

shorty is in like every episode it's insane, he's everywhere

candy and grenda might be ladies in waiting too but i think they could also be from the snuggly duckling since they can't NOT be mabel's best friends

aaand that's everyone i'm p much certain on

i don't know who mother gothel could be - pacifica's parents in canon are closer to gothel than to fred and arianna but making them the latter would mean there would be a lot of drama and angst which would be interesting to explore :O however mother gothel could also be the witch lady that stole hands, yknow the one - but that might be confusing so hhh?

and i also don't know who the stans might be - i could make quirin stanley and king edmund stanford, but in that case i would have to figure out if dipper and mabel ran away from home, if they are orphans, or if stanley will become an accidental father figure in their lives dsifjdsndsd

and what would gideon be doing? could he be related to saporia? how would he get involved with bill? could he be a disciple? or should he fill varian's initial role of season 1 villain

there's a lot to consider : O and i haven't had a lot of time to REALLY think about it all lol

and that's uh all my thoughts so far lmao if you got this far i am impressed sdjfkjl i rambled a lot

if you have any ideas please let me know? i wouldn't mind more opinions on this since it's just me thinking about a Lot of things sdjfdskjdsk

that's all, mwah, see ya later when i post for the day

[punemy-spotted]

Of Blackbirds and Barons: Chapter 1

Chapter 1: You Make The Rain Fall Harder

Relationships: Mob!Helmut Zemo x Reader; CEO!Billy Russo x Reader; Mob!Helmut Zemo x Reader x CEO!Billy Russo

Warnings: Non-con/Dub-con; Dark!Fic; Mob and Mafia Elements; Character Death (Minor and Major); Threesome; Possessive/Obsessive Characters; Blackmail/Coercion; Kidnapping; Mentions of War; Human Rights Violations; Contract Killing; Mafia AU; Possible Dead Dove: Would Not Eat; Complete Disregard for Actual Rules of Journalism and Style Guides; Other Chapter-Specific Warnings May Apply

Chapter Specific Warnings: Non-con; Drugging/Date-Rape; Fingering (F-Receiving); Vaginal Sex; Unprotected Sex; Possible Breeding Kink; Kidnapping; Obsessive/Possessive Zemo; Dark!Zemo; Human Rights Violations; Discussion of Destruction of Novi Grad and Sokovia; Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Chapter Summary: The problem with having sympathy for the Devil is that he will drag you down to Hell regardless.

Author’s Notes: Another series! Because I can’t get enough of Mob!AUs! Zemo makes his dark entrance. And this IS dark, so read at your own discretion. As always, all of my work is 18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Masterlist

The long tradition of the Duchy of Sokovia, that which once stood the test of time against the Tsars of Russia, began to crumble long before its borders did, its sweeping architecture and decadent mystery giving way to the sharp lines of Brutalism and the characteristic industrialism of the Eastern Bloc. Still, the Sokovian people managed to maintain their identity in the face of a new kind of empire, bringing greenery and art to a brisk, concrete world.

There is no Sokovia now, not the way one would think, but there are still Sokovians scattered around the world, clinging to the traditions of their once-home and searching for a banner to be united under.

A banner carried by a man like Helmut Zemo.

The caret blinks back at you with a mocking sort of finality, a metronome counting down the seconds to your ultimate frustration. Once. Twice. Thrice — you lose count, staring at the screen until your vision crosses and the words blur together, until only his name remains.

Zemo.

Baron Helmut Zemo.

Your notes are expansive, excessive, papers strewn about you and you look at each scribbled anecdote, each carefully dictated word, each photograph you have annotated until it is more red marker than actual picture and you are… frustrated.

Where do you put all that passion? He asked you over champagne and charcuterie.

You know this man.

You know this man like you know your own soul. You know this man who has bared his soul to you in turn and how are you supposed to impress upon the world that he has shown you the broken heart beating slow and painful in his chest in just a thousand words?

There is nothing. Nothing you can do, nothing you can saywhich could even begin to encompass the horrors which he has experienced and now as you painstakingly tap out word after word describing the grand beauty of his apartment, you wonder if this really was what your life was meant to be.

These are… fluff.

This is a man who has managed to unite an entire fractured country under his royal banner and yet the project wants to know about the indoor garden of his apartment, wants to photograph him in fine suits and know his haircare routine and this can’t be it. This can’t be the face of the man you see everywhere now, moreso since you picked up the assignment, purple-masked and surrounded by brass wings, over the homes of Sokovians all over New York.

And not just there.

I am a man, he told you with his hand on your thigh, But I can become an idea. And an idea is immortal.

You let your eyes skim over the photographs you took, a collection of banners and graffiti and billboards all proclaiming the need for the Sokovian people to come together and heal. To show that their small country — broken and divided in the wake of an attack by a rich megalomaniac’s private military — could not be taken down simply because its borders had been erased and its capitol turned to rubble.

We live in an age of information, and through information we are boundless.

It should terrify you.

It does terrify you.

But inside of that terror is a sick fascination with the man, isn’t there? That’s the trouble with you investigative types — peel back the layers enough and you find yourself capable of feeling sympathy for anyone.

He flaunts his power, and yet it’s innocent. Is it so wrong, then, to want to bring my country back to its glory?

No, you remember answering shakily, but not as well as you remember the pinpricks of heat his fingers left on your skin when that gloved hand brushed over you arm.

Breathe deep, hover fingers over your keyboard and try not to feel like you owe him the weight of the world. He approved of this, even suggested a word count and a topic of conversation — any chance to put his name out into the consciousness of the public, it seemed, to raise interest for the gallery by raising interest for the cause. Make it indulgent. My people, they enjoy art. They enjoy knowing that their leaders have preserved the past for them.

So do it.

… Baron Zemo’s New York penthouse is its own garden amongst a sea of steel and stone, a veritable museum of priceless artworks rescued from what remained of Sokovian museums and ministry buildings. It is, in its own way, an ode to the spirit of Sokovia, which lives on in the hearts and minds of its people around the world. He displays artworks of the many displaced Sokovians, gesturing broadly to a 3D model of an art gallery he intends to have built near the memorial at Novi Grad — with the consent of the Slovakian government — and speaking fondly of his intention to showcase the lost art of Sokovia as a reminder that loss of land cannot be the loss of an identity…

The artworks, they will be painful at first. But the gallery will showcase more and more, and eventually we will have hope.

He waves a gloved hand over the pieces he has preserved. Sokovian history. Scenic expanses, fields and flowers, a city skyline dotted with domed cathedrals. Each painting marred some way too, you can see when you look close. Patched canvas, the dusting of ash and rubble in the corner of an ornate frame, a trick of the light revealing repainting to cover up damage.

A stone hoof sits on a bookshelf, The attached horse and rider blown to rubble in the attack. I’m told it was of Emperor Ferdinand, but my archivists have not been able to confirm, he tells you as he stands behind you, his hand resting soft on the small of your back.

Come. There is more to be seen.

More to be experienced.

His living room is a garden.

It smells like fresh jasmine the moment you walk in, ivy climbing the walls and you swear you can hear birdsong from more than the pigeons cooing outside. Flower arrangement is an often looked down upon art, but the gardens in Sokovia were impeccable. My father won several awards for his pieces before his…

He trails off and you watch him, seeing the pain paint his face as openly as if he meant for you to watch the facade crack and then back to that placid, pleasant calm, a serpentine smile on his face as he extends to you a hand and guides you to the open air of his balcony and bids you Sitbids you Enjoy bids you I have looked forward to his meeting.

It is a pleasure to meet you, Baron Zemo, you begin politely, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear and trying to avoid the way his eyes follow your fingers, feeling seen, We’re grateful for the honor of your patronage for this piece, we know you could have —

Nonsense, he cuts you off with a wave of his hand, gesturing to his butler and then leaning back comfortably in his seat as champagne and various cheeses are brought forth, You are my guest, and I am grateful you agreed to come meet me here, to assist with my… project. Now. Please, enjoy, I do not want to treat this as strictly business.

Is that why he had you come alone?

Don’t.

Don’t dwell on it.

It happens all the time, right? It has to.

A somewhat reclusive man, not keen to be in the limelight, in need of public attention to achieve his goals — you are a means to an end and he is your means to an end, surely you can understand.

Is that why he wipes the honey from your lips and kisses it off his fingers?

This is going to be a difficult conversation and you know it. You can only gush over houseplants and rose décor for so long before it becomes… trite, before you’re a part of the problem, painting a shining veneer over a half-decade old injustice

But he is warm, warm and friendly and you cannot help but laugh to his response when you draw attention to the architecture to draw attention from your blush — Very modern, yes. We are in New York, after all, and the old ways are fine for country houses but not so fine, for sunny penthouse apartments —not noticing the way he looks like he’s just smelled blood at the sound of it, the narrowing of his eyes and the hiding of his inscrutable expression behind a sip of champagne.

Well then. Shall we get started?

Of course.

Why don’t we start with your plans for opening night?Your notepad is out, the recorder sitting in front of you to pick up the sound of your voice and his, ready to commit everything to memory.

Of course. We cannot deny the… elephant in the room, I think you Americans call it. There are many who took pictures of the aftermath of the attack, and not enough who have seen it immortalized…

… The tragedy of Novi Grad and the consequential absorption of Sokovia into its surrounding countries weighs heavy in the Baron’s living room, draped in ivy and jasmine and hanging vines but also in photographs of what was left after a private military corporation chose to turn human lives into a war game.

No one knows who Ultron is, only that he is dangerous, that his technology rivals that of the SHIELD Syndicate’s Tony Stark, that he is willing to ally himself to the highest bidder, and that he is fully capable of unleashing endless destruction upon the world…

You will never forget the photographs he shows you, all that death and destruction in the golden light of his balcony, all that warmth and all you can see is cold bodies bathed in concrete dust.

They call to you, when you close your eyes — answer for our crimes — and you remember the way his voice changes too, so soft and solemn, the brush of fingers against yours when you touch the bombed out shell of a country mansion My home, in Sokovia, to the gray-and-blood horror which forms the centerpiece of his display, and you remember your research too, that the Baron is a widow, that his title is inherited from the most tragic of circumstances, that his son was an innocent lost in the attack and you are furious too, at the senselessness of it all.

It is a tragedy yet unanswered for, more than half a decade since the dust settled.

That quote sits front and center on your mock-up, wondering if you could make whatever editor who would inevitably rip this piece to shreds — just before publishing its corpse alongside some glamour picture of the Baron his coat — finally see the error of ignoring the tragedy. You won’t, but it’s worth a shot, as you lean back in your chair and stare at the screen again.

Sometimes you think about it.

Watching Novi Grad happen from the comfort and safety of your living room, wrapped in blankets as open war broke out in the capital city of what had once been a crown jewel in an ancient dynasty. A playground, a show of force.

Sometimes you hear the screams.

The blinking carat waits for you to add more to this story, to decide where you want to go.

… The Baron plays a game with his interview, insists on knowing his guests just as we insist on getting to know the enigmatic leader who has risen up a beacon for the displaced people of his homeland. We will not be recreating our answers in this article, as they were of course of a personal nature, but we do thank the Baron for taking the time to get to know us just as he bared his soul, his sorrows, and his hopes to a gaggle of strangers seeking to make him known to the world…

Tell me of you, sweetling.

Me? This interview is about you.

And so I must tell all my secrets for free? No, I insist. A secret for a secret.

He watches you with a hunger, coal-black eyes an invitation. Slide your gaze away or fall and who knows what depths he will drag you into and what you will find there?

No.

Don’t look, don’t look as you sip the tea Oeznik brought when you politely declined the champagne — Another time, probably — and let it brace you with its bitterness, let it clear your head.

Breathe.

You’re in too deep now, trapped in this cave of wonders… and wouldn’t it be worth it? Know him as he knows you, follow the trajectory of the smiling man before you.

What would you like to know?

Tell me how you taste his eyes whisper.

Tell me what it would take says the curve of his fingers over your hand.

Let me put you on display hums the razor-blade of his smile.

Tell me what drives a woman to take on such a … dangerous line of work, is the final inquiry, innocent and curious and gentle and you sip your tea and smile.

Is it dangerous?

You must know how many secrets you uncover — and the lengths the keepers will go to in order to hide them.

If people get hurt, shouldn’t I bring that to light?

How noble of you, he tells you with another hum, with his fingers squeezing yours, with his eyes fixed on the gaze you refuse to send his way, It must be quite thrilling.

Let me thrill you too, sweetling.

Pull away.

Do it.

Pull your hand away, make an act of it, pick up a candied strawberry and press it past your lips, let the sweetness soak your tongue and wash away the bitter thoughts, let yourself be bright and chipper and pretend you are not afraid.

Because you’re not.

Of course you’re not.

You are in control here, you must be in control here.

This is nothing. This is a casual interview with a handsome man in his handsome penthouse, an interview about architecture and art galleries and you were a correspondent once and you are meant to be friendly here, not afraid, so what are you afraid of?

What is it about his coal-dark eyes and too-sharp smile that turns your blood, that sends you back into your hutch, little rabbit, what is it about the way he prowls at the corner of your thoughts that makes you shudder so?

What are you running from?

Who are you running from?

Your turn, sweetling.

Mmh?

Our deal, or have you forgotten already?

Yes. You have.

It’s his eyes, you keep insisting to yourself. They drag you in, so dark it feels like you’re drowning in the void of them, searching for the light at the end of the tunnel.

It’s a chase.

It’s what you’re good at.

Right — I’m sorry, I’m…

You blink.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

The fog in your thoughts doesn’t fade, confusion crossing over your features and ill delight crossing over his. All you had was tea, tea and some of the candied fruit his butler brought for your enjoyment, how can you feel so…

Hazy?

So…

Upturned?

Something clatters behind you and you realize it’s the chair you were sitting on as you stand, unsteady and abrupt, lost in the moors of your own frantic thoughts and there is his hand on your elbow, so careful and soft and there are his lips before yours, so…

Tempting.

Somewhere, a woman croons to you of falling rain and rushing blood and the room does spin round as you stand still in the open air of a desire that is yours and not your own all at once. Shhh, shhh, let me help you whispered in your ear, a hand to your cheek and you…

You blink.

Reality flows into view like a sudden bath of ice water. Jerk away from his iron grip, raise your hands and try to resist, shake your head and N-no, I think. I think I need to go, I’ll just call a cab —

I cannot let you do that, sweetling. Not when you are finally within my reach.

His hold is steady. Unbreakable, even, as he pulls you close and you might even be dancing with the way his arm wraps around your waist the moment you fall into his chest, Don’t look so afraid, sweetling. No one will hurt you, here.

I will protect you like a jewel.

Your mind is still yours — the dose was just enough — but your limbs? Your limbs are tied to his strings, lost as he guides you right back inside, lost as he gestures for Oeznik to close off the balcony.

Your place is somewhere else now.

You belong underneath me.

He guides you inside, jasmine intoxicating your senses and wisps of smoke seeming to float past your eyes. Reality blends into the fantasy, the Baron and his prize, the gentle touch against your soft cheek, the cradling against his form and he is…

Determined.

A door opens. A portal into another kind of decadence, with soft sheets and softer touches, the sliding of a mouth over yours as your escape clicks shut behind you and you are pressed between wall and man and you are consumed.

Curl your fingers into the lapel of his coat, lose yourself to the pressure of his lips, the sharp nip of teeth against soft flesh. He tastes of champagne and honeycomb and you are saccharine on the tongue, a mess of sighs and admonitions left unsaid.

My precious thing, whispered into your unfocused sighs, I will take such fine care of you.

And you want to protest, want to insist you are free you are uninterested you do not want this man and his hands under the cotton of your blouse but the words tangle on your tongue and instead all you can do is whimper.

Whimper, and hear him chuckle against your skin, a line of kisses drawn from your parted lips along your jaw until he’s found the thrum of your pulsebeat to draw a gasp the moment his teeth scrape against the delicate skin. He must mark you his, after all, and this he will gladly renew, over and over.

Over and over as he draws you to bed, lays you amongst soft cushions and softer sheets, indulges in the soft curves of you in the golden glow of the room. Your clothes — so conservative, so professional, so unnecessary — he makes short work of even with what mild resistance you manage, Shh, shh, do not fight me.

The heat is yours and not yours all at once, warming your skin and leaving you flushed, leaving a trail of burning want along your skin where his fingers trace over you and centering in your core You need this, sweetling, look at you…

Do you?

Is it you who needs this or he, he who has begun to kiss along your skin, he who presses himself between your legs so impatiently? The accusation lives in your thoughts and passes past your lips as a strangled Nnh-no, ignored without ceremony or appeal.

Protests are useless when your tongue can form no words and your limbs can do nothing but writhe, seeking structure in the grip of his sheets as he unravels you with a press of his lips to that soft center of yours, slick with a need you cannot own and yet all yours.

He maps you with a hungry gaze, fingers already tracing the plushness of your folds, gathering slick like he might have been collecting nectar and you watch him pull back, watch him bring his hand to his mouth, watch him wrap lips around his fingertip and drag the taste of you onto his tongue, One day I shall make you taste how sweet you are…

One day, after he has savored you so deeply.

You are so full of words they burst out of you on a normal day and yet nothing you say comes to light, just the bare whimpers and anxious mewls of your needy self as he returns to inspecting, to enjoying, to savoring the reactiveness of your body.

He touches. He touches as if he has owned your body a thousand times, he touches as if you are delicate, as if you are breakable, as if his fingers might lead you to shattering around him here and now and you…

Are so close, already.

So close, trying to find the strength in your muscles to pull away, to speak something beyond desperation with every curl of fingers against your cunt, with every pleased hum he utters in response to the flex of your sex. Shh… no more fighting, sweetling, I know you can be good.

He knows you can be good, he says, with all the innocence of a man trying to convince his cat to stop clawing the couch, not a man presently holding your legs open with one hand at your thigh and the other curling against your walls while you arch your back. It builds, the pressure, it builds and builds and builds and — Let go, sweetling. Let me see your ecstasy.

Is that what this is?

You keen. You keen softly, desperately, brokenly, as skilled fingers find the spot which makes you, which leaves you breathless and flushed and sobbing, a trickle of tears making their path down your cheeks as you bite your own lip to muffle the sounds you did not know you could make. Wordless and pleading and he notices with a cold smile the way you seem to succumb, hips no longer desperate to escape the curling, stretching assault of two — no, three — fingers preparing you for him.

Hips pressing back towards him now, a betrayal of your conscious-yet-barely-focused mind, that lustful sweetness in you taking over and he can only watch in awe. Awe not at your surrender but at your perfection, muttering in a language you do not understand and yet you understand perfectly what he means — he will have you, all of you.

Ah, I shall so enjoy playing with you more, sweetling.

But not now.

Now his impatience outpaces your need and both outpace his cruelty, his desire to see you beg and so instead he pulls back his hand — and hears the desperate N-no, please don’t — to bring a cruel gleam to his dark eyes and even barely conscious as you are you know he is beautiful.

Beautiful and cruel, as he frees himself and curls fingers around his cock, rubs your own slick onto that soft skin, hisses at the very feel of you like it must be a preview to how you will make him throb, and presses himself over you. Presses himself over you, absorbs the cry of pain or anguish or relief which pours from your plush lips with the punishment of a kiss just as he sinks, hips pressing against yours, stretching you with his full length and Now we are one, my sweet.

Now we are one.

He will take fine care of you but you, you take finer care of him, so plush and tight around his senses, so desperate as you cling, so lost and wanton and he kisses away the tears which continue to sting your cheeks and hisses half-sensible promises into your ear — You will always be mine — as he ruts his hips and practically shoves you forward with every thrust, dragging you back with a snarl and the pressure builds.

Builds and you moan, builds and you sob into his hungry mouth, builds and you hold to him as if he were the last thing which made sensein the world builds and you are consumed and he is consuming, and the release is both of yours, spilling deep inside of you and that too is the final shackle upon your soul.

You sit. In the darkness of your office and you remember, worrying the cuticle of your thumb and staring at the words you have typed while your memory drifts back to that hazy reminder.

… A discussion with the Baron about Sokovia reveals a country rich with history. Once a Duchy of the Hapsburgs during the era of the Holy Roman Empire, the deeply Catholic country clings to the Austrian and Italian tradition of ceremony and indulgence. Baron Zemo plays an example of the hymns sung in the many cathedrals which once filled the country, a mixture of Sokovian and Latin to raise the soul to divine heights.

The Baron speaks of the country’s culture with a warm fondness, of how even during Soviet occupation, the people managed to enjoy games like ice hockey, and football (the European, variant, the Baron would like to emphasize), and even spent time indulging in horse racing. Surrounded by Slovakia and the Czech Republic, it keeps a similar tradition, with a twist…

No, that cannot encompass all that you discussed, and yet that is what the recording shows, words traded back and forth which you do not remember, a conversation of laughter and warmth and none of it slots into what your mind tells you occurred.

You erase. You rewrite. It is the same passage, over and over, fingers acting unbidden of your frantic will and eventually you give in, demand to be done with these words and this screen, eventually you desire peace.

… Baron Helmut Zemo is many things. A historian, an ambassador, a politician, an activist. He is a widower, a man trapped in the past, a man with lofty dreams for the future. He wears his sorrow as well as he wears his happiness, and for those who still call themselves Sokovian, he is their shepherd into a new age.

And as the door to your office opens, your keeper.

[sweetestlamb]

Green-Eyed Monster

Genre: Revenge romance? Is that a category? It is now. 

Summary: Ju-Ri doesn't understand how a nice normal guy like Gang-Tae could fall for someone awful like Mun-Yeong, little moments into their relationship provide clarity and envy in equal parts. 

Author Notes: We have already been so well-fed today, but here I am offering more food, if you’re a glutton then eat it all up! Thank y’all for voting for this one and making me temporarily table the High School AU, today’s episode has given me SO MANY IDEAS. SO MANY. So I will definitely be writing that this week, stay tuned! 

p.s: I planned on being meaner to Ju-Ri but as a feminist it’s hard for me to shit on women no matter how much you irk my soul. I just want us all to succeed and not compete, especially not for men. But never fear, jealousy and mild torture is still here. 

Ju-Ri avoids the front nurse's desk as she makes her rounds, checking on the patients and then checking on them again, better safe than sorry, anything to ignore the news that all her colleagues are chattering about in excitable voices. Gang-Tae and that woman. She doesn't understand how he could be with someone like her. Prior, to that witch crash landing into their lives she had considered her and Gang-Tae close, friends even. They didn't need to communicate often, they had moments of silence that spoke volumes, she told herself. It was only a matter of time until they.....

Then she had appeared. Like a bad dream.

Reeling him in on her line and despite his attempts to wriggle free, she captured him. Ju-Ri watched them circle around each other, him chasing after her every time she was on her war path and Ju-Ri couldn't help the frustration that washed over her as she wondered why? What was it about that woman that made everyone overlook all her glaring flaws? She was selfish, brash, and downright mean. Her touch was the killing blow to everything and everyone around her. She knew that in due time, the sweet caretaker would be next. She was like Medusa, staring too long would ultimately lead to your downfall.

These thoughts swimming in her mind caused her to walk right into them. In a sense. Turning the corner, with a grimace on her concern bitten lips she found the very pair she was ruminating about. Her eyes widen as she took in the scene in front of her; Ko Mun-Yeong had Gang-Tae cornered, their faces closer than was acceptable for the work place. His blush was apparent even from her distance, as if someone had taken a red paintbrush to his cheeks. Mun-Yeong smirked, leaning in even closer, until Ju-Ri was sure they were sharing a breath. The way he was panting made it clear that he was not getting an adequate amount of air. Her eyes tightened into a glare, of course that bitch wouldn't even let Gang-Tae breathe without hindering him. Vaguely she overheard their exchange.

"Mun-Yeong calm down, we can't do this at work. " He said to no avail, knees buckling as as Mun-Yeong dismissed his requests and placed a hand on his cheek dragging him dangerously close.

"This is your fault for being so pretty. I can feel your eyes on me when I'm teaching. It makes me want to end the class and jump you." She finished her suggestive statement with a snap of her teeth, her lips pursing as Gang-Tae swayed as if hypnotized. "Just one kiss and I'll leave you alone. I promise. I'll be a good girl." She pressed on, her words contradicting with the evil smile that spread across her ruby lips. He groaned in response, while she widened her eyes in mock innocence. Moving ever closer.

Gang-Tae stood stock-still, hands tightened in fists, a vein protruding from his heated neck, as the she-demon took his silence as confirmation, cupping his strong jaw into her hands, drawing him closer, closer, their lips on the cusp-

Before she abruptly threw the patient charts in her grasp on the ground. The crash echoing down the hallway, breaking the couple from their reprieve. Gang-Tae leapt back like he was on fire, dipping under and out of Mun-Yeong's evil clutches, absently straightening his placidly pastel uniform. Mun-Yeong on the other hand, did not seem the least bit bothered, turning much like the cat that almost got the milk. Her face lighting up when she spotted Ju-Ri, menacing smile covering her face, before the sound of her heels filled Ju-Ri's ears- who even wore heels to a hospital?- until they were face to face.

She paused to bend down and pick up the charts Ju-Ri had accidentally dropped and Ju-Ri pretended not to see how raptly Gang-Tae watched the smooth motion, his eyes hungrily examining the abundance of skin that was visible under her short pale lilac skirt. He licked his lips, lost in the sight before him. Ju-Ri coughed loudly, his eyes guiltily shifted away, intensely staring at the wall instead as if just noticing that it was here.

"Here." Mun-Yeong pushed the chart into her limp hands, "This is yours." And she heard the unsaid message, Gang-Tae is not. She didn't respond to the quip, snatching the charts from the outstretched hands and looking intently at Gang-Tae, shocked that he would allow this sort of behavior at his place of work. She turned away in annoyance at finding him distracted again. Mun-Yeong was smoothing out invisible wrinkles in her skirt, his eyes were fixed on the quick movements of her hand. Surprisingly enough, Mun-Yeong was the one to end this intolerable awkward moment, turning back to Gang-Tae and wrapping her claws around his thick neck, his ears pinking up at the sudden attention, as she stage whispered, "Next time, you won't be so lucky, these lips will be mine. " And with that she was gone, leaving him suspended in the moment before he shook myself and walked off without a word to Ju-Ri.

With a defeated grunt, she stomped off, maybe the patients needed a third check in.

After finding a nice pillow to scream into, Ju-Ri started to thinking rationally, their relationship was clearly purely sexual. Gang-Tae was such a shy guy, he was merely excited to be with someone as experienced as Mun-Yeong and okay, maybe if you squinted and looked sideways while hopping on one leg, one might consider Mun-Yeong pretty. She bristled at the memory of her very own mother expressing that, she wasn't that pretty. If anything she was terrifying and that far outweighed any external beauty. Ergo, it was only a matter of time before Gang-Tae reached this conclusion and the world would be right once more.

This was the only thought that kept her from violently scalping herself.

Unpacking her lunch, the familiar scents of her mom's home-cooked meal filled her senses, glad for a quiet moment. She ate, pointedly thinking of nothing and no one, until the chair across her was pulled out and occupied, thankfully it was only her mom, who she greeted with a tight smile. She was still coming to terms with the fact that her own mother had befriended her arch nemesis, for lack of a better term. This was after calling said woman; pretty, all but escorting Gang-Tae to her macabre castle and through her advice, helping them reconcile after he had finally escaped. It wasn't that Ju-Ri didn't want Gang-Tae to be happy, that's all she wanted, but she knew first hand what happened to those who got too close to Mun-Yeong, she was a walking danger ahead sign.

Why did no one heed the warning until it was too late?

They lapsed into small talk, how was your day? I made the dumplings you like, here have some. It was all too good to be true, that should have been her first sign that she should evacuate the premises. But she figured that they wouldn't be as shameless as to rub their relationship in her face, she was mistaken.

As she was looking up, she saw movement at the cafeteria's entrance, eyes landing on Gang-Tae unaware of Mun-Yeong sneaking up behind him, until she slid her arm through his larger arm, linking them with a broad smile. She said something to him that made him stumble over his steps, before righting himself and gazing down into her dark gaze. They stood there, unmoving, eyes locked, completely disregarding everyone around them, all but obliterating her appetite.

She waited for him to break the chain of their arms, as he had done in the parking lot, when she had made the mistake of looking back at the commotion behind her.

He didn't.

He allowed himself to be dragged by Mun-Yeong's smaller stature, until she realized with sharp realization that Mun-Yeong was traipsing to her table. Seeing her mother's answering wave and smile, an ice cold slap of betrayal hit her. Did this woman intend to take everything from her? She huffed in indignation, turning her body away from the approaching pair.

Her mother gently knocked her feet under the small table, that was about to feel even smaller. Claustrophobic,even.

She pretended not to notice and stuffed more food into her mouth, hoping that no one would try to engage her in a conversation.

Her mother greeted them, Gang-Tae, ever thoughtful, saw her reaction and quickly stated that they planned on eating outside, they just wanted wanted to say hi.

"Why can't we all eat together? I want to stay." Mun-Yeong innocently maliciously inquired, looking at her newest victim and Ju-Ri watched his jaw tighten out of the corner of her eye, he pulled her with their interlocked arms, the force resulting in their bodies colliding.

"Don't be silly, of course we can all eat together. I brought extra food for that very purpose, I don't want to see those atrocious sandwiches, that's not a real meal." Her mother stated, leaving no room for argument. Ju-Ri wanted to argue, to shout that she didn't want to be anywhere near her, they weren't friends and she didn't plan on acting like they were, damn it. 

A chill washed over her as she considered the seating arrangement, her mother sat across from her, leaving an empty chair next to them both. She should have sat next to her before it was too late. 

Gang-Tae shuffled awkwardly, also noticing the conundrum, before Mun-Yeong easily slid into the seat next to her mother, causing Ju-Ri's mouth to open in shock. Was she actually going to let Gang-Tae sit next to her? His eyes exhibited his surprise as well before he took the last remaining seat. Mun-Yeong smirked as if amused by her discomfort, before accepting the handful of food that was being pressed into her waiting hands.

They ate in relative silence, Mun-Yeong and her mother leading the conversation, she tuned them out, silently seething at the mere fact that they seemed so comfortable in each other's presence.

The loud clicks of chopsticks knocking against a surface made her look up and she watched as Mun-Yeong chased a slippery quail egg with to avail, lips curled in disdain as she cursed the elusive delectable treat. Gang-Tae's warm chuckle hit her ear, "Here, let me help." The fondness coating his voice made her stomach churn, as he delicately picked up and placed the egg in her bed of rice, Mun-Yeong smiled in return batting her eyelashes, "My hero."

In all her years of knowing Gang-Tae she had never seen him so attentive, unless it was with his brother. She wasn't the first person to have a crush on him, but like her all others had been denied. Gang-Tae was a mystery that didn't want to be solved, sweet and calm, but unattainable. Yet here he was soft and eager, doting over Mun-Yeong, who was now tapping her spoon against the bowl of beef, expectant look in her eyes.

He didn't react at first. Pushing the bowl closer to her instead, but she was relentless. Opening her mouth as she continued to click, eyes drilling into his face, until he backed down with a sigh, easily picking up the meat and bringing it to her bowl, only for her to bend her head and close her mouth around his chopsticks instead. With a resonating hum of approval, she took the meat, maintaining eye contact during the entire ordeal, which in reality lasted a few seconds but it felt like hours to Ju-Ri, forced to watch this inappropriately intimate moment. Gang-Tae coughed and shifted in his seat, long legs squeezing together, as Mun-Yeong smiled salaciously, licking her lips.

"I have to get back to work." She was glad when nobody called her out for leaving fifteen minutes before her allotted break was over.

Alcohol was her only friend. She picked up cases of beer, planning to drink herself into a stupor after the week she had. Everywhere she turned, they were there disgustingly wrapped up in each other, she dearly wanted to blame it all on Mun-Yeong and her obsession but....she watched him trail after her whenever she got too far. More than four feet was his limit. He would pace the hallway outside the room that was designated for her literature class, peeking in and fleeing with a blush when he was met by Mun-Yeong's jubilant smile.

She didn't want to think about them, not today, she just wanted to drown herself in her liquid friend and remember better days when Mun-Yeong was a distant memory.

So of course, she heard their voices as she ascended the stairs leading to her rooftop. Kicking the wall in anger, fighting the urge to throw a tantrum and fling her beer at their heads. If she wasn't safe in her own house, where was she safe?

Their quiet voices could be heard over the slight breeze in the night air, "What's wrong? You've been upset all day." Mun-Yeong's deep voice break the silence. No response came for long seconds, and she pressed on, "Are you upset about work?" Pause. "Is it your brother?" Longer pause. "What? Are you mad at me?" Another pause. Mun-Yeong must have seen something on his face because her resounding aaahhhhhh was loud and clear.

"Okay so you're upset with me? Are you mad that I tried to ravish you in the supply closet?"

Ew. She mentally told herself to never go in that closet.

There was no response.

"Okay not that, good because I know you liked that. All those delicious moans you were making made it clea--” 

"You're still texting him." He thankfully cut her off, Ju-Ri was grateful as she felt her own cheeks heating up, mostly in shame. She knew she should leave before this conversation took any more turns but her feet refused to listen to her brain.

She tried to think of who this mysterious man was. How many hopeless men had Mun-Yeong trapped in her web? If she had so many men, why did she have to take Gang-Tae too? It just wasn't fair.

"Who?" She took a step up the stairs until she would see them, sitting close on the table, Gang-Tae's long legs dangling off the surface as Mun-Yeong sat crisscrossed facing him in a too-big shirt that hit her knee. It didn't take a genius to surmise whose shirt she was wearing, Ju-Ri thought bitterly, the only silver lining that it wasn't a piece of clothing they'd bought together.

Mun-Yeong had a butter wouldn't melt on my tongue expression on her face and Ju-Ri wanted to slap her again, why was she always playing innocent with him? She was anything but.

Gang-Tae didn't fall for her act thankfully instead starting to stand up, anger clear in the sharp lines of his body. Mun-Yeong's hand shot out and pulled him back down onto the table, she crawled closer, then he sat motionless, eyes low on her face.

"Are you jealous? He's a friend now. We become close during our- she gestured to them- break. " His lips snarled.

"He likes you."

"So?" Mun-Yeong responded, "Why does that matter? I don't like him, not like that."

Gang-Tae seemed taken back by her answer, huffing and then deflating before whispering in a defeated voice, "I just don't like it. I don't like the way he looks at you."

A sultry giggle fell from Mun-Yeong's smirking lips, "How does he look at me? Is it the same way you look at me? Does it make your heart ache? Do you like me?" With each question, she moved progressively closer, until she was planted in Gang-Tae's lap. Legs straddling him as he grabbed her waist, as she momentarily lost her balance.

He let out a furious breathe of air.

"I don't notice because I'm only ever looking at you." And then with startling accuracy, her eyes met Ju-Ri's, she felt a chill run through her bones, "And I'm not the only one that looks at you. You work and live with someone who is always looking at you. I don't mind, because I know you're mine. When you lose control, just grab me and kiss me. I'm yours to kiss. Stop being jealous and enjoy the fact that you have me."

Gang-Tae's eyes roamed her lips, thumb running across the plush opening, "You're the only one I want to look at me too. I don't see anyone else but you, you drive me so crazy." With a swift pull, he grabbed her head, intent clear on his face. Following through on her offer.

She bolted down the stairs before she could see their lips join, but not before hearing the crash as Mun-Yeong successfully tackled Gang-Tae, wet noises loud in the dark of night.

She got black out drunk in her bedroom. Telling herself she remembers nothing the next morning. Ignoring the indecently large red marks that mars Gang-Tae's neck as they awkwardly stumble around each other, leaving the house at the same time.

The director berates them all in his office, Ko Dae-Hwan, Mun-Yeong's father had attempted to choke her yet again, this time following her class. Someone had forgotten that he was explicitly not allowed to take that class and brought him, and as she was exiting the room, he had thrown his body across the stretch separating them, crushing hands tight around her neck, squeezing out her last breath. All the patients had started screaming, the room a chaotic mess, until finally they'd been able to sedate him and pry her from his grip.

Mun-Yeong had fled the room with tear-filled eyes and a glare directed at them as they had been making sure all the patients, including her father were okay.

Looking down the line, she realizes that Gang-Tae was missing from this reprimand. He was on a break when the situation had taken place. It didn't taken long before he burst through the door, "Where is she?" He only had eyes for the director, frantic and ready to run at a moment's notice.

The director replied, "Nurse Byeol saw her go into the women's room." And he was off, not bothering to spare the rest of them a glance.

She was only going to wash her hands she told herself, she didn't care how Mun-Yeong was doing, she was always fine. She wasn't sure Mun-Yeong even had feelings. Remembering, the manic smile that had spread across her face the last time her father had attempted to end her life.

"I'm here, it's okay. You're okay." Gang-Tae's deep voice echoed on the bathroom walls, soothing and calm. "I'm sorry I wasn't there, I'm so sorry. I'll never leave you again. I will protect you." He promised resolutely, sounding like her suffering was physically hurting him too.

She shouldn't be hearing this. It was too intimate a moment for outside ears.

She turned to give them privacy, but not before hearing Mun-Yeong tearfully state, "It's not the first time. He tried to kill me when I was a kid, why does he hate me?" Her voiced cracked on the last word, and Ju-Ri ran out of the room, eyes dewy.

She watched with her heart in her throat as minutes later they left together, Gang-Tae asking to leave early, the look on his face clearly saying he would leave with or without permission, their fingers interlocked, as he pulled her limp body out of the hospital.

He briefly stopped to place a gentle hand on Mun-Yeong's head, whispering something only she could hear, bringing a wet smile to her face. It was so tender, Ju-Ri couldn't watch.

The scene kept replaying in her head for days, what was it like to have someone want to protect you that way? Gang-Tae lost all inhibitions when it came to Mun-Yeong, he was bold and brazen and fiercely protective. Hurting anyone who dared to hurt her. She overheard from Cha-Young, that he had demanded to be the one to stand guard whenever Mun-Yeong was leading her classes.

He had stormed into the director's office and ordered that, stating that he was the only one who could adequately protect her.

That was where he was know she supposed, she hadn't seen him all day, she walked down the hallway leading to the class needing to understand their relationship, what made Mun-Yeong so special? If she started acting like a bitch would that get his attention? Was he attracted to her because they were such opposites, lost dissonances who found their way to each other?

Her thoughts stalled at the scene before her, the hospital would need to be routinely sanitized.

Gang-Tae towered over Mun-Yeong, hands firm on her waist as she giggled and attempted to pull away, "What are you doing? You said we weren't allowed to do this here anymore. Why don't you have to follow the rules you create?" She eyed him coyly, twisting out of his hold, only for him to easily drag her back, slamming her into the wall. His hand cushioned her head.

"I told you not to wear this to work, you're supposed to teach them, not seduce them." He retorted sternly, eyeing her ensemble, Ju-Ri agree her outfit was completely inappropriate for work. She donned, a emerald pleated skirt that barely reached her thighs, soft diaphanous white blouse with a bow tied at the neck, white laced boots and frilly socks.

"I think I look cute, like a blushing school girl. I thought you would like it." She answered from under her thick, wispy eyelashes. Her soft pink lips, opening in wonder. The picture of innocence.

He growled and leaned into her space, "I like it too much, that's exactly why you shouldn't wear it. I might lose control." He fingered, the pleats, tugging the skirt down as if to lengthen it.

She nodded her head, smacking his hands off her skirt with a tsk. Before lifting up onto her tiptoes, blowing warm air gently on his face, causing his eyes to flutter close, "Good."

Then she walked sashayed away, skirt swishing with each swing and dip of her hip. One final coy look over her shoulder, blowing a kiss and then a cheeky raspberry. Pssssst. 

He grasped the spot where she just was, watching her retreat with heated eyes, before finally letting out a frustrated, "Ko Mun-Yeong!" Before turning and entering the locker room with the reverberating slam of the door.

She didn't understand their relationship, didn't understand why Mun-Yeong deserved Gang-Tae and she didn't. Didn't understand how she made him lose control when nothing else could. Still didn’t see the appeal.  But maybe it wasn't her place to understand. Maybe it was time to stop dreaming an impossible dream.

[brekkiejeon]

Silent Treatment

Author's note: I've been writing many stories about BTS lately and still working on to create my own masterlist. So here is my second Jungkook AU and I hope to write more stories in the future.

✎ Masterlist

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Angst, with a lil bit of fluff

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: Jungkook gives you his deadly silent treatment and much to your dismay, you were not having it. You tried many ways to persuade him but it was too much to handle as you thought and you’re sick of it already for the past few days.

Jungkook was an expert in a lot of things even to those he had no experience or knowledge from or just possibly anything. You are completely impressed by his power; a black belter, really good at drawing, has an amazing voice and personality and so much more to mention. He is like a magnet that every girl can be attracted to but it left you wondering about how he was the one attracted to you even though you look repelling. If there was something from him you didn't know he was surprisingly great at, ignoring you would be.

You are currently on the third day of your boyfriend's silent treatment and it was excruciating to be in this kind of situation. The reason why Jungkook is giving you this was because you cleaned up his room and threw some of his important stuff away which you didn't even know he still needed it in the first place. In fact, it was your fault for disposing them and you have to apologize though it gave you a hard time to persuade him, seeing that he always works hard and barely has time to discuss because of his hectic schedule.

The sound of the television filled the room, occupying it with the movie's background noises. You divert yourself from this misery you've been enduring for the past 3 days. Another finished movie this time, 2 hours after midnight. You turned off the electronic in front of you and stared at the wall. The pain is already making you numb and insomnia had affected you since yesterday night causing you extreme fatigue. Maybe you were only overthinking? No, you basically aren't. Now is the time to make amends and hope for the best that he'll forgive you even of a tiny chance. You miss him so much.

Meanwhile, you sat up as you heard the door open, wiping your tear-stained face and hastily fixed the bed. Jungkook just got home from work—not his usual time as you anticipated. His footsteps resonated along the hallway of your apartment and his tired, heavy breaths made you think about surviving another long night without him. You can't just force him to accept your apology and sympathize this late at night for who knows it could make the problem worse.

Jungkook went in your shared bedroom and without a doubt, tossed his bags near the table making you wince. He looks at you aggressively as if you've done something peccable and then quietly returned to the living room where he sleeps in as of now.

It breaks your heart seeing him so impassive. The way his vexatious self prompts makes you want to hug him tight and tell him that he is the most wonderful thing that happened to you. But you can't. His angry soul prevails the beast in him and the angel you know apparently has a demon lurking in his shadows.

You gathered up the courage to follow him in the kitchen and watched him in silence. He was making food for himself after a long day at work. Jungkook was an idol, you fully understand that he would always have to sacrifice and to not even complain a single thing. He was persistent.

You inhaled sharply as you approach him. "J-Jungkook."

No response. The kitchen wasn't this hot before but because of the scorching atmosphere that you both are suffering with, it was clear that you needed to take this situation as cool as you can.

"Jungkook?"

Still, no response.

Each step you take felt so heavy until fear slowly overpowers you. After for what seems like ages, he faces you before you can even touch him.

You play with the fabric of your shirt, "I'm sorry, Jungkook." His unwelcoming eyes stare deeply into your soul unlike the ones you always see. You can't lock your orbs with this cold-blooded human in front of you and within seconds you just wanted to cry. When will this be over?

He retorted, "No, y/n. It's gone now. What do you have to be sorry for?" His words stabbed you which was as sharp as a knife. No other emotion could be fathomed and all you can sense was the enraged tone of his voice.

Jungkook scowls and continued his tantrum, "Those were drafts for my mixtape."

That completely ended you. His patience, his hardwork—gone because of you. You were remorseful and would probably do anything for the sake of both of you—for his forgiveness.

Your throat begins to hurt while you restrain your tears from falling, making it difficult for the both of you to compromise. Jungkook stood there waiting for his food and you were there too, invisible from his sight.

He replies, breaking the awkward silence in this dark hour. "Just because something looks unused doesn't mean it's already trash y/n. I can't believe you just dumped half of the stuff away!"

"I know. I'm so sorry."

He never looked at you again as he was afraid of the chances he can recklessly do to you. Your hand deliberately grabs his wrist but he was quick to remove it—and that's the time you finally snapped.

You give up. It seems that those 3 dreadful days were just distressing as the present. For crying out loud, you yearn to be at peace with this man but got deeply saddened to see that he was opposing.

Tears abruptly stream down your cheeks while you bewail in front of him. You wanted to hit him because he was just there watching you. Jungkook examined your small figure with his eyes fixated at your weeping appearance and unknowingly disregarding the forethought of his actions.

Wiping a torrent of tears from your crimson face, you managed to continue despite of convulsing too much. "I get it now." You sigh in defeat and exhaustion.

"I'm sorry, Jungkook. I'm really sorry."

"I don't even know why I'm still here looking so pathetic in front of you."

"I do look stupid now, am I?"

Jungkook deadpanned although his anger seemed to be dissipating as soon as he saw you sobbing. Your breath quivers along with a burning sensation from your flooded eyes.

"Please forgive me Jungkook. It fucking hurts to see you ignoring me. I understand those drafts mean everything to you—"

"And I–because of me...screw this, just forget it." You got tired of explaining this idiotic mess you've done and stormed out of the room. This silent treatment drained you, this foolish argument you've been dealing with had you completely strained.

A sudden outburst of realization slaps him, regret finally immured him and with that, he blames himself. His ego didn't gain anything but abomination under this circumstance.

"Y/n! Shit."

You got surprised by his hand gripping your wrist tightly. You tried to stop him but he won't budge, not even showing a slight movement from his hand.

"What do you want? I thought you were angry with me?" Your voice trembles in outrage while your eyes speak lowly for yourself. Jungkook's hand made you shudder, struggling to disenthrall from his touch but he suddenly pulls you closer to his chest as you have given up to his beyond strong hand that was holding you back.

"I'm so tired, Jungkook. Can we just fix this in the morning?" His shirt was now drenched with your tears as you buried your face on his chest.

"I don't care if the both of us are tired y/n. I don't want you to sleep thinking that I'm upset with you."

You looked at him in disbelief, "I threw them away. Aren't you gonna hate me for that?" His hands travelled around your waist as your eyebrows furrowed. The contact of his biceps wrapping around you were enough to calm you down and your nerves that had tensed were finally recovering.

"Y/n, stop saying things like that."

Jungkook's chest was heaving gently against your face, lulling you to sleep. The comfort he's been giving you cannot be compared to any other, even right after an argument he was there to understand you—and as juvenile as this may be, he knew his limits and wouldn't dare to cross that boundary.

"I'm sorry for being an asshole earlier. I'm sorry for just watching you cry, y/n. Please, I can't stand you being so weak in front of me. It makes me feel like I'm awfully treating you–that you're afraid of me." He brushes the strands of hair away from your face.

"And those past few days of ignoring you, I'm sorry. I–I am just as fucking careless as you think. You didn't deserve this kind of punishment. I badly want to make it up to you. Just please, don't cry. I hate it when you're crying. I've never seen you so scared of me in my entire life and it makes me devastated." He groaned, guilt already had built up in his mind. He never wanted to forgive himself for doing this to you.

Jungkook closed his eyes as his fingers knead the bridge of his nose, "It's just that...I'm so upset because I worked hard for those stuff." You knew he put a lot of effort on making those drafts but the thing here was how you dumped them without his consent, and who wouldn't be angry with that?

"Even if you've done something terrible. I would never hurt you. Don't be afraid of me. You are too precious to be hurt." He holds your shoulders, assuring you that he will never be someone whose rash actions can make you linger a bad memory with.

"I love you, y/n. Always remember that."

This callous human being turned into someone so soft, so affectionate. Now you know what his weakness is, supposedly there's still more. There are still parts of his personality that you haven't seen or even encountered and it makes this relationship filled with rollercoaster rides. A feeling of excitement, ups and downs—and the best one is to have fun spontaneously.

Cupping his cheeks, you pecked the tip of his nose. "I love you too, Jungkook."

"Don't let that worry you now. It's fine." He caressed you like a child and kisses your temple, inhaling the vanilla scent of your hair that made him fall in love with you more. He loves vanilla, and he loves you.

In an instant, Jungkook flicks your forehead, earning a whine from you, "But you have to help me remake them." He jested, making you chuckle as you see his adorable bunny smile flash on his face again. That wondrous grin makes you forget all the melancholy, as he does with you. The certainty of him not being ruthless at all eases you up and at once you feel the urge to cuddle with him as the both of you drift to sleep.

[softjeon]

The perfect Illusion | Final

• Pairing: Geisha!Jimin x Namjoon | Side-Pairing: Geisha!Jungkook x Yoongi • Genre: Fluff / Angst  | Geisha!AU ( → Gifset Trailer) • Words: 9,2k | ↳ AO3 • Disclaimer: mentioning of abusive behavior

*** please note that this story doesn’t mean to represent accurate geisha tradition, it was solely inspired by the beautiful art form, giving it a modern twist in a fictional universe and therefore has been dramatized for entertainment purposes.

written with @cassiavioletblue

↳  He was the perfect illusion. The getaway for anyone who didn’t want to face reality. And yet, there was something in his eyes, something vulnerable and hopeful as if he was dying for someone to see through him, to care for him enough to look behind the mask and draw out the real Jimin. And Namjoon couldn’t wait to do exactly that.

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“You did fucking what?” Yoongi’s eyes were wide as he stared at Namjoon in surprise and shock with a hint of nervousness that washed over his expression. “Wait. Start from the beginning again…how did you get from asking me if I wanted milk in my coffee, which I, by the way, never do, to telling me about paying Jimin’s debt?”

Yoongi felt a little too breathless, too tired from spending almost all night with Jungkook. And now he was sitting in front of Namjoon when they usual morning get togethers for coffee (even though they lived in two different apartments, every sunday morning Yoongi still shuffled down the hallway to Namjoon’s place just like they were used to from living together) made his best friend literally spill his tea, or well…his coffee.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t think of a better way to tell you so... yeah, I asked Hoseok to give me permission to marry Jimin. But the sum Jimin owes Hoseok is no joke and I don’t have enough in my private account to pay all that so I wanted to ask you if... if I could either lend something from the company - or use it as loan security when I ask for money at the bank. I know it must sound crazy to you and maybe I am but… I mean it. I really do. This isn’t altruism or charity. I fell in love with Jimin. And if me marrying him improves his life then why shouldn’t I do it?”

“Sure.” Yoongi nodded, taking the cup of coffee to take a big sip from it, his eyes focused on something completely else than Namjoon. How could he scold his friend about something like falling in love with a geisha, when he was guilty himself? And he was bad at lying, especially when it was to his best friend. So, he quickly reached for his pocket and got out his phone, opening the app of his bank account. “How much money do you need?” This would definitely keep Namjoon from asking question about where he had been last night and simultaneously make him the happiest man alive.

“W…what?” He stared at Yoongi, completely confused. “You… you are kidding right? I thought... won’t you try and talk me out of this? Because of Jimin’s job, his training, the short amount of time we know each other and the amount of money I would have to pay just to be with him? Didn’t you say that it’s all an illusion in there, fake perfection to sell an image to people like us who can pay for it?”

“Love is love, Namjoon. I see the way you changed and Jimin is making you so much happier. Gosh, I just want you to finally get some…,” Yoongi groaned low, trying to keep every attention off of him, “Sometimes it’s worth it, you know? To fight for someone, you love. We’re doing good and we’re making more money than we can ever imagine. Our stocks are doing great, our products are selling fast and now that we are establishing our work in Japan with Mr. Lings investment…we’re fine.” He waved Namjoon off, “We’re doing just fine…so go and get married. Live life, love Jimin…do whatever makes you happy! Life’s too short to question everything. Sometimes you just have to do what your heart is telling you. There’s nothing wrong with falling in love and wanting to marry them. No matter how long you know them. You just know it’s right…you feel it in your heart,” Yoongi pointed at his own, nodding determinately, before adding quickly, “So, just tell me how much you need and the date when we take the boys with us and I’m your man!” Yoongi cocked up an eyebrow at Namjoon, “I’ll be your best man, right?”

“Who are you and what did you do to my grumpy, wary and sarcastic friend?” Namjoon laughed, carefree as if someone just lifted a hundred pounds off his heart. Yoongi didn't judge him or acted shocked by what he was about to do. Even better he actually offered to lend him money which meant the company would be fine and there wouldn’t be any risk of losing it to a bank. Also, he rather paid interest to Yoongi who totally deserved it than to a bank. So, he told him what sum he would need, half expecting Yoongi to gasp in surprise or take his offer back.

But Yoongi did neither.

“Okay, done,” Yoongi announced, turning his screen around to Namjoon, so the other could see that it was indeed the sum he had asked for which was now sent off to Namjoon’s account. Yoongi had saved up enough money to be okay with this and although he needed to lay low a little more with his money now, he had nothing to worry about anymore. If Namjoon was happy, then Jimin was happy, therefore Jungkook was happy. And that’s all he wanted in the end. With a big sigh, he leaned back against his chair.

“That’s...wow. Wow I mean, thank you, Yoongi! So much! I’ll pay you back, with interest and... thank you, really. You can’t imagine how much this means to me! I won’t ever, ever forget what you just did for me. For us.” He chuckled, realization settling in. He had the money. He could pay Hoseok back the moment Jimin told him he was ready to leave. He was in love with a beautiful person who loved him back - and he would marry him.

Like a fairytale come true.

Namjoon couldn’t even hide the smile behind his hand because it was so broad, his dimples showing it a way that spoke of pure happiness. “By the way, of course you’ll be my best man. And Jungkook can be the flower child; I bet he would enjoy that.” He could almost picture the boy throwing flowers around and onto all of their heads.

Apropos Jungkook… his voice grew a little softer, a little more careful when he continued, “How... how long did you stay at the tea house last night? Did you see Jungkook... afterwards or…” How did you ask your best friend if he was able to comfort the boy he liked after they had to spend a night with a stranger?

“W-what, what do you mean…did you see me? Where? In the theater…of the tea house?” Yoongi coughed awkwardly, the nervousness was rushing through him so fast that it was making him stutter. What was that about being bad at lying again?

Yoongi tried a smile, chuckling nervously, “What are you implying? That I bid on Jungkook? My sweet little Jungkookie? My maiko? T-that is now a geisha? B-because someone…paid him…and that someone definitely wasn’t me. Because it was…is a lot of money that you have to pay. You said it yourself we shouldn’t support the ritual! Maybe I just wanted to see him again. I like him, okay? He’s cute. Very much so. I like him. There. I said it. Are you happy now?” Yoongi was stammering, throwing his hands up in a defense, while his voice sounded a little more high-pitched than usual, “Even if I did bid on him, which I totally didn’t do, so stop asking me! It’s none of your business, okay? You are getting married and that’s what we are talking about now. You and Jimin. Marriage. Yes. Not about how I bid on Jungkook for his mizuage. Is it too much to ask for a little privacy here?”

Namjoon blinked, a little bit overwhelmed by the sudden gush of words that had come out of Yoongi’s mouth. His brain had trouble catching up on the meaning of it and when it finally clicked he almost choked on nothing.

“You… no way! I just saw you in the main room when Jungkook was on stage, I never thought that…” He shook his head. Yoongi hadn’t judges him so he shouldn’t either. “Did you see who had the highest bid at the end or did you leave before that? If you want we can go there today again, check up on Jungkook and... I can tell Jimin that you lend us the money.”

“Jungkook is fine,” Yoongi nodded, ignoring Namjoon’s angry expression as if his best friend just disregarded that Jungkook had lost his virginity to a stranger. That the younger could be hurting right in this very moment. But Yoongi knew better. “He…He was with me. Because I bid on him.” Yoongi didn’t dare to look at his friend, who was looking at him in a mixture of disappointment and shock. “I was the one who took Jungkook’s virginity.”

“You...what?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Yoongi shrugged his shoulders, taking his cup of coffee to gulp the rest down hastily, “Virginity is a dumb concept made up by society. Jungkook is fine, that’s all you need to know.” Yoongi bit down on his tongue to keep himself from spilling more secrets. He wanted to keep Jungkook safe, even if that meant lying to his friend.

Namjoon couldn’t wrap his head around it. He just couldn’t. Just a few minutes ago Yoongi had lend him a massive amount of money to make sure that Jimin wouldn’t have to endure living under Hoseok’s roof any longer - and then he was telling him that he had taken part in the most violating tradition of all! Mentioning it as if it was nothing! And then Yoongi even had the audacity to play the “virginity is a concept” card which was true for a discussion about concepts, but definitely not appropriate if you literally had just slept with someone for their very first time. This... this just couldn’t be true. Yoongi must be making an awful joke. Maybe he was teasing him. Or testing their friendship or...something else. As always when he was completely overwhelmed he just kept on talking, stating facts while his emotions were balling up into an uncomfortable thing sitting heavily in his stomach.

“There’s a rumor they showed off the silk sheets after, like some kind of marriage ritual from the Middle Ages where the groom shows off the bloody sheets as proof that the marriage has been consummated.” Namjoon shook his head. It was incomprehensible to him how something degrading like this could still be common. “Looking at stained sheets after sex - that’s simply disgusting!” Yoongi was strangely quiet and so he pushed further. “You didn’t... really do that, did you?”

Yoongi shrugged his shoulders, turning away a little so Namjoon couldn’t see his face which had warning bells ring in Namjoon’s head. “Wait, tell me you didn’t!” His voice broke when the realization sunk in that this had actually happened. That Yoongi had really actually fucking done that. When he spoke again his throat was tight. “Then tell me that at least you didn’t treat Jungkook’s first time like that; like some kind of proof of how mighty you are because you had him first. Tell me you were gentle, and kind and you made him feel safe.”

Yoongi tried to smile but it came out a little off. “Don’t make such a big deal out of this, Joon. It’s a tradition. It had always been like that. And no matter if we like it or not if we don’t play along the rules then it’s Jungkook and Jimin who have to live with that. We have the luxury of making our own rules, but they... if Jungkook wouldn’t have let me have him then he would have never become a geisha. You just can't be a geisha and a virgin at the same time. It might be a stupid rule, but it is one of the basic ones and ... it’s a onetime thing! No one has to touch him ever again if he doesn't want to. He can work as a geisha or get his own tea house or marry now, depending on how much money he earns. He has options now. And all it took was one single amorality.”

Namjoon scoffed but kept his opinion to himself. “As long as he liked it and you didn’t make him bleed I guess I can’t really say anything against that.” Yoongi shrugged his shoulders again and Namjoon felt like he was going to be sick. “You didn’t, did you?!”

Yoongi bit his lip, very obviously feeling like he was getting into a fix right now, “It’s just a symbol, Joon. It doesn't mean anything.”

“A symbol? Are you... Yoongi, goddammit! No one ever touched him before you, they aren’t even supposed to have physical contact with anyone outside the house! You knew how inexperienced he was! How could you... how could you hurt him? I thought you liked him!”

“I do!” Yoongi hastily tried to defend himself without giving their secret away. He had promised that it would be safe with him but right now it wasn’t easy to not just spill the truth, so he tried to play it down which was absolutely the wrong thing to do. “It’s not... it just got a little rough, he’s fine, he just...”

Namjoon held up his hand. “Enough! I don’t want to hear your sorry excuses. How could you. I never thought... I never thought that you of all people…” His heart was aching for Kook, the sweet shy boy who had trusted Yoongi and had gotten hurt in return. He couldn't imagine how betrayed the younger must feel - or maybe he didn't even know that it wasn't supposed to be like that, that sleeping with someone you cared for meant to be safe and that there could be pleasure, not just pain. He felt guilty himself, for letting this happen and Jimin... oh Jimin would be so sad and angry at them for hurting his little Maiko. He needed to get out of there or else he would have continued to scream at Yoongi. He needed to concentrate on the good that Yoongi had literally turned Jimin’s life around with helping him and he hadn’t even thought twice. He felt like he couldn’t get the Yoongi who had just helped him and the Yoongi who was paying to hurt Jungkook on his very first night into the same picture.

He just needed to get some air before he would be sick.

Namjoon felt like he needed to do something, anything, really to show  that he was sorry, so he went to Jimin. Because hurting Jungkook also meant hurting Jimin. And as he felt like he definitely couldn’t look Jungkook in the eye right now he wanted to at least give Jimin something for the younger, something to make it better - if that was even possible right now. Also, if Jungkook was hurt…then maybe he couldn’t dance, therefore didn’t make enough money and he needed to wait even longer to get out which would also affect Jimin and therefore himself and.... Namjoon could feel the headache settle in and tried not to think about it.

When he finally stood in front of Jimin he held a bag in hand that was filled to the brim. He had thought through each and every apology he could think of but in the end he still found none that expressed how sorry he was about Jungkook’s first night turning out to be like that, getting hurt by someone who was supposed to care for him. He still couldn't wrap his head around it that Yoongi would do such a thing. He should have known, when Yoongi had told him that he had bought Jungkook’s innocence that Yoongi would treat this no different than all the other power hungry, ruthless men who got off on ruining something perfect and pure for their own pleasure. He bowed deeply in front of Jimin, apologizing with a tight voice while giving him the bag. There was a cushion in it, extra soft for Jungkook to sit on when his back was hurting, relaxing tea in case he couldn’t sleep. An herbal remedy for bruises as he didn’t know how else Yoongi had hurt the boy, anti-inflammatory drugs to keep his body from getting infected which could easily happen even with minor tears in that area and cute, colorful sweets to cheer Jungkook up. He still felt awful. Nothing he bought could turn Jungkook’s first night into something pleasant and Namjoon knew that Kook would never forget it because you just... didn’t.

Especially not like this.

“I can’t tell you how much I regret that I let this happen. Please tell Jungkook that I’m sorry and that I will keep Yoongi from coming here ever again if he wants to.” Jimin looked at him in confusion and when he opened the bag his frown just deepened.

“Joon, what are you talking about?”

The older’s heart sank at the prospect of being the one to tell Jimin why he was here. He had thought that Jungkook would have confided in Jimin right away but maybe he couldn’t. He swallowed harshly before whispering, “He hurt him. Yoongi hurt Jungkook and I’m... I’m so very sorry!”

Jimin’s expression changed and now it was Namjoons turn to be confused. There was a smile on Jimin’s lips. “You mean because of the blood on their sheets? Because he made sure there would be no doubt that they had sex? Joon…”

Namjoon interrupted him immediately horror dawning on him, “Jimin this is not how it’s supposed to be! Please tell me that you don’t think that this is how it should have happened! You should treat someone you…” Jimin held up his hands to stop him, smile growing more softer, but it was still there.

“So, he didn’t tell you? He really didn’t tell you even though you probably accused him of abusing Jungkook to his face?” Namjoon felt dizzy. How could Jimin be okay with all this?

“What do you mean? Of course, I did! I am unimaginably angry at him! How…how are you not? How can you be okay with Kook…”

“He didn't do it.”

That effectively shut Namjoon up and he just blinked at Jimin in confusion until the younger explained: “He really didn't do it. I was just as worried about Kook as you even though the sheets thing is not uncommon. But other than Yoongi, Jungkook told me right away. Yoongi paid the full fee - and then told him that yes, he’d like to sleep with him but only if Jungkook wants and when he feels ready. I honestly was a little worried because as beautiful and thoughtful as that gesture is it could destroy Kook’s reputation completely if it ever comes out. Though I don't think we have to worry if he rather lets his best friend think he hurt the one he loves than breaking his promise.” Namjoon’s head was spinning.

“And... the blood?”

“A smart move actually. That way they won’t ask Kook for details as it’s proof enough on its own. He just cut his finger. And then he held Kook for the rest of the night, brushing through his hair and whispering praises into his ear. Jungkook was practically glowing the next morning with a smile that couldn’t be wiped from his face. No one will ever doubt that he’s gone through with it and is happy to be a geisha now.” Jimin was smiling brightly, taking one of the strawberries he had taken with them as they sat outside in the garden close by the pavilion where they had kissed for the first time.

“I missed you, Namjoon. I was scared you wouldn’t come back,” Jimin leaned his head against his shoulder, closing his eyes for a moment only to snap up immediately though when he realized he had now smeared white powder all over Namjoon’s shirt, trying to wipe it off. “Oh…and then I guess he didn’t tell you about the proposal either, right?”

…

The night of Jungkook’s mizuage and after Namjoon had gone; Jimin had been sitting on his bed, hands folded together, while nervously tapping his foot on the ground. It was late, way too late and Jimin had been worrying so badly about what had happened to Jungkook and about Namjoon. His thoughts had been running wild with endless possibilities - until the younger finally showed up.

Jungkook felt a little dizzy - from happiness. Yoongi had just said goodbye to him, with a kiss and a look in his eyes that was so soft Jungkook was about to start crying again. Though he had cried enough that night. His eyes were still teary and red, but he just couldn't help himself. The moment it had sunken in that Yoongi wanted to marry him to bind their lives together forever in love and trust and everything he had ever hoped for he had just broken down. And Yoongi had been there to catch him, to hold him calming him down with ‘I love you’s’ and the sweetest promises Jungkook could ever think of.

How he would show him the world and take him as he was, they would explore what Jungkook liked and what he didn’t, what hobbies he might enjoy and what his favorite food was. The younger felt as if he had walked through a door last night and ended in a dream world that was everything he ever wished for.

He had sneaked out when they had come to clean up after Yoongi, taking the sheets with them. He had felt their looks on his skin and blushed heavily, but they hadn’t asked anything or talked to him in any way, just nodded their approval and then let him go. He needed to see Jimin, right now, or else he might burst from all the happiness inside.

“Jimin?” He knocked and barely waited for something affirmative from the other side of the door before barging in, closing the door behind him and then sinking down at Jimin's feet to bury his head in the others lap like they did sometimes, when Jungkook wanted Jimin to card through his hair and calm him. He just couldn’t sit properly right now and talk about this normally when his whole world had just turned on its axis.

“Hey,” Jimin instinctively reached out for him, soothing over his hair and holding Jungkook softly. “Are you okay?” It was a simple question, one that Jimin spoke so calmly that it surprised himself with the storm that was raging in his heart and mind. But he needed to know if Jungkook was alright, if he was hurting if he needed anything from him or if he just wanted to sit like this for the rest of the night. He didn’t care.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Jungkook sniffled, the tears coming again when he remembered how scared he had been just to feel this endless rush of relief when Yoongi came in and then gave him back control over the situation. “It... it was Yoongi who bought me and at first I thought he would just have sex with me, but... but...” His voice broke and he took a deep breathe, wiping the tears off his face to speak properly. He had never understood why sadness and joy brought the same reaction when it got too much and he pouted as it was kind of ruining the happy mood right now.

Reaching out for the young geisha, Jimin lifted the youngers chin to make him look at him. “Y-Yoongi? He didn’t want...w-what did he do, Jungkook?” Jimin was fearing the worst right now, his thoughts spiraling out of control, not really getting that Jungkook was crying because he was happy. But Namjoon had said, Yoongi liked Jungkook - that they would protect the younger. “What happened? He didn’t hurt you, right?”

Jungkook shook his head at that question and then broke into tears all over again, sniffling in between as he managed to get out, “He... he proposed to me, Minnie! He told me that he would ... marry me and he didn’t…we didn’t have sex. He realized... how... how scared I was and said he wouldn’t do it like that but... he still... still wants me and.. Minnie, he said he loves me! Can you imagine that? He... he loves me and he can get me out and no one will ever control me... ever... ever again!”

Jimin gasped, pushing a hand onto his mouth – and still he couldn’t stop the tears from rolling. He instantly reached for Jungkook and embraced him in the tightest hug, feeling how shaken the younger was. It was everything Jimin could have hoped for and more. All he wanted was for Jungkook to get out of here and now it was about to come true. And if Jungkook was safe…then Namjoon could come and get him as well.

Jimin closed his eyes, the sobs taking over as he kept holding the younger just a little tighter. “Of course, he loves you! Who doesn’t love you! You’re the sweetest geisha that has ever graced the earth,” Jimin mumbled with a soft giggle, leaving a few soft kisses on the younger’s cheek, while soothing over his back, “You’ll be out of here soon. I told you…I told you it’s going to be alright.”

They were holding each other, crying together and washing away everything that they had kept inside. All the insecurity and tension, the lost dreams and fragile hint of hope, the bottled up emotions and disappointments - everything just broke its way out. When the tears finally dried up Jungkook felt relieved as if he only weighted half of his weight, the pressure on his chest gone so he could breathe more freely. He also was exhausted though. He had slept a little last night, but not much and he ached for a long, deep sleep - and to wake up to the knowledge that it was still true; that Yoongi would propose and take him home with him.

Jimin had helped him up and into the bed with him, neither of them letting go off each other. Jungkook fell asleep almost immediately, snoring softly in the geisha’s hold while he was playing with his hair. Jimin smiled at the thought of Yoongi proposing to the younger, wondering how it had happened if the other had been on one knee or if he just had told him – just like Namjoon had done it. Biting his lip, Jimin looked down at the sleeping boy, tracing the lines of his face softly.

He hadn’t told Jungkook about Namjoon’s visit, just as much as he had never told him anything else bad that had happened. He knew that Jungkook would scold him for staying when he had a way out of here immediately. But now that he was sure Jungkook would be out of here soon, whether it was through working his debt off quickly or Yoongi paying everything and marrying him right away – he didn’t care -, Jimin dared to dream again.

...

Namjoon plucked a strawberry away from Jimin’s heap. “That idiot.” His voice was fond and sweet. “You know I told him that I proposed to you. And I expected for him to be shocked and everything, but he was absolutely fine with it. Now I know why: he had just proposed to Jungkook himself. But he couldn’t tell me, probably because he was afraid to say too much and spill Kook’s secret. I knew it! I knew he had a soft spot for Jungkook. And I’m glad it turned out that it’s even more than that.” Words lingered on his tongue, those who would tell Jimin that Yoongi had lend him the rest of that money that he needed to buy him out of here. But suddenly he got shy. He had proposed to Jimin so shortly ago. Maybe he should wait a little longer before bringing it up again. He should probably let Jimin cope, there’d be so many changes now. And who knew when exactly the two would marry. He could wait. And then, after Jungkook would have left the tea house then he could ask again. That would probably be for the best. He bit his lip, nonetheless, still itching to just blurt it out and ask Jimin again.

“Don’t call him an idiot, Namjoon!” Jimin softly nudged his side, giggling quietly. Reaching out for one of the napkins, Jimin put a finger under Namjoon’s chin to turn his head around. “You’ve got strawberry juice all over you.” The geisha smiled at him fondly and cleaned it up with a featherlight touch. “I’d kiss you if I could right now.” He added in a whispery tone, not wanting anyone else around to hear although they were pretty far off from the usual spots the other geisha’s took their clients in the garden. “If…If Yoongi is marrying Jungkook. If he is taken care of then…,” Jimin began to speak as he set the napkin down again, playing with the hem of his robe nervously. “W-will you…will you come back?”

Namjoon couldn’t help the smile from spreading all over his face. Just like the warm, fuzzy feeling that was spreading inside of him until it filled up his whole chest. “Why? What should I come back for?” He asked, playing dumb. “If Yoongi and Jungkook won’t be here anymore - then what will there be that’s worth coming for me here? I can’t think of anything; honestly.”

Jimin’s eyes widened but his expression soon turned into a smile. “But I am here,” He pursed his lips into a pout, sulking prettily. “But you’re right…watching Yoongi and Jungkook being in love and all…lovey-dovey at work…at home…and everywhere else, when you’re all alone, is probably better anyways.”

“You will be here?” Namjoon feigned surprise, “But why would you? I didn’t think you’d want to come back here after you moved out. But sure, if you want to we can go there together. I actually wanted to ask you for a favors regarding that anyway...” He wiped off his mouth and then placed the napkin aside. Jimin could swear that his heart had jumped right out of his chest in that moment. He blinked the tears away hastily, trying not to show how much it meant to him that Namjoon still thought about getting him out of here. “A favor?” Jimin shifted a little closer, seeking the warmth the other always provided for him, “What is it that you need?”

Namjoon left the joking aside and turned towards Jimin. His eyes were soft but his face serious as he was about to ask something very personal and uncomfortable of Jimin. “I wanted to ask you if you... if you could think that maybe... you could tell the others in the tea house. About what happened to you.” He could see Jimin’s eyes widening and his body tensing up in defense and he took his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “Just listen to me please. You don’t have to give me an answer right away just.. I talked to a lawyer, as I said I would. And they told me that even though he is sorry about what happened we can’t... we don’t really have a chance at winning a case. Because we don’t have proof. And I hate that Hobi will just get away like that, but I don’t want you to get through any of this again, not even for getting ‘proof’. So, I wanted you to talk to the boys living here, tell them what Hobi did so that they are warned and then tell them that if he ever tries something with them then they can call me, anytime. And together we will get proof and Hobi in jail.“

“Joon,” Jimin cupped his cheeks, not knowing what to say anymore. He took a few deep breaths before answering, “O-okay…but no word to Jungkook. I need you to promise me that.” Jimin gulped heavily, his hands shaking from the sudden anxiety that overwhelmed him. “J-just give me a bit time, okay?”

Namjoon nodded, squeezing Jimin’s hand again. He hadn’t expected Jimin to agree right away. After all, Jimin had kept it a secret since it had happened, telling no one but him. It must be a scary thought to open up - but it might be what kept the other young boys in the tea house safe. If they knew they had help if they knew that they had to look out maybe none of them got hurt. Hobi might even get wind of it that if he ever tried to touch one of the boys again he would be in jail quicker than he could make up a lie. Maybe an anonymous letter would do…

“You’ve got all the time in the world. We only plan further when Jungkook is out and he never has to know. No one has to know, ever. Except for... a therapist. As I’d really like for you to see one. Though as with everything else we’ll go at your pace. You can settle in, get comfortable, feel like home. I just want you to heal, at your own pace. And if it helps you talking about it, opening up to someone who can help you better with this than I… then I’d like for you to try please. But before that - before everything I’d like you to marry me please.” As Jimin was still sitting it was a little strange to kneel in front of him, but he still did, taking out the ring that he had bought. It was a small and delicate band, no decoration, no inscription, just a silver band to fit on Jimin’s finger.

“I figured as we more or less have a date now for when you come out it would only be appropriate for you to have something to visualize my promise to you. I kept it simple so that you can wear it at work as well. And when you’re out then we can look for our wedding rings together and you can choose whatever you like best. I’m assuming it’s still a yes?”

Jimin was completely frozen, only his eyes blinking gave away that he was still alive. His mouth stood open as he stared at the ring in front of him. “It’s perfect,” His voice sounded so small, almost timid, “Y-you are perfect.” Jimin’s lip began to tremble, tears spilling over. “Of course, I still want you. I always wanted you! Yes!” Jimin didn’t care about any rules anymore, but let himself fall into Namjoon’s embrace, holding on tightly and just when he was sure no one could see he placed a sweet, chaste kiss on his lips. Just one time, before he sunk back into his arms.

…

Everything just felt surreal as if he had spent each day in a dream, one unique stolen moment suspended in time when he was with Namjoon. And every day brought him a bit closer to him – until he would come back and take him home.

But Namjoon didn’t come back. Not the following week, or the one after.

Jimin had waited to see his name on his appointment list, but there was no ‘Kim Namjoon’…just everyone else but the one he wanted to see so desperately. Jungkook passed him on his way up to the tearooms with a smile, practically glowing in his geisha attire and it was enough for Jimin to know that Yoongi was there again.

Jimin smiled back at the younger, separating from him and going into a different direction.

Jungkook didn’t need him anymore and now that the young geisha was almost done paying off his debt it only made Jimin awfully aware of his own state. But Jungkook wasn't to blame, only himself. He was trying to work more than usual, get more tip from the customers and even doing main room services again – even though it stressed him out completely – to pay off more of his own debt with Hoseok. He was the first one to start his shift and the last one to go. One day, Jimin had fallen asleep over the box filled with his laundry, being completely exhausted.

To Hoseok it was a fun game to watch, to see Jimin struggling just to get a glimpse of that hope again. To see him trying to keep the debt as low as possible, but it was a hopeless, tiring fight. But Jimin didn’t want Namjoon to pay more, just because he had decided to stay here and make sure Jungkook was safe until he could go. It was his own fault. And Namjoon had told him he would take care of everything else. He just needed some time to prepare it, right? It was about Jungkook first, anyways. Jimin shouldn’t worry too much about it.

But what if Namjoon wouldn’t come back for him?

What if he decided that waiting for Jimin would take too long, that it would leave him in ruins and the geisha wasn’t worth it. Jimin couldn’t blame Namjoon. He was a dancer, nothing more than that. And even though he had gotten a good education, Jimin never learned any other job than this. The contract between Hoseok and Namjoon only lasted for a month and if the businessman didn’t bring the money or prolong the contract, Jimin would get dropped – just like that.

Jimin looked down at his hand, the ring still on his finger – the only reminder he had of Namjoon’s promise. Wiping over his eyes tiredly, the geisha made his way through the darkness of the garden and into their room again. He was forcing himself to push down every bit of sadness, while the doubts were eating him alive – and still Jimin didn’t want anyone to see him struggling. In some ways he knew it was irrational, but how did one tell their heart that it didn’t need to be scared?

So, he put his mask back on, doing his job with a perfect smile, dancing with the same expression all over again and listening to Jungkook daydream about Yoongi. He smiled through the pain, urging Jungkook on to tell him more, ignoring the aching inside his chest, the jealousy that felt like it was leaving a hollow.

And sometimes, when the younger was sleeping in his arms, his head on Jimin’s chest and arms tightly wrapped around his body, Jimin just cried. Silent tears falling down onto his cheeks. Some were because he knew that he had made it, he had saved Jungkook from this and that the younger would be free from it soon. And he would be taken care of.

And about his own life, then the sadness washed over him like a wave, pulling him under and leaving him to drown. It was making him want to scream out because the pain wasn’t bearable. But then he soothed over Jungkook’s hair just a little softer, trying to stifle anything else to not wake him or started playing with the ring again. There had never been anyone protecting him, so he wouldn’t dare to bring Jungkook the same fate when he was so close to his happy end.

Sometimes Jimin wondered if this story, his life, had never been about him but all about Jungkook. Maybe it was solely about protecting the innocence and keeping him that way. But hadn’t he been innocent himself once? How did he tumble into this life? Namjoon once said it hadn’t been his fault…that nothing of what had happened should have happened in the first place.

The moment he thought about him again, his heart did a painful jump. Jimin wondered where he was right now, if he maybe couldn’t sleep as well and if he was thinking about him. Namjoon had told him, that sometimes he was going out for midnight bike rides – maybe he was doing that? Looking up at the stars? The same one’s he could see now. Jimin had never ridden a bike before. Sighing deeply, Jimin tried to close his eyes again, imagining himself riding a bike but in the end it only made him awfully aware of the things he couldn’t do. What was he even good for? He couldn’t even cook properly, and he wasn’t so sure if Namjoon was a great cook considering how clumsy he was and maybe the other didn’t even want to teach him.

Jimin was a burden. That’s all he had been from the beginning.

When Jungkook stirred in his sleep, Jimin quickly buried his face in his hair and told him to go back to sleep. From where they were lying, Jimin could see the sun slowly rising, but Jungkook needed a bit more sleep. “I’ll wake you up, but now just sleep okay,” Jimin mumbled into the younger’s hair, before closing his own eyes and trying to ignore the way his heart was hammering against his chest.

It had been two weeks since Namjoon had visited him and the more days passed, the more did Jimin lose his hope.

It was wilting away so easily, the fear of getting rejected growing bigger than believing in Namjoon’s promise – no matter how long he stared at the ring.

…

Sitting outside, Jimin was reading – or more likely he tried. He was reading over the same couple of sentences repeatedly for the last couple of minutes. He just couldn’t concentrate, his mind racing, making him feel dizzy. So, instead of reading ahead, he closed it and put the book aside. Leaning his head against the wall, Jimin let the sun shine directly on his face and although he easily got a sunburn, he didn’t mind the heat right now. He almost dozed off, his tired mind slipping when a happy yell made him jerk his head up, his eyes searching for the source of it.

“I got it! Jimin,I finally got it! The paper! This is it! I got it” Jungkook was running towards him, bunching up his silk robe with one hand so that he wouldn’t fall over his own geisha attire. He was waving wildly with a paper, his face beaming so much that Jimin could see it from where he was sitting.

The geisha was up on his feet right away, ignoring the shiny spots that appeared and the dizziness he felt and instead ran ahead to get to Jungkook. His own doubts were far gone, because nothing else mattered right now. “You made it,” Jimin whispered, taking the paper from Jungkook to read over them quickly before he jumped in happiness, hugging the younger. “Yoongi must be on his way now! You should go and sign it now!” Jimin squealed, urging the younger to move, “Go! Go! I’ll go and pack your things…and…and you go and sign this…then…then when he’s here you can leave right away. No one will hold you back.” Jimin took in a sharp breath, when the realization settled in that he would let Jungkook go today. With a smile, he nodded into the direction of Hoseok’s office, “What are you waiting for?”

Jungkook hesitated. “I just... wanted to tell you and now... I don’t really know what to do.” His doe eyes were wide and dark, a little worry mixed into all the happiness. “I don’t feel good leaving you here. I know it won’t be for long and that Namjoon will be here soon, maybe even tomorrow but... I don’t want you to be alone.” He took Jimin’s hand and held it a little too tight. “I’m gonna miss you, so, so much, Jimin. You’re my family. And you always will be.”

They hadn’t talked about any of this yet, fantasizing and dreaming about the happy aspects of their future while leaving out completely that they wouldn’t live together any longer. Of course, they would see each other all the time with Yoongi and Namjoon being friends and owners of the same company and living close to each other. And yet it would be a big change. “Promise me that you will call whenever you want to see me, no matter when and where?” He took Jimin’s other hand as well and squeezed both of them, “And we will have sleepovers when our... our husbands are away on business” He giggled at the word husband because it still got him shy. “And we will have breakfast together, the four of us every Sunday. And I need to see you at least five times a week. Okay?”

“I’m not alone,” Jimin answered with a smile, although inside he was crumbling, ignoring the pain he had felt the past weeks, nodding at everything he said. He stiffened when Jungkook talked about ‘their’ husbands, when Jimin had never told him about Namjoon’s proposal or his promise. Jungkook just believed in the good.

“I-I know I always have you, please don’t worry about me, Jungkook.” He squeezed the younger’s hand lightly, “I’ll be there with you soon but until then please be happy. If you smile, then I smile.” Jimin soothed over Jungkook’s cheeks, his eyes flickering onto the ring on his finger, before he quickly retreated it again. “I promise you…and now go!” Jimin laughed, pushing the younger lightly into the direction.

Jungkook hugged Jimin once again, a sudden, happy hug from all the joy he felt inside before he finally ran off. He had felt awful about leaving Jimin behind so one night Yoongi had told him a secret and had him promising that he wouldn’t ask Hobi or Namjoon anything about it. Apparently Namjoon wanted to marry Jimin as well though for whatever reason they had to wait for a while longer.

Jungkook just hoped Namjoon would keep to his promise and also hurry up a little.

He didn’t want Jimin to be alone. If necessary he would come to the tea house every day at Jimin’s lunch break to make him smile until Namjoon had sorted out whatever was stopping him to take Jimin with him. It was probably the money. Jungkook bit his lip, thinking to himself that the moment he got a job he would start saving his earnings to give to Namjoon so that he could buy Jimin out of there just like Yoongi had with him. The older had refused when Jungkook had offered to pay him back but Jungkook thought about doing it anyway. After Jimin was free of course. But right now, he needed to sign the papers, give them back to Hoseok and then… then he could go with Yoongi to spend his first night outside of the tea house since more than a decade.

Jimin’s heart was aching as he watched Jungkook run off, almost stumbling over the doorstep and shooting him a smile as if to reassure him that he was fine. The geisha smiled back at him, before he turned on his heel, grabbed his book and returned to their room. Taking the bag from their closet, Jimin put it down onto Jungkook’s bed side looking around the room to look for the things he could pack. There wasn’t much: except for their normal day clothes and daily robe and a few personal essentials they barely had anything. When he lifted the bag, it was still light and not like he would move out, but rather just stay overnight somewhere. He plopped down onto the mattress, letting his gaze wander around for a moment until the pain became a little bit too much to endure. He took in a sharp breath, one that hurt his throat. Mindlessly, Jimin had started to play with the ring again, rotating it on his finger until his breathing calmed a little more and it didn’t felt like he was free falling into a pit dark hole.

With his smile perfectly in place and bag in hand, Jimin hurried back out again. He could already see Yoongi with his arm around the youngers waist at the garden gate, the biggest smile on both of their faces. Seeing Jungkook so happy, so close to being free was all he had needed to make joy blossom in his heart again.

Honestly, Jimin wasn’t sure how he was surviving this whiplash of emotions for weeks now. He was a mess that was for sure.

Bowing deeply in front of Yoongi, Jimin spoke up, “Thank you, Mr. Min.” He bowed even deeper, trying to hide that his eyes were tearing up from pure joy and relief that Jungkook would be safe from now on, “For everything that you did, for Kook…and for me as well. You showed yourself to be a great gentleman and best suitor for being Jungkook’s fiancé.” He didn’t plan on speaking so formerly, but Jimin felt safer using his geisha persona or else he feared it would have overwhelmed him completely.

Yoongi reached out for him, gentle touching his arm. “Jimin, there’s no need to talk to me like that. We’re friends. At least from my side. And you aren’t a geisha anymore. You don’t have to be overly polite to people. You can let yourself breathe. I’d say we all meet at my place tonight. Till then Jungkook has had the time to take a look at the apartment and decide which room he wants as his own and then we can order pizza tonight and celebrate him moving in with me. You want to come?”

Jimin only nodded at that, not sure if Yoongi knew what he was talking about. Of course, he was still a geisha. Didn’t Namjoon always say he knew more about the rules of a tea house? It was a nice thought though, so Jimin only smiled at him before turning to Jungkook. Soothing over the younger’s hair, Jimin cupped his face to place a soft kiss on the youngers cheek. “Call me tonight, will you? I bet I can make Hoseok let me use the telephone, and then you can tell me about the room…about the view out of your window and everything else, promise?” Jimin hugged Jungkook close once more, before pulling away, sniffling quietly and mumbling something about allergies. “I’m sorry I can’t come but I’m sure it’s going to be a lovely night.” The geisha turned to Yoongi and bowed in apology, “I do have to work tonight, but it would make me really happy to hear from you soon.” His voice broke a little and his hands began to shake, while Jimin tried to cover it up with an awkward wave.

“I think you’re a little over excited there, sweetheart.”

Jimin jumped a little from the sudden voice behind him and Namjoon chuckled as the younger’s eyes widened in surprise. He had practically begged Yoongi for them to drive to the tea house together as soon as he got the call from Jungkook that the papers were ready: because he didn’t want Jimin to stay there for a minute longer after Jungkook was gone and he was practically allowed to marry Jimin officially now. The last two weeks had been hell without Jimin but he still had a job and then he had cleaned out a room in his house and had tried to make it as comfortable as possible without putting pressure on Jimin because Jimin should decorate the room how he wanted and maybe he also wanted different furniture or other colors or he wanted to turn the room into a dance studio or a hobby room and... Yoongi had laughed at him a couple of times for it, saying that he was thinking too much and that they would have enough time to sort that out when Jimin was there. The rest of their lives to be precise.

“So... Jungkook is officially his own man right now. Or Yoongi’s, however you want to see it. Does that mean you are ready to come home now?”

Jimin just stared at Namjoon, mouth hanging open, his mind and heart trying to catch up. His bottom lip began to tremble, when Namjoon was talking about ‘coming home’ as if it didn’t mean the world to Jimin.

Stumbling a little, he walked up to Namjoon, reaching out for him, still not really believing this was happening.

“I’m not a geisha anymore?” He asked with a quiet voice that only Namjoon could hear, feeling his arm wrap around his waist just right when Jimin felt like the world slipped right from underneath him. “We’re going home? You and me? And we’re going to order pizza? Drink sugary coke? And I will live with you in your apartment? Sleep next to you? In your bed? Will you teach me how to ride a bike?” The questions spilled out of him so quickly, but he needed to know the answers to make sure that for once his dream had become reality, that someone had kept his promise.

Namjoon chuckled at Jimin’s cuteness, kissing him sweet and passionate now that he finally could.

“I told you we would!” Yoongi yelled in the back and then, murmuring to Jungkook “Though no bike riding in the house please. You want to ride a bike too? We can make trips on the weekends then; would you like that?” Jungkook nodded happily and then, as soon as Namjoon and Jimin had stopped kissing ran over to them to hug them from the side, pulling Yoongi along so that he stumbled into them and they were basically all hugging.

Leaning in to Jimin the younger whispered quietly so that only Jimin could hear it: “You were right all along when you told me that this all would be worth it one day. That if we stayed strong and kept going that we would find happiness. I found mine with Yoongi. And I guess Namjoon’s is yours. And even if something changes one day no one can take this moment from us. And we will always have each other. I can’t wait to find out what life will be now outside of the tea house. And I’m so glad that we’re all together.”

Jimin smiled, reaching for Namjoon’s hand to hold it tight as they followed Yoongi and Jungkook who was happily skipping. He let himself get pulled along and to their car and not once did Jimin look back. He didn’t care about his stuff that was never his to begin with. He had everything he needed right here with him. Taking a deep breath, the young man looked up at Namjoon who just opened up the car door for him to step in. His handsome face was turned towards him in smiling welcome; eyes full of love and trust. Love is a road long and hard, which makes it even more important to travel it with the right person. Love was a fight worth fighting and a victory worth having. He found it in Namjoon and found comfort and security in knowing that it would be all okay with him by his side. And no matter what the future still hold, no matter how many times he had to face Hoseok once more, he knew he wasn’t alone anymore. And if love was a choice, he would chose him, over and over again.

A/N: Another story is done :) What did you think??? We hope you enjoyed this story!! Yes, we know we don’t give too much closure on whats going to happen with Hoseok - but we can ensure you that Namjoon will go against him and make him pay but it was most important to him to get Jimin out first. And he will love Jimin forever and ever and hold him tight every night and give him everything he needs. And yes, maybe Jungkook will accidentally bump into Yoongi’s expensive vase because he tried biking in the living room. But he will still love him. 

Don’t forget that I posted a new fic trailer for the next upcoming fic. A guardian angel AU with Minjoon and Yoonkook - again. Lmao, yeah. It’s just what we love writing :DD But there will be two Yoonmin stories coming out soon as well as we participated in an event. So look out for those!

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[angstymarshmallow]

Chapter Fourteen: “The Manor Shrouded in Darkness” (Part 14 Of Fantasy AU, a TRR fanfic)

[A little note: I think if I read this again, I may go insane. Here’s Part 14, of my slaves of Fates series and as usual, thank you so much for those of you who’ve kept up with this monster of a series so far. Hope you enjoy!]

[Word Count: 6869]

Part 1: “The Beginning” Part 2: “The Adventurer” Part 3: “The Knight” Part 4: “The Jester” Part 5: “The Untimely Meeting” Part 6: “The Unlikely Alliance” Part 7: “The Mismatched Trio” Part 8: “The Ambush” Part 9: “The Plan B” Part 10: “The Rebels of Willesden” Part 11: “The Battle for Willesden” Part 12: “The Plan to End All Tyranny” Part 13: “The Mage’s Rune” 

Bile rose in Drake’s throat. He swallowed thickly, shaking his head as he turned away from the grisly sight. “I don’t understand…are you telling me it’s the same….thing from whatever we saw before?”

  “Is that even possible? Are you certain it is the same rune?” Maxwell added, finding the idea too incredulous. To be the same rune to have caused the explosion meant they were in far graver danger than any of them realized. It was difficult to look for long, but he kept his jaw clenched tight. He squinted at the body, trying to find similarities in the design on its chest.

Robyn gave them a curt nod.

She couldn’t forget even if she tried – the memory had burned a hole inside her head and just the sight of this made her skin crawl. She rubbed the abrupt goosebumps on her arms and searched for the right words to adequately explain how bizarre this all was. “It shouldn’t be possible…and yet yes I am quite sure it.” She shook her head. “It does not make any sense; no mage should have that amount of magic at their fingertips.”

“What do you mean?” Drake’s lips curled a little. “Aren’t all mages powerful?”

“In theory yes,” Robyn uttered a frustrated sigh. “You have seen how different Maxwell and I are. And as a mage - well, we all have different affinities and abilities depending on our bloodline.” She further explained. “I suppose Neville’s bloodline must be exceptionally strong…” She trailed off for a moment, steadying breath. “Still, he shouldn’t be capable of making so many runes in such little time. That requires tremendous amounts of power.” Without realizing it, her eyes drifted to the rune she had placed on Drake shy of a week ago – the spot that was still remarkably hidden and invisible to the naked eye. 

She winced.

He followed her gaze before she could look away. His eyes narrowed into slits. “There is something you are not telling us.”

She tried to keep her expression neutral, but inwardly her heart skipped a beat. “Nonsense.”

“But the rune made one of the bandits explode the last time, did it not?” Maxwell reminded her. “How could they be one in the same?”

Mercifully, Drake had averted his stare and for the moment, Robyn could breathe a little easier again. “I know how strange this all sounds,” she turned to Maxwell. “But I recognize those as the very same inscriptions.” Her brows knitted in concentration. “They are the same even though they didn’t explode.” A sudden horrible thought struck her, “it could be possible that the amount of magic they all required could have negatively affected them…” Realizing she had spoken aloud, she snapped her mouth shut.

She didn’t want to finish the thought.

“What is it?” She flinched slightly at the sudden harshness laced inside Drake’s tone. He took a threatening closer to her, his eyes flashing with anger – whether it was towards her or Neville, Robyn wasn’t sure but she stumbled back all the same. “You have a duty to tell us exactly what you’re thinking – whatever it may be. You cannot withhold information that could help us.”

“A duty?” She bristled. “I have no such thing.” Had he forgotten it was him and his friend who came to her for aid – and not the other way around? “You’re a long way from home and I owe you nothing.” She felt a prickle of guilt at her own words and ignored it. She could not think of it now – nor the scratch she had made on his soul. Right now, all that mattered was the threat that Neville possessed.

“Drake –” Maxwell interrupted, wedging himself between them. Now wasn’t the time for either one of them to lose their tempers. But he could feel the change in the air, shifting and tensing around them. If they did not enter Neville’s manor as a cohesive unit – Maxwell doubted their odds of survivals even more by the second.

He could decipher Caspen’s familiar lanky figure from the corner of his eyes, followed by the rest of their companions bunching the steps of the manor. He watched bewilderment touch their expressions and what he felt earlier dawned on their faces; twisting their expressions into downright horror.

“Heavens, we’re too late.” Caspen swore, running his fingers in frustration through his dark hair.

Every single one of them turned to gape at him and seemingly oblivious to their stare, Caspen bent and inspected the dead more closely. “It is just as I feared.”

Robyn considered asking surely what she thought everyone else had been thinking. “You knew about this? That they were…” She trailed off for a moment, trying to think of a word for it. “Runed?”

“I heard rumors from Gretchen.” Caspen answered carefully. His eyes were unreadable until they shifted to the body again. “But I didn’t want to believe they were true.” Those crystals of his were suddenly clouded with something she could describe as pity and sympathy before he got to his feet, after uttering a short prayer in aiding their passage in the afterlife. Clearing his throat, the Pinevale mayor frowned. “Gretchen didn’t have the time to tell me what they were capable of but by the looks of it – it’s not good.”

“Is there anyone else that wants to return back to Willesden right about now?” Maxwell said, gazing uneasily around him. “No? Just me?” He paused. “Well then.”

The rest seemed to have ignored his words. Most of them were still staring at the dead with fresh fear reflecting in their eyes until it felt as though it was even lingering in the air around them.

Drake had been the only one to recover quickly. He was no longer as stunned as the rest. He knew what mages were capable of and this only fueled his desire in believe that nothing good could from them. Mages, simply could not be trusted and were still as much of a danger as he always believed. And despite his earlier blunder when it came to Robyn, despite feeling her lips for the first time and wanting to devour her the moment she whispered his name, the woman in front of him – as much as she took his breath away, was a damned mage too. He glared at her, jaw locked tight with contempt. “And we won’t know the full extent until Robyn tells us whatever it is that she’s hiding.”

At the sound of her name, Robyn jolted – drawing attention from the rest of her companions onto her from Drake’s words. A mixture of curiosity, surprise, bewilderment and suspicion – flitted across their features, and no matter where she looked, she could not get away from their stares. They felt as though they were trying to pierce through her soul, rather than plead with her for more information.

She swallowed thickly.

“Oh, boy.” Maxwell mumbled. He did not like where this was headed at all.

“I’ve already told you all I know about runes.” Robyn folded her arms, chin jutting out to meet Drake’s glare with one of her own.  Liar, liar. A voice inwardly whispered to her but she shrugged it off.

For all she knew, they were going to somehow use that knowledge against.

“Robyn,” She hated the way he said her name – like it was poison, as if they hadn’t shared…something in the last twenty-four hours. She was wrong to think things were changing between them, because from where she was standing – all she could see was the same disregard for her life when he had discovered she was a mage.

“Time is running out – and we need to know what Neville is capable of.” Drake continued curtly, lips bared into a sneer.

She stiffened.

Maxwell stepped between them, raising his hands held high. “Okay, this is getting a little too tense for me.” He tried to placate them both with a smile. A smile he did not feel, as his gut suddenly prickled. “I don’t agree with Drake very often, but he does have a point my lady. If we are to storm in there and fight him – we need to know,” before she could protest, he quickly continued. “If it pertains to this that is.” He spared Drake a look. “And nothing more.”

Drake grumbled something under his breath, and the rest of their companions were anxiously waiting her answer.

Robyn sighed. “I suppose I do know something.” She said vaguely. She decided to choose her next words carefully; knowing that it Maxwell was right – didn’t mean she wanted to place herself under scrutiny. “I have mentioned how runes work,” she began. “Usually mages attach them to items – to imbue them with magical power or to store them somewhere for later…But…” She trailed off for a moment.

“Spit it out.” Drake snapped.

Maxwell elbowed him.

“Anything you have to say Robyn, we are all ears.” Caspen muttered. His eyes, glancing at her with that strange sympathy – as if he knew more than he was letting on.

Blinking, Robyn bit her lower lip. “Neville isn’t the first person I’ve come across that have used runes in this manner. Although, his are the only…positive results I’ve seen in quite some time.”

“This is positive results?” Drake uttered in disbelief. “The dead lying around us?”

She ignored his outburst. “When he placed the runes on his army, they didn’t die right away – that in itself is more than enough for what I anticipated. You see – although I don’t know all the rules around magic, trying to perverse it this way can never end well.” She thought briefly of her own parents – a stray thought that was somewhat murky; and the journal they had left behind – buried in the bottom of her burlap sack. “There’s been some…studies,” she didn’t know how else to explain, “and usually the subject has died.”

“So Neville’s using some major mumbo jumbo on his army.” Maxwell finished for her.

“Yes.” Robyn smiled slightly at him. “I remember from our last fight – the rune had allowed him control over the bandit, and I’m assuming there are other benefits as well.”

“But that doesn’t explain why he’s lying on the ground, dead.” Drake spoke up, impatiently.

“I was getting to that.” She gave a tired sigh. “Because runes are usually used on objects – they make artifacts. What Neville is trying to do is make people living weapons and, like I said the results of using it on people goes often unprecedented. I think because he’s using it on living beings – and a rune needs magic to work…it’s somehow taking the life force of the person to fuel itself.”

They all stared at her, stunned into silence by the implications of her words. She couldn’t blame them, she was still wrapping her head around it herself.

“You mean to tell me…” Maxwell shook his head in disbelief.

“Yes. That Neville’s using his magic to…an unstoppable army.” She sighed, “his mind is so simple, singular. My guess is he wants to take over not just small bits of it, but all of the North by the rate he’s going.” It was all starting to make sense to her now – his ego had indeed been that big.

“That’s madness.” Gavin whispered, his voice tinged with fear.

“But it is the truth.” She insisted. “I never understood why he needed the materials I had procured for him when we first met. But then I noticed all his diagrams and notes on his desk…now I understand. If he can perfect the rune on humans capabilities…”

“Then he really will be unstoppable.” Drake finished for her, sounding as horrified as she felt.

“Exactly.”

“No, he won’t.”

Robyn was surprised by the vehemence in Caspen’s voice as he stepped in front of them, unsheathing his sword as he pointed towards the door. Out of everyone all the other village leaders, she hadn’t expected the sudden grim determination to be in his eyes or for him to lead the charge into the manor.

“Follow me, we end Neville’s tyranny tonight.”

-

Ending it was easier said than done.

Once they entered the manor, the entire home seemed to be engulfed in darkness. They were surprised to find it pitch black and seemingly empty. The air was extremely chilly, Robyn had to rub her arms furiously in an effort to keep herself warm as she peered into the darkness of the room. It made no difference, she couldn’t see anything.

Caspen had ordered everyone to use their lanterns as he lit his own. He kept one hand on his weapon and the other clenched tightly around the oil-lamp once they had a chance to stare at their new surroundings.

But nothing could prepare them for this.

Everywhere they looked there was a strange and downright uneasy sight. Blood that seemed to have been present for at least several weeks was dried against the hardwood floors. The air seemed heavy with death although they could find no trace of bodies – only continuous signs of blood and the uneasy feeling that someone was watching them.

Robyn shivered.

Drake’s hand tightened around the hilt of his sword.

Maxwell’s gaze skirted wildly as the terrible feeling in his stomach returned a tenfold.

Something very bad had happened here, and something was also telling Maxwell that it was a mistake coming through that door. Trying to swallow back his fear, he followed along with his companions – each foot taken was measured and careful steps were their forefront as they spotted the hall.

This was not the same place Robyn had been invited to several weeks ago. The air reeked of death. There were broken pieces of glass belonging to vases, windows – and intricate designs from Neville’s personal itinerary. Her eyes widened at the sight of the state of the walls. It was peeling in several paces. Portraits of the most recent Bloomingdale old mayor’s family were torn, left in tatters. The more they walked, the more she felt as though they were being watched.

She shuddered enough to draw a worried glance from Maxwell and Drake. She ignored Drake and gave Maxwell a timid smile of reassurance. It was the only thing she could muster without fear gripping her.

Their half-thought of plan to surprise Neville with an ambush seemed unlikely with the manor’s state and Robyn wondered when the last time the man had any visitors. Still, she couldn’t shake off the uneasy feeling that had stricken her the moment they begun heading down the hall.

They kept a formation while they walked. Caspen, Hannon and Belfay were at the front. Robyn was comfortable in the middle while Maxwell, Drake and Gavin were stationed near their rear – all the while keeping a watchful gaze ahead, in case anything jumped out at them.

But nothing did.

Their feet were the only noise that carried; a soft thud against the carpet that was also stained with blood.

Heavens what happened here, Drake thought to himself. He frowned at the sight of more blood and wondered if there was no end to it.

“We need to find Gretchen.” Caspen whispered, breaking the silence first.

They had all been on edge that the sound of his voice made most of them jump; except for Drake who scowled at the suggestion. “She isn’t our priority.” He hissed.

“I don’t care. She is mine.” Caspen hissed back.

“Guys, we’re supposed to be keeping quiet.” Maxwell reminded them, with a whisper of his own.

“What exactly are we keeping quiet for?” Hannon grumbled, speaking louder than the rest. “There’s no one left alive.”

Caspen stiffened and Robyn shook her head. Something in her was telling her differently. “There’s evil here.” She murmured. She could feel it; reaching out to her, trying dig its claws onto her soul – and she wanted to recoil in fear. Swallowing thinly, she picked up her speed until she was only a few inches away from Caspen and Balfey. “I think we’re heading in the right direction.”

Near the end of the hall, there were several splitting from one another. A grand staircase whittled with age that led to the upstairs part of the manor. There was also a secondary staircase, although there was dried blood leading towards the lower level of the building and Robyn had a feeling whatever evil had tried to reach out, it had to be there.

“We do not split up.” Maxwell said stubbornly before anyone else had the chance to suggest it. “Splitting up is always a bad idea.”

Drake quirked an eyebrow at him – not that he disagreed, but there were also benefits in divide and conquer strategies.

“Does this have to do with that vi-” Robyn paused for a moment; remembering their company. “Ah,” coughing, she cleared her throat. “Does that have to do with that thing you talked about earlier?”

He stared at her for a moment then slowly realization dawned on him. “Yes, um at least, I think it does.” He frowned faintly. “I can’t really tell unless,” he bit his lower lip before he could finish his sentence. “But this all looks familiar.”

“I see, well that puts us back to square one.” Robyn sighed.

The rest of their companions except Drake had confusion flitting across their features by their whole exchange. “Just what in the bloody hell was that –” Caspen’s brows arched while Hannon’s eyes had narrowed in suspicion.

The rest of his sentence was rudely interrupted by a sudden noise. It was an ear-splitting scream; loud enough to make their eardrums ache as they moved to cover their ears.

“What in heavens name is going on?!” Hannon growled.

Robyn would like to know. All she could was press her eyes close and wait for the noise to subside. When it did seconds later and she could finally hear again, she glanced at her companions in dismay. “I don’t know what that it is, but whatever it is –couldn’t have been good.”

Another loud scream pierced their eyes, bringing nearly all of them to their knees.

Robyn had to think on her feet. Keeping one hand in the air, she forced herself to push past the ghoulish sound and focused. She concentrated on letting go – just enough to feel the familiar flood of magic in her veins. It came quickly as though it had been waiting an eternity for her.

She gritted her teeth and forced it to heel; taking what she needed to feed a quick spell. Her senses became duller and to her ears the high-pitched scream became nothing more than dull background voice. The incantation was brief but she knew it was successful as the people around her suddenly dropped their hands.

They shared glances of confusion, which Robyn avoided by staring straight ahead. She couldn’t exactly explain why they suddenly had no difficulty withstanding the screaming – not without revealing her magic.

Then the screaming returned, loud enough to nearly break Robyn’s spell – and this time it was accompanied by something furry – and vaguely familiar squeezing itself into the hall.

Emerging from the basement was a furry looking beast. It’s head had nearly reached the ceiling and its paws were rather razor sharp along with the long canine teeth that seemed to have grown into fangs the moment it growled at them. If it had two feet high instead of wide and taking up one fourth’s of the room, Robyn might have laughed.

However, their circumstances were quite unlaughable as Robyn noticed the glint of a rune; the same inscription that had troubled them all night.

Shit.

The furry creature wasn’t just any furry creature. She remembered it being a cat once – barely a foot tall.  It still had its sleek and nearly all white coat but it wasn’t the adorable little critter that occasionally hissed at her the last time she was here. She stared at it while everyone else had begun backing away with increased frenzy.  “Is that Snowball?” Sure enough the large animal’s whiskers and ears seemed to twitch in recognition before it begun circling them; its red eyes glinting as though they were its prey.

They probably were.

“Robyn,” Maxwell somehow managed to keep his voice calm – despite the real possibility of death becoming very apparent. He wanted to scream. “How do you know this Snowball? More importantly why is she looking at us like we’re breakfast?”

“That’s because we probably are.” Robyn muttered back. Louder, she yelled. “Here kitty, kitty.” She stretched her arms in the air, “don’t you remember me?” She cooed, biting back the fear she had felt rising to her chest.

It hissed – sending another shrill scream through out the air.

She quickly hugged herself. “Yup, I’m definitely getting the impression that we’re on the menu.”

“What do we do?” Hannon whispered urgently. “I do not fancy being cat food.”

“I say we split up.” Caspen grunted, spinning his sword fluidly in his hand.

Maxwell was the first to protest. “I thought we agreed splitting up was a very bad idea.”

“Well if you haven’t noticed outsider, we’re pretty much shite out of luck. So, unless you’ve got something better –”

The furry beast, “Snowball” roared. It bared its teeth before pouncing forward.

“I see your point!” Maxwell yelled back and as the giant creature darted across the room, the companions dispersed into several directions.

Both Maxwell and Gavin skirted towards the right before making a mad dash for upstairs. Caspen and Robyn had darted to the left, using the basement stairs as coverage. Drake and Hannon narrowly missed its sharp claws and Drake winced at the sudden stab of pain he felt in his side.

“Drake!” Robyn yelled. She couldn’t dampen her reaction. Her stomach lurched and she was afraid for his safety. She took a small step in his direction.

He gave a brief nod in an indication that he was alright. “You go on ahead, we’ll take care of this beast while Maxwell and Gavin are upstairs.”

“But – ” She hesitated. She felt uncertainty and dread nearly overwhelm her all at once, until Caspen was almost yanking her away.

“Don’t be stupid. This is our only shot. We’ve got this.”

“No, we don’t!” Hannon grunted, ducking as the large animal swiped at him with her paws. He loaded his crossbow and fired three into its side.

Snowball hissed. Its large tail manage to swipe Hannon off his feet. Though at the sight of the other three talking, it skirted around Drake and made a dash for Robyn and Caspen with its fangs bared. Before it could reach them however, Drake used the brunt of his shoulder to dive into his side; shoving and screaming until Snowball tittered forward on unsteady legs. The large animal slammed into the wall – inches away from Robyn and Caspen.

“Go you idiots!” Drake snarled, his eyes bright with determination. “That’s an order!”

Robyn wanted to argue that she wasn’t a soldier and therefore didn’t take orders from him, but by the look inside his eyes, she knew this was not up for debate. Ignoring her fear for his safety, she allowed herself to pulled towards the stairs. “Alright, alright. But don’t you dare die. We’ve still got a prince to go rescue.”

She thought she was seeing things, but the corner of his mouth lifted into a half-smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

-

It was colder in the lower area of the manor. The minute they locked the door behind them, Robyn couldn’t stop shaking. Coldness bit into her cheeks and she rubbed her hands together to stop them from going numb. Her breaths came out in the air as hurried smoke and she tried to get her breathing under control.

“Here, take this.” The Pinevale mayor from beside her handed her his cloak.

She wanted to ignore his outstretched hand, however the temptation was too great. The rest of agreed her seemed to agree his gesture as she gratefully slipped it around her. Instead of using it all for herself, she placed her arm loosely around him and tugged him close enough to share. “You can’t fool me for even a second. You’re cold too.”

Caspen laughed until his teeth started to chatter. “I am, but I thought it was the chivalrous thing to offer the fair maiden in my present company, my cloak.”

She snorted. “Caspen, you will soon realize I am unlike any fair maiden you have ever met.”

“Aye, I am already starting to realize that.” He glanced at her then. “Considering you are a mage.”

“I – what?” She stumbled, nearly falling into him.

His arm came out to steady her.

Robyn wanted to deny it of course, it was the only logical thing to do. She did not know him and despite how charming his subtle and not-so-subtle flirtation was, she had to protect herself. “Magic?” She snorted. “Are you daft? Why in heavens sake would you think that.”

His eyes unnerved her. They trapped her under their stare. She didn’t see fear reflecting back at her, she saw gratitude and something else. “When that blasted beast was screaming at us – you saved us.”

“No, I didn’t,” she quickly tried to protest but he interceded.

“You did. It’s the only explanation as to why it didn’t destroy our eardrums.” Caspen searched her eyes. “You saved us and you have my gratitude.”

For a moment, Robyn couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t speak either.

“If you’re worried about me telling anyone, I won’t. I have my own secrets and I believe people more than deserve to have their own.” He smiled. It was a soft smile that Robyn couldn’t look away from. “I don’t think the others have noticed as much; they fear magic as much as the next person and would rather believe it was the work of the gods.”

Instead, she nodded slowly; releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. “Yes, I am a mage.” It had been awhile since she had uttered such words and aloud; and saying them now filled her with a sense of purpose and identity. “But why aren’t you afraid?” She looked at him; really looked at him – there wasn’t an ounce of fear in his open gaze.

“Because you’ve done nothing for me to fear you.” He seemed to be...admiring her. It was something she wasn’t used to. “I see things a little differently than the rest of the village leaders. Unlike them I’ve explored a little, seen bits of the world – things that could not explained until father called me home.” A shadow passed through his features before he continued. “But magic in itself is nothing to be feared, it is a tool that shapes and bends to the person’s will. It is always people that have been scary – no matter how many wars, rivalries or time that has passed; it seems that will always stand true.”

Robyn nodded thoughtfully at his words. She couldn’t agree with him completely; she was living and breathing proof of magic and yet she did not consider it a tool – she was beginning to think it was simply apart of who she was. “I do like the way you talk,” she hadn’t realized she had said the words out-loud until the Pinevale mayor chucked; guiding her closer to him as they walked.

“It isn’t the first time someone’s said this to me,” he said coolly, “but it is the first time I’ve been interested to care what someone else thinks.” His gaze held and his hand slid to hers where her pulse jumped.

She swore she could see deepest hues of blue in his eyes before she pulled away. “I bet you say that to all the woman you meet.” She murmured.

He made a noise of agreement. “Only the pretty ones,” Winking, he turned his sight back into the impending darkness in front of them. It seemed to stretch eons as he held his lantern higher.

Robyn’s gaze drifted towards the ceiling for a moment before they began walking again. “What is this place?

“Neville’s creepy dungeon.” Caspen offered.

She knew he meant it as a jest, but she found herself more than inclined to agree. “I wish laughing wouldn’t hurt.”

“Save it for something truly funny,” he waited a beat. “Such as Neville’s face when he realizes we’ve come to put an end to his foolish reign over Bloomingdale.”

“You really think we can beat him?” She peeked at him from the corner of her eyes. She liked admiring people when she could, yet the usual confidence Caspen seemed to radiate seemed to be missing now.

He looked shaken but not defeated. “I don’t know.” He answered carefully. “I haven’t seen anyone alive. Gretchen is probably dead. There’s a giant cat upstairs ready to maul and eat everyone. And whatever hell is waiting for us down here is likely to get us killed.”

“So, all in all…you’re saying it’s likely that we’ll win.”

He laughed and Robyn found it was a pleasant sound compared to the silence she had become accustomed to whenever she was with Drake. Although, she had no idea why she was suddenly thinking of him – and why comparing the two was her first thought. Her first and foremost thought should be getting out here alive, preferably all intact.

“Your sense of humour may be what we need to turn the tide.” He teased.

“You wouldn’t be the first to admire it.” Actually, he would be – but Robyn didn’t want to mention that. She didn’t want to break their easy banter as they came closer and closer to certain doom. Her expression softened, “besides you don’t know that she’s dead.”

He gave her a droll stare. “We haven’t seen anyone alive, everyone else has either been eaten by that…monster upstairs or worse.”

“She’s important to you, isn’t she?” She peeked at him from the corner of her eyes.

“What?” An easy smile slid in place. “Feeling jealous?”

“Hardly.” She snorted. “It’s just…you don’t seem like the type.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “She’s a close family friend, since you’ve asked.” He seemed to be lost in thought for a moment, “I disagreed with her leaving for Bloomingdale but she didn’t listen.” Sadness flashed in his eyes before just as quickly fading. “And for the record, you’re wrong I am the type.” His unnerving blue eyes settled on her. “But only for the right person.” Then he had the galls to wink at her.

She laughed and playfully slapped his shoulder. “You’re ridiculous!”

“Maybe, but I did get you to laugh – didn’t I?”

“Maybe.” Her lips twitched.

“And to smile despite our grim circumstances.” He smirked. “I am truly a worker of miracles.

Shaking her head, she was about to retort before a sudden chill seeped into her bones. She shivered.

“What is it?”

She could sense it again. A great evil that was growing stronger the further they headed into whatever awaited them in the dark. She could hear its subtle whispers and cocked her head to listen. It was almost nauseating. “You remember the evil I mentioned earlier?”

“I don’t think I’ll like where this is heading, but yes.”

“Then you’re really going to hate what I have to say next. It’s somewhere down here.”

“Fantastic.”

-

Upstairs Maxwell and Gavin had begun searching every room in sight. They split up; Maxwell had gone for the bedroom first while the older gentleman ran to the guestroom a couple feet away. Both could hear the scurry of feet moving downstairs, the crash that followed when the wailing cat had crashed into something. And no mattered how terrifying it sounded, neither one of them offered to rush back and help.

Maxwell enjoyed being alive too much, and right now he knew he could do more good by finding whatever plans Neville had for all six towns before it was too late. He understood the basic concept of wanting to create better versions of one selves, however the rune part was still very beyond his knowledge of magic. Unlike Robyn he wasn’t well-versed in magic and not knowing made it easier for him to part with the others in good conscience.

He gave a little squeal of triumph when his fingers had finally found something heavy and black. He made room for it on the dresser as his curiosity overtaken the better of him. Laden with pages wrapped in leather, he hovered over the parchment only for his fingers to suddenly burn the second they made contact.

“By the heavens!” Maxwell swore foully. He blew on his fingertips.

“Did you find somethin’?”

Maxwell hadn’t heard the older gentleman come in. He pointed at the book, “sort of. It won’t budge. But my guess is there’s magic binding this together.” When he tried to touch it again, all he could manage was a yelp. “Yup definitely magic.”

“It’s foul! We should leave it here.”

Maxwell shook his head. He knew the benefits of something important when he saw it. Glancing around warily, he carefully used his rapier to slice half of the bedsheet and wrapped it inside the magical item before strapping it to his back. “I say it’ll be useful for later.”

He heard the older man grumble before disappearing again and when he was gone, Maxwell scourged the rest of room. He found nothing – nothing else of his importance anyway. For a man that had always seemed arrogant the lack of any personal items here he found was startling. His eyes located a picture though, although the frame seemed broken he brushed of pieces askew before raising it closer to his lantern.

It was a picture of Neville several years younger with his parents. As a little boy, he looked like the Neville he remembered – a person that laughed for the fun of it and not for other people’s expense and enjoyed games that only children could. But they were no longer children and whatever ties Maxwell felt to the man couldn’t stand in the way of all the horrid atrocities he committed.

Heaving a sigh, he folded the photo and tucked it into his breast pocket before seeking another room.

-

Downstairs Drake was trying his best not to be killed. Despite his earlier reassurances to Robyn, it was proving to be far more difficult to keep his promise each time he dodged another one of the creature’s attacks.

His muscles were starting to grow weary and tears were starting to form into his clothes, while Snowball seemed to have an abundance of energy. He didn’t doubt that it had more to do with the rune on his neck than its actual physique as the beast’s unnerving bright-crimsons watched his every move.

Drake couldn’t fathom how he was getting out of this one – at least not alive, especially with his comrade swearing and yelling as he tried to stay out the way. “Can your aim be a little better Hannon?” He growled at the heavy-set man, as he nimbly missed another swipe of Snowball’s dastardly terrifying claws.

“I am trying.” Hannon wheezed through a cough, as he unloaded another barrage of bolts –only two hitting true to it’s arm. They stuck the beast’s left side. And yet it seemed more a nick though than doing any good in slowing it down because the furry creature didn’t as much as winced despite its side starting to bleed rather profusely.

Drake couldn’t understand it. Did the animal feel no pain?

It must be the rune. His inner thoughts nagged insistently as the cat begun circling him. But how do I stop that? How did he have any hope of stopping such a thing when he didn’t know its weakness?

The rune itself seemed to be pulsating from its exposed neck. The familiar looking inscriptions etched into its coat and the veins around it were a stark contrast to its white fur. It was pulsating a dark shade of violet.

Drake’s brows furrowed at the sight, his brain trying to think of a way to gain the upper hand. The beast pounced for another attack and his blade met claws head-on before he rolled and feinted left, swiping his weapon to chip off one of it’s jagged edges.

The creature didn’t as much as blink at the lost claw, confirming Drake’s suspicions that it seemed incapable of feeling pain. “Great.” He muttered grimly, “an enemy without pain is going to be hard to cut down.” The thought alone would have terrified if it not had been for the adrenaline him rousing the knight to his feet.

“I have an idea.” Drake yelled to Hannon as he skirted around the hall with Snowball nearly snapping at his heels. “But you’re not going to like it, hell I don’t even like it.”

Hannon was across the room; his beady eyes widening as the two figures drew closer. “What the hell are you doing? You’re supposed to be the distraction!”

“I am the distraction!” Drake shouted back. “See that rune on his neck? The one Robyn was talking about?” He didn’t wait for him to answer as he ducked against another swipe of the creature’s claws. “Just aim your next attack at his neck – and please for the love of god – do not miss.”

Hannon’s mouth moved to protest but at the increasing alarm in which they grew closer, he seemed to think better of it. Raising his hands high, he kept his eyes locked on the animal – watching its jerky movements. There was a pattern to it and Hannon smiled as he adjusted his weight on his weapon. He closed one eye and held his breath. He released the same moment the bolts did – one missing its mark but the other two dug itself right in the middle.

Snowball dug its feet into the ground, yowling loud enough for Drake to cup his ears as he tried to skirt out of its way. Its claws were desperately trying to reach him as it started sliding against the floor.

“Heads up,” Drake began running past Hannon and at the last second; he thought better of it and scooped the shorter man into his arms. His feet began an all-out sprint.

Hannon screamed, clutching the taller gentleman as the beast begun tumbling down. Its eyes seemed to widen in horror when Drake glanced back and for a moment, he felt a wave of pity for the animal as it landed in a heap – its head slamming against the hallway’s wall with such force that it made a hole giant enough for its head to fall quickly through.

Drake uttered a sigh of relief, shoulders sagging until Hannon started hitting him with his fists. “Put me down – you giant oaf!’

The knight grunted, narrowly missing another fist to his shoulder as he helped the village leader to his feet. “You’re welcome.” He said dryly.

The shorter man harrumphed and muttered something under his breath; too low for Drake to hear. He patted his protruding stomach before hooking his crossbow to the straps across his back. “We’re wasting time.”

Drake agreed. “We need to find the others. Hopefully they’ve had much better luck than the rest of us – ”

“Drake!” Maxwell’s voice interrupted. It boomed from upstairs and the knight had to crane his neck to see the nobleman’s frantic wave. “Are you alright?”

“We’re fine.” He couldn’t lie to himself. He was happy to see the other man alive.

“Speak for yourself.” Hannon grumbled.

Drake ignored him. “And you?”

“Fine.” Maxwell beamed. “Even better now that we’ve found something. I think – I think it may help, but we’ll have to show Robyn.”

At the sound of her name Drake stood a little straighter and cursed. He had forgotten. He left the woman with that village leader because he hadn’t any other choice. Now he wondered what kind of ill-fate awaited them since making it to the lower level. They needed to hurry.

“Aye, I’m here as well!” Seconds later, Gavin’s grey hair poked through before his face met Hannon’s relieved smile. “He says that blasted thing is useful but it isn’t since we can’t actually put it to use right now, can we boy?” He glared at Maxwell.

“Not every little thing will reveal itself all at once.” Maxwell argued, glaring back. “One has to simply wait for the meanings to make themselves known. I am sure of it.”

Gavin stared at him. “What kind of foolish, dimwitted thinking –”

“Explain on the way,” Drake cupped his mouth to shout and interrupted their bickering. His impatience and worry were at odds with each other, warring as he thought of Robyn and the imposing threat that awaited them at the other staircase.

The knight was not a betting man, or a superstitious man but he was a man that believed in fear. Fear was real and tangible in a way that he could not stop the shudder of trepidation from reaching him. Whatever the lower level held – it most certainly would descend them into more danger. “We need to find Robyn and Caspen before Neville does.”

-

Tags:  @mariamatsuo @mrswalkerwrites, @nerdpossible, @asprankle, @speedyoperarascalparty @hellomynameisdeviblaire @craftytacotrashdream , @mysteli, @simplyaiden-blog, @innerpostmentality, @snyggflicka, @speedyoperarascalparty 

[jimlingss]

Brass & Strings [8]

Episode 7 - Episode 8 - Episode 8.5 OR Episode 9 Words: 4.8k Genre: Fluff, Humour (?), Slice of Life, Music!Au, College!Au Summary: Have you ever wondered what happens to the mean girl after high school? Where do they go, where do they end up? More importantly, what happens when they get mixed up with the classic nerd that's always too nervous to answer 'no'? Things become a lot more complicated when Kim Namjoon encounters you. They dub you as 'bat-shit insane' and you're not ashamed. 

Cr.

Miss. Song is a person who’s had many career changes, from being a ballerina to a musician and now into a teacher. She’s the type of professor that college boys thirst after and girls admire. The lady exudes a sexy pureness, a mix between cute and sensual, that even you cannot rival with. Each movement she makes is with grace and her smile is always gentle, making it hard for others to decline her. “Jennie, Rose and Jihoon. Could I speak to you for a moment?”

The concertmistress immediately carries her belongings to the front podium, joined with the flutist and viola player. “Is there something wrong, miss?”

She smiles. “Well, I was wondering if you three were interested in attending a business party in the next two weeks and play as a quartet. It’s a charity event, created by a close friend of mine and they’re looking for some performers for the evening. Of course, you’ll be compensated for it.”

The three of them exchange a variety of looks from surprise to joy. “W-we’d love to!” Rose almost bounces up and her grin spreads into her cheeks.

You scoff, picking up the pace with shoving your belongings into your bag. “Are you okay?” Namjoon tips his head to the side, observing your scowl. He’s standing by your desk, waiting for you to finish. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m dandy.”

It was always the same.

String and woodwind players receive opportunities most frequently. They’re fought for and provided numerous scholarships, recognized in the industry. It does cause the section to become more competitive but it was still better than the treatment brass and percussionists receive. The entire backbone of the orchestra is often disregarded.

The pretty instruments are the flutes, the violins, the piano. Those are the things children want to play and adults want to listen to. No one cares about french horns or the timpani, god forbid the tuba.

“Oh, you too, Y/N!”

“What?”

Miss. Song waves you over and you’re paralyzed, mid step out of the door. “I did say a quartet after all.”

Namjoon smiles and nudges you forward. You go stumbling towards the group.

Your expectations have shattered right in front of your eyes.

“You did hear, right? Would you be interested in participating in this event? I understand if there are other responsibilities you have to meet. I won’t hold it against you if you refuse.”

“I-”

“But a tuba?!” Rose whips her head back to the professor. “That-...that’s not even supposed to be in a quartet!”

Jennie frowns and shakes her head. “Rose.”

Miss. Song simply giggles behind her hand and her cheeks naturally flush. “In a proper string quartet, there isn’t supposed to be a flutist either.” The flute player promptly quiets down and focuses on the floor in embarrassment. The music professor looks over to you. “I’d love it if you could join us. These three need a bass instrument. I know violin, viola, flute and tuba is a very unconventional combination but I’d think it would be very interesting, wouldn’t it?”

Jihoon stares at you, the male waiting for an answer with the teacher. Rose doesn’t make eye contact and Jennie tries to smile in politeness. You turn your head slightly to the only other person in the room, Namjoon, who is waiting by the door.

The harpist is staring at his phone, scratching his head innocently. When he realizes you’re gazing at him, his irises flicker upwards and the corners of his lips upturn, dimples creasing into each side of his cheek. He stiffly waves his hand and then blinks, motioning to the people behind you who are waiting.

You inhale a huge breath, trying to fight down the excitement. “Yes.”

“Good.” Miss. Song scrunches her shoulders in a chipper manner. “Try to get along ladies. Jihoon, you too. The performance will be in two weeks.”

//

“It’s happening!” Your arms are in the air and you scream towards the sky, up to the azure shade that is not covered with one single wispy cloud. “I’m so fucking happy!”

Namjoon would usually tell you to quiet down, that you’re drawing too much attention but this time, he allows for a moment of glory, not caring about how you’re leaning close to him.

“Congratulations.”

“I thought this day would never come...for tuba to see the light of day…” It’s a tad bit dramatic but it’s been a long time since you’ve felt this adrenaline coursing through your veins.

You knew beauty was fleeting. After a few years, the suitors and dates you have will disappear, no longer chasing after you but someone younger with more energy. The money and shopping is only temporary satisfaction, an escape from your real problems. It was music that would last, your instrument that would stick by you, the passion that you would always have.

But for countless nights, you asked yourself if anyone would even want you. If anyone would want your instrument. Would they even desire to hear you play a note?

“I’m so happy, I could kiss you, Namjoon!”

He scrunches up his nose, looking away from your cheesy grin. “Good luck.” He feels genuinely thrilled. There was always something about the way you loved music, talked about it and how your eyes glittered that made his own chest squeeze. You weren’t just a conceited part-time sugar baby with shopaholic tendencies. There’s so much more.

Namjoon feels privileged to see this side of you.

“I wish I could be with you.” He confesses and then backtracks when the implication of his words hits him. “I mean...play with you, like in the quartet.”

“Maybe someday.” You wistfully breathe out. “A duet?”

The boy pushes up his glasses and nods, hoping for such a day to arrive.

//

Unfortunately, things don’t go as smoothly as you imagined them to be.

“I’m not playing with her. No. I can’t.”

“Pft. Then I’m not playing with you either.”

Jennie sighs in exasperation, standing between you and Rose. “Come on, guys! We have to work together! Let’s just put aside the past and build the path towards the future-”

“How could you even say that?!” Rose sobs out, holding her flute away from you. “She’s the one who scratched me all up, remember? I was assaulted!”

You roll your eyes, preparing to put your brass instrument back in your case. “You’re the one who started that fight. Who are you to talk about assault?! Don’t you dare make up lies!”

“You’re the-”

“I fucking-”

Jihoon who’s holding the neck of his viola slowly steps away, considering the prospects of bolting out the door and never returning. Jennie looks back and forth throughout the argument and she tries her best to resolve the issue but it escalates and she screams- “STOP IT!”

“This is a professional setting! We are working towards becoming professionals and there is an event coming up really soon. We haven’t even practiced for a full minute yet. Please, stop being childish. If you two won’t work together then you both should leave and stop disrupting!”

There’s a full minute of silence.

Jennie exhales, having used all her courage to interfere.

After an exchange of looks…

“I’m not leaving.” “Neither am I.”

The concertmistress props her violin to her shoulder and chin, holding up her bow. “Good.”

Practice doesn’t go by too horrifically. Ten pieces are chosen, some that are relatively easy and others that you’ve played together in the orchestra before, merely rearranged for four instruments. The flute and violin intermingle with the main melody while the viola dances in the background, adding a deeper layer. But your music professor was right. Without the tuba, it wouldn’t be balanced. There would be no one there as the backbone, to support the rhythm and let the vibrations boom across the walls and against the floor, to truly let the music sing.

“That was great.” Jennie compliments and you would have to notably agree. It’s an unusual combination but one that works. “But I think we could fix up this part. Y/N, you should play that in a higher octave, maybe with an accent?”

“I disagree.” The others look at you with raised eyebrows, a baffled expression for immediately rejecting the idea. “I think we should keep it and just try it in molto vivace.”

“O-okay.”

Rose pipes up, “I think that’s a bad idea. You should just listen to-”

“Let’s just give it a try.” Jennie interjects before another argument can occur. “Very lively and faster….”

Everyone picks up their instruments, correcting their posture. Rose lifts the flute to her lips and shoots you a glare while you ignore her, focused on the black and white score. Jihoon and Jennie place theirs on the juncture of their shoulder and chin, lifting up the bow.

Claude Debussy’s String Quartet in G Minor rearranged version begins again.

The violin strings are pulled in harsh but powerful motions, tuba booming next to the fluttering flute that spirals notes through the air. It grows intense with each rise of crescendo, each sharp breath inhaled to support the melody, fingers dancing across keys and fingerboards until-

Snap.

Everyone freezes.

The music dies out, the note that was supposed to be played isn’t and you crane your neck around. Jihoon’s eyes double, Rose gasps and Jennie has become pale. “Your violin!”

“This was all your fault!” Rose screams at you, whipping her head back to Jennie. “Are you okay?! Is your hand hurt?!”

“I-I’m fine.”

“How is this my fault?” You put down your tuba, shuffling your music sheets. “It’s just your E string that snapped. Doesn’t it happen all the time? If your hand isn’t hurt then there’s nothing wrong.”

The flutist screeches horrifically in your ear, making you wince. “How could you be so heartless?!”

It’s exhausting. As much as you wanted to showcase your playing, grab onto the opportunity, the people that you’re working with makes you feel like you’ve never left high school.

You glance back at the violinist that you despise and she is still staring at her precious instrument. Jihoon gulps and Rose is confused on what to do. You exhale a long breath, concluding that your fellow classmates are idiots and useless.

Why do you have to do everything around here? Goddamn.

“Fine.” You can already imagine what Kim Namjoon would say and do in a situation like this.

“What are you doing?” Jennie sniffs as you tug her upwards.

“We can’t practice if your string’s broken. I know a place where we can get it fixed...for free.”

//

Jennie has done nothing wrong to you. It’s fairly irrational of you to hate her so much but there’s something in the way she presents herself towards the world, like a perfect angel who has no flaws. She is never angry, never displays sadness or heartache, an ounce of jealousy or envy. The violinist is a robot who only smiles. She’s practically the Mary Sue in the flesh.

It rubs you the wrong way. She’s kind, generous but not genuine.

“Thank you for helping me, Y/N. I really appreciate it.” She carries her case in both hands, humming with the corners of her mouth lifted. You don’t respond, pushing your Gucci sunglasses closer to the bridge of your nose. “I’ve been playing since I was ten years old, which is a decade now. Any string snapping has only happened a few times, so, I was really startled.”

You brush her off coldly, “cool.”

“How long have you been playing for?”

“Long.”

“Oh.” Jennie nods her head and her modest skirt swishes with every stride. “You’re very good, Y/N. I admire your abilities and technique. Was there any reasons as to why you chose tuba?”

“No.”

“I see. I think tuba’s a really nice instrument, a pleasant brass sound. It looks heavy though. Is it?”

“Yes.”

There’s a minute of quietness, where the bustle of the streets and cars driving past screech louder than the concertmistress’ mumbles. You thank Heaven and Earth that she’s stopped trying to make conversations and her yapping mouth has shut tight. Every second of being in her presence is torture in itself. But then-

“If it’s not too rude, Y/N...Can I ask where are we going?”

You don’t answer her, turning the sharp corner before you’re abruptly pulling open the glass door. “Get in.”

She ducks her head. “Thank you.”

With the built up rage, you unleash it on the desk bell, spamming down the muscle in your finger as rapidly as physically possible. The obnoxiously silvery sound hurts your ears but you ignore the pain. “Will you shut up already?!”

Yoongi growls out at you, swiping at the counter and stealing the bell away. “I’m standing right here! God, Y/N! What is wrong with you?!”

“If you were faster at customer service then maybe I wouldn’t have to press the bell.”

“Are you fucking serious? What do you even want from me?! I’m not here to give you any cash and you’re a disturbance to my workplace.” His frown doesn’t deter you and when he leans in close, you don’t flinch away. “The boss will fire me because of you.”

You scoff, crossing your arms with indignation. “I’m here today as a customer, dumbass.”

“What?”

The pretty girl in the frilly skirt that pools past her knees and coral smock top is revealed when you step aside. Her brunette hair, tucked behind her hair, shines in the light and she politely smiles. “Hello.”

“Uh….” Your cousin blinks for a mere moment before he clears his voice, lowering it from the yelling pitch to a deep timbre. “Hello. What can I do for you?”

Jennie sets the case in front of him. “My string accidentally snapped. I was wondering if you could repair it for me?”

“Yeah, sure.” He takes it and opens it up. “I’ll see what I can do. It probably won’t take long.” As she begins to pull out her wallet, Yoongi stops her. “It’s on the house.”

The violinist blinks twice. “Are you sure?”

“It’s no big deal.” He shrugs, “should take less than ten minutes... I don’t see why not.”

“T-thank you.”

The two of them stare at each other. You only realize that no one’s moving after browsing the valve oil on the shelf for a minute. “Are you going to get going or what, Yoongi?!”

//

The weeks of practicing pass by quickly. In between your classes and the fun outings, you’re honing your skills and rehearsing the parts. The four of you work decently together if Rose isn’t shooting you glares and Jennie doesn’t piss you off. Your professor also passes by a few times, expressing her excitement and enthusiasm for the upcoming event.

“What are you doing here?”

Namjoon rubs his eyes and he melts into a sheepish smile. “Oh, I was just working on some stuff..composition homework...your science project...are you done?”

“Yeah..” You slowly hitch your thumb to the door. “I was about to head back.”

The harpist throws his backpack around his shoulders and he nods. “We should go together then.”

In the chilly night, the taller man walks in time with you, matching footsteps. You tilt your head up to him, staring at his profile. “Hey, Namjoon.”

“Yes?”

“It’s really late out. Didn’t your classes end hours ago?”

He coughs. “Yes.”

You hum, lolling your head to one side as your brain begins to crank. “If you were doing homework, then why did you go into the practice room? And what were you doing standing out in the hall?”

The college boy scratches the back of his neck and his cheeks bloom in a hue of rose but you suspect it’s from the frigid air nipping at his skin. “T-the library is too crowded. I thought it would be better for me to concentrate somewhere quieter. I was about to leave too when you left...so yeah.”

“Oh.”

“How’s practice? Is it going well?” He asks you in curiosity, “are you ready to perform?”

“It’s going okay. I think we’re ready. It’s not as horribly as I thought it would be.” At the same time as he answers ‘that’s good’, a strong gust of wind smacks your figure. Your grip accidentally loosens and the binder of sheet music drops to the concrete. “Dammit.”

You reach down to grab it and Namjoon does too, making you both bonk heads. He lets out an ‘ow’ and you hiss at him, capturing the object again. The only reason you don’t yell at him to watch where he’s going is because he’s Kim Namjoon. If it were anyone else, you’d lash out.

“Here.” He clutches onto your other hand that’s curled around the handle of your tuba music case. “Let me carry it for you.”

“It’s fine! I can carry it myself-”

The words die in your throat when you realize how serious he is, without the usual smile or bright eyes. He stares at you in complete earnestness - expressionless - and you’re baffled he could make such a transformation. You blink twice to make sure you’re looking at the same clumsy and innocent college boy. “Let me help you. Rely on me.”

There’s a bit of silence before you give in. “It’s really heavy.”

The corner of his lip tugs into a smirk. “I can handle it.” He takes the case and suddenly the immense weight is lifted away. The soreness in your shoulder is alleviated, the aches in your arm is soothed. Namjoon smiles and he fakes a gasp, lighting up the mood again. “Woah! It is really heavy. Twenty pounds, right?”

You scoff, feeling thankful that he’s back to the person you know - silly and awkward, pure and naive. “You want me to take it again?” Your arms curl around your binder.

“No. It’s fine.”

“Pft. At this rate, people will think I’m making you carry my things around like a slave.”

The harpist shrugs and he lightly but purposely bumps into you. “They can think whatever they want. I don’t care.”

For a second, your heart flutters.

And you put a hand to your chest, shocked that your soul’s able to be moved. For one, you thought your heart had been turned into concrete. You’re also amazed that it’s Namjoon. It’s not a wealthy, lonely woman who would whisk you away on rendezvous, or the hundreds of attractive people on your contact list that you know who would drop to their knees for you.

Nope. Out of everyone, it’s Kim Namjoon, resident nerd and harp player.

“You’re such a sweet and nice boy, Nams.” You throw your arm over his shoulder, leaning on the man and standing on the tips of your toes to accommodate for the height difference. Your finger casually pinches his cheek. “I could eat you right up! Your future girlfriend is going to be so lucky!”

He giggles and shakes his head. “I doubt it.”

“Why?”

“I’m so clumsy, if I don’t break their belongings, I’d probably accidentally break him or her.”

“Nah.” You ruffle his head of messy locks. “They’ll look past it and see your kindness. Either they’ll be lucky or they’ll use you. But fear not! I’m here. L/N Y/N will be here to protect you from any witches, foxes or douchebags!”

Namjoon grins. “Did you just refer to yourself in third person?”

“Yes.”

The university grounds are connected to a popular hangout avenue, rather convenient for college students to find study spaces and places to eat. At this time of night, however, all of the stores are closing and there are only a few lingering people around.

You stifle a yawn behind your hand and he notices. “If you want, you can stay at my place tonight. Uh- but o-only if you want of course. I won’t force you!”

“I know you won’t.” You laugh into the cold air. “But won’t your back hurt? That couch of yours isn’t comfortable.”

“I’ll be okay.”

You smirk at him, eyes going half-lidded. “We could share the bed, you know. Get a little close and...personal? What do you say, Nams? Up to play some games with me?”

Namjoon nearly combusts right then and there at your suggestive tone. His entire face becomes a tomato shade and he’s flustered, mouth opening and closing like a fish. “Uhh….”

“I’m joking! Calm down.” A huge smile appears as you smack him, stopping in your steps at the bus stop. “I’ll just catch the bus. It’s coming in a minute anyways and it’ll take me right back.”

“You want me to go with you?”

“Are you my father?” You put your hands on your hips, grabbing your case back from him. “You really think I’ll be kidnapped or something? If I punch them once, they’ll die. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” Namjoon smiles and he begins to back away. “Call me if something happens?”

You wave at him, chest feeling warm. “Alright.”

//

There’s something not right.

Jimin knows it. It’s under his nose as well, like an itch he can’t scratch. He doesn’t know what it is but he knows there’s something there. These days, he feels like a father, waiting for his teenage son at home with crossed arms, knowing the other man is up to no good.

“What time is it, young man?” Jimin pouts, feet apart with his shoulders. “Where have you been going these days? You don’t even call home or text me?”

Namjoon downcasts his head, quickly slipping off his shoes. Jimin keeps going on his rampage, “you just bailed out on our movie night! I got popcorn too! Now guess who had to eat three bags of popped popcorn?! Me! I feel like butter is leaking out of my pores!”

“Sorry-”

The man’s eyes widen and he drops his arms. “Did you have a date? No..that can’t be it. Are you sick?”

“W-Why?”

Jimin points right at him. “Your face is really red.”

“Uh…” Namjoon begins retreating down the hall. “Nothing happened!”

The door slams a second later.

Jimin groans, truly feeling like a parent. Except, the last time he checked, he didn’t birth out such a big son.

//

The black dress hugs against your curves, modest and business professional, excluding the slit on the side that adds a bit more character. Rose and Jennie stand beside you, Jihoon next to the concertmistress as all of you look out. It’s a charity event with middle aged individuals conversing, hands holding onto champagne glasses. The children giggle, playing hide and seek as a group behind the room’s magnificent white columns.

Surprisingly enough, of all the affluent people around, you don’t recognize any of them. If you did, you’d have to ignore them anyways. No one of status ever wants to be known for having a younger entourage on the side as a stress reliever.

The evening has settled in with all the guests present. “Are you ready?”

You glance over at Jennie who’s holding her violin, wearing her own white gown. Jihoon in a bulky suit, borrowed from his father and Rose is in a teacup dress that’s a darker shade of grey.

“Ready.”

All four of you take your seats, turning the page to the first score of the night. The violin and viola are propped on their shoulders, flute held up high into the air and you put your lips against your brass instrument, kissing the music notes as it leaves the bell. A joyous emotion is conveyed through the melody, the whistle of the violin, the sonorous sound of the viola, the graceful humming of the silver flute and the hearty buzz of your own brass tuba bleeds together.

Some people whirl around with smiles, listening while sipping on their drinks. Other couples begin to dance and children marvel at the golden and silver keys, joining in steps with their parents. The strings, resounding woodwind and the low timbre of your own instrument intertwine together for harmonious melodies to bouncing jingles.

It goes even better than practice. You become focused on the quartet, your partners and the audience is forgotten in the background. The little trance you’re in is interrupted by the standing ovation and Miss. Song’s humongous grin. But as you look up amongst the crowd, you swear you find a broad back and dark strands of hair poking up...a dimple marring their cheeks.

“Y/N?”

“Sorry. What?” You peel your irises away to Rose and she coughs awkwardly.

“I was just saying how..you’re not so bad, Y/N. A lot more bearable when you aren’t trying to be a bitch.”

“Uh-huh.” You roll your eyes. “You’re still just as bad.”

The flutist’s jaw drops and you laugh. Jennie tries to appease her friend and Jihoon giggles to himself. The quartet has a few photos that are snapped from the photographer and after another hour of playing, each of you head off on your own, networking or nibbling on some refreshments at the table.

You try to find the dimpled stranger again but the person has disappeared in front of your eyes.

//

It’s cold and the lampposts barely light up the sidewalk. You wonder if you’re going crazy, rejecting an offer to be driven back with the others, leaving your instrument with theirs to be shipped to the school. You don’t even know where you’re going or what bus to take but-

“I knew it!”

He visibly jumps from your voice and cranes his neck around. “Y/N?” Namjoon laughs nervously, “what a coincidence.”

The pair of you both are fully aware this was no coincidence. Especially since the venue is essentially in the middle of nowhere and in complete isolation.

The muscle in your cheek jerks when you try to repress your grin. You saunter up to him with arms behind your back, a slight skip in your stride before you gleam up at him. “What are you doing here then?”

“Nothing. I was...taking a walk! Yes, taking a walk!”

“You walked...an hour away from campus?”

“Yep.”

“You’re a bad liar, Nams. Did you come to see me?” You put your hand over your chest, gasping dramatically. “How did you even sneak into the event? Wasn’t there only exclusive invitations? Did you climb over the fence?”

“I-....”

The last bus of the night pulls up at the stop and the harpist doesn’t waste a chance to get on, making you scan your pass and follow right behind him. He plops down to the second last seat at the back and you slide beside him. There are two other people around, each with earbuds in, listening to their music and not paying any attention.

Namjoon doesn’t speak a single word, obviously embarrassed with the way he tugs on his stiff suit and forcing his eyes not to wander to the slit in your dress that reveals more thigh than he’s ever witnessed before in real life. He attempts to focus on the sceneries out the window but it’s pitch dark. He can’t see anything for shit.

You scoff when you realize Namjoon won’t say anything and you shift closer.

The harpist shifts away. You lean closer to him. He moves again.

“Will you stop that?!” You bark out before roughly taking his arm, lolling your head onto his shoulder. You use his shoulder as a pillow to rest on. Your eyes flutter shut and the frown slowly fades away. “Stay still.”

Namjoon’s irises flicker to your drowsy face and he relaxes his limbs, allowing you to lean on him. “It’s comfortable.” You murmur past the seams of your lips, exhaustion washing over you. Rehearsal, playing for three hours and socializing with other professionals has left you drained.

The harpist inclines back into the seat, letting the nervousness and tension leave his body. He stares down at your open hand in your lap, the palm that faces upwards. His own fingers twitch, as if an instinct overtakes him to twine his fingers through yours. But he resists.

“No one’s ever really come to a performance...just to see me.”

It’s softly spoken to the point that Namjoon would miss it had you not been beside his ear. It’s been three stops and five blocks since you’ve last spoken. He thought you were asleep already.

“I wished my parents would but when I saw you….Namjoon, it made me happy.”

He gently brushes away a hair that’s tickling your nose. His pupils center around the pink petals of your plush lips and he swallows hard. “How is it possible that you can make me feel so happy?”

It’s a mindless ramble, one where you don’t even realize you’re saying. It feels like you’re balancing between the dreamworld and reality, letting your tongue tumble. Except, it’s not a dream.

Namjoon hears all of it.

“What are you doing to me?”

[namelesswolffreak]

Galantly- Another Victuuri Prince AU

(Sorry, I'm just really addicted to the idea of Yuuri and Victor being royalty. I cant help myself!)

Victor felt his heart drop to the floor upon the sight of, his now proclaimed to be betrothed, glide across the garden path where he had planned a festive soiree with his parents and other notable dignitaries. He hadn't rather cared for them after watching the beauty saunter off to the deeper section of the gardens. He's mine. I have to have his hand in my name! Victor preens internally. He hears slight whimpers thinking it's maybe his faithful brown poodle at his side, but the lack of curly fur at his feet makes him realize the straining feeling on his vocal cords. Embarrassed he quickly leads off to follow the divine human being in the flowing gown like kimono without so much as a goodbye to the currently distracted Christophe who was dancing the evening away with some of his "ladies in waiting". He never understood the name considering they were all, but. He maybe drew the complaint up to his father one time who disregarded it as a silly, childish tangent. What was Victor expecting? Muffled hums of contentment make his light footfalls leave harsh dents in the earth once he has the younger royal in view, smelling delicate flowers and the rare, Nikiforov kingdom exclusive ice roses that were currently in season. He found the sight of the other smiling and relaxing draw his smooth lips into a welcomed curve. The others movements were graceful, that of a slight dance with each joint that twirled the flower along his porcelain fingers. Compared to most other dancers of the ice and stage he's encountered all were outmatched by the divine beauty of the ravenette prince before him. A sigh of his own contentment slipped as he watched on, completely lost and enthralled beyond words. He didn't even take notice to the sparkling aria of the ice roses anymore, the prince's face glowing much brighter and more gorgeous than those rare roses.

"Oh!"

Victor jumps back as innocent brown eyes distract him from everything else.

"Your highness! I-I did not mean to intrude with all honesty, your greatness!"

Victor still shocked, held in a breath, unable to breath. His tight suit just made it worse. The chocolate iris' are so beautifully and delectably breathtaking he can't see anything else.

"If you wish I will go. I'm sorry for inconveniencing you."

Yuuri had overstepped his bounds. He knew this right away otherwise the prince wouldn't be seeing him quickly back to the banquet with the other guests. He swallowed and prayed that by letting himself leave the prince would spare him a punishment.

"I shall take my leave now."

He only took a foot forward past Victor who only now fell back down to Earth.

"No! Please wait!"

He never thought he'd see anything cuter than a sleepy Makkachin, but boy was he wrong when the latter blushed.

"I find your company rather......nice. Care to stay and admire the roses with me?"

He got a barely notable nod and beamed brighter than the sun.

"Mind telling me your name, your gracefulness? I note your decoration as royalty, but I'm afraid I am not familiar with such attire. Do you happen to herald from the Northern continents?"

He somewhat linked arms with the lad and noticed the uncomfortable stiffness in the way he held back. It scared his heart into skipping a beat when the boy choked on his own anxiety.

"U-uh, I'm Prince Katsuki Yuuri of the Asian Kingdoms. I rule over a smaller section of Japan my family has called, for many generations, Hasetsu."

Yuuri let a breath slip and the sweat piling up on his forehead to finally fall freely with no trouble, the lines coming out easy and practiced on his tongue as he was trained.

"Ah, a bit a ways away from your homeland?"

He unhooked their arms and took Yuuri's hand in his own thumbing over his pale skin delicately, practically radiating sunshine and acceptance.

"I welcome you to the Nikiforov palace of Russia."

He dragged the well kept skin to his lips, smirking, holding them there a tad longer than necessary, but Yuuri would never catch it as a romantic gesture instead tradition as he retracted his buzzing hand, blushing.

"I hope you visit more often."

Victor winks and this time Yuuri does notice the deepened tone in Victor's words.

"I-I promise!" He blurts.

"U-um I mean! I really like your flowers."

"Then they shall be yours oh equally beautiful one."

This time Yuuri audibly gasps, hiding in his face in his arm as Victor plucked an ice rose from the professionally trimmed hedge and carefully weaved it behind the back of his ear. Yuuri's eyes seemed to brighten and maybe even glow when presented next to the icy rose.

"Ha, ha. You look absolutely beautiful, Yuuri Katsuki. These ice flowers can't hold a candle to your perfections."

"T-thank you.....dear prince."

He curtsied like the ladies that entered his court. Victor was intrigued by the reversal gender regard, but kept his inquiries to himself. As the prince bowed, his eyes doted on the perfect way his hair shined in the light and how well his robe bended with his form in such a way a dancers costume would, but he bet the kimono was much comfier than the tightly fitted suits he wore for performances. He copied the practiced motion, correctly of course, with a smile.

"I-"

"VICTOR!? Where are you old friend!? I wish to dance with you and show these rookies who knows best! Their divine prince Christophe or their talented dance tutor!"

"You should go." Victor felt a slight shove on his shoulder when he turned around.

"No, no my Yuuri, I wish to spend time with you! You live in such a vast land that to leave would be a mistake. Besides, Christophe is a friend who will accompany me on many journeys to come, you on the other hand....." His lips brushed Yuuri's knuckles. "I fret your pretty face may never return here again."

"If I promise to still be waiting for you here will you accept his invitation? I wouldn't want anyone to notice your absence." His lips pulled away.

"You wish to be rid of me so quickly." He smirks down casting his gaze.

"I didn't mean to offend, Victor!"

"Ha, ha, ha! I know, I know. I just like to see you all flustered. Red is definitely a complimenting color on you."

Yuuri was all stutters and panic, too much love radiating from Victor to comprehend and synthesize. He can only swallow hard and accept the warm kiss that is too quick to part from his lips as he watches his prince saunter off in the direction of party music and roaring voices.

"I shall see you again, Yuuri Katsuki. Dasvidaniya."

"I-I I'll try..." He watches him go.

They don't see each other for a sum of five years. The ongoing wars keeping them apart, but no one seemed to interrupt their communication through letter so it did not take long for the two to be enamored with one another in less than a few weeks. They plan their visits in advance with "I love yous." and the letters come back to each desk littered in more kisses and ribbon from Yuuri and well preserved ice Roses from Victor. Soon Yuuri has a full vase he waters regularly when he can and Victor has several new Princely shirts with ribbon at least somewhere on them. The weeks turn to months and months to years as their 5th year apart is upon them. They plan their wedding and merging of Kingdoms for Christmas day, Victor's birthday as Yuuri had come to learn. The celebration had been joyous and bigger than either of the couple could comprehend. Family, friends, dignitaries and much more had attended and no one was left out, except prince JJ. He could be a little much. The couple danced their night away and found themselves attached at the hip and not being able to part even when the dance sequences called for it. They remained the lovely center of attention for the entirety of the night until finally being permitted to leave and relish only in the others company. Though the reason be quite embarrassing to the couple they relaxed in the silence of Victor's room now dubbed their room.

"I've missed you."

"I believe I've missed you a lot more, your highness." Yuuri pecked Victor's cheek. They had never been happier before then. Victor's striking blue eyes fondly fluttering closed as he grabbed his bride in a warm, tender kiss.

"Never leave me again."

If Yuuri hadn't been so close to Victor he didn't believe he would of heard the words.

"With all my heart, I promise."

And he never did, a kiss sealing that promise.

[sage-nebula]

kcgane replied to your post “ME: [sees that someone is interested in the XY&Z anime because of...”

*tuck and rolls into the Scene* i saw alan on your blog and then i just Knew immediately he is 10000% the type of character i am going to just love and want to talk about and get to know better sO

(Let’s try this again, hahaha)

YEAAAH, DUDE, and I know exactly what you mean!! A very similar thing happened for me (albeit in reverse) with Keith!

I watched Voltron for the first time a couple months ago (I think back in March?) on a whim because Netflix was like “try iiiiit” and I was like “okay” since I didn’t have anything else I was watching at the time. I had already loved Alan for months by this point (I think it’s perhaps almost been a year by now? Getting close, anyway), so I already held super deep affection for him, and I knew pretty much nothing about the show save for fanart that I saw here or there on my dash. Like, I knew it had to do with space, and a giant robot, and that’s about it. But when Keith appeared on his hoverbike to save Shiro in the first episode, my heart jumped in my chest and I was like, “That’s him. I found him. I found the boy.” I knew right away that hew as going to end up being my fave, and whAT DO YOU KNOW, I WAS RIGHT, HE’S AMAZING!

And that said! Alan and Keith actually have quite a few similarities between them, physical similarities aside! They’re each their own character, of course, but they have quite a lot in common in terms of personality, so I really think you’ll like (and perhaps even love<3) Alan as well!!

Anyway, just in case you’re interested, I’m gonna go ahead and draw up a quick episode list for you. :D You’re of course free to watch the entire Kalos series and I’m not going to discourage you, but although Alan is both protagonist and deuteragonist to the main plot that covers the climax of the saga (it’s complicated---basically, they wrote him into the protagonist role, realized once they hit the climax that they still had to account for Ash being the protagonist of the show, and so Alan and Ash flip-flop between protagonist and deuteragonist and it’s a bit of a mess), he only appears in a handful of main series episodes. His biggest part comes in a series of four special episodes called The Strongest Mega Evolution, which is where you really want to start, because that’s where you get his backstory and everything. (Plus, he’s unequivocally the protagonist there---Ash doesn’t appear at all, save for a very brief mention in TSME 1!)

So, if you’re here for Alan’s story, here are the specials / episodes you’re going to want to watch, in order:

The Strongest Mega Evolution --- Act I

The Strongest Mega Evolution --- Act II

The Strongest Mega Evolution --- Act III

The Strongest Mega Evolution --- Act IV

XY068 (“The Coveted Mega Evolution! Garchomp’s Bonds!!”) --- Alan doesn’t actually appear in person in this one. However, this one is still important to his story, imo, as you see more of his relationship with Professor Sycamore in it (particularly in flashbacks Professor Sycamore has midway through the episode, which show shots of Alan’s childhood at the lab), and Professor Sycamore is pretty much his (unofficially) adoptive father. (Like, it’s kind of hilarious in the best way, but if you Google them there are numerous results of people being like “they’re father and son yes????” from various different websites, and when the episodes were airing people on YouTube kept being like “I keep expecting a plot twist where it’s revealed Sycamore is his father.” It’s one of the greatest unspoken truths of the Pokémon universe tbh.) Also, the end of the episode features Sycamore making one of the most suggestive come-ons to another character that you could imagine, so honestly, although the whole episode is good (and, as I said, does provide important material for Sycamore’s relationship with Alan!), if nothing else, that moment there at the end is #iconic and worth seeing at least once.

XYZ013 (“The Strongest Mega Battle! Greninja vs. Mega Charizard!”) --- This is Alan’s first official appearance in the main series! Though the episode itself is still largely focusing on Ash, I find that it’s notable because this does switch over to Alan’s perspective more than once. Again, the whole “they’re both protagonist and deuteragonist” thing begins here. 

XYZ014 (“The Explosive Ground Force! The Zygarde Capture Operation!!”)

XYZ023 (“Ash and Alan! Greninja vs. Mega Charizard Once Again!!”)

XYZ030 (“Find Carbink! Goodra and Dedenne!!”) --- Alan actually appears at the end of this episode. It’s a noteworthy appearance, I feel, not only because it shows him getting something he needs to participate in the climax at the end (trying to be vague to avoid spoilers, haha), but it also shows his motivation for doing so, which was insinuated before but outright stated here. This is an added motivation that he only gets after the other main series episodes (and in particular, after meeting and interacting with Ash<3), so I think it’s important to see, even if it’s just a scene at the end of the episode.

XYZ032 (“The Kalos League Begins! The Mega Charizard Showdown: X vs Y!!”) --- XYZ044 (“Starting From Zero! Clemont’s Decision!!) --- Once you hit XYZ032, you can pretty much watch straight through XYZ044, since Alan appears in just about every single episode (and this is the climax of the plot that began in TSME). There are two episodes in the middle that don’t have much to do with Alan (XYZ034 and XYZ035) because they’re Ash’s League battle with his standard rival, so you can skip those if you want, but I don’t think it would hurt to watch them, either. It’s a good battle. With that said, I should add a disclaimer: Technically Alan does appear in a couple episodes after XYZ044 (XYZ045 and XYZ047, to be specific). However, I personally really do not like them (understatement) because the writers essentially took all of the very real traumas and mental health issues Alan has as a result of everything (you’ll see) and swept them under the rug in order to push a theme there at the end. This, despite giving him what is (in my opinion) the perfect ending for him in XYZ044. So honestly, you could just stop after XYZ044, and pull a Nick Fury and disregard the rest of the nonsense they did with him after that (you know, “I recognize that the council has made a decision, but seeing that it’s a stupid-ass decision, I’ve elected to ignore it”), as I’m doing, but I’ll be honest and admit that those episodes do exist. They’re terrible (at least in regards to what they do to Alan), but they do exist. I just don’t recommend bothering with them, haha.

Oh, and a note of clarification: Technically the Kalos saga was split into two “series.” XY is the first series, and then XY&Z is the second. They’re a direct continuation of each other, so there’s no real change, it’s just that Japan decided to switch up the name of the show partway through. (They do this a lot with the PokéAni, haha.) So that’s why you go from XY068 to XYZ013. I included the episode names so that you could be extra sure of the episodes you need to watch. (Also, if you use a streaming site, be careful: Some of the streaming sites have the order a bit messed up, so you’ll always want to trust the title card in the actual video more than episode blurbs on the website!)

Also! One final thing: Please watch this in Japanese with English subs! The English dub is really bad, and offensively bad in Alan’s case. They literally cast someone who had no prior credited voice acting experience (and sounds like he’s an adult at that, when Alan is a teenager---like, ~15), and it shows. Not to mention that they change the music in the worst ways at times and just . . . ugh. Please don’t go with the English dub on this one. Watch it in Japanese with English subs. You won’t regret it, I promise.

Anyway! This post is long enough as it is, but I’m really excited you’re interested!! (And a bit nervous, haha. He means so much to me that I can’t help but feel a bit anxious whenever I see someone is discovering his story for the first time!) I also, if you’re interested---and not to push my own work or anything, but---have a couple of pre-canon fics that you can read if you want. I can link them to you, since you don’t have to have seen his story first to understand them (since they’re pre-canon, and all). But that’s completely up to you! (I also have a ton of others since I’ve been super invested in him for a long time, but . . . those are probably better with context since they’re during canon / post-canon / AU, hahaha.)

ANYWAY, I’ll stop rambling on now. 8D Let me know if you have any questions!!