#this came to me while listening to freesia

[theproblemsofdonhi]

shout out to really old, really sad nerds that really miss their wives.

[letsquestjess]

My Symphony - Part 2 (Tech x GN!Reader)

Summary: Following your blossoming relationship, Tech takes up the cello and grapples with composing a piece for you.

Word count: 2.1K

Warnings: Nothing explicit but implications of it, so 18+ / MDNI. Set pre-order 66.

A/N: After @freesia-writes tagged me in this post, I couldn't resist writing a second part. Little disclaimer, the only time I have seen a cello played is during junior orchestra a long time ago, so if any of the terminology and whatnot is a bit off, I apologise.

Part 1

-- -- -- -- --

In a stable rise and fall, the notes of the cello chased after the rhythm set by the Pantoran spinet and captured them in its grasp, melding and merging until the harmonies united into one beautiful melody. The crescendo peaked, and the song slowed into a temperate finish. 

Your fingers dropped from the keys and the last echo of the elegant theme faded from your bones. “Once we fine-tune that middle section,” you said, organising the sheets on your music stand into the right order, “it will sound flawless.”

“I agree,” Tech replied. He rebalanced the weight of the cello and set the bow aside, stretching his fingers in anticipation. “I am up for the challenge.”

“You always are,” you teased. Peeking over the array of books and folders, you caught the shy look that painted his expression. As your relationship had flourished, flirtations bloomed, infusing vibrant hues into your lives as you delved into your affections and embarked on romantic adventures. 

Since being exposed to your skills and your love, Tech’s world opened to the inspirations of music and he had taken up an instrument himself. He had reasoned that such a pursuit was a way to enhance his intellect and build a new talent, and while true, you speculated he may have also done it to spend more time with you between missions. From the coldest snows to the sweltering forests, his duty took him all over the galaxy, but he always returned to you. Always. 

That was what you kept at the forefront of your mind during each secret liaison and every bittersweet farewell. No matter how many rotations pushed you further away from each other, he came back. Scarred and bruised, shaken and bleeding, but alive. 

The trill of your datapad interrupted your thoughts, grounding you in the present and forcing you to let go of the lingering sadness of another inevitable goodbye. Multiple messages bombarded the screen, and with a huff, you rose from the bench. “Got to get going,” you said, manoeuvring around the spinet and planting a swift kiss to Tech’s cheek. “I’ll meet you here later.” 

The clone commando gave you a playful salute, his lips curling and his eyes crinkling at the edges in such an endearing way that it had you tempted to ignore the messages. But your colleagues needed assistance, and you would resolve everything quicker together. 

With a quick wave, you slipped out of the room, your form disappearing and the door gliding shut again. 

After making sure you’d gone, Tech retrieved his datapad from the pouch on his belt and combed through the array of folders. Finding the file he needed, he positioned the device on the stand and adjusted the cello. He drew the bow over the strings and followed the dotted notes on the screen. Deep, resonant tones provided a rich undertone to his song, and he ascended into a higher range. He wasn’t just creating music; it was a connection to emotion and feeling. More precisely, the sincere and comforting feelings you had given him. 

For weeks, he had poured his heart into the composition, wanting to amaze you, but the sweet melody faltered and abruptly ended, and the correct ending continued to evade him.

Ultimately, the final moments united a song and resonated with the listener even after it was over. Everything he heard since meeting you had concluded with a smooth, gradual finish, nothing sudden or rushed or jarring. The rhythm found a natural decline and a tranquil lull as though nestling into sleep. 

Nevertheless, he couldn’t quite achieve that same peaceful yet resolute conclusion for his own work. He suspected that the news of his impending deployment could be to blame. He still hadn’t mustered the courage to tell you. How could he bear to witness that disheartened look on your face, fully aware that he was the cause? At every goodbye, you tried to hide your sadness and showered him with affection, but he could sense the heaviness in your soul. War was not an ideal time for relationships, and he was a soldier, a commando, an elite operative with skills that constantly put him in the firing line. 

He packed away the cello with a discouraged huff and secured the bow into the lid. Zipping up the case, he shoved it at the back of the room where it found its place behind the box of forgotten orchestral equipment and discarded instruments. 

* * *

“Hey,” you said as you slipped into the Bad Batch’s barracks. The door closed with a hiss and the sterile wedge of light from the corridor dissolved into the hush. “I thought we were going to meet in the music room.”

“My brothers and I had some extra training,” Tech explained, goggles aimed at the electrical fusing tool as he welded weapons components. If it hadn’t been for the small, orbed lamp beside him, the only light illuminating the bunks would have been the occasional sparks shooting from the machine in his precise grasp. 

You understood. This wasn’t the first time Tech had been forced to cancel your plans to play music together after a rough day. His training regime was gruelling. Strict to the point of almost impossible expectations. And yet he and his brothers saw it thorough doggedly, dedicated heart and soul to the Republic and the ongoing war.

“How about a massage to soothe those aching muscles?” you offered. You perched on the edge of his bed and beckoned him with a wave.

“I am not in any pain at the moment,” he assured you, never taking his intense focus off his work. 

“Is that like the last time you weren’t in pain and ended up in the medical bay with a torn muscle?” 

Tech’s lips pursed, and he turned his gaze towards you. Leaning back on your hands, careful to avoid disturbing the jumble of machine parts and cables on his sleeping area. That warm, familiar look in your eyes that called him home. “I suppose I can take a break for a few minutes,” he relented. 

“That’s the spirit.” You assisted him in transferring the majority of the chaos onto the floor and urged him to seat himself on his bunk, positioning your legs on either side of him to serve as a support while you removed the upper half of his armour. Once it was safely nestled by the boxes of bolts and screws, you grazed your hands up to his shoulder blades, applying a firm pressure and eliciting a stream of muttered praises. 

“Better?” you asked. 

A drawn-out hum floated from him and he tilted his head forward to allow you access to the base of his neck. As you continued to caress away the day’s aches, his gloved fingers traced a soothing path up and down your leg. You wished the moment would never end. Soft. Tender. A world untouched by the war raging in the galaxy outside the rain-splattered window. 

“Feels like so long ago since I found you at the door of the music room, listening to me play,” you mused aloud. 

Tech peered at you and quirked his eyebrows. “I was merely fascinated by the instrument.” At the amused smirk on your face, he cleared his throat. “And the captivating person playing it.”

Your fingers slowed at the sincere glimmer in Tech’s eyes. The moment he closed in on you, you met him half-way, lips teasing in the most blissful distraction. Every thought that occupied your mind a moment ago faded. They didn’t matter. His proximity was all that mattered, the lingering singed scent of his projects and his body on yours. 

After a few fumbled manoeuvres, Tech positioned himself above you, scooping you up and enticing a leg up onto his hip. Your mouths moved in gentle tandem, tongues smoothing to deepen and heighten your bond. 

A comfortable exhale escaped from him before he delved back in. Your love had evolved from an exploratory nature to an effortless, conversational rhythm, where silent words were exchanged by touch. The sensation of each caress answered his own and built a crescendo of pleasure that he wished to savour for eternity. 

“My brothers will be away for a while,” he said in between gasps for air. “Would you stay with me?”

“I’ll stay as long as you want me to.” 

“How does forever sound?” 

Waves of heat tingled in your cheeks and a wide grin formed within the warmth. “Forever sounds perfect.” 

* * *

Early mornings were always strange on Kamino. For the most part, the persistent cloud cover cast a dark grey hue over everything and made it appear as though time stood motionless. The movement of the rain and sea were the only sign that the seconds still ticked on.

With an hour to spare before work started, you trudged to the music room, soothing your tired eyes with groggy rubs and stretching your arms out in front of you as you walked. 

After leaving the Batch’s barracks, you had settled into your own bedroom, but the silence in the emptiness only strengthened your restlessness. Despite your time with Tech, an irritating itch scratched at the corner of your thoughts, a suspicion that he was withholding something important. You had grown accustomed to his mannerisms, to the subtle twitches and shifts in his body language that signalled when he was hiding information, and last night you noted a few of those indicators. News circulated of additional mass deployments, so you had an inkling as to what he was concealing, but you respected his privacy; he would tell you at his own pace, as he always did. 

Entering the music room, soft twangs reached your ears and you all but tottered to a halt. Tech occupied his regular seat, plucking the cello strings and twisting the pegs to tune the instrument. “What are you doing in here?” you asked brightly, his presence a joyful surprise. “Don’t you have training?”

“Not this morning,” he answered. He slid the bow across the strings in a steady vibration and smiled as the correct sounds responded. “Do you have a moment? I wanted to show you something.”

“I have all the time in the galaxy for you.”

Tech willed away the flutter in his stomach and invited you to sit in the seat he arranged opposite him.

You shuffled around the chair and complied with his silent instruction. The room grew hushed as Tech’s eyes scanned the datapad on the music stand, the rhythmic ticking of the chronometer amplifying your increasing curiosity.

With a timid start, he began to play, the notes trembling and uncertain, as if shyly whispering from the strings, until his confidence bloomed with the ebb and flow. The bow bounced, sailed, sang like a divine song. Just for you. For your love. 

The sound was unfamiliar, unlike anything you had ever heard in your years of playing, but it struck a chord within you. The compassionate rhythm embraced you, while the utterance of notes soared, stirring your soul with promises of affection and devotion. 

It was then you realise why you hadn’t encountered this piece before. This enchanting melody was a fresh creation, unfolding with tones never experienced by anyone except you and earnestly crafted by the man who nurtured your heart. 

Tears welled in your eyes as he approached the final crest. His arm guided the notes and his nimble fingers placed them, dancing down the neck of the instrument to coax out every sliver of sound. With a lingering stretch, the cello fell silent. 

Tech went to speak, but noticing the teardrops, he rose from his seat and extended a hand to lift you from yours. He wiped the wet droplets threatening to fall and pressed kisses to the fallen ones. “I hope these are joyous tears.”

“That was beautiful,” you breathed. “I’m… I’m a little speechless. I had no clue you were composing a piece of your own.” 

“After weeks of struggling with the concluding section, last night, I found the inspiration I was looking for.” Weathered hands grazed yours, thumbs playing across the lines on your palms. “A symphony for my symphony.” 

With fingers splayed on his cheeks and his arms winding around your waist, you brought him closer for a kiss, lost in a moment that belonged only to you. 

“I have to go away again for a while,” he admitted against your lips, refusing to hide it from you any longer. An increasing number of troops were being deployed every day, and he got the sense you knew his own departure was imminent. To pretend otherwise would be a direct offence to your intelligence and the bond you shared. “My squad is heading to Kallar, but I shouldn’t be too long.” 

At the dip of your head and the small swallow, Tech redirected your gaze to him, his eyes never leaving yours. “I will come back,” he promised, his words warm on your skin as he sealed the vow with a kiss to your forehead. “When have I ever not returned to you?” 

TAGLIST (Message if you’d like to be added, 18+ only)

@skellymom @freesia-writes @the-hexfiles @theeyesofasoldier @multi-fan-dom-madness @savebytheodoresnonjosestuff @tech-aficionado @techsriduur @dangraccoon @starrylothcat @jediknightjana @mssbridgerton @trixie2023

[poemstoimmortalisehim]

Garden and her lover

Before you met me , I was a barren land, neglected and ruined. My trees were stripped bare of their luscious green leaves,picked apart and trampled on by the ghosts of past lovers. Not a single flower was in sight, every last one had wilted in misery crushed by the venomous wrath of hatred and agony trapped within my soil.

Even when some semblance of a seedling formed, she cowered her head in melancholy afraid to trust the warmth of love for fear of being burned again. The once flourishing myriad of fauna that thrived my grounds were now reduced to prickly thorn bushes stinging with painful memories of betrayals and broken hearts.

It was then you came into my garden like a drizzle of hope after a starving drought of despair. Like a mother's delicate touch you tended to my dirt with patience and planted the seeds of your love.

Even during the days when I was plagued with self-doubt and would conspire with the wind to scream at you that I may not bear the fruits of your painstaking labour,you would sit with me in silence and run your hand healingly through every insignificant shrub and weed that grew.

The once blush pale beating heart of my garden was turning crimson red with a newfound purpose just like the roses you planted.Soon arrived the morning glories always in awe of your beguiling smile ready to whisper sweet nothings and extend their vines with gratitude to feel your soft enduring palms.

Then came the lavenders with their saccharine fragrance that would send me into a childlike whimsy and entrance my head with thoughts of you. The lavenders were my favorite because it reminded me of your face that glistened with purple hue and purple meant passion,the sheer unwavering passion of yours that turned my disfigured soil into the Eden the gods blessed your kind with.

The edges of your temple wrinkled like the swirls of an old tree stump but unlike the sophisticated spirals of your exterior your heart remained guarded like a shy tulip worried if the world would mock the way the petals of your mind unfolded.

Yet, during the winter nights when you would rest your weary head on my grass patch saying your musings to the moon, I would listen clandestinely to the wisdom you gained from travelling treacherous rocky paths, how they scarred your feet but disciplined your mind.

You taught me humility so I won't gloat over my vibrant carnations but appreciate their impermanence as with the ever-changing unforgiving seasons and immerse in their exquisite beauty even if, just for a moment.

And just like the notion of love even if the cherry blossoms I cherished so dearly in spring were to wither I would console myself knowing that camellias in the winter would await me.

Like a sunflower that lifts up her glowing yellow petals with cheerful exuberance your perseverance taught me to look adversity in its monstrous pouncing eyes such that even if the sky in her envy were to send ravenous thunderstorms or the sun were to scorn upon us with his scorching glances I would not falter but continue to bloom in rebellion.

Yet I knew, when the vicious hearsays from ravens turned my spirits down you would let me revel in the shade of your strength like a tall and mighty banyan tree.

The butterflies who would travel from lands far away would be swayed by your lustful charm. And while my most eye-catching petunias and freesias would seduce them with sweet nectar and striking petals the fluttery beings would insist on sitting upon the throne of your nose and staring into the alluring blooming irises within your eyes.

My poppies would dance devotedly to the melodious cacophony of your voice and my lilies would wish for a trickle of your sweat to fall upon them so that they may taste salvation and shimmer with pollen of adoration in your presence.

The flowers in my garden shall forever be a testament to the unrelenting love and kindness you showed me and every last seed shall be born praising your name. Alas, my dear remember that when the nights get too lonely and the days filled with drudgery lean your tired frame against my branches so that I may caress your face with dandelion kisses and help you find the courage to sprout again just as you did with me.

-A.N

[nebulousfishgills]

flower asks!

white carnation, jasmine, azalea, bluebell, tigerlily, aster (lol), lavender, and/or freesia

Thanks for the ask! This one's a long one so buckle up.

White Carnation - Would you ever want to get a piercing? Where?

This may sound funny, but I have zero piercings (not even my ears) and I highly doubt I'll ever get any. It's just never appealed to me, idk. My grandma never pierced hers, she always wore clip-ons.

Jasmine - Describe your dream partner or best friend. What kind of personality traits do they have?

All my friends I would consider my "dream" friends (my irls and if we're friends on Tumblr you also count). As for dream partner... I mean, I'm not sure. I guess someone who's nice. They should be supportive of me and, to quote a thing my mom sent me, "the weird little things that make my heart happy." Someone who makes me excited to wake up in the morning and who would take me to the theatre once in a while. Someone who encourages me to be the best version of myself. Also someone who can take my darker sense of humor and keep me grounded when I inevitably become a whirlwind of undiagnosed adhd or whatever the fuck I have. Also some blue eyes, same as my mom blue eyes can make me absolutely weak.

That was a tangent, but I am a writer so-

Azalea - What is the most recent song you've listened to? How do you feel about it?

Okay this is gonna sound completely fucking unhinged, especially since it's so short, but last night I had Busted from Phineas and Ferb on repeat for like, three hours as I was doing a doodle because it came across my youtube feed and I realized it's like... exactly like a major scene I have planned for a fic, just without the musical swagger.

Cut to me fifteen minutes into this loop alone in my dorm room pretending I'm [Unnamed Character A] telling off [Unnamed Character B] for [Unnamed Event].

Bluebell - Do you have any pets? If so, what are their names?

I'm currently separated from them by "educational distance" but I have two kitties at home, a Tortie named Jackie and an Orange Boy Cat named Maggie (He has a more feminine name because PetSmart told us he was a girl when we adopted him since they *said* they did a spay operation... but then he had to get a surgery where they told us he was a boy... but by then Maggie had stuck and we'd already gone through three hours of arguing on what to name him in the first place).

Tigerlily - Do you have any favorite quotes from any movies, tv shows, books, or poetry? (Or from people in real life)

Y'all, I have a million favorite quotes from a million things. For now I'll give you one of each

Movie: "Ghosts are real. This much I know. There are things that tie them to a place, very much like they do us. Some remain tethered to a patch of land, a time and date, the spilling of blood, a terrible crime. But there are others-- others that hold onto an emotion, a drive, loss, revenge... Or love. Those-- They never go away." -Edith Cushing in my all time favorite movie, "Crimson Peak."

(I'm also like, 99% sure I'm being followed by a ghost or spirit of some sort so)

TV Show: I'm pretty sure me saying Henry's fifteen minute monologue in Stranger Things is cheating since that's, like, many many quotes, but I'll say it anyways because those fifteen minutes were life changing.

Book: I wish it was easier for me to find a quote, but unfortunately all my books are packed away for move-out in a couple weeks. My memory is eluding me so just pretend like I either said something really profound or something extremely stupid.

Play: "You're still beautiful." "You don't have to lie to me." "It's not lying, it's looking at things another way." From Wicked, my favorite musical (am I basic for that, maybe). Seeing this on Broadway last summer was a religious experience and I'm gonna have another one when I see it from the seventh row next year.

(I changed it to play because, fun fact, I don't read poetry that much. Another thing from my mom, she hates poetry... bear in mind this woman has a BA in English)

Real Life: "People are like 'you're weird' and I'm like 'yes, I've been waiting sixty years to get that compliment'" -my history professor. The man's said so much wild shit this semester I have an entire discord channel devoted to recording his quotes, dude's a legend.

Aster - Do you have any fictional crushes on any movie, tv show...

...

Okay I had a collage I made of every character I've had a crush on, lemme see if I can find it so I can be concise.

(One frantic search later)

It's not fully updated, so lemme just make one rq, every character I actively have a crush on (give or take one or two):

Moving on.

Lavender - What's currently on your mind (aside from the ask game)

How much of a degenerate I am.

No, but in reality, I have two packages I'm waiting for and I keep obsessively tracking them because I'm terrified they'll not get to me before my move-out date.

Freesia - What do you want people to remember you for? Serious or not serious answers.

I can say my writing in a serious and a not serious way. Remember me for my s tier descriptions and remember me for whatever the fuck this is:

[evelyns-writing-blog]

Catch the Wind: Reincarnated into an Idealised Shell - Chapter VI: Ultradespair

[Previous Chapter]

[CW: self-harm, attempted SA.]

"F-, Beginner."

That was the rank I was given when we turned in my test job.

I expected as much. I didn't complain, but I wasn't jumping for joy either. I didn't feel one way or the other about it.

I took Shiro's advice for now and decided to continue living. But I wasn't happy about it.

  I had to make Freesia's sacrifice matter.

  ...

  I took my card and stared at it. Sure enough, it showed my rank and my name. I lowered my hand and turned around to leave, feeling no particular way about anything. I didn't care.

  Shiro, however...

  "What?!" He slammed his hands down at the reception desk, and I flinched. "After everything he went through, you're putting him at the bottom?!" He was fuming. "Maybe you didn't hear me the first time! He survived a dragon attack! He showed fearlessness in that cave when Freesia and I were too scared to move on! Please! Put him in the Average Ranks at least!"

Everyone in the room fell silent. I felt a lot of eyes on us.

The receptionist lady sighed. "All that amounts to nothing. Because of Freesia's death, we can't in good faith give him a higher rank than that. By all accounts, this is a failure."

The guild members around us started talking amongst themselves, even louder than before they went silent. "Freesia died on a trial job?!" "Shiro mentioned a dragon, you don't think the two of them used her as bait to escape that, do you?!" "What? That's impossible! Shiro's not the type of guy to sacrifice others!" "Then again, it is a dragon we're talking about..." "Freesia was one of the best mercenaries in town! How did this happen?!" "Look at that newbie, he totally looks guilty. I bet he convinced our precious Shiro into leaving Freesia for dead!" "Doesn't his face remind you of someone? I could've sworn there was a merc just like him that found work here a while ago! Soren was his name, wasn't it?" "I doubt it. He can't be that guy, I didn't know him very well since he always kept to himself, but this guy is acting complete differently."

I clutched my stomach. I felt like I was going to throw up. It was all my fault.

Shiro must not have realised the conversation happening behind us, he just kept complaining to the receptionist. "This is complete bullshit! Freesia died on her own terms! She died protecting him! Isn't that her job as a judge for trial jobs in the first place?!"

The receptionist grimaced and glared at me for a second. "All the more reason to put this failure in the beginner rankings. If Freesia absolutely needed to die for his sake, then he belongs there!"

Shiro was unable to reply.

Then.

A commotion occurred in the crowd of people that were now gathered around us, listening in on the conversation. A man was pushing through everyone with an intimidatingly angry look on his face.

He had short green hair with blueish eyes, with a slight stubble growing on his face. I'd guess he was in his late teens, maybe early twenties. He was wearing a mostly black coat that went down to his knees, it looked perfect for the current weather. If I had one of those, the trip to the cave and back would have been more bearable.

He was taller than me too. So when he came rushing at me after making it through the crowd, I yelped and shielded my face, only to be grabbed by the collar of my shirt and slammed against the back wall. As I hit my head, I felt an incredible pain. I screamed.

The man didn't loosen his grip on my shirt at all. Was he expecting me to run? "Did I hear all that right?!" He asked. He was so pissed off that I couldn't answer his question. He slammed me against the wall again. "Answer me! Did you let Freesia die?!"

Shiro took notice of this and tried to push the man off me, but he wouldn't budge. "What do you think you're doing? Get off of him!"

The man pushed Shiro away quite easily, and then punched me in the face. "Do you have any idea how important she was to all of us?! What the fuck is your problem?!" He punched me again.

Again...

Again...

Again...

Turn my brains into mush already…

"What's with you?! Cat got your tongue?! Aren't you gonna at least apologise?!"

I decided to look him the eyes when he gave me the opportunity to. I saw Shiro in the corner of my eye, he was struggling up to his feet. I smiled. "I killed her," I said, matter-of-factly. Everyone in the room was glaring at me. "I was frozen in fear and she took the hit for me," I spat out the blood in my mouth. He really packed a punch. "Hahah, I mean, talk about pathetic. People that sacrifice themselves for others aren't worthy of living. She deserved it."

The man had a confused look on his face. Scared? Perhaps. It sure looked like he was. "...What is wrong with you?"

I chuckled and smiled, although it hurt to move my mouth at all. "What? You think I'm guilty about it just because I look traumatised? Anyone would be, seeing her get impaled on a dragon's tail. She went out pathetically. It was horrifically gory, hahahahah..." I wanted it to keep going, no matter what. "All her intestines fell out. She crawled on top of me and told me to keep living. What an embarrassment."

Shiro stumbled over to us and shoved us apart. "Marisa, please stop..." he said, out of breath. "Is this really how you want to be seen?"

I ignored him and stumbled over to the man that was punching me before. I kept eye contact the whole time. "Hah! You're all upset over her? What a joke! I can't believe anyone actually cares about this bitch! Was she a local whore or something?! I can't think of any other reason anyone would care that she died!"

The man's eyes widened. He was at a loss for words. Everyone was staring at me with disgust.

I chuckled. "Ahaha! Hahahahahahahahaha! What's with you people?! You're all insane! Don't worry though... We still have her body. We dragged her all the way here. Shiro killed that dragon so we got to bring her body back. You can still use her if you want, it's all yours!"

Shiro gasped and covered up his mouth. "Marisa?!"

The man gritted his teeth, and clenched his fists. He was tearing up. "You... You're a monster!" He punched me again, and I fell backwards, hitting my head once more against the wall.

Shiro came to my side and cast a healing spell on me. "What's gotten into you?! Hey-?!"

The man knelt down over me and kept punching me, over and over. Soon I couldn't tell what was happening. My brain was melting. It was melting! Hahaha! Melting! Melting!! Melting!!! This felt like heaven to me!

Beat me harder. Punish me more. Make me feel awful, make me hate it!

It's what I deserved.

My hearing was fading, but I could barely make out a bunch of people yelling and screaming. "Get off of him, Richter! That's enough!" I think that was Shiro...

"Y-Yeah, I think he's had enough," a stranger said.

"He clearly wanted to get a reaction out of you, don't let him win!"

"Yeah, he probably wanted you to punch him, if he wants it he doesn't deserve it!"

"You're better than this, aren't you?!"

"Th-This is freaking me out! Richter, I think he's dying! Someone stop him!"

All those strangers were worrying about me, it made me sick.

The man punching me, Richter, stopped, he was crying, I could hear it faintly, my eyelids were swollen shut, so I couldn't see him, but I bet he was holding his fist up, wanting to punch me some more, being unable to.

What? You think you're better than me? You wanna preach about how you're wrong for doing this? Pathetic. Don't stop. Keep hitting me until I drop dead.

"...I-!" Richter whimpered. "No, We all... We all love her! She was like an older sister to us!" He fell onto me. Crying into my chest. "You took that from us! Why couldn't it have been you?! You asshole!"

For a while, all I could hear was his crying, until suddenly, my face was healed. I opened my eyes, disoriented. I may have been healed, but the pain of being punched was still there.

Shiro had a horrified look on his face. It was the first thing I saw. He was looking at me with fear. So why did he heal me yet again. Just accept that I'm a bad person already...

Two strangers were lifting Richter off of me. They were comforting him all the while. Making sure that they sent disgusted looks my way, they quietly took Richter away. I was left with the view of at least 50 onlookers judging me. Shiro was the only one that seemed to care.

Why couldn't Shiro just leave me? Why couldn't he hate me like everyone else? This is all wrong.

Shiro sat me up against the wall, since I was kinda just slumped over. "I understand what you're going through, Marisa..." He took a deep breath. "But that was too terrible to defend." He gave me a weak frown. "Saying things like that to me is one thing... But... to others... I can't..." He was struggling to speak. Why? "I can't allow you to ruin yourself like this!" He finally said.

I stood up and used the wall for support. If I started walking now, I'd collapse, for sure. "I don't need your help..." I muttered in response.

All these eyes on me were starting to freak me out. After a minute of recovering my balance, I walked slowly to the exit. Shiro followed me, not saying another word.

Stupid, stupid me.

I went to the bathroom in our inn room to wash off the blood that was still stained on my face. It had only been five days since we last rested at this inn, but looking in the mirror I saw someone I didn't recognise. I was growing a bit of a beard, there were bags under my eyes and just in general I looked worse. I didn't know what to do about it. I didn't have the energy to shave, so I'm after I washed my face, I went back into the main room. Shiro was sitting on the bed in his casual wear, he didn't make eye contact with me, he didn't even say anything. He didn't look angry, just sad.

It pissed me off. I sat at our table and sunk my teeth into the fruit that was left there. It tasted terrible, but I didn't really care.

We both sat in silence for a really long time. It was deafening. I eyed the kitchen's cutlery drawer. I felt tired. So, so tired. I wanted to do it again. For the first time in this world, I wanted to slit my wrists.

  I sighed and got up, walked over to the kitchen, and took out a sharp knife from the cutlery drawer.

  I glanced over at Shiro. He hadn't noticed. I hid it from his view and went over to the bathroom again and locked myself in. I slumped down and pulled up my sleeves and stared at my clean wrists. Not a single mark on them. I took a deep breath and pressed the sharp end of the knife against my skin.

  "Marisa," Shiro said from the other side of the door. "I need to pee."

  I didn't respond, and just slid the blade across. I covered my mouth to stop myself from taking in a sharp breath as the pain shot through my arm. I accidentally went right down past the epidermis. I didn't mean to. I guess this blade was sharper than I expected. Blood quickly flooded out of the wound, and it stung like hell.

I tried to control my breathing, but it was just too much, I accidentally inhaled too loudly. Shiro definitely heard that.

  "Marisa? Please respond! Are you okay in there?"

  I gritted my teeth and cut myself again putting less pressure on the blade this time. It hurt.

  Again.

  Again.

  Again.

  Again.

  I kept cutting until there were ten cuts up my arm. I dropped the knife and let the pain sink in. I grabbed the hand towel placed it under my arm. This body wasn't used to cutting. It felt pain like it a newbie. I couldn't cut more than that.

  "Marisa, I don't know what you're doing in there, but please say something," Shiro sounded gentle. Why wasn't he angry? "I'll have to break the door down if you don't say anything. Please."

  "..." I bumped my head against the door. "What do you want?" It came out weak.

  "I need to pee. Let me in."

  I looked down at my arm which was properly soaked in blood now. I grabbed the hand towel and wrapped it over my fresh wounds and pulled down my sleeve over it. I washed my hands and the knife of my blood and hid the knife behind me before opening the door.

Shiro looked up at me and he grimaced. You should get some sleep you know."

"..." that really ticked me off, but I ignored him and pushed past.

I didn't really want to have another pep talk. Sure. I'll go to sleep now. I've gotten it out of my system anyway, for now. It'll come back. It always does. And this crime is simply unforgivable too, I killed someone. Irredeemable. I really should die.

"Hey, wait a second," Shiro said just as I was about to leave. He grabbed me by the arm which I had just used to cut, and despite him being gentle, it stung real bad. I lost my breath and almost fell over. "Huh?"

I decided to yank my arm away , which hurt as well. "Why'd you do that for?!" I said, angrily.

Shiro just looked at me with terrified shock. "M-Marisa... Your arm..." he shakily rushed over and pulled up my sleeve. The towel fell off and I dropped the knife. I noticed that there was already blood dripping from my arm because I yanked it away from him so violently. He must've seen that...

I didn't really know how to respond. This is only the second time I've ever been caught cutting. I could do nothing but let out a scared giggle.

  He walked up to me and slapped me, hard. He was tearing up. "How many times am I supposed to tell you that you have to live?!" He was angry at me. No, upset?

  "... This is... living..." I muttered in response, rubbing my cheek. I felt so tired of this endless criticism of how I lived my life. You've already got me on a life line. If it's not killing me, who cares if I'm cutting?!

  "It's not! No same person could call that proof that you're living! Give me your arm, let me heal-."

  I've had enough of this stupid "healing!" Just let me do whatever I want! I grabbed him by the shirt and shook him around and screamed at him. "AHHHHHH!!! Shut up!!!" I retaliated. While I shook him, it looked like he was getting dizzy. I didn't want him to pass out without hearing me yell at him first so I reluctantly stopped shaking him, but I didn't let go of his shirt. It took him a while to regain his balance, it seemed. But I didn't let up. "You think keeping me alive isn't torture?! You think I give a shit that my body is covered in scars and abuse?! You think I care that I'll never get rid of my feelings for my abuser? Do you honestly think I'm at all thankful for this second chance?! No! I'll take life with my sister over this any day of the fucking week! You infuriate me! Your toxic positivity is a cancer! I'm sure everyone else thinks the same! You're a waste of space! You deserved your parents dying on you! Or what? Does seeing me suicidal remind you of your brother?! Huh?! You stupid cretin! Stop deciding what to do with my life without my consent! If I want to die! I will! You hear me?!" I coughed and lost my breath. I had no choice but to take a pause from my yelling.

  "M-Marisa... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come off like a toxic person, but I can't let you die..." he was struggling to talk, still dizzy, I guess. "T-The world would be a worse place without you in it... I'll gladly be hated by you as long it means I'm saving your life, but I really just want the best for you..."

  He was obviously trying to patronise me. It pissed me off so much.

  I laughed at him. "You're not saving me at all. You're completely worthless to me. Do the world a favour and kill yourself. Come on, we can even die together if you're not a fucking coward!" I rubbed my bleeding wounds on the side of his face. It hurt to do that but I wanted to get it through his thick skull that I didn't need him.

  He grimaced, but he didn't stop me. "...M-Marisa..." He couldn't look me in the eye. It infuriated me. I laughed at his discomfort. But then he did something unexpected. With a pained smile, he gently grabbed my arm and rested his head on it, rubbing it up and down slowly. "Does doing this help you calm down? If it does then I'll bear with it..."

  I freaked out and pushed him off of me. I forgot to let go of his shirt, so his shirt ended up getting torn off, he yelped as he fell backwards onto the bed. I didn't know my own strength. What the hell was that? It was creepy! How can he just casually let that happen to him?! Is he a masochist?! Huh?!

  I got on top of him in the bed and pinned him down. "You're a freak!" I exclaimed in a blind rage. I couldn't think about anything but insulting Shiro. "You just couldn't let me cut, could you?! Why couldn't you just ignore it!" I put my left hand around his neck. While I used my other to support myself I held his neck lightly. Not to kill him, just to threaten him. But he did nothing in response.

  He was flustered, and scared, but he wasn't doing anything. His breathing was getting heavier, and he had a dazed look in his eyes. He finally looked me in the eyes and said something. "If... If this is what it'll take, then... If taking your anger out on me this way is what you want, then I'll let you do it..."

  "Hahaha! What are you talking about?! You're just making me angri-!" I spat.

  I caught myself mid sentence. In that moment, I realised what sort of position we were in. With me over him, his shirt off... I... was drooling... I could feel an erection throbbing in my pants... Only Shiro knew what sort of look I had on my face. I was lusting over him in my fit of rage...

  I took in a deep breath, and sat up. I felt like my head would split open at any second now. I tried to hold it together as my lips trembled. "Sister... don't hurt me. Why are you always doing this to me?" I said, feeling like my brain would explode. "Don't touch me. Don't hurt me! Don't kill me! Nooooooooooo!!!!" I closed my eyes and fell backwards. I hit my head against the end of the bed and then fell off it. "I'll be a good girl! Don't hurt me! I'll be a good girl! Don't hurt me! I'll be a good girl! Don't hurt me! I'll be a good girl! Don't hurt me! I'll be a good girl! Don't hurt me! I'll be a good girl! Don't hurt me! I'll be a good girl! Don't hurt me!"

  I'm not like you! I wasn't gonna do that to Shiro! I'd never act on my love for him! I'm not like you!!! I'm not like you, so don't hurt me! I'll be complicit and obedient! I'll listen to everything you say, so just keep me safe instead!

  "I'll stop pretending to be a guy! I promise! So don't make me like you! Don't paint me in your evil! Don't rub off on me! Don't kill meeeeeee!!!" I curled up and shielded myself while kicking my legs around. Truly sickening.

Blood was getting everywhere because of my cuts. I want it to stop! I don't like it! I wasn't going to rape him! Please forgive me! Don't punish me! I'm not my sister!

I caught a glimpse of Shiro getting off the bed. He walked over to me. And crouched down. "M-Marisa..."

I flinched and glared at him in a panic. "...!"

He smiled and petted my head as he whispered to me. "You haven't hurt me, see?" His hand felt so nice... "Your sister isn't here. You're not like her, either. You're safe."

...

I fell silent.

What was this? Why? Even now, why was he being nice to me? It just filled me with even more guilt. Why won't he let me push him away?! What's wrong with him?!

I thought once more about his vulnerable state. And I threw up in a daze. I couldn't say anything anymore. I felt like I'd stop thinking pretty soon.

I'm not like her, I'm not! I'm not my sister...

I must be worse... What was I thinking?!

Shiro healed my arm and dragged me away from my vomit. "It'll be okay," he whispered, still comforting me. "You've done nothing wrong to me. You'll never be able to hurt me, so don't worry."

  "...aaah—..." I could only bring myself to cry. My tears wouldn't stop, even though it stung my eyes.

  This was a harsh fact of this new life of mine. Shiro would never betray me. He believed in me, despite everything. It sent violent chills all throughout my body. It didn't make any sort of sense to me.

My sister was probably laughing while she looked up at me from hell.

I closed my eyes, but all I could see was Shiro. His body, covered in sweat. I was embracing him and caressing his naked form, and he had a look of pure lust on his face as I rested my hand on his ass. Why? Why was I thinking about this? I opened my eyes again before he kissed me, to rid myself of these thoughts.

No. I was thinking about this the whole time, wasn't I? But I was never intending on acting on anything intentionally lewd. What a fool I am! They weren't harmless thoughts, I was actually desiring his body for real.

I wanted to violate him, I wanted to make him mine in every sense of the word. I wanted to see him bouncing on my dick with tears in his eyes. I wanted to hear him moan my name, and say that he loved me more than anything else, and that I was all he needed. Everything else in his head would disappear, leaving just his love for me! I wanted that!

But I was just acting like it was all a joke to save the guilty feeling I would get otherwise... I'm a monster. I'm no better than my sister. I deserved her.

  Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!

  What do I do?

  Don't hurt me...

  Shiro...

  I found it in me to look up at him, and he looked down with a smile. It warmed me. I felt ever so slightly calmer. At the very least, it was like my fear was draining from me as I saw that smile. I didn't deserve him looking out for me, but I'm so glad. I'm so glad he isn't mad, even though he has every right to be.

  "M-Marisa... were you..." he tried saying something, but he appeared lost. "Hmm... there's no light way to say this is there? ...Were you a girl before you woke up in that forest?"

  I knew it... That's the nail in the coffin. He figured it out, and now he was going to hate me. He'd kick me out. I just meekly nodded.

  "Did your... sister... Did she do something bad to you?"

  I tiredly responded. "Yeah..."

  He sighed. "Maybe... well, I don't know if I'm right or not, but did you like being a woman?"

  My tears started welling up again. I tried to hold it back though. "No. It was hell for me... being a woman was exhausting." More than anything, it sapped my energy completely. "I was just a husk."

  Shiro ran his cute fingers through my hair. "And you're happier being in a body like this, aren't you?"

  "...Yeah... It's the best," I muttered, feeling like I was ready to explode.

  I expected Shiro to freak out... but... "Then we better find a more appropriate name for you, shouldn't we?" He giggled. "Your days as a woman are over, and your sister isn't here anymore, so you have nothing to worry about!"

  "..." I wailed. I couldn't hold it back now. Right after I just stopped freaking out as well... I'm a mess.

  "Hehe. It'll be okay. Let all this out, and you'll feel a lot better," he reassured. He pulled me up a bit and hugged me from behind. "I haven't met anyone like you before, but I have heard of people that couldn't stand being the gender they were born with. You're not alone in this."

  "...Oh..."

  I really was worrying over nothing. Why would someone as nice as Shiro hate me for something like this? I was being foolish. But it doesn't change the fact I'm a monster. I said as much. And all Shiro had to say in response was, "Really? Then if you're a monster, I'll have to tame you, won't I?"

  That sort of cheesy line would get you booed out of the room in my old world, but it felt so reassuring right now. I took in some deep breaths. "Thank you, and I'm sorry..."

  Shiro laughed again. "Seriously. I'm fine. If I genuinely felt like I was in danger, I would have stopped you. And besides..." he pulled me up further and whispered in my ear. "I wouldn't mind if it was with you."

  A chill went up my spine. That line completely grounded me. My tears stopped, my shaky breathing returned to normal. I got flustered. And after he made such a fuss the first time I saw him naked. He sure doesn't play around...

  Still. He was just trying to make me feel not so guilty. I knew it could never happen between us. I must make sure not to let that boundary be crossed... I took in a long, deep breath. "I think... I'll be okay," I said.

  After that? Shiro helped me into bed, and told me to get some sleep. Despite him being so young, he was way more of an adult than I was. "I have to go back to the Mercenary Guild," he explained, putting on a coat. "We need to make sure everything about Freesia's death is in order."

  I felt bad. "I... I feel a little better, I can help."

  He gave me that sweet smile. "No, you need to sleep. We can sort out what happened with Richter tomorrow, you've been through a lot, so just rest for now."

  It pained me to be unable to help right now, but I should just do what I'm told...

  I said goodbye then looked up at the ceiling. I may have calmed down, but I still felt guilty.

  It's still my fault that Freesia died. It's still my fault that guy named Richter started crying. It's still my fault that Shiro demeaned himself.

  ...

  I'm cold.

[Shiro]

My hands were trembling. It was like my body just stopped working.

  I didn't expect that at all.

  When Marisa pinned me down in bed, I wanted to kick him off me. I didn't want to hurt him, but it had to be done. I knew he wasn't in his right mind. I've kicked bigger people off of me during fights with bandits and whatnot.

  But...

  But I suddenly felt all weak.

  It's ridiculous, I know, but having his hand pressed lightly against my throat, and that look of lust and anger staring me down... I felt like I should give up my fighting and let him have his way with me. My heart was racing. I wasn't scared, I was excited.

  If he hadn't had a panic attack when he did, I don't think I would've been able to regain my composure. I think I would have given myself up to him... What was that feeling? I like girls, don't I?

  I...

  I feel so strange. Ever since I found him, I've been thinking weird thoughts. It's not like me to get flustered over a guy. Maybe I've just been overworked recently... I ought to take a break after this day is done.

  I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath. I just needed to relax. If I relaxed, I could rationalise this and move on. It made me feel weird to think about. When I had closed my eyes, I was flashed with an image of Marisa without a shirt on. His physique was truly admirable. I wish I had that sort of body. There's only so much I do at my age.

  Hehehe! His chest and stomach looked like they'd be nice to rest my head on...

  Ah! What am I thinking?! I shook my head and facepalmed, and when I did, I realised I still had blood on me. Marisa's blood. I frowned. To think someone would cut themselves on purpose... i looked back at the inn and wondered if I should check up on him to make sure he wasn't doing it again. But I changed my mind. Marisa looked tired enough to sleep for a whole day. I had nothing to worry about.

  His blood was starting to dry. I summoned a water ball and a bit of fire underneath it to heat it up, then splashed it on my face. The blood came off clean, next, I dried off by summoning warm air.

  Air magic didn't really have many uses, but for situations like this, it was perfect. If I just left the water on me, it would freeze. I've had that happen before, it's not pleasant.

  Just then, I heard the city's clock bell ringing. I looked over to the clock tower. It was noon.

  I put my hands in my pockets and got going. It was going to be a very exhausting afternoon.

———————————

Authors note: Seriously praying this chapter doesn’t get me banned 😬. Marisa learns some hard truths about himself. Must be tough. The title of this chapter gets its namesake from a song by Sewerslvt, a fantastic artist that now goes by Cynthoni. Anyway, I believe the worst is behind us. Thank God for Shiro, or the story would have ended already. Next chapter will be a side story, but be sure not to skip it. It’s actually important. The reason it’s a side story is because Marisa and Shiro aren’t a part of it at all!

[song of the day]

[Next Chapter]

[crimsoncircle2]

No one wins | Transgressor | Trial | RE: Shisa

While Transgressor was furious, he would've let Panthera speak up before saying anything else. However, Shisa decided to tear into him and it felt like a slap to the face. Delusional? Delusional???

"Excuse me?"

The man growls, his harsh gaze now turned towards Shisa instead. It was his turn to look in disbelief, as if he couldn't believe that Shisa, of all people, also wouldn't understand what it'd feel like to lose someone dear to yourself - and be angry about it.

"Do you listen to yourself right now? I'm sorry, but who was trying to get one of us killed right now? No, actually, tell me this instead - if our roles were reserved, wouldn't you be furious, too? Wouldn't you have desperately tried to get behind the truth of who murdered Panthera as well? Would you have been fine to let a mistrial take someone else, maybe someone whom you are also close to as well?"

Because if his reaction right now is anything to go by, then clearly, it wouldn't be. Never mind what he did to Boss once he found out about his parents, but that wasn't the point. He wasn't so cruel as to point that out.

"It's not even that I don't understand why you were trying to defend her, because everyone knows what you are to each other, but does that automatically mean that we shouldn't be hurt that you were still lying to us? That I also don't want to lose any more people than we already have? That I wish we wouldn't have to lose any at all?"

(It's human nature to lash out at whatever or whoever hurt you. It hurts even more when it was about people whom you were fond of, whom you trusted and respected--)

(Which is why this stings all the more.)

"And are you-- a-are you genuinely trying to blame me for Ryo's death right now? You can't be serious, right?"

The absolute gall to try and guilt trip him, telling him he should've killed someone, as if to say that his life was expendable? As if he's the only person who should be doing it? As if he hadn't tried to claw his way out of that self-destructive behavior for the sake of everyone around him - Shisa and Panthera included - and himself right now?

It's too cruel.

Transgressor let out a shaky exhale, genuinely looking hurt by the accusation made by Shisa. Right now, it was hard to not question whether all his prior words and actions ever meant anything to him if it was this easy to push him back into his old ways as long as he could save Panthera.

(Used like a tool. Something he desired for so long--)

(But not when it always came at the expense of everyone around himself. No more. No more.)

"Don't you dare. Just like you, I've already lost people who were also very dear to me as well and I've never stopped blaming Leviathan for this. And I still stand by it - that none of us should be doing this. However that doesn't mean me or anyone who's grieving over Ryo's death shouldn't be allowed to be angry. So don't you dare spin my words around to fit your narrative."

(Why is his grief being weaponized against him? Why always him?)

"And don't you dare continue to blame us, because if we're going that way, we could start to blame you and each other for every other death that occurred. Where were we when Artemis-san died? Nightshade-san? Freesia-san? Why is it suddenly so different here?"

Because Shisa was now on the cusp of losing someone very dear to him and it translates into a grief that lashes out against everyone else. Grief clashing against grief. And neither of them could stop because their pain couldn't be contained anymore. There was nothing they could do to stop it from spilling out. Even if they didn't mean their words, they just kept pouring out, neither of them were thinking straight.

"It's never been fair! Haven't we known this from the very start?! It's not and has never been fair!"

It never was. Not now, not back then, not ever.

"And I don't-- I can't bring myself to believe you right now. Not after what happened. I-- I'll have to see for myself what happened."

Deep down, he knows that Shisa had no reason to lie anymore. But could anyone truly expect him to take him by his word when Shisa just breached that trust himself by trying to obscure the truth? To withhold those who wanted to have closure to never get it?

Transgressor has said it himself many times - he's no saint. He can't forgive everything. No one can claim to do that, because there is always a limit to what you can take before it gets too much.

Losing so many people dear to him at once was that limit for him.

[writemekpop]

Daddy Lessons | Lee Jeno

Summary: The stress of a new baby puts your relationship with Jeno on the line...

Genre: Husband!Jeno, pregnant!Y/n, angst to fluff, pouty Jen

Word Count: 0.7k

"Come on, Jen. It's been forty-five minutes. Surely, you've picked a colour by now!"

Jeno stood by the endless shelves of paint tins, glaring at the label on a tin. His whole body was tense, his muscled arms crossed tight over his white T shirt. 

He tugged his hand through his jet-black hair, groaning. "I can't decide, Y/n. This is the colour of our baby’s room. It's important!" 

You tutted. Your back ached, your legs were swollen, and thanks to you being nine months pregnant, you needed to pee, again.

Jeno held up two identical squares of purple. 

"Which one do you prefer?" 

You scoffed. "They're exactly the same."

"No they're not!" Jeno shouted, startling an old lady who was browsing nearby. "This one’s burnt lavender and the other‘s dusty freesia. Completely different! Stop being so… so careless!" 

You sucked in a breath. "Careless?” Your whole body was shaking. “Careless? You know what, you’re right. I couldn’t care less about these stupid paint colours. I’m going home. Pick one - and I’ll see you at dinner.”  

Jeno didn’t give you a second glance as you walked off. 

You tried your hardest, but you couldn't help but cry in the car home. Your boyfriend had called you careless. Did he really think that? Did he truly believe you didn’t care about your baby? Even when you spent hours baby-proofing every inch of the house, or knitting their first pair of socks so they would have something special…

It was dark when Jeno finally came home.  

You had dozed off on the dinner table. The door shutting jolted you awake.

Jeno eyed the half-finished bowl of pasta in front of you.  

"Couldn't wait for me to eat?" He frowned. 

You sighed. "It's 10PM Jen, what did you expect?"

Jeno sighed. He slumped down into the chair next to you and buried his head in his hands. 

You watched silently as his back rose and fell, his breaths coming out in pants. 

You reached over and touched his back. But when you did, his body froze. 

You pulled your hand away, realising it was too soon to touch him. 

But then, Jeno, without looking up, pulled your hand back onto his back. 

"Don't stop," he whined. 

You continued to stroke his muscled back until eventually his breaths calmed. 

After a while, Jeno sat up and locked eyes with yours. He brought your hand to his lips. His face was dead serious, but there was a mischievous twinkle in his eye.  

"Now, don’t quote me on this… but I think there might be a tiny, teensy, itsy-bitsy possibility that… I’m stressed about the baby.” 

You burst out laughing. "You think?" 

Jeno's lips curled into a smile. "I got carried away earlier, I’m sorry. I just wanted our baby’s life to be absolutely perfect. It felt like, if we start messing things up this early on, they’ll never make it through. It doesn't matter what colour the walls are... As long as the baby's healthy, I'm happy."

“That’s what I’ve been saying all this time!” 

Jeno caressed your bump, his gentle touch sending shivers of delight coursing through your body. 

You pulled Jeno close, holding him in as close a hug as you could manage. 

"You don't really think I'm... careless, do you?" you murmured against his shoulder, too scared to meet his eyes.”

Jeno pulled away, his fierce gaze locking on yours. "Not one bit. Listen to me, Y/n. You are the most careful person I know. I mean, sometimes too careful. I get that you had to baby-proof, but I haven’t been able to open a drawer in three months!” 

You nodded, biting your lip. “Shut up.” 

Jeno put his hand on your chin and pulled your lips onto his. He kissed you hard, mouth open, as if saying through his lips, I love you. 

When you pulled apart, you rested your forehead against his.

“What colour did you go for in the end?” you whispered. 

Jeno chuckled, his eyes scrunching into adorable half-moons. 

“I didn’t pick one,” he said. “The store manager kicked me out before I could decide, and… she banned me from the store. My bad! You’re gonna have to go back tomorrow.” 

You whacked his biceps. “Jeno!” 

—

MAIN MASTERLIST

Let us know what you thought in the comments or on anon! 💋 

[lazywonderlvnd]

*hesitantly steps in the box* Umm.. soo.. I was listening to Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift again and that song (is awesome btw if you haven't listened to it already) just gives me such MAJOR drarry vibes .. like -

" And I screamed, 'for whatever it's worth I love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?' He looks up grinning like a devil. "

Like if that's not drarry I'd chomp my pillows. So .. *twiddling thumbs* could you pls write something with that line as a prompt?? Pretty please 🥺🥺🥺❤️❤️❤️ maybe use the song as inspiration.. idk? Whatever you like. ALSO, don't forget I STILL LOVE YOU that ain't changing yet and you haven't seen the last of me! Imma tail after you for eternity and you better take that as the threat it is! *throws love at you* BYE!! ❤️❤️ *vaults outside the box*

my sweetest most loved angel!! thank u so much for this prompt based on a BOP i was obsessed w when the album first came out. it got sm longer than it was meant to be, so it can be found on ao3 as well!! i hope u like it ilysm ❤️❤️❤️❤️

warnings for minor drug use (weed) and implied suicide of a minor character (lucius, extremely vague reference but pls be aware!)

rating: e word count: ~5k

When Pansy asked him how it started, Draco discovered that he didn’t know what to tell her.

Technically, though, it had started at Ernie Macmillan’s party in the beginning of summer, with the cloying scent of Freesias and Freedom Roses (“Imported from the States,” Ernie told Draco pompously, when he asked) and all those string-lights dangling from the cedar pergola, perennial balls of fire inside their clear bubbles like tiny trapped suns. Cheap beer in plastic cups, Marlboro cigarettes, and some stupid Muggle game ... darts.

Technically.  

* * * 

“Get off me, Potter,” Draco says in a failed whisper. He’s laughing and drunk and fuzzy warm under a sprawling summer’s night sky that looks like black paint. Potter tastes like Guinness every time he kisses him, and his hands are surprisingly soft. In direct opposition to his own command he pulls Potter in by the face and glues their mouths back together ravenously. The alcohol makes him sloppy (he likes it, though — the sloppiness of it) and Potter’s skin is warm where Draco slides his hand under an ugly Muggle band T-shirt to touch. 

Around the corner, he can hear music coming from the patio where nearly every single one of their former classmates are gathered, drinking and laughing and getting along famously with a much-needed buffer of five years between them and their Hogwarts days.

Much-needed for himself and Potter as well. Apparently.

He sees him sometimes, at get-togethers like this or around the Ministry, once or twice at a dinner party thrown by a mutual friend. They’re always cordial. He hasn’t insulted Potter to his face in five years.

Except for tonight, when he couldn’t help himself loudly drawing attention to the similarities between Potter’s hair and one of the shrubs in the garden. But they’re kissing now round the side of the house and because of that he’s quite glad for his slip. And it’s their five-year reunion, so. What would it be without some bickering between the two of them?

Potter presses him into the bricks and snogs him breathless, only he keeps grinning and laughing and ruining everything just when Draco starts losing himself in it.

“Quit laughing,” he scolds him. “You’re the worst, Potter. No etiquette at all.”

“That’s rude,” Potter says. His breath wafts across Draco’s mouth. His eyes are excessively green behind their round frames, which have not changed since their school days. The scar is mostly hidden beneath his wild fringe, save for the very bottom where it slashes neatly through a dark eyebrow and touches his eyelid. “I can’t help it, I’m pissed good and proper.”

His hand moves to Draco’s hip and even through the thickness of the alcohol coating his brain like a muffler he feels that touch clear and ripe as daybreak.

“So  that’s  why you’ve decided to snog me rather than …” He waves a hand vaguely, in lieu of the proper witticism with which he might normally have trounced Potter. “You know. Beat me to a pulp.”

“I only did that one time,” Potter says, grinning. Grinning and moving his thumb in circles on Draco’s hip. “And it was because you were being a twat. And I didn’t beat you to a pulp. You’re so dramatic.”

“Semantics,” Draco says. “I had a bloody nose.”

“And you deserved it.”

“Now who’s being rude?”

Potter kisses him again.

Guinness and Freesias.

* * * 

“Macmillan’s party,” he told Pansy. “He kissed me.”

“So that’s where you disappeared to.” She looked smug. Her inch-long nails were sharpened to a point and painted a glossy black, and she drummed them against her cheek, the way a cat flicks its tail. “I’m surprised you kept it from me this whole time.”

“Well,” said Draco, lowering his gaze to his glass of wine and watching it flirt dangerously with the lip as he swirled it. His cheeks felt warm, but he wasn’t embarrassed. “We snuck around.”

Right, maybe a little embarrassed. Mostly conflicted.

“Oh?” For a single syllable the laughter underneath was remarkably transparent.

He looked up, eyebrows lifted. “Yes,” he said a little defensively. “For obvious reasons. At first it was just sex. A lot of it, so he usually came here. Apparently Granger and the Weasel are notorious for popping round his place unexpectedly.”

* * *

He feels opened up all over again every time Potter fucks into him, unhurried and so careful. His hand is hot on Draco’s thigh, both of them sticky with sweat and come. This has to be their third round at least, and Draco’s sluggish brain insists it might actually be four.

An open window lets in the late afternoon air, humid and drowsy and perfumed heavily with flowers (a la Macmillan, Draco planted Freesias and Freedom Roses outside his bedroom window and helped them along to full bloom with some careful magic). Potter’s hair is damp with sweat — from exertion and the relentless heat of July — and Draco slides his fingers into it, tangles them and pulls the way he’s learned Potter likes. If he’s honest, he’s harboured a very secret and  very  desperate yearning to touch Potter’s hair since he was quite young. He doesn’t know why.

Well, maybe he knows why.

Potter makes a quiet, whimpered noise that curls Draco’s toes. He speeds up his hips, closing in on his orgasm and putting his face in Draco’s neck even though it’s too fucking hot for it.

“Fuck,” Draco whines. He tries to lift his leg higher, wrap it around Potter’s waist to get that perfect angle, but they’re too slick with sweat and he lets out a frustrated noise when it falls back to the bed. “Potter,” he says helplessly, arching into each thrust and shaking with the effort. This third (fourth?) orgasm is building too slowly, sitting there hard and stubborn and heavy in his gut and refusing to be coaxed to completion. He’s dripping with the effort, muscles quivering. “Please — I need —”

But he seems to have figured it out for himself. He scoots forward, lifting Draco’s arse higher off the bed and bending him nearly in half. The angle helps him go deeper and he’s suddenly nudging Draco’s oversensitive prostate every time he fucks back in.

“Right there,” Draco gasps, tensing as this new angle lights a fire under his elusive orgasm. His cock is leaking but he doesn’t have the strength or energy to get a hand around it. Potter’s grunting with the effort of fucking him, sweat dripping down his temples and making his neck and torso gleam. “Right there, god, right there, please, I’m so close —”

Potter braces himself and redoubles his efforts, and it’s like he’s reached inside Draco and sunk his claws into that building storm in his belly because suddenly it’s ripped right out of him in a colossal wave of euphoria that approaches too much, cock spurting untouched between them  .  Potter keeps moving inside him while he rides it out, and at some point he feels the warm, wet explosion of Potter emptying in him, mumbling incoherent things that include Draco’s name.

They come down together too. Draco is clutching Potter’s arms and trying to catch his breath and Potter is trembling and clutching him back like an anchor in a veritable ocean of sensation. 

It’s like this every time. 

When Potter drops down onto the bed beside him Draco rolls over and kisses him, long and deep and satisfying, and Potter reciprocates with the kind of intensity that is completely unique to him as a person.

“That one was particularly good,” says Potter, and Draco laughs.

When he feels like moving, he knows that Potter will get up and go to Draco’s kitchen and make tea for both of them, and he won’t need to ask what Draco likes, because he remembered after the first time. They’ll drink it naked in bed as the sun sets on another endless summer day and transforms before their eyes into a humid and pungent summer night, in the midst of which they will fuck at least three more times, and Potter will keep smelling like sweat and bergamot and boy, and Draco will keep feeling starved for him.

And they won’t talk about it.

* * *

“And?” Pansy said.

“And what?”

“You said ‘at first,’” she pointed out, and arched a groomed eyebrow. “When did it turn into more than just sex?”

Draco tamped down on a smile, because that would have been more emotion than he cared to show at the moment. To Pansy or to himself.

He swirled his wine again and took a long sip, stalling. He wanted — needed, really — to talk this out with her, but he was becoming aware of an uncomfortable heaviness in his chest which was suggesting to him that he didn’t want to share everything. Not because he was embarrassed, but, well … it was private. It was between him and Harry.

“There was this one night he came over later than he was supposed to because of work,” Draco said. The memory stirred some emotion. He hadn’t thought of it in a while. “He had this bloody huge takeout bag of Thai food.”

 * * *

He sets it down on Draco’s desk, takes out a container, and after toeing off his shoes drops sideways onto Draco’s bed with it and uses chopsticks to shovel in a mouthful of noodles. Draco watches this in awe.

“Want some?” Harry asks once he’s swallowed (small blessings). There’s grease around his mouth. “There’s a million other things in the bag but you have to get it yourself. I’m dead tired.”

Draco thinks of asking what the hell is going on, because they’re supposed to be fucking by now, but something stops him. Harry really does look exhausted but quite content eating his Thai food on Draco’s bed, and he doesn’t have the heart to berate him for it or remind him that they’re fuck buddies, not friends, and that if he’d wanted to eat and lounge about perhaps he should’ve stayed at home.

And the food really does smell good.

He gets up and fishes another container out of the bag that turns out to be some sort of heavenly-smelling marinated beef, which he brings back to the bed. Harry’s rolled onto his back and has the container of noodles balanced on his stomach.

“They thought they found a Horcrux on a raid,” he says. His voice is perfectly casual, but Draco thinks he can see something troubled in his eyes. He has one foot crossed over the other and  it’s bouncing anxiously; he doesn’t think Harry’s aware of doing it. “Wasn’t. Obviously.” 

“But they needed your expert advice to be sure.”

“Yeah.” Harry looks at him, then his food. “Is that the beef?”

“Yes it is.”

“Good?”

“Haven’t tried it yet.”

He opens the container and chooses a piece, but instead of lifting it to his mouth he follows some crazy impulse and hovers it over Harry’s instead.

“Open, Scarhead,” he says. Harry blinks but does it, and Draco drops it in. He smiles, then chews.

“Brilliant.”

* * *

“We ate it instead of fucking. It was the first time I realised something had shifted.”

“And you let it shift?”

The question gave him pause. He didn’t answer right away, mulling it over. It made it sound as if he’d had a choice, and that wasn’t quite right.

“It already had,” he said finally. “It wasn’t a matter of letting it; by the time I noticed, it had already happened. Otherwise he wouldn’t have come over with the food.”

“But you did let it continue,” said Pansy. She wasn’t antagonising him, nor accusing him of anything. She looked amused, but not in a way that was at his expense. Pansy was both a twat and a fiercely good friend, the combination of which meant she would do nothing more or less than hold up a mirror and force you to look at yourself, gruesome as the experience inevitably wound up being. “Even after you realised he had feelings for you.”

Draco swallowed. He’d not heard it said aloud before now.

“Yes,” he said. “It felt good. Knowing he fancied me.”

* * *

Harry’s shameless in his staring.

He stands in the doorway of the ensuite bathroom and watches Draco like he’s been invited to do so. Draco pretends not to notice, stretched out in a tub full of bubbles facing the opposite way. There’s incense burning, and candles. Harry is completely silent, but Draco could feel those eyes on him from across a crowded hall.

They fucked a few hours ago and fell asleep afterwards. Draco pretended not to think about it, but had actually made the conscious decision to let Harry continue sleeping when he woke up and decided he wanted a bath.

When he can’t take it anymore he opens his eyes and tilts his head back and a little to the side, just enough that he gets Potter in his peripherals.

“Well?” he says. 

“Well what?”

“Join me, won’t you?”

Harry snorts. Then there’s a quiver of magic in the air, and a small, utilitarian chair appears out of thin air beside the tub. Harry sits down in it. He’s holding the joint they’d only gotten halfway through earlier. 

He’s in his jeans and nothing else, all limbs and sparse chest hair, and when he crosses a leg over the other one, elbow resting on his knee as he hits the joint, Draco feels a bone-deep attraction to him that’s beyond physical.

“May I?” Draco asks. Harry hands it over and Draco inhales deeply before returning it. The humidity of the room mixes with the smoke and the smell of marijuana, pungent and cloying like the flowers. 

After a length of silence, Draco says, “Will you read me something?”

“Will I what?”

He takes his wand from the floor and Summons a book from the shelf in his room — one of his poetry collections comes sweeping in through the cracked door and into Harry’s lap. Harry sticks the joint between his lips and starts rifling through it with his glasses all fogged up. 

When he starts reading Byron (“I had a dream, which was not all a dream”) Draco smiles and sinks deeper into the hot water and bubbles, letting Harry’s voice lull him into a pleasant stupor. 

 * * *

“So you led him on,” said Pansy. “Because you liked his attention.”

He stared at her, then let his gaze drop to his wine again. Had he?

“It sounds bad when you say it like that.”

“Well,” she said, smiling wryly, “I’m only saying it as you’ve told it to me. Maybe if it sounds bad, it is bad. Some things are that simple, darling. Unless there’s more to it.”

“Like what?” he said, not looking at her. There was a touch of pouty defiance in his voice he knew Pansy would detect instantly. He heard her sigh.

“What exactly happened yesterday, Draco? You didn’t give me any context.”

“What context do you need?” he muttered. “He told me he loved me.”

* * *

They’ve finished an entire bottle of wine between them. He’s not drunk, but he’s pleasantly buzzed. Harry’s sprawled on his back, T-shirt rucked up just below his navel so Draco can see the dark trail of hair leading below his jeans. There’s something implicitly erotic about the movement of his chest when he breathes, his hands folded behind his head, one leg stretched the length of the bed and the other bent at the knee.

He opens his eyes suddenly and grins when he sees Draco looking at him. 

“That wine just made me tired,” he says.

“So go to sleep,” says Draco. He takes a last swig, emptying it, and sets the bottle aside on his night table. He stretches his arms over his head and arches his back, yawning widely, thinking perhaps he’ll give into the tempting allure of sleep as well when Harry says, “I told Hermione about us.”

So he’s not sleeping, then. His stomach clenches hard and a completely irrational sense of panic rises in his throat.

“Us?” he says slowly, sitting up straighter. “What ‘us’?”

Harry looks at him upside-down, then rolls over and rises to his knees. He stares at Draco blankly.

“‘What us?’” he repeats.

“Yes,” says Draco. “What ‘us’?”

“Us,” Harry says. His voice is lower than usual. The word is starting to sound weird and lose meaning. “You and me, Draco.”

“‘You and me?’ Harry, there’s no you and me. We’re just fucking. What do you … what do you mean, you told Granger? Told her what?”

Harry looks … well, he looks fucking crushed. And angry. Draco forces himself not to look away.

“I told her I’d been seeing you,” he says quietly. There’s something … not threatening, but close to it, in his voice.

“Sure,” says Draco. “I see you three times a week, sometimes four. I s’pose if you feel the need to fill Granger in on everything you do with every second of your day —”

“Shut up, Draco,” Harry says. “You know what I meant.”

Draco glares at him. He gets off the bed, slightly lightheaded from the wine, horrified by the emotions welling up inside him right behind the panic, and he points at his bedroom door.

“Get out,” he says. 

“Are you serious?”

“Go!” he says loudly, voice rising. “If you’re gonna start turning this into something it definitely is not then get out of my flat, Potter.” As usual the window is open, but it’s the third of September and getting chilly finally and Draco’s Freesias and Freedom Roses started wilting last week. There’s a chilly breeze coming into that room that is utterly barren of the sweet smells of summer he associates with Harry these days. “It’s time we ended this anyway,” he says. “Summer’s over.”

“So?” From his position kneeling on Draco’s bed Harry shouldn’t feel imposing at all, but he does. There’s no sparkle of humour in his eyes, none of the softness Draco’s gotten used to seeing there. He looks like someone who’s realised they’ve been betrayed.

Worse than that. Someone who’s been betrayed and realises they should have seen it coming.

“What the fuck does summer have to do with anything?”

“Ever heard of a summer fling, Potter? We’re not ‘seeing each other’.”

Harry finally gets off the bed. Draco’s stomach clenches again, more painfully this time. He doesn’t feel bad, he tells himself — this is Harry’s fault. His fault for making a big deal out of something easy and fun and, most of all, temporary. For ruining this with feelings. 

 “That’s not what this was,” Harry says. It’s not an argumentative tone; rather, he sounds disappointed. Devastated, and disappointed. And that look of betrayal, like he’s surprised but not …  that  surprised.

That hurts. 

“This was as real as it gets, Draco,” he says matter-of-factly. “You and I don’t have the capability of doing anything as shallow as a fling.”

“Well, Potter,” says Draco, straining to maintain his level voice, “congratulations, because that is the most disgusting, romanticised, Gryffindorian piece of shit I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah?” He grabs up his wand from the bedside table and stuffs it into his jeans pocket. “Well here’s another: I love you. You complete fucking prick.”

Draco stares after him as he leaves the room, cowed for the moment. He hears Harry take the Floo powder off his mantle, hears the fire start, and then the sound of Potter disappearing. 

And he feels hollow suddenly.

* * *

“And he said it completely out of the blue?” 

Draco set his wine aside. He was suddenly feeling too sick to put anything else in his body.

“Sort of,” he said quietly, avoiding her eyes. “He was trying to make something out of nothing. He was just making a point, trying to guilt me, I don’t even think he meant it.”

Pansy said nothing for so long that Draco finally looked up. She had an eyebrow raised.

“Do you really believe that?” she said.

Draco didn’t answer right away. He glanced at the bottle of wine on the table and thought about the way it always tasted a little sweeter on Harry’s lips.

“I don’t know,” he said. “No. But it doesn’t change anything. It was a summer thing, not a … a relationship, for crying out loud. Like I’d date Potter.”

“Why not?”

Draco scoffed. “Why not? Pansy, please. He’s a …”

“A …?”

“He’s an idiot! He’s Potter!  He’s …” He couldn’t think of the right word, something bad enough to express the audacity, the gall , for Potter to think even for a second  that they could …

“Draco Malfoy,” said Pansy. She was smirking. “You love him too.”

Had he felt sick before?  Now he was going to be sick.

“I never would’ve imagined it,” she went on, seeming to take pleasure from his outrage and humiliation. The bint. “Look at you, you’re blushing! Oh my god,” she laughed. And then she stopped laughing, and instead the weight of her own words appeared to descend on her. “Oh my god. You do, don’t you? You are arse over tits for Harry Potter —”

He was up and out of his chair before she’d finished the last word, absurdly,  embarrassingly on the verge of tears all of a sudden. 

“Draco —”

“I’m glad this can serve as your entertainment for the week, Pansy,” he said. A tear rolled down his cheek — could he be any more histrionic? — and he brushed it away furiously. 

“Draco, no —”

“Call Blaise, tell him!” he shouted. “You two can have a good laugh over it —”

“Draco  —”

“Poor Draco’s  fucked himself over again, what a stupid wanker!” 

Pansy got up. He slapped her hand away when she reached for him, but she only came at him again and grabbed it this time when he swatted at her, enfolding it in both of hers. He closed his eyes and hiccoughed and two more tears came.

“Darling, will you please listen to me?” she said softly. It sounded eerily like his mother, which only made him feel young and childish. He tugged his arm away and she let him go, but he didn’t move any farther away. “I am  not  laughing at you,” she told him. “Blaise might, but that’s because Blaise has a black hole for a heart, Draco, the only emotion he’s ever felt is disdain.” Against his will, Draco chuckled wetly. Pansy smiled and took his hand again, tentatively. He allowed it. “ I think it’s lovely that you have feelings for him. I don’t understand what’s got you so upset, I mean … I know it’s Potter, but we’re not teenagers anymore, right? Who cares?”

Draco exhaled a long sigh.

“He let my father go to Azkaban,” he said softly, looking into her eyes. He saw comprehension dawning. “How can I be with someone who could’ve saved my father’s life and chose not to, Pansy?”

“No one could have saved your father, Draco,” said Pansy gravely. His throat was tight, swollen. He hated that he was hanging on her words, looking for truth in them,  wanting to hear something that would make this okay. “He would have done the same thing if they’d let him go back to the manor. It’s not your fault or your mum’s or Potter’s.”

“But —”

“But what?” she cut him off sharply. “Draco, please don’t let your father keep controlling your life from the grave! My god, you deserve happiness, don’t you see that? Even if it’s Potter! In fact, I … I think that could be really good.”

“What, being with Potter?”

“Yes, being with Potter,” she said. “Darling, I say this because I love you: you need to grow a pair of bollocks and start taking control of your own life. I’m not finished!” she added when he opened his mouth to retort. “I understand that it feels like a betrayal of your father, I do, and I’m not saying you can’t have your cherished memories of him, but Draco … you cannot live your life in his shadow, doing things because it’s what he’d want or wouldn’t want. I think that choosing to explore these feelings you have for Potter is the bravest and healthiest thing you could possibly do for yourself.”

He stared at her for a long moment, eyes wet though the tears had stopped falling. 

“What if it doesn’t last?” he said finally. “What if next week he realises it was a huge mistake?”

“First of all, I doubt that,” said Pansy with a roll of her eyes that was clearly meant to be teasing. “You said you’ve been seeing him all summer, that’s plenty of time to have gotten sick of you. And, even if that did happen, I still think it would be entirely worth that week of being disgustingly in love.”

“Do you?” he drawled.

“Yes! I do!” She picked up his discarded wine glass from before and held it up. “Does the effect of alcohol last forever?”

“No …”

“Of course not! And we don’t expect it to. We expect to have fun while we’re drunk and it’ll last as long as it lasts.”

“Dating someone isn’t like being drunk, Pansy,” Draco said sourly.

“Oh, that’s not the point ,” she huffed. “We don’t do things because we know they’ll last forever, we do them because we want to. In the moment.”

“Sounds irresponsible.”

“Well, of course it is,” she scoffed. “Love is completely irresponsible, that’s the fun of it, Draco. Now take this,” she shoved the glass of wine into his hand, almost spilling it. “Drink up, and then get your arse over to his flat and fix this.”

* * *

Granger opened the door. Draco sighed.

“Hello, Granger,” he said lamely. Her raised eyebrows said she was surprised and thoroughly unimpressed by his appearance.

“Malfoy,” she said.

“Is Potter in?”

“I guess that depends.”

“On?”

She looked at him, dark brown eyes impenetrable. Then she closed the front door behind her.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“To talk to him,” he said tightly. As if this whole thing wasn’t bad enough, now he had to pass a test to get past Granger the bridge troll. “I thought he told you —”

“He did,” she said flatly. “And about yesterday.”

“Well I’m here to apologise,” said Draco. Granger’s eyebrows lifted again. Still unimpressed. “And to tell him …” He sighed again and broke eye contact, willing himself not to give up, not to take this as a sign he should just go home and ream into Pansy for giving him such bad advice.

“Malfoy.” He looked up. Her voice was softer now, and her eyes seemed a little less hard. “What are you doing? You really hurt him, you know.”

“I know,” he said stiffly. “I said I’m here to apologise.”

“Well he doesn’t need an apology,” she said. “If you’re only going to let him down again —”

“I’m not.” He rubbed his forehead and looked at her again, exasperated, defeated. “I’ve … had some sense talked into me.”

She looked like it was the last thing she’d been expecting. 

“Have you?”

“Yes,” he said. “So would you please get him for me before I lose my nerve?”

It was the right thing to say. Her expression melted into something much softer and he fancied he even saw the beginnings of a smile.

“Can I ask who affected this change of heart?”

“Pansy,” he said. And, when Granger seemed taken aback, “She’s very wise when she feels like it.”

“I see. Well …” She still looked a bit conflicted, eyeing him and then putting her hand on the doorknob. “All right. I’ll tell him you’re here, anyway, but he was really hurt, Malfoy. I don’t know if he’ll want to hear it.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he said.

Granger eyed him another moment and then went back inside, shutting the door behind her. Draco only had to wait a minute before it was opening again, and this time Harry came out. The sight of him made Draco’s heart feel tender and sore.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi, Potter.”

He waited to see if Harry would say anything else but he didn’t. He only stared at Draco expectantly, arms folded, in all ways closed off.

“I came to apologise,” said Draco.

“Well you can keep it,” said Harry. “I don’t need an apology because you told me the truth.”

“It wasn’t the truth, Potter,” Draco said quietly. “Opposite, really.”

Harry was silent. Then, “You made me feel like shit, Draco.”

“I know. I’m sorry. You freaked me out, springing it on me like that.”

A beat, then two, and then suddenly Harry was dropping his arms and sighing and he looked at Draco with so much vulnerability he nearly had to turn away from it.

“I didn’t mean to tell you …” He licked his lips, scratched his arm. It reminded Draco that beneath everything, Harry was still the same awkward dorky leader-of-the-losers he’d always been, just with a bit more confidence now and the title of Official Saviour of the Wizarding World. “I wouldn’t have said that if … I was just angry.”

He didn’t need to ask what Harry was referring to.

“I know.”

“Not that I didn’t … I mean, I … I do —”

“Please don’t say it again,” Draco said. Harry laughed.

“Right. I just meant … I really do have feelings for you, Draco. Like … mad, crazy feelings, y’know? I don’t want it to be a fling.”

“It wasn’t a fling,” he said. He moved a little closer and Harry watched him carefully, eyes flickering once down to Draco’s mouth. “I didn’t even sleep with anyone else the whole time.”

“Well that’s good to know,” said Harry sardonically. But he was smiling, so Draco found himself smiling tentatively as well.

“I wanna be with you, Potter. Properly. I thought …” But he shakes his head, deciding that now isn’t the time to explain about his father. “I thought it was a stupid idea. Now I realise that it probably is, but that I don’t really care much. I’ve decided to ignore my better judgment this one time.”

“That’s quite Gryffindor of you,” Harry commented drily.

“Yes, well.”

“So I go against your better judgment, then?”

“Potter,” Draco sighed. “Please, I don’t mean it like —”

“I’m taking the piss, Draco,” Harry cut him off. He reached for Draco’s waist and pulled him close, and before Draco could get his breath back from a short, surprised intake of breath Harry’s mouth was on his, warm and familiar and soothing. He brought his hands to Harry’s face and kissed back without bothering to hide his overwhelming relief.

Harry chased his mouth when he pulled away and Draco breathed out a laugh, holding him at bay with a hand on his chest. 

“We have plenty of time,” he said. “D’you wanna come over later tonight, after your friends leave?”

“What? No, come in.” He took Draco’s hand and gestured with his head towards the door. “Please. It’s just Ron and Hermione. They know everything.”

“Really?” Draco drawled. “And you think Weasley won’t try to kill me?”

“I promise not to let him,” Harry grinned. “Please, Draco. You said you wanted to do this properly, right?”

He thought of what Pansy said about being irresponsible, and decided it was worth a try at least.

“Okay,” he said. Harry beamed and tugged him inside.

Towards his ultimate downfall or towards the beginning of the rest of his life, he didn’t know. That, as Pansy would have said, was the fun of it.

[retiredteabag]

Dying to remeber

Pairing: Hawks x reader

Genre: angst (hanahakai Disease)

Word count: ...

Synopsis: you were so in love with Keigo, you spent the past two years working with him at his agency, but everyday grows harder as you realize he never has and never will feel the same.

——————————————————————————

The clouds seemed awful close to the ground that day, y/n made her way to the subway station, she took one, last, lingering glance at the sky and moved forward into the dark underpass. The subway had a certain smell about it, that’s why people can always tell if you come by car or by the underground, where she lived, the cheapest way to get round’ was the tunnels so that’s how she always came and went.

Y/n looked out of her office window, she was at least fifteen stories up, but instead of looking at the people below she was looking at the clouds that seemed close enough to grab. Almost....almost. Lunch break was in five, when her co-workers cell rang.

Keigo’s phone.

Y/n’s face remained stoic as she herd him speak to his beloved, promising he will see her for lunch, and that’s when she drew her eyes away from the sky and to the ground, hiding her face (as not to be found eavesdropping). After a time she finally tore her eyes from the people beneath her, not because of the distance from the ground to her office, not that she ought to get getting back to work, no, she simply felt the urge to cough.

Seemingly simple, it may be. Yet when she coughed her throat only began to itch more, and it felt as though she could hardly breath.

When we are young and ill, we often cry when we puke, its natural instinct. A child can hardly control themselves as they shake from the feeling of not being able to help but nearly suffocate while emptying their stomach, and honestly, the feeling is pretty dreadful in and of itself.

That sensation is exactly what she felt as she coughed, until, eventually, one, singular petal landed into her (bacteria infested 😷) hand. If you are one for specifics, it was the petal of the forget-me-not, often mistaken for a flower, they were actually weeds. The blue petal lay in her hand. It took a moment to process before she looked away and tossed the petal into the trash. However, she knew it would only progress from there.

That one petal soon grew into fully grown forget-me-nots, until the weeds turned into flowers. Sickeningly beautiful, peach marigolds, white daffodils, dainty freesias and then carnations, yellow carnations. Known to be the most sorrowful flower. They all presently became painted in her own blood.

They followed her everywhere, seemed to be in every part of her senses, she could feel them entangle her.

It took only two weeks after that first forget-me not-petal to finally turn from the other flowers to the rose. The morbid irony was obvious, roses resemble joy, longevity, but most pointedly, love, they symbolized love. The satire mockery lay in her hands, around her apartment, in her cubicle trash bin and the office bathroom. It hurt but she knew how to hide it, the florae lay waste all around her, flooding her sense with the nauseating pungency that was… roses, stem, thorns and all.

Tamaki Kaigo, he whom she had loved so wildly, he who had made flowers grow and bloom in the darkest part of her, flowers so gorgeous, yet so very fatal.

He probably didn’t even know her name, though he still smiled at her, still asked her how her day was when they saw each other in the elevator, she was nothing more than a mere coworker to him.

Y/n knew it was coming, and the worst part, she wasn’t scared. She went to work like any other day, sat in her chair and listened to the tapping of pens, the gentle clicking of keys and she saw once again just how close the clouds seemed. Hawks received his dayly

call, and for some reason y/n could feel the tears pricking at her eyes, and they sting, burn almost, for the first time she stares, really stares at the man.

How foolish she was to believe he would see anything in her, to see her at all.

Y/n is no longer afraid to be caught in the act of eavesdropping, it’s not as though he would notice anyway. He looks happy, you know. And that’s all that really matters.

The last cough brought a soft and beautiful baby’s breath that daintily danced and floated to Y/n’s apartment windowsill, standing proud in a pile of bloody roses. And the ridicule was as clear as day. You see, the baby’s breath is meant to show not just purity and innocence but unconditional, loyal, love of the most everlasting form. Love one would die for within the blink of a lie.

The last thing that caught Y/n’s eye, the last memory was the clear sky, she saw no clouds that day, and how sad she thought it was to not know how far the clouds were from her reach for once.

——————————————————————————

This is so unedited I’m sorry 😩

I’ve always wanted to write about the hanahakai disease and I genuinely do love hawks so I figured I would give it a shot :) lemme know your thoughts

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

From Eden: One

Warnings: noncon sexual acts, mentions of mental illness; tags to be added throughout series

This is dark!Bucky. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The mc suffers from agoraphobia. After a new neighbour moves in across the street, her home becomes even more of a prison.

Note: So I've decided to try something new. I'm hoping that you don't mind the new format. This story is written in first person in the form of diary entries. Transcripts will be included at the end of chapters to accomodate any who have issues reading the images.

I am still working on Omerta but chapter 12 is taking me a little bit longer to complete so hopefully this can tide you over until tomorrow. Thank you so much for your patience! And support!!

As always, if you are so inclined, please like, reblog, and comment. <3

Transcript:

Sunday

It rained today. I hoped it would break the humidity but the air is still balmy and thick. The garden is starting to droop without the usual June sunlight. The shrubs look healthy but I don’t know if the mums will bloom. It is late for them.

The windows are clouded now the rain is gone. Once they dry, it will be suffocating again. I should have pulled out the old patio set last weekend but Lorena was here for the groceries. My meds are running low, I’ll have to remind her.

Oh, I found the old afghan grandma used to use. The one with the knitted flowers. Not a single hole. I’ll wash it and hang it over the loveseat in the lounge. It still smells of her. It’ll be two years next week. I miss her.

The kettle is whistling. Lorena bought a new flavour of tea; a spiced rooibos. It smells more suited to the winter but I’m anxious to try. It’ll boil over if I keep writing. 

I found a documentary on a country house in the British Midlands. I might watch that with my tea. Or maybe fall asleep on the couch. Again.

Monday

I have a new neighbour.

Today, I went out to check the bulbs I planted two weeks ago. I don’t think they’ll bud. It was humid and I had sweat in my eyes as the large truck pulled up across the street. The orange moniker on its side was faded and its white paint was almost yellow. I peeked out the gate as they backed it up. 

The beeping was horrible, almost deafening.

A car was just behind it. I shouldn’t be so curious but grandma always said I was a watcher. Watching is easy; doing is… difficult. 

My new neighbour is a man. He has dark hair and a thick beard. I thought I was hallucinating when I saw the rest of him. His arm shone in the sunlight. It’s metal! I’ve never seen anything like it. I never saw a prosthetic that ended in anything but a hook or a blunt stump. I guess, I never really thought much about it.

I think he saw me too. It is hard to see behind the ivy that covers the front gate but I swore he could see me. I hid before I could make sure of it. It’s rude to stare. That’s what grandma would say. So went back to the flower bed and dug up the bulbs. They were dead.Lorena is coming tomorrow. I’ll ask her to grab more.

Tuesday

Lorena came buy today. She commented about my new neighbour. I acted surprised.

I gave her my list and reminded her of my pills. She was gone for a while before she returned. When she returned, I helped her bring in the bags. We unpacked them and she told me about her new niece; Cora. I think that’s a pretty name but Lorena thinks it’s too old fashioned. She said I would like it given my usual tastes. 

She asked if I was wearing grandma’s shirt. I lied and said I wasn’t.

I showed her the garden and she had some tea after helping me set up the heavy iron patio set with the mosaic tabletop. 

She showed me pictures of Cora. She said when she marries Shelby, she wants to adopt but her sister offered to be her surrogate. I thought that was nice.She left shortly after. I’m in the garden, staring at the old shed as I write. The frame around the window is starting to fall apart. I should fix it soon. And maybe clean the--

Later

The man was at the gate. The one with the metal arm. He scared me.

I hid behind the ivy as I looked out at him. His eyes are very blue. Piercing. Despite the heat, they made me want to shiver. His metal fingers wrapped around one of the curlicues of the gate. He said hello and that his name was Bucky.

I nearly swallowed my tongue as I ran away. I didn’t dare grab my diary until the sunset. He was gone, thank god. I hope he doesn’t come back.

Wednesday

Doctor Tisha called today. She wants me to come in at the end of the month to have my prescriptions reviewed. I told her they were helping much better than the old ones. No more vertigo or manic fits, but my dreams are really vivid. She also reminded me that I should make more of an effort to go beyond the garden. The pills can’t do all the work. Well, I think there are parts of me that just can’t be fixed.

I cleaned out the birdbath but the shed window is still drooping. There’s a spider web above the door and I’m working up the courage to open it. My grandma was always the brave one; she called her slippers ‘the exterminators’. She always made me laugh.

Then the man returned. His knuckles make an odd clinking on the gate when he knocks. I didn’t move at first. I’d rather have faced the spider and her web. But he kept on and it was getting rather annoying.

He pulled some of the ivy aside as I got close. I kept to the edge and peeked out at him. He held a box of freesias. 

“Hey again.” 

 He speaks as if he knows me. I don’t like that. He didn’t even care that I didn’t answer. 

“I see you like to garden so I thought I’d bring you some flowers. To introduce myself…. Better. I’m sorry if I scared you yesterday.”

I didn’t know what to say. The freesias were all shades of red, orange, and yellow. Young with a bit of growing still to do. I shook my head.

“You don’t want them?” He asked.

I frowned so hard it hurt my cheeks. I haven’t talked to anyone by Lorena or Doctor Tisha since grandma died. I was never good at that.

“No, I don’t know you.” I felt as if it was someone else talking.

He blinked and I suddenly felt very dizzy. I ran back to the shed and ripped the door open without thinking. The web caught in my hair as I slammed it shut behind me. I sat in the shadows as I tried to wipe away the web. The old rubbermaid lid warped beneath me, if not cracked. 

 I didn’t come out until the musty air made me sick. As I ran into the house, I noticed he had left the flowers on the other side of the gate. I locked the door behind me and shuddered. I swore I felt eight legs crawling down my arm.

Thursday

Sure enough, the flowers are still there. They haven’t wilted at all despite the intense heat of the sun. June is in full effect and the days get brighter and longer. 

 I found the old weather vane grandma said was swept away in a storm. It was hidden behind the row hedges along the stone wall around the yard. It’s bent but fixable.

 I went inside to eat at noon. I looked out the window as I ate; the strawberries were sour. I saw a shadow through the gate. I watched for a while, sure it was the shifting of the sun. Then I saw the metal fingers and the man’s square jaw as he tried to see past the ivy. He knelt and touched the dainty petals of the freesia. He lifted one of the small pots to sniff and placed it back in the box.

He left shortly after. I won’t go back out. I need to work on the house anyway. All this dust is making me sneeze.

Friday

The flowers are still there.

I refuse to look at them. Instead I focus on my own. I brought the old sony tape deck out to listen to the radio. Grandma always said it was older than me. I believe her. The speakers crackle and the antenna kept falling off.

The robins and sparrows were at the birdbath and a pair of cardinals have taken up in the old painted birdhouse around the back. The squirrels broke the window frame on the shed. Well, I’ll deal with that next week.

The flowers are starting to bloom nicely. I thought they might not, given the late showers and the sudden drought. 

There was a monarch butterfly by the carnations. It flew away before I got too close. My mother liked monarchs. I remember she had one framed in her room. Like the picture of her in grandma’s.

I try not to think of her. Or grandma, too much. 

It makes me sad. Doctor Tisha says this isn’t grandma’s house anymore, it’s mine. My life is mine, she tells me. It’s never really felt like it but I’m trying.

Saturday

The lock on the gate is broken and the flowers are gone. They didn’t go far. I found them planted by the lilies. I had tears in my eyes and my hands shook terribly as I wound an old bike lock around the gate. I picked up the pieces of the old latch. It’s totally ruined.

I haven’t been out since. I’m scared. Was it him? 

It seems like a kind gesture but the memory of the busted lock makes me think otherwise.I’m confused. What does he want?

He should’ve let the flowers wilt and die. Or maybe I should just learn to tell people to leave me alone. Out loud.

[miki-snake]

📖: freesias are all what you can think of, so much it feels like they’re taking your breath away and crushing your lungs ⭕️: angst, unrequited love, hanahaki disease, mentions of possible death 🔍: 5.2k+

taglist: @sugasugawarau, @drabblily​, @igenll​

A/N: It didn’t come out as angsty as I wanted it to be but well,,, hope you can still enjoy it and thanks to @igenll​ and @drabblily​ for giving me feedback on my work, ily two!

Hanahaki disease is a fictional disease, where flowers are growing inside of your lungs. Starting with coughing up petals and flowers until eventually the flower is blocking all of your airways and you die. 

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

“Alright, let’s meet up today. I gotta tell you some great news!”

You remembered his words as you sat down on the ground, blooming freesias adorning the stretched out field. The infinite blue sky was drowned in streaks of orangey-reds, like clouds dipped into the image of dusk and hung up on earth’s ceiling, leaving them open to dry. It was a picture out of a fairy tale, the scene so serene it felt like you were trapped inside a painting. You had to think about him, Terushima Yuuji, the colorful accents of the landscape reminding you of him. Freesias, his favorite kind of flowers, were holding the meaning of energy and being energetic. Just like him.

He was like the flicking neon lights on the late night streets, the lightning thundering down on the sea, the adrenaline rushing through the veins and the sunlight strays shining through the blinds of your room.

It was always fun to be around Yuuji, seeing him smile and grow into someone he could be proud of. You knew him since you changed to his middle school and up until now you two were like the sun and the moon. Inseparable and completing each other but opposites nonetheless.

He was the light that helped people to grow, the warmth of a sunny evening that would touch the hearts of the ones around him, while you were always swaying between flood and tide, shining only on the ones who couldn’t sleep at night.

Watching him was blinding you, though you couldn’t look away. He was always in the spotlight, not that it was his intention but people were naturally drawn to his outgoing personality and comedic behavior, like moths to the light. He was loud, wild and carefree but it was the silent nights you enjoyed the most.

It was just him lying in the field of freesias, while you made flower crowns out of them, placing them on his disheveled hair as he smiled up at you like he just won a prize. Sometimes he would braid your hair with the flowers inside of them, telling you how it looked good on you and that he wanted to do that more often. It was sure that when the sun goes down, the moon would grace the sky but when you looked at him like that, under the starry lights, it was like the sunlit day and the moonlit night would merge with each other, creating the impossible paradise you two found. Just like the others you were naturally drawn to him like gravity and there was no way you could turn around and leave him. So, you just kept him company until you were sure that he would leave you.

Your feelings for Yuuji ran deeper than any roots of a million years old trees, they were stronger than any natural force in the universe and they weighed heavier on you than any stone you could find on earth.

At first it was a light feeling of a crush, just like a summer breeze making you feel a little lighter when you were around him. Slowly, it turned into something you couldn’t name, it was more than a crush but surely you wouldn’t call it love just yet. It was a tingling feeling in your gut every time he looked at you and a prickling sensation on your skin where he left his touches. Though you were aware of your emotions and the way your thoughts on him shifted, you weren’t ready to approach him as more than a friend.

It was no secret that Yuuji had a great fan base of girls and occasionally boys. He was popular among young and old alike. While you waited and watched how person after person confessed their feelings to him, your inability to own up to your feelings made it harder for you to speak up. The butterflies in your stomach turned into a turmoil of clashing thoughts that crushed you into the ground, making you feel like it was getting harder to breathe.

It felt like he was moving further away and you could only stop him by screaming his name. Of course you two still talked to each other and you acted like everything was totally fine, even though it was quite the opposite of it.  As hard as you tried to call out to him, every time you opened your mouth you just started to cough. Those uncontrollable attacks grew more frequent, especially when you were alone with your thoughts.

The first time you realized that something was definitely wrong was during another one of those coughing attacks and you felt how something fell out of your mouth and into your hand. Opening the fist of yours, you could see something small, something in the color of red but it wasn’t blood, it was something that looked just like a flower petal.

The thought alone was scaring you, how did that even come out of you, no chance a plant would grow inside of your body. At first though, you didn’t want to visit the doctor and chose to take normal medicine to treat your sore throat. The attacks kept coming and going but in front of others you could normally hold yourself back, sometimes you still found one or two petals falling to your feet but never once did you make a doctor’s appointment.

Until on that one particular day.

It was on the weekend, the day just started for you and you already got a phone call from the boy that was haunting your dreams and occupied your mind. He was talking about how the two of you should definitely go to the fields again and he had some exciting news for you to hear.

To be honest, you couldn’t stop the fast beating of your heart, the moment he told you that he had something to tell you. Something inside of you wanted to believe that maybe it would be a proclamation of love at your favorite spot. Of course you agreed to meet up with him and somehow it felt a little easier for you to breathe. Like those "imaginary" branches inside your lungs finally made some space for fresh air to rush in.

Arriving at the agreed time you could already see his figure standing there, hands shoved inside the pockets of the red jacket he always wore. He looked like the same Yuuji as always, he looked like your Yuuji and as he turned around you could see how his face broke out into a bright smile. Instantly a wave of contentment rushed through your body, it was nearly silly that he could make you feel like that. How just one smile, no, just the look of him made your heart beat in the rhythm of your favorite song, your lips lift up into a real smile and your skin prickled in anticipation, feeling every passing gust of wind.

It was bordering on crazy how far you fell for him and that your love was engulfing all of you that you couldn’t even move anymore. Still, you moved forward, ready to fall all over again.

Right when you reached the top he took your arm and pulled you with him, both of you falling into the sea of blooming dreams.

Landing on the ground you could hear the loud and melodic laugh of your friend, obviously enjoying the little stunt you two just performed. You turned your head to the side to catch a glimpse of his face and he took your breath away. He just laid there, eyes closed and laughter tumbling out of his mouth. He looked so genuinely happy it felt like flowers were blooming inside of your chest, the butterflies residing in your stomach flying around.

He caught his breath again and turned to also look at you. Your eyes met and you could gaze into his almond looking eyes, drowning in the comfort he radiated.

Right then and there you wished you’d had the ability to just put the time on hold. You wanted to watch him smile at you like that for the rest of your life, wishing for this moment to never die, a part of you didn't even care anymore if he loved you back. Every fiber of your body just wanted to be by his side, no matter what he thought of you. Still, you couldn’t deny the yearning inside your heart, like a flower that tried to reach out for the sunlight.

Suddenly he sat up, taking your hands into his to pull you up and looked you straight in the eyes. “Alright, I wanted to tell you something important, so could you hear me out?”, he asked you, excitement evident in his voice. Seeing him so earnest made you shudder and you couldn’t trust your voice, so you just nodded your head.  “Great! Actually you’re the first person I’m telling it and yeah… wow somehow I’m nervous.”, he chuckled and the fact that he was nervous directly transferred over to you, making you feel even more jiddy. “Okay, I guess I’ll just tell you. I ehm.. I have a girlfriend! I think you might even know her, she went to the same high school…”, the rest of what he was telling you was drowned out by your roaring thoughts.

Terushima Yuuji. The Terushima Yuuji, your best friend, had a girlfriend? How did that happen? You wished you could listen to what he was saying but no matter how hard you tried to, your mind just slipped elsewhere. The news came crashing down on you, like standing underneath an ice cold waterfall. Honestly, if you’d stand underneath one in that moment, you’d want to drown in it. You fell hard and you fell all over again but you also fell into nowhere, no one ready to catch you. The part in you that hoped to hear a confession from him withered away, petal after petal falling into the pit where the shards of your heart can be found. Well, you did hear a confession, even a confession of love, just not for you.

It felt like roses were wrapped around your bleeding heart, their thorns piercing through it.

You had truly lost him to someone in the past and now there was no way for you to make him hear your voice again. It wasn’t disappointment you felt, it wasn’t anger you felt and it wasn’t sadness. It was a tight feeling in your throat, you felt like you would choke on all the emotions that went through you. You felt restricted and you lifted your hands to your chest, pressing against it to try and relieve the pain you felt.

All your pent up emotions were exploding inside of your ribcage, threatening to rise up your throat, so you only had the choice to either spit them out or to choke on them. You couldn’t hold back the cough, something blocking your throat and you desperately tried to get some air in your lungs. Fear was consuming your mind as it was getting harder and harder for you to control yourself. One of your hands clasped against your mouth because you already feared the sight of colorful petals rushing out of you. You wanted to understand what was going on but you weren’t able to grasp a coherent thought, your body shaking uncontrollably.

The feeling of two hands on your shoulders brought you back to reality and you tried to look at the person holding you. Your sight was blurry due to the tears in your eyes, the pain of barely getting enough air and the ache in your throat causing you to tear up. “Y/n, what’s happening?”, Terushima pulled you up until you were standing, or rather leaning into him.

“Please, do you need water? You have to try and tell me something.”, he panicked and moved you with him downhill. “If you don’t stop we need to get help. I’ll drive you to the hospital.”, abruptly you stood still and shook your head no. It couldn’t be that severe that you really needed to go to the hospital. It’ll probably pass soon, just like always. You wanted to tell him that but you still struggled with stopping your attack. It was never this strong before and you didn’t know why it was now all of the sudden. “Y/n it’s not getting better, I don’t care if you don’t want to go, I’m just gonna pick you up.”, he threatened you and in an instant you felt your feet being lifted off of the ground. He was holding you bridal style and ran towards his car, while you just tried to stay conscious.

I’m sorry but my friend needs help please, she’s been coughing all the time and it didn’t stop for a second!”, you could hear footsteps rushing over to you and a pair of hands guided you through the room. Terushima’s voice rang after you through the hallway, “Wait, I need to go with her!”. His voice sounded so scared and you wanted to turn around, telling him that everything will be fine but you couldn’t. Not only because your body was shaking from all the coughing but also because you knew you couldn’t bear to look at him right now. You heard how a nurse spoke up and tried to calm him down but it wasn’t that easy for you to hear. It was like cotton was pressed against your ears, muffling all the noises around you. Reaching a room, you sat down on a bed and tried to concentrate on what the doctor was talking about to the nurse. It was all in a blurr, your senses slowly shutting down.

The hand that covered your mouth started to lose the strength to stay in place and so a rush of petals came out with your coughs, sinking down and piling up in a mess of your emotions on the white floor. After that you couldn’t really remember much, your mind drifting off into a bitter sweet slumber.

Awoken from a loud beeping sound, your eyes tried to open but the bright light behind your eyelids made it nearly impossible. “Oh, so you're awake.”, a female voice rang in your ear as you turned your head to the side and forced one of your eyes to open up. A woman, probably a nurse, stood next to your bed working on the machine you were apparently plugged to. Trying to push yourself up into a sitting position you heard the nurse talk to you again. “Wait, take it easy. I’m gonna go and get the doctor, so he can explain the situation to you but I need you to stay put alright?”, she exclaimed and before you could reply in any way she turned around and rushed out of the door.

Now you remember, you were in the hospital. Looking over to the spot where the mess of flowers should be, you could see it all gone. Right, somehow your body produced flowers and they were probably the reasons why you had a hard time breathing. At least you were brought into the hospital on time before you choked to death.

Realization hit you like a road truck and you nearly fell from the bed. Terushima brought you to the hospital. He brought you here because you two met up. And you two met up because he had to tell you something important to him. He had a girlfriend.

The twing inside of you came back, the memories of his words rushed into your mind. It was so ridiculous how you got the worst attack with the hardest pain right in the moment he told you he had someone else he loved. It felt like life was looking down on you, cruelly laughing and testing how far a human heart can bend until it would snap in two.

You remembered how the pain bored deep into your bones and how moving and breathing was near impossible. Even though you should probably be concerned about your own health, the hurt of Terushima’s confession slightly overshadowed the uneasiness you felt towards the whole situation.

Terushima Yuuji had a girlfriend and it wasn’t you. His love would shine on someone else so they could bloom under his light and his warmth would bring someone else the comfort of home. He wouldn’t be your Yuuji anymore, he never was. Now, he was just Terushima a good friend of yours, well, more likely your best friend but the thought of being so close to him and not being as close as you wished to be, hurt you too much. People could call you a bad friend but you wouldn’t care because after you leave this building, you need time for yourself to heal.

The sun would go down instead of rising for you and sure, it might have been stupid of you to try and reach the sun, when you were nothing more than the moon. Not to be compared with Icarus, who flew too close to the sun and fell down into the sea in which he drowned. No, you weren’t even close enough anymore to feel the heat of the sun. It was only natural for you to not get close to him because when the sun rises the moon would go down and when it was time for the moon to shine, the sun would move to the other side.

You swam so deep in the sea of thoughts that you nearly missed the pair of footsteps passing through the door. Your eyes followed the noise and you could see the nurse from before but this time a doctor accompanied her.

They didn’t beat around the bush too much, introduced them, asked you how you were feeling and then they dropped the bomb. Apparently, you suffered from a disease called “Hanahaki”, which was a pretty rare disease and affected your respiratory system. More specifically it meant that a flower was growing inside of your lungs and it would eventually lead to the point where the plant would hinder you from breathing or even making it impossible for you to breathe. To say you were confused was an understatement. You sure weren’t working in the field of medicine but never did you hear of the Hanahaki disease. Well, they did say it was rare but it was still unbelievable. What on earth would cause a flower to grow inside of your lungs.

They showed you an x-ray of your lungs. There you could see it, the flower. And not any flower, no, it was a freesia. You’ve seen it so many times you were one hundred percent sure about it. The doctor must have seen the shocked look inside your eyes and fastly continued with his explanation. You weren’t prepared to hear about your disease but you sure as hell didn’t expect what he was telling you next. The reason behind all of this was nothing more than simply love. Unrequited love to be exact. The moment you heard those words coming out of his mouth, you felt how your heart sank into your stomach.

So, this is what you get for loving too hard. Not only a broken heart but also a deathly disease. Just great.

Moving on he told you about the options you had.

Option 1: going under surgery and getting the flower removed, which would cure you and ultimately lead to you forgetting about the feelings you had for Terushima. Still, another side-effect might be to completely forget the person you loved.

Option 2: die. Simple as that, just dying. The plant would keep growing until it blocked every way for you to breath.

After they told you everything you needed to know, they stepped out of the room, giving you some time to think things through.

If you’d go under the surgery you would be able to be alive and even get to free yourself from the pain you felt due to the unrequited love. You would forget every single ounce of love you harboured for him. Though the risk would be there for you to forget him as a person as well.

Every memory you had would be erased and he wouldn’t be your friend anymore, only a stranger. Is this what they should’ve been from the beginning? Nothing but perfect strangers? Losing him as your possible partner was hard and painful but losing him completely? That was like losing the only possibility for you to catch a glimpse of sunlight. You didn’t want to be stuck in the dark without him. Sure, there was the possibility that you wouldn’t forget him and even if you did, you wouldn’t remember it and so there would be no feelings of a loss, right?

Things could go so easy and you could just move on from the spot you were currently rooted in and though you might not remember it afterwards, you know it right now. You know what you would leave behind, all the hardships you’ve been through together and all the moments you just felt like forever wasn’t too far away. The others might call you stupid for even considering the other option but for you it was just part of loving him.

When you moved on he’d be with someone else but not completely out of reach. If you forget though, he’d be gone out of your life, at least for good. Still, you were sure that even if he’d know that you forgot him, he’d try everything in his possibilities to make you remember. But what if you don’t? Would it break him, knowing you would never remember all of your little adventures again? Would he lose trying?

It wasn’t clear if you could learn to remember again after the loss but from what the doctor’s told you, there weren’t really big chances. Maybe you two would learn to be friends again? You two became great friends once, so why not a second time? Though, it would be even more hurtful if you two wouldn’t become friends again. Could he let you go like that? Could he accept the fact that you two wouldn’t be the same as before? You knew that if he’d be the one to forget, you probably wouldn’t. Even if you’d two be friends again, who would assure you that you wouldn’t fall for this idiot again? Falling too far again and landing right back to the position you were currently in.

There was a knock on the door and as you turned your head towards it, you could see Terushima leaning against the doorframe, his body radiated exhaustion but concern was clear in his eyes. “Hey there, the nurse said I could come and visit you, as long as you would allow it.”, his voice was unusually wavering and all you wanted to do was hug him and assure him that you were okay.

He walked next to the bed and once again took one of your hands into his. “What did the doctor say? Is everything okay now?”, he asked you and the worry in his voice resulted in tears welling up in your eyes, you just couldn’t help it. Here he was, the person you loved with everything you had and also the reason behind your suffering.

How could life be so unfair? Who did you murder or hurt in your past life? How deep did you fall that it had to come this far.

The moment he saw the tears threatening to fall down your cheeks, he fell into panic. “Wh-What’s going on y/n? What did they say? I mean if you don’t want to tell me it’s fine, I can call your parents and when they arrive I can leave. Y/n I-”, you efficiently shut him up with your hand covering his mouth. It was already enough that he was so panicked, even though he didn’t know what would happen to you, you didn’t want him to leave now too.

“Don’t leave I-”, you stopped mid sentence but not because you had to cough again, but it was just too hard to tell him. You knew it would devastate him, knowing his best friend could die soon, who wouldn’t be?

“I… they told me that I was sick.”, your voice trailed off and you could see how his eyes were fixed on every word you said and so you lowered your hand back into your lap. “It’s called Hanahaki and is actually quite rare.”, your hands were balled into fists as your eyes wandered down, trying to avoid his blazing gaze. “And how sick?”, you could make out the light tremble in his voice, you knew that he was trying to control himself to not just bombard you with all of his questions. “Well, it’s called the Hanahaki disease and apparently that attacks my respiratory system, my lungs to be more exact.”, you confessed and when you didn’t hear an immediate reaction, your eyes moved up to catch his stunned expression. His eyes were wide open, mouth agape from the shock and his whole body tensed up. His face looked nearly funny to you but you knew there was nothing funny about this situation. He made a move to stand up but he instantly fell back on the bed, hands balled up into fists. He stared on the floor and you could see how he clenched his teeth, jaw locked into place.

“And how did this happen? Can it be cured?”, he asked the question you didn’t have an answer on, well technically you had but it wasn’t that easy. You wanted to tell him that it was something that is the result of normal natural occurrences and not because you loved him. You wanted to tell him that you can be cured but not with the cost of losing him. How can you look at him and tell him that you’ve made the decision to just… let it go.

You didn’t want to cut off your feelings for him, your love rooted so deep inside of your soul. Taking the flower out of your body meant taking a part of you away and denying your love. You might be free from it afterwards and wouldn’t remember what you’d lost but right now you know. You knew what you’d give up on and sure giving up on life might sound totally irresponsible and stupid as the other option but you wanted to live life without regrets.

And you didn’t regret your feelings, no, you never once did. You loved but you loved with everything you had and that was enough for you. Regretting your emotions would mean regretting all of the happy moments he gifted to you.

No, you didn’t regret, you just kept on loving.

You leaned forward until your right hand could get a hold of his chin, turning his face towards yours, so he was looking at you. When your gazes met, you swore a shard of your heart bored into your flesh. He looked so sad, so hopeless, it was hurting you. You wanted to wipe that expression off of his face and turn his lips into a grin, but you knew that whatever truth you were gonna say, it wouldn’t make him smile like he normally would.

“Yuuji, the only way would be surgery, but that might come with some complications and could result in memory loss and that’s not what I want.”, you told him in a hushed voice, trying to keep him calm, even though you knew that the words you just ushered would have the complete opposite effect. He tried to move back but you just grabbed his face with both of your hands, forcing him to look at you. “You don’t want the surgery? Y/n are you crazy?! If it’s attacking your lungs it might lead to your… to your d-”, his voice broke and not only that but you knew that you broke that boy in front of you with your words. He wasn’t even trying to hide the tears that were welling up behind his eyes but you won’t take your words back. You will stand your ground.

“I know, Yuuji. Don’t you think that I know? But I don’t want to go on if I forget you.”, his lips were pressed on each other and tears were now running down his cheeks. Your fingers wanted to wipe them away but you knew you couldn’t do it. You knew you caused it.

“Y/n I thought you were the smart one of us, why would you make such a ridiculous decision. You think that you could throw life away that easily?!”, he was mad and how mad he was but so were you. How could he say that you're doing this so easily? He talked like it didn’t break your heart to make that decision.

“Do you really think that it’s easy for me? You think that it’s fine with me to just pass away and leave all of you behind like that? Well, then you’re really the dumb one!”, you nearly screamed at him. He just stared at you, eyes wide and you could see that he was trying to understand you, he really did.

“Yuuji, it’s nothing but hurting me to make that decision but do you want to move on, knowing you’d forget everyone? I don’t want that okay? I don’t want to live a life that isn’t fully me and start to regret things. Because without you I’m not completely me, do you understand? Actually I don’t expect you to understand and I don’t expect you to accept it ‘cause I know you’re hurting too.”, your voice was wavering, pumped full with all of your raw emotions.

All of this was too much for you and a part of you wished that you could cut off your emotions but that was exactly what you didn’t want to do. You didn’t want to suppress your feelings because every single emotion was meant to be felt. There was shortcut not other way around, no, you just have to own up to them and feel them with everything you have, even if it hurts you. Denying them would be fruitless and end in more misery than happiness, you knew from experience.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to upset you and I really don’t think that you’re making your decisions carelessly. It’s just… I’m afraid you know? But I mean, you must be even more afraid than me so I have no right to judge.”, he lifted his hands so they would clasp around yours, the warmth of his hands seeping into your skin.

“No, you have all the right to. It’s not easy for the both of us, it wouldn’t be easy for anyone. I don’t want you to hold back your feelings just because you don’t want to offend me, that would be selfish.”, you shot him a slight smile, everything you could muster right now.

Right then, you two were in your own world again, when day and night collided. This time though, it wasn’t like the gentle paradise where the sun would kiss the moon goodbye. Instead the cloudless morning sky was teared down like wallpaper, the starless midnight blue shining through the holes in the light.

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

Sitting here in the field of freesias you recalled his desperate voice in your mind.

“Wait, there has to be something that we can do right? Please y/n, I don’t want to lose you.”

“But you don’t love me.”

[hcllisfm]

HOLLIS OVERSEE, WALLFLOWER

❝ I became good at pretending. I became so good that after a while the lines blurred between my truth and fiction. And sometimes, when I did a really good job of pretending, I even fooled myself. ❞

playlist / pinterest

AESTHETICS 

Hollis is an avid makeup wearer. He is no beauty guru but you will always catch him wearing eyeliner and dark eyeshadow (bright colors and glitter are for special occasions only) Think of him as a chic Jack Sparrow. It looks smudged but it takes time to perfect that look. Back home there isn’t a lot of vegetation so Hollis enjoys incorporating flowers and nature into his designs and his personal style. He can be seen wearing bright colors, though his fashion sense is not as costume-y as what the Capitol is used to he does tend to dress in a way that gets people to look at him. Skirts, dresses, jumpsuits, he doesn’t care as long as the clothes are telling a story.

He keeps his curly hair long and has a beard he tends to decorate if the outfit calls for it. REF

influences: Prince, Harry Styles, Cody Fern, Givenchy, Versace, John Galliano

( please bear with me since the gifs i will be using won’t reflect this and i’m very upset! )

BACKGROUND TW: death & bullying

You’ve always known what privilege is.

Your life on Eight was not perfect, but you had it much better than the other kids you went to school with. They made sure you knew that. 

You lost your father at a young age, but your mother was a hard worker, so she made up for it. Every day after school you would find her at her little shop turning scraps and trash into beautiful garments that kept both of you fed and clothed. That was supposed to be it. You were a kid, maybe that’s why you didn’t understand. All you saw were pretty colors.

Those were the happiest days of your life. Even with your father gone, you cherish the memories of your mother teaching you the proper way to handle a needle deeply. Life was easy, simple. The pretty colors filled your days. It didn’t matter that no one wanted to play with you because at least you had her.  Then the Capitol found you.

Well, they found your mother. You just came in a package deal. 

You were so young you didn’t understand why her creations were so loved, why people seemed to fawn over every new piece she’d exhibit by the shop’s window. All you saw were colors, the textures.  Your mother’s excitement confused you as well, because why would someone want to leave home? What about your father’s grave? You didn’t want to leave, but you loved your mother and you were barely eleven so you didn’t exactly have a choice. 

You thought things would be different at the Capitol. The kids back home didn’t like you because you were lucky to be in a better position than them. Maybe now that your mother was part of the big leagues things would change. You never expected to be rejected again, this time because of where you came from. You begged to be able to return home, but your mother was on cloud nine and had stopped listening a long time ago.

Your only friends were the sewing kit you got when you were ten. You still have it, though it hasn’t been used for years. It’s a nice reminder of life back at Eight.

Even as you grew up and your mother and her shop became a staple of the Capitol, kids didn’t really pay attention to you. Maybe part of it was your fault too. You were quiet, preferring to observe them in an attempt to imitate them in hopes they’d accept you one day. That didn’t exactly happen, but it gave you something to do when you weren’t busy working for your mother.

Things started looking up when mother met Freesia. She’d stop by the shop every day, your mother the reason why she was there. Despite that, the woman would almost bring you a small gift. Sweets, drawings you’d later use to create a new outfit. Freesia knew that you were lonely and did their best to help with that. When she married your mother, you were the happiest you’d ever been. 

Everything was perfect, but as you grew up, you noticed how the differences between your mother and her new wife were starting to affect their marriage. 

Your mother seemed to be determined to forget all about her life back on Eight. In a way, you understood. She would go on and on about how wonderful life was in the Capitol, how they had blessed you with a chance to be someone else, someone better. And they saved you from the games too, which she would be eternally grateful for. As for you, even as an adult that is a source of guilt you can’t seem to shake off, especially now that you work for the very same terror you managed to avoid.

Freesia was the opposite. You didn’t notice it at first. It’s not until you grew up that you began to learn more about their beliefs. Every year during the games, Freesia’s usual jovial mood would change. She’d spend time alone in their studio, never telling anyone what they were working on. It frustrated your mother and there was nothing you could do except listen to her ranting.

When you were asked to join the games as a stylist, your mother was ecstatic. Freesia was the opposite. They weren’t upset but you could tell they were worried for you. That was what got her to open up to you and reveal what they really thought about your adoptive home. Then everything clicked.

The fights, the secrets. Your mother refusing to talk to the few friends Freesia had. It was almost ironic. There you were, living with with a Capitol born woman from a good family that rejected her own history and condemned their home, and a mother born on Eight that was desperate to forget her past and pretend the Capitol had always been her home. You moved soon after.

You still talk to both, of course. Despite her many flaws you love your mother, and Freesia is your biggest support system. She is good at helping you remain humble now that your budding fame as a stylist is keeping you busy. And maybe there is more to that. Maybe one in a while she shares her opinions with you and has managed to influence your thoughts. Not that you’d reveal what you really think. 

With the climate being so heavy in Panem and people growing restless, you know it’s vital for you to follow your mother’s example and live your life pretending you finally feel like you belong. The Capitol seems to still have the upper hand, so you are in their corner, though Freesia’s arguments are good enough to make you consider leaning towards the other side.

Did the bullying leave a lasting effect on you? You want to say no, but you’d be kidding yourself. When people ask why you’re so quiet your only reply is to shrug and offer them a charming smile along with a compliment that will divert the conversation away from you. You mostly keep to yourself now that you’re older. It’s much easier than attempting to navigate the tempestuous waters of the Capitol, especially when you know how many enemies your stepmother has. So you keep your head down; learn and observe. You speak when spoken to, never allow yourself to say anything remotely controversial that could put your family at risk.

You’re a hard worker still, which has earned you enough leverage to be able to still have a place in high society. You’re not a top dog, but your talent cannot be ignored. Could you be bigger? Absolutely, but you’re content with what you have. You know very well what comes with notoriety and fear what could happen if people were to start looking into your personal life. 

But, what scares you the most is the possibility of people seeing what’s behind your politeness, of ever finding out the inner turmoil you live with because you don’t know where you really belong. Or that you’re starting to agree more with Freesia than with your own mother.

[su-homebroken-au]

Homebroken Chapter 8

It wasn't often that Steven got any visitors. Sometimes Blue would come to ensure that he was alright, but he was typically left with his court. Unless sometimes they would appear, but he doesn't like to think about them. He doesn't want to. Regardless he wasn't sure if he should be glad for mostly being with his court. He was a social.. Social.. Being.

What was he again?

He cannot recall, he blames the static in his mind that numbed him as he woke up. The blanket the Pebbles had made for him was soft, as were the pillows. He didn't understand how, but he was happy regardless. His bed was a little hideaway, somewhere other gems couldn't see him.

The star decorations on the low ceiling glow continuously, providing a calming and non-intrusive atmosphere. He should stay there.. But there is commotion, and there isn't usually any noise.

He rose like a puppet being pulled by a string. He got out of bed, made the bed and walked to the noise with robotic precision.

Opening the door, Steven is greeted to Yellow Diamond. He spots her instantly as her hue is a contrast to the pink room and even with all of the platforms scattered around to give the court room some interest, she stuck out.

"There you are." Steven doesn't have time to process the whole situation to uncover the most optimal way of proceeding. He's grabbed in a tight unforgiving grasp and quickly lifted.

As he's lifted Steven is able to catch a glance of his guards. Dahlia stood poised and in a perfect diamond salute, meanwhile Freesia had a clear look of what could be described as panic. He does a brief look around but he can't spot Spinel.

"Don't look around, your attention should be on me." Steven's head instinctively snapped to look at her once he's brought to eye level. She's glowing, she's glowing quite a bit actually. It's a little blinding and it gave him a headache. He doesn't look away, he can't.

"I cannot believe you Pink. You're still hiding in there, in that little human." Her hold adjusts in a way that showed his gem, but he was held in such a secure manner he couldn't even wriggle a finger. "Now you're back to your old habits. Goofing off when you should be working!"

"We should be celebrating Era 3 now that you finally decided to stop this whole game, but here you are. Still playing it, because Blue and even White are letting you. I don't even know how you managed to convince her to let you!"

"I'll admit that your presence at least has made Blue a lot more productive, she hasn't been drowning her court in her tears. That makes you a little more worth the trouble, but only a little."

She gave him a sharp jab to his stomach, just above the gem. He remained mute. She loosened her hold, moving Steven so now he was sitting on her hand.

"You will have to throw a party. That is your courts duty, to make the other courts happy. You understand that, don't you?" He nodded, and her expression softened just a little. "Good. At least you can listen."

"Now, unfortunately you will have to choose a member of your court to represent you. You cannot show up looking like." With her other hand, she gestured to all of him. "You'll shatter gems with that appearance."

He wondered briefly if his appearance should have shattered his friends by now.

"Still, I expect it to go well." Steven suppressed a noise upon feeling a jolt of her power coursing through him. "If it doesn't, I'm not above punishing you. If something goes wrong.. You will be to blame."

Another jolt and she stared at him with such an intense expression he felt he was beneath a spotlight. His arms move into a diamond salute and she seemed satisfied. Her hand moved, and Steven doesn't have time to process the next situation.

He is sitting on a warm yellow surface one moment, and face down on a cold pink floor in another. There's a throbbing ache over his body that he wasn't aware of previously, and Yellow's footsteps only strengthen it as she went to exit.

"Don't forget. You have 48 hours."

There's the sound of the door opening and closing. Steven didn't move simply laying there, he wasn't sure if he was supposed to. He stayed still and was able to pick up on the sound of someone squeaky approaching.

Pink hands wind around under his arms and lift him easily. Steven is brought face to face with Spinel who peered worriedly at him. He was able to notice Freesia and Dahlia hurrying over as well but his gaze was drawn back to Spinel.

"Geez, he's bleeding." Freesia stated as she came closer to them. He didn't respond when she carefully pushed his hair back to look him over carefully. Dahlia looked at Spinel then Freesia and finally to Steven. "You'd think Yellow would know that humans are fragile by now."

"Don't speak ill of a Diamond." Dahlia scolded harshly and Freesia stuck her tongue out in retaliation. The rose quartz rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to Steven. He simply stayed still, showing no visual signs of distress.

"Doesn't really give her an excuse to." Spinel grumbled, just loud enough for Freesia to hear but not Dahlia. She glanced at the pink quartz briefly before looking back to Steven. "Can't you do something to heal him?"

"Unlike our Diamond, rose quartz soldiers can only heal gems." She explained quietly, glancing at his gem briefly. "There is no damage to his gem, there is nothing I can do. I'm sorry, my Diamond." She saluted as she spoke, her expression sorrowful.

Steven raised a hand shakily, patting her shoulder briefly before letting his hand fall to its original limp state. Freesia smiled at his attempt of comfort, while Dahlia appeared briefly confused but interested. The purple gem spun, putting her hands on her hips and grinning at the three.

"So, how are we gonna host a party?"

The other two gems glanced at each other uncertainly while Steven remained in a rag-doll like state. Spinel grinned sheepishly, while Dahlia shook her head in disappointment that seemed to be directed towards herself as opposed to the others. Freesia's grin dropped slightly.

"Our Diamond is doomed."

--

They were able to get information from the Pebbles about traditional balls that Pink had thrown in the past. Therefore, it was time to set up the main ballroom. Steven's hood had been pulled up as they hurried to the ballroom to begin set up. Dodging other gems was like a game, one where they'd get in trouble if they were caught.

"Alright, we're here." Spinel announced as she bounced into the empty courtroom. She did a brief few bounces, going higher and higher to ensure that they were alone. When she was satisfied that no-one was around, she gestured for them to follow her in.

Freesia pulled Steven's hood down as they entered, she glanced around and grimaced slightly. The empty bright room was ominous, the lack of any noise or many decorations just added towards a haunting atmosphere.

"Not exactly the most wonderful place, is it?" She stated, her hands on her hips. "I mean, the halls of the Zoo weren't that noisy but at least there was stuff there."

"Well you aren't there anymore." Dahlia reminded with a huff. "We're going to have to decorate, and plan."

As she spoke some of the Pebbles who had followed arrived, carrying items far too big for their bodies. Steven lifted one of the baskets with flowers and ribbons, examining it curiously. Dahlia lifted the basket from him easily, ushering him further inside. He was led to the pink throne, which he jumped upon and looked at her curiously.

"Right, we'll get decorating and make this place look a whole lotta fun!" Freesia looked at Steven with a wide smile. "Lil' Diamond! We got this, you observe and give us that royal touch!"

Following her instructions, Steven sat and observed. He watched as Spinel would bounce high to wrap ribbons and flowers around the columns. Dahlia had began making flower arrangements for the thrones, flowers in the same colour of a diamond were neatly put together into four separate arrangements.

He couldn't spot Freesia initially, but he noticed her helping the Pebbles create little things that were too small for him to understand.

He glances around the room, feeling much smaller than usual. It was like being in the presence of all of the Diamonds. The small being pressed his hands together with a shaky sigh. Steven has been good, so he won't be punished.

The dull throbbing ache over the front of his body suggested that he already had been but he believed it was likely an accident. He should have done better, he deserved that. He is supposed to make them happy, he isn't making them happy.

Sometimes when Blue visits she doesn’t smile at him, even though he tries to cheer her up because that his is role. His duty. Carrying Pink Diamond's gem until she was ready to emerge, he is supposed to fulfil her duties. He is the leader of the court that brought laughter. He's supposed to bring happiness.

But she doesn't smile at him, and neither does Yellow.

Steven shivered, the feeling of phantom fingers sweeping up his back and leaving a painful static sensation in their wake struck him quickly. He feels lightheaded, fatigued. Its hard to keep his head up as they continue to decorate.

He blinks. It's less bland.

He blinks. Life is returning.

He blinks. Colour is bleaching.

He blinks. Everything is fading.

He blinks. Let's play, Pink.

From below, Spinel noticed that Steven had fallen asleep. She supposed that made sense, he had been sat there to watch and watching wasn't any fun at all. It was boring. It was draining enough to make a gem crack. She had been waiting for years and years, watching for any signs of her best friend.

She didn't think she could remain still again like that for so long. Not without that empty feeling returning, endless questions spanning decades of waiting and wondering. Will she come back? When will we play again? Am I doing this right?

Does she still love me?

"Freesia! Those are not laid out in an acceptable manner! You are not on the Zoo ship anymore, you need to show some respect to our Diamonds!" Dahlia yelled, breaking Spinel from her momentary trance. She giggled again, and went back to work listening to the scuffle of the two gems.

This was a party, and those were always fun. Era 3 was going to be full of laughter and celebration! Everyone will be grinning forever and ever.

[akinnie75]

Until Spring (1/2)

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Slow Burn, Romance, Angst, Fantasy

Word Count: 17k

Summary: Freesia Island has the greenest Summer, calmest Autumn, and purest Winter. But their Spring has so many flowers that the land itself becomes a rainbow. It’s a place that you’ve always wanted to travel to after hearing the tales of that island. And one day, you finally got to be there in person, but not being forced into an unwanted marriage by the king himself.

“Once upon a time, there were four gods who were in charge of watching over the four seasons of earth: Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter. One day, the God of Spring, was on earth when he fell in love with a flower name Freesia. Every day and night, they would see each other, sharing tales, singing, and laughing. Each second they spent was valuable because, deep down, they both knew that time was ticking—that Spring will have to leave once his time on Earth has ended.

“The day came to an end, and eventually the God of Summer came, but without mercy. The sun pierced Freesia, drying her of water. Then came the God of Autumn, deteriorating her once beautiful petals. Lastly, the God of Winter was the most cold-hearted of them all, making Freesia suffer in the freezing temperature.

“When Spring finally returned, he was heartbroken when he discovered that his beloved flower withered to the ruthlessness of the other three seasons. He cried, and cried, and cried. And once he was done, he stood up and wasted no time growing flowers again, in hopes that one day, Freesia would blossom and return.”

By the side of your futon, your mother sits on her knees. With you tucked into bed, your mother is astonished to discover you covered in tears.

Complementing your tears is the sound of cicadas crying. Since the humid summer is here, the house is victim to the moist air. To distract the six-year-old you from the humidity, your mother thought it was best to tell you a story.

“What’s wrong, dear?”

“That’s so sad! Did Spring ever find Freesia?” You ask with an expression that begs for a happy ending.

“No...the God of Spring is still looking for her.”

You look as if you’re about to release a lake’s worth of tears. To prevent that from doing so, your mother hurriedly thinks of anything to soothe you.

“B-but that’s why people of Freesia Island hold the Blossom Festival every first day of Spring! Everyone there feels the same way as you do, so they also want to help Spring find his loved one.”

“Has it worked?”

“I’m not sure, but with the help of thousands of people, I’m certain that they reunited.”

You sigh in relief, and your mother chuckles at your naivety.

“How do you know? Did you see them?”

“No...I’ve never been to Freesia Island, but your father has.”

“Really?!” You sit up from your bed, jumping up and down excitedly. “Is it true that the island changes color every season?”

Your mother nods. “Yup. Your father told me that Summer has fields of green. Autumn has the reddest leaves, and Winter covers the entire land with white snow.”

Your jaw drops, imagining what each season looks like with your limited imagination. Even without a clear picture, it excites you.  Born and raised on a tropical island where every season is just hot, you don’t know how it feels like to experience four seasons. You thought that seasons didn’t exist.

“But your father said that the most beautiful season is Spring. There are so many different colors that you lose count of  how many colors there are”

You grab your mother’s arm and shake it. “When I get older, let’s go to Freesia Island and help Freesia and Spring find each other again! Please??”

She chuckles. “Sure! Your father is good friends with King Kim, after all. One day, we’ll go, the three of us.”

You’re excited about the future. While thinking about all the things you and your parents are doing, you lay back down, staring at the ceiling made of dried palm tree leaves. In your innocent, little mind, you promise that you’ll be the one to reunite the two lovers. You close your eyes, falling asleep to the sound of the cicadas crying endlessly.

———

SPRING

At the top of a cliffside, you walk in your bare feet, holding a wooden bowl. Inside it is an array of fruits. Standing before you is a tombstone. After stepping closer, you get on your knees, letting the tips of your fingers stroke the name etched onto the stone, spelling your mother’s name.

Below the stone is an empty bowl with rotten fruits. There’s a trail of black ants taking pieces to their colony, and the smell is horrible since it’s been under the scorching sun all day. You brush the ants off, picking it up and replacing it with a new set of colorful fruits.

“Good morning, Mom. Did you sleep well?”

Unsurprisingly, there’s no response.

“These little pests keep taking your food away, huh? Either that or they’re taking it to you somewhere in the afterlife,” You change to a fetal position, your arms hugging your knees as you hold it close to your chest. “Did you know that they just celebrated my eighteenth birthday a few days ago? Dad ate so much roasted pork that he didn’t leave any for me!”

Despite passing away many years ago, you still vividly remember her smile. She was the most beautiful woman ever that you’ll never compare to her.

“I have to tell you what happened yesterday too! It was hilarious.”

You go on for hours, chatting with the stone about your day yesterday. Even though your voice drifted away into the vast jungle, you still spoke like there was another person listening. You strongly believed in a life after death, so you were certain that your mother heard every word.

Sitting next to the tombstone, your shoulder leans on it while you stare off the cliff. From a distance, you can see your small village, and on the side, there are squares of plantations. This is the place that you’ve known since the day you were born. Although it was your childhood dream to wander off the island, you can’t imagine a better place to live in than Pitaya Island.

“The village has changed a lot. Most of the villagers are old, so I have to be the one responsible for physical labor. It’s so tiring! Don’t tell Dad, but I think he’s getting old too..” You whisper.

You chuckle, but it doesn't last long.

“Granny still cries for you, you know? Every year, on your birthday. We all celebrate it…”

You pluck a single grass from the ground, peeling the slim plant in half.

“...But it doesn’t feel like we do. It’s more like...we’re mourning. Even Dad—the toughest man in the entire land—cries,” you turn your head at the stone, smiling. “I try not to cry. I’m going to become the next ruler of this land, right? I have to show the people what I’m made of.”

You lay down, not noticing that the ants have now claimed the fresh fruits. You drown yourself to the sound of birds humming melodies and bushes being brushed against the wind. With the blazing sun beaming, you put your hand over it, casting a shadow over your face.

Your throat is dry from all the talking, but you still want to say more. You knew your mother only for a few years, but you two had a close relationship. You told her everything, and it felt like she told you everything. Even now after she’s dead, she’s the one who you talk to the most.

“Hey...Mom...sometimes I wish you can respond to me. I know I said that before...but whenever I talk to you, I feel like I’m going insane. I think for once...I’d like to hear your voice one more time.”

You’re silent for a few seconds, not shocked that your wish won't come true. You scoff at your outrageous wish. It isn’t like a dead person can answer you.

That’s when you hear the sound of someone shouting. You sit up, staring at your mother’s grave, thinking that she came back to life. However, the scream was too far for it to be your mother. It was almost like an echo.

You stare straight at your village, discovering that the source of the shout came from there. You hadn’t noticed it before, but you see the villagers running about and shouting. Instantaneously, you knew that there was something happening. You’re quick to your feet, sprinting down the hill as fast as you can.

———

Once you make it back, you glide behind a tree, your back hitting against the trunk. You peer over to see what the commotion is. There’s a group of foreigners walking about, terrorizing the people. Children are crying and elderly women are screaming. The old men are shaking, unable to move from their spot. The village has become a wreck, with baskets of fruits and seeds tossed over and huts destroyed.

These foreigners with pale skin and dressed in linen clothes kick those who are crawling on their hands and knees, laughing at their pitiful state. You cover your mouth, petrified to see the sight before you. Just hours ago, your village was in peace, everyone going along their daily lives.

Your hands and knees are trembling, barely being able to stand properly. Your people are in harm’s way, but your cowardice is preventing you from saving them. You’re afraid to get into the crossfire. While no one has spotted you yet, you think it might be the perfect opportunity to escape.

However, your pride reignites when you see your father. The man that you admire the most, fighting against one of the enemies. He and his opponent exchange swings, sparks flying when the blades collide. You root for your father, praying that his massive strength will scare the man away.

But that hope drains in an instant when the man, being younger, swiffer, and stronger than your father, seizes him within seconds. He deflects your father’s swing, putting so much force that the sword goes flying out of his hands. He then kicks your father, making him fall to his knees. To see your father—the who your idol—on his knees in front of the enemy’s feet is an ultimate defeat.

His opponent stares down at your father, not an ounce of sympathy. Even from the distance where you’re at, you can see the hollowness in his eyes. It’s almost as if his eyes are entirely covered with black.

With the last of his pride, your father snarls at the man. There’s an emblem on his shirt, one that you don’t recognize but one he knows too well.

“You…do not deserve to wear the emblem of Freesia.” Your father mutters in anguish.

He growls at the young man, and still, no reaction. It’s just those damp eyes of his, glaring down at him. To end his misery, the man raises his sword, prepared to end his life.

That’s when you couldn’t just stand there any longer. You don’t know where this surge of confidence came from, it might’ve been because you were afraid to lose another precious person, but what you do know is that you have to stop this.

You grab your father’s fallen sword, nearly losing your balance for clumsily picking it up. And just like that, you were successful in making your sword collide with the man’s weapon. You hit so hard that you made a crack in the blade. The man’s sword flies out of his hand, absolutely astonished with what just occurred in those few seconds. You give him a ferocious glare, standing right in between him and your father. Although cracked, you point the tip of the sword directly at his face.

Your sudden appearance makes time itself freeze. Everybody has their eyes on you, waiting for your next move. However, you don’t have another move. You impulsively came out of hiding after seeing your father in danger. You were willing to do anything to protect him, but now you’re stuck in a position where you can lose your life.

To your amazement, the man doesn’t make a second attempt to fight back. He gets into a casual posture, loosening his body and putting his hand to his hip. In contrast to his calm demeanor, your sword still points at his nose.

“I was unaware that the king had a daughter.” The man speaks, but to whom, you don’t know.

You raise an eyebrow, questioning why he would care.

“You’re not just any princess. You have the guts to get in between a fight between two men.” He says with a stoic expression.

“Wh-wh-who are you?!” You attempted but failed to hide your stutter. “L-leave this island at once.”

“(Y/N), what are you doing?! Leave while you still can.” Your father exclaims.

“So your name is (Y/N). A unique one that I’ve never heard of. I am King Jungkook from Freesia Island.”

Freesia…Island? It wasn’t registering immediately, but after giving it some time, your jaw drops at the revelation that this man is the ruler of Freesia. You thought that the people there are kind, including the king. What happened?

“King Jungkook? Where is the former king??” Your father shouts.

“King Kim? My father defeated him in a battle and won, pronounced as king for decades until his late passing, passing the responsibility to me.”

“King Kim…is dead…?” Your father asks in disbelief.

You have no clue what’s unfolding. There’s an untold story that your father kept from you, and you’re itching to know.

Jungkook grabs the blade with his hand. You tighten the grip to keep it raised, but with him wearing a leather glove and being stronger than you, he was able to pull it down in no time.

“You have the courage of a soldier, but there’s no real fierceness in your eyes,” he states. “I did not come here to fight.”

He raises his hands in the air to admit defeat.

“ I came here with the intention to negotiate. It was your people who started it.”

You raise an eyebrow, unsure if this is a trick or if he means it. Your father finally gets back on his feet, pulling you back to protect you.

“What is it that you want? Take it and leave my people alone.”

Jungkook looks around the village, only stopping when his eyes are locked on the plantations of pitaya plants.

“That,” he points. “I want the exotic fruits that you grow. My land has been decreasing in food exports due to lack of rain.”

“And what do we get in exchange for this?”

“Protection. We raided your island without issue. No one, besides you and your daughter, was capable enough to stand against us. And yet, you both failed. There are no walls to defend you people from danger, and I heard rumors that pirates occasionally pay a visit.”

Your father gulps. Jungkook is true, which you find terrifying. How much did he study before coming here? Despite the beauty of this island being isolated from the rest of the mainland, the land consists of only children and elderly people. There have been so many pirate attacks that most people your age have died from risking their lives to protect their loved ones.

“I will extend my military base here, and whenever there is a raid, then there shouldn’t be a problem.”

The fruits grown here is your island’s pride and glory. They are the symbols that make your people stand out from others. To have them conquered by foreigners breaks your heart.

Your father is hesitant to agree with the negotiation. When he looks around, he’s in no position to fight Jungkook again. Even if he was successful in landing a strike on him, is men can group around and kill him. Having no choice but to admit defeat, your father lowers his head.

“I...I acce—”

“And one more thing.”

Jungkook’s gaze turns to you, and a chill runs down your spine.

“To finalize our negotiation and officially connect our two kingdoms together, I’ll also marry (Y/N).”

“What?!” Both you and your father exclaimed in unison.

You beg that it’s only an unfunny joke, but that serious expression of his tells you otherwise. Why take more when he’s already taken what’s important?

“Marriage is to signify an alliance, correct? It’s similar to signing a contract. I’ll take her with me to make sure that you won’t do anything behind my back. In addition to that, I do need someone who knows how to farm these plants on my land.”

“That isn’t a marriage! That’s taking hostage! You’ve already taken more than necessary...but my daughter...she’s the only person valuable I have left.” Your father’s voice cracks.

It’s hard to hear your father sound so weak. He’s trying to stand tall for everyone, but you see his hands shaking.

“Then...are you willing to sacrifice your people for your daughter?”

“That’s enough!” You shout. “This...this is my life that we’re talking about, so it’s me who makes the final decision.”

You look at Jungkook, your bottom lip quivering.

“I...accept.”

Not only your father, but everyone is shocked. It’s a tough decision, but in order to prevent bloodshed, you have to make that difficult choice. It’s against your desires, but you’re not worth the entire village.

Finding this to be an easy victory, especially seeing the advantage he was in, Jungkook picks up his sword from the ground and walks off. “Very well, we will leave tomorrow at dawn. Bring everything valuable to you.”

Your father grabs you by your arms, shaking you. His eyes well up, fighting back the tears upon the devastating realization that not only did he lose his wife, but will lose his daughter too.

“(Y/N), do you understand what you’re saying?! You’ve never gone off this island before!”

You gently brush your father’s hands off, pulling a soft but forced smile. “Dad, it’s okay. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. If it means protecting the villagers, then it’s my responsibility as your daughter to fulfill that duty. Besides, I’ve always wanted to see Freesia Island.”

“But...but not in this circumstance!” He falls to his knees, too ashamed to look up. “I’m sorry...I failed. As king, and as a father.”

You hug him for comfort. “You didn’t fail at anything. You did your best, and I’m glad that you did.”

But underneath these gentle words, you were nervous. Your heart is racing, regret weighing down on you as you secretly beg for a miracle to stop you from leaving. You wanted to leave the island and venture out into the world one day, but with the hopes of returning to your home. Being married to Jungkook could possibly mean that you’ll never see this place ever again, and it gives you a heartache.

While you and your father hug, Jungkook watches from afar. He stares for quite some time, though, no one can decipher what his thoughts are. In the midst of this, the captain of the crew approaches him.

“Your Majesty, is it really alright for you to marry her? You have an array of bachelorettes coming from more powerful kingdoms in line for you. Are you sure you want to marry her just for fruits?”

He traces his eyes to the captain, throwing dagger eyes at him. Goosebumps form on his skin with Jungkook’s looks that could kill.

“It’s not my late father’s choice to pick whoever I marry. Now hurry and prepare the ship for tomorrow.”

“Y-yes, Your Majesty.”

———

Later that evening, Jungkook and his men spend the night on their ship. Meanwhile, you’re sitting on your futon as your maids are helping with sorting out your belongings. Many of them are crying. You’re supposed to be preparing for your departure, but you’re occupied with cheering them up.

“(Y/N), you’re too young. We should’ve done something to prevent this.” One maid cries.

“We’re so sorry we couldn’t do anything.”

“I-it’s okay, really! You all worry about me too much. I’m not a child anymore.”

No matter what you tell them, they won’t listen. You understand that they’re indescribably worried for you, but there’s nothing you can do to change your fate. You wish you can tell them that, but your words are drowned out by their sorrowful cries.

Your father knocks on the door. “Can I come in?”

“Ah, sure.”

“Pardon the intrusion, but I would like to speak to my daughter privately.”

The women wipe their tears, scurrying out the room. Once they all left, your father enters, sitting on the hard wooden ground next to you. His eyes are red and swollen, presumably from crying. Though you try not to show it, it breaks your heart to see your father this emotionally wrecked.

“What is it, Dad?”

“I thought long and hard about the different outcomes that could’ve happened earlier today. There were so many alternatives that could’ve occurred, but no matter the outcomes, I feel like the one you’ve chosen for us was for the best. We are a peaceful colony who strive to find a solution with no bloodshed, and I failed to represent who we are.”

“No, don’t speak of yourself that way! I didn’t do anything special either. Dad, I...I was a coward. I had to fight with myself to finally step in when I could’ve done it with no hesitation.”

“No, you did well, and you are a brave woman, just like your mother. Nobody is born with bravery.”

You choke on your tears, swallowing the urge to let it go. You saw yourself as a failure, just as your father did in himself.

“But...since this is for the better, this is the least that I can do.”

He takes out a necklace, and at the center of it is a black pearl. He puts it on around your neck, brushing your hair behind your ear, doting on his daughter who has become a mature woman.

“This used to belong to your mother. We intended on giving it to you once you got married...at least not like this. It’s an important necklace, passed down through generations. It works as a good luck charm, your past ancestors will watch over you during your journey into the new world.”

“Dad I...Thank you.”

“Promise me that you won’t put yourself in danger and that one day you’ll return.”

You don’t know for sure if you’re going to come back, but your father needs a confirmation, otherwise, he won’t be able to live with himself knowing that he gave his only child to danger. He needs comfort in your words, even if they weren’t authentic.

“I promise.”

He pulls you in for one last hug, unable to hold back the tears. He cries on your shoulder as you pat him on the back. You reassured him that you’ll be fine, despite not knowing what the future holds. While he sobs uncontrollably, you listen to the sound of crickets and night-birds humming, might possibly being the last time you’ll hear this.

———

Before dawn, you trek to the top of the hill with a lantern since it’s still dark, where your mother’s grave stands. With only a spare amount of time left, you wanted to say goodbye to her last. Across from the tombstone, you sit in a fetal position after setting the lantern down. You thought about what to say, but your mind went all sorts of directions that you weren’t able to think of anything.

“So...uhm...I’m getting married...and I’m off to Freesia.”

You suck your lips in, thinking of something else to say.

“It’s kind of funny, Mom. I always dreamed of having a marriage as beautiful as yours and Dad’s. But I’m getting married to a scary man. This guy came to take our food and exchange it for profit. Horrible, right? What’s worse is that this marriage...is just an excuse to hold me hostage and make sure that Dad doesn’t do anything.”

You twindle with your thumbs, your bottom lip quivering. All night you tried not to cry because you dislike crying in front of people, but since you’re alone, you feel like releasing everything.

“I feel like I failed. I said yes so easily that I wish that I put more of a fight. I hate myself because I caved in without even trying. You should’ve seen Dad. He keeps saying that it’s his fault, but he did everything in his power to stop this. I know I should be the one to be crying, but everybody else did. I wanted to pretend that at least I don’t regret my choice...but…”

One tear escapes your eye, and you wipe it as quick as possible. However, that single tear opened the floodgates, and now you can’t stop crying.

“I’m scared...Mom. I don’t want to go. Please, help me.” You hide your face behind your knees, letting everything out. You cry so much that your hiccups hurt.

Unbeknownst to you, Jungkook had followed you closely behind. He’s leaning against a tree, listening to your cries. The way he watches you isn’t apathetically. He heard every word you said, your silent cries for help. Indeed, you showed yourself as a confident woman, but like everybody else, there’s a vulnerable side that you can’t hide.

———

Standing by the edge of the ship, you stare at Freesia Island with curious eyes. No longer in your clothes made for tropical weather, Jungkook has given you a thick, long-sleeved dress that makes you itch. At first, it was unbearable to be in tight clothing, but finding comfort in it after heading north to a colder region.

Hours later, the ship sets ashore by the deck, and your jaw drops by the difference from his kingdom to yours. It’s riddled with pastel-colored buildings, a land as flat as the wooden pier itself. There’s no tree taller than ten feet, and the skies are blanketed by gray clouds. The citizens of this land are wearing the same clothes as you—dull, worn-out woolen cloths.

Simply by the sight of Jungkook is enough to make the people nearby move away, not even darting an eye at him. Already there’s an immediate difference in the people’s mannerisms. It’s only his ship crew that helps drop the ropes and planks for them to get off. None of the men don’t bother with helping you off the ship, and it definitely was a struggle for you since you’ve never ridden anything as gigantic as this.

Sloppily sliding off the rope, the pain from the friction instinctively makes you let go prematurely. You lose balance, landing on your buttocks rather than your feet. The men laugh at your clumsiness, and you snarl in return.

A carriage arrives shortly thereafter. You’ve never seen a horse before, so the presence of what amazes you. Although you were frightened by the horses, you manage to drag yourself inside. Inside the carriage, you and Jungkook sit across from each other, no words exchanged. You’re speechless by the height of the buildings, peering your head out to see if you can spot the top. There were times when your head almost collided into other carriages, but you were quick to save yourself.

While riding through the capital, you’ve never seen so many people before. There are small market stands, selling food and items you’ve never seen before. The streets are so condensed, the volume of the environment being louder than the summer cicadas. Although more industrialized, the air here feels thin, as if the air is combined with smog coming from these unfamiliar metal devices coming from buildings and sidewalks.

But what you were looking forward to the most were the vast plains of endless flowers. Not once did you see it, even though it should be mid-Spring. Where is the blue sky? The green grass? The freesias? It’s building after building, blanketed by a gray sky.

———

Eventually, you two made it to the entrance of the castle, which is beyond your imagination. The castle alone has to be nearly the same size as Pitaya Island. The gate lowers to create a bridge for the carriage to pass through. The walls are as white as the doves that fly over the gate that surrounds the castle, spotless of dirt.

A red carpet has been rolled out for the pair, a continuous line of maids and butlers standing just outside the carpet’s golden line. They bow down once you two walk out of the carriage. For a second, you almost believed that they were dolls—each and every person looking so identical. Not a single wrinkle on their uniforms, and their clothes the exact same.

Jungkook doesn’t wait for you and walks ahead of you. You try to catch up to him, but with the long gown, you accidentally step on the end, causing you to trip and fall face first. Your head spins, and your nose hurts from the impact. When you look up, no one has come forth to help you, not even Jungkook. He simply stares at you, as if telepathically sending you a message to hurry up. You crease your eyebrows and raise your lower lip to sulk. You stand back up and continue to follow him from behind.

———

Once you two made it into the main hall, you were separated from Jungkook, being swarmed by maids and is taken to your private room. They waste no time to prepare for the wedding ceremony. Your clothes are practically torn off, then you are pushed into a marble tub of warm water. One of them tries to take off your pearl necklace, but you refuse to let her touch it. You’re washed, from head to toe, feeling violated as the maids rush to clean you of your dirt. Within seconds, the clear water turns gray from the dirt.

You’re put into your wedding dress that is one size too small. The maids have to force the back zipper up, and with the corset already suffocating you, you have no choice but to suck your belly in more. The maids put on this strange powder-like substance on your face, making your skin paler, your lips so red like a ripe mango and blue matted over your eyelids.

In this dressing room, you sit in front of the makeup stand, unable to recognize yourself in the mirror. You almost touch your face, but it’s immediately slapped by one of the oldest-looking maids.

“Don’t touch your face, Your Highness! It’ll mess the makeup.”

You rub your hand, already feeling the urge to scratch your itchy nose. Your face feels heavy after being caked with powder and paint. By the time you finished, the sun has already begun setting. The day went by so fast, but it still has yet to end, and it ends with your wedding.

“King Jungkook is almost done with his preparation. In a few minutes, we will begin the engagement ceremony.”

You nod, not even listening to half of what she said. You can’t believe that you’re in Freesia, but it doesn’t look like the stories you heard from your parents. It was an absolute disappointment to see a colorless town with soulless people walking the streets.

———

“Once the double doors open and music is on, you’ll walk down the aisle. Make sure that each step you take is light, don’t let anyone hear your steps. Don’t walk too fast to where your veil accidentally exposes your face—it’s only for the king to see. Letting anyone else see is bad luck. Do you understand?”

The elderly maid lectures you for the fourth time, and even still, you’re unclear with the instructions. This is all new to you, confused with why everything has to be precise for one event. To avoid getting yelled at again, you nod your head, letting her know that you understand.

“Good. It’s almost time. Be prepared.” She stands by the side.

You stand in front of the double doors that lead to the throne room. The cue of the music starts playing, and you catch your breath. The doors crack open, and you’re met with a long aisle leading to the end, where two thrones are erected. You take in a deep breath, exhaling before entering the room.

Similar to the front of the castle, the room is filled with servants, their heads hanging low. By the end of the room is Jungkook in a blue shirt and white slacks. Next to him is a priest. Just like what the old maid said, you take light steps, and this time, you make sure that you don’t step on your own dress.

You successfully make it to the other side, where you stand in front of Jungkook. He truly is a handsome fellow up close, no matter how cold his eyes seem. Having no clue what to do since the maid didn’t tell you anything else, you stand there. The priest opens the book, reading a passage aloud. Curious, you lean over to see what he’s reading, but you can’t even understand what it says.

Once the reciting is complete, Jungkook leans over, making you jolt. You take a step back, but remembering that this is the part where he lifts the veil from your face, you freeze. He takes the ring from the stand, putting it on your ring finger. You assume that you have to do the same.

With that finished, he leans over, closing his eyes and tilting his head. Your lips meet, and your eyes see nothing but his face.

“Congratulations, you two are hereby pronounced as Freesia’s new king and queen.” The priest announces.

There are little applauds, but no cheers. You push him away, covering your mouth with the back of your hand. You look disgusted with the insincere kiss, but Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind.

It’s been only a day since you been on Freesia, and it’s nothing like you thought it would be. Every second spent here, it makes you miss your home even more.

And thus, begins a new chapter in your life, with a man who forced you into an unwanted marriage.

———

In your dressing room, you change out of your dress behind a wall divider. It was unbearable being in it for hours, and you can finally breathe once you took it off. One of the maids hands you a nightgown, making you dread having to wear yet another agonizing dress.

With the thick layer of makeup wiped off and your hair loose from the hair clips’ restraints, you’re ready to drop to the ground and sleep. Today was so busy that you never had the chance to relax. Now that everything is done and over with, the exhaustion is finally setting in.

“Your Highness, please follow me to your bedroom.” A maid speaks up.

“Okay.”

You walk closely behind her, looking back and seeing the rest of the maids folding the gown that you had just taken off and dusting the corners of the room.

“Uhm...might I ask...but where will I be sleeping?” You ask.

“You will be sleeping in Jungkook’s bedroom.”

You nearly stumble over your own two feet. “E-excuse me?”

“I apologize, was I not clear?”

“N-no, his room...you say...Will there be a separate bed for me?”

“No need to be timid, Your Highness. You two are newly weds, after all.”

It isn’t that you’re shy, but you barely know Jungkook. Everyone knows how awkward it is sleeping in the same bed with a complete stranger. Despite the bond as husband and wife, there is no real relationship underneath those titles.

“Is it possible for me to have my own room…?”

“I’m sorry, Your Highness, but it is not in my power to break traditions. If you like, then you can discuss this matter with the king.”

You knew she wasn’t going to agree with it, but it didn’t hurt to try.

“Do not worry. From what I’ve seen, King Jungkook isn’t in his private room most of the time. He’s usually busy with sword practice or locked up in his office. In fact, he may be practicing right now.”

You sigh in relief. Although, you’re amazed by the amount of strength he has. He just returned home, but he’s quick to going back to work. It makes you feel awful that you’re tired even though you haven’t done anything too physical.

———

Your jaw drops at the beauty of the room. The walls are painted with articulate designs of flowers and stems stretched in all four corners. There’s a couch in the corner with a coffee table. Against the wall is the king-sized bed, more pillows can you can count and a red blanket tucked neatly into the mattress. Next to it is a nightstand.

There isn’t much in the room, which is why it looks big. There’s also a private restroom just off the side, and a closet that’s big enough to become a room itself. The candles have been lit for the night, and it seems like they’ve been on for quite a while since so much of the wax has melted.

“If there’s anything you need, then just let us know as soon as possible.”

“Okay.”

“Well then, goodnight, Your Highness.”

She closes the door behind you. The first thing you do is touch everything. Every piece of furniture is stitched to perfection. The material is silky, so smooth that it feels satisfying stroking it. You check the closet next, and it’s filled with all of Jungkook’s clothes. He has so many that you don’t think your clothes will fit in. You walk out to the balcony with a candlelight in hand. You can see the garden from here, spreading through the back part. That’s where you’ll be planting the fruits soon.

From the corner of your eye, there’s a separate building detached from the castle. When you squint your eyes, you see Jungkook swinging a wooden sword. He’s hitting a scarecrow multiple times, aiming at the pressure points. The maid wasn’t exaggerating when she said that he would be practicing right now. It’s so late, so you don’t see the reason for training.

You watch him for a few more seconds before yawning and calling it a night. Pressing your palm on the mattress, you wonder if it’s alright for you to take space on Jungkook’s bed. Under your breath, you apologize to Jungkook and slide into bed. You stare at the empty side, imagining what it’s like to sleep next to him. But picturing the intimacy makes you blush, so you turn around and try to sleep the thought away. There’s no chance that you’ll ever let that monstrous man lay a finger on you.

You let out a light sigh, holding onto the necklace and praying that the night will go well for you. Before closing your eyes, you think about your mother.

———

“M-Mom? What are you doing?”

You’re back home again, but in child form. In front of your is your mother, her eyes red from sobbing as she pushes you into a small hole in the wall. Although you want to look around, your small body won’t let you. All you do is stare at your mother.

“Don’t worry about me. Stay hidden here and don’t let the bad men see or hear you, got it?”

In the background, black smoke pollutes the red sky. The smell of fire is overpowering. The screams of the villagers, hearing their voices be cut off followed by the sound of gunshots, deafens your ears.

Your mother gets up, but before she can run off, you grab her wrist, crying uncontrollably. “Mom! Don’t leave me, I’m scared…”

She stares at her only daughter, begging her not to leave, eyebrows raised as if not knowing how to soothe you. She gets on one knee, wrapping her arms, burying your face into her shoulder.

“I’m not leaving you, and I never will,” she kisses you on the forehead. “Even if you can’t see me, I’m there for you because I’m your mother.”

There was something off-putting about your mother’s final words, like she knew her fate was inevitable. She wasn’t going to be there to see you grow up, so she found the right words to have you stop crying, almost like an enchanting spell.

You swallow that lump in your throat, nodding your head before letting go of your mother. She smiles in relief, brushing your hair one last time. She steps back, her grin not once leaving her face.

Just then, a muscular man bursts through the door, startling you and your mother. Your mother freezes, face-to-face with one of the pirates who have raided the island. A malicious smile forms on his face, marching right for her. For a millisecond, you and your mother make eye contact, but you knew what her expression said:

‘Don’t make a single noise.’

You cover your mouth, stopping your cries from seeping from between your fingers. But no matter how tight you squeeze your mouth shut, your heart won’t stop pounding. You turn your attention to the tattoo of a black skull on the man’s bicep, glaring back at you with hollow eyes, proceeded by your mother’s screams.

———

You open your eyes, jolting your entire body. You shoot up your upper body, discovering that you’re covered in cold sweat. Your pounding heart is so loud that it almost sounds like it’s echoing. The tips of your fingers tremble.

When you look around to see that you’re in Jungkook’s bedroom, you sigh in relief. You haven’t had a nightmare like that in years, so it’s not a surprise that you’re shaken.

“A nightmare?” A familiar voice asks.

Standing by the bedside is Jungkook, taking off his leather gloves, not batting an eye at you. He was so quiet that you didn’t sense his presence whatsoever. It’s humiliating that he has to see you in this state, but you can’t undo what he’s already seen.

You shake your head. “No...it’s difficult adapting to this place.”

“It’s not hot enough for you to be sweating that much though.” He states as he points at your pillow.

With the candlelight illuminating by the nightstand, a dark shade is embedded into your pillow. You pat it down, your palm interacting with the sweat. You open your mouth to provide a counter argument, but you can’t think of anything from the top of your head.

“Well, since you’re awake, allow me to provide you with a bit of house rules. From here on out, you’ll be in charge of instructing the farmers on how to properly grow the dragon fruits. You will need to learn the ins and outs of this land, so the head maid will be responsible for scheduling etiquette lessons, academics, and so on.”

While you’ve already been made aware of the farming aspect, you weren’t expecting to be tutored. You want to retaliate because you never agreed to the later half of the deal, but Jungkook beats you to it and responds first.

“And don’t try to do anything sneaky. You don’t want to do anything that’ll cost the life of your people.”

A chill runs down your spin. The rules and threat don’t help with your anxiety either, putting more pressure onto your shoulders that you need to abide by the law he creates.

Once Jungkook finishes switching out from his muddy boots to indoor slippers, he strides to the doorway. You were about to call out after him, but you stopped yourself. This is the third time Jungkook has caught you by the tongue, and it’s annoying you.

You curl into a fetal position, dropping your head onto your knees. The new life that you’ll be leading...was it the right choice to leave? You’re beginning to think like your father—could there have been a better outcome if you didn’t prematurely agreed to the engagement?

You mess with your hair, combing your fingers through it as you exhale heavily. To avoid the stress taking ahold of you, you hold onto the necklace, convincing yourself that there was no other way. You can’t wish for this to go away, you have to face it head on. This is just the beginning.

———

SUMMER

“Your Highness, where should the seeds be placed?” An old man approaches with a sack.

“They go into the shed along with the rest of the farm equipment.”

He runs off as quickly as he ran here. In the garden, you’re leaning over as you check the current state of the plants. On the first day of summer, everyone is sweating buckets worth, but this sort of weather is like winter in your homeland, so it’s natural.

It’s been months since you left, and now you live almost comfortably. You’ve been put in charge of raising the tropical plants, keeping a record of the process and sending it to Jungkook by the end of each day. Each day follows a specific pattern, where one day, you’ll be learning proper etiquette as a part of royalty, and other days you’ll be working closely with the servants.

You find it easier to get along with the servants compared to your tutors. They have zero interest in your well-being. It almost feels as if they’re looking down on you because you came from a small island. With the servants, it took awhile for them to warm up to you, but after that’s been done, there’s no issue talking to them.

“Your Highness, shouldn’t you be resting by now? You’ve been here since the break of dawn.” The elderly man asks as soon as he set the sack down.

You shake your head. “I’m fine. I prefer staying outside anyway. It feels a little suffocating in there.”

“But what about your language tutor? Wouldn’t she get upset?”

“I don’t have an issue with verbal communication, and this kingdom’s writing system is confusing that I don’t want to think about it. It doesn’t hurt missing one or two sessions.”

“King Jungkook will get upset if he finds out that you’re skipping lessons!”

“It’s alright,” you say as you pinch the leaves. “It isn’t like he cares.”

Despite the marriage, you and Jungkook treat each other like strangers. You two don’t even share the same bedroom. You’re careful not to show the grudge you hold for him, but Jungkook isn’t a fool; he knows you detest him. However, it was never his intention to be affectionate, you’re here as the connection between him and your father.

“Has he been treating you thoughtfully?”

“More or less. I feel more like a servant than his wife. It’s odd just thinking about how I’m queen…”

The old man laughs. “Even though you came from a royal background?”

“Well, my tradition is different from here. There’s no castle, no machines, no solid hierarchy.”

“It’s pleasant to hear that you came from a humble background. It’s very similar to King Jungkook’s.”

Your ears perk once you hear that. “Excuse me? Can you tell me more? What do you mean by that?”

Although you keep a large gap between you and him, you still are curious about Jungkook. He’s a mysterious person for sure, and you’d like to know more about him.

He looks around to make sure that no one else can hear. “Our former king, King Kim, was a kind man, putting his people before himself. It wasn’t until he was dethroned and slaughtered by King Jeon King Jungkook’s father. He was ruthless, I tell you. He prioritized military power and monetary gain more than anything. Each concubine he married was for the purpose of gaining something from the other lands, eventually marrying five wives.”

It sounds awfully similar to your situation, which isn’t surprising.

“However, his sixth wife was the most unusual, King Jungkook’s mother.”

His mother? You’ve heard about his father previously, but you have yet to learn about his mother. You don’t know if he has a close relationship with his mother. In fact, you don’t even know if she’s alive. If the former king had six wives, where are they?

“How so?”

“What’s going on here?”

From behind, Jungkook had been standing there all this time. The old man looks frightened, nearly falling over.

“Y-Your Majesty. W-we were just checking this section.”

But Jungkook doesn’t seem to believe that. The old man is sweating blocks.

“He was just telling me about the summer heat.”

“Hm, okay,” He still isn’t convinced but doesn’t push any further. “(Y/N), let me speak to you privately.”

You follow him from behind, walking away from the farm. You look back at the old man, hoping that Jungkook won’t do anything.

———

Inside the castle corridors, you’re unsure where he’s going. Every time he walks by a servant, they bow their heads and greet him.

“How have the plants been growing? There’s something off about them.”

“The growth process is a little slow. Because the weather is colder here, it’s going to take longer.”

“How long?”

“I’m not sure...maybe a year until we see something grow.”

“...Very well. It seems like we will have to keep relying on shipments from your island then.”

His words trigger your homesickness. You wonder how your father is doing, hopefully not worried sick for you.

“Also…” he starts. “I’d prefer it if you kept to your own business. My past is not your entertainment.”

You raise an eyebrow, unsure how he came to that conclusion. “I didn’t ask for my amusement. I was genuinely curious.”

“Why learn about someone you hate? To use it against me?”

“Where is this coming from? Why are you accusing me of such things?”

Jungkook doesn’t respond immediately. “If I hear one more question about my mother, then don’t expect me to give you a second chance.”

You can’t believe that he’s threatening you because of your curiosity. You dislike how he can do whatever he wants with you, but opening your mouth is forbidden.

“What’s wrong with me asking about your mother?” You ask with attitude.

He stops walking, that being the last straw. He turns around, and you cover your mouth, realizing that you made a mistake. He stands over you, his dead eyes staring straight into your soul. You gulp, feeling intimidated as he stands inches before you.

“Then tell me how your mother died.”

You never once mentioned about your mother around him, so how does he know?

“Wh-what? How did you…”

“That day when I took over your island, I followed you to your mother’s grave. I heard everything—you crying over her dead body like a helpless child, begging her for help.”

The things that he’s saying...you know that he’s saying only to push you on edge, but you can’t help it. The way he’s mocking your most vulnerable moment, speaking disrespectfully about your mother, it’s infuriating you.

“You’re an imbecile, thinking that a dead person can help you. They’re nothing but bones. There’s no such thing as spirits, and only a dimwit believes that. Your mother died and left you.”

You clench your fists, looking down at your chest, where your mother’s pearl necklace rests.

“Do you now understand why you shouldn’t ask—”

You headbutt him in the chin. He was completely off-guard by that that he nearly fell backwards.

This catches the attention of all the servants in the hall. The color drains out of their eyes when they saw you hit the king himself. He wraps his hand around his injured chin as it pulsates.

“You little…!”

Aware of what your near future has to hold, the servants flee to avoid the consequences. Jungkook was about to explode, but once he sees your face, his anger subsides. Your eyes are watery, presumably because your feelings have been hurt and the pain after hitting him with your head. 

“I’m sorry I asked.”

You storm off, and this sets off even more panic with the servants. But you don’t care. You wanted to get that out of your system, and it felt good. After everything he’s done to you, at least he deserved a headbutt.

———

In another section of the castle finally alone, you’re facing the wall, wiping your eyes. You mumble to yourself, ‘don’t cry, don’t cry.’ You’re embarrassed that you almost let yourself go in front of him, but you weren’t expecting him to spill such crude words. Now you’re stuck in a dilemma where you might be punished for your actions.

Is this really going to be your life? Stuck in a castle with a man who doesn’t love you? All you can think about is going back home, seeing your father again, sleeping in your favorite futon, and talking to your mother, even if she’s dead.

“That was definitely a sight worth seeing!”

You hear an unexpected voice from behind. You spin your body, seeing a man grinning from ear to ear. You don’t recognize him, so you’re on guard when he takes a step closer to you.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you,” as a friendly welcome, he extends his hand out for a handshake. “My name is Taehyung, and I’m a new servant.”

Raising an eyebrow, you decide to trust him, giving him your hand. He gives it a good, rough shake before letting your hand go.

“Were you crying just now?”

“Oh, no, I wasn’t.” You sniff.

“Hm, anyways, I saw what you did earlier, and that definitely took a huge leap of courage. Never in my life have I ever seen anyone do that.” Taehyung applauds.

Still on high alert, you don’t react. Sensing the vibe, he stops.

“He’s a quiet man, but one wrong move and his words can become as sharp as a blade. Now, I wasn’t too sure what the conversation was about, but I’m sure he was trying to press your buttons.”

You don’t respond, so he takes this as a yes. Seeing as you’re silent, he assumes you don’t trust him. He leans down until he’s eye level with you. There’s something in his eyes that you haven’t seen in awhile, and it’s sympathy.

 “Don’t be afraid. I’m on your side. If you want, you can tell me what’s been on your chest. I promise that I won’t tell Jungkook.”

His words are comforting to hear, it’s something that you needed. When you loosen the stiffness in your shoulders, he smiles, relieved that you trust him.

Some time has gone by, and you open up about everything. You weren’t expecting yourself to vent so much, especially since you just barely met him. It just shows that you really needed someone to talk to—someone who’s worried about their safety. Taehyung was quiet the majority of the time, nodding his head. It felt like he was actually invested in what you had to say.

“It must be hard, being in a foreign land, learning a new culture and meet strangers all by yourself.”

“...It is. I’ve always wanted to travel, but not like this.”

“Believe me when I say this, Your Highness, but I know exactly what you mean. I also was alone for most of my life, and it’s scary.”

“Where are you from?”

“Here, but I was orphaned at a very young age. It’s a miracle that I’m even alive.”

“I’m...sorry about that.”

“No worries!” he takes a step back, returning to his bubbly personality. “I know we just met, but what would you say if I told you that I can help you back home?”

Your eyes widen, at a loss of words. Did he really say what you thought you heard? “Really?! But...why?”

He nods. “No person should be restrained to another without consent, and I’m willing to get you out of it. Your father is the only family you have left, right? You should go back to him when you still have the chance.”

You can’t believe it. Taehyung is a savior. However...your hope sinks when you forgot another important factor.

“But...he has my father in his hands. If I leave, he knows where to look, and without a doubt, he’ll definitely kill everybody.”

“I might know a way to get around that. It won’t be easy, and it’ll take time, but if you want my help, then I need you to do something for me.”

“What is it?”

“I want you to find Jungkook’s weak spot.”

A weakness? “What does it have to do with the plan?”

“Think about it: he’s the one who’s pulling the strings. Even if you try to tug on it, his eyes are on you, so you can’t escape. If we use his weakness to distract him, then I can help snip the strings. You have an advantage because you’re his wife—the only person closest to him. I may not look like it, but I have a lot of connections, and I can get someone to prepare a ship for your return.”

“Are...you really willing to go that far for me? I-I haven’t done anything to deserve this.”

While you’re grateful for this opportunity, it feels off. The benefits outweigh the workload. Can the plan really work out the way he explains it to be?

“I’m doing it also for myself. One day, I’ll tell you why. The plan might sound simple, but it’s more complicated. But don’t worry about it, I’ll do the hard part. I just need you to gain Jungkook’s trust.”

“...Okay. I’ll do it,” you lean over, hugging him to express how thankful you are, but it catches him off-guard. “Thank you so much. I’ll never forget it.”

He pulls himself back, clearing his throat. “It hasn’t started, so don’t thank me yet.”

He has given you this ray of hope that nobody else here has done. Each day, your mental state deteriorated because nobody was willing to take the chance to listen to you. If you hadn’t met Taehyung, then you would’ve continued to spiral down into insanity. You make sure that Taehyung’s offer will not be taken for granted.

———

The head maid’s hand slaps you so hard that your head turned in the same direction as her hand. “You simple-minded bitch!”

You fight the urge to hit her back, clenching your fists.

“How dare you humiliate the king in front of everybody?! He has been nothing but kind toward you! He gave you a roof to sleep under, food, and even education for that barbaric mind of yours!” She nags as she aggressively pokes your head.

Despite being the queen, you’re treated no differently from a maid. There is no respect for you from the head maid, only when Jungkook is around. She has already made it clear that she despises you since the beginning.

“If you had been some ordinary woman, then I’d have your hair shaved off. You don’t deserve the opportunity to even apologize!” She turns away, sneering at you. “I still cannot believe that he chose to marry you when he had more proper women lined up.”

You didn’t make the decision, but the way she says it makes it sound like it was. You rub your cheek after she leaves. It’s unfair that Jungkook doesn’t get backlash for what he does, but you do. If you were of another background, then the maid wouldn’t have treated you this way.

You stomp your feet to the balcony, pushing the doors open. The urge to scream is pulled back when you’re reminded that as a woman, you could get in trouble for using your chest voice. Instead, you slam your fist against the concrete rail, cursing to your heart’s content. The maid did not see what had unfolded between you and him, but even if she did, she would still side with Jungkook.

You raise your head up, staring at the distant building where Jungkook has sword practice. Even under this hot weather, he’s still practicing. For the months that you’ve been living here, he’s never missed a day. He doesn’t even sleep in the same room as you. You can’t quite understand him—why is he so intent with work?

You recall what Taehyung said about potentially helping you return to your island. With him being closed-off with everyone, including you, how can you possibly get close to him? But you can’t have a defeatist attitude just yet when you haven’t started. Perhaps you’re overthinking it and there is a chance that you can pass through his barriers; you just have to figure out how.

———

You exhaling to calm your nerves. In your hands is a tray of iced tea. You’re a few feet away from Jungkook, in the gardens hiding behind a rose bush sculpted into the shape of a young angel. This is the first time you’ll be approaching him non-business related, so you pray that your act of kindness doesn’t come off as suspicious. You convince yourself not to worry too much, counting backward before going.

You pull the most welcoming smile that you can achieve, walking stiffly to Jungkook. As you pull in closer, he notices you and stops. He brushes his sweaty hair back, breathing heavily as he stares at you. The longer he stares at you, the more conscious you are of your appearance. How do you look like when you’re walking? Is your posture relaxed? How does a normal walk look like again? All the little things attacking you at once.

“Good afternoon, Your Majesty,” you pause momentarily to rehearse your lines. “It sure is hot today, isn’t it? I see you practice here often, so I thought it’d be best for you to take a break and have a cup of cold tea.”

You look for anything to use as a table, but seeing as there’s nothing of use, you keep ahold of the tray.

Already, he raises an eyebrow. “I know. I see you on the balcony, watching me.”

He points at the balcony connected to the bedroom, and you look behind. You never thought about how obvious it is when you stand there, spying on him like a stalker. It makes you flustered, almost forgetting what to say next.

“Oh, it’s just fascinating watching you practice. You strike this dummy like it’s a real person!” You try to sound enthusiastic, but it’s too forced that he can see through you.

“What do you want?”

“N-nothing! I just…” you look down at the ground. “...wanted to apologize for my rash behavior the other day. It was uncalled for me to hit you like that. I-I know a cup of tea isn’t going to redo the past, but I want to show that I thought a lot about it and would like to make up for that.”

While a part of you does feel apologetic for what you did, but the childish side says that he deserved it. Jungkook still doesn’t look convinced with your offer but gives in to it anyways. He takes the cup and sips it before returning it to you. He resumes training, acting as if you never came by.

You’re left there standing without another word. Is that really it? What else are you supposed to do? You were expecting more persuasion would come into play. You were going to take this as a perfect opportunity to be pushier, but you’re stumped.

“Okay well...train hard.”

You spin around, pacing back to the garden with your head hanging low. Your face is flushed, unable to believe that you were at a loss of words. You prepared a whole conversation in case he refused, but he’s wittier than you thought. He knows that by retaliating, it’ll give you a reason to stay and bother him. He was one step ahead of you.

But you can’t give up now. This is just the first attempt. You raise your head up with new determination.

———

Every day since then, you would bring cold drinks for Jungkook during his training session. You would ask the servants to teach you how to make tea, then you would bring it out to him. You did this so often that the servants thought that it was becoming a chore for you, so they offered to do it in your stead, but you turned it down every time. You wanted—needed—to be the one to get close to him, even if the atmosphere felt uncomfortably silent.

“Why do you practice every day?” You ask one day.

While sitting down on the ground, Jungkook stares at you. You don’t know what he’s thinking, but you wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t answer you. You return the gaze back at him, using your hand as a shade above your eyes to protect them from the glaring sun. He looks away, turning his attention back at the beatdown scarecrow.

“It’s important not to slack off.”

“But don’t you think you’re practicing too much? I see you with a wooden sword more than anything else.”

The end of his eyebrow raises up, not agreeing with your statement. “It’s easy for you to say that.”

He returns to what he was doing before, trying to ignore you as usual. However, you aren’t going to let him off that easily this time.

“You know, I may not look like it, but I know how to use a sword too.”

“Yes, I’m aware. That was how we met.”

You forgot about that. That wasn’t the best introduction, but there’s no way you can redo that now. You stand up, stretching your arms and legs. He stands back, wondering what you’re about to do.

You grab an extra wooden sword and get into battle position. You raise the sword over your head, swinging it down on the scarecrow’s head. The head bobs up and down from the impact, dust flying everywhere. You look at Jungkook, waiting for his praise.

“Holding the sword above your head takes too much strength and time. By doing that, you leave your entire body vulnerable, and you would’ve gotten hit by then. You don’t want to make the first hit the most powerful one either. Conserve your strength for the rest of the fight.”

Your pride was stomped in an instant, but then again, there was no point for you to show off amateur skills to an expert.

“Who taught you how to use a sword?”

You scratch your cheek, having realized that you boasted about yourself a bit too much. “No one…”

“Not even your father?”

“No...my dad didn’t want me to get near a blade, so I kinda learned by watching him.”

“Hm, impressive. Despite everything else, you have the strength equivalent to that of a man, and self-taught too, not too bad.”

You knew that you were most likely stronger than an average woman because you were the only person in your entire village who could perform physical labor. Everybody was either too old or young.

“Perhaps you’re not some ordinary, dainty woman, but you still have a long way before you call yourself a swordswoman.”

You don’t know if meant that as a compliment. Either way, it lifted your spirits. You try to hide your smile, but it’s impossible. Jungkook catches you grinning, not sure why you’re happy, but decides not to say anything. In fact, that’s the first time he’s seen you smile since you got here and this is the longest conversation he’s had with you.

Upon first impression, it didn’t seem like you liked him, which isn’t surprising considering what he did. But you suddenly started showing up, giving him something to drink every day under the scorching weather, trying to talk to him. It’s highly suspicious, especially since you get nothing out of talking to him. However, it isn’t something he particularly hates.

“You’re...” He trails off. “...welcome to practice here. And you don’t have to use tea as an excuse.”

Your jaw drops, your eyes so wide that you can see the whole world. He doesn’t know why you’re so speechless by his offer, but you quickly go back to smiling again.

“Thank you, Your Majesty!”

If anything, he’s more shocked. He can’t understand why he feels...comfortable talking to you. You two should see each other as enemies, but seeing you in another light, he wasn’t thinking when he offered this place to you. If anything, it would be a bad move on his end. If you learned how to use a weapon, then you can kill him. But this brief conversation felt like the conflict between you and him doesn’t exist. He can’t remember the last time he spoke to someone without second-guessing, or if he ever did at all.

———

And just as he said, you’ve been practicing alongside Jungkook. You still bring him tea, but now you found another reason to stop by. Although he doesn’t say much, he does leave advice here and there to better your swordsmanship. Whenever it isn’t about training, he would ask about how the dragonfruits are growing. Despite that gap between you and him still apparent, the gap definitely closened.

However, today is unlike any day. When you head to the training area, Jungkook is nowhere to be seen. He’s usually here around this time of day. You set the tea set down, finding a gardener nearby.

“Excuse me, do you know where King Jungkook is?”

“I heard that the shipment from Pitaya Island has arrived today, so he went to the port to check. He should be back shortly.”

“Thank you.”

You leave the gardener be, deciding to kill time by swinging the wooden sword. The head maid recommends that you use your extra time by studying, but just thinking about a book already stresses you out. You can already tell that academics aren’t your strongest, so you dread the thought of just thinking about it. At least for this, this gives you a reason to feel productive.

———

You thought that by practicing, hours would fly over your head, but it turned out to be the contrary. You keep looking back at the garden, hoping to see Jungkook. Every time you think about him, you try shaking him out. He is your enemy, you tell yourself, you’re not here to become allies. It makes you forget about him for a  few seconds, then you return to this vicious cycle of thinking about him again.

After an hour, you stopped, finding this repetition to get on your nerves. You kick the pebbles around, watching them roll away. With all your attention on the pebbles, you almost run into the scarecrow. You get into a stare-off with it, glaring at its dirty face. It has two ‘x’ for eyes, as there used to be buttons there. It’s been abused by Jungkook so much that cotton is falling out from the man-made body, and the clothes have lost their color. Despite being a victim, it still has a smile sewn onto it.

“What are you looking at?” You make an attempt to sound menacing, but only make a poor attempt at it. “Just because you hang out with Jungkook the most doesn’t mean that you’re special.”

You pause as if the scarecrow is actually speaking.

“What? I’m not jealous. Just to let you know, I hate him. That’s right, he’s my arch-nemesis, so that means that you’re my enemy too. I have every reason to show you no mercy.”

You’re quiet again, and then you pull yourself back as if you’ve been offended.

“No, I’m not thinking about him! Are you insane? ...Me? Worried?” You roll your eyes, scoffing. “Why would I worry about that selfish prick anyway? He doesn’t care if I die.”

You realize that you’re having an imaginary conversation with a scarecrow, but knowing that you talked to your mother’s tombstone for twelve years, this is nothing out of the ordinary.

“He just...wants me because it’ll benefit him. I refuse to believe that he has an ounce of care in him.” 

That’s right, you shouldn’t try to understand someone who doesn’t think about others. You should focus on getting back home. It would be a waste to have him in your thoughts.

“YOUR HIGHNESS!” The scratchy voice was so loud that it frightened you.

The head maid is marching right toward you, grabbing your arm once she got close enough. You thought that you had gotten into trouble again, but that expression on her face doesn’t look like she intends to yell at you today.

“Where on earth have you been?! I’ve been searching everywhere!”

“I-I was here this whole time. Why?”

“There was an attack!”

“What?!”

“A pirate had hijacked one of the ships with the food supply from your island and made an attempt to ambush King Jungkook.”

You thought you didn’t hear her right. When she said ‘your island,’ there was this immediate feeling of foreboding dragging your entire spirit down.

“Thankfully, they were no match for the king, so—”

“Where is King Jungkook?!”

Startled by your sudden question, she hesitates. “The king is in the main hall. I understand that you’re in a panic, we all were, but do not raise your voice—”

You run back inside, not caring if your shoes are covered in dirt. You’re not supposed to run in the castle, but you could care less. What you need to know now is if your father is okay.

———

In the main hall, the servants and soldiers surround Jungkook. You fight through the crowd to get into the center. Your heart pounds, your vision is blurry, and your hands tremble. You want to know what happened so you can get rid of this antsy feeling.

When the crowd finally notices you passing through, they immediately make way. They grow silent after seeing you, even Jungkook. Standing before him, you didn’t have to say anything for him to know what you want to ask.

“They’re safe. The pirates hijacked the ship after they picked up the new shipment.”

It felt like a million things have just been lifted. You don’t know how you would react if he didn’t have any good news to say.

Despite saving the capital from a terror attack, the people around Jungkook don’t cheer. They have the same, stoic expression that they’ve always had. Once Jungkook walks away from the main lobby and into the hall, the crowd disperses, returning to their everyday lives.

Perhaps there was more that you should’ve said to him, at most a thanks. After all, he did save the mainland, as it is a king’s duty to do so. Something in you is persuading you to move your feet and follow him, let him know that you’re thankful, even if he ignores you.

———

As Jungkook dives deeper into the maze of corridors, you follow closely behind. You’re embarrassed for behaving stealthily when you can simply confront him, but you want to stall and have enough time to rehearse what you want to say to him

 You don’t even know if it’s worth it to thank him, especially knowing how talented he is at ignoring you. You aren’t even sure why you’re so keen on talking to him. It might be because you’ve gotten comfortable enough to be around him that it becomes second nature to speak to him. Another reason might be because you were unconsciously worried about him, no matter how much you deny that. Regardless of the reason, you’re still here, hiding behind each statue, peeking your head out and waiting for the perfect opportunity to say something.

You come to a halt when Jungkook suddenly stops walking in the middle of the halls. Initially, you thought that he noticed you. But after a few seconds later, you see that that isn’t the case. Since he’s not moving, you thought that this would be the right time to reveal yourself and stop hiding. You step out from behind a sculpture of a man, waving your hand to grab his attention.

“Your Majesty, I—”

But before you can finish your sentence, Jungkook falls to his knees, coughing violently. You’re startled, not doing anything before processing that he’s fallen over. After it clicks that he’s not well, you force your legs to work. 

You kneel down, getting a better look at his condition. Jungkook is covering his mouth with his hand, coughing nonstop to the point where he’s wheezing. His other arm and wrapped around his stomach, and sweat is pouring out of his pores. His ears and nose are turning red.

You put your hands on his shoulders, and it seems as though he didn’t realize that you were here all along. Instinctively, he shoves your hands off, giving you an angry look. “Don’t touch me...”

After moving his hand away from his mouth, you see the blood rolling down his lip. The palm of his hand is covered in blood, fusing with the sweat. He struggles to stand up, only to fall back down. He’s so weak that he has to lean on the wall, trying to catch his breath.

Seeing him in this condition, it horrifies you. Just moments ago, he looked fine. He must’ve waited until there was absolutely no one to finally fall. With his arm still wrapped around his stomach, you notice that his shirt is slowly sucking up the blood. He must have received an injury to the stomach.

Disregarding his order, you lean over to him, putting his arm around your neck to help him up. He looks confused but too weak to remove his arm from you.

“What are you doing?”

“Why did you pretend like you were okay?!” You respond with a question.

Jungkook is silent, looking away. With your strength, you’re able to lift him up, though you struggle to get him to walk. After the first few steps, you were able to get into rhythm with his steps. The sweat from the tips of his hair is rubbed against your cheek, and your dress is soaking up the sweat like a sponge.

“Where are you taking me?”

“To your room.”

———

In the room, Jungkook’s personal doctor has just completed his checkup, returning the stethoscope back to the bag. His doctor has given him liquid medicine to soothe him. After all the commotion, he’s finally calmed down and asleep. You stayed for the entire duration, standing by the side and waiting for the results.

The doctor approaches you, sighing. “His Majesty is no longer in critical condition. It was quite a fright, however.”

“Can you explain what happened?”

“He was injured during battle, receiving a deep cut to his waist. There must’ve been poison on the blade, as he was showing symptoms.”

“What?!”

“I’m not certain what kind of poison yet, but it most likely might’ve been a plant-based poison.”

Your gaze turns to Jungkook, who’s sleeping soundly.

“It was sheer luck that you were barely able to get me in time before the poison spread to his entire body. He should be able to recover within a week as long as he takes the medicine on a daily basis. However, he will still feel soreness in his muscles, so I recommend that he doesn’t get out of bed,” The doctor gives you a transparent glass bottle. “Make sure that he takes this three times a day. Oh, and please keep an eye on him. He may be our king, but he’s still a child. He might feel uneasy being in bed and make sure that he doesn’t try to sneak out.”

He walks off, leaving you confused at first before turning around and calling him back. “Wait, excuse me—”

And with that, the doctor closes the door behind him. Your intention was to get him to his room and get help as soon as possible, not become his personal maid. Even though you are his wife by contract, you aren’t romantically attached to him to where you should take care of him.

But when you look at him, you can’t help but think that you’re simply being selfish. You know almost nothing about taking care of an ill person, so you were upset that the responsibility was dropped on your head suddenly. You can’t forget that he fought outsiders to protect his land and behaved as if he was fine afterwards.

Since he’s no longer in critical condition, you decide that it’s best to let him rest. You open the drawer of the nightstand to place the bottle inside. However, there’s something in there that catches your attention. It’s a black and white photo of a boy sitting on a woman’s lap. Both of their expressions look melancholic, showing no signs of glee whatsoever. They’re dressed in elegant clothing, not a single wrinkle on it,  and their hair is combed back with a gel-like substance.

The child on the woman’s lap has a starking resemblance to Jungkook. You look at Jungkoook, then look back at the photo. He looks similar to the woman in the photograph as well. After thinking about it for a while, you draw to the conclusion that this is Jungkook, and the woman is presumably his mother.

Jungkook turns in his bed and groans. Startled, you instinctively shove the photo into your pocket. You sigh in relief when he doesn’t wake up. You take the photo out, staring at it again.

———

“This woman?”

In the wine basement, you hand the photograph to Taehyung. He tilts his head, rotating the picture around to get a better look at it.

“This is Jungkook’s mother.”

Just as you thought.

“Where did you find this?” He asks while returning the picture back to you.

“I found it in his drawer. I was wondering if you know anything about her.”

You’re aware that Jungkook is not fond of people talking about his mother, but your curiosity outweighs the caution. You’re keen into knowing why he was so against you learning about her, and you want to know why there’s no sign of her either.

“I’m not surprised that he’s trying to keep it silent.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“His mother was a prostitute.”

“Prostitute? What’s that?”

Uncomfortable with figuring out how to properly explain the term, he averts his eyes. He leans over to your ear, whispering the description. Upon hearing the answer, you pull yourself back, dropping your jaw. You then cover your mouth with your hand.

“Everybody knows, but Jungkook forbids anyone to talk about it. It might be because he’s ashamed of his background, being raised by a street woman.”

You look at the picture again, focusing on his mother. You can’t imagine her living that sort of lifestyle, and then for Jungkook to grow up in that environment.

“I don’t know the full story, but the former king suddenly announced that he wedded another woman, his sixth one, in fact.”

“How is it possible that a king can marry another woman? What ever happened to swearing oath to one?”

“By law, the king is allowed to marry as many wives as he wishes. It’s a new rule after Jungkook’s father killed the king previous to him. Although, I can’t say for certain that not all concubines were treated equally.”

Taehyung puts his hands in his pockets, the mood darkening. There was a glimpse of fury underneath his eyes, but you might’ve imagined it.

“His father is a selfish prick, creating rules only to benefit him. His eyes saw nothing but lust. Either that or their kingdom had something the former king wanted, so an alliance through marriage was necessary for him to have a share.”

The latter half of Taehyung’s remark bothers you as if poking you on the side to remind you of your position. Without a doubt, you know that he didn’t marry you because he liked you, but what your island can contribute to him. The more you think about it, the more disdain you grow for him. But, you aren’t sure if the disdain is for Jungkook, or indirectly toward his father.

You know you’re looking at this with a biased point of view, but even if Taehyung described Jungkook’s mother in a sour way, you can’t bring yourself to look down on her. It might be because of what you used to have with your mother, but you don’t want to jump to conclusions and assume who his mother exactly is.

Seeing how deep in thought you are, Taehyung bends down until he’s eye level with you, patting you on the shoulder as he smiles. “Don’t worry about it. Soon enough, I’ll be able to send you back home. You’re doing a fine job.”

That’s right, you shouldn’t sympathize with anyone here but Taehyung. He’s the only one willing to help you, so there’s no need to feel sorry for Jungkook...right?

———

Jungkook’s health has been improving steadily, and he’s been staying in bed as of late. You were worried about the extra weight of giving him his daily dose of medicine, but it was you merely overthinking it. At most, you have to measure the right dosage then mix it into his soup. Once that’s complete, you go back to tending the dragon fruit garden and the dreadful private lessons.

Since he takes over the bed, you don’t sleep in the room anymore. Once the head maid is off your back, you sneak into your dressing room and sleep there. If she finds out that you’re not sleeping the ‘proper way’, then she would smack you without hesitation.

It’s been a few days since he’s been bedridden, and you can’t tell he’s beginning to get antsy staying in bed all day. The doctor insists that he doesn’t overwork himself as he’s still sore. However, Jungkook is a busy body, so resting is uncommon to him.

Today, in particular, you notice that he looks especially stressed. On his lap is a clipboard with sheets of paper stacked above it. He keeps scratching his head, his forehead wrinkled as he makes tiny grunts under his breath. You thought it’d be best to ignore it, but he’s not even trying to hide it.

“Are you okay…?”

“No, I’m not.” He responds frankly.

It would’ve been nicer if he didn’t say it in that tone. However, you try to brush it off. You keep telling yourself that this is for the sake of going back home.

“Is there any way I can help you with that?”

He glares at me as if astounded that you even bothered to ask that. “How will you be able to help me? You hardly know your numbers.”

You can feel your veins popping out. His snarky remarks are testing your patience, especially since you didn’t do anything this time to upset him.

“I might not be able to do it for you, but if you want someone to talk to, then I can be your listener.”

“How will that help me?”

“That way, you don’t have to carry the weight by yourself.”

He squints his eyes, not wanting to take your word for it. “This is a battle plan that the general and I created together. There has been an increase in pirate attacks, and we’re trying to figure out how to increase our defense.”

You take a look at the sheets, and it’s much more complicated than you thought. You barely understand the written language itself, and all the lines and circles drawn to each line makes you more confused. You weren’t expecting him to let you see it, or even tell you. In a way, it made you excited knowing that he’s trusting you bit by bit, even if you can’t understand anything.

“But...it isn’t easy. For every plan I create, I have to get them approved by my older brothers, and that isn’t easy. Every damn plan I propose to them, they reject it. And yet, they complain, and complain, and complain that I need to somehow improve my military.” He lets out an exasperated sigh.

He was right—you really don’t know how to solve this. You’ve never met any of his relatives to give suggestions. Being speechless, you put your index finger to your lips, thinking of anything to say. That’s when you remember what Taehyung said to you days ago.

“What is the flaw that they see?”

“I don’t even know. They won’t even tell me.”

Taehyung did mention that Jungkook is the youngest and isn’t treated well. Knowing his background and his mother, he might not have the respect he deserves from his older brothers.

“Maybe...your plan is fine? But they don’t want to acknowledge it?”

He raises an eyebrow. “And how would you know that it’s alright? You didn’t read it.”

You shrug your shoulders. “Just a guess. I mean, you’re a king for a reason. You were able to map out a way to my homeland without trouble, and then you took care of those pirates.”

Because Jungkook doesn’t know that you’ve been informed of his backstory, he looks at you with a questionable expression. A sweat drops, worried that he might’ve figured out that you stole the picture of his mother. You haven’t returned it yet, and it’s making you anxious.

“Whether I’m a king or not, my older brothers see me as incompetent,” he leans back. “No matter what I do, they don’t believe that I’m meant to become king.”

“Why is that so?”

“Well, for starters, I’m the youngest, and that already sets me at a disadvantage. Not only that, I—” Jungkook stops abruptly, losing his train of thought. “Never mind. There’s no point in diving deep into this topic.”

If only he knew what you knew, then he would know how sympathetic you feel for him. Selling your body for money may not be the most well-respected career path, but a mother is still a mother. What she did to support her and Jungkook prior to moving into the castle should not be forgotten.

Thinking about your mother, you may not remember her face anymore, but you don’t let the memories of her die out. She died when you were still very young, but that doesn’t excuse you to forget everything that she did in the short time that you’ve spent with her, and those are irreplaceable.

“You know...sometimes it’s nice to talk to somebody about your problems. It’s not whether or not they can solve it, but just for others to know the troubles that you’re going through. You’re not expecting much, only for them to lend an ear,” you clutch onto the pearl necklace, smiling faintly as you stare blankly into space. “You saw me talking to my mother’s tombstone, right? Talking about my day is heals my mind of all the stress that I go through daily.”

Thinking about your mother’s grave, picturing your father and the villagers, it truly makes you homesick. If only you can see the palm trees again, listen to the chirps of the colorful birds that fly across the sky, and the beauty of the ocean right under a bright, blue sky. But you swallow back your homesickness. Now is not the time to be reminiscing.

“My mother died a long time ago to protect me.”

Jungkook raises his eyebrows, completely surprised with your openness.

“When I was a child, there was an invasion by another group of pirates, stealing our crops and pillaging our village. While everything was perishing, my mother hid me, making sure that the bloodline doesn’t end with me. By the time the invaders got what they needed and left, most of the children my age was killed off. That’s why I’m the only person who’s around my age.”

It hurts going back to that time. It was hard for everybody, especially with your father. Not only did his people suffer a lot, but he also lost this beloved wife. He was broken for years, and he’s still healing from it to this day.

“Even though my mom died long ago, I still talk to her. I know she’s dead, but speaking to her like she’s listening to everything I’m saying, it’s so relieving. So...if you ever feel stressed, it’s always good to release it. It doesn’t have to be me, but your reflection or anything you’re comfortable with.”

With his lack of response, you aren’t sure if he agrees with you or not. It sounds silly, but it definitely has helped you when coping with difficult situations. You’re already choking on your tears, swallowing the lump in your throat. To avoid crying in front of him, you think of something else to talk about.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to talk about myself. You’re the one who’s going through a tough time.”

He looks away, staring intensely at the blanket. “No...I was unaware of that. If you like, you can leave now.”

You’re surprised he said it in a calm manner. It almost sounds as if he acknowledged what you said and is letting you leave out of courtesy. You clear your throat, patting the back of your dress as you walk off.

“Very well, just holler for me if there’s anything you need.”

He barely nods, and you look back one more time before leaving.

———

Despite that being the longest you’ve ever spoken to Jungkook, nothing spectacular happened after that. You were somewhat expecting a turn in your relationship, but it’s as steady as it’s always been.

Jungkook has gotten better to where he can walk around. However, he still can’t do the activities that he did before, so most of the time, he walks around the castle, looking around as if he were a tourist. You’ve been watching him from afar, spying on him to see what he does, but nothing out of the ordinary happens.

Today is the same routine with you having to serve him dinner. However, when you enter, Jungkook is nowhere to be seen. Mild panic sets in, and you start to worry about where he could have gone. You set down the tray, calling his name while searching the entire room.

You walk out of the room, looking all around the hallway for any trace of him. A servant walks by, and you grab her by the shoulder. She didn’t notice you at first, so it made her flinch.

“Your Highness! Is there anything you need?”

“Do you know where the king is?”

“Ah, yes. His Majesty went to the garden. I may be wrong, but he went to check on the shipments for the exotic fruits.”

You smile, letting her know that you’re thankful before rushing to the backyard.

———

Appearing before you is the small shack where the dragon fruit seeds and fruits are hidden. The door is slightly ajar, so you peek in there, leaning over to double-check that Jungkook is in there. Just as the servant claims, he’s crouching over, digging his hand into a sack of black dragon fruit seeds. Wrapped around his shoulders is a thin blanket.

He looks tranquil, feeling the sensation of hundreds of seeds tickling his hand. It’s moments like these that remind you that Jungkook is barely into adulthood, yet he has so many responsibilities on his shoulders. You can’t imagine what goes through his mind, knowing the countless things that he has to keep in check.

You made the mistake of misstepping, making a slight kick to the door. This alerts Jungkook, shooting his head up to make eye contact with you. You avert your eyes, biting your bottom lip as you look away in embarrassment.

“No need to hide. Come here.” He waves his hand, signaling for you to enter.

You timidly stride inside, somewhat taken aback that Jungkook would let you inside. You don’t know if he’s going to let you stand next to him. You crouch down, staring at the seeds, wondering what it is that’s so intriguing to him.

“I tried doing what you said,” Jungkook begins. “And it doesn’t work.”

“What doesn’t work?”

“Talking to inanimate objects. I feel like an insane person. I feel more comfortable talking to somebody.”

It’s not surprising that Jungkook thinks so. If anything, it’s astonishing that he even made an attempt. He scoops a handful of seeds, then to let it pour in between his fingers.

“Have the plants been growing well?”

“Yes, it’s been slow, but still growing.”

“...That’s nice. There was a myth that there’s a one out of a million chance that one of the dragon fruits will actually grow a dragon egg. Is that true?”

You raise an eyebrow, having never heard of that before. “Where did you hear that from?”

“I heard it from many people. Your island is famous through word, but no one has ever gone there to prove it.”

If you had a closer relationship with him, then you would tease him for believing a false myth like a child would. It makes you wonder if he actually went as far as to travel to your island just to see if that tale is true.

“I’m sorry about looking down on your mother.”

Your turn your head to him so fast that your neck almost snapped. For a second, you thought your ears were playing tricks on you. It’s baffling to comprehend that Jungkook has just apologized.

“It was very immature of me to speak about somebody who I’ve never met before, so I’m not asking for your forgiveness.”

What was it that made him have a change of mind so suddenly? Could it have actually been what you said? You aren’t sure, but what you are sure is that something within him changed. Someone whom you thought is as cold as stone is opening up.

“Also...thank you for taking care of me these past few days and...dealing with me despite my stubbornness.”

Upon hearing that, you notice Jungkook’s ears turning red, cheeks flushed with red as well.

“I’ve never eaten a dragon fruit before,” He quickly changes the topic. “Does it taste good?

Saving his pride, you decide not to make a comment about his apology. You even pretend that he never said it. “What do you mean, ‘does it taste good?’ It’s one of the best! Not only is the color eye-catching, but the taste is also jaw-dropping!”

Your vague description doesn’t convince Jungkook enough. He raises an eyebrow, acting as if he had just heard a child talking. You try thinking of other ways to express it, but your vocabulary doesn’t stretch that far. That’s when you have an idea.

“Do we have any of the fruits from the most recent shipment?”

He points to the corner of the room. You stand up, dashing to inspect the fruits piled on each other in a large wooden box. With the lack of proper care, it’s not a surprise when you see that the fruits have become a bit old. You dig through it, praying that you’d find one that’s not bruised nor old, and your prayers are heard when you manage to find one that’s still in good condition.

You grin, showing him the fruit as he slowly walks up to you. “Here we go. Try this one.”

He takes it from your hand, rotating it around, having no clue what to do with it. “How do I…?”

He looks up from the fruit, staring at you with eyes as big as a baby’s. You want to giggle, but it’s too rude to do. You take it from his hand, looking for a small knife, managing to find one sitting on a table. You steady the blade onto the center of the fruit, slicing it in half. You open it, revealing the white flesh from within.

You return it to him, this time, after assisting him in opening the fruit. “Tell me how it tastes.”

Still not knowing how to eat it but not wanting to rely on you a second time, Jungkook digs his fingers into the fruit, scooping a small handful. He takes a bite, and his eyes enlarge once it’s in his mouth. You knew immediately what his reaction is.

“Tastes good, right?”

Jungkook nods his head. “Do you want some?”

“No, it’s okay-”

Without getting the chance to finish your sentence, Jungkook puts it into your mouth. The taste of the fruit reminds you of your home, and a wave of homesickness overwhelms you again. You remember the first time you had a dragon fruit when you were a toddler—that sweetness overwhelming your mouth, the small crunches of the black seeds—eating it at the table with your parents and grandmother. The smile on your mother’s face , your father’s booming laughter, and your grandmother cutting the fruits into smaller cubes.

Where has the time gone?

It never really hit you how much you miss your home—how lonely you feel. Every day, you feel like an outsider here. Even though you’re Jungkook’s wife, you don’t feel treated like one, and when people are respectful, there’s an obvious gap. You want to go home. You want to see your family again, under the tropical sun and sitting under the palm trees’ shades. You don’t want to be here anymore.

Before you know it, you’re already sobbing. You chuckle to lighten the mood, using your palms to wipe the tears away. But the tips of your lips tremble when you try smiling, and you choke on the lump in your throat. You managed to keep a strong face for the months you’ve been here, but you can’t hide it anymore, even if Jungkook is next to you. The more you think about your home, the more you cry. Within seconds, you lose that smile, breaking down entirely.

To your surprise, Jungkook wraps one arm around you, pulling him close to his shoulder. You rest your head on his shoulder, pausing your cry momentarily before continuing. He pats your back, and although his comforting is stiff, he’s trying his hardest. He doesn’t say anything, unsure of what to say since he’s never have to comfort somebody before.

You want to go home…

But you know you can’t.

[End of Part 1]

Part Two here

A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you for ending this until the end! I appreciate every single one of you reading it, and everyone is welcome to leave a message or comment of any kind ^^. I’ll be making part 2 soon, so in the mean time, have a great day!!

Masterlist

[sodone-withlife]

glass is fragile

Criminal Minds Fic Part One

| PART 1 | PART 2 |

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: implied character death 

Notes: cross-posted on Ao3. this is the result of a random idea I had because while I love Hotchniss, I love the idea of the two meeting in college and keeping in contact with Hotch being an overprotective brother

fortuna vitrea est; tum cum splendet frangitur (fortune is glass; just when it gleams brightest it shatters) - Publilius Syrus

“Agent Hotchner?”

Hotch looked up and did a double-take. “Emily?” he stood up, sending a surprised look at the smiling woman carrying a file box standing in front of his desk. He walked around his desk and closed his office door before giving her a half hug. “It’s been a while hasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Emily let out a brief laugh, placing the box down on one of the chairs. “Last we talked was what, two years ago?”

“Must have been,” Hotch walked back around the desk and sat down, gesturing for Emily to do the same. “How’ve you been doing?”

Her expression dimmed a bit, shadows encroaching on the brightness of their reunion. “Well, he is still locked away, so it’s old history,” she shrugged. “Joined the bureau about a year ago, and I’ve been stuck in a desk job over at White Collar.”

Hotch held her gaze, knowing what was going unsaid, then nodded and changed the subject. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but what’s brought you here? Last I heard you were doing pretty well over in the DC office.”

Emily’s expression gave way to confusion as she sat up straight. “I’m transferring to your team,” she said slowly.

Hotch paused. “I didn’t receive any paperwork nor did I authorize any transfer,” he told her awkwardly.

She reached into the box and pulled out a file, giving it to him. “I’m not sure what to tell you,” she said and indicated the file, “but that’s what I have.” Hotch flipped through, lips compressed in thought.

“I’m going to have to look into this,” he looked up at her seriously and forestalled any protests with a placating hand. “There’s no doubt that you’re qualified to join this team. However, normally, all applications for this unit go directly to me, and your transfer happens to come just as there have been some inquiries regarding this unit.”

A look of mutual understanding passed between them, their experience with bureaucratic and office politics filling in all the blanks. “Well,” Hotch broke that silence that had fallen and stood up, “you’ve luckily caught us when we’re on stand down, so I’ll introduce you to the team and you can get set up.”

Emily nodded and stood up as he picked up the box for her, both slightly put off-balance in the new boss-employee dynamic between them after they had worked together on equal footing for a few years. Hotch nudged her arm, stopping her just before they walked out of the office.

When she looked up at him, a small but genuine smile had broken through the darker affect he had gained since the last time they had seen each other.

“It really is good to see you again.”

~~~

“Any idea why Sean, just out of the blue, asked to meet with us?”

Emily shook her head. “No idea,” she answered, looking at the suited man in the driver’s seat of the black Mercedes. “It’s been six years since I last talked to him. You?”

“Same as you, about six,” Hotch replied. “I remained in contact with him for a bit after I returned to the BAU, but our exchanges were usually brief.”

The two lapsed into an easy silence until Hotch pulled up in front of a jazz bar. They got out of the car and easily fell into an old rhythm developed over twenty years ago in New Haven, one that they often took advantage of during cases because of its apparently intimate nature.

“Emily Prentiss,” a burly Scottish man stood up from a booth towards the back of the bar and opened his arms invitingly. “Aaron Hotchner.”

Emily let out a delighted laugh and went in for the hug while a Hotch lagged behind with a faint smile.

“Sean,” Hotch sent the man a nod of greeting and shook his hand, “how are you?”

“Good,” Sean answered, gesturing towards the booth and sitting down.

“Sorry we weren’t able to get back to you sooner,” Emily said, scooting inward to make room for Hotch. “We got caught up chasing a spree killer couple out to the Pacific Northwest.”

“I had to be in DC anyway,” Sean responded. The delight the two FBI agents felt at seeing the man quickly faded and made way for feelings of foreboding when Sean’s demeanor and tone turned serious and almost fearful. He took a breath. “Ian Doyle vanished from prison, and Interpol can’t find him.”

His insides turning cold, Hotch immediately looked at Emily, who had gone pale. “What—” she swallowed, “what are you saying?”

Sean leaned in, a grim look in his eyes as he looked between the two. “He’s off the grid,” he said gravely.

“Do you think he’s headed here?” Hotch asked quietly, thoughts straying towards Emily and his son. Sean’s gaze only turned grimmer as he didn’t answer.

Emily’s shaky voice broke the tense silence—only interrupted by the ambiance of the bar—that had fallen. “Am I in danger?”

The Scotsman looked down, taking a moment to gather himself before looking back up, a chilling answer on his lips.

“We all are.”

~~~

“He sent freesias to your apartment?”

“No, don’t tell me, not even over this line. I’m going on a run tomorrow morning around National Mall and planning to eat at Dupont Circle afterward. I’ll send you the address if you’d like to join me?”

“Yeah, the moment I got home after Sean told us I checked and reset everything, did my rounds. You know how I can be, especially after… yeah.”

“If I didn’t know better I’d say I might be the least at risk, given that I was only involved half the time you guys were. But you are in significantly more danger than any of us.”

“Leave worrying about what I have to lose to me. You—for once in your life, just think about yourself and be careful.”

~~~

“You’ve got to get out of there.”

Hotch approached Emily out in the hallway, picking out fear from the urgency in her tone. “Get a flight. Leave France, get back to America,” she continued, unable to fully hide her fearful worry as she met his gaze with her own. “Cash transactions from here on out, am I clear?”

He watched as Emily listened to the other caller, a sinking feeling in his stomach. “Toss that cell phone and get home safely,” she finally said firmly, hanging up without waiting for a response.

“Who?” Hotch asked simply, having suspicions as to what this was about. Emily turned to glance through the window, seeing Reid watching the two carefully—Hotch followed her gaze just in time to catch Reid quickly looking back down.

He shook his head, looking back at Emily. “My office, as soon as we can.”

~~~

Hotch opened the next report in his stack and quickly flipped through only to see a ripped sheet of paper in between a crime scene photo and the autopsy report. Recognizing the handwriting, he pulled it out, only to freeze when he read the note.

I received a text last night. He’s in the country.

He ripped up the paper as he looked out into the bullpen, eyes landing on Emily, who was hunched over at her desk looking through a report. He took in a stabilizing breath as he felt yet another headache coming on in addition to the ever-present worry over his son’s safety, despite all the precautions he had put in place all those weeks ago in a fit of med-noncompliance-induced obsessive anxiety.

Digging out a sticky note from under the piles of paperwork on his desk and quickly writing a note, Hotch grabbed a fresh stack of papers and went out to distribute them. He surreptitiously slipped the sticky note onto Emily’s desk before moving onto the others and heading back into his office, closing the door behind him.

His personal phone buzzed.

>>T and C here in 48. 1300 rendezvous over phone (S): I’ll go out, you stay in the building

Hotch looked back into the bullpen at Emily, who was putting her phone away. He looked back at his phone and began to enter in a number when his gaze drifted over to the two pictures of Jack he kept on his desk. He sighed and deleted the number he just inputted, completing yet another round of the indecisive compulsion that started ever since that meeting in the jazz bar.

~~~

“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” Tsia’s voice came over the phone and faintly from a few meters away. “After what happened to Jeremy, I was afraid.”

Emily sighed, shifting the newspaper in her lap. “Tsia, I’m sorry you can’t be at his funeral. It’s today, isn’t it?”

“Well, that’s the problem with marrying a member from your own team,” the other woman responded resignedly. “One of you is a target, so is the other. I get it.”

“Hello, darling,” a new voice came over the call—Emily couldn’t help but mentally sigh at the nickname from Clyde.

“Alright,” Hotch interjected. “Emily and I took a late lunch, and I’m currently reviewing a potential field case, so let’s make this quick.”

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Clyde asked rhetorically. “I’m not quick about anything.”

Emily rolled her eyes in exasperation and faint amusement, practically able to feel Hotch’s glare over the phone. “I don’t know,” she drawled. “What about that time I blew my cover in Prague? You took out that sentry before I could even draw my weapon. You saved my ass, Clyde.”

“I’m surprised you remember the little people from your Interpol days, now that you’re a posh FBI profiler,” Clyde shot back.

Hotch pointedly cleared his throat and changed the subject. “What’s being done to locate Doyle?”

“Only every agency in the northern hemisphere is looking for him.”

“What are we doing to find him?” Emily emphasized.

“My contact at DCRI tracked one of Doyle’s aliases leaving France the day after Jeremy’s murder,” Tsia reported. “He took a commercial flight to Beijing, then doubled back on a train bound for Berlin.”

“But when GSG 9 intercepted it, he was already gone,” Clyde finished.

“He sent me flowers, so I think it’s safe to assume he’s coming here,” Emily wryly added.

“Why is he doing this?” Tsia asked.

“Why do you think?” Hotch threw back. “We put him away. Hold on—” he cut himself off just as Emily’s other phone beeped.

“Duty calls?” Emily didn’t answer, feeling Clyde’s eyes on her back. “I know what you’re thinking—absolutely not,” he said firmly. “Your team isn’t under oath—”

“They could help,” she interrupted.

“How?” Tsia questioned. “We don’t even know where Doyle is. Involving them at this point would be premature.”

“Hotch?”

“Emily,” Hotch started quietly. “They’re highly capable, yes, but they don’t have clearance, and I rather doubt Strauss would be willing to help plead our case.”

“It would also be highly reckless,” Clyde interjected. “Leave it to Tsia and I, and you two stay with your team.”

“Even in hiding Doyle can’t resist extravagance,” Emily suggested, relenting to the others. “Track the money.”

“I will find him, darling. Trust me.”

Hotch scoffed at the plea request over the phone. “I don’t trust anyone, anymore,” Emily threw back, her tone conveying how both she and Hotch feel about that appeal.

~~~

>>T and C tracked V to DC. Chuck Murray.

<<Isn’t that the name of V’s dog?

>> Yep.

>>I’m playing fish food tonight. Alone.

<<Are you sure?

>>Like you said: you’re in as much danger as the rest of us are. I also happen to be his main target and he’ll kill anyone in his way. You happen to have the most to lose, and you can bet that he’s already got eyes on you.

<<Don’t worry about me, I’ve gotten that handled quite a bit ago. Location.

>>Seriously?

<<I trust you. I just want to know where to start if you don’t show up tomorrow morning.

>>Fine. Hirshhorn Museum.

<<Don’t do anything stupid.

>>Awwww, is that emotion I detect from no-smile Iceman?

<<I can neither confirm nor deny.

<<Be careful, Blackbird.

~~~

“Ian Doyle is here in DC.”

“How can you be so sure?” Clyde asked skeptically.

“I sat next to him last night,” Emily deadpanned. “He said if I warned my team or told anyone, he’d kill them.”

“Does Aaron know about this?” Tsia was incredulous. Clyde snorted, rolling his eyes.

“Of course he does, he’s the protective big brother. Why didn’t Doyle kill you, and more to the point, why didn’t you kill him?”

“He’s not working alone,” Emily answered, staring at Clyde.

Tsia tried to reassure her. “Then he’s just playing with you—”

“No, no,” Clyde interrupted, disagreeing, “he’s a power-assertive psychopath. He doesn’t play games.”

“He’s meticulous, he plans everything down to the last detail—” Emily was cut off by a voice coming from her phone.

“Yeah, that last detail being you.”

“Finally decided to join us, Aaron?” Tsia turned to Emily. “Maybe you should tell your team,” she suggested.

“No, no way,” Emily shut it down. “This isn’t their fight.”

“Emily,” Hotch said over the phone. “He’s in DC, and he’s working with others. There is a high chance that the team is going to get pulled into something, you know that.”

“But—”

“I’m not saying we tell them now, but if the team does get pulled into this, we are going to have to tell them. You need to be prepared for that.”

Emily scoffed. “Are you?”

“We stay together, we can get him,” Tsia insisted.

“We already tried,” Emily retorted. “And look where that got us.”

“Wait, wait,” Clyde broke in, looking at her imploringly. “When you went undercover, I promised no one would harm you.”

“I’m not undercover anymore.”

“DC isn’t his comfort zone, it’s ours,” Hotch’s voice was firm. “This ends here.”

~~~

“Reid, you got anything?” Morgan asked, walking up behind the genius.

“The damage is pretty extensive, but luckily some of the tattoo remains,” Reid commented, focusing largely on the sketch.

“Seaver,” Hotch turned to the probationary agent, “get the victim’s photo out to the press.”

“I think I know who dug the hole.” Garcia’s voice rang out from behind them as she approached the group with a notebook in hand. The others turned. “The journo told me to follow the money, like straight up, that’s what he told me, so I did.” She moved to face the others. “It turns out ‘The Gazette’ is owned by a multinational global conglomerate—oil, new technologies, shipping, air and ground transportation—all of which employ the services of one company,” the analyst looked up from her notebook, “CWS.”

“Clearwater Securities?” Hotch asked, hiding the foreboding feelings starting to creep upon him.

Rossi looked at him in surprise. “You know them?”

“I’ve come across them,” Hotch confirmed, not looking at Emily. “They’re a private counterintelligence group out of Geneva.”

“Ron Cosenza, Byron Delaney, Kerry Fagan all worked for CWS,” Garcia told them.

“How long ago?” Emily asked.

“Seven years.”

“Seaver, hang up,” Hotch said, hiding the days-old conflict going strong in his head as she did as ordered.

Still looking towards Hotch, Rossi asked, “Do we have a problem?”

“No, CWS does.”

“Got it,” Reid leaned back in his chair, showing everyone the sketched reconstruction of the tattoo. Hotch froze, mind overlaying an old memory over the familiar design, and glanced at Emily, who had also gone pale. They made eye contact, and Hotch nodded to her unasked question.

As she slipped out of the bullpen, he turned to the others. “SCIF,” he ordered, bringing out his phone and scrolling through his contacts.

~~~

>>Are we…?

<<If V doesn’t already, he will know soon. There’s no reason not to tell them.

>>But like you said, they don’t have clearance.

<<Discuss this after the corporate roadblocks, see what the team needs to know and what they can know.

~~~

“Exactly why did you bring us here?” a portly man asked as the team walked into the SCIF. “And why is the BAU interested in CWS?”

Hotch handed the men at the end of the table a few folders as Morgan threw the first question. “Why did you pull that story?”

The men gave him a critical look before flipping open the folders to see pictures of the victims and crime scenes.

“That’s how you remember them,” Hotch indicated the headshots, then the crime scene photos. “And that is how they are now.”

“You warned your friend, Byron Delaney,” Morgan stated. “You knew him the longest. It’s too bad you were too late.”

The man looked back impassionately. “If you’re looking for reactions, this is our business.”

“Business?” Rossi questioned the wording.

“Ugly as that sounds,” the man amended diplomatically.

“Kerry Fagan, Ron Cosenza, and Byron Delaney, they all worked for CWS,” Morgan pointed out.

“As do forty thousand other subcontractors do all over the world.”

“So they were subcontracted to you.”

“If you’re looking for answers, take it up with the main contractor,” the man avoided the question.

“And that would be… ?” Rossi asked.

“Your government.”

“Whoever is killing these families holds your company responsible, not the government,” Hotch informed them shortly.

“We run operations from the Middle east to Antarctica,” the man said, “going over them all will take months.”

“So you’ve already started investigations?” The man didn’t answer, but his silence spoke volumes.

“That’s why you pulled the story,” Rossi concluded.

One of the others leaned in, whispering something in the man’s ear. He nodded and turned to the team. “The cases these people were involved in are protected by a multinational official secrets agreement. Even if I wanted to I—”

“These people were killed on US soil,” Morgan interrupted,” by trained suspects who fired on federal agents.”

“As a courtesy,” Hotch said when there was no response, “and out of respect for the predicament your company now faces, everything in this room is off the record. However, outside this room, if you withhold information about the case, you and your company will be held fully accountable.”

The men shifted, uncomfortable, when the spokesperson finally relented. “Alright, what do you know?”

“We’re looking for a European team with considerable training,” Hotch chose his words carefully. “And for one of them, it’s personal.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because they could have spared the child, but they chose not to,” Morgan said.

“The killing of Samuel Cosenza by one of the team was personal,” Hotch agreed.

“One of the attacks shot last night had the remains of a tattoo on his wrist,” Rossi informed them as Hotch passed over another folder.

“On the surface the tattoo may look like a simple four-leaf clover,” Morgan described, “but the stem has a ‘V’ at the end. We believe this is associated with a hidden sect of fallen warriors. It’s also the name of a ship famous for its journeys from Dublin to America, the ‘Valhalla.’”

Rossi eyed the looks on the men’s faces. “Have you seen that before?” he asked.

“We ran an operation to capture the leader of a breakaway IRA faction years ago,” the man said. “He assumed that moniker.”

“What’s his name?” Hotch asked, already knowing the answer. The man was silent for a moment.

“Ian Doyle.”

~~~

“Okay, Ian Doyle’s officially on everyone’s list,” Garcia said, eyes skimming over her computer screen. “His mug is all over the place. He’s not going to be able to get out of the district unless he sprouts wings himself.”

“It’s not that I’m not happy that we have his name,” Seaver interjected, “but how are we supposed to know who’s on his list?”

“We study his life and every single person he’s ever come in contact with,” Morgan answered.

“Look, Doyle’s been away for seven years,” Emily said as Hotch and Rossi entered the room. “But he still managed to figure out who the players were, maybe we should start with how he got out of prison,” she suggested.

“Well, where was he locked up?” Morgan asked.

“Russia, I think.”

“Actually, there are no extradition papers on him,” Seaver informed them.

“Was Doyle on your radar when you were at Interpol?” Hotch’s gaze locked onto Emily’s, putting the ball that had been passed between them over the past week in her court.

“Uh, sure, I had heard of him, but direct contact?” she shook her head. “I’d have to ask around.”

“You do that, I’ll see who I can get from my end,” Hotch said to the others’ surprise as she nodded and walked out. “Not now,” he said to the team, sensing their questions and pulling out his phone.

“Good guys and bad keep files close to them,” Rossi brought their focus back.

“What are in these files?” Garcia asked.

“It’s intel. Insurance. Protection, for times like this,” he explained.

“Maybe I should go to Byron Delaney’s house and see what I can find,” Morgan suggested.

Hotch looked up from his texting at him. “Take Prentiss with you, she might have some insight.”

~~~

“The more players we get on this board, the sooner Erin will get her nose into it,” Rossi remarked.

Hotch didn’t look away from the photos they had pinned on the board. “Strauss already knows,” he said absentmindedly.

“I’m surprised she wasn’t in the SCIF,” Rossi said, surprised.

Hotch finally glanced at him. “She’s on vacation.”

“Oh, great. Now she’ll never take another one,” Rossi quipped. “You know people in Interpol?” he asked.

“Taskforce, joined late 2001 and returned half a year after Morgan joined the team. Did a bit of everything,” Hotch gave him a sardonic look. “Apparently, being a former prosecutor, former tactical agent, and now a profiler was highly desirable.”

Rossi snorted, momentarily giving away to amusement before sobering up. “Is everything about this guy classified?” he asked, staring at the messy case.

“Somebody knows him,” Hotch said. “We just haven’t found them yet.”

~~~

“Here’s the million-dollar question,” Garcia said, pulling up a close up of a foreign road sign. “Anyone know what language that is?”

“Those are villages in North Korea,” Prentiss said warily.

Garcia tilted her head. “I love you. Of course she does.”

“There’s a political prison near Haengyong-ni,” Prentiss continued.

“Camp 22, kwan-li-so,” Hotch said in recognition. “North Korea denies it exists.”

The others stared at him incredulously. “How—?” Morgan began.

“Two years,” Hotch explained shortly. “Met Emily a few times, heard Doyle’s name being tossed around. You think they took Doyle there?” he looked at the woman.

“That would explain why he’s after them,” Seaver suggested.

“Even his prison is off the grid,” Garcia threw in.

“All we know is that he was never married, had multiple residences, and was arrested at his Tuscan villa,” Seaver continued.

“There’s paperwork to back that up?” Emily asked.

“Ans a list of who was there that day,” Seaver confirmed, nodding. “There may be photographs, Reid’s looking into that now.”

“Right, so those people need to be warned that he’s on the warpath,” Hotch noted Emily’s deliberate calm belied by a nervous swallow.

“They have been,” Seaver said. “But here’s a whole different life he’s led, one that isn’t in any file.”

“Prentiss, did you hear from your European associates?” Hotch asked, checking if she had anything, himself having not gotten anything from them as of yet.

“I’m waiting for them to send me a document.”

“We need it now.” call them, now. How did he get to North Korea?

~~~

>>Told T to get out. C isn’t telling us everything.

<<And you trust me and T?

>>Known you since what, ‘89? And we’ve seen each other on the daily for the past five years now, Iceman.

>>Honestly, I don’t know about T or C, no idea what they’ve been up to.

<<Corelli’s?

<<If you want to keep hiding this you need to be more discreet, overheard you walking to my office.

<<Tell me later.

~~~

“What’s holding us up?” Rossi asked.

“We’re waiting for somebody from DC Metro Police,” Hotch said. “Then we can start.”

“Who’s got updates on roadblocks?”

“They will. All parkways and interstates in DC, Maryland, and Virginia have station checkpoints.”

“Doyle has the means to get in and out of the country,” Emily pointed out. “What makes you think he won’t get out of the District?”

Hotch blew out a breath, glancing at Emily and then at the numerous agency reps standing around in the bullpen. “It’s the best we’ve got right now.”

The door opened to reveal Morgan on the other side. “Metro got held up. Double homicide on K and 9th,” he reported. “They want me to take a look.”

An icy feeling trickled down Hotch’s spine when he realized what the location was. “Doyle?” he asked, not looking at Emily.

“Vic’s apartment looks like a black market forger,” Morgan said.

“The other victim?” Emily asked.

“A woman, thirties, no ID, outside his door.”

“I’m coming with you,” her tone brooked no argument.

“Go,” Hotch urged the two, who left as he picked up the landline.

~~~

“It’s not often that we know a subject’s name, and in this case, knowing Ian Doyle’s identity doesn’t give us very much,” Hotch said, standing in front of a room full of members of numerous letter agencies. “He’s known to a select few, and those who know him well either work beside him or they’re on his list.”

“Two or three of his victims worked for CWS and were responsible for his transport to North Korea,” he said, noting Emily and Morgan’s return to the office. “There were seven opeartives on the mission altogether, and the remaining five have been warned. All the federal and international agents responsible for tracking him down are now on his list of targets.”

“We’ll find Doyle the way we find any other offender—by studying his behavior. We’ll dissect his every move since he regained his freedom. When he escaped from North Korea, he killed a man and he used his vehicle to cross the border into Russia…”

[metalbatandzenko]

18. What is a line/scene you’re really proud of? Give us the DVD commentary for that scene.

oof this one is gonna be so long™ so it’s going under the cut.

Let’s talk about the slow dance scene in Hidden Horns. Specifically Badd and Garou’s slow dance.

First thing is that this scene actually got written before most of the rest of the fic. It wasn’t originally going to be part of HH, I wrote it bc I was listening to Orville Peck’s album Pony, and when this song came on, I thought it sounded like a fun song to slow dance to. It also made me yearn but that’s besides the point. 

Anyways let’s get into it.

Badd guided Garou’s hands to his hips. “‘m not a kid like Zen is, y’can hold me.”

Garou blinked, doing his best to focus on anything other than the warm weight of Badd’s hands on his shoulders or the feeling of Badd’s hips between his hands.

Garou’s a disaster. If you’ve ever seen middle schooler’s slow dance with the stiff zombie arms, that’s basically what he was doing. Which if you’ve ever been in that position, you know it’s not super comfortable for either party, nor is it sustainable bc of that.

But putting his hands on Badd’s hips might have been even more dangerous to Garou. Badd’s kind of a walking contradiction: he’s gruff but he’s sweet, rough but also gentle, muscular yet graceful. Garou’s kind of been seeing that first hand, but now he’s feeling it for himself in the way Badd moves and the feeling of muscle shifting under his finger tips.

There’s also the implied trust that Badd is showing in draping his arms around Garou’s neck on both ends. They’re both putting themselves in a vulnerable position where the other could easily overpower them if they strike first. Their willingness to be in this position with one another is kind of part of the evolution of their dynamic. 

I left a lot of that unsaid both because of the fact that having that analysis mid fic kind of kills the pacing and fic. Also this is done in the rhythm and tempo of Roses Are Falling, and while it’s a slow song, it’s not at a standstill.

“Back on the run,”

“Her reflexes are scary fast,” Garou remarked.

“Back to the blue…”

Badd chuckled. “Yeah. Sometimes she’s too fast even fer me t’track.”

One of the reasons I decided to put this scene in HH versus saving it for another fic is because of the lyrics of the song. There’s some fun foreshadowing and parallels between what is happening and what the lyrics are saying that I thought would work really well for this fic.

I also think this works well as a little nod to the actual canon of OPM and a potential way their relationship could evolve from here. So we get the compare and contrast throughout the passage of where the characters in HH are versus where their canon counterparts might be.

“Roses Are Falling” is, by Orville Peck’s own admission, a song about “loving someone so much you kind of want to kill them.” While I don’t think Badd and Garou have that kind of relationship, I think there’s some truth to the lyrics and this idea of being isolated together, which we also see in “Kansas Remembers Me Now” and “Big Sky”, the two other Orville Peck songs featured in this section.

Zenko’s a pretty safe topic for the boys to discuss. Badd can talk about her for hours on end, and Garou adores her. If they have one spot of common ground, it’s Zenko.

“Winning is fun,”

“She’s gonna pass you up soon,” Garou said.

“Losing is, too…”

Badd gave him a confused look.

“You know, in terms of athletic abilities.”

“Roses are fallin’, roses from fallin’ for you,”

Badd smacked Garou’s neck, feigning offense, but Garou saw the small smile on his face.

Slow dancing is incredibly intimate (even in a platonic setting. Platonic slowdances still require a lot of trust and vulnerability). Especially for two people grappling with unspoken feelings like these two idiots.

Garou definitely feels that tension at this point and tries to diffuse it in a way that’s worked for them in the past: by jokingly poking fun at Badd.

The lyrics here felt fitting to me. The two of them are highly competitive, but they’ve gotten to a point where just the act of being together is more important than winning. They kind of verbally spar for a lot of their relationship, but here we see them just enjoying each other’s company.

“Ooh…”  

The two swayed at an arm’s distance.

“The ache inside the hate–I found a way to sit and wait, and now I can’t: your voice–your face–without a trace–I’ll wait for you…”

“‘s awkward swayin’ this far apart,” Badd huffed.

He pulled Garou close enough that their noses almost touched.

For much of their friendship, Badd’s been the one acting as the initiator. He suggests the sleepover, he cooks for Garou, he introduces truth or dare, which becomes their coded language for opening up, etc. It makes sense for him to be the one to initiate here.

Garou in HH has pretty much the same backstory as he does in canon, he just didn’t go off the rails because he met Tareo earlier. But it was important to me to make sure the fact he still didn’t know how to interact/make friends his age was front and center. He doesn’t initiate many of the “friendship milestones” because he doesn’t know what to do. All this is new ground for him. 

The fact Badd even wants to be his friend is unprecedented and completely unexpected to him. 

Of course, this doesn’t mean he doesn’t initiate anything. He takes Zenko to school so Badd can heal, he meets Madame Oshitani, he asks Badd how he’s feeling and offers his ear when it’s clear something’s bothering him. 

Badd is very intentional about how he goes about interacting with Garou because he knows Garou’s never had a friend like him before. Garou by contrast, does things just to be helpful and worries about being a good friend/if he’s doing it right, not realizing he’s already being a good friend.

Garou’s normally so direct and unabashed, so having this spot where he’s more self-conscious and awkward is a fun reversal. And it’s pretty canon compliant given how he interacts with Tareo.

We see them kind of switch roles later, where Garou takes the lead during their orange chicken talk.

The lyrics here have two roles: it kind of mimics how I think their canon relationship could progress like I mentioned earlier (from hate to irritation to begrudging respect and love) but also shows their unspoken fear of what could happen in HH: they blow up and each becomes a face that the other can’t forget, but can’t go back to.

It’s not a fear that has gotten addressed super directly thus far, (we see a little bit in the upcoming chapter) the closest being the non-conversation the two have about what is left unsaid.

“Roses are fallin’ for you…”

The first thing Garou noticed was how good Badd smelled. Seems his sleep addled brain hadn’t been wrong after all.

Garou is in Gay Panic™ mode here. 

I described Badd in an earlier chapter as smelling like aftershave and freesia. I wanted to give him a smell that kind of combined his classic style with something gentler, and more sweet. 

Freesia is usually a smell in women’s perfumes, but it’s one I think he’d appreciate. And I don’t see him being one to give a fuck about gendering smells.

“You…”

Badd draped his arms around Garou’s neck and averted his gaze.

Garou watched in wonder as Badd’s lashes fluttered.

Up as close as he was and borderline drunk off how good Badd’s smelled, Garou stared unabashedly at his face.

He looked so, devastatingly beautiful.

Garou staring here is kind of a callback to the conversation they have early on about Garou ogling at Badd/Badd making fun of him for it.

There’s an openness here that’s different than the last time Garou really looked at Badd. Before, he was admiring him and his power. Here, we see him taking in a more delicate side of Badd, and Badd just letting him look at him. We’re seeing him take in Badd’s lashes, and calling him beautiful. It’s a new facet of who Badd is, and a new contradiction for Garou to grapple with: powerful, yet delicate.

If you’ve ever been with someone and you’re standing next to one another and you can see them staring at you from the corner of your eye and you keep pretending to look out at something in the distance because it’s easier than making eye contact and having to sort out what that gaze means, that’s essentially what is happening here.

Badd’s aware Garou’s staring at him, and he knows why. But he’s not ready to meet his gaze yet. Especially not if Garou himself isn’t ready.

“Under your skin, over the moon…”

He prayed Badd wouldn’t look up so he could continue to look at him.

“Don’t let me in, I don't know what I’d do…”

Because if Badd did, and Garou saw what he thought he would in Badd’s eyes, it would devastate him.

This is a callback to Garou refusing to make eye contact when he’s laughing about Badd’s indignation over pigeons because he knows whatever Badd’s gaze holds will devastate him. 

Garou equally fears the two ways it will devastate him. Either he looks up, sees the warmth in his gaze, and falls for Badd, only to find out his feelings aren’t reciprocated, or his feelings are, and he’s thrust into a new landscape to navigate that leaves him vulnerable and exposed, and threatens to tear apart their friendship.

In Ch.9/What’s Left Unspoken, I originally planned on having a metaphor that kind of embodied that second fear. Garou can almost picture a strand of spider silk connecting him and Badd. Something so delicate and new, that he almost didn’t want to acknowledge it. Because doing so would cosmically shift their dynamic, and if that thread got severed, it could threaten their whole relationship. I ended up cutting it because I couldn’t get the metaphor quite right and it brought the chapter to a standstill.

“Roses are fallin’, roses from fallin’ for you…”  

Badd began to turn his head, but before their eyes could meet, Garou looked away.

“Ooh…”

Garou could feel Badd’s gaze raking over him. From the corner of his eye, he saw his lips part.

Here we’re seeing that fear controlling Garou a bit. He doesn’t know what’s in Badd’s gaze, and he thinks if he avoids it, he can avoid the change in their dynamic all together. 

But some part of him wants to know, and is screaming for him to turn his head, potential consequences be damned. 

“You know, darling, you bring out the worst in me…”

Garou steeled his nerves and looked directly at Badd.

“Sometimes when I’m around you, I feel like pure evil…”

He’d been right. The tenderness he found in Badd’s eyes devastated him.

The second song line here is...very much how Garou views himself in canon, and to a lesser extent, in this AU.

He still hasn’t forgiven himself for what he might have done, and when he sees Badd, and his gentleness, kindness and optimism despite how the world has treated him and Zenko, it makes him question hero-dom more than he already does.

And we’re seeing Garou discover what is in Badd’s eyes. Garou has a harder time reading Badd than Badd does reading him, so what he finds in Badd’s eyes is unreadable to him, hence why the statement is left vague in terms of what he finds there.

“I guess they say nobody's perfect…”

Badd’s gaze flicked down to Garou’s lips.

“But they’ve never met a devil like you…”

The lyrics here feel spot on, especially to end the muscial interlude to. Garou knows Badd isn’t perfect and vise versa, but they still accept one another. The lyrics kind of foreshadow Badd and Garou’s heart to heart about why they think they’re bad people. 

Badd’s action here are really what solidify Garou’s understanding of what he’s seeing in Badd’s eyes. 

Before he realized what he was doing, Garou was leaning in, closing the small gap between them.

And when he sees the warmth there, and knows his feelings are reciprocated, he leans in, more intentionally taking the role of the initiator for the first time.