#this has been like over 2 years in the making that last pot was Haunting Me

[midnightwind]

actually, Woe gacha be upon ye because my recruitment tags finally had mercy and gave me the final potential for my husband, and I'm still riding that high a day later

[archiveoftara]

London Boy

Part 2

I found myself under a pile of bills. Utility bills, water bills, rent, things that needed to be paid but I don't even have a single penny to feed myself .

This small precious dream of mine is costing my life but I can't back out right now.

Six months ago I ran away from my toxic family, to make a living in London, to own a jewelry company but it didn't go as planned.

I banged my head on the table in frustration. What am I gonna do?

After a moment of contemplating my life, I begin to clean up the mess. Slowly picking up scattered papers when my eyes fell on an advert.

Lockwood and Co

The prestigious psychical agency requires a junior field operative and an assistant researcher. Duties will include on-site analysis of reported hauntings and the containment of same. The successful applicant will be SENSITIVE to supernatural phenomena, well-dressed, preferably female and not above fifteen years in age.

Unsuccessful applicants will include time-wasters, fraudsters and persons with criminal records. Apply in writing, together with a photograph, to 35 Portland Row, London W1.

I carefully folded the paper and rushed to my room.

33..34..ah 35. This must be place.

I check the advert again just to make sure I'm at the right place.

I fix my hair and clear my throat one more time before ringing the bell.

"Um hi-"

"Are you Arif's new girl?"

"....who's Arif?"

"Runs the corner store, usually sends someone over with donuts as you don't have any, you must be here for the interview."

I nod awkwardly. Not the best start I see

"Name?"

"Y/n y/l/n. Are you Mr. Lockwood?"

"Me? No." It seem like he is offended. "The last girl just went down but from the look of her, she won't take long."

I step inside the wide hallway, filled with artefacts, books and a chipped plant pot around the corner. This is where they keep their rapiers I guess.

"You win George. That was the last one."

"Then who's this?" The boy named George pointed at me as if I'm some alien. (and I took offense to that)

A boy with very bright, dark eyes and nice lopsided grin said "Hello, I'm Anthony Lockwood." I shook his hand and introduced myself.

"What's your talent?" Lockwood asked.

I gave a small smile "I don't have one."

For a minute I thought the time stopped. I tried to read their faces. I'm sure they're gonna kick me out.

"Well that's fine, we're looking for a researcher anyway and it doesn't need much talent, does it George?" He looked at the boy, sitting at the corner sofa.

He wiped his glasses on his t-shirt "I don't mind."

"Do you have any past experience?"

"Not really." I blushed. "But I am a fast learner, I will work hard. I really need this job."

"George will train you so don't worry." He clasped.

"This means..I got the job?"

"Yes. Welcome to Lockwood and Co"

My eyes shined like a diamond. "I'm not going to disappoint you sir, I desperately needed this job. I'll do anything, thank you so so much." I thanked them like my life depended on it and it kinda did. Lockwood and George exchanged a look (they were talking in some code word I can feel it.) It doesn't matter. I won't be here for too long.

It's been a few weeks since I've been working as a assistant researcher. We also have a new member, her name is Lucy Carlyle. She's really cool, we get along well. Lucy stays with them, they offered me accommodation, too but I refused, I still have a dream to chase.

The work is actually interesting but George makes it a bit difficult for me, he's a perfectionist. I don't blame him. I just try my best to live up to the standards. 

It's the beginning of November, the nights are chilly lately. I've just finished some papers regarding the latest case.

"We should head back it's getting late." George looks at his watch.

"Hmm?" People already left the library, it was just me and him now.

I quickly stood up but felt dizzy. I felt an arm around my waist, I felt a pair of warm brown eyes on me. His mole is cute..has he always been this cute?

"Y/n you alright?" George holds my arm.

I clear my throat "yes. perfectly fine." I quickly gathered my books and walk as fast as I could. The moment I step out of the building I was welcomed by the chilly wind hitting my face. I stood for a moment, my back against the wall. 

I feel so weird.

"Y/n, It's best we see a doctor." He frowned.

"I'm fine." 

"You wanna walk by yourself? Alright, Let's see that." George scoffed.

"Why are you so mean George Karim?" I winced.

"You're being crazy. You clearly need help." 

"George, I can manage." 

"At least let me walk you home." He insisted.

"Nope." With that I make my way home little did I know what was waiting for me.

Maybe I should've been more polite. All he wanted was to help me but I'm a big girl I can manage. It's just a little fever. I slowly made my way to the neighborhood when I felt something strange. I feel nauseas, like something rotten is near me. I felt a heaviness on my chest, something was pulling me away. Soon I felt the cold hard ground, I tried to call for help but nothing came out of my mouth that's when I heard a sound of metal drawn.

"Are you alright?" He keenly looked at me.

"What happened?" I panted. 

"You were ghostlocked. Please just let me walk you home we can argue later." He pulled me with him. 

I think my dream is gonna end before it even starts.

Hello my dear readers, first chapter is done and dusted. Excuse my crappy writing. Hope you like the chapter. Do let me know your thoughts in the comment section. I love you!!! 

Word count: 968

[zealoptics]

"Yurts, Powder, and Global Perspectives: A Jalpak Tash Journey through Kyrgyzstan's Snow-Covered Peaks"

By Sam Thackeray

My second trip to Kyrgyzstan began with an entirely new set of emotions from the previous. My excitement about the unknowns was replaced by excitement for the knowns. The chance to see friends again, both local Kyrgyz and fellow guides from other parts of the world. To be back at Jalpak Tash and living full time out of traditional yurts. And to ride some of my favorite lines, and the possibility of riding some which had eluded us last year. Mixed in was also apprehension. Not from the uncertainty, like before, but from the preconceived notions of what this season might, or might not hold for us.

Somehow, after only doing this once prior, it all seemed so familiar. The long journey to the other side of the world felt like returning to an old haunt. There was a certain type of freedom in knowing what to expect, but also knowing what I wanted from the trip. Such as a stop at the elaborate and seemingly out of place World Nomad Games Arena. Or knowing what to expect for food at the traditional roadside stop during the journey from Bishkek, the capital city, to Karakol, the Wild West town that serves as the jumping off point for all of our trips.

I find it an interesting experience to travel to a country which has served as a “mixing pot” for thousands of years. Over the millennia Kyrgyzstan has been ruled by Persians, Mongols, Chinese, and Russians. These various influences are readily apparent in locals’ appearance, the architecture and infrastructure, vehicles, food, and religious practices. I find myself wondering what the United States might look like after a few more centuries of mixing.

A long and somewhat disorienting day of travel finds us at the guest house in Karakol, run by one of the two local families we partner with to make these trips happen. Without their support and knowledge these trips would be astronomically more challenging. We eagerly repack our bags for the journey into the mountains and succumb to exhaustion.

Day 2 in country finds us loading several weeks’ worth of gear into the infamous UAZ, the soviet era 4-wheel drive van, part jeep, part Vanagon. Excitement builds as the 40 Tribes zone comes into view and we approach the tiny village at the base the mountains to reunite with Nurbek, our camp chef, and Kas, our hut keeper and tail guide. Big hugs are shared and our bags are quickly whisked away on horse-back for the 4-mile approach to our yurt Shangri La.

The next few days are spent putting the final touches on camp, breaking in the skin tracks that act as our major arteries to the peaks, digging pits to get a feel for the snow, and of course skiing and snowboarding. Because, after all, that is what we are here to do!

Our first group arrives with good weather, sunny days, and a strong thirst for powder! We are happy to share that, while still a shallow snowpack, we have more snow than last season. Which makes for some beautiful turns and manageable avalanche conditions, allowing us to head almost immediately into the alpine. As always, we are dealing with our self-described avalanche problem, facetlanches. Cold and relatively dry weather develops an unconsolidated snowpack, which makes Kyrgyzstan a classic ski destination, but also comes with its own challenges. The faceted snow does not adhere well to steep terrain and can often be triggered by a skier or rider, but luckily these avalanches tend to be small, predictable, and incredibly slow moving. Which allows us to confidently navigate the large, alpine terrain.

Full days of powder skiing are followed by sunny apres on the yurt platforms, a feast cooked up by Nurbek for dinner, and a game or two of Yahtzee, which generally involves a couple shots of Russian Vodka. By about 8 O’Clock, everyone is ready for bed and we sink into our comfy floor beds for a long night of yurt dreams.

Living in a yurt for a week, or three, is an intimate setting. Everyone becomes familiar with each other’s habits and quirks. And it also provides for a unique opportunity to share ideas with people from around the globe. No one ends up in a yurt, in the middle of nowhere, in Kyrgyzstan, to go skiing, by accident. Everyone has unique stories, backgrounds, and tales from previous world sojourns. Life stories that all lead us to this one place in time, together. This is one of my favorite aspects of these trips. This time around I am particularly interested in Kas, the local ski guide’s take on Russia, Ukraine, and Russian’s fleeing conscription to Kyrgyzstan. It’s a complicated affair, but he doesn’t really understand the refugee’s side. In short, there are over 1 Million Russians who have fled to Kyrgyzstan to avoid fighting in the war with Ukraine. I don’t know how many have fled to other countries globally. His view is if the million in Kyrgyzstan united and marched against the Kremlin, that would be enough to oust Putin and end the conflict. An interesting point for sure, and it leaves me wondering what I would do if I were in their position? Kas says “You can have a rich country and a powerful government, or you can have freedom”. The Kyrgyz are choosing freedom.

We begin to settle into a routine. Coffee at 7, breakfast at 8, off and touring by 9:30, no alpine starts at Jalpak Tash. The days begin to bleed together in a whirlwind of powder, Yahtzee, and Vodka. Several storms move through the region changing the snowpack and avalanche conditions and, on some days, obscuring the peaks. We are able to ride in the alpine most days, but other days we take shelter in the trees and enjoy a different side of the Tian Shan. Each week is capped with a massive bonfire overlooking the Issyk Kul Valley and the distant Kungoy Ala-Too Mountains, forming the border with Kazakhstan.

Each week brings something new. A new group of guests, new weather, new opportunities to ride different lines. The yurts are beautifully situated at tree line with access to multiple peaks and ridgelines, allowing one to always feel the power of these mountains. After several hours of skinning and boot packing one can reach the summit of, what by many standards are large mountains, only to gaze to the East and see peaks looming thousands of feet above. It is quite surreal and an indescribable beauty. And then we ski 2,000 feet of powder back down to the yurts. A euphoric experience all on its own.

Over the three weeks I was there I shared yurt time, meals, and turns with fellow Americans, Canadians, Kyrgyz, Brits, Scotts, French, Australians, Kiwis, and Mexicans; continuing to mix the pot of cultures and world views. During our tenure the mountains and weather allowed us to summit the peaks many times and we were able to ski some of the classic and crown lines of the zone. Other days the mountains left us wanting more and dreaming of the lines we weren’t able to ski.

And so, we wait for another year.

-Sam Thackeray

[crazycatfaery]

ん乇ﾚﾚの, ｲんﾉ丂 ﾉ丂 刀のｲ んﾉﾚﾚﾉ乇! You have not, in fact, seen the last of me, your HEX anon! 🧚 I have a few questions for you this morning as I continue stirring the pot to brew your gift... 1 - Your list of characters only includes one of the younger generation, but would you be okay with others showing up if it makes sense for the story? Anyone you don’t want? The story would still mostly be about characters from your list! 2 - Of the ships you listed in your request, are there any songs you associate with them? If there are too many (coughSilrahcough) what are a couple of your faves? Bonus crack: pick a character and associate a musical instrument with them. 3 - What are the proper spices to make Hillie-approved mulled wine? Until next time! ✨💚

Hiiiii Anon!! I'm so curious what kind of gift your cooking up, can't wait to see it 👀.

1 - Side characters: I'm completely fine with that! As long as, like you already said yourself, they make sense to be added, I'm good with anyone. I'm also fine with original characters, if you really need them.

2 - Songs I associate with my ships: I can only remember Silrah, Ben/Luna and Ben/Rose, so forgive me if I forgot any.

For Ben/Rose: There's this one heart wrenching song, the inspiration for a scene that has been haunting me for over a year by now (it's for a way later chapter of a wip of mine). The only spoiler I will give is that it immediately made me think of the morning after Ben receives some devastating news: Wide Awake and Dreaming (stripped duet) - OSKA, Stu Larsen.

For Ben/Luna: I hadn't thought about songs for them yet! Doing a quick scan through some of my playlists, maybe: Heal - Tom Odell ?

For Silrah: Oh my goodness this was HARD! I have a Silrah playlist with currently 160+ songs I had to filter through for this (as you said, too many, lol). There’s a few different themes in there, mainly around different periods in Saul’s and Farah’s lives, but also plenty that are linked to certain stories in my mind/wip folder (so those are rather specific). I’ve tried to keep it to three of my current favorites, in no particular order:

Who We Are - Hozier. I suppose it’s actually a breakup song, but a lot of the lyrics just feel very fitting for them post Aster Dell. So much of our life is just carving through the dark, or You and I burned out our steam, chasing someone else's dream. Perfect.

Oblivion - Bastille. Saul's worries towards Farah. Makes me think of that scene with the two of them in Farah's office, when he asks her if she got hurt by the burned one. In the context of S1, pre-episode 6 Silrah, these two lines in particular seem very foreboding: Are you going to age with grace? Are you going to leave a path to trace?. Ahh, my heart.

Hurricane - Tommee Profitt, Fleurie. Could be them during any time period, really. But probably works best right after Aster Dell.

Angst, pining, pain, what else could make me think of these two idiots? I promise, there’s sweeter/nicer ones on there too. I think.

Bonus crack: Saul is a contra-bass. Farah is an alt-violin. Ben is a bagpipe. Rose is a transverse flute. Luna is a triangle. Make of that what you will😏.

3 - Mulled Wine: I realise I said mulled wine previously when I meant glühwein, my bad! Is mulled wine the same as glühwein, or different? I’ve only ever had glühwein, and I genuinely don’t know any other spice combination than sticks of cinnamon, whole star-anise, and cloves. Now I’m wondering what other things I could throw in there👀.

These were fun again! I’m glad to not have seen the last of you😁

[chillenby]

Okay. I'll try to explain it as best as I can without spoiling it and while covering everything you might need to now. (If you want me to explain everything else in detail just ask, I'll be more then happy to do so, but I certainly recomend for you to watch or play the game because it's great and has amazing retro graphics and soundtrack)

Since it's a bit longer post I'll just title the segment so that you can skip if you're not interested in something

Intro

It's a psychological horror with darker themes. Rape, murder, suicide and even canibalism. It's a game you can purchise on steam for like 12 bucks or watch a playthrough on youtube (most of them are about 2 hours).

It's about a crew in space. That's all I can say without spoiling it too much. It has a pot of metaphoric meanings and delves into a lot of different deeper topics (which is great if you're into more phylosophic type things and it can cause you to think about it a lot, from their catchy lines to just it over all) and they have a few characters that are very well written and really human.

Daisuke

For characters, Daisuke is the fan favorite, he's the youngest (18-20 years old) and he's the intern. People gravitate to him because of 2 things, 1) they see him as a silly guy (which compared to other characters he is because he jokes the most and is practically a lighthearted character) and 2) they find him relatable because he doesn't know what he wants from his life or his strengths.

Anya

Then Anya is also the fan favorite, she's a polite nurse that in the game doesn't actually have a lot of personality. Which in a nerative way makes a lot of sense. People gravitate to her because some of them have been in similiar situations and she makes them feel seen, while others feel bad for her and from a lot of different ao3 tags say that they think she deserves a hug

Sweansea

Sweansea is that typical old grumpy character you have in a lot of media and he's the engineer of the crew. He's Daisuke's mentor and a lot of people like to think of him as Daisuke's father figure. He's gruff, a bit blunt and in the end has one of the better monologs and opinions of the whole game.

Jimmy and Curly

Jimmy (co-pilot) and Curly (captain) are my favorites and the plot focuses a lot on them because we play as them, switching between their neratives. They're surtainly complex characters and most of the plot is built around them. Jimmy is that assholish character, mean, rude, greedy and selfish, while Curly is that guy people rely on and concider a nice guy. Polar oposites, but they are close friends.

Polle

And then Polle, the lovable mascot of Pony Express (aka the company they work for). She's also used as a metaphore and an amazing one at that. (Can't say anything else so I don't spoil anything and because I fucking hate that pony. Scared me shitless the first game thtough, literally friend had to be on call with me for the last 20 minutes of the game because that stupid Pony was practically haunting my ass).

For the plot, it's not too complex, but I personally find it impactful and as disturbing it is, I hold it close to my heart. It's dark and heavy and simple and complex at the same time. Though, the way the plot is handled through narative gives it that specific charm.

Fandom

For the fandom I'll just say this. Enjoy at your own risk and always check trigger warnings if you're sensitive to something. If you don't like something, just ignore it or go talk with your friend about it. Mouthwashing fandom has a lot of amazing stuff, like from psycho analysis, fanart and certain fanfics, while some miss the point intierly (which is fine, it's not, but if it makes a person happy who cares, I'm not gonna ruin it for them) and some which I personally consider that they go too far. Also, the fandom is perfectly split between people who want to enjoy the dark parts of the game and those who like the silly stuff (memes, jokes, fluff, and they probably do it to 'cope' with the game).

I'm not gonna go too deep into the shipping because everyone has their personal opinions on it, but it's a bit contreversial. At times diving into the proship vs the other side debate.

Music

Last thing, 'Headlock' by Imogen Heap is convidered the mouthwashing song. It's like about how you wanna persue your hobbies and interests, but you're stuck in place unable to actually do it. Which I personally think perfectly fits the game, atleast a very specific scene in the game that actually is one of my favorites and a bit not comforting, but it makes me feel a bit seen. But I think a lot of people actually just like it cuz it's a catchy song with a very nice and specific beat. Also, receantly JT music released the mouthwashing rap which actually covers a lot of the plot, meaning and other parts of mouthwashing. It's also a bop and in the intro they sampled actual sounds from the game which is very cool if you ask me

..

So yea. Sorry for rambling, I covered a few things, I thought would be important without revealing too much if you actually decide to play/watch the game.

WHAT THE FUCK IS "MOUTHWASHING"????

can someone tell me about what Mouthwashing is

my friend is obsessed with it and i wanna learn more about it for her, and i also saw it was a psych thriller and i love those.

lowkey i thought it was the sally face sequel so if anyone could rb and help me out itd be much appreciated

also whos that gay fuck daisueke or whatev

[sorry-i-ship-drarry]

Da Capo

Dialogue Prompt 16- " because I love you, is that what you wanted to hear " requested by @sunflowerishdolphin ( your last remaining request ) | TW- NONE |

Da Capo-(Italian: from the beginning); at the end of a piece of music or a section of it, means that it should be played or sung again from the beginning.

He shut the door behind him, locking immediately, putting those grocery bags on the counter and turned on the voice Machine , picking up the mails from the corner table reading who addressed them as he simultaneously heard the voice messages like his usual evening, a routine that had became a practice.

" you have 2 new messages "

" hey harry, this is Clint. Send me those pictures via e-mail, could you ? Call me when you get back "

Harry subconsciously nodded as he read the next mail addressed from the burrow.

" harry "

He stopped dead in his movements as he stared at the tiles on the floor, hearing that very familiar voice.

" I- I know I should not- you know- never mind. Uh, call me or not, whatever. Just- how do you end this-" the voice message echoed with rustling until it ended with a beep and harry couldn't bring himself to stop the beeping.

When one of the apple fell down over the ground creating a thud, harry broke free from his locked moment of strangeness and shut off the beep. He stared at the number long enough to remember his past, the horrors, the pain, the anguish, the agony of it all but he couldn't resist himself from Noting down the number on the notepad and just staring at it.

He had called, 1 year and 6 months later, he had called.

Harry left the notepad like it had been resting on the counter and went out to the garden to water his plants and get some peace from the quick Sand of the emotions that had started overwhelming in the presence of the noted down number. But it didn't help the rail of his thoughts that resulted in overflowing of the pots.

The evening had turned into a chilly night yet without a care he kept staring at the TV screen blankly, finding it hard to forget that voice message. That familiarity in the voice had almost Haunted harry every night in dreams and that un-advanced way of not knowing still how to end a voice message made harry smile if only for a moment but he was strongly reminded of how had things ended, in fights, In rush, in sadness, in heart break.

He wanted to call back and ask him why had he called, he even stood before the phone, dialing almost the entire number but could never gather the entire courage to actually call him back. How could he ? After everything that had happened, how could he?

It had been almost 1 and half year since harry moved to a small town in Paris living in a muggle suburb and still learning French but he had sat in his balcony drowning in rain, yet he never felt at home. He never wanted to leave Britain, London but what choice did he had but to leave everything behind and start new, a fresh start and yet all he felt was moving backwards. He loved it here, the neighborhood, the children on the streets, the grocery man, Adrian's little shop around the corner yet the smell of the Rain, the smell of laundry, the Blooming garden, the sunlight, nothing felt the same, not like how it was when he was with him. Nothing ever felt the same anymore .

Somewhere around blankly staring at the TV, the screen had Turned grey with no more left to watch when harry forcibly picked himself up and put himself to bed, relentlessly tossing and turning until sleep had returned to him like previous night's.

You can't stop thinking about me .

That's not true.

Do you really think so? Then why am I here ?

You tell me.

He sighed, his voice flourishing and sounding like the softest of breeze, you can feel it too, can't you, you know I will be there with you..

I can't feel anything. A pause.

You're coming?

Do you want me to ?

Harry tossed one last time, slowly opening his eyes in the silence of the night and the street light outside flickering with yellow and black. He sighed to himself as he sat right up and followed the line of sight to where the phone was kept.

" hi, draco, hi- uh, you called. I- didn't know about it- just got your message- I wanted to check what you called for so leave me a message or call me in the mor-"

" harry?"

Harry stilled with the phone pressed against his ear, his breathing sounding very clear like he had held the phone very close to himself as if holding it too close would make the conversation more real.

He stared at his feets on the ground comprehending how to respond, he had not expected draco to pick up-

" harry, you there ?"

" yeah, yeah. Uh sorry- I just- " he breathed " isn't it late ?"

" sort of yeah. I just- I came from a run "

" this late at night ?"

" yeah " he breathed.

Harry breathed.

" you called earlier ?"

" yeah " a long pause before he released a rolling breath and spoke again " I'm visiting Paris and I- I know you're there, so I was just wondering if you'd like to meet sometime if you're free of course ?"

Harry's fingers coiled to the telephone loop, a little smile forming over his lips as he whispered " Sure. When ?"

" this weekend "

" I'll pick you up ?"

" that'd be- nice " he breathed.

" okay "

" okay "

They breathed.

" I'll send the details via mail " he added

" okay "

And they finally cut the call but all harry did was stare at his feets on the ground crossed together as if it offered any peace.

_______________________________

The sun had rose like usual with the birds chirping just outside Harry's balcony, the usual ringing of his alarm clock went unnoticed as harry stepped out of the long shower. He padded across the room water dripping down his neck due to his washed hair, finally shutting off the Alarm. He stared at the watch as minutes stroke by, his mind lost in the moving of the minute hands until a shiver has ran down his spine and he dropped the clock on the bed and fetched the shirt and the pants he has decided to worn a day before. The same blue flowy shirt and the same Khaki pants.

Anxiety was not a surprise visitor anymore as harry fidgeted wearing his watch over his rest and tying his shoe laces that at some point, harry left them be thinking that if he'd fall, he'd fall. He ran all around the apartment going from one room to another to living room because his things were scattered all across until finally the clock stroke 12 and harry left the apartment in his second hand ford from 1985.

Harry leaned against his car in front of the France ministry of magic building waiting for draco to come with sun bouncing over his soft brunette hair, checking his watch every minute or two.

And there he was, the same boy walking through the door carrying 2 bags in a soft cotton red faded shirt and washed blue jeans.

" waited for long ?"he asked awkwardly.

Harry shook his head as he took his bags and dropped them in back seat.

" I- harry- I just wanted to ask something "

Harry frowned but nodded as he opened the car door for draco.

" this isn't awkward, is it ?"

Harry huffed out a breath, glancing behind draco for a moment. Was it awkward,of course but he Wanted to settle through the awkwardness and not be like one of those people who can't visit their ex.

" it is a bit but we'll settle in. After all we're friends, right ?"

Draco chuckled softly before he nodded " we can be "

Harry smiled before he stepped away and let draco take the passenger seat and settled into his driver's seat as well.

" Hungry ?" Harry asked as the ignition roared.

Draco nodded " very "

" I know just the place " harry smiled putting on his sunglasses and drove to exactly where he needed to.

________________________________

Things remained a bit awkward with draco as harry adjusted to all new information and forgot thinking of draco as an ex he scrambled away from and reminded himself more to treat him like the way he used to before the relationship happened.

But despite that the wicked angels that remained on Harry's shoulder reminded him to be careful this time and even if he harry heard them, he ignored as he served draco the croissant he has freshly picked up from the bakery around the corner.

" what about the eiffel tower ?" Draco asked as he sipped his lemon tea, taking the plate of croissant away from harry.

" it's overrated but worth it. It's better in the evening, I'll take you there " harry replied as he ate his own.

" oh shit- I forgot. I had to be at work 15 minutes ago. I'll see you later yeah " draco hurried with his baked food and picked up his bag he has came with and disapparated from within the apartment.

Harry collapsed down on the chair thinking to himself what was he doing. How could he just forget everything and move on and pretend like nothing happened like he had been doing for days. He hated the pretending, the " I'm doing fine without you " act or we're better as friends act, he hated it but as draco would come from the hotel every afternoon and sometimes stay by till the evening, harry would allow himself to relish in those moments and let be.

"the real question is do you really want to be friends or not ?" Jade asks as she dressed the mannequin with new shirt introduced in this work fashion line.

" i- i don't know jade. Do I want to forget everything and move forward, yes but I can't just look at him pretend we don't have a past " harry kicked the ground as he was leaned against the wall in the cubicle with jade and the white mannequin for display.

" Harry, the past is the past. It doesn't matter anymore. And you know the whole thing about ex's can't be friends,it's shit, I'm friends with my first boyfriend " jade replied with the pin between her lips as he tucked the buttons together.

" your first boyfriend is gay now. You're not helping jade-"

" look harry. Is it worth it ? Is it worth spending time with him? Is it worth meeting him again everyday ? Is it worth being friends with him again ? Those are the real questions " She asked with her head titled for emphasis, her hands in the air waiting for his response.

Harry sighed closing his eyes, opening them again and spoke " I think. He's changed a lot and he's different now"

" well there you go and you know what, even if you don't want to be friends or anything, he's just visiting. He's not going to stay here forever you know and you barely visit home, so friends or no friends, it won't matter much" jade shrugged as she put the mannequin the hat and stretched her neck backwards to check the entire look before nodding to herself and stepping out of the cubicle, harry following him.

" I guess you're right " harry mumbled. Jade nodded and they departed to their response departments of work.

When the evening arrived he met draco Outside his work building and strolled off to where they could disapparate from without being noticed.

" it's a beautiful place " draco suddenly said as they were walking down the streets.

" it is " harry hummed nodding, pocketing his hand.

" don't you ever-" Breath " like miss home ? Everyone else?" He asked

Harry thought for a moment before he replied with all he could think of " it's a part of starting fresh. I miss people back home but I love it here too, everyone's nice "

" but doesn't it ever get lonely ?" Draco asked as he now walked right by Harry's side.

" sometimes but other times I just forget " harry shrugged looking forward before crossing the road.

" forget what ?" Draco asked as he ran to maintain his pace with harry.

" forget that I'm lonely. The best way to not get lonely is just not to think of being lonely " harry shrugged as he for a moment looked at Draco before he entered the dark Empty alley.

" is it easy ?" Draco asked as he stood before harry taking his hand for side along disapparation.

Harry gazed at draco, allowing the free sensation of holding his hand making him feel closer to home before he took a step forward towards draco.

" no "

And disapparated.

Part 2 & 3

might turn into a series fiction. @drarrywords thanks for beta reading this..

300 followers appreciate dialogue Prompt requests open

Angst prompt requests open

[thatmultifandomhoe]

Knitting You a Home - 7

Pairing: Wolf Hybrid Namjoon and Human Reader

Word Count: 3,158

Genre/Rating: Hybrid AU - Established Relationship - Angst - Fluff - Smut - Rated PG-13

Overview: Things have changed for you and Namjoon. It’s been a year since the two of you got together, and despite a rocky start, it was impossible to deny the bond and love you shared for each other. But ever since Hoseok had been separated from his Mate, Namjoon has been withdrawing himself from you and doesn’t come home until late at night.

With questions far larger than either of you imagined, you can’t help but wonder if he’s let his past and old fears come back to haunt him. You had shown him that it was possible to have a home and be loved once before, but will you be able to do it again?

Warning: Discussion of cheating - Discussion of a child being abandoned in the past.

Music Playlist:

Main Master List:

Knitting You a Home Master List:

Mated Love is Never Easy Series Master List:

Sneak Peak - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15 - ?

©thatmultifandomhoe  Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without permission.

You barely looked up from your knitting as the timer on your phone shrieked in the kitchen, declaring that the cookies were done baking. At least this batch was. It was day two of the vacation Grandmother insisted you take and already you were out of your mind.

In an attempt to distract yourself from the perfume that Namjoon had come home wearing, you spent the entire day yesterday cleaning; all of his clothes were immediately tossed in the laundry first. It was satisfying when the shirt he had worn that night no longer had a citrus scent to it, but reminded you of the lavender fabric softener you loved.

By the time midnight came, the whole house was clean. Not that it was filthy, but there were a few things that had been pushed back by both of you due to work, and perhaps some laziness when it was late and the last thing you wanted to do was be an adult. Unlike the night before, Namjoon didn’t come home early.

He wasn’t home by the time you fell asleep either.

There were a few minutes this morning when he came to give you a kiss goodbye before heading out to work, and even though he chuckled at your attempts to coax him back to bed, in less than five minutes he was once again gone, and you were left alone. For years you had lived in this house alone, but with Namjoon gone, it hauntingly quiet. There was a window in the bedroom that looked out to the front of the house, and as you curled up on his side of the bed to be surrounded by his warmth that lingered, you watched his figure grow smaller as he walked off in the sunrise. It wasn’t until that he was gone that you tried to go back to sleep.

Sleep evaded you though and within an hour you were – regrettably – wide awake and on your third cup of coffee. Since there was no rush, you brewed up coffee grounds instead of the instant k-cups, the kitchen now scented in the smell of your favorite dark roast.

With the cleaning all done, the newfound free time and silence allowed you to think about the very last thing you wanted to even dwell on. All you had to do was ask Namjoon about the perfume, but each time the thought crossed your mind, your throat felt like it was closing up and it became harder to breathe.

So, you turned to one of the other few things that you were good at to take your mind off it. Baking.

That had been at eight thirty.

The timer rang out again so you set your knitting back on the couch, deciding to count the stitches when you came back. You tapped the stop button on your phone, silence once again filling the house as you opened up the oven, the heat hitting you right in the face as you carefully took out a tray of chocolate chip cookies.

It was only after you set the hot tray on a cooling rack that there was a loud knock on the door. You frowned in confusion, grabbing your phone to check the time. It wasn’t even noon. Standing by the table, a smile slowly grew as a single person came to mind and you hurried the rest of the way to the doorway, not surprised at who was leaning against your door-frame, but that she was here.

“You can only imagine my surprise,” Luna greeted, grinning at you. “When I went to Grandmother’s shop only find out that little Red, was back at home on vacation.”

Gleefully laughing, you pulled Luna in by her hands, tightly hugging her as she returned the gesture. Unable to let go of each other, the two of you waddled backwards into your home as she kicked the door shut for you.

“She insisted that I take a vacation,” you answered. It was only then that you broke the hug, “What are you doing here?”

Luna rolled her eyes, the easy smile still present. “As surprising as it might be, I do have my days off from the Homeless Center.”

You leaned back in suspicion, only to break out into giggles once more. “You caught me in the middle of baking, so come on.” Walking back to the kitchen, you began to transfer the cookies onto the cooling rack. “Is it a tea or coffee day for you Luna?”

“Coffee.”

Pointing at the pot with the spatula, you set the now empty tray on the counter next to the remaining bowl of dough. “Already brewed. Make me a fresh cup too?”

She already knew where everything was. Her visits tended to last hours, and over the years, your home had become a place where Luna knew that she was always welcomed to come to, whether it was early morning or late at night.

“Either you’ve decided to run a bakery inside your house, or something happened,” Luna said, barely glancing at you as she refilled your signature blue mug, taking a black one for herself. Instead of sitting back at the table, she leaned against the counter, holding her mug in both hands as she watched you move the wire rack to the table for the time being.

You hummed in amusement, focusing on scooping out more dough. When she didn’t say anything else, you glanced up, seeing the knowing expression on her face as she waited. It was the same one you’ve given her countless time when she came over at odd hours in the early morning.

“What’s wrong,” Luna prodded again. “You’ve made what…six batches of cookies, and a dozen muffins?”

Shrugging, you put the tray in the oven and set the timer on your phone. “I’m bored and love to bake.”

“Yes, but you’re over-baking. The last time you did this was when Sue came back.” Raising the mug to her lips, she gave you a pointed look. “I still have banana bread in my freezer from you.”

Your body tensed at the mention of Sue, easily recalling the multiple times that Namjoon had come into the kitchen, nuzzling your neck as he hugged you in an attempt to get you to stop baking for the night and come to bed.

Luna gently touched your shoulder, your grip on the counter tightening right before loosening up. “What’s wrong?”

Taking your coffee, you barely met her gaze as you sat at the table. Luna settled down across from you without another word.

“It’s Namjoon,” you finally answered. Giving Luna a weak smile, you traced the rim of your mug. “He’s been, acting different. Ever since Sue.”

“Different how?”

You shook your head. If there was anyone who might know what was happening, it’d be Luna. She worked directly with Hybrids every day; it was bound that she’d pick up knowledge on their habits over time.

“At first, he was overprotective and there was an increase in skin ship, but then it went back to normal when Hoseok and Sarah were reunited, then it changed again. It was like hitting reverse. He isn’t affectionate anymore, or if he is it’s only a little bit. He’s at the studio working all the time, comes home late. I basically never see him these days. Last night he even…”

Your eyes stung, voice halting as it finally hit you. The entire time you’ve only been thinking about, about the possibilities of what was turning Namjoon away. Never once did you speak it out loud because you hoped that things would have gone back to normal.

“He even what?” Luna gently asked.

Bottom lip trembling, it felt like your heart was breaking, the Mate Mark on your neck suddenly feeling like a weight on your shoulders. Namjoon…he had asked you so many times if this was what you wanted. To seal the bond between the two of you, guaranteeing a life time with each other and that when it was done, you’d never be able to see another man romantically again. Namjoon was your one and only.

“He came home,” you slowly spoke, trying to catch your breath. “reeking of another woman’s perfume.”

Through blurry eyes, Luna’s face shifted into understanding as she moved her chair next to you, her cup softly setting on the table. “Oh God, don’t cry honey, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

You thought you set your mug on the table, but apparently it had been closer to the edge than you originally thought and it crashed to the wooden floor, coffee pooling onto the floorboards but neither of you rushed to clean it. Instead, you leaned into Luna’s hug, your hands gripping her shirt as she rubbed circles into your back.

She didn’t stop you, didn’t say that your tears were useless. Luna simply waited, letting you cry until no more tears were able to leak out, even if it meant having your voice go hoarse. As grateful as you were that Luna was here, a part of you wished that it had been Namjoon who came to comfort you, even if he was the reason for your tears.

When they finally stopped, you sat up, rubbing at your eyes with the heel of your hands. “I’m sorry.” You whispered.

Luna shook her head, reaching over to grab a napkin. “You’ve been there for me, for every phone call and visit in the middle of the night. You have nothing to apologize for.” Handing you the napkin, she watched to make sure that you were done crying before cleaning up the broken mug.

Still, guilt swirled around inside you as you wiped at your eyes, trying to calm down. It felt like a bat was breaking every bone and bruising all your organs to say out loud what you’ve been thinking. That Namjoon had possibly considered, or even acted on cheating on you.

When she returned, she wiped away a few tears that you had missed. “I know it hurts hun. Have you talked to Namjoon about it?”

“When?” You weakly asked. “When can I ask him? He’s never home long enough for us to even talk.”

“True,” Luna agreed. “But how will you ever know the truth?” Licking her lips, she leaned back in her seat. “Do you want my honest opinion about all this?”

You nodded with a sniff. Now that you finally spoke your thoughts, you needed someone to tell you the truth. The last thing you wanted was for someone to just play along with your worries and let it continue to hurt you. Luna was always there to tell you the truth, even if it hurt because if it did, she was by your side to help carry it the weight.

“Namjoon explained to you about the Mate Mark, right?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then you know that Hybrids have only one true Mate that they’re destined to be with.” Luna smiled at you, leaning forward to gently tap the Mate Mark on you neck.

When she did it, you merely flinched at the sudden touch. It wasn’t like when Namjoon touched or kissed it, and it sent tingles running through your nerves and a warm fire in your heart. It was, strange to have someone else but Namjoon touch it.

But Luna did it again, a gentle smile appearing on her face. “Wolf Hybrids especially believe this considering the DNA they share in addition to all the lore around werewolves, their animal counterparts heighten the desire for a one true partner. Now I know that it took Namjoon a while for him to realize that you were his Mate, but when he did…honey the bond took effect immediately.”

Wetting her lips, Luna leaned back in her seat, trying to find the right words to explain this. “He is so in love with you. Even before he gave you his Mark, when you took him in and showed him what it was like to be with someone who cared, the bond between the two of you formed and grew stronger than anything I’ve seen before.”

“But the perfume…”

She shook her head, unable to come up with an answer that would chase away those fears. “I don’t know. Maybe there’s someone at the studio that wears an unhealthy amount of perfume? What I do know, is that Namjoon would never consider cheating on you. Hurting you is the last thing he’d ever want to do. You have to talk to him about this, it’s not healthy to keep this all bottled up” Luna glanced over your shoulder, smiling in disbelief. “Nor is it healthy for those of us who will end up eating all these treats.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, you chuckled at her joke, knowing that the moment you ran out of cookie dough you were moving on to brownies.

Her words swirled in your mind and as relieved as you were to hear someone else say what you knew was true in your heart, it only made you wonder what was really going on. Was what happened with Hoseok, having this much of an impact on Namjoon that he was already preparing for the two of you to be separated? Just like they had been?

You stayed quiet as Luna wrapped her arms around you like a blanket. Just like you’ve done for her, time and time again without fail.

“Can…can I talk to you?”

Lifting your head, you were surprised to see Luna staring at her untouched mug, her gaze seemingly going through the tea you had made.

“Isn’t that what we’re doing right now?” you asked, gently smiling in an attempt to bring her back from wherever her mind was racing to.

It worked a little bit, but when she looked up at you, her eyes were overflowing with tears. You dragged your chair next to hers, coaxing Luna to rest her head on your shoulder as you hugged her. It had been a while since her last late-night visit and you were surprised that she had stopped by with Namjoon staying with you. But you would never turn her away.

Even though she asked to talk, she didn’t speak.

Wetting your lips, you ran a hand through her hair. “Was it a work thing, or a relationship thing?” You softly asked. Depending on which it was, you might have to go explain to Namjoon that Luna was staying the night.

“A work thing,” she croaked out. You relaxed your arms enough for her to turn, allowing her to bury her face in the crook of your neck. Wet tears slid down your neck to your shoulder as she shook in your embrace, her cries growing in volume even as she tried to reign it in.

“He’s not even a year old,” Luna cried, her voice breaking as she attempted to talk through it. “I…I was throwing out the garbage when they suddenly drove up. She dropped him in-in my arms and ran off.”

Your eyes closed as you pieced together her sentences, your own emotions wanting to take control. But you couldn’t. One of you had to be strong for the other.

“He wasn’t even crying. It was like he thought they were coming back for him.”

There had been a time when you asked Luna why she continued to work at the Homeless Center for Hybrids all these years. It had been after she told you a story similar to this one, but it had been with a Hybrid girl who was in her early teens. Luna had a heart of gold and despite the fact that the Hybrids who entered the Center were there because they had nowhere else to go, and had a reason to be upset and angry with humans, she gave it her all to go the extra mile and make their time there filled with hope.

Suddenly feeling a hand on your shoulder – Luna’s were still wrapped around your waist – you blinked your eyes open and looked up, surprised to see Namjoon standing next to you. He had reached the point of being comfortable enough for the occasional hug and touch, but that was when you usually asked him. This was the first time he had touched you.

His eyes weren’t guarded and his ears were lowered against his head, a tell-tale sign that he had overheard. Instead of speaking, he glanced at Luna before walking into the living room to grab the throw blanket that was over the couch. His footsteps were silent when he came back, gently covering Luna with the blanket and you as well.

Luna lifted her head at the touch of the blanket, wiping away her tears as she gazed up at Namjoon with watery eyes. Namjoon simply crouched down, his hand holding on to the chair to maintain his balance.

“It’s better to have something like this, happen when he’s young.” Namjoon softly spoke, capturing both of your attentions. “I’m not saying what happened was good, it’s a terrible thing no matter how you look at it. But he won’t remember it, not like how a lot of Hybrids do. All we can do is hope that he’ll get adopted into a loving family, who will treat and raise him the way he deserves, so that he will never have to remember this day.”

Even though the situation was serious, you were in awe of how Namjoon was able to comfort Luna. Despite being friends with Luna for years, some of the stories she’s told you left you speechless and unable to think of the right thing to say. But Namjoon, he found the words immediately.

“I’ll talk to him,” you whispered, shaking your mind from the memory. Covering your mouth, you coughed in an attempt to clear your throat and bring your voice back.

Luna let you move out of her arms, a gentle smile appearing as she watched you nod in determination, even repeating yourself as you wiped your eyes for the last time. She knew that you would, that you

’d eventually decide on talking to him. You weren’t the type to let things just…settle in the mud. You were strong, but sometimes you needed an ear to listen to your fears and a voice to lead you in the direction that you knew you needed to go in.

Sometimes, you just needed that little push.

“Good,” Luna agreed. Reaching out, she took two cookies from the cooling tray and handed one to you. “But first, let’s test out these bad boys. Okay?”

Staring at the cookie, you suddenly chuckled as you took it, taking a bite out of it. It was soft and warm, and you knew that Namjoon would be going straight to these when he came home. Chocolate chip cookies were his absolute favorite after all. Maybe then you’d be able to talk to him.

[3pirouette]

Fic: Fighting Doesn't Make You a Hero (2/?)

Title: Fighting Doesn't Make You a Hero

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Disclaimer: They're not mine.

Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Story Summary: StuntCoordinator!Steve meets Actress!Peggy, who is an absolute menace when it comes to stunts.

Chapter Summary: Steve falls hard for Peggy (figuratively) while Peggy falls hard (literally).

A/N: Here’s some more of the story I tried so hard to write last year when I put this little AU out. Also, this is the “more” that I think only one person actually asked for. Hope you like it, anyway. I’ve always loved this idea, the rest of the story has just alluded me until now. For Steggy Week ’21 Day 3: Favorite AU.

Apparently, there will be more of this, because my brain has FINALLY figured out how this is supposed to go, and it’s not just one chapter’s worth. Sheesh.

Also, if it is not clear (it should be…) I know nothing about stunts or stage fighting. Completely made up. Please enjoy.

~*~

Chapter 2: Thrust and Parry

It was hard to be nice to her when he was waiting for the next injury to occur. He was professional, clear, and concise. They rehearsed for hours straight on Wednesday for a long, single shot of her moving through a room full of stunt men for one of the climatic battles.

Though no one got seriously hurt, there were a few bumps and bruises that shouldn’t have happened.

It was hard not to be harsh with her, not to be demanding. He could see moments of beauty in how she moved, but then she’d go too far and make contact. He had to find a way of breaking her of it, if not for his own safety, for that of the stuntmen around him.

~*~

It was an early call for the shot they’d spent the entire previous day rehearsing. He was bleary and chugging coffee as quick as he could stomach it. Peggy was already on her way out of hair and make-up as he passed the trailer. She gave him a shy half smile as she passed him, being ushered from one trailer to the next to be slid into her ridiculously tight costume.

On one hand, he got it. He couldn’t deny that she looked absolutely gorgeous in that costume. (How long he’d spent thinking last night about her in that costume and what she might be able to do with that Lasso of Truth absolutely was not relevant…) But from a practical standpoint the costume wasn’t realistic at all, and she wobbled horribly on the stilettos. They had to stop rolling often to keep her taped into the thing.

The stuntmen around him were warming up, and he even heard a few near him joking about wearing cups. He gave them a sharp look, waiting until everyone was quiet before he reviewed timing and patterns while they waited for her to come out to set.

The director wasted no time once Peggy was on set. They made minor adjustments to the cameras and rolled on the first run through. He was proud as he watched them all, every move was timed right and it looked fantastic. He waited, with a smile, for the director to give his notes.

There wasn’t much for his team, but the director took Peggy aside and gave her quite notes and reset the scene quickly. He shot it over and over, from new angles and with different lenses, and by the time it was over, there were three black eyes and a cracked camera lens.

Peggy’s assistant ushered her off set as soon as they cut the last take, the star unable to look him in the eyes as she walked past.

~*~

The director decided, after a short break, he wanted another go at the capturing the pattern. Steve reluctantly went off in search of Peggy, hoping to figure out where she’d gone wrong that morning. He couldn’t find her in her trailer, and her assistant only pointed vaguely towards the parking lot.

He found her in a far hidden corner of the lot, sitting on the edge of a flower pot, crying. He was startled by a side of her he wasn’t prepared to see. He thought maybe he’d be coming out here to find her sneaking a smoke or a flask of rum. He’d heard she was dangerous, a bitch, a tough broad who didn’t care about the stunt men that she hurt. This didn’t really fit with all the stories he’d heard. “Peggy?”

She moved to wipe away her tears, manicured fingers moving swiftly and carefully around the fake lashes and caked on make-up. “I’m sorry. I’ll be right there. He wants another take, right?”

Steve crouched down next to her. “Are you… are you ok?”

She laughed, watery and weary. “Oh, good lord, no, but I’ll be there in a minute.” She waved her hand at him. “I’ll have to stop in make-up first.”

Steve stood hesitantly, astonished at how she pulled herself together so quickly. “Is there… is there anything I can do?”

She looked up at him, taking a deep breath. “I don’t mean to hurt anyone, I promise. I mean, I know I have a reputation, but… I’m not an action hero. I’ve never been physical. I’m not good at it.” She shook her head. “I’m a Shakespearean actress.” She stood, wiping at her mouth and pacing. “Give me Ophelia or Bianca or Beatrice. Hell, even give me a sword fight. I can fence, you know. But one time I get a tiny part in an action film and all of a sudden, I’m being type cast as some action hero and no one ever even taught me how to do any of this!” She was pacing quickly now, the rant spilling from her lips like a waterfall of words she couldn’t stop if she tried, her weariness evident with each syllable. “Not once was I instructed on the how, just, ‘punch here’ and ‘kick there.’ And it was fun so I kept doing it. I thought it was worth it, you know? But I should be saying no. The sane thing to do would be to say no to all of this but I mean, who says no to Wonder Woman?!” Peggy stopped, her face morphing as she realized all she’d said, her hands coving her mouth for a moment before she forced herself back into a stoic, hard shell. Her chin wobbled, betraying her hidden emotion as she pushed past him towards the make-up trailer. “Just know I don’t mean it. And I’m sorry.”

He watched her move away, stunned in her wake. He didn’t quite know what to do with that information, but he was quickly starting to feel a soft spot for her forming. He moved quickly back to set, relaying that she would be there soon and watching the team of stuntmen around him stretch to perform the scene once more.

She was back on set, looking fresh and happy, in just minutes. He ran them through the pattern again, and watched closer this time.

Once he’s shed himself of expectations, it was easy to see that she really didn’t have any idea what she was doing. She was a natural mover, to the point where he figured she was probably a good dancer, and that went a long way to hiding the technical flaws. But she was jerky when she tried to pull her punches and she wobbled off balance when she held back power in her kicks. She misjudged force when blocking constantly, and it put her on her heels, literally.

She was on her back in a blink when she shouldn’t be, coughing and sputtering. She had the air torn from her lungs with the impact, and everyone froze in place.

Steve bounded over, pushing through his stunt team to kneel by her side. Her eyes were closed, pressed tight. “Peggy, are you ok?” She was gasping, trying to get the rhythm of breathing back. “Slow in through your nose, slow out through your mouth, ok?”

He lifted her hand in his as she nodded, sputtering once more before slowly getting a deep breath in, and then another. He squeezed her hand tight. “Good, good.” He smiled when she blinked her eyes open, her breath starting to come back. “Better?”

She nodded, but he could see the frustration and fear in her eyes, welling tears following quickly.

“Let’s get her checked out,” the director called. “We got what we needed anyway.”

Peggy tried to sit her up, but Steve pushed her back down. “Wait until the medic gets here, ok?”

“I’m fine,” she argued, having tamed the tears quickly.

“Be that as it may,” he smiled, whispering, “You know what the protocol is.”

It wasn’t quite a smile, but it was the closest he saw to one today as her hand held tight to his. “Fine. Just this once.”

He moved away mindlessly when the medic came in and started talking to her, checking for a concussion or cervical injury, eyes still on her face.

Forget about the Lasso of Truth, her smile would be what was haunting his dreams tonight.

~*~

He met her in the rehearsal gym, bright and early the next day. He was on the floor, warming up, when she came in, hair pulled back messily and no make-up on, thermos of coffee in her hands. She was pretty much the exact opposite of the made-up, costumed bombshell from yesterday, but he was no less enthralled with her.

He couldn’t help it: he smiled.

Her smile back was half hidden behind another sip of coffee. “Good morning,” she said softly in her lilting English accent that she covered up for her movie appearances.

“Morning,” he stood, wiping his hands on his pants. “How are you feeling?”

“Bit of a headache,” she replied, setting her coffee down and pulling off her jacket. “Are the rest of the team coming?”

Steve hung his head, bashful. “Uh, no. I had them stay last night and run through tomorrow’s scene with your double.”

“Oh.” Peggy froze, the word slipping out softly. She started putting her jacket back on, trying to hide her disappointment. “I didn’t get the message. I thought I was doing the scene.”

“You are!” Steve corrected quickly, holding his hand out. “I just thought…” He sniffed and cleared his throat, trying to sound as professional as he could. “After I found you yesterday, I watched you do the scene again. I mean, really watched you. And you’re right. You’re missing a lot of the basics.”

Peggy wrapped her jacket back around her, crossing her arms. “Yes, well, like I said—”

“You weren’t taught,” he supplied quickly and gently, eyes kind and open. He shrugged and tried to smile. “I thought we could spend some time on that this morning. You already know the scene, so if we go back in and fill in some of those blanks you have…” He trailed off, hoping she’d understand.

She licked her lip slowly, thinking. “And you told the other stuntmen to stay home because…”

He wasn’t sure what she thought he was going to say, but he could imagine how some of his collogues might have treated her and couldn’t say that he almost expected her surprise. “I don’t want you to feel like they were watching you, or judging you. It’s not your fault no one taught you this, or that whoever you’ve worked with before didn’t take the time to make sure you were doing it right.”

She bent, grabbing her coffee to try to hide the shock he saw. She took a long swing and then nodded, pulling her jacket off again. “Alright then.”

He waved his hand, signaling her to follow him to the middle of the cushioned floor.

She was a quick study, and he’d been right as she eventually reveled somewhere in their discussions of balance and force, that she’d been a dancer before she became an actress.

“ACL surgery,” she replied, pulling up the leg of her legging and showing him the scar on her knee that he was sure must have been covered by make-up every other time he’d seen her. “Retore after the first surgery, and I never danced the same after.”

The melancholy that had started to disappear as they’d been going through their first few lessons returned, and Steve swore he’d do anything to see a smile on her face again. After a moment, he pulled up the sleeve on his t-shirt and showed her the crisscrossing pattern on his shoulder. “Cool scar, but I think this one wins.”

“Ohhh,” Peggy reached out, her fingertips lightly brushing over the flattened lines. “What happened?”

“IED just outside of Fallujah. Caught our caravan off guard.” He turned, pulling the shirt back more to show her the back of the shoulder. “Two bullets, six pieces of shrapnel, three torn tendons and almost a year of physical therapy.”

She let her hand run down his arm in a gentle way that made his heart pound. “Is that why you got out?”

He shrugged, stepping away and pulling his sleeve down. “It’s why they wouldn’t let me back in, so yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“Do you miss it?” Peggy asked, truly interested.

He paused. He wasn’t sure anyone had ever asked him that before. He must have been quiet long enough that she took his lack of an answer as not wanting to answer, because she started rambling, stepping over to get more coffee.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. I only asked because,” she paused to sip, taking a deep breath. “Well, because I didn’t really get to choose to stop dancing, my body chose for me. And as much as I love this…” she paused, her voice growing quieter as she looked down at her coffee, “sometimes I miss it.”

Steve softly stepped towards her. “This can be a lot like dancing, you know.” He held out his hand.

Peggy set her coffee down and took it, a smile on her face. “Really?”

He nodded, giving her a gentle pull that pulled her towards his body. “Think of it less like moves and add beats to it.” He started counting softly in fours, walking them through the pattern they’d just practiced: step forward, step back, parry, swing and miss, swing and block, swing, connect, turn under and sweep the leg.

Peggy laughed with delight as they stopped, standing. “That was… so much easier!”

Steve couldn’t help but smile back, she looked like an excited child on Christmas morning and he wanted more of that. “See? I told you. You just needed to understand it a little more. To figure out how to make it make sense to you.”

She bounced on the balls of her feet, excited. “Can we try the second pass?”

He nodded, stepping in front of her. He started counting again as she squeaked with happiness behind him. Push, pull, drop, jump, punch, punch… they moved through with the fluidity he knew she possessed but had somehow never understood or tapped into before. He smiled at her as they finished the set: her wrists in his hands, held over her head as they stood face to face.

They both smiled, but didn’t move. Steve could feel his heart pounding, and if the look on her face was any indication, the moment wasn’t one sided.

But he was here professionally, and it did no good to lean in and kiss her breathless like he wanted. He started to pull away quickly, but Peggy grabbed his hands, keeping him close. “Thank you,” she whispered, eyes shining with an emotion he didn’t want to think too hard about.

He didn’t understand. “For what?”

“For this.” She shrugged, twining her fingers with his. “For not just believing I’m a dangerous bitch who doesn’t care who she hurts. For taking the time to actually teach me,” she smiled, “and get to know me.”

It was still between them, and he could tell what they both wanted, but he couldn’t give in. Not while they were in the middle of the movie and he knew she’d still need so much more help if she was going to make it to the end of all of the complicated fight scenes and wire work. Instead, he redirected, smiling wide. “Don’t thank me yet. We’ve got to do all that again, but this time, in the heels.”

Peggy frowned, but didn’t let go of his hands. “Bloody hell, I hate those fucking things.”

[roses-ruby]

Come home to me...Darling

Jimin x Female Reader (+ Jungkook & Mystery Member)

Ao3 Link

Part 2 of 2 (Part 1)

Genre: Cheating!AU, angst, smut (masturbation and fingering, both female), fluff

Warnings: Masturbation, Fingering, Infidelity, Cursing, Sad, Low self esteem, Mentions of a panic attack, Jimin’s a jerk :(

Word Count: 29,555

Summary: Jimin cheats and you try to make him stay. But whatever you do, it’s never enough.

Tag: @some-random-stranger-007​

A/N: it is finally out now I can go yeet myself into the lake of fire never to return. Can you believe i almost lost this? ahahahaha the level of clownery. Anyway I hate it, so let me know what you think of it. Thank you to @meuurtrierr​ it wouldn’t be possible without her. Edited but I know I missed some shit, also I skimped on the warnings cuz i dont remember what else skskssk do let me know babes mwah Enjoy!

Mondays are the worst.

It’s not enough that you needed to skim through the employee evaluation files in the next 2 hours, but a grueling headache had somehow found a way to attach itself into your brain. Even blinking was painful. You weren’t able to do anything but stare at your desk with little to no energy present in your build. There was a dull lull in the room, and you felt suffocated in your stuffy office. When one of the open file’s papers flutters in front of you is when you manage to snap out of dreamland. Peeking at the desk right outside your office, you let out a sigh of relief at finding the space empty. Finally, you could get up and do something about this headache as well as pour some caffeine into your body.

Usually Yura would gleefully grab it for you, but you felt awkward around her since that day and hadn’t asked anything of her since. It was a bit silly, you don’t know why you were avoiding her exactly. Most likely it was due to not trying out her therapist suggestion yet. But it wasn’t like she was forcing you and it also wasn’t that you didn’t want to go…you were just unsure. You were scared. An unfamiliar person, poking and prodding at you – at your life. Finding and pulling out all the faults in you like weed. Judging you. Your habit of overthinking had already made you fit irrational scenarios inside your head of your ‘sessions’ and how awful they would end up being.

This irrationality also embarrassed you and led you into avoiding Yura.

In a nimble pace, you quickly make your way into the center office filled with cubicles. From there you speedily step your way into the breakroom. Thankfully, it was also empty. It wasn’t like coming here wasn’t unusual for you – you had been in here before you were promoted, albeit just a bit. You weren’t the most extroverted person, and people seemed to always be creating some forms of conversation in here. Which scared you into staying in your cubicle until certain timestamps where you found it vacant. Sighing, you walk to the coffee maker in the corner of the room to find it barren, and you heave a groan as you gather your ingredients for coffee. You didn’t want to stay here in case of running into someone, but life was making everything harder for you as usual. Watching as the coffee hits the pot in the coffee maker, you think back to last night.  

Jimin never made it back home throughout that whole day. That had become a usual occurrence, but it really hit you hard this time because you were aching to sort things out after the clash you both faced. There was a restless ache in your stomach, which you’re sure was the cause in you turning sick today. Last night you had caught the exact moment Jimin figured out that you knew about him and her, his aura completely morphing into something between docile and tense. After he left, you couldn’t sleep for hours, tossing and turning and just waiting for him to come home. The scene kept replaying in your mind and you kept analyzing certain aspects, wishing you had said something better or acted in a compromising manner rather than driving him away. But then he never showed up and you were too afraid to call him back to you. If you went to voicemail yet again, you felt you would go insane.

Though you pondered where he was with exhausted efforts, a dreadful thought told you that you already knew, you just didn’t want to accept it. You hoped it wasn’t true. That he wouldn’t be with Tina – not after last night. Maybe…he was crashing at Jin’s place? …Wait, why didn’t you think of him sooner? Jin, his best friend since he moved to the city, would know where he is! Friends are considered confidantes, aren’t they? It wouldn’t hurt to inquire s few things from Jin, he was always a sweet man. But you didn’t want to force Jimin back to you or anything of the sort, you just wanted to know if he was ok. Hopefully he’ll realize how much you need him, hopefully he’ll come back home to you on his own accord. You were going to give him some time to think, then he’ll surely be back by that day, right?

Hopefully.

As you pour the coffee into your mug, the door creeks open and a citrusy cologne fills the air which pulls you out of your thoughts as you stiffen. Great. Carefully, you turn to see the culprit to be a tall man yawning loudly and stretching his arms while walking towards you. It alarms you that he’s moving straight at you without even realizing, but you don’t make an effort to move. Which ends up with him crashing into you slightly-

“Oh, whoa,” He says as his eyes fly open and he holds onto the small of your back with his warm hand, “Sorry about that, didn’t notice anyone was here!”

No kidding.

Now that he wasn’t scrunching up his expression, you could properly take in his appearance. He had such a soft and youthful face, big doe eyes that seemed to be lit with stars. Everything about him was so round, his nose, his cheeks, his small mouth. Jet black hair covered his forehead and compared to his boyish features, the muscles protruding from his white button up were anything but soft. You felt bad for his shirt, which was straining to hold itself together. There was a small scar on his left cheek, yet another mark amplifying his young features. He seemed to be observing you as well, his eyes a tad bit larger and his hand still on your back.

You clear your throat and straighten your back, looking away from him to the floor.

Breaking out of his daze he retracts his hand immediately, “Oh, sorry!”

That’s when he notices the mug in your hand, then turning to the coffee maker he beams,

“Hey, did you make a fresh brew? That’s awesome, Thanks!”

“It’s no problem.” You say in a small voice

At the moment you desired no conversation with anyone. It felt as if once the tiniest amount of sympathy is thrown in your direction, you become a puddle of pudding into the persons hand. Instead, what you really wanted to do was to stop feeling so weak. Stop relying on them to hold you together, because people leave. Jimin left. Left you to melt into the ground without looking back.  

Right now, you just wanted to be left alone.

But the boy in front of you did not seem to be good at detecting facial cues.  

“Umm…do you work here?” He asks you, and you give him a confused look, “I-I mean, I’ve never seen you around…but it must be because I just started here last week, I’m a new recruit.”

Yura mentioned something about that, but you never actually got a chance to look through the profiles since the Jimin fiasco.

“Is that it?” He asks again, “Are you a new recruit as well?”

“Um...” You wondered how to properly tell the boy that you were his boss. The reason he hasn’t seen you before is because you rarely come out of your office. Unless there’s a big meeting.

“Then you must’ve started today, huh?” He says, a smile on his face displaying his teeth…his bunny teeth. Adorable. “We’re in the same boat then! If you ever need anything, just let me know!”

The expression on him was so pleased, you didn’t have the heart to decline. Didn’t have the heart to walk away or disregard him. So, you just stood there as he introduced himself.

“My name’s Jungkook by the way.”

“_-___.” You respond shyly

“___,” He repeats to himself, scratching the back of his head, “That’s a beautiful name.” He gives you a look that has you blushing as you mumble out a ‘thank you.’  

It was so natural then.

You don’t know how it happened, but you were suddenly thrown into a conversation with your company’s most enthusiastic employee, Jeon Jungkook. At first, you were worried a bit by how young he looks, yet it turned out he was only two years younger than you – and he refused to believe you were older, the brat. He stood there explaining how things work around the office, telling you tall tales about some of the ‘haunted’ conference rooms and scary coworkers to which you were enthralled by, despite being here way longer than him. You found yourself giggling every time he exaggerated a story with his words or eyes.

“So ___, how do you like it here so far?”

“It’s nice,” You respond vaguely, taking another sip of your coffee, “How about you?”

“They really work you to the bone! But I like it, they’re fair with the salary and the donuts here are always so good.” Jungkook beams widely while reaching over to grab one of the chocolate glazed donuts off from the small white box next to the coffee maker.

“Heard the CEO’s batshit though” He says with a mouthful

At that you let out a snort – almost spilling some of your coffee from your mouth, which leads you into covering it with your hand and coughing. It was true, she was a little strange.

“Oops.” Jungkook responds with a mischievous glint in his eye. In return you squint your eyes at him in mock anger as you let out your last cough. He reaches over again and grabs another donut from the box. You wish he would stop doing that, his arm radiated a lot of heat and you were going crazy trying to ignore his scent. Pulling out a second donut, this one with pink frosting and dark red glaze decorated in a zig-zag pattern, he hands it out to you.

“Here,” He says with his bunny teeth displayed.

You give it a long stare before taking it, “Thank you.”

“It’s a peace offering.”

“I see.” You eye the sugary dough and the colorful star sprinkles sticking into the frosting, “Interesting choice.”

“It’s cause that one was pretty.” He pouts

“You gave me a donut because you found it pretty?” You raise an eyebrow at him

Scoffing at your tone, he leans into the countertop and fold his arms, displaying his biceps up in your face. Damn those arms. “And what about it.”

“Nothing,” you giggle, “Just that normal people would give pretty flowers or pretty letters and not…fried dough.”

Jungkook turns silent at that, turning his face toward the ceiling as if in thought. He was making an odd expression, one with his eyebrows drawn in and lips pulled straight, you wondered if this was normally how his face was while thinking. It was kind of funny. But also, very cute.

“You’re right.” He suddenly says

“Hmm?”

“I should get you flowers.”

“…And where would you find flowers in an industrial urban structure?”

To this he removes himself off the counter and turns to you, his height and muscles intimidated you a bit. He was definitely taller than Jimin. “Is that a challenge?”

“Maybe it is.” You say in a low voice, maintaining direct eye contact

“Alright then ___, we may be new here (you internally cringe as he says this) but I bet you I can find you some pretty flowers lurking about in this stale glass cube of a building.”

You laugh at how serious he got – the fiery glint in his eyes, and raise out a hand, “And I bet you won’t!”

Being here three years had taught you quite a lot about this location. The lower floors contained a computer enterprise, and the upper floors remained a basic accounting firm. Grass surrounding the building was patchy and dry thanks to the summer heat. Also, your CEO had a strict pollen allergy, so keeping things like vases to fill with freshly cut daisies in or around the residence was impossible. There was no way he would was going to find any flowers here. It was a bit sad how much you knew about this place, being the only other dwelling you hung out in other than your home. But on the bright side, you were totally gonna win this bet.

“What do I get if I win?” You question as he shakes your hand. Heat immediately shoots down your spine at his touch and you block yourself from shivering by clenching your teeth…he had a very firm grip.

“I’ll be your servant for a week.” He pipes making you raise your brows as you shape your mouth into an ‘o.’ “And what If I win?”

“Hmm…” You hadn’t thought of that because you didn’t think there was any way he could.

“How about if I win, I get your number?”

…

Huh?

Tilting your head, you scrunch your brows. “…Why would you want my number?”  

That confused you.

He gave you a wide eye stare. Did you really just say that? Perhaps you were playing hard to get? Yes…that must be it. No need to feel embarrassed. She didn’t reject you he thinks abashed. While you on the other hand were clueless to his fretful appearance.

“…Um.” Jungkook clears his throat looking down at his shoes. Wait…were Timblands allowed in the uniform? “Just cause.” He mumbles

You dwell on it for a second. You’ve never gave your number to a guy before. It can’t hurt, right? Besides he wasn’t going to win anyway.

“Well, alright.”

He grins at your approval, and you giggle in return. Was he the cutest man, or what?

“You know…you’re very pretty when you laugh.” He says abruptly and that makes you completely drop your mouth. His face flushes and that’s when you notice he still had your hand in his. The sudden awareness makes you pull it back at lightning speed. You try to speak again, but somehow the sound was knocked out of you and the room feels very, very, very, very warm for some reason.  

“I- I should prob-” You point over your shoulder, slowly backing away from the doe-eyed man. “I have work.”

“A-alright…” He scratches the back of his head again. A habit you suppose. “See you around.”

“Yes.” Was the last thing you said before practically sprinting out of the breakroom.

You don’t know how long you spent chatting with Jungkook, but you came back to your office on sore legs. Sitting down on the revolving chair, you spin around a bit feeling bizarrely giddy inside, headache completely forgotten and newly revitalized. As you remember his red cheeks you pull up your arms in front of you. Chills…you had chills. What. Was. That.

Even though your legs hurt from standing, you don’t regret it one bit.  

That was…strange. Never had you been one for conversations, especially not with the other sex. Your husband didn’t seem to like it when you were chatting with another man, so you never tried to. Yet Jungkook…why did you enjoy being around him so much?  

It felt like you were back in high school, talking with the class president you had a huge crush on. Or like the guy from 5th grade who gave you a band aid. And even when you first met Jimin. You’re not sure, but you do know this is the first time in years where you became so smitten with someone so quickly. Jungkook was like a breath of fresh air, you really liked him.

Wait, what?

As soon as you process the weight of your thoughts, you immediately sit up in your chair. No, you couldn’t just have thought of such, right?

You…you were a married woman! Holding up your hand, you stare at your wedding ring while guilt crawls up your spine. This wasn’t right, you shouldn’t be doing this your conscious spoke. Not when your married life was in shambles. Is this who you were? Though, when you really think about it, it wasn’t like you did anything, you were just talking. So why did you feel so bad? Bringing your hand to your chest, you hold onto your ring finger with your other hand and close your eyes. Jimin appears before you, a light smile on his handsome face.

Your heart clenches.

“-ght.”

Just then, you register someone’s voice outside your office, breaking you from your daze. You stiffen, recognizing the soft laughter of your beloved secretary. She must have returned from her lunch break.

These days you had begun to pay Yura special attention.  

It was due to her confession, knowing that she dealt with so much but still managed to be happy – genuinely happy – made you feel…curious. You wanted to understand how she did it, how she managed to deal with life in a better way. And then maybe, just maybe, you could do it too.

Yes, that should be a rational clarification of why you were creeping up to the entrance like a stalker. Calmly stepping up to the see-through door, you hide behind the solid wall to the right of it, peeping your head out to spot Yura. You honestly don’t know what you were wanting to accomplish, but you had been getting yourself involved in a lot of strange situations recently, so it was better not to question it.

She had her back facing you, thankfully, or this would have been even more embarrassing. You stretch your neck out as much as you could, feet planted firmly on the hidden side of the wall. Watching as she stood beyond her desk casually, her phone to her ear while she conversed gently with someone on the other line.

“I’ll pick up some Chinese tonight- no not that one I hate it!” She laughed. “Seriously babe we’ve had that four nights in a row now…okay, okay we had tempura for a whole month because of me I know that!”

It was easy to tell she was talking to her boyfriend. It was just general, everyday stuff but you couldn’t help but feel envious. Yura sounded so content, her boyfriend sounded like he loved her. That was all you’ve ever wanted. How come you’ve never had that?

A grimace falls upon your face. Just what were you doing trying to spy on your secretary? When did you become so pathetic? There was no secret, and if there was, she has told you of it already. The truth was, you were stubborn, unwilling to change from the old ways as if your conservatism has ever been of any help to you. With a silent sigh, you were about to walk back to your desk when you heard him tell her ‘I love you.’  

In return she giggled, “I know~ See you tonight!”

You stood there stagnant for a bit. After a moment, you smiled, although there was no sign of joy on your face. Really…you were really pathetic.

Once you were at your desk, you eye your bag on the side of your chair’s leg before you pick it up, digging through it until you find what you were searching for. The piece of paper with the number was still in the same state as when she first gave it to you. Albeit crumpled. wouldn’t it have been hard for her to gather up the courage to say something you, her boss, could wrongly take offense over? Which you almost did. You respect her courage, her dedication and determination. When she first joined, you thought she was like you.

You were wrong.

She was stronger than you had ever been.

And instead of dwelling in that bitter pool of jealously you’ve drowned in with so many other women, you respected her. You wanted to learn from her and Irene and any woman in your life that had fought their battles with determination. It was like you said before, you had been getting yourself into strange circumstances lately, so why not this too? Who was here to stop you? Who was here to feel pity for you?

All you wanted was to be happy once again. Just once more.  

You owed it to yourself

Tick…tock…tick…tock…

You sat at the edge of your red seat with your palms holding onto your knees. Uneasiness found a way to penetrate your bones and you sensed a thin layer of perspiration on your hairline as you watch the clock ticking down until your dreaded deadline.

There was a lady situated underneath the clock, an elder woman by maybe a decade. She had soft wrinkles around her eyes and forehead, a bun high on top her head and bright red lipstick on her thin lips. Clacking away at her key board, she would occasionally furrow her brows in concentration at something she was looking at on her computer screen or smile at you if you made eye contact. Didn’t do much to ease your nerves but it still felt nice. The lady reminded you of yourself, and you speculate if this is how people saw you when you were at work.

It had been a couple of days until you managed to call an appointment for a therapy session. The isolation ate away at you after Jimin had been missing for the third day. You desperately wanted to talk to someone about your problems, but Irene was out of town, your husband absent, and you were too shy to seek out Yoongi. Instead of pushing your complications onto others, you thought it was finally time to call in some professional effort. The lady on the phone had been really nice and you were able to set an appointment up fairly quickly. Now you were just sitting here, in the monotone lounge area waiting for the therapist to arrive.

There was quite a bit of research you did beforehand. Turns out, different therapists professionalize different problems. Cognitive therapist help deal with bad thoughts and unclutter daily habits. Family-oriented systems therapist dealt with family related issues. Personal issues are dealt by people who are experts in narrative, behavioral, or solution-oriented therapies. And psychodynamic therapists, like the one you were visiting, dealt with unconscious motivation.

Actually, many therapists deal with many different fields at once, some work in relationship therapy both romantic and platonic while others work only on you – if you choose to keep the people in your life out of your segments. Because of that, it was up to the person seeking out therapy to decide what’s right for them. For instance, if you are someone who always felt closer and comfortable with your dad, then maybe it’s best that you seek out a male therapist. You also had to be meticulous about their personalities.

During your search, you found a person who said their therapist always read their email during sessions on a blog forum. One even said their therapist ate rounds of cheese during theirs! It was extremely uncomfortable to read that. But now you knew there were many things to make sure of, therefore being prepared. Gender, expertise, field of education, professionalism, reviews, trust and even the vibe you get from certain therapists are all important factors in choosing a therapist.  

Researching yours, you found her specialty was in female psychology. Including relationships and intimacy. All reviews on her were positive and you were so glad to read through them. After rounds of self-motivation and days of procrastination, here you were.

It’s quite humorous actually, a month ago you never thought you’d be doing anything like this.  

You just weren’t ever capable, especially not with your level of anxiety. What could it be about the past few weeks that you’ve grown so courageous? Was it the meeting with the stranger on the roof, the discovery of a friend, or empathizing with someone you worked with? But what if it wasn’t a person? Perhaps it was the city’s rapid heart at 3 AM, the wild club and heavy beats or the mundane office life encouraging you to take a step forward. Maybe it the tragedy behind that rainy day you hate to recall and hitting rock bottom with such force. Opening the pandora box? As you struggle to find answers within yourself, you realize Jimin wasn’t the only one confused with your behavior.  

You don’t get to dwell on the past for too long as a door clicks open and lets a slight breeze pull you from your thoughts.  A slender young lady holding a clipboard appears; short brown hair, black kitten heels and thin rimmed glasses sitting on her nose. She looks in your direction and smiles, gesturing for you to come her way.

You get up nervously, wiping your sweaty palms on your pencil skirt. Straightening yourself out, you make your way towards her.

“Hi, you must be ___, correct? I’m Dr. Lin.” She raises her hand and you immediately grab it. Her voice was gentle and steady, you felt actually welcomed.

“Yes, nice to meet you, Doctor.”

“You too.” She smiles, “And please, call me Lin. This way please.”  

She leads you in with her arm on your back, making you effortlessly walk into the sanctuary of her office.  

Once you were inside the room, you gape at her place in awe. It was wide open, there was no way you’d feel suffocated in here as you originally thought. There were large windows, displaying the greenery located at the back of the building. She had two huge shelves filled with colorful books on both ends of her office. In front of the windows rested a large shaggy carpet with a glass coffee table on top. Behind the table were two grey sofa chairs that complimented the fuzzy blue carpeting. And a small desk on the right side next to an office chair where she probably did most of her work. As you hear the door shut behind you, you turn around to catch her eye and she smiles at you.

“Right this way.” She says, walking past you which leads you into following her. When she reaches a chair, she pauses, waiting for you to take a seat first.  

So, you do.

“Well.” She starts, grabbing the pen off her clipboard, “How are you today ___?”

“I-I’m alright.”

Lin raises the corner of her lips “Just alright?”

“Yes…I.” You don’t know what to say. Were you already doing something wrong?

“That’s good,” Lin smiles as she clicks her pen open and jots something down onto her clipboard. “That’s a beautiful ring by the way.”

“O-oh thank you.” You cover your finger with your hand as Lin slightly squints at your action, still writing something.

“So,” She takes a deep breath and put down her pen, “What brings you here today?” Looking back up at you, she beams.

“Um…I needed someone to talk to…”

“Do you not have someone in your life to talk to? Or is it that you don’t feel comfortable confiding in them?”

“Kind of both…I…don’t want to trouble anyone.”

“I see.” She writes something else down

“Now tell me ___...why’re you really here?”

Out of nervousness, you kept messing with your ring and you knew she could tell. So, to distract your hands you needed something else to clutch onto. There was a tall glass of water on the coffee table in front of you. Your doctor notices your staring right away to which she points, “Please, go ahead.”

At her approval you pick up the glass and bring it your lips. After drinking just a bit, you decide to hold it down on your lap. For a second, you just stare as the water softly vibrates inside the clear glass while Lin waits for you to speak up. Is there a right way to tell her? You struggle internally at voicing your problems.

“I-I’ve been married six years…and it’s…I’ve had a hard time.”

“Six years is quite long…most married couples have problems by then.” Lin says, “It’s normal. Going through difficulties ranging from various reasons either with money or fidelity – having ups and downs.”

You take a deep breath trying to keep your heartbeat steady. “I barely remember having an up…”

She stares at you, and you don’t look at her. Instead you stare at the small burgundy table on the side of your sofa. It separated your chair with hers.

“…Can you tell me a bit about your husband, ___? Why don’t start by telling me the last up you do remember?”

At that, you finally look up at her. Was there an up you remember? For a large portion of your life, you had thought that every single moment with Jimin was an up. But when it came down to it, that wasn’t the truth. Jimin spent tremendous amounts of time breaking his promises to you. You actually remember the last promise he kept…how innocent the display of your relationship was back then…

The morning was pure white.  

Or at least it felt like so in your cramped dorm room where you spent another day lying next to the only other body you desired. The craving was an ache on par with stories that are never finished or poems with no end. You wonder if this is how it would always be; you longing for him while being so close, as well as lingering on the edges of how long this would last, when he would get up and leave you. Then you can crave him for an eternity.  

Oh, how you dreaded that day. You couldn’t imagine it, couldn’t fathom it, you couldn’t even conjure up the courage to acknowledge it. But it was inevitable, wasn’t it? Out of the thousands who want him, the millions who would do anything for him – what could have made you so special?

“What are you staring at?” He asks, softly turning his sleepy eyes to you.

His gaze raises your heartbeat, you feel a blush crawl up your bare spine. He’s been quieter these days, always seeming like he was in a deep stupor. A covered silence behind his beautiful mind. Everything was domestic and wholesome, your mind felt relaxed.  

“I’m looking at my world…” You whisper, close to his ear as your lips brush against the outer lobe.  

For a moment he just stares before he lets out a breathy laugh. “Cheesy.”

You smile, head molding into his shouldering with ease. Sex with him was always like a gentle wave, slowly covering your whole body in its warmth. His body was warmer than your comforter and his skin more alluring than any sight offered to your eyes.

“Says you.”

“Oh?” He quirks an eyebrow up making you nod

“Remember when you took me to the arcade and kept trying to win me that fat round stuffed whale for 2 hours?”

“Pfft, and I never even won that, did I?” He scrunches his nose in mock anger

“Exactly.” You giggle

“Hmm…but do you remember you stood there and encouraged me on the whole time. Didn’t complain once.”

Of course, you remember that day. The heels you wore were so prickly, your feet were sore for a week. Still you didn’t want to discourage Jimin, who was trying so hard for you. Or maybe he was just to immersed in the game, but it didn’t matter. None of that mattered but the fact that Jimin was with you.

“You didn’t complain when my car broke down in the snow on that abandoned road. Nor when I insisted to go see Candyman instead of whatever romcom movie you had in mind… I’ve always love that about you.”

I love that about you.

“How can I ever complain when you’re having fun…I’m not the complaining type of girl anyway.”

“You’re right, you aren’t like the other girls.” Jimin turns to face you completely, a soft grin on your face, “Maybe that’s why I like you too much.”

“R-really?” You flush as he laughs. It was always so easy for him, wasn’t it? “Cheesy.”

“But you love it.” Jimin bites his lower lip and well, you couldn’t deny that. He leans in just then, catching your fleeting eyes before he tenderly connects your lips. You couldn’t deny him then either. Your mouths move in a languid fashion, tongues tasting the deepest corners slowly.

He tasted of honey. That sweet, addictive pleasure.

After a few seconds you both part, Jimin hums with a lazy smirk. Your stares battle infinity before he looks at the clock. “Shit…I should run, my boss needs me to come in early today.”

“Oh, okay.” You say, masking your dejection when he gets up to put his shirt on. Jimin always hated his bosses. Actually, he seemed to have a problem with any figure who displayed authority over him.

“…Jimin…” You call out to him and he looks at you over his shoulder. “You’ll come back tonight, right?”

“…Right.” He says with a smile.

“Promise?” Your voice is so quiet it disappears with the sounds he makes as he shuffles to get up. So you just watch as he gets ready, the yearning in your heart and mind stirring again as you glare a hole into his muscular back. And suddenly he turns, with that same smile on his face. The one that has entrapped your heart many times before.

“I promise.”

And that was the last promise he actually fulfilled.

“That sounds so sweet.” Lin pulls you out from your thoughts and you take notice of the gentle smile gracing your features.

“It was.”

“How long ago was this?” she questions

“…”

“___?”

“Si-…seven years ago”

She frowns, furrowing her eyebrows “And how long have the two of you been married again?”

“Six years.”

“Then what have the last six years been like for you?” She asks softly

“He’s fucking another girl.” You calmly state as the room goes silent. The only thing you could hear were the morning birds outside the window and your sullen breaths. Thinking about the last six years made you upset…you couldn’t do anything to change that. Your grip on the glass becomes tighter, and you notice you’ve left prints again. So, you quickly begin wiping them. “He’s been…fucking other girls.”

…

“…I see…why don’t you start from the beginning.”

And in a moment, you’re spilling it all. Every single tortuous detail from your spousal life. Jimin’s promises, his lies. Every time he shut you down or off. Whenever he created distance. Jessica. Mina. Tina. All of last month, as if it was a story written in a word document. Every single pain you felt. You were crying by the end of it. Both from the searing lump in your throat and from the dreadful feeling of betraying your husband by not keeping your marriage’s confidentiality.  

Why did you always feel so guilty?

You were sobbing into your palm as the doctor offers you a Kleenex. Wiping away at your tears, you take a glimpse at her expression. It had somewhat hardened in what you think is sympathy…but you couldn’t describe it well.

“Is there anyone you’ve spoken to about your husband’s infidelity other than Irene or Yoongi?”

“No.” You sniffle

“What about your mom?”

“I…I barely see her. Last time I t-talked to her was on the phone a year ago…on my birthday. And even if I d-did…I doubt I’d tell her.”

Lin takes a deep breath, “I see.” She commences to write something down once again on her clipboard. “Infidelity can be damaging in all sorts of way to an individual…especially to one’s self confidence.”

She looks at you “Do you feel that you have lost your sense of self-worth?”

“I wouldn’t know…I’m not sure I ever had any.”

This time, she takes off her glasses to hold in her fingers as she rests her knuckles under her jaw.

“While you’ve been here, I noticed you gave vague and short replies as if you didn’t want to talk in the first place when that’s exactly what you said you came to do. And you’re sitting at the edge of your seat.” She points at your hips and you immediately look down, “You’re trying to not leave a mark of your presence in the room, just like in the lobby…even the glass…you’ve marked off your prints around three times now?”

Were you really doing all of that? You felt embarrassed.

Her eyes immediately soften, and she speaks in a slower tone, “I just want you to tell me why you keep trying to make yourself as insignificant as possible. Why do you only become full of life at the mention of your husband?”

You wish you had an answer for her, but you don’t. Huh, how funny is it that this is the one time your perfectionism fails you. The one time you fail to provide an answer. Instead you opt to stare at the small table again. There were books on the table…one particular one stacked on top that caught your eye.

Her Body and Other Parties, the title read.

Lin notices where you were gazing off at.  

“…___...can I ask you something private? You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to.”

Well she knew so much already. How can yet another intimate fact hurt? So, you nod meekly.

“How is your sex life?”

“Huh?” You make eye contact immediately after processing what she just said

“Can you tell me the last time you made love with Jimin?”

“Uh…um… uh-we haven’t been, I mean I can’t…with him.”

“Why?”

“Because when I tried to…Tina appeared in my head and I just…”

“Alright.” She says, looking ahead as if in thought. “Then when was the last time you were able to?”  

You try to think, “Around 3 months ago.”

“Before Tina then. And you’ve been sexually active occasionally before that, yes?”

“Yes.”

“How was it then? Did he make you feel good?”

“Yes…I think?”

She gives you a certain look, “You think? What do you mean by that?”

“I mean it’s Jimin…everything feels good with Jimin.”

“Were you able to reach an orgasm with Jimin?”

Silence puddles the room.

“No.” You whisper in the smallest voice

“…___, can you tell me how long it has been since your husband gave you an orgasm?”

There’s a strumming inside you and you feel your insides pound. She said you didn’t have to answer right?

“Since…Jessica.” You murmur her name so low you don’t think she heard it. But the way she clicks her pen on tells you otherwise.

“…Can you tell me how many years it has been?”

“…”

“If you don’t want to answer it, that’s all right. We can talk about something else.”

“5 years.”

“…I see…and before that?”

“Before that…I always came before Jimin. It was surreal to have him above me…inside me. I felt so…loved.”

Lin glances out a window for a few seconds, seemingly in thought. Then she brings her attention back onto you. “Has Jimin ever noticed?

You snort at that, to which she raises a brow. Clearing your throat, you speak again.

“No, he hasn’t noticed. I fake them.”

“So, you let him have sex with you, never once felt satisfied and didn’t complain?”

You look down at your glass once again, “I…I didn’t want him to not touch me.”

Lin nods, waiting for you to continue.

“I wanted him to love me…to only look at me. Not being able to cum…is all my fault anyway. Something…must be wrong with me.” You wipe the tears loitering your sockets with your crumpled Kleenex.

“No. This isn’t your fault.” Lin states before she sighs, rubbing at her neck. “I’ve heard that before in a lot of my female patients. Yet it still manages to amaze me.”  

“___,” She addresses you with full attention, making you straighten your spine, “Recently, I have been reading books on female sexuality and happiness. One of them being this-” She picks up the book you were looking at “-‘Her Body and Other Parties’ by Carmen Maria Machado. And I have come to notice a pattern between a woman’s sensuality and her self-esteem.”

Lin pauses, putting the book back down and looking back at you to make sure you were keeping up with her, making you nod in return.

“If I may ask…have you, by chance, brought yourself to an orgasm in the past 5 years?”

“Huh?”  

“Have you ever masturbated?”

“Umm…no…”

“Maybe once when you were a teen? College, perhaps?”

“No.”

Like she had an epiphany she writes down something yet again on her clipboard.  

“Then that’s what I want you to do before our next session. Educate yourself on healthy masturbation.”

Your jaw drops open at her statement, a string of questions leaving your lips. What did she just say? There was no way you’d be capable of doing something like that! You almost died just thinking about-  

“___, I know it seems crazy, but masturbation is directly linked to a women’s mental health. It helps you gain confidence, release stress, produces endorphins and strengthens your immune system. We will be able to find out a lot about you, such as if you are interested in the idea of sex or not, either which is fine. It can also tell us if Jimin’s infidelity has been causing you subconscious psychological damage.”

Your mouth shuts as she lists her reasons.

“You have spent your life, giving yourself away. To your mom, to Jimin, to your work. You spent your life trying to become someone they’d love, that you forgot about who you are. There’s barely any of the real you left inside.” She points at your chest, “I need you to find out what you want, the things you like. The pleasures YOU seek.”

“I want you to learn about yourself. Learn how to properly care for yourself…how to love yourself.”

As her words register in your brain, you think back to a couple days ago. About how you sat with Irene, outside that small café. Not understanding that you genuinely liked cooking, just thought you did it to make your mom or Jimin happy. And about how good it felt, how amazing it was to realize there was a part of your personality not molded from the people who took advantage of you. It was…liberating.

“O…okay, but how do I…I mean my sessions with Jimin were all soft…I’ve never done anything myself before.”

“It’s up to you really…why don’t you start out by using a toy? You’ve missed out for a long while, so yes. I think a toy would help you.” She smiles at you and you want to stuff your face into the couch.

Could today get any stranger?

Suddenly a timer beeps causing Lin to look back at her desk.

“Oh, that’s all the time we have for now ___,” She says standing up, and you rush to stand with her, placing the glass back on the table. “I hope you can successfully complete this task I’ve assigned you, and I’ll meet you the same time next week, alright?”

She extends her hand, and you take it immediately “Umm, yes definitely.”

With the pleasantries out the way, you carefully make your way towards the door. Once you place your palm on the door handle, Lin calls out to you once again,

“Oh, and no thinking about Jimin while completing my assignment! This is about you and only you after all.”

“BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-”

“Irene, please stop laughing.” You groan into the receiver, pinching the bridge of your nose in embarrassment.

“Sorr-I just ahhahahah, no wait-” She wheezes over the other line. Taking a deep breath, she consoles herself. “Alright, so let me get this straight. I’m out of town for a week and you end up going to a therapist who tells you to jerk yourself off on the first session?”

“Ireeenneee,” You whine, “She’s a smart lady. She’s trying to help me.”

“Oh, she’s definitely trying to help you alright.” Irene snickers and you huff in frustration. Maybe you shouldn’t have called her to tell her about your Saturday night plans.

“Okay, okay, no more jokes. So, are you going to do it?”

“Yes…I mean I don’t know…I’m a bit nervous.”

“You haven’t came in 5 years. As a girl with a healthy libido, that would emotionally damage the hell out of me. Maybe the Doc’s onto something.” Irene states

“You think so?” This is what you wanted as usual. Reassurance.

“I don’t know to be honest…why don’t you try it out and tell me? You sure you bought the right item?”

You stare at the small unwrapped object in front of you. A bullet vibrator. All of that internet searching for a pink oval-shaped ball.

“I…think…” You gulp, becoming slightly intimidated

“Well I think you’re going to have an amazing night my princess.” Irene coos making you blush

“I-I-I am hanging up on you now!” You pout, flustered

“Wait, no I wa-”

With a huff you end the call, throwing your phone off to the side. Again, you were left doing nothing but staring at your toy. It just laid there, staring back at you. The atmosphere of your room felt oddly tense.

“Okay…be gentle.” You whisper to it. It doesn’t respond.

You pick it up carefully, taking off your robe and laying down against your mattress.

…Now what?

You were a grown woman; it was healthy to explore your sexuality. That’s what those internet articles and female magazines told you, all written in a perky tone to somehow connect with the modern working woman. Although you being you, you couldn’t help but point out their spelling mistakes.

That’s not the point, you huff, staring at your ceiling in frustration. What were you supposed to do right now? Your core was exposed to the air, the bullet vibrator stayed stiff in your left palm and you felt kind of ashamed in this position.

No thinking about Jimin, you recall Lin warning you. How were you supposed to do that? Who else would ever make you feel the way Jimin made you feel? Granted, he didn’t actually make you cum in the past few years, making love with him still felt good.

Or at least you think what you had with him felt good. At the times he made love with you, you desperately tried to convince yourself that it was different with you than with Jessica or Mina. That you were special to him and they were just side pieces. It…didn’t really work. Nevertheless, there wasn’t anyone who made you feel as bright as Jimin, no one you made you flustered and left you stuttering.

Well except maybe Irene and her smart mouth.

You giggle as you think of your friend. Before you begin to ponder on the subject a bit too long. Irene did have a pretty mouth. Her lips were always so cherry red and eyes foxy and seductive. It was always difficult to look at her straight in the face, but she made you sure you did no matter what. She was so assertive.

It was then, when you were dreaming about her intense ogling that your hips shifted slightly, your exposed core aching. H…How would Irene feel around your…your…

“Ah-” You moaned, your arm sliding down until your fingers made contact with your folds. Your eyes were closed so you could better picture her jet-black hair, the lax strands perfectly framing her small face. Your mouth was shaped as an O, as your fingers brushed through your folds, sliding them across the lax skin, before stretching them open, becoming wetter by the second.

“Nn-ahh.” You cry out softly as you rub around your clit. Your mind filling with a deep haze. This was so strange, you’ve never thought of women this way. But then again, you haven’t thought of anyone this way except for your husband.

“Nuh uh~” You hear the tender tone of a feminine voice echo, and you strain to look between your thighs to spot your smirking vixen of a best friend, “No thinking of him here.”

She coos before she tips her tongue out, her face dropping into your middle. Whimpering loudly, you arch your back off the bed as you feel her take you into her mouth, wet muscle playing around with your juices. She slid it up, down and across, pinch your nipple as she sucked on your nectar.

“oh my- I-Ire-” You hear her snicker, her laughter shooting straight through your spine. While still in a foggy daze, you squeeze the vibrator in your left palm, before pressing the small power button with your thumb. Your breathing was heavy, the device buzzing slightly in your hand as you brought it down.

For a moment you hesitated, the object’s frequency intimidating you. So, with a deep breath, you shut your lids, connecting the vibrator with your clit. Immediately a wave of pleasure washed over you, your eyes shot open as you groaned. It was as if Irene’s tongue was molded to the shape deep inside of you. Your body raised in temperature.  

Although only connected to one part, you could feel the toy course throughout every limb. It left you shivering as you clutched the bedsheet beside your hips with your wet digits. You could feel your thighs, drenched in your sweetness, the air around them cooler, softer. Irene’s tongue increased in speed, sending your mind spiraling.

“O-OH mm-” You don’t know why you were trying to hold back your voice, but you couldn’t help it for some reason.

“Don’t hold back.” You suddenly hear, and you break out of your bewilderment to find another person on top of you. Shadowing over you was straight black hair, lusting doe eyes and soft rabbit features passionately regarding you. “I want to hear you.” He whispers as his large arms enclose around your head.

Why was he here?

Did you somehow want him to be here? You didn’t know. All you did know was that there was a knot forming inside of you, coiling around your insides with a viper like grip as you continued to fall into his stare. It felt so good, so euphoric. The pleasure was addicting.

You felt like you were going crazy, fingers slowly linking to your cunt once again. Rubbing circles as the device vibrated through your bundle of nerves. This wasn’t right, you shouldn’t be thinking about him. But the heat from his body made you feel lightheaded, whimpers escaping you like crazy. It was so wrong, but you felt so good in the moment.

“You’re so pretty like this.” Jungkook murmurs, moving away your hair sticking to your face. In a second Jungkook took the device away from you, winking at you. Confused, you tilted your head at him on the pillow before your eyes suddenly rolled into the back of your head.

He amped the vibration, placing the toy halfway inside of you. Your hips moved off the bed, fingers leaking wet with your nectar as you played with your clit. You wanted him inside of you so bad. It’s not that you wanted to conceive this very image, the sane you would never ever do something like this but fuck you don’t know what the fuck was wrong with you in that moment. And you didn’t care.

You imagine Jungkook drilling inside you, his fat dick ripping through your insides as the bed shook with every thrust. That was all it took to push you over the edge. And soon you were cumming, screaming out his name.

“J-Jungkook, yes! Oh God!”  

A heavy wave of pleasure washes over you, stars obstructing your sight. Your mouth hung open as your pussy convulsed. Shuddering through the tremendous sensation, you fall back onto the mattress with a thump, and the toy helps you ride out your orgasm.

“Haah...haa...”

BzzzBzzz

The only noises that were left were of your excessive breathing and the strumming of the bullet vibrator. It felt like all your energy had suddenly left you, you forgot how powerful orgasms were until now. Soon finding it to be painful, you remove the toy from inside you, pressing the power button as you hold it up to your face. It was sticky wet, your juices smothered around the pink device like glaze.

Glazed donuts.  

Blushing, you throw it to the side, still trying to process everything that just occurred. Wow. That was…Irene…and then Jungkook. You jump around, squealing into your pillow. What just happened?! Why did you imagine those two out of everyone? How will you ever face them again?

Even after everything was done, you couldn’t help the way your body felt so thrilled and satisfied. For some reason, you felt like you were floating on cloud 9. It felt so out of place, you hadn’t felt this way with Jimin ever. Not even on your best days. Who knew something so taboo could turn you on so much?  

Fuck.

You turn so your back rested against the bed again, before slamming your hands onto your face. Were you going to have to explain all of this to your therapist? No way were you going to tell her who you jacked off to. As you were overthinking and worrying about your near future, you suddenly began to feel very drained and numb. You blinked lazily, the familiar weariness akin to sleep.  

It took you by surprise, you hadn’t been able to fall asleep without sleeping pills for a long time now. As you bring your arms back down to look at the ceiling, you’re faced with your empty bedroom one again. Jimin had always been gentle with you, hadn’t he? It was another reason you loved him as much as you did. When you both made love, it felt like he could never hurt you.

Reality kicks in and a longing surrounds you. It was inevitable, you were bound to remember him again. You couldn’t help but wish your husband was here with you to share your happiness.

You wish he was here with you to see your growth, to be proud of you. You wish he was here with you and you couldn’t help but feel that yearning for him like you’ve always felt. You really wish he could love you. Looks like you hadn’t exactly passed this task, since you weren’t supposed to think about Jimin but you didn’t care. More than anything, you wanted him home.

Old habits don’t just die after one success.

So, as the thought of your vacant house infected you, before you could dwell on the topic further. Before you took another pill, feeding your insides with your own poison. Become a moping drone, a sickened shell once again, you shut your eyes. Blocked out the evil world before you and relaxed every muscle, every scar in your brain. It was the only thing you could think of doing. Thankfully your spent energy agrees with you.

Before Jimin could take over you once more, without ever lifting a muscle.

You fell asleep, letting yourself feel drained and dreaming of the wedding and the bright shore.

It was inevitable.

Your eyes flutter open to a soft white room. The sunlight was peeking through the curtains, lighting up the canvas across your orbs. You wriggle your toes about, slowly seeping into full conscious.

Once you can make out the ceiling above you, you stretch your muscles before sitting up.

“Ji-”

Turning on your side, you place your palm down on the cotton sheets beside you. A palm you meant to place on a body that was meant to be on the bed. Beside you.

“Right.” You whisper, staring at the cold spring empty of life and bringing your hand back to your lap.

No one’s there.

Sighing, you swing your legs off the bed and onto the floor – the fluffy carpet molding into your feet. You push yourself up, the action causing the sheets to slither off your naked body and expose your nipples to the chill atmosphere. Again, you stretch your tendons, raising your arms above your head and lifting the bottom soles of your feet off the ground. Your back curves and your eyes clenched shut. It’s been a while since you had fell asleep without pills.

Blinking lazily at nothing in particular, you sluggishly turn your body to the direction of the bathroom. You begin to saunter across your room, reveling in the peaceful silence of a sunny Sunday. As you’re a few steps from the door, your gaze catches onto the full-length body mirror set just aside.

It makes you halt in your tracks. A moment passes by before you step closer to your reflection in fascination.

Have you always looked like this?

Is this the way your hair falls over you face? You think as you run your fingers through your soft locks – bringing forward a single strand to the front of your face to focus in on. Slowly your gaze falls back to the mirror and you tilt your head. Sliding your digits onto your face, the tips of your pointer and middle fingers caressing the peak of your nose, gradually underneath your jaw and upon your neck.

Is this how your body was shaped?

You take it all in. Captivated by the glowing expanse of your silky skin, the gentle rhythm of your chest, and the highs of your curves you ran a palm over. Shuddering as a strangely new sensation waltzes within you. The sun’s rays wrap around you like gold, highlighting every mole and freckle settled into your casing. Scars and marks from forgotten memories finding shelter under the spotlight. Every secret exposed in the flare of the replication. It felt like you had just stepped out of a decaying cocoon – stitched together by the molding twined fabric of your uncertainties.

And the you who emerged shone.

There were sparks of glitter all around you. Tiny angels spinning threads of new-found purity onto the secret corners of your soul.

A once caged bird, with virginal wings as large as her innocent heart. Who wears her crown fragile; while her refined mind heals from the battles with the toxicity in amour. Her beauty is an ode to the agile cosmic, lucky enough to hold her able within its seams. Your dimensions were your unique, the line between pleasure and hurt fitted across your stomach.

It was beautifully raw outside that rotten cocoon. You spread your arms out, relishing in the way your body weaves between space and time as your insides melt perfectly into the shape of your skin. Every bone, every ounce of lush, the fruits of your divine frame. The mountains and hills spread amongst your flesh – the caves and burrows layered one on top of the other.  It was all beautiful. Raw, real and radiant. Like a pallet with too many colors splattered amongst the wood, splashes from aches and pain and memories and gain.

Your pallet.

As the pearls of your pupils rake through your figure, they suddenly land on your unclothed core. You let out a shaky exhale, eyes glossing and lashes fluttering. Carefully you guide your hand to your lower region until your fingers make contact with your wet folds. A shiver runs through you, goosebumps poking through your soft pores. Awakening the images of last night; of the whimpers and aches. Of the satisfaction and the explosion of your confined stellar.

This was you. Your perfect frame, your flawless physique, your structured identity.

Was it the early morning air? The first good sleep in years? Or the sensual night before?

…Did it matter?

A smile graces your lips as you wrap your arms around yourself. The slick from your nether regions painted amongst your fingers staining the upper part of your left arm.

You were just happy to be awake.

_

“They’re pretty, right?”

He holds up the peonies clutched in his hand at you, tilting his head so you could see him just behind the stunning flowers. He was everything for you; your energy, your medicine, your happiness. You wanted to melt.

“Yes.” You reply, trying to sound happy; less depressed.

He frowns and it goes straight to your heart, “Sorry”

“For?” He asks, throwing the plant on the couch. Not making eye contact.

Suddenly you wanted to cry. You’re too sensitive to all of his emotions and he knows it. Uses it to his pleasure. It was amazing – how some words had so much power over you.

For being sad. For not living up to your expectations.

“I love them Jimin.” You smile, placing your hands on each side of his face and turning him to you. “I love you.”

And he’s happy. The sun is back on his face.

On the other hand, you feel like the unlit side of the moon. Especially when Jimin engulfs you in a smothering hug.

“That’s what I wanted to hear.”

From me or Jessica? You think. It had only been a week since the dire revelation and your insides were crumbling. He had sex with you time and time again, but you felt nothing. Something was wrong with you, but you didn’t want to tell him.

You wanted him to be happy. Even if you hated yourself.

As you fit into his arms, you stare at your reflection in the mirror on the back wall. How ugly…how unworthy. No wonder he cheated on you. No wonder he found someone better.

He loves you too, he says.

But you couldn’t help hate yourself.

Ok. What the hell was a T-front string?

You squint your eyes at the screen, rereading Irene’s text for the tenth time.  

Your heels were clacking the floor below you, as you speed walked through the mall with a small giftbag in hand. A while after your little intimate moment with yourself, you had called up your friend to speak to her about the rejuvenation you experienced in excitement. She was very happy for you, giggling through the receiver like a child. It made you smile.

Although, no matter how much she pestered you, you refused to spill the beans about who you ended up jerking off about. Irene was persistent, naming off every actor and model she knew. And you on the other hand had no idea who half of them were. Thankfully, she couldn’t get you to spill the beans. You dreaded her reaction if she ever did find out.

After warding off her interrogation and chatting about something mundane, she had suggested for you to go to the mall so she can help you find some useful ‘items’ for women since you had nothing else planned. Your interest was piqued, thinking it might be items such as the world’s most comfortable bra or scrunchies that never go missing. Yet as you parked your car in the lot, and tentatively made your way inside – you had given up all hope for your superpowered hair ties.

None of the items Irene had been texting you made any sense.  

‘Double D Balls Dildo. Make sure the balls are squishy!’    

‘Shower Sex Foothold. Very useful for shaving your legs. Other things as well I guess.’

???

In an array of confusion, you had gone up to a random employee to ask him what exactly Doc Johnson’s “The Fist” was. The paling look he gave you in return has you traumatized for life. Never again would you ask anyone to explain anything Irene tells you.

As she continued to text you severe objects to buy, you just shook your head while buying a little something of your own. Letting her think you were following what she said of course. You could just imagine the look on her face, the tiny snicker as she continues to lightheartedly play around with your innocence. There was a small jewelry shop you loved in this mall, one Jimin would bring you to after he got a promotion or when it was your birthday.

You bought a small bracelet for Irene from said shop; to thank her for her friendship and for listening to you mope about Jimin. Satisfied with your purchase, and only this purchase – you decided to head out of the place. Your legs were practically running out of the mall, trying to get back home. It’s actually been like this for the past few days.

Since he disappeared.

Every time you stepped out of your apartment, even for a few minutes, you would rush back at twice the speed. It was as if…you were hoping that once you step inside. Once you’re in the sanctuary of your house, he’d be there too. He’d turn around and you could run into his warm arms again. And he’d promise you – genuinely promise – he’ll never leave again. Ever. It was a fairytale reunion made for a dreamy girl. Ridiculous, but you still wished it to be true.

For some reason, you were especially eager to get home today. Even more than usual. When you made it to the first floor and could see the doors you came in from, your phone abruptly buzzed again. Huffing, you open the device, trying to see what nonsense Irene sent you this time.  

You were too busy checking your phone to see where you were going. Your legs were rushing a bit too much to notice the other pairs of legs walking in your direction.

“Whoa-”

“Oww-”

That’s when you ended up bumping into another body with a small thud. The phone in your hand crashing onto the ground, sliding away from your peripheral vision on the floor. Both of you wobbled around a bit but grabbed onto the others arms to seek balance. Once you stood sturdy, you immediately searched around for your missing phone with your head turning about in a frenzy. It didn’t take you long to spot it as it didn’t travel too far, ending up right next to the girl’s leg. In relief you sigh, bending down to pick it up to brush the specks of dust and surveille the damage. The girl on your arm doesn’t move an inch, like she was frozen in place.

After you’ve made sure it’s not broken and everything was working properly, you smiled. Looking up at the girl to apologize.

“Oh, I’m sorr-”

A gasp escapes your throat.

Your eyes instantly widen – in an eerily painful way as your jaw fails you. Your insides plummet with a chaotic mix of anger, confusion, and dread swirling through you – thundering up a storm that has you stagnant. The atmosphere takes a sudden drop in temperature and a chill runs down your spine at the cold air. Subconsciously, you take a step back. Away from the sight before you.

“H-hey ___, long time no see.”

In return, the girl stands there in as much discomfort and anxiousness as you. Shifting on her feet, she sends you an awkward smile. A smile you were used to seeing daily at one point in your life. A smile you grew to reluctantly dislike over the years. Your muscles start to constrict.

“Mina.” A whisper leaks from your lips.

Clink, clank.

You listen in to the busy atmosphere surrounding you while sitting still in your wooden seat. Waitresses passing by, the small chatter, the clinging and clanging of cups and forks. It was all more interesting to you than the predicament at hand right now. There was nothing to really focus in on, except the table in front of you and its stiff glass casing. Which you were eyeing with lasers shooting out of your orbs.

The tension in the air was thick.

And the girl sitting opposite to you was looking at you a bit too anxiously, failing to be subtle with her regard. You could tell she was playing with her fingers underneath the table, a habit you had noticed many times before. Almost four years ago.

“H..how have you been?” She starts, making you look up at her.

As soon as you acknowledge her, her face drops. Like she was afraid of your judgement. She clears her throat.  

“I-it’s nice to see you again…” She strains, “After all these years…you look great.”

There’s an awkward silence that goes by as you’re slow to register her words. It was as if your brain doesn’t want to recognize the situation you’re in – trying to run away from you rather than recall any more past memories.

“It’s been quite long.” You manage to make out, “I’ve been well.”

Why did you lie to her? Were you that afraid of her finding out the truth?

“T-that’s good.” Mina replies a bit too fast.

…

Another awkward silence engulfs your vicinity as you both proceed to poke holes through the table.

“All right, here you are!” A shout wakes you both, making your shoulders jump. “One glass of water and one small coffee, one cream and two sugars.”

A lady places down your coffee cup in front of you, and you exhale at the balmy steam warming up your otherwise cold face.

“Anything else?” She chirps with a small tray in hand

“That’ll be all, thank you.” Mina responds to which the lady nods and leaves with a smile

Mina watches you as you stir your coffee mindlessly. You could tell there was a lot running through her mind like you.  

She hasn’t changed much. Just a couple of alters you could spot. Like how her hair’s a bit longer now, reaching just above the conjecture between her neck and her shoulder and dyed a darker color. A few more piercings graced the left side of her ear now. There was also a small tattoo on her ring finger – some sort of symbol in a mix of purple and red. On the other hand, her style hadn’t changed at all. She still wore those oversized black hoodies and white sneakers. You hide a smile as her dark top almost drowns her.

Mina was as beautiful as you remember.

Suddenly, she huffs, picking up her water.  

Gulp, gulp, gulp

You gape at her with wide eyes as she drinks the whole glass in one go. She sets it down with a clang, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Then her orbs connect with yours, as she continues to stareat you with an unreadable expression. For a second, you catch her regarding the gift bag by your side.

“___, I-” She starts off strong, faced focused and seeming like she knows what she’s going to say.

But as her linger remains, she loses her grip – mouth slacking and concentrated expression failing.

“I…”

“What is it?” You say in a low yet clear tone of voice

“I…God! I don’t know how to say this!” She places her elbows on the table, burrowing her face into her palms. Her outburst turns a few heads to which you shift uncomfortably to.

“Are you alright?” You reach over and place a hand on her wrist, which has her removing her hand covering her face to stare at the place you were touching her. She spots your ring.

“Are you still with Jimin?” She whispers

“…yes.” You say, although it’s not exactly the truth.

You retract your hand and her eyes follow it till they land back on you.

“How is he?” Mina asks, even quieter than before

“He’s well.” You’re not sure how else to answer. Honestly, you didn’t even want to answer.

She scoffs, “Good for him.”

The hate in her tone catches you off guard, your eyebrows furrowing as you stare at the now frowning girl.

“…Wha-”

“Good for him. Park Jimin. Great. Wonderful. Of fucking course he’d be well, he’s the one and only Park Jimin. The nicest guy in the world. Light of everyone’s fucking life. Sweet, kind, charming Park Jimin. Let me go jump off a cliff.”

She spits each word with abhorrence laced in her tongue. Her eyes squint in anger and her fist clenches the ends of her long sleeves. You sit there, shocked and confused.

When she notices the expression on your face, she unwinds. Moving her arms off the table and sitting up.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you…I just…” Taking a deep breath, she closes here eyes to contemplate something. Before looking up at you once again, “I always wanted to apologize for what I did to you.”

…

A third silence passes you both. Your brain was now fully awake and taking in each and every word.

“There’s not a day I don’t think about it…what I did to you…the mistakes I’ve made.” Mina’s voice cracks halfway as her eyes become glossy. For some reason, your chest starts to ache. “I regretted it every single day ever since you left. And I always, always wanted to talk to you one last time. I-if that’s okay with you?”

She halts to study your reaction. You nod, urging her to continue.

“…It’s not a secret – what I did over the course of half a year. What I allowed to happen…” She sniffles, staring at the gift bag as a tear falls down her eye. “It’s just…you meet this guy, right? A polite, charming, extraordinarily handsome guy, and he’s great. And he’s married which is also great but-”

“He sees you, like…he actually sees you for you and he befriends you. And he doesn’t tell you to change unlike other guys. He doesn’t turn his nose up at your quirks and doesn’t hold animosity in his eyes. He tells you his secrets…or what you think are his secrets and he appreciates you.”

She takes a deep breath, her nose running and cheeks rosy. Taking a napkin from the table’s corner, she wipes the tears littering her face as your own eyes well up. So this was how Jimin was in her mind compared to yours. There were a lot of similarities and a lot of differences.

“And so,” Mina strains, “You fall for him. Even though it’s wrong and even though he’s m-married. Even though his wife is a wonderful person, y-you fall so, so hard. And when he kisses you while he’s a drunk, giggling, beautiful mess…you don’t stop him.”

You close your eyes as the first tears makes its way down your cheek. Even though there were a lot of differences, the feelings were the same.

“Y-you don’t stop after the first time. Nor after the second and then the third… and it just keeps going on and on and on. Until it’s too late to stop. Even though the guilt eats you alive. Even though you stop eating and stop sleeping and no one can see the bags under your eyes, when he smiles at you-”

Mina shows you a pained smile, “When he smiles at you, and his eyes crinkle and his nose buttons. You think it’s all – the pain, the secrets – it’s all worth it. Because you just feel so damn special for some reason. So, you throw yourself down the drain, become the woman you never wanted in a relationship that would never go anywhere. You lie until your teeth start rotting and hide until the shame stops consuming your heart.”

You wipe your tears with the back of your hand, trying to calm your senses by pursing your lips.

“Then one day…he tells you he doesn’t need you anymore. That you never meant anything to him and it’s over.” Mina’s stop crying now. She stares at the table once again, this time looking at her reflection in the glass. “And you don’t put up a fight, because you knew this was coming. It was inevitable. A real relationship can never be based on a lie. All you’re left with is the person you’ve become.”

“In the end…all you did was become a liar that hates herself. Someone who hurt a woman who’s been nothing but kind to her. Someone who shut everyone out till the one guy she’s wanted shuts her out… that’s the conclusion.”

You let out a shaky exhale, your body lagging and mind numbing. There’s yet another moment of silence as you process everything you’ve just heard. Your feelings…were just the same.

“I’m sorry.” Your eyes shoot up as Mina speaks up once again, “I’m sorry for what I did to you and for all the things I let happen.”

“I understand if you don’t forgive me. And I understand if you never want to see me again. I…just wanted to tell you that you were great. You were a great wife, and a great friend…a great cook haha...and a great person. You deserved better than all of this. You deserved better than all of us.”

“And...and I know how it feels…I…I dated someone after Jimin… and huh ironically-” Mina lets out a breathless laugh, “He cheated on me… and I know I deserve I-”

“No.” You interrupted her, “No one deserves that.”

Mina pauses as she stares at you, “It really hurts…it’s not just them loving someone else, but them breaking your trust and connection. Completely disregarding your feelings and disrespecting you. And something like that coming from someone you love – someone’s who’s supposed to love you…breaks you apart from the inside. And that’s why I now understand what kind of a person Park Jimin was. A manipulative, lying piece of shit who immediately uses people’s vulnerabilities for his own pleasures.”

…

“I hope one day you’re able to move on from what I’ve done but…I will always carry what I did to you. I’ll continue to fall into toxic relationships and continue to have trust and commitment issues for the rest of my life.”

You frown at the feeble girl in front of you. Was this what you wanted from her? From Jessica? Is this what you want for Tina? Would this satisfy your idea of karma?

“Thank you…for apologizing…for speaking your truth.” You began slowly, Mina’s inflamed face staring at you,  

“I always tried to understand why you did it. How you could do that to me when you’ve met me and knew me and…my head was just a mess for the longest time…but now…I just hope you’re able to move on from this as well…I don’t know if I can truly forgive you but I don’t want to hate you any longer. I spent so much energy trying to hate you and the other girls…I compared myself to you, I looked down on you…I ran away from you.  

“But what was it that you owed me at that my husband didn’t owe me a hundred times more?”

Trying to piece your thoughts together you sigh, “The you I conjured up in my mind was a lot more characterless and viler. But now it just seems like I was trying to blame anybody but Jimin for his own mistakes. That’s the whole idea behind homewrecker, huh? I blamed you, I blamed my mother, I blamed myself. I blamed every single person except Jimin. And I shouldn’t have. There was no one else at greater fault. Not even you… and I no longer want to do that. I no longer want to put the blame on others.”

Mina looks away once her eyes tear up again. Her body felt sore and her insides twisted painfully. There’s no greater pain than the guilt of a woman.

“In the end we were all trying to find our happiness…anyway we could. I guess…we just searched for it in the wrong places.”

The rest of the sudden meet up was spent in silence. This abrupt hush being the last one before you finished your drink and observed the traffic around you. It felt like you both had said what you wanted, like your chests were finally free of such a huge burden. What was left was a empty feeling, satisfying but still an end.

Soon, it was time for goodbyes.

And then there you were, driving home from the longest trip you’ve ever had at a mall. You sat there, steering your car on the road, thinking just one thing. All this time, you’ve remembered nothing but bad things about her. About Jessica. And now about Tina. But what was the point in accusing them?  

What type of satisfaction had you gained from hating other women?

Did it stop your husband from cheating? Did it dissolve his sins?

What sort of people were Jessica and Tina, apart from the characters your imagination had invented?  

There were new questions you needed answers to. And there was just one person who could help you answer them all.

Just one.

Jimin was in the balcony, drinking his night away again.

Tina wouldn’t shut up tonight, he didn’t want to deal with her. But right now, he didn’t have anyone he could trust as much as her so his feet were planted in her damn apartment. As he looks up at the bleary sky, his mind wanders back to you. What were you doing at the moment?

Tsk, he scolds himself then. Why did he always think about you in the end? What did you mean to him? NOTHING. You were a toy. A toy he ended up going overboard with almost 6...no 7 years ago from tomorrow.

A toy that was causing him problems...  

Jin had called this morning. “Why doesn’t your wife know where you are?”

It infuriated him; how dare he be questioned like this. And that bastard was one to talk, he was with Jimin playing wingman anytime Jimin needed a quick fuck. Telling him he knows men shouldn’t be tied down to one woman, that men were made to pump out their population into mankind. So why was everyone acting different now?

Why were you?

He kept you under his control for so long. How did you even find out about Tina?

Why was he?

Jimin couldn’t eat for the past few days. Nothing tasted like your cooking so he couldn’t swallow it down. His sleep was fucked up and he tried to wear himself out going to the gym or having sex with Tina or someone else but nothing worked. If anything, he just felt worse. He kept remembering the cologne you came in with that one night, just which bastard were you fucking?

His grip on the glass beer is so tight, he could hear it crack. No, you couldn’t have. Jimin was sure you wouldn’t even think about another man as long as you had him. Who would?

As his heart continues to ache and yearn without him knowing why, mind numb and limbs sore, his phone begins to ring.

Speak of the devil.

...

You studied the phone in your hand, as your thumb trembled while hovering over his name.  

Why was this so hard? You’ve been upfront with him for a while now. So, what is it about today – this moment particularly – where your insides would rather shut down than hear his voice?

As you once again back out from pressing his name on your phone screen, you huff, sitting up in frustration. It shouldn’t be this hard, it’s really not a big deal. So what if you had no idea where your husband was for the past week? So what if he had his own wife sent to voicemail so many times that she had become too traumatized to call him? And so what if the biggest day of your life was tomorrow and he was still MIA? All you had to do right now, was ask about his location. Drown the wild thoughts and insecurities in your head with confirmation from the love of your life.

He owes you that much.

So, with a loud sigh, you click on his name. Ready to face the truth.

Your gut drops when it rings. Falling deeper and deeper with the first ring.

Second ring.  

Third ring.  

Fou-

“Hello?”

Gasping at the voice, you immediately put your phone next to your ear.

“Y-yes hello?”

“…___.”

You wanted to cry. He actually picked up, he really answered. “J…Jimin.”

Your whole body shivered, as if it remembered Jimin existed. He wasn’t some fever dream you mind conjured up. There was so much you wanted to tell him, which spiked up the adrenaline in your system. Oh, how you longed to speak to him.

“I heard you called Jin…” Was his immediate response. After being away from home for so long, after leaving you in the dark. He was more concerned about you talking to someone about how he left you.

“Yeah…I-I did.”

“Why?” He sounded annoyed

“Because I didn’t know how else to reach you…”

“You shouldn’t have called Jin.” He spoke again, firmly.

Biting your bottom lip, you hold back your tears. Does he think it was easy for you? Doesn’t he realize how embarrassed you were? Can’t he understand that you wouldn’t have called him if he just picked up his phone? Jin’s seen you before, he’s made you laugh before, you know him. He’s a very charming person, it’s why he’s one of Jimin’s few coworkers that you genuinely liked. Also one of the first friends Jimin made when you moved into this city.  

It’s why you were terrified that when you make the call…his high opinion of you would change. That to him you’d look like a pathetic, desperate woman whose husband casted aside. You felt so much shame and if you truly, frantically didn’t need his help, you would have never asked.

Doesn’t he know that? Does he care about you at all?

“I…I’m sorry.” You whisper

He doesn’t respond. No, you didn’t want to blame him.

“Jimin…I’m so sorry for everything…I got ahead of myself. Please Jimin…”

Still, silence.

“Jimin…I don’t know where you are…I don’t know what you’re doing but I know that I love you. I love you and I miss you and I need you so much that it hurts.”

…

“Jimin…would you please…please come home to me? Please.”

“I don’t know, ___.” He responds tiredly, “I just don’t know who you are anymore.”

By now you should have known it was useless for you to hold back tears. “You stood in that altar with me, right? You took my hand and told me you wanted to stay by my side forever. You said forever didn’t you Jimin?”

Again, you shared radio silence and you close your eyes and imagine him. His beautiful self, his past innocence. What should you do to capture his attention?

“I met Mina yesterday.”

At that you hear his breath hitch.

“W-what…where?”

“At the city mall…she’s still as pretty, you know.” You let out a giggle

“You’re prettier.” He jokes. It was so out of place but he said it casually.

You laugh. You laugh and laugh and laugh until you start to sob. Breath heaving and lungs sore, you sob into the receiver. Your face was wet, and your nose was running, you were sure you have never looked more unattractive. Being close to him once again opened up the flood of your insecurities, made you feel hyper aware of your appearance. Shame and embarrassment enfold in you once more and you feel your throat close in on yourself.

Him just casually joking around reminds you of the old days. Where you might have been broken inside but Jimin was here to mend you outside. And that’s what you needed right now, for him to glue your shards back together again. A porcelain doll is always hollow inside anyway.  

“…_-___.”

You cry louder at the sound of his voice. Your Jimin…you loved him so much.

“J-Jimin-hic-…pleas-please -hic- some home…I’ll change Jimin, I-I’ll be better, so please.”

He listens to you cry and his chest aches like someone pulled his heart out. This was something he was never good at, dealing with someone’s feelings. That’s why he never let anyone get too close, even if they felt like they were. Everyone…but you. Fuck, he shakes his head. No, you meant nothing.

But he still wanted to console you.

“T…the anniversary dinner is tomorrow, right?” He starts, his voice uncertain, “I…I’ll come then.”

“You will?” You hiccup, your own tone unsure

“I will.” He says, and this time he sounded confident. “I will come back home ___, just wait for me…”

“Promise me…”  

What else could you wish for?  

“I promise.”  

How could a little more waiting hurt you?

Jimin shuts of the phone and sighs. It seems like you were back under him, which is a relief. He smiles then, his heart soaring at the thought of seeing you again. Just imagining the look on your face would be enough to keep him satisfied for a long time.

See? You love her. A voice interrupts. It came from deep inside his chest. Conscious, they call it. He hated it more than anything. The only person Jimin loved was himself and the only person he needed was himself.

He’s not like those pathetic people that lust after him immorally. There were no similarities between him and them, there never would be. His conscious seems to disagree though, telling him once again, how much he loves her, someone like her.

Growling at his brain, he smashes the bottle down onto the balcony’s pavement. The shards scatter, glimmering in the moonlight of the pale city. He could see himself in the reflection.

And for the first time, he didn’t like who stared back.

You were waiting.

On that time of year again.

June 17th, the most special day of your life.  

You still remember it quite well; the well-lit Azul sky, the light specks of sand, the calming roar of the clear waves. It was the most beautiful morning in the universe.  

Yet you were a wreck of nerves, sweaty palms and jittery teeth. Jimin’s dad placed a hand on your quivering shoulder, your eyes shooting the gentle senior as he smiles at you consolingly. You were never close to Jimin’s parents, nonetheless they were always tremendously kind to you. A part of you felt so undeserving of their love, but Jimin would remind you that you have earned everything good in the world. Jimin…you couldn’t believe in a few moments you were marrying the love of your life. How and when did your life take such a drastic turn for the better?

Snapping from your reverie, you shyly nod your head at your new father and place your hand under his outstretched arm. And soon it starts – the piano melody signaling the curtains withdrawal.

As the fabric was removed from your vision, the picture-esqu sight came into view in front of you, making you hold your breath and faintly tighten your grip on the elder man’s arm. The audience immediately turned their heads, a pleasant expression of awe plastered on their faces. White and pink carnations, complimenting your long lacey dress, decorated the virgin painted benches and their petals littered the bleached soft satin carpet.  

And in front of it all – the audience, the flowers, your mother – stood Jimin. You lost control of your senses when you saw him. He stood perfectly still, hands clasped together and slightly taller than usual with his heeled derby’s and straightened posture. His black suit was stitched without a visible flaw, even in this bright daylight. It elongated his limbs and made them seem sturdier – rather well put as he jut his chest out ever so softly. Your eyes couldn’t break away, even as you began advancing towards him. Jimin too, stared right at you unwaveringly, like he could see no one but you at the moment.  

His hair was gelled back and brush to the side, letting the sunlight highlight his ethereal features. When you reached the end of the carpet, Jimin’s father took a hold of your hand and handed it to Jimin. As soon as Jimin’s fingers touched your palm, a spark of fire traveled underneath your skin and your arm broke out in goosebumps. He led you up the three-step stairs, into the altar where the priest stood in front of you both.  

“You look gorgeous.” He whispers with a cheeky smile

You break out into a shy smile, some of the rashness in your nerves leaving you.

His eyes never leave yours as the priest starts speaking and you could feel your own eyes well up as you hear the quiet sobs of Jimin’s mother.

After the small sermon, it was time for that big question.

“Do you Park Jimin, take ___ to be your lawfully wedded wife? To cherish her in sickness and in health? And never leave her lonely?”

For a moment you thought you saw a pause in Jimin’s smile. That there was a sudden weakness flashing across his orbs. But it was over, very, very quickly.

“I do.” He states proudly, causing all the unease in your lungs to vanish.

As the priest repeats the question to you, you take a deep breath, ready to state your obvious answer.

Suddenly though, you catch the eyes you’ve been avoiding the whole time.

Your mother. Sitting in the front row.

Without a smile.

“Don’t do this to yourself.”

“Mom, please…I’m getting married in a few hours. Why is this the only thing you have to say to me?”

The older lady inhales, her nostrils flaring in exhaustion. “I’m saying this for your own good.”

“No! You’re saying this for your own sick pleasure!”

“How could you think that way about your own mother?”

“…because let’s face it mom…you’ve never cared about me…”

She went silent after that. 10 minutes of arguing and this was what made her silent.

“Alright.” She spit, bitterly. “But when he ends up leaving you, don’t come crying to me.”

…

“I never have.”

“Madam?”

You jump from your daydream.

“Pauillac?”

A well dressed, older waiter stands in front of your table. He held out a bottle of expensive looking wine.

“Oh, thank you.” You say, holding out your glass.

Fast forward to seven years, you set up a reservation at the most popular 5-star restaurant in your city. It’s something you’ve done every year for four years, a month ahead because of the place’s demand and limited seating options. Even though your nerves were eating at you, you kept yourself alive. Today is the day you’ll see Jimin again. He’ll be back home again.  

Your body was yearning for his touch again, you felt yourself getting hot and cold at times for no reason. But it was alright, you were happy.  

You’ve gotten your hair, makeup and nails done at a salon today, wanting to look beautiful for your husband. It was red in color and light weight, to not seem overbearing, and you wish Jimin would like it on you. Imagining him complimenting you had you unintentionally beaming. Anything and everything he’d say tonight was bound to have you convulsing inward, you were just so excited to see him again.  

Having arrived 15 minutes early, you mess with the napkins and cutlery, making sure everything was straight and preppy. Your nerves were on high making you fidget and glance at the door every few seconds. Jimin’s promise rang inside your head as assurance. There was a letter clutched in your hand. Since there were so many – way too many things you wanted to tell him, you decided to write a letter instead.

He’ll be here. I know him.

Time went by a bit too slowly, so you took some sips of your wine. What should you say first to him. Oh, you should thank him for keeping his promise. That would make him happy. Then you should apologize for that night, negotiate carefully to not scare him away. You’d tell him of the progress you made, about how you were learning to stand on your own two feet so you wouldn’t bother him again.

Whatever you did, you could not afford to make him feel upset again.

As you continued to carefully plan out your time with Jimin, a voice resounded in your head.

“You spent your life trying to become someone they’d love, that you forgot about who you are.”

…

You were doing it again. Of course, you didn’t want to apologize to him…but you were more concerned with what pleased him. Sighing, you took another sip of your wine.

Where was he? You were beginning to get angsty. Tapping your foot against the floor, you signaled the waiter for more wine. 20 minutes had passed. 30. 40. Soon you were bombarded with voices echoing your head.

Lin. Irene. Yoongi. Mina. Your mother.

Everything they said over the past month haunting your insides until you shook. Stop it, you wanted to yell. All you wanted was to be in your husband’s arms. You aren’t stupid for yearning for love. Jimin promised.

1 hour.

You had begun to stare at the people around you, dressed so lavishly. They all look so content. How lucky they were. There was a senior couple a couple of tables away from you, the lady feeding something sweet to her husband. It made you smile, and your heart hurt even more. Jimin, please come soon.

2 hours.

Where was he? People were starting to notice you could tell, their shaped became nothing but eyes that beheld you with animosity. Eyes poking you in places that left you sore. You wanted to jump into a cold river. Wash away the restrictive feeling around your throat. No, you aren’t stupid for trusting Jimin again.

With a deep breath, you press his number, holding it to your ear with pursed lips. He doesn’t pick up. But you dial it again. What if something happened to him, you worry. There was a similar feeling inside of you. The one you felt when you visited this office that night. Your heart and mind pleaded with him.

Please, Jimin.

“…Hello?” A groggy voice answers

You smile – you actually fucking smile for the tiniest millisecond. Before realizing that wasn’t his voice. No, that high-pitched feminine voice wasn’t his. Your whole face falls.

“Ms. ___?”

Tina.

“H-hello, Ms-” You overhear some shuffling before you hear him.

“Kitten, who is i-”

No longer concerned, you hang up. You were so stupid.

Your face twitches, mind still frozen before the tears fall like rain. It was raining outside too.  

In seconds, your makeup’s all ruined, and the collar of your dress is strangling you. With so many people in the vicinity, you try to stop your tears but it’s no use – you can feel a few stares burning a hole through your head. You don’t even care to acknowledge the waiter who cheerily walks up to you pushing a cart.

“Ma’am here’s your oh-”  

He stops dead in his tracks in front of you, who’s silently heaving into the air. He’s at loss of what to do as he gapes at your wrecked state, in his sweaty palms he weakly holds the handle of the cart. On that cart laid a large 2 layer lavishly decorated vanilla-swirl cake. Jimin’s favorite. With two words written at the top in pink strawberry icing.

‘Happy Anniversary’

You had no clue where you were headed.  

The hush of the car pushed you forward. Your grip on the handle was deathly, frigid arms barely holding it eerily still and not crashing into one of the pawn shops on the right out of pure fury.

After the tears came the rage. You were so, so angry. And you didn’t give one single fuck.

Fucking Jimin, perfect, lovable, charming Jimin. Fuck him.

How dare he?

How fucking dare he not show up? How fucking dare he embarrass you like that? He lied to you yet again. And you, like the pathetic woman you are, fell for it again. It was like a drug, the wrath and despair within your system. Traveling across every nerve and every stream. Feeling like tiny needles prickling you all at once. You were so fucking angry.

It kept replaying in your mind. Tina’s groggy voice, her confusion…her pity. You couldn’t control anything, not your breathing nor your anger. All you wanted to do was forget about it all. Before you did something you really regret. So, you sped to the only place that made you forget once before.

You push the breaks to a halt, your body lurching forward at the sudden stop. Turning, you look out the car window, breathing fire through your nose. The loud beating of the music silently shakes the whole road. Bright red neon lights flare into your vicinity, reflecting even the puddles of the long dead rain.

Cypher Road.

With a humorless smirk, you open the car door, stomping your way out of the vehicle. Wasting no time, you sprint into the entrance with a slight stumble in your step and are immediately greeted by dancing bodies. It wasn’t any different than that other day – if anything, busier. The noise was so loud you could stop yourself from thinking for once. You brush past the lively bodies without a care, yet there is a small warmth with each touch of flesh that has you inhaling repeatedly.

Trance.

There is a joy of being here. You hadn’t wiped the scars of mascara off your face, your hair was a mess from you pulling on it. And your dress felt even lighter than before as you stepped onto the dance floor. The atmosphere was blinding, and you had come here to be filled with its addictive ignorance. How sweet it is to not taste the bitter reality.  

It was slow at first. You weren’t in rhythm with anyone, but then again when had you ever been. Spanning your arms out, you brought them above your head as you twirled once, twice – a few times. Every second you unraveled yourself, closing your eyes as your heels glided along the dance floor and you shook and turned. Swung and twist.

You wanted to lose all your energy here. Everything had to melt away.

With every move you made, your mind became light headed, stars amongst your seams exploded and the fast pace of the universe seem to lull. So, softly, you fluttered your lids open.

The first thing you saw were the bright neon green lasers, traveling across the dance floor from the ceiling. Then you notice how the whole floor had slowed, the laughing, the screaming, the motioned limbs. Everyone around you had begun moving along your timeline, your pace – the slow dance with life for the very first time. Somehow the music had lost all it’s upbeat fervor and your ears echoed a blue ambiance in its place. You felt drunk even though you took mere ounces of liquor.

Numb, you were more numb thank drunk. Your movements were sluggish and your mind in a deep haze. This is what it feels like to be high on grief. While your eyes were roaming the dance floor, they landed on someone. There was a girl, around 10 feet away from you, who caught your attention, you’re not sure why. Nothing seemed unordinary about her – not her short dress, nor her pretty face. The club was full of that. She dances as lethargic as the figures around her. What you kept staring at was the necklace she wore, the pure silver being the only color you could see on her as the darkness of the club muted all other colors.

But the second a citrus scent fills the air around you, she is long forgotten. You turn back in front of you to see him.

He, who stood a good 5 feet ahead, taller than Jimin. He, who wore an expensive suit with a colorful scarf tied around his long neck. Dusky hair and sharp eyes, a slight tan and fixed stare. It was in that moment time come to a complete halt. Just you and him, even breathing and secret heartbeats. His face tilted to the side, a smirk present on his inviting lips. You blinked leisurely.

“Nice to see you again, baby.” He said in his deep, sexy voice

You recognized his voice.  

Who could forget it?

The stall door slammed open as your body was pushed inside. For the first few seconds your breath was knocked out of you, just to fit into his mouth once again.

“Mmm-ah-”

His mouth was hot, heavy and wet. The middle of your spine shivered, sending a cursing sensation all throughout your body as you held onto his arms. The warmth of his shoulders kept you giddy, your face tilting to allow his tongue in further. His grip on your hips was tight, his fingers dangerously lurking your ass. You blushed as you felt your chest pressed up against.

He bit your lip and you gasped, your fingers treading into his hair as you tilted your head back. His lips kiss down your jaw, onto your neck as you moan loudly. The air was immense, the four walls of the stall closing in on you and you didn’t care one bit. You wanted to be swallowed. After nipping the soft skin of your neck, he looks up, into your eyes.  

As you stare into the endless abyss by your own glossy orbs, you could swear there was no one more beautiful.

He smirks yet again, making you clench. His thigh parts your legs as his warm hand travels along your hip line before he grabs your dress. Pulling up the light fabric, you feel his hot fingers on your bare skin. You try to hold back your voice but fail miserably as you whimper, holding onto to him tightly. Softly, his hand caresses your thigh, tender and slow. You close your eyes, your brows knitting in what you think was frustration and you hear him chuckle.

God, that voice of his.

The air is knocked out of you as his fingers land on that sweet, sweet spot. Your eyes opening to find his intense stare.

“You’re so wet, fuck.” He huffs, fondling you over your panties

Unable to properly respond, you blush. Biting your lower lip before you begin to rub yourself on him. You’ve never done that before. Taken control of the situation that is.

“Shit.” He mutters, staring you down as you shamelessly stroke yourself against him. Your freedom didn’t last long as he snakes an arm around your back, your chest crashing into his and his long digits slam into your core.  

“Ah!” You grab onto his arms as he scissors your insides.

“Fuck, baby,” He grunts, his low voice making you tremble, “You haven’t been fucked properly for a long time now, have you?”

His dirty words cause you to clench, curses once again slipping out of his mouth, “I’m gonna change that tonight – shit. I’ll fuck you so good, fill your nice and pretty cunt with my cum.”

You couldn’t say anything, lips trembling and back arching as his elongated fingers fucked into you, reaching such a depth that had you weak in the knees. Thankfully his hold was tight.  

“You want that baby? You want to be stuffed with my dick? I bet I’d slip in so – fuck – so easily, I bet I’d cum right away, what do you think baby?”

“Nn- oh, yes-” It slipped out, as his pace became faster, harder and you wanted to thank whoever created him for his blessed fingers. They were much longer than Jimin.

…

Jimin?

…Jimin.

In an instant your eyes shot open, “N-no!”

The guy made out a ‘huh?’ Before you pushed him away with all your strength. His back collided with the right stall wall, as you used the left one to stand up properly.

You suddenly become all too aware of the ring encasing your finger on your trembling hands. The warm atmosphere now defeated by a scorching heat. Your eyes became cloudy as images of your husband flashed through your mind. The man you swore your soul to, the man who you came home to, his smile, his love. What the hell were you doing? You were married! Married! How could you-

“H-hey? Are you alright? Was it something I said?”

The man reaches out for you, causing you to jump.  

“No!” You shout again, your loud voice echoing the stalls. His eyes fill with worry and the guilt threatens to spill out your throat. Did he know you were married? How would he feel about that? What were you doing? WHAT WERE YOU DOING?!  

You were wheezing without any cause. The air in your lungs felt painful, throat sore and breaths ugly. Panic…you were having a panic attack. The walls were closing in and the light of the restroom gave you a pounding headache.

“I-I’m sorr-” You manage to choke out before running out of the stall, not even daring to look back.

You ran and ran and ran. Pushing away from the heavy bodies littering your way. Sobs of pain left you, but no one even cared to look. This wasn’t what you wanted from tonight – you wanted to forget Jimin, not become him. Yet you can never forget how you reacted to that stranger, how sensitive your body was to someone who wasn’t your husband. Tremendous shame and guilt travel up your neck like parasites. Your eyesight had become blurry, all the overwhelming lights meshed together, and you couldn’t even see anymore. All that was guiding you was the reminder to get out of this loud place.

And it was then that you bumped into someone.

“___? Hey, are you alright? ___?”

A frantic voice, and grip on your arms pulls you back to reality. For a moment you just heave as he shakes you softly, grip firm and protective. Slowly, your eyes begin to clear and breathing slows. There you see Yoongi and you, standing near the entrance hall of Cypher Road.

“Y-Yoon…gi?” You mutter, out of air

“Fuck, ___, what happened to you?” Yoongi shouts, his eyes widened in concern  

“You lied to me Yoongi…” You mutter

“…What?”

“You lied to me!” You cry, pulling him off of you, “You t-told me…” Your voice breaks, tears filling your eyes, “You said he did nothing but fool around with his friends…YOU LIED!!!”

The anger in your voice has him putting up his hands in concern. “W-what do you mean-”

“In there!” You scream, pointing at the dance floor, “In your precious club – is a girl with a necklace!”

“A…necklace?” Yoongi squints in confusion, his head turning back and forth between you and the dance floor.

“A fucking necklace!” You roar as he winces, “A necklace…similar to the one Jimin wore some time ago…”

“___, there are plenty of ways she could’ve gotten that necklace, maybe she-“

“No!” You interrupt him, shaking your head vigorously, “That’s what I say! Those are the excuses I make! ...But not this time. Not when I recognize that special custom-made J pendant on her neck…”

You began to cry, hot fat tears rolling down your cheeks as your throat starts to close in.

“I-I could…couldn’t even see her face…I don’t even know what s-she looks like…” Taking a deep breath, you bring your hand to your mouth in embarrassment, “Yet I know her…because she wore my husband’s necklace so proudly. Like she owned it…owned him.”

Yoongi stares at you, at loss at what to say. The people around you gave glances and strange looks time to time. But still…no one cares long enough to stay.

“___...just calm d-”

“NO!” You scream again, cringing at the strain in your voice. “I won’t! I won’t calm down! I have every right to be angry!”

“I know that!” Yoongi yells cautiously, “I understand that-”

“No you don’t– No one does! No one knows how it feels to be in my position, no one- Or else you wouldn’t have lied to me!”

“You think I had a choice? You think I wanted to purposely lie to the woman who was staring at the ground a thousand feet below her like her only way out?”

“Just-” You bring your hands up, a sudden wave of exhaustion pouring over you, “I’m so, so tired…I’m so tired of being lied to, Yoongi. Please…please leave me alone.”

“__-” Before he could say another word you were rushing down the hall, out of the building. He stared at the exit you left from a bit too long, the bright neon of the sign hurting his eyes. Everyone else danced on, carefree, around him. His husband always told him this job would be his wolfsbane.

And he was right as usual.

As he’s debating whether to chase after you, a call of his name interrupts his concentration.  

“Hy- fuck, Yoongi hyung!” The pale faced man turns around to see the youngest of his pack shoving through multiple bodies in disdain. The taller man rushes up to him, breathing heavily, with a worried gaze.

“Taehyung?” The older asks with concern laced in his tone. What the fuck was happening? “What’s the matter?”

“S-she was…do you know where the girl who was just with you went? She was right here! The one with the red dress…soft demeanor…?”

Yoongi straightened up as Taehyung described you,  

“How do you know ___?”  

You sat at the edge of your world in silence. The winds of tomorrow’s past blew past you, your hair in rhythm with the fast-paced clouds above. For the moment, you would have preferred silence, but that was not a sentiment the city shared with you. Cars, honking, muttered chatter, you could hear it all. Passing through your ears like an afterthought. Your feet dangled as you held your heels in your hand. What were you thinking of showing up to that anniversary dinner?

What ever made you think Jimin would stop disappointing you?

As you stared at the glass structures you sighed, you always ended up back at the same place. The same kind of city, the same rain, the same broken heart. Perhaps the universe really was trying to tell you something.

A quiet hum stained your body, Keeping you sane from your sadness. It was crazy really, how many questioned can be answered in a day. With a deep breath, you reach out to into the night, stretching your arm. Hand laid flat against the air for a few seconds before you clasped it shut – as if grabbing something. What were you desperately searching for in the night?  

Your husband? Your life? Your childhood?  

Your happiness.

“Thought I might find you here…”  

It was routine then, the sudden loud beating of your heart. Your widened eyes, your frozen physique. The shaky exhale.

…

“I…tried to find you downstairs…in the apartment…but you weren’t there…”

Jimin.

You can hear him walk towards you. And you could imagine it, hands in pocket, the wind blowing through his hair, his relaxed stance and clear eyes. It had been too long…so long, just a couple days felt like years. It felt like something grabbed onto your heart, so tight you couldn’t breathe. You were too scared to turn. To look him in the eye.  

But you did anyway.  

And you just knew the universe hated you. It was him. It was him. It was him. His ethereal face filled with a halo no one could replicate. He was God’s most beautiful creature. How spiteful your creator must have been.

It was him. You wanted to reach out to him.

He stared at you, reading your eyes as you read his. But you both had stopped understanding each other’s language a long time ago.  

You both waited for the other to speak. Yet for some reason, you wanted this silence to last forever.

“…How have yo-”

“Did you fuck her?” You ask, your voice immediately breaking. His face turned pale. “When I trusted you…and waited for you…”

He looked away, mouth shutting and eyes squinting.

You had dreamt of this scenario a thousand times, and in each one you never came off this strongly. So, what were you doing right now? Why did you feel so guilty?

“You fucked her…did it feel good? Are you happy now that you’ve emptied your dick?” There was so much fury in each of your words, but you enjoyed watching him squirm. You didn’t even know half these words were in your vocabulary. “How has she been for the past week? Why did you even come, JIMIN? I waited, and waited, and waited in the pain of the unknown. All while you got your dick wet…And I always do that Jimin…I’m so stupid, aren’t I?

He says nothing.

“Tell me I’m stupid!” You slam a palm on the ledge, “Because you really make me feel that way! And for what?”

The tears you hold back wrapped themselves around your neck, making you struggle to get your words out. You wanted him to feel as hurt as you did.

“What have I done Jimin? What did…I do to you?” Breathing was becoming hard, your lips quivering as you stared at the beautiful somber devil. “All I did was love you, so why? Why do you t-treat me like this?”

It must have been an illusion of either your river-filled eyes or the bleak night because for a second you thought you saw despair and guilt inside him.

“I broke myself apart to try and fit into your world. Became happy for you, always did what you wanted, never questioned you-fuck I would’ve even had children if it meant you would stay with me…”

“God, I’m so stupid!” You roar, grasping fistfuls of your hair and pulling at it, “Here I was trying to be better, here I was thinking that those three girls had something I didn’t but that wasn’t it at all! M-Mina didn’t have lipstick on that night. She couldn’t have marked your shirt…but someone else did! Isn’t that right Jimin?”

You turn back to him, eyes wide and head pounding. “I thought there were only three girls…but there are many, many more aren’t there? I thought Jessica was the first time, but it wasn’t was it?”

Jimin finally looks up at you, and you realize you never said anything about Jessica. He didn’t know you knew.

“You’d been cheating on me…since the beginning…haven’t you? Here I thought I must have done something wrong after marriage…but I’ve been your plaything throughout this whole affair, haven’t I?”

He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. You slowly lower your arms, face and body still in shock.

“I’m so stupid Jimin…I felt special for a while…I’m so stupid…aren’t I?”

His face twitches, but his thoughts remain a mystery. You watch quietly as he closes his eyes, a soft exhale leaving his lips. It was too painful to keep staring at him, at the man you once loved more than anything. So you looked back at the sky, pleading for a chance to redo every single event since before you met.

“Jimin…” You whisper, voice pleading. Your sanity was on the brink and you wanted to be pulled in before you fell over. “Tell me I’m not stupid.”  

“I’m letting you go, ___.”

You really hated yourself in that moment. Your name coming out of his mouth felt so good, you almost didn’t hear the first part.

Almost.

“I have to let you go.”

And the first tear falls. Sliding down your cheek easily before the next one leaks. You close your eyes, letting the pain wash away at you for the first time in a while. The fall was long, you could feel the emptiness surround you. For a second it felt like flying, unobstructed and liberated.

“…”

“This has gone…beyond my control…___. I didn’t know what I was thinking, I just...” He looks at you, but you kept yourself inside your head. Arms numb and brain empty. “…I acted on impulse…I thought I knew what I wanted…I thought it was…”

You

“You are right…I have been cheating on you for a long time now…I never loved you…I just kept this charade on for as long as I could. And I don’t know why because I don’t love you…I d..d-don’t.”

That’s what you needed to hear, right? Just like that? Everyone’s been telling you this is better for you, haven’t they? So why are all your words stuck in your throat.

“I’ll go back to T…my friend for now…I’ll be back to pack up my stuff in the next few weeks.”

And with that he gives you one last glance before he turns. That was it, that was his whole explanation. What exactly had you expected? Why the FUCK did you keep expecting? You wanted to call out to him, your heart jumping out of your chest and latching onto his turned back. But instead of uttering a single peep, you listen to his footsteps all the way back to the door.

You listen as he touches the door knob. You listen as he twists it and pulls the door open slightly. All you do is listen when you can feel him hesitate, turning around to look at you.

For the strangest reason you remember the day you met him. That bright day, the soft wind and cherry blossoms. His bright smile and angel eyes, your innocent mind and open heart. It replays in your memory like your life flashing before your eyes. The wind picks at your toes and your body itches, yearning for something you couldn’t comprehend.

So much has changed since. This isn’t the same day, the same wind. There are no cherry blossoms, or smiles or innocence. You both are different now.

This was your chance to call out to him. To jump off this ledge and into his arms. But you just sat there. Listened as he turned back and left. And it was just you and the wind once more. The door closing felt like the cover of a book closing, that this was the end.

And against the fast-paced wind that night, you accepted your defeated.

There were no books out today…

That much you could tell as you stared at the small desk between the couches, dozing off as the sunlight from the large window behind hit your face.

Much like you, she also stared. At the distance in your eyes, the iris dim and face unreadable. There were many things she wanted to ask, many holes she wanted to poke. But she remained as restrained as her profession taught. For she knew the signs of unapproachable person at first glance, having read them countless of times over.  

Yet she couldn’t have you stay quiet the whole time.

“Is everything alright?” Lin spoke meticulously  

You didn’t answer.

She sighed, studying you as she shifted. What could she do right now to make you talk? You’ve been so quiet these past 3 weeks, almost like you didn’t exist. Last week you never showed up, Lin couldn’t help overthinking and dial your emergency contact – Irene, who dragged you over here in frustration.  

You had told her about Jimin, lifelessly stating everything that happened as if facts about your life that hold no meaning to you. She knew how much pain you were in, but your reaction to despair was abnormal since crying was the body’s healing method. It’s a healthy way to process emotion. Then the next week you became silent, were a no-show last week and didn’t speak a word today either. Lin had consulted Irene, who said Jimin had been coming over, taking more and more of his stuff which helped the therapist understand a bit more.

You were mirroring your safe space, becoming as hollow as your apartment was.

“___, please you have to talk to me. Just for a bit, alright? I can help you.”

“Do you ever…” Her thoughts were interjected as you spoke up quietly. She was instantly all ears. “Do you ever…want to redo life? If you could start all over again, without any of your mistakes…would you?”

Lin stared at you for a while. Your expression did not change, you continued to glare a hole through her desk.

“Well…that’s a difficult question ___. Even though a part of me wants to erase the mistakes I might have made… I think it’s important to have the knowledge of those mistakes…why I made them…what I can learn from them…etcetera…”

“Well what mistakes did I make?” You say softly, looking at Lin in her pretty brown eyes. “What kind of mistakes have I made…that I still – to this day – have learned nothing from?”

You were trying to hide it, but she could see it as clear as day. The barrage of emotions you tried to conceal in your pupils. “Why am I getting constantly punished and learning nothing?”

“Why?” You plead, throwing a palm over your head and slouching down in your hair, “Why should I always be the person in pain? I’m so, so, so sad and I can’t change that even though I want to!”

“Trust me L-Lin, I want to change so desperately, I want to! I want to crawl out of my skin and find a new body because everything hurts but I can’t leave me…I can’t leave me, I c-can’t leave even though he can…I can’t leave even though she can… but I can’t, I CAN’T!

“..and you know what hurts the most?” You ask her, to which she does not respond. “What hurts is that he left me…like I was the one who did something wrong.”

“…He left me.”

It falls dead silent after your outburst. The only sound echoing the room was of your steady breathing.

“W…why do they get to walk away whenever they want after everything they’ve done?”

Lin breathes out tenderly, her eyes on the glass table and the reflection of the sun behind. In moments like this, she wishes she really had all the answers for her patients. She really does.

“By she…do you possibly mean-”

“My mother.” You mumble. “The one person in the world that was supposed to love me unconditionally…the one who threw me away like a discarded doll…”

Lin blinks slowly. “It can be very difficult to deal with the trauma and pain from a parent who abandons you…” After deliberating for a bit, she speaks up, “Tell me ___, why do you think you’ve given your all to every authority figure in your life?

You sit back up after a shaky exhale. Nothing comes to mind, except Jimin’s smile. Life was exhausting.

“Be…because…”

Lin nods, encouraging you to go on.

“I wanted them to love me.”

“And why did you think being perfect at everything, work, household chores, unconditional love, would get you their love.”

“B…because…I don’t know…”

“Hmm, can you tell me the first time you noticed someone’s reaction to you being ‘perfect.’ A child hood memory perhaps?”

After thinking about it for a while, you nod.

“...When I was…in the first grade…I got an A on my math exam. I was the only kid and…and the teacher called my mom to tell her I got an A. I didn’t want to bother her so I didn’t do it. And…my mother…she smiled at me for the first time that day.”

You could sense Lin’s soft smile.

“So I tried to get more As but I guess she got used to it. When Jimin…when I would blush or be openly smitten with him…there was a twinkle in his eye. One I could never get out of my head. And I tried…so hard.” You close your eyes, “So hard to keep that twinkle alive even when I was dying inside…but I guess…even he got used to it.”

Opening your eyes, you look at your therapist. “That’s why I did it. So they could love me.”

You become quiet, playing with your fingers as Lin stare at you. Her mind was in deep thought.  

“___,” Lin sighs after a while, “You know that I can’t tell you to not be upset… you have every right to feel whatever you feel because what they did to you caused you great pain…but I think it’s time you learned how to love yourself. And for that we need to address the root cause of your issues.”

“My mother?”

“Your mother.”

You nod, contemplating what she said. Learning to love yourself? That was a concept so foreign to you. Could it really help you understand yourself? What could you possibly gain from it, what was there to love about you? Right now, you just wanted to sleep forever. Forget you exist at all.

Existence is a pain itself.

Maybe you should confront the cause of your existence then.

“Trust me ___.” Lin speaks, catching your gaze, “You deserve better. You deserve to love yourself.”

Oh, you just cracked the puzzle.

She had aged.

Your mom, who was always so tall. To you, she stood over all the towering counters and tables and light switches. Compared to her, you were tiny. Someone who always had to look up at her, stretching your neck and straining your eyes. At her, who easily touched things you could only wish to reach.  

She looks so small now. Wrinkles skin deep, frown lines too permanent. She, who was once the tallest person in your naïve, 5-year-old eyes. Someone you thought would always look as young, as beautiful.  

As cold.

You watch her, face trained to be still. Her posture was demure, lips sat motionless and eyes downcast. She wore a light earthy dress, full sleeves and prim collar…which was so very her. It was strange to you, how at one moment you wanted her to look at you more than anything. To acknowledge you.

But today you were content in studying her with a passive gaze.

“How have you been?” She begins quietly. You stare at her, then glance at her fidgeting hands in her lap.

The atmosphere was dim, a bit too lull for a restaurant during lunch time. Maybe you were suppressing the chatter and clatter, to focus on her. Again, how fitting.

“…I’ve been well.” I have not. “How about you?”

“Good.” She replies softly, staring at her steaming tea in interest.

You sigh, your shoulders moving up and down along with your breath. What were you expecting? This is a person you hadn’t seen in 3 years. Why would she suddenly be interested in you? Why should you be in her?

At that moment, you hear small laughter reach your ear. You turn toward the appealing sound, not sure why you wanted to find its source. Yet once you took it in, you understood. It was a child. A mother, and her small child. The lady was not much older than you, wearing a blue-green dress as she fed her daughter dress in pink a small piece of the steak she ordered. They seemed happy, content in the small moment they shared, and you couldn’t help but smile at them.

What a fantasy they were living, you hope they knew how lucky they were. Everyone seems to be luckier than you. For a while you felt like a kid staring through the window of a candy shop. Tsk, how ridiculous.

“I…I’m glad you are well…”

You turn back to the fragile sound of that voice. “It…I was happy to get your call…and you suddenly asking to meet me. I felt nervous…I don’t know why.”

Surprise was well written on your face at her words. This was not what you were expecting.

“And I…” She coughs as if her voice was raspy. “How have you been? H-how’s Jimin? I hope he’s taking care of you.”

She smiles then. A slight, delicate smile as she looks you in the eyes. This is not what you were expecting. Not from the woman who’s only given you cold shoulders when you’ve asked for warm arms.  

All you could think about was how she was never home for your birthday and the one time she was, you overheard her call it just another rest day on the phone with her coworker. All you could remember was asking her if she would come to your recital and she never showed, so you just sat there after the choir concert watching all the other kid take pictures and receive flowers from their family. All you could call upon was the time she forgot to feed you for almost a week, which was what made you begin cooking.

And for some reason, unbeknownst to you, you utter the thorn pressing against your brain.

“Jimin left.”

Her smile takes a second to drop. The color of her face wearing off as her eyes widen. Jaw parting as she looks at you, like a worried, petrified mother. It almost made you laugh.

“W…What?”

Concern laced her tongue and you felt anger as a natural reaction. This wasn’t it – it wasn’t how you were expecting this to go. The person you remember, the person instilled into your core would have sighed in disappointment. Gave you a cold look and a wintery frown. Told you she warned you. Why was she suddenly acting this way?

“_-”

“H-he left mom.” You say, your voice choking up, “You were right, once again. He left me, just like you said. Aren’t you happy?”

You spit the question with venom, your eyes welling up.

“___.” She repeats in that same pitiful tone. It sparked more fury inside of you.

“Aren’t you happy?!” You ask a little louder, the neighboring tables giving you a glance. “I’ll be signing divorce papers soon. You were right all along!”

“N-no, no.” She shakes her head, seeming as distraught as you. Who was this person in your mother body? Wearing your mother’s face.

“What, why?” You sneer, “Have I done something to upset you again, like I don’t know ask for some fucking food?”

“___, no. Oh my God, no.” She was crying.  

It was getting hard to see as you shook in your seat. The weight of the world felt like it was on your shoulder. And as you stared at the weeping lady in front of you, you felt like a child again. A child who hid under the bed, crying because of the thunder. Desperately wanting her mother to come home. But she never came.

“I hate you.” Your tough voice broke, “I hated you so much…I never knew how much I hated you until I found Jimin…even if his love was fake at least he acted like he cared. Why couldn’t you just fucking act?”

She begins to tremble. Fuck.

“I know…how much dad hurt you, but why did you have to hurt me? I needed you. I needed you, mom. I spent every single day trying to live up to what I thought were your expectations, I thought I had to earn your love. I thought-” You take a moment, shutting your eyes and feeling the aching beat of your heart. “I thought if I was the perfect child- if I didn’t cause you trouble, if I was quiet and stayed out of trouble y-you would at least smile my way. And still you didn’t…all of my accomplishments, all of the things I so hard worked for vanished just like that…”

“Tell me…why did you…abandon me?” You look at her and for the first time something feels different, although your heart continues to constrict. She looks so small in her light earthy dress, straining her shoulders and shaking her head.

“I am so sorry ___. I am so, so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have treated you like that, ___. I am so sorry.”

“But more than you I hate myself.” You continue, ignoring the sear of pain on her face with every word. “I hate that I can never be perfect for anyone, I hate that I can’t have a normal conversation without second guessing everything. I can’t even ask someone for help without having a mild panic attack! Did you know that? I hate how I am so sad and weak all the fucking time. I hate me, I hate me.”

“___, please, please don’t say that. Please.”

“Why, huh? So you can pretend to have a normal daughter, if you want to pretend I even exist today-”

“NO!” She screams making you silent. You could hear the whispering of the tables around you, but you pay it no mind. They were the lucky ones, they wouldn’t understand. “So you don’t turn out like me.”

“…What?”

She exhales deeply, her face morphed into anguish, “I never wanted you to be like me, ___. Never. Y-your father made so many promises to me, told me he loved me so much. I was a shy, quiet conservative woman who fell into his trap. Then one day he just got up and left. A-and I was so stuck I didn’t know what to do! No one taught me how to raise a child, I had no guidance, no family and barely any money.”

You listen to her silently. The air was thick and her breathing rapid. For some reason you really wanted to dry her tears.

“A-And then you w-were born. B-but every time I looked at you…I remembered what your father did. I remembered that I never wanted a child. I remembered that because of you…I couldn’t go anywhere and do anything, and I was trapped in the same damned town for the rest of my miserable days. I was so lonely and ashamed…I couldn’t hate you though…I tried but you were so small and fragile I just couldn’t. Yet it was easy to pretend you didn’t exist. So, I did just that…to help me cope, I pretended you weren’t there. That I never met a man like your father and he never betrayed me…”

She looks at her hands, “But I was wrong. I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have have…but I realized it too late…when you already met Jimin…”  

You tense.

“Since the start…he reminded me of your father, and it terrified me. I was so scared for you, and I tried to get you not to marry him. But you hated me, and it was all my fault. You sought for the love I couldn’t give you so desperately, that it was easy for you to fall victim to someone who wanted to take advantage of you. I prayed for you…for your relationship every day, I wanted to be wrong so bad…I did ___.” She looks up at you with a frantic gaze. “I never wanted you to be like me, never ever. I did so many horrible things to you. I’m so sorry ___. I’m so sorry. I know you can never forgive me, and that will live with me for the rest of my days.”

Your mom looks back down. Her expression empty and tears still. It seems like she let out all she wanted to say and now she was a ghost. There was nothing in her…nothing. She reminded you of herself, which is why you said the next words.

“I can’t forgive you…” You speak softly and she winces. “The young me…can’t forgive you. The one who was subjected to your neglect. The innocent child striving for a mere ounce of love and affection. The part of me that you disregarded every day until even I questioned if I existed. I can’t.”

She physically deflated, as if agreeing with your sentiments.

“But-” You interrupt her acceptance, “The me now…the me growing and changing and evolving every single day. The me who’s learned to be happier…who’s learning how to find herself and converse with others…the me who has learned to heal…that me. I…can forgive you.”

And you watch her as she takes a moment. Looking up at you like a star just exploded.  

“I can forgive you, mom.”

The next moments were a blur. She seemed extremely please, beyond ecstatic and you felt for her. Especially when she cried like a baby, and you think she was the child now. You mother was the small one now, the one who needed your love. And you weren’t going to be someone who repeats her mistakes. Everything you said to her was true. You could forgive her now. It would take some time, but strangely you understood her.

If Jimin left you with a child, you would have the hardest time acknowledging it. All the pain you would feel could be unintentionally directed at it. You were so glad you weren’t in her shoes. They were bigger than you could imagine. As you breathe out, you feel it all leave you. The resentment you’ve held onto for years. The resentment that grew too heavy for you to carry.

It was lifted off your back and you could breathe again. There were traces of bitterness left, staining the deepest corners, but you will work on washing them out.

“I…know it’s too late…but I will try to be better ___.” She looks at you with her swollen eyes. It was as of you were staring at your reflection.  

“I think you already are.” You say with a smile, directed more to yourself.

You really were your mother’s daughter.

_

It was silence once again.

A screaming silence, that woke your inner most core as you step into the vacant apartment. You were so tired. The meeting with your mom ran longer than you thought and now you just wanted to drown into your bed. Taking off your coat, you hang it by the rack before changing into your slippers. Without a second thought, you bee line for your bed room ready to sleep today off.  

But you halt in your tracks as you notice something on the dining table a few feet from you. A stack of white papers. You look around you, as if searching for someone before you look back at the table once again. It had been a few weeks since that night. Jimin would come by when you weren’t around, take more of his stuff and leave. Half of you was wondering why he was taking his sweet time and torturing you…the other half was yearning for as much time with him as possible.

With a defeated sigh, you slowly make your way to the dining table. Every single inch of this space had so many memories attached to it. Each step felt like reliving it all again. Once you bump into a dining chair, you can read the letters as bold as day.  

Divorce papers.

Oh.

Jimin was working quicker than you thought. You expected his, but not this soon. It hit you then. That you didn’t realize how real of this was until this very moment, as you reread those big black letters in the stiffest font. This was real, it was happening.

Jimin was finally going to leave you.

That’s right, he gets to leave. While you were stuck washing out the resentment.

So, you let out a breathless laugh. One after the other until you were full on laughing at the situation. Oh my God, you tried so hard and for what? You tore yourself up and for who? There was nothing left of you, you gave it all away and what did that get you in return.

You were so crazy stupid, it was insane. You actually apologized when Jimin cheated on you. You forgave him multiple times. You starved yourself, you loathed yourself, you killed the young girl just wanting honest love and respect inside of you. And you cried until your eyes broke and you’re crying now.

You’re crying for the girl who once stood in that mirror, pinching every ounce of her skin till it bruised. Scourging herself for never being good enough. You’re crying for your lost dignity, handing it to someone with clumsy hands you thought were loyal. You’re crying at how you lost who you were, not only in the longest seven years of your life, but ever since you were born. You’re crying because that’s all you ever did for you.

How different life would have been if your mother had taught you how to love yourself? If her mother had taught her how to love herself? If the men in your lives didn’t continue to ravage you of all you could offer. It felt like some sort of curse.

Which is why you fell to the floor to let it all out. The tremendous pain and grief that built over the years, the horrible conditions of your body and mind. Every single pore had to leak, only then you would truly be free.

You’re crying because you wasted your life away. You’re crying because you treated yourself this way, when you didn’t deserve anything but love, trust, and honesty.

You’re crying because you learned too late of what – who you should have loved.

You were crying because your book wasn't written by you, but by somehow who couldn’t care less about you.

You are crying because of what is and what isn’t.

And trust me when I say, you’re crying for the last time.  

_

You woke up today and the ache was still there, that mind numbing helpless feeling of isolation.  

But instead of that horrible drilling pain to the brain, it was a small tremor in the back of your head. And for the most part, you could ignore it. Sauntering down the hall with your many files, you stop in front of the large wooden door and stare at the name plaque. The morning air felt fresh. Maybe that was why you took so many deep breaths. And another one, before knocking on the door.

“Come in.” You hear an easy-going voice and you open the heavy door carefully.

“Ah! ___, I was just about to call you! Great job at that meeting by the way, you really wowed the investors.”

Your boss sat relaxed at the front of the vast room, in the middle of her bulky brown desk like some sort of royal.

“Thank you.” You smile, stepping into her large office. The air was cooler in here and a shiver ran down your spine at the sudden chill that intruded your light purple blouse. Your skin erupted in small goosebumps, both from the temperature and the sights of your grinning boss.

Not that you didn’t want to see it, you were just so unsure of what to do when it would inevitably fade at the news you were about to share. It’s what you’ve been scarred of from your whole life, the thought of disappointing an authority figure. But seeing as how two-thirds of them disappointed you instead, you really could not care anymore at this point.

She watches you pace your way up to her desk, small inquisitiveness in her wide set eyes.

“Did you have something for me?” She asks, pointing to the files in your hand with her gaze.

“Oh, these-” You put down the big stack of gray folders in front of her, “This is just something you have to look over.”

“I see. And what about that?”

Your grip tightens around the envelope in your now empty hands. “T…This is…my resignation letter.”

Her stare shifts from the envelope to you, mouth parting to display her surprise.

“Resignation?”

Throughout your life you always thought your body was a strange one. The length of the reactions you felt had to be abnormal, you continuously believed it. Do others feel this cold when they are alone? Do others feel this upset at the sun for rising? Do they feel the deep ache of the tragic finale that was the last 7 years? You sure did. But you still got up, you still made it out of that wretched house that was too bare to bear, and you kept it moving. And to you, that’s what matters.

There was so much thinking you did last night, so many thoughts flew in and around your head. You wonder how others reflect back on their life. What regrets do they swallow, what makes them laugh the loudest? What parts do they cry the hardest and who do they miss?

You couldn’t tell, you’d only been you the past 7 years. It was useless to sonder. So you didn’t, instead you thought about who you were. On that cold floor of the house you cemented with your naïve heart, tears dried by the very air you hated, you thought about the past seven years.

And the past 4 months.

The rooftop, the club, the people in your life, the people not, the heart break, the longing. You had always been analytical, and it was safe to say you had found the answer you sought.

It was funny how the answer became so clear once you only thought about yourself, obscuring yourself from other’s needs for the very first time.  

“Yes.” You state undoubtedly, cold long forgotten. “I’m resigning.”

Another sigh as you leave the room. But this one was of relief. Although a bit upset at losing her best employee, she had taken the news surprisingly well. She even encouraged you when you told her what you were planning to do after this. Irene would be glad to hear that.

Although the pain was there, it didn’t have a hold on you anymore. You wouldn’t allow it to.

“There you are!” You hear, jumping in your spot as your palm was still on your boss’ door handle.

As you look up, a handsome young man with bunny-esque features jogs up to you. His left arm was behind his back, concealing something from your vision. All you could focus on was the strain it caused his muscles.

“I was looking for you,” He comes up close and you could hear his rapid breathing. His lavender scent gentle invades your space. You look at him curiously, watching the way his face falls as he realizes where you stood, “Hey, were you meeting the CEO? You’re not in trouble, are you?”

The fact that he seemed genuinely concerned made you laugh. “I’m not.”

He exhales a sigh of relief. “Thank God, didn’t want you getting fired for being in love with me.”

For the longest time you had been avoiding him. Ever since thinking of him in that way, you ran away from wherever you spotted him. Yet you had forgotten how easy-going he was. How effortlessly he made you laugh.

“Pfft, please.” You scrunch your nose, “You’re a goofball.”

He just stares at you, a wide smile present on his face. Tilting your head to the side, you squint at him.

“What’s the matter?”

“N-nothing, you just…seem different today…from last time I mean.”

“In a bad way?”  

“No!” He shouts flustered, “I-in g- a good way! You seem relaxed.”

You break out into a laugh. He really was the brightest employee. It was a shame you didn’t get to spend more time with him.  

“Thank you.” You say, as you watch him blush fondly. “I feel different. Relaxed, I guess.”

I’m no longer cold.

His gaze travels down, as if he had something he wanted to say. Your eyebrow quirks at him when you remember he still had his arm behind his back.

“What are you hiding?” You ask with a sneaky smirk.

He grins back at you, displaying his large teeth. Biting his bottom lip, he swings his arm out,  

“Tah-dah!”

There were suddenly a bundle of white roses in front of you, a gentle scent of freshness blew past you. You subconsciously took a long whiff, the pure layered petals creating a picture-esque image. Once your surprise passed, you were left doubtful.

A part of you had forgotten the bet.

“Roses?”

“Yup.” The man holding the bundle up to your face beamed

Scoffing, you place your hands on your hips. “Are you kidding? You expect me to believe you found roses around the building?

“But I did.” He pouts, and for a second you were ready to blindly believe him. Until you caught ahold of yourself. This lying brat!

“Where exactly did you find these beautifully healthy flowers, hmm? The backwall where even weeds don’t grow?”

“Yes, actually.” He states just as proudly, “I planted them.”

Your eyes widen at his words. “You did what?!”

He moves closer to you, you could feel his breath hitting you as his face was adjacent with yours. “I. Planted. Them.”

“T-that’s…Y-y-you ca-”

“Why not?” He asks with a mischievous glint in his eye, “The bet was to find flowers on the property, it doesn’t matter where they came from. And like you said, there’s some gorgeous land on the backwall.”

Your jaw drops slightly at his reasonings. You wanted to continue arguing but instead you just stood there watching him giggle in the most adorable way.

“You wanted pretty flowers, I got you pretty flowers.” He winks, handing you the roses. “Think of it as a one-month anniversary gift.”

Oh, right. He still thought you were new here.

His naivety makes you burst into laughter, the first genuinely happy expression you’ve made in months. It was mystery at first, but now you knew now why you liked him so much. The youthful nature, the sincerity he displayed was alluring. You didn’t have to be any front you had put up in the past in front of him, instead you were just another person. Someone normal for once.

“Thank you Jungkook.” You laugh as he proudly holds up his nose. Just as your eyes twinkle upon him, you recall upon something suddenly. Reaching into your pocket, you pull out a small piece of paper, your number scribbled on it long ago. Honestly, you couldn’t help but like him.

“Here. You earned it.”

He looks at your hand extending the paper, as your other holds the roses close to your heart. His heart beat quickens at the sight, you were so graceful and effortlessly beautiful, he wanted to know you more and more. Jungkook knew when he first saw you, the traces of a secret battle all across your face. Although he didn’t want to pry, he couldn’t help but let his heart be captured by the silent beauty that shone from you as natural as daylight.

“Thank you.” He mutters, his ears turning red.

While you look at him staring at your digits in awe, you found him to be an absolutely enchanting man. And you wanted him to know that, so you step up to him, softly connecting your lips with his cheek. You could feel him freeze under you, and it made you feel enthralled. It was nice, being in control for once.

“I’ll see you around, Jungkook.”

With that you sauntered down the hall, almost turning the corner before you hear his melodious tone stutter out to you. “T-this Saturday? It’s a date!”

Although surprised, you said nothing, just continuing to walk along the hallway. But you couldn’t help the grin that broke out on your face, thankfully obstructed from him, of course. You felt giddy all the way back to your office. Once you were there, you squealed in glee.

Through your small jumps and smiles, your phone rang, startling you. Already? You thought before checking the caller ID. In a flash your beam dropped, orbs beholding the name anxiously. How did he get your number? With a hasty sigh to calm you nerves, and an oddly guilty feeling, you decidedly answer the call.

“Hello…Yoongi?

Meanwhile, back at your boss’ hallway, a certain bunny boy hadn’t moved an inch. Argh, he felt so stupid. Why did he ask you out so fast? The plan was to first call you, maybe get to know you. But somehow, when you told him you’d see him around, it felt like a goodbye…the forever type. His gut told him he had to act quickly.

You didn’t even respond though…wow he felt dumb. Huffing, he rubs his face with his oversized hands. He didn’t blow it, did he? Should he call you tonight to make sure? Did you even want him to call? Well, obviously, you gave him your number!

As he was faced with a silent moral dilemma, he fails to register a young woman pacing up to him.

“Hello?”

He jumps with a small scream, which has the lady confused. She recognizes him though, he must’ve been one of the new recruits. Yes, the overly enthusiastic one.

“Umm, Mr. Jeon, right? You were just speaking to the supervisor, weren’t you? Can you give her this last gray file for me, please? I forgot to hand it to her.” With that the lady clacks away in a rush.

Jungkook stares at the file. She must have been talking about you. He smiles, thinking this gave him a valid reason to look for you again without seeming like a creep. This time, he’ll be more suave – more stress-free with his methods. This time, he’ll have his answer. The stretchy smile soon disappears, however, once the lady’s words fully register in his mind.

Did she just say supervisor?!

It was subtle really, blink once and you’d miss it.

Jimin softly shut the door behind him, looking into the dim living room he never quite got used to.

Did this place always feel so empty? He thought, staring at the walls with disinterest. He’s never had to be in here alone, he realizes. You were always here to warm the spaces between the loneliness.

But who was here to warm you?

It didn’t matter anymore – you didn’t matter anymore. You had changed, you weren’t the person Jimin agreed to marry. The you now weren’t someone he recognized. Time passes by too fast; he couldn’t keep up with it anymore. That’s why he wanted to end it with you as quickly as he could. Wasn’t it just yesterday he was confronted by you? Was it yesterday when he broke everything off?

He really couldn’t remember.

Oh, but his body sure did. His face grew thinner every day, arms losing the vitality his lithe limbs always presented. It was like his body realized you were leaving him and began a protest of its own. No one from college would recognize the Jimin he was now, the one who started to speak a little less. The one who stiffened his neck and sagged his shoulders. This wasn’t their Jimin.

As he stared off at the dining table, his mind recalls upon that rainy night. Where the distance between you started to grow like poisonous gas. It was the first time he felt the detachment from your side, since before you had always made yourself emotionally and physically available to him. Needless to say, he abhorred it, he hated what you had become. All without understanding the irony.

Jimin was someone who never understood his faults, too busy picking out the mistakes of others. Another thing he slighted in was confrontation, because he’s never been called out. Only when he looked in the mirror recently did he have the worst of days, lashing out at himself, at Tina at his friends and coworkers. Yes, he kept himself quite busy. Everyone was beginning to leave him, and he was getting desperate. Running his hands through his hair, he starts to trudge towards the bedroom. He was exhausted, shifting between work, leaving you and consoling Tina. His scandalous lover wanted to make a life with him, he just wanted to rest, maybe for a month or two. It’s alright though, he could just keep himself in her safety for a while before running off to whatever new toy he found next.  

Once he’s inside the bedroom, he freezes involuntarily. The sight of the familiar place had his heart yearning. It made him angry, that feeling of attachment he could possibly have connected to you. You were nothing to him and these days you were a headache to deal with. He gave seven years to you, you should’ve been grateful. Now he just missed the old you, the you who would follow him blindly. Jimin wasn’t made to be questioned.

So why did he feel like puking his guts out onto the floor? Why did it wound him to blink? Face it, the voice inside sneers at him. You love. Someone like her. You’re pathetic.

No, he doesn’t.

Yet he recalls upon another buried memoir. When he first started dating you, he slept with another girl in the same week. That’s what he did to all the girls he ‘dated,’ it turned him on to know people desired even if he was ‘taken.’ It was then as he held the other woman asleep in his arms, you texted him ‘goodnight’ and a bizarre feeling came over him. Guilt. He became so afraid, he ignored you for a week. Until he yearned to see you again. And why exactly should Jimin deny himself of anything he seeks? The same situation occurred a few more times, till it became a habit like alcohol. Although it may burn the next day, in that moment you enjoy the carnal pleasure for what it was. Pleasure.

He would never admit that other women never gave him the same sensation anymore, that you and the vanilla and wholesome sex meant everything to him at some point. Never, ever. Because he didn’t love you. The beating in his head couldn’t convince him otherwise.

In all honesty, he didn’t have an answer himself. Why did Jimin marry you? He didn’t love you…you just asked him about it once. Subtly hinting to marriage when asking him about what his thoughts on it were. Of course, you’d want commitment, every damn bitch wants commitment. And in that moment, he should have shut you down. Should have used his charms to make your place clear to you. Yet he didn’t have it in him to hurt you. Instead he proposed to you the next week, thinking that you’d vanish like the other girls when he made his intentions clear. But why? Why were you the only one different? It wasn’t like he loved you.

He didn’t.

Which is why it was easy for him break it off with you, wasn’t it? So easy, that he hadn’t slept or eaten in days.  

He was on the brink, his conscious just needed a little more push to take over.

Jimin wasn’t here for anything big today. Just searching for a custom J pendant he seemed to have lost a while back. Sadly, he didn’t know if it was you or not – he didn’t know where it was at all actually. Maybe he left it here, maybe he left it with another faceless girl he fucked senseless. As soon as he forces himself back to reality, he begins to look around. He was already late today, and you would be home soon…he didn’t want to run into you again.

Cluttering about, a bit staggered from his lack of forte, he steps up to the bedside drawer in one swift motion. He pulls open the drawer, running his fingers through all the items present inside. It was then that he stumbled upon a letter.

Marked with his name.

He couldn’t help but feel curious, drawn to your timid handwriting on the otherwise blank paper. Picking it up, he opens it to find hundreds of words scribbled together. Although the words were slightly messy, there were no mistakes he spotted, leading him to think you must have rewritten the letter a thousand times.

His breath was in his lungs, his feet glued to the floor. Something inside him wanted to put it back – leave it alone, his nauseous gut giving him another warning. But he began to read it anyway. Because why should Jimin be denied from anything he seeks?

Dear Jimin, the letter began and Jimin’s eyebrow twitched.

I’m not sure how to write this. I’ve rewrote it so many times already my wrist hurts. But I do want to tell you all of this, and as I am not the best at conversing my thoughts across, I would rather jot them all down. In hopes that my heart could reach you through them.

I’ve recently done a lot of stuff I never thought were possible for me. I made a friend, I learned a new interest, I took up therapy. There’s so much I want to talk about! But I’ll keep it short. Even through everything I did, I thought of you. Every corner I turned; ever route I took. Somehow, I felt you were on the other side, waiting for me.

No matter what anyone said, it didn’t mean anything to me. Just you, Jimin. And I realized, how much I need you. How I can’t lose you. I lost my mother Jimin, I lost her because I wasn’t perfect, and I know, to you I am not perfect.

But to me, you’re perfect Jimin. Which is why I don’t care what anyone says. I’m scared of coming home lost and cold, I’m scared of losing my home, which is you. I know I haven’t been great to you these past few days and the truth is I was hurt. I was alone and scared, but I should have known...I should have remembered who you are to me.

These past few years I am beyond grateful for. Thank you for spending your days growing old with me. I remember all the little stuff. Like that time, we went to the theater and you ordered too much popcorn and the aftertaste of the butter lasted in your mouth for a week. You always said me kissing you made the taste a bit more bearable. Or what about that time I got malaria and you stayed up for three days with me in the hospital? I have never seen you so scared.

That’s our love, Jimin. Those days mean so much to me, I wish you would remember them.

No person can get between us, Jimin. I won’t allow them. I want to apologize to you; I want to take everything I said back. I’ll be better, Jimin. I’ll remind you why you wanted to marry me.  

I’ll be perfect, Jimin.

So, please. Come home to me...darling.

Sincerely, your loving wife.

The door slammed open and shut, breaking him out of his concentration. Jimin was too immersed, he didn’t even notice how much time had passed. All he did know were of the tears that lingered his sockets. With an aching inhale, he practically ran out of the living room to catch you by the entrance. It was like magic then, you were a sight to behold. A most beautiful fairy.

You were in the middle of removing your heels before you noticed Jimin’s presence. It made you halt in your tracks, your hand still carrying your small pumps. He holds you inside his gaze with such intensity, it makes you gulp. What was he doing here? Had he always looked this sick?

…Was he crying?  

In moments he was upon you, his strong arms molding around your limbs as he exhales into your neck. You were as stiff as a board, confusion and angst swirling your mind.  

“J…Jimin, wha-”

“I love you, ___.”

…

What?

“I love you, I love you ___.” He repeats, moving off you to stare into your eyes. His orbs were bright, glazed but sparkly. All you could do was gape at him.

And in the midst of your shook state, you peak at the letter clasped in his hand.

He follows your gaze, holding up the paper to you.  

“Let me explain.” Jimin pleads, seeming sincere for the first time in…forever. “T-that night, our anniversary night, I wanted to come home to you. I really did. But Tina got into my head with and she...she manipulated me. Into thinking I don’t love my own wife! I was so confused, so instead I decided to listen to my carnal desires once again, push you out of my mind the only way I knew how.”

You were still trying to process everything. Why was he here again? “Wha...what?”

He looks sad just then, beyond exhausted like he was on the brink.

“I love you…___. Everyone’s leaving me these days, but you. You were always there for me.”

“…Jimin…”

“___, I…I have been in a lot of pain since I left. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat. I missed you so much. I never wanted to admit it, I always ran from it. And you were just…always so understanding…that I never looked back at my actions. Never thought what I was doing might hurt you. I’m so sorry.”

It hit you like a truck. Jimin apologized. This was the Jimin you saw that day after Mina. The vulnerable, broken boy.

“You’ve been coming on so strong…I couldn’t handle it. I thought I finally got the chance to break it off with you and be free…but I was wrong. I was wrong. I love you, ___. I don’t know since when but maybe I always had. And being away from you helped me understand that, the agony I felt. The yearning…I never want to leave home again. Your letter helped me understand! You make me a better person, ___.”

Jimin smiles, “So I’ll stay. I’m home ___. Thank you for bringing me home.”

Once again, he wraps you in his hug, ready to end the night with you in his arms. He finally feels free after so long, the spikes slowly removing themselves off his body. You were his energy, he realizes, you would help him get back on his feet. Finally, everything will be okay again, finally he can have you within his pincers once more. How he’s missed the delicious taste of eating you alive.

But as happy as he feels…he couldn’t help notice you weren’t responding.

Slowly, he unwinds from you, muddled. He takes a look at you, you who didn’t make any face. You who weren’t reacting to him the way he always knew you would.

Instead, you just glared.

It was his turn to be flustered, his turn to take a step back and process everything.

“___?”

“I…don’t love you, Jimin.”

Silence. As if you just dropped a bomb. His eyes widen, before squinting at you.

“W-what? Since when?” He almost sounds offended

“Since just now.”

“…What are you saying, ___.” He scoffs, taking your hand in his. You weren’t wearing your ring…again. “You love me.”

“I don’t.” You say more firmly, removing your hand from his. Jimin just stares at his now empty palm in surprise. “I don’t love you Jimin, and I’m not sorry about it.”

When he doesn’t retort, you sigh. “Jimin, did you know…a few days ago…I heard my secretary on the phone…she was talking to her boyfriend.” Looking down at how close your bodies were, you take a step away from him as courtesy, but you fail to regard the way his face grimaced at your distance. “He told her ‘I love you’ and do you know what she said?”

You look back up at him, and Jimin wonders if you were truly asking him for a second. “She told him ‘I know,’ just like that. Almost like she took it for granted, you know. But I didn’t think of it like that…instead I was jealous of her. Because in her mind, she doesn’t have any doubts that her boyfriend loves her. Which is why she’s able to respond so casually like that…he gives her so much love, that she never has to second guess her answer.”

Giving him a moment to register everything you said, you pause for a bit and smile.

“And Jimin…I have never felt that way with you.”

He winces.

“I have always doubted myself, second guessed your love and honesty. I always thought ‘there’s no way he could love me’ and there was nothing you did to convince me otherwise. But do you know Jimin? Do you know how many times you’ve said, ‘I know’ when I told you how much I love you?”

“_...” His voice dies

“That’s what I want, Jimin. I realize, it’s what I always wanted. That unconditional, blatant love. That’s what I deserve. I went through so much…yet I held onto you still. No matter what anyone said. And if anyone was looking at me right now, into my life, they would think I was crazy. But it was just that I couldn’t let you go. I couldn’t do it, I don’t know why. I just couldn’t…”

There was a glimmer of hope in his dark pupils.

“Even in that letter…I held back so much because I was afraid of surprising you. I could never be honest with myself. So that’s why…thank you for letting me go. For leaving me. Do you know how much I accomplished when you left me, how much I couldn’t accomplish in years? I had an actual orgasm, I left my job, I’m going to start a restaurant with my best friend, Jimin, I gave a guy my number.” His face went through many changes; anger, shock, hurt. But you continued on anyway. “All of that, just because you weren’t around poisoning me. Leaving me was the best thing you did for me, Jimin.”

He begins to tear down, tears fall in his eyes and he looks away. His jaw was clenches and his nostrils flared, telling you he was upset. But you didn’t feel satisfied, you didn’t feel happy that he was as hurt as you had been. You felt nothing for him. Maybe except pity.

Carefully, you step closer to him. Taking his face in your palm.  

“And I hope, Jimin, that leaving me helps you as well. That you stop chasing after meaningless convictions and you find whatever it is that can keep you grounded. You’ve hurt a lot of people Jimin, and for that you will suffer a lot as well. Me, all the girls and people you threw away after using. We never could help each other together, but we can help each other apart. It’s going to stab for a while, and you’ll feel as cold for a very long time. But then, I’ll pray for you to learn Jimin. I’ll try.”

And that was that, the ache lingering in your heart, was pushed all the way down to your stomach. It was still there, but not bothering you as much. Not controlling your destiny any longer. In your senses a melody played in the background; a constricted melancholic piano melody dedicated to love, to the happiness and woes.

This man you stared at, the man you once loved for seven whole years, who was he now? He couldn’t be blamed for everything, you had given him chances to hurt you again and again after all. More importantly, who were you? Definitely not the same woman you’d been when you first found out about Jessica. Not Mina. Not even the new one. You were changing, always evolving and you were proud of that.

You really were so thankful that Jimin had decided not to come home that night. That he continuously left you alone, to stand on your own. Because now your legs felt stronger than ever. There were a lot of people you were thankful for, a lot left to confront but this was your story. So good job you. Your love was first and foremost for yourself. Of course, you’ll continue therapy, you’ll work hard to open a new restaurant, you’ll try to give yourself the happiness you always deserved. Not every day would be great, some days you were going to struggle and there would be a lot of tears. But they’ll be your tears, your struggles, your joy, they won’t be based off of some other person’s mood.

This was only the end of Jimin’s chapter. Your real story will begin from today.

You were never going to convince yourself otherwise. Were never going to push down your feelings and act like they didn’t exist. That was the least Jimin had taught you.

It really was nice outside that rotten cocoon.

He was quiet for the first time in ages, and you honestly preferred silence from him. There were a lot of stupid things he said once he opened his mouth. Why should he become a better person from your pain? What kind of creator allows that?

After a moment of staring at his lost soul, you take a deep breath, exhaling softly. You couldn’t stay here too long, Yoongi had called you, getting your number off someone named Joy, asking you to come over to Cypher Road. He wanted to apologize for that night, as well as meet someone. If Jimin needed help, he should go search for it like an adult.

“Ok, umm…finish up whatever you were up to…I have to head out.” You say, turning around. Jimin doesn’t respond, but you couldn’t care less how he feels right now. “And I signed the divorce papers, they are on your shelf in the closet. Tell me when they are finalized, I’ll be free all week.”

You turn the door handle, pulling the door open halfway before remembering something and spinning back to him.  

“Not… Saturday though. I have a date.”

[grievingauthor]

NaruMitsu Week Day 3: Anniversary

Read on Ao3

Winter has always been difficult for Miles Edgeworth. December in particular had it's fair share of difficulties and annoyances; holidays, the flu, the cold. Nightmares, unbearable sadness, and an anniversary Miles would often rather forget.

It's good then, that his family always seems to know the best ways to cheer him up.

Miles jerked awake, breathing hard. He groaned, running a hand across his face, and sat up. That stupid dream again. Would he ever be free of it? It had been almost thirty years. Three decades! He'd known the truth for nearly as long as he'd believed the idiotic lie his mind kept telling him! And yet the dream continued to haunt him every December.

Miles felt the bed shift beside him and looked down. Phoenix had one sleepy eye open, a hand on his thigh.

"You ok?" he asked, stifling a yawn. His hair was sticking up at all sorts of odd angles, and he had a small pool of drool at the corner of his mouth. Miles couldn't help but smile.

"Just a bad dream, love. Winter and all that," he said softly. "You go back to sleep."

Phoenix hummed, eyes closing for a moment as Miles leaned down to press a kiss to his temple. He rolled onto his back and sat up, hands pressing against the small of his back in a vain attempt to get it to pop. He didn't manage to suppress the second yawn this time, instead taking a moment to blink tiredly at his husband.

"I'm not the one with a trial coming up, babe. I can stand a few hours of lost sleep. Pancakes?" he offered. Miles bit his lip, glancing at the alarm clock to his other side. 2:47 am. That was a decent enough time for breakfast, wasn't it? Miles sighed, looking back at Phoenix.

"Alright. I'll start coffee. Try not to wake the children, alright?" he said, tugging the blanket off his lap and sliding on a pair of slippers. He heard Phoenix snort at his request.

Together they tiptoed their way out of their room and down the hallway towards the stairs. Phoenix lingered outside Trucy's door for a moment, just listening to her breathe. Miles wouldn't admit it, but he did the same outside Kay's. She'd been bouncing off the walls since they'd picked her up from the airport that morning, apparently anxious about some sort of announcement. Miles would put good money on it being related to Detective Skye's own anxieties. He'd been getting complaints from more than one prosecutor about being "snackoo'd" by her.

They moved downstairs and into the kitchen, pausing a moment to share a brief kiss under the mistletoe Pearl had insisted they hang above the entry. Christmas was...well, today, technically speaking. The tree sat in one corner of the living room, all red and blue lights and multicolored baubles. He'd helped Trucy put up the (truly ridiculous) star just the day before, when everyone had been opening their gifts from Phoenix's gaggle of friends and former clients (how he'd maintained contact with Will Powers over the last ten years, Miles would never know. At least he was never in want of rare Steel Samurai merchandise).

Miles changed out the grounds and set the coffee pot to brew, then dragged out a chair and sat at the kitchen island, watching Phoenix hum as he set about gathering bowls and pans and all manner of ingredients. He let the peace of the moment wash over him, eyes drifting closed for a fraction of a second before snapping them open again. Right. The dream. He sighed, slumping against the counter and burying his face in his arms.

"We can put off seeing him, Miles."

He looked up, catching Phoenix studying him. Miles shook his head. "You say that every year, and every year I agree, and we never end up going. It's been twenty-eight years, Phoenix. I need to visit my father. Whether I want to or not."

Phoenix frowned, and turned back to the bowl of batter he was preparing. "You know," he said, "you could always ask Maya or Pearls to channel him. It might give you some kind of closure."

"I've told you before, I don't want to. The man deserves his rest, especially this close to…to…"

"The anniversary of his death," Phoenix finished. Miles sighed.

"Yes. That. I know it's unbecoming of me, really I do, but I just...I can't, Phoenix. So instead I am going to pick up the flowers we ordered, and I am going to see him, and you -" he pointed a finger at Phoenix, "-are going to join me while I do. Franziska has already agreed to keep an eye on Trucy for us, and Apollo is due to return to Khura'in for that case he's working on. I imagine Kay is going to be quite busy with Ema, if I've guessed right about why she's been so nervous."

"And Sebastian has that concert to prepare for," Phoenix sighed, "I know. I just…you don't have to go if you aren't ready to, Miles."

Miles sighed again. He'd been doing that a lot the last hour, hadn't he? So rather than respond he stared into the middle distance and let the sound of sizzling pancake batter drown out every thought his brain tried to form.

A plate of fresh pancakes slid into place in front of him a few minutes later, drawing him out of his dissociative state. Phoenix had made a smiley face out of the blueberries he'd put into them, and as silly as it was, it made Miles smile. His father had done that, before everything had gone wrong. Saturday morning cartoons and smiley face pancakes. He looked up at Phoenix, a sad smile tugging at his lips.

"I don't think I'll ever really be ready, darling. So I should just go, hm? You'll be there with me after all, and we'll visit Mia too."

Phoenix smiled softly and leaned forward to press a kiss to his forehead.

"You two are so gross," came a voice near the stairs. Kay stood in the kitchen entry, leaning against the wall. She pushed off of it, moving to hop up onto the island counter, attempting to steal Miles' pancakes.

"And just why aren't you asleep, Kay?" he asked, pushing them out of her reach. She pouted at him, then turned her ridiculous puppy dog eyes on Phoenix. He sighed and started fixing another plate for her.

"I could smell the pancakes, duh. You old men having a party without me? I'm hurt," she said. Miles rolled his eyes.

"Sit in a chair like a normal human being please, Kay. And we weren't having a party, we were...talking about Friday," Miles said.

Kay's eyes widened, letting out a quiet "oh". She obediently moved to one of the chairs, pulling it closer to Miles so she could lean against him. He welcomed the contact, wrapping an arm around her. They fell silent again, Phoenix continuing to make pancakes for a while. Finally, Kay spoke.

"I'm gonna ask Ema to marry me."

Miles smiled, catching his husband's eye. Phoenix rolled his in response.

"I'm happy for you," he said.

Kay sat up so she could look him in the eye.

"September or December?" she asked.

"Pardon?"

"The wedding. Should we hold it in September, or in December? If it's okay with you I mean."

Miles blinked, then shared a look with Phoenix. Was...was she asking if…

"The 28th should be a happier day for you, Miles. I'm sure Ema would agree. Is it ok with you if we get married then?"

Miles meant to respond, truly he did, but all that came out was a soft sob. He closed his mouth, nodding instead. Kay broke into a grin and flung her arms around his neck in a bone crushing hug. He returned it, tears rolling slowly down his cheeks as he looked up at Phoenix, lost.

He'd like to celebrate another kind of anniversary on the 28th. Why not his daughter's wedding anniversary? His father would have liked that, watching Miles walk Kay down the aisle.

Phoenix grinned, walking up behind Kay to press another kiss to Miles' forehead.

"Merry Christmas, Miles," he said, and well. Merry Christmas indeed.

[folderolsfollies]

Sangyao Arranged Marriage ... Part 2

[Part 1]

Word Count: 2.5k Rating: t Warnings: None to date (there is discussion of canon events)

The Unclean Realm was a home first, and then a fortress, and then a home again, and it stands in stark, punishing angles against the mountains that enfold it. The expansions made by Nie Huaisang’s fathers and grandfather’s were hewn by descendants grimly aware of their oncoming death, who built the rooms and wrought the gates as much to keep demons locked inside as to rout the demons at their door.

But the private chambers for the family were fashioned as delicately as any Lan parlor room. These were commissioned by the butchers who founded the clan, anxious to be seen as refined as any other gentry, despite their rough origins, and so the architects were held to the highest standards of taste. And so they remain, gleaming like a pearl in the heart of the realm, embedded within its harsh grey oyster shell.

Nie Huaisang flits through its shining corridors, wrapped in grey robes woven so finely that in the moonlight they glow a pale, iridescent white.

“Da-ge, I’ve come to manipulate you”, he announces, barging into Da-ge’s private office late at night. Better to be upfront about these things with Da-ge, rather than suffer the consequences that come from him finding out about it later.

Nie Huaisang’s brother doesn’t even look up from his paperwork. His desk, a recent addition, is sturdy Qinghe steel, dominating against the elegant background. “No, you cannot get out of saber practice to go to some art show,” he grinds out, implacable as a knife on a whetstone.

Nie Huaisang, seeing that his brother isn’t going to pay any attention to his bravura performance, doesn’t bother to bristle. He just exhales noisily and says, dropping to his knees on the other side of the desk, “No, not about that,” and dutifully picks up a sheaf of letters from one of the stacks on Nie Mingjue’s desk. Stage one in his plan: here comes the filial child, helping with sect duties.

The first letter on the pile is a report of a horde of fierce corpses in a minor provincial town to the south-west of Qinghe. Nie Huaisang frowns, temporarily distracted, and reaches for one of the blank maps and ink sticks that Nie Mingjue keeps permanently on his desk.

“Do you have a map of just the fierce corpse sightings from oh, since the last new moon?” he says, absently, and wets his quill in Nie Mingjue’s inkwell.

“Decorum, Huaisang,” says Nie Mingjue roughly, and so he rolls his eyes around the flicker of annoyance, and starts grinding a fresh pot of ink for himself. Meng Yao would have let him. “And no. Why, do you see a pattern?”

“No-ot yet,” Nie Huaisang says, “No talking for ten minutes, let me draw it out.”

He’s thinking about what he’ll say if Nie Mingjue complains about being silenced in his own office, but his brother just grunts and returns to the accounts. He takes some bright red fresh ink as well as the black, and the thick sheaf of cultivator requests from the outlying counties, and places it all on his side of the large desk.

Maybe it’s just that Jin Guangyao was here, earlier, to draw out the comparison, but the office feels vaster and emptier than it did when Meng Yao’s steady presence at his own writing table anchored the other side of the room. There was something about his fine-boned face that came into focus when seen in candlelight, although it may have just been the proximity to gold.

“Look at this,” Nie Huaisang says finally, fanning at the paper to let the ink dry, “Red is the older reports, black are the corpse sightings from the past few weeks. We’ve been assuming that these corpses are all remnants of Wen casualties from the Sunshot campaign because of their robes, but Qishan is almost entirely volcanic terrain, so for a horde of mindless puppets there are only a few real possible routes of egress without being destroyed- here, here, and here.” He sketches rough circles around wide valleys. “But there’s a different pattern to these reports. If you draw a line,” and he places the ink stick down to draw out the path, “they all seem to be coming from one area in the south-west, and recently, since the older reports are clustered more south.” There’s a warm, pleased flush in his chest. Maybe he lacks cultivation skills, but there are other ways to be useful, he thinks.

Nie Mingjue glowers, and points to where the end of the ink stick lies with gathering anger. Baxia, ever responsive to his brother’s moods, lets out a warning growl in the corner. “Yiling? So this Wei Wuxian’s work?”

Nie Huaisang shakes his head. “I don’t know! I just don’t know, something about all of this doesn’t sit right.” He drags his fan over his lower lip, waiting for his logic to catch up with the conclusion. “Oh! It’s the frequency. Maybe he’s been slaughtering whole towns to get these numbers, but they would still have to pass through Jiang and Jin territory to get to us, at least, you’d expect it to be more thinned out. ”

Nie Mingjue slams his hand against the desk, but it’s his thinking rap, easily dismissed. “And we can’t overlook any non-related cause - a haunted amulet half-destroyed a town last year and caused a swarm, and that was never linked to any one sect.”

Nie Huaisang hums, flicking his fan open to cover his whole face while he thinks. “Also, Yunmeng is also pretty close to Yiling - it could be that Jiang Wanyin has decided to dip his toes into demonic cultivation.” He drags the fan down his face until it bumps against the bridge of his nose.

Over it, he looks at Nie Mingjue. Nie Mingjue looks at him. They burst into laughter as one.

“Did you hear him at the last cultivation conference when he pledged to break the legs of any demonic cultivator that crossed his border? He threatened me the exact same way when we were all at Gusu together,” Nie Huaisang wheezes. “Turns out falling asleep in class and raising the dead merit the same punishment.”

Nie Mingjue sobers suddenly at that, and says, “Sect Leader Jiang had to take on responsibilities too young, and now he’s lost his brother, and his sister has married out.” Baxia shrieks mournfully in her holder. “He’s shouldering his burdens admirably given the circumstances.”

Nie Huaisang feels his soft insides twist. There’s a cliff here waiting, and at the base is everything the two of them can’t - don’t - talk about. He tells himself in a familiar refrain that one day they will, just - not today. Instead he says, “Well, now that the Twin Heroes of Yunmeng are out of the running, maybe we can be a brother duo to rival the Twin Jades of Gusu! What do you think the two of us could be, Da-ge - the Mountain and the Small Plum?”

Nie Mingjue just looks at  Nie Huaisang for a long moment, solemn and worn, and Nie Huaisang can see the edge of the cliff in his eyes. Are you dying? Nie Huaisang thinks. Would you tell me if you thought you were? “I’d be a bad plum. I don’t wear purple,” Nie Mingjue says finally, primly.

“I will tell the matchmakers you’re funny,” says Nie Huaisang, because he can’t help it.

“Brat!” says Nie Mingjue, not unfondly.

“And sensitive.” he continues, threateningly, wagging a warning finger in his face.

“Put the map away, properly,” Nie Mingjue orders, apparently electing to ignore him. “I’m putting you in charge of following up with this, including coordinating with the cultivators for more information if necessary.”

“Da-ge!” Nie Huaisang whines, slumping in his seat and pouting outrageously. “I came up with the idea, why can’t we put one of the deputies on it?”

“Nie Huaisang!” Nie Mingjue yells back immediately, not as loud as he can get, but loud enough to ring through the enclosed room. “You’re going to be sect leader! You have to start taking this seriously!”

Nie cultivators die early and violently as a rule, but not, as Nie Mingjue seems to be resigned to, in their 20s. Nie Huaisang’s father, who was strong, died when he was 48, and that after he was murdered. Nie Mingjue is 27, and stronger, and the world is at a tenuous version of peace. And yet he has this constant paranoia that Nie Huaisang cannot understand, as if the smoke and gore from the battlefield never washed clean from his robes. As if he knows something that Nie Huaisang does not. Nie Huaisang whips his head around, fully prepared to yell back at him, when his eyes fall on Meng Yao’s old seat. Pick your battles, second young master, he used to say, or you’ll find you’ve lost the war. He deflates. Okay, then. Okay.

“Fine, I will,” he says, a little mulishly, and starts putting away the papers and ink.

Nie Mingjue looks a little surprised. Then he puts his head in his hands like it’s an immense burden. “I never wanted us to have a title like that, you know,” he says hoarsely. “Not like the Twin Jades, or the Heroes… it boxes you in. It boxed Xichen in, him and Wangji.” When he looks up, his eyes are glassy. “I wish you could do whatever you want, Huaisang, I wish I could—“

“Oh Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang says, feeling the sting of matching tears well up in his eyes, and clasps his forearms across the table. “You’re a good brother. I know. I know.” A smaller part of him, the cold little whisper in his ear that he can never quell, tells him: this is your moment. You can use this.

Nie Mingjue smiles painfully through his tears. “Now what are you really here for?” he says, thinly.

Nie Huaisang stays silent and rolls the name of Jin Guangyao experimentally across his mind. It’s a powder-keg that will erupt the conversation when Nie Huaisang deploys it, but on the other hand, will allow his brother to wrap anger around his grief like a blanket. Da-ge is not a man inclined to accept comfort, except in the depths of despair, which he has not quite reached, yet. Anger is better. Nie Huaisang makes his choice.

“I saw Jin Guangyao today,” he says mildly, and braces himself for the explosion.

Da-ge starts ranting, of course, like an afternoon Yunmeng thunderstorm - suddenly, all at once, and just as quickly over. It is such a familiar chant that were it not for the volume, Nie Huaisang could be lulled to sleep by it. Jin Guangyao is a traitor, a murderer, a spy, vindictive and narcissistic, liable to stab you in the back, liable to stab you in the heart. The last one, of course, is not said out loud, Nie Mingjue, loudly and publicly, and perhaps even in the thoughts that he tells himself, detests his sworn brother. Really, it is no wonder that Nie Huaisang got on so well with Jiang Wanyin when they were younger. His bluster was nearly the same.

He occupies himself with thinking about his brother’s complaints. They are, of course, strictly true. And of course Da-ge can’t understand. If their places were switched, if Da-ge had grown up in a brothel and Meng Yao been a sect leader’s son, Da-ge would have striven and worked inexorably until he earned his place through merit alone. And he would have died in obscurity. At best.

As a torturer, Jin Guangyao tortured. As a deputy, he handled the accounts efficiently and well. He was the blade to be wielded, with the blade's cold pragmatism. It was love that would cut you with Meng Yao, that was the irregularity that would swing his quick, efficient strikes off target.

When Nie Mingjue finishes up, Nie Huaisang tugs at the two strands of hair hanging in front of his face. “So, will you execute him?” he asks. “You could get a tribunal.”

Over Nie Mingjue’s sputters, he sighs and says, “Manipulation, Da-ge, I told you.” Really, what would his older brother ever do without him? “But you either have to leave the war behind you or step into the future. Why would you ally with him?”

It’s a leading question, to which everyone and their sect siblings know the answer. “To lead him back to the path of righteousness.” Nie Mingjue says, dutifully as a prize pupil.

“And why would Meng Yao ally with you?” Nie Huaisang asks rudely, raising his eyebrows. “You can’t assume that it’s because he’s overjoyed to receive your lectures.” This line of questioning is dangerous, which is why it’s quite lucky that his brother has already burnt his temper out earlier.

Nie Mingjue, as expected, darkens but doesn’t explode. As a righteous and self-flagellating man, he automatically rejects the premise entirely, even as Nie Huaisang, used to chasing for expressions in Meng Yao’s ink-dark eyes, suspects it might not be entirely false. Nie Mingue says, “To ally the Jin with one of the two strongest clans.”  

“Then be his ally, Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang argues. “Reprimand him in private, if you must, but in public let everyone know that the might of the Nie are behind him, or he’ll have no choice but to lean even more heavily on his father.”

Nie Mingjue sighs heavily. “You’re growing up, aren’t you, Huaisang? You almost sounded like-” He pauses awkwardly. “Well, why this sudden interest in Jin Guangyao’s welfare now?”

Who did he sound like? His father - his mother? He’s so caught up in thinking about it that when he opens his mouth the truth slips out almost unbidden. “I’ve always been interested in Jin Guangyao’s welfare.” He hastily temporizes. “You know that he always helped me establish my claim as a true Nie, even when others thought I was too weak.”

This was one of the many duties that Nie Mingjue had not thought to ask for, but which Meng Yao had anticipated. When Nie Huaisang played at giving orders to adults older and stronger than him, feeling a fool, Meng Yao would stand, properly deferential, until the soldiers relented and only Nie Huaisang could see the shadow of a smile playing around his mouth.

Rudely, Nie Mingjue looks doubtful. But the truth Nie Huaisang senses in himself is as scattered and hard to grasp as motes in the air - Meng Yao stepping in front of him automatically when the Wen attacked Cloud Recesses, the fans that appeared in his room, the way that Meng Yao looks at him, solemn and a little empty, more real than any of his daubed on smiles and thus infinitely treasured by Nie Huaisang. When his smiles reach his eyes, then I’ll have lost him, he thinks, and tucks the thought away.

Nie Huaisang sees his brother giving in on the line of his brow before he even opens his mouth. It has the weight of inevitability: his brother is constantly searching for justifications to forgive Meng Yao; to forgive Nie Huaisang.

“In public,” Nie Mingjue says. “In private, I intend to keep impressing upon him the virtue of the righteous path.” Of course he agreed, and of course he never thought to leverage the favor in order to extract any promises from Nie Huaisang about training. Nie Huaisang feels so much love for his brother suddenly that it is briefly hard to breathe.

“Of course, Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang says. “And… one more thing.” He smiles a little anxiously and taps his wrist with his fan. 

“Spit it out,” Nie Mingjue says resignedly.

“Well, I was hoping that we could host a party?”

-----------

Small note on ages - I’m assuming that Nie Huaisang is 21, Meng Yao 23, and Nie Mingjue 27 at this point.

And here’s the poem NHS is referencing when he’s discussing a potenial title for the two of them!

Small Plum in a Mountain Garden

Among withered flowers plum trees brightly bloom, Dominating garden with beauty unsurpassed;

In clear and shallow water sparse branches loom, Floating in moonlit air with delicate fragrance; Eager are the winter birds who come to look, Spring butterflies they must equally enchant; To enjoy such beauty writing these few lines I have luck, Want of wine and song these blooms supplant.

—Wu Li, 2017

For a very in-depth breakdown of this poem (and why I think it fits Nie Huaisang particularly well), I really recommend Anne Lu’s essay!  Essentially the plum blossom is a winter plant - delicate, fragile, and blooming best after other plants have succumbed to the harsh terrain. I like it for our Headshaker! :) 

[btsslowburnfic]

Sonata-First Movement

The dear @omgalyssag17​ asked: hi i saw you have your requests open and was wondering if you’d be interested in writing a story where yoongi moves into a haunted apartment/house (human!yoongi x ghost!reader pairing). i like giving authors lots of room for creativity so let your imagination flow. And I did. So much so that the story will be told in three parts over the next three weeks XD I LOVED THIS PROMPT SO MUCH Series Summary: Yoongi travels to a lake house to get some work done in peace. While he is there he has several strange encounters that make him question his own sanity.  AN: Y/N as a ghost is slightly neurotic at times because she hasn’t really had conversations with people in about ten years. She’s trying so hard to be a good hostess XD Series contains angst, humor (well I think so), and fluff.  WK:5kish Day 1

Yoongi parked his car at the end of the gravel driveway. The drive up to the Lakehouse had been pleasantly uneventful. It was starting to get foggy though, so he was glad he had left Seoul when he did. He reached into his front pocket for the set of rental keys. They were neatly labeled: cabin, boathouse, boat. 

The wooden front door opened easily although it creaked loudly. He decided to take a look around before bringing in his luggage and equipment. He was on a rare break from work. While the other members had gone traveling or home to spend time with their families, Yoongi had decided to get some work done. But he would do it away from the city. He told the Agency to find him somewhere nice and quiet. And with a piano. That last part proved to be more of a challenge, but they had discovered this remote cabin which had belonged to a pianist. The property had been listed as “for sale” for several years and the family decided instead to rent it out to at least recoup some money.

The air smelled slightly stale so he left the front door open and began to explore the property. It was a small 2 bedroom cottage-style lake house with large windows running along the back of the living room. The sliding glass door led out to a small deck, overlooking the lake. It was beautiful. Or at least it could be. Yoongi looked through the glass and could barely make out the lake that he knew should be there. The layer of fog was rolling in against an already grey sky, causing the horizon between the water and air to blend together into a monochrome greyscape. 

There was a small kitchenette in the corner of the main room, and on the opposite side, a piano with a desk sat next to it. Perfect. A fireplace adorned another one of the walls, providing both a heat source and a beautiful focal point.

He continued to walk through the house, discovering the bathroom and two bedrooms. The larger of the two also had large windows and a sliding glass door. Yoongi shook his bangs out his face and stepped out onto the wooden deck. The deck was small and surrounded on most sides by built-in benches. There were also several empty wooden planters. Whoever had lived here must have enjoyed flowers or herbs, he mused to himself. He gazed out towards the lake where he was able to barely make out the boathouse. In addition to the stored motorboat, there was a kayak stacked against the boathouse and a rowboat tethered to the dock. Good, he thought. He doubted he would use the motorboat at all on this trip, so it was nice to have options. The steps down to the dock were made up of several twisty flights of stairs. He decided he would check out the dock tomorrow. 

Yoongi went back through the house to get his equipment set up. When he came back, he discovered the front door had shut. Dammit, he thought and sat down with his armful of equipment, squeaking the front door open again. He placed his laptop and speakers down on the desk. Now to get his luggage and food bags. He knew there would be no delivery service out here. Hell, he’d be lucky to get cell service out this far. Which is one of the reasons he had decided to work out in the country. He knew he wouldn’t be distracted by his phone or by the members messaging him. It would truly be a break from everyone and everything. He grabbed his suitcase and used it to prop the door open and then took several trips out to the car to unload the bags of food he had bought on the way up.

Yoongi began to hum to himself while unpacking the food. Cold in the refrigerator, room temperature in the cabinets. He was a very neat person and was very satisfied when all of the groceries had been put in their place. He went back to get his suitcase from its place by the door. Yoongi scratched his head. His suitcase had been by the door, hadn’t it? Maybe he had wheeled it into the kitchen without thinking. He walked back over and looked around quickly, still not seeing it. Ok. Maybe he hadn’t brought it in from the car and just thought he had. He knew in the back of his mind that he had to have brought it in, because he was using it to hold the door open. Maybe it was on the front porch? He turned the corner and saw the suitcase sitting by the front door. He jumped a little bit and shook his head. Maybe he was more sleep deprived than usual and it was making him dumb. “What the hell?” he said out loud. He walked over and firmly grabbed the suitcase as though he was afraid it was going to wander off.

He turned on the light in the master bedroom and put away all of the clothes, storing the suitcase under the bed. Now, he could finally get some work done. After coffee. Coffee was an important step. 

----------------------

You sat over at the desk, observing the newest cottage guest. The delightful scent of coffee wafted through the air. There were several things you missed about being alive, and one of them was a nice, hot cup of coffee. Especially out on the back deck, first thing in the morning. You often wondered if you were actually stuck in hell; able to smell coffee and not drink it. You were able to see every person who trespassed in your house, but none of them could see you. 

At least it looked like this guy would be a considerate guest. Too often it would be loud families with their ill-behaved children banging on your beloved piano. Sometimes it would be drunk fishermen. At least they could be entertaining. And they were also your favorite to mess with; they were never sure if there was a ghost or if they were drunk. Hilarious. Death had very few benefits but that was one of them.

You watched him pour himself a cup of coffee. Now that you noticed, it was very late to be starting a pot of coffee. He must be a night owl. You got up so he wouldn't sit on you. It always felt so weird when the living touched you; their solid body parts passing through your non-corporeal form. It didn't hurt but it made your body feel like it was being stretched in ways that it shouldn't be able to. 

He sat the cup down and started to unpack what looked like headphones, a microphone, and some other things that you knew had to do with recording music. Oooo interesting, you thought. He was a very meticulous person. You had noticed the care he had taken into putting everything in its place even though you could tell he was eager to begin the task at hand. He plugged in the electronics and began to press some buttons. He put on his headphones and began vibin to some beats.

You frowned. You wanted to hear the music too. You reached over and gently flipped the bluetooth switch on his headphones off.

Yoongi stopped and took off his headphones. He looked at them with a concerned expression. That was so strange. He had charged them all last night. It didn’t even occur to him to check the manual power switch; there was no reason to. He frowned and placed the headphones on the desk. He dug the charger out of his bag and crawled down on the floor to plug it in. 

You smiled as you watched him try to turn himself tiny. It was pretty cute. He slowly backed out of the space under the desk, and while still on his knees, pressed play. The lakehouse was filled with music. You felt the space in the middle of your body, where you once had a beating heart, relax. You hadn’t heard music in forever. You would occasionally play the piano, but most of the time it just made you too sad. 

Yoongi took out his notebook and began flipping through it, trying to find the page he had been working on. You spied over his shoulder, trying to see what his project was. Notes? Lyrics? Ouch. You felt his hand go through your face as he raised his arm to run his fingers through his hair. Ok, ouch wasn’t the right expression, but it had surprised you nonetheless. He continued to fluff his hair several times. It was very fluffy, now that you noticed it. You wanted to touch it. You really tried to not be a creepy ghost. But you hadn’t had visitors in so long. And it looked so soft. You let yourself pet his dark, black hair.

Yoongi froze and looked behind him. His nose scrunched up as he turned his neck and looked above him, searching for the draft that had just blown his hair. Seeing nothing, he continued on with his work.

His hair was soft. You knew it would be. Alright, you decided, enough of being creepy. He seemed nice enough. You traveled over to the living room and laid down on the couch. Being dead was so boring.

Yoongi continued working and drinking coffee for several hours before deciding around 4 am to go to bed. This was a poor decision because there were no curtains in the lake house, and the sun came in at 7 am. He groaned and pulled a sheet over his face.

You laughed as you saw him wrestle with the too small sheet. He would pull it up, his feet would become uncovered. He would pull it down, and a sunbeam would fall directly onto his face. Poor guy. The next time he pulled the blanket up, you gently tucked the comforter over his feet. He didn’t even notice, he just let out a satisfied groaning sound as he rustled around trying to get comfortable. Finally, he was able to fall back to sleep.

Day 2

Yoongi woke up around noon. He scolded himself for not thinking of bringing an eye mask along. He was used to sleeping at strange hours, in a state of permanent jet lag, so he usually remembered to pack it. Oh well. He groggily shufflled to the kitchen and grabbed an iced coffee. The lake was beautiful this morning. The sun was shining and reflecting against the water. He decided to wash up and head down to the dock.

You watched him down the iced coffee like it was a lifeline. Did this guy know that drinking-water also existed? You wondered as you followed him around. You watched him look out over the lake while drinking the coffee. The corners of his mouth upturned as he looked out over the water. With a determined look on his face he went over towards the bathroom leaving you to hang out in the living room. You walked over to the desk area where he had left his stuff out. You decided to look through his notebook and found several pages of lyrics. He was really good, you thought as you flipped through. You took your time reading some of the pages and notes. You also saw some compositions written down as well. 

Yoongi walked out of the bathroom wearing a towel and sopping wet hair. Since he was the only one there he hadn’t bothered to take his clothes into the bathroom with him. He walked out into the living room and saw his notebook jump off the desk. That’s weird. He thought as he walked over to pick it up and put it back on the desk. He ran a hand along the back of it to see if it felt extra slippery. No. He did the same to the desk. Weird.

You were trying to NOT be a creepy ghost and yet here was a hot guy wearing a towel in your living room. You looked around, where to go, where to go? You couldn’t go to the master bedroom, that’s where he would go next. You saw him bend over to pick up the notebook. If you had blood left in your body, you are certain it would all be rushing to your face right now. Must leave. You hastily made your way to the guest bedroom, carefully opening the door and stepping inside. You took a few deep breaths out of habit.

Yoongi sat the notebook down on the desk and heard a creaking sound coming from the other side of the cabin. The drafts in here were unbelievable, he thought and he headed to the bedroom to get dressed.

You kept yourself in forced isolation until you heard the sliding door of the living room open up. You peeked out the window and saw him making his way down to the dock. Finally, you thought, as you went back into the living room. Ever since you had heard the music last night you had been wanting to give it a go on the piano. You looked down at the dock to make sure he had made it before you took a seat at the bench and began to play, 

Yoongi felt the sun shine down on his dark hair. He usually blow dried it, but between the hot sun and being on vacation, he figured he would let nature take care of it today. He sat down cross legged on the dock, looking out across the Lake. He could see a few other houses lining the perimeter and several patches of trees. The water lightly rippled, splashing gently against the rowboat. He looked over the side of the dock. It was shallow and he could see minnows swimming in the water that had been warmed by the sun. He smiled and took in a deep breath of the fresh air. He took out his pen and began to write.

You couldn’t remember the last time you enjoyed playing the piano. It had been probably about 6 months before you died. If you had to guess. Time is a funny thing. It speeds up as you get older. And once you’re dead, it’s like the blink of an eye. It wasn’t enough time. You sighed sadly. But, playing this music made you happy. It made you so happy that you had lost track of time until you heard the unmistakable sound of the glass door sliding open. You were pretty sure you were able to stop in time. You made a cringe face and turned to the door to see if your guest had noticed.

Yoongi stood extremely still. He had definitely heard the piano playing. Only for a second or two. But the sound was unmistakable. Maybe a mouse was in the dampers. He cleared his throat and walked over to the upright Yamaha. You stayed absolutely still as he reached over you, his face inches away. You didn’t have to hold your breath, you didn’t even breathe anymore, but you found yourself nervously worried about it. He smelled good. Stop being creepy! Yoongi opened the lid quickly, hoping to catch the mouse in action. No mouse. Strange, he thought, and closed the lid. He stepped back and eyed the piano suspiciously.  Wait a minute. He looked at the sides and then he opened the lid once more. “Hmm? What’s this?” he reached in and took out a yellow, legal-sized envelope

You had forgotten about that. 

He held the large envelope in his hands, inspecting it. He turned it around. There was nothing written on the outside but he could feel the contents inside of it. He bit his lip, unsure of what to do with this. He sat it down on the desk and headed to the kitchen to eat lunch.

You tentatively pressed your fingers against the envelope. You were surprised no one had found it yet. You were certain your family would have quickly sold the house, so you had placed the document somewhere safe. But no one had come to buy the house. Maybe because you had scared them away. The first few years of your haunting you hadn’t been quite as kind of a ghost. Time had mellowed you and allowed you to come to terms with your death. You looked over at the man who was starting to shake ramyeon packets and boil water. You gently tore the corner open and waited a minute to see if his curiosity would get the better of him.

Yoongi walked back over to the desk while he waited for the water to boil. Now that he looked harder he saw that the envelope had been opened ever so slightly. He felt a little odd, but decided to go ahead and open it. He carefully slid the contents out onto the desk. He saw a picture, sheet music, and a letter. He picked up the photo first. It was a picture of a young woman who looked to be about his age, sitting out on the back porch, petting a large yellow dog. She was looking off at the lake smiling and it appeared she hadn’t known someone was taking her picture. Yoongi looked out, holding the photo up in between himself and the window. He matched up the benches and planters perfectly. It was definitely taken here. The next thing he picked up was the sheet music. It was untitled and about 20 bars of music filled the sheet. He placed the music on the piano’s stand. He picked up the letter and began to read.

“I don’t think I’m going to have enough time to finish this composition. I really like it and I would love to hear it completed. I sit down every day and try to but the headaches are getting worse and it’s hard to concentrate on anything for more than a few minutes at a time. I wish I had more time. But I suppose that’s to be expected, isn’t it? I thought there would be more time. I can only hope someone takes Barley and gives him a good home. Dogs don’t know about death right? Animals fear pain, not death. I fear both even though each gets worse and closer every day. As for the piano, I just hope it goes somewhere where it will actually get played by someone who loves it. I’m hoping my family finds this, but if you find yourself reading some random dying girl’s letter, please let my family know I tried to hold on for as long as possible. And I really tried hard to finish this. I just can’t anymore. Thanks for reading this. Whoever you are. Have a great day and remember: life is short. [y/n].”

Yoongi felt tears running down his face as he finished the letter. Jesus. Had this belonged to the girl who lived here before? He looked at the picture of the girl and the dog and flipped it over. “Me and Barley May 2010 BEST DOG EVER.” Yoongi gently placed the letter and photo on the corner of the desk and ran a hand along his chin and then his cheeks, wiping the tears quickly with the back of his hand.

You watched as he cried and felt bad. You had written that letter probably a week before you died. Maybe a month? It was hard to tell. Time passed differently when you were dead. And the last few days, weeks(?) of your life had not been easy on your body or mind. All you remembered was the instant feeling of calm and peace. At first. Until you realized for some reason you were trapped in the lake house. You watched him sit down quietly and look at your composition and put his fingers onto the keys.

He began to play. At first it was so soft you could barely hear it, but as he continued to play it got louder. You remembered the song so well. You were slightly biased, but you thought it was, “Beautiful.” you heard him say as he came to the end of the song. He sat like that for another few seconds and then played it again from the start.  He picked up the music sheet and sat it down on the desk. He got up and moved over to the desk chair, taking out his. He started to copy the notes onto his notebook and then started to add notes to it.

Was he going to finish your song? You sat in awe as you watched him play with the chords and rhythm to try and figure out what would work best with what you had already composed. You sat down on the piano bench and watched his face as he concentrated on how to approach the music. The timer went off in the kitchen and Yoongi got up to assemble the noodles. He brought the hot bowl and chopsticks back with him, careful to not sit it on the desk. He read the letter again.

“Well, I’ll try to finish it for you,” he said. “But I don’t know if it will be what you would have picked.

You gave him a sad smile. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had spoken to you. “That’s ok.”

Yoongi looked over towards the piano. He kept feeling something. Something randomly around him. And this time he had sworn he heard something as well. “I need to stop talking to myself, I’m starting to imagine answers.” He said, taking several more bites of noodles. You just laughed. A small tinkling sound. Yoongi got up and went over to the back porch to look for windchimes or something. Having found none, he shook his head and sighed. He quickly finished up his lunch and sat down next to you on the piano bench. He reached over for the sheet music, and then very delicately placed your picture next to it.

“Alright [y/n] let’s finish writing this composition.” he said as he gently placed his fingers on the keys. He played the song again, this time adding a few of the notes he had added. He was satisfied with a few of them but others he scratched out with his pen. He began again and again, trying to work through the bridge. You understood his frustration. This was the part you had gotten stuck on as well. You liked the few notes that he had successfully added. Suddenly, without thinking, you thought of what would sound good next and played a series of notes. 

Yoongi sat there not moving. The keys to his left had definitely just played by themselves. And not random keys like a mouse on the dampers. They were notes that matched the song perfectly. What the hell.

You froze. Shit shit shit. You were going to scare this guy off. The only person who had actually spoken to you in a decade. You felt like you wanted to cry. Dammit [y/n] you scolded yourself. Yoongi was afraid to turn to his left. He knew it was silly. There wouldn’t be anything there, other than that feeling he kept getting in the house. He was going to make himself do it though. He very slowly turned his head and looked at you. At least, it seemed like he was looking at you. But from his perspective, he just saw the windows of the lake house. He let out a deep breath. “Here I am, afraid of ghosts.” He said out loud. “Well, if there is a ghost here, thanks. Those notes work well,” he said as he wrote down the keys you had pressed and then played them himself. The two of you stayed like that for about another hour before Yoongi decided he was going to work on another project. You decided to go out on the back porch and give him some privacy. 

The rest of the evening Yoongi didn’t feel anymore of that warm buzzing sensation he had felt since his arrival. You had stayed on the back porch until it became dark to give him a break. You were so afraid earlier that you were going to scare him off. Usually you couldn’t wait for the guests to leave because they were annoying, but you wanted him to stay. He was nice and quiet, and cute, and working on your song, and cute. And oh my goodness, you thought listening to yourself. You had a crush on this guy. Ugh. You didn’t even know ghosts could get crushes. You sighed, once again bemoaning the fact that being dead was standing in your way. You didn’t get the chance to date much when you were alive. You went straight from University to writing music up at the lake. You thought your love life could wait until you had established your career more. Just another thing you had been wrong about. You sighed as you re-entered the cottage and saw Yoongi still sitting at his computer jamming away with his headphones on. Did he ever stop working?

Yoongi had worked on several projects that afternoon and was feeling very satisfied with the progress he had made. The earlier piano incident left him feeling a little skittish, especially now that it was dark outside. He wasn’t easily frightened, but as he thought back to the past two days, several incidents were very strange. He didn’t believe in ghosts. He told himself. Over and over again. Probably a little too much for someone to not actually believe in ghosts. He reached over to the piano stand and took the picture off the stand, sitting it down on the desk and running a finger down it.

If Barley was alive, he would be a very old dog by now, Yoongi thought. He wondered if the woman’s parents were the people renting out the lakehouse. He would have to have the Agency contact them and ask about her in a delicate manner so he could give them the documents.  Yoongi stood up and stretched his arms over his head. He would usually make some coffee and continue working, but he found himself unusually tired and not particularly wanting to sit in the living room full of wide open windows and wide open spaces. He took his phone and a drink into the bedroom. There. If you’re under the covers, ghosts can’t get you, He found himself thinking. I’m so stupid. There’s no such thing as ghosts. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.” He said out loud, like that made it more real. You just laughed. Yoongi froze. That tinkling sound again. Ok. It was time to pull the sheet over his head and go to bed. Which he did. 

You felt bad and resolved that tomorrow you would be quiet, and not touch him, and not have impure thoughts about him. You would try so very hard. But, for a few minutes, you were going to watch him sleep. Just a little. Ghosts are allowed to be a little creepy.

Day 3

Yoongi woke up around 9 in the morning. It was raining outside. He felt his shoulder ache; the joint affected by weather ever since his accident. He groaned. He was hoping to take the rowboat out today but it would have to wait. He stayed in bed for a while, checking his phone even though he knew the reception made it almost useless. 

He walked out to the kitchen and started to make the coffee without thinking. Wait a minute. He hadn’t set the coffee and filter out. He knew he hadn’t. And yet when he came out, the carafe, water, filter, and coffee were all laid out in a nice row.

See? You didn’t want to be creepy or scary. You wanted to be helpful. Yoongi let out a deep sigh, trying to fill himself up with bravery. “Whoever is here needs to stop messing with me. My head is fucked up enough without thinking I’m actually going crazy as well.”

Oh. You thought the coffee would make him happy but instead it had made him upset. You pouted. What could you do to make him not afraid? It was difficult being a ghost. You walked over to the piano and decided to play a nice happy song for him. Something not scary at all. You began to play the tune of “You are my Sunshine.” No one could be scared of that song. No one. Except apparently Yoongi was.

“Ahhh….” he let out a tiny scared sound. He looked over at the piano playing by itself and covered his ears and headed for the front door. He opened it and stepped outside into the rain. Shit. Shit. The piano is playing by itself. He thought. Shit. It’s raining. No. It’s pouring. The awning over the front door was very small. He ran over to the car to try and get inside but he had locked it. He scolded himself. This was the country, why the hell did he lock his car? Who was going to take it. Shit. He couldn’t walk anywhere else. He would have to go inside and get the car keys. He walked back to the front door and pulled on the knob. It was locked. SHIT he had also locked the bottom lock out of habit last night and hadn't unlocked it in his haste to get out of the house. Wet, scared Yoongi paused for a moment and laughed. This was ridiculous. The whole situation. He wiped his wet face with his hands and ran his fingers through his soaking wet hair.

You sat there feeling very sad. You had just tried to help. You felt like the two of you really shared a connection through the music, and he had talked to you, and you sat out coffee for him, and played a very cute song. Why was he being such a scaredy cat? And why was he still outside? It was pouring and his car keys were sitting on the fireplace mantle. A minute later you got your answer as you saw a very wet Yoongi at the back door. He was absolutely soaked. 

Yoongi arrived at the back porch. Surely he hadn’t locked all of the sliding glass doors. He looked in through the windows and was shocked to see the profile of a girl sitting at the piano. Oh God. There was someone actually in the house. What if the girl wasn’t the only one? What the hell was going on? Yoongi felt his heart beat racing in his ears.

You got up, slightly annoyed by the fact he would rather be in the pouring rain than hang out with you and walked over to the door, opening it ever so slightly. Maybe he wouldn’t notice and think it was the wind. Or maybe he believed in ghosts now, you sighed.

Yoongi watched the woman through the fogged up windows walk over towards him and open the door just a crack. He heard her let out a deep sigh like he was being annoying. He opened the door the rest of the way and slowly walked inside.

“Wow you look even better when you are soaking wet,” you mused from your spot by the fireplace mantle.

Yoongi shook his hair out of his face and looked over at you, “Thanks, but who are you and why are you here….” His eyes widened as he was finally able to see clearly.

Your eyes also grew wider and you looked behind you to make sure he wasn’t speaking to anyone else. You looked back at him, “You can see me?”

Yoongi slowly nodded his head. The woman definitely looked like she could be twins with [y/n] from the photograph. “Of course I can, you’re ogling me from the fireplace.”

[chinuppoppins]

Dani and Jamie: Revolutionary War AU

(so this is about six pages long and my first fic in 2 years. It was six pages long so I will be posting a part 2 to my AO3 later)

The air outside was crisp and cool, a perfect autumn night. It was nice out on the balcony compared to the stuffy and noisy air in the ballroom behind her. It was not like she hated parties, she just did not like being around a lot of people. It was the looks of pity that she was still given after all this time, the whispers from the patrons how she was too young, too pretty, too delicate to be a widow. It was the ones that were a bit cruel, how he died foolishly and wickedly with no gravestone. 

Duels, according to some was compared to suicided. Rumors went around why her late husband, a private in the ongoing revolution, dueled a fellow man, but she new the truth. A rumor, no, a truth about her, how she allowed a woman’s touch to linger and how her husband had to defend her- no, his honor. His pistol backfired after she begged him to raise it to the sky and he laid dead in the mud in Jersey of all places. She had been in their small Philadelphia home before an errand boy came for her. Her husband was already dead by the time she arrived at the doctor’s home and she wept of course and shakily took his cracked spectacles from his greying face. He died for her selfishness and she reminded about that every time she looked in a mirror, he was always behind her, haunting her memories.

“Dani,” She turns around to see her aunt standing at the doorway. “Come inside, you’ll catch a chill from being out here.” The older women smiled. “Besides a group of Washington’s men have just arrived and they are pretty easy on the eyes.” She added with a wink. “And you look like you could use a drink.”

She allows a small laugh to escape her lips before she nods her head and allows her aunt to take her arm and drag her back into the busy room. Sure enough men in blue coats now added themselves to the festivities. Women surrounded them, faces flushed and full of giggles, wine for sure helped give them their glow. She took a glass for herself as she scanned the room, finding a lone solider standing beside a potted plant, inspecting the drooping leaves. Dani sighed as she downed her glasses before pulling the server over to grab another one, she had to keep up an appearance. Though as she made her way over to the lone solider, a friend stopped her for a second. “Careful, Dani.” She slurs just a bit. “That ones a bit odd, a mute apparently.”

Dani raises a brow, even better. She did not have to fake a laugh at terrible jokes. “Odd, just my type.” She jokes as her friend shrugs. So, she makes her way across the room to the odd solider in the blue coat with red and white trim. “I’m guessing that plant is a better conversation than the people in her.” She laughs a bit awkwardly. “Probably better than the night sky.”

The solider turns around and Dani is surprised by his feminine features, she had to blink to make sure that she was seeing delicate features on this man. If she did not know any better- no, masquerading around as a man was a crime that was punishable by death. She knew the story of Joan of Arc. “My name is Danielle, I wanted to thank you for your service.”

The solider smiles softly and nods, not speaking.

“I’m sorry if this seems odd, but could I keep your company for the rest of the night?” Dani asks. “I’m a bit of an outcast myself and I’d rather not be here but being that this is my aunt’s home and I still have to social climb, I have to. So?”

The solider nods and keeps her company. They do not move from the wilting plant, but every time a waiter passes them, either she or the solider grabs them another glass of wine. Dani finds herself a bit drunk as she talks to the solider, well more talks at rather than too. The solider listens and Dani cannot help but to let almost everything off her shoulders. The solider seems intrigued though, their own brow raising when she speaks about the rumor that got his husband killed, while adding with a whisper that maybe it was not just a rumor. Dani’s eyes widen in horror after realizing what she let slip, that rumor, that lie could get her committed or worse. So, she stands up and excuses herself, turning in horror when she realizes the solider is following her. A cool rush of fear washes over her as she picks up her pace, trying to find a lone balcony and when she is unable to find one, she settles to the empty gardens. For a moment, Dani thinks she is alone and lets out a shaky breath before she feels a hand on her arm.

Dani jumps back and lets out a jumble of words. “I- I’m drunk and I just, I don’t- I.”

“It’s alright.” The solider finally speaks, a soft and womanly voice to match their feminine features. “I’m not going to say anything.”

Dani’s eyes widen in awe, because her intuition was right, this solider was a woman and perhaps she was braver than her male counterparts. “You’re- you, do you realize what they would do if they found out?”

The other woman rolls her eyes. “Do you have any idea what they would do to you if they found out about you?” She questions back. “You need to be careful who you tell your truth too, you’re a pretty face, they wouldn’t kill you. They would just try to fix you and I don’t think you want that.”

Dani frantically looks around as she struggles to process this. “I don’t understand.” She finally whispers. “Why would you risk your life to fight in the war?”

The woman sighs. “It’s complicated- family is complicated.” Her eyes narrow. “Why would you tell me your truth?”

“I- I don’t know, I’ve had a lot to drink and I just felt that you were- are,” Dani stumbles, finding herself flushing at the woman’s smile.

“Different?” She finishes and Dani nods. “I am different, and I want you to know that there is nothing wrong with being different.” She shucks her hands in her pockets and toes the grass. “I’m Jamie, but the men in there, they think I’m Michael the Mute, you think you can go along with that one?” She grins when Dani nods. “Good and how about after this party is over and we part ways, you write to me? I’d love to have someone to talk to.”

“Of course.” Dani agrees. It is a nice feeling to have a friend in all of this after all and a friend with a secret that was almost as dangerous as her own.

 By the time Dani hears from her dear friend again, a fresh blanket of snow covers the ground, and she took a job as a governess for a prominent patriot family. She is walking the grounds with the two children, reading aloud a story to them as the snow crunches beneath their feet. Their lesson is interrupted when the housekeeper, Mrs. Grose, a tender and devote woman comes out to her with a letter. The older woman raises a brow and of course Dani loses the children to the fresh snow at their feet. “A letter from a suitor?” Mrs. Grose asks while a snowball speeds past their heads, missing them by a mere inch. Despite the chilly air, Dani blushes. She never once thought of Jamie as a suitor. After all, being with another woman was frowned upon. Part of her, however, did not care. She breaks the wax seal and settles down on a bench as she reads the letter with a mile-wide smile on her face. Jamie was brave, very brave with what she was doing. True, Dani didn’t her motives, why she was parading around as a solider. As she reads, little Flora joins her on the bench, peering over her shoulder as she reads about Jamie’s adventures, she was in Jersey now. She spoke about how the men were becoming weary and sick of battle. So many good men lost due to freeing this country and Jamie spoke about the sympathy she felt towards the dead and their families. However, she pauses for a moment when she reads how excited she is to come home and see her. She had hoped to be home around Christmas, however rumors about a new plan to push back the British was in the works. So maybe, just maybe she would be home after Christmas and that she would be honored to be able to celebrate with her. “Miss. Clayton?” Flora’s little voice breaks her trance. “Who is the letter from? Do you have someone special?”

Dani laughs a bit and then nods. “Something like that, it’s from a friend.”

“Just a friend?” Miles asks coyly.

Flora giggles. “Yes, Miss. Clayton. You are blushing.”

Dani folds the letter up and sticks it into her pocket. “This has nothing to do with your lessons today. Now come along, your parents expect you to be fluent in French by the end of this year and my personal life has nothing to do with that.”

Letters come frequently now and Dani always writes back quickly always ending each letter with ‘Yours, Dani’ while every letter to her starts with a ‘My Dearest, Dani’ She is in her room when she reads that and she giggles and giggles and giggles with a flushed face. It was an odd feeling; she never felt this way about her own husband. There was a different feeling with Eddie, almost how friend loves another friend. Reading letter from Jamie made her heart race, her palms sweat and cause her stomach to flutter. Dani felt giddy, like a child on Christmas morning and she becomes even more excited when she reads that Jamie would be visiting her soon, about how they were victorious in Trenton and how she earned this break. It would be after Christmas, possibly after the new year.

Jamie keeps her promise and manages to arrive a few days after the new year to the mansion she was staying in. The children spot her first and perk up from their books. “Miss. Clayton! Miss Clayton, look! It’s the solider you’ve been writing to!”

In her last letter, Dani told Jamie it was okay to be herself. Mr. and Mrs. Wingrave were a different breed of people. They knew about Dani’s truth and never spoke a word about it, they were kind and had open hearts. They understood her and accepted her, and she knew they would do the same for Jamie.

Dani walks from the blackboard to the window to peer out the frost covered glass, forcing it up when she realized that it was Jamie pushing herself through the snow. “Jamie!” Dani shouts, voice full of joy into the winter air. Jamie looks up, using her hand to block out the sun. “You’re early!”

Jamie scoffs. “Yes, well, I wanted to surprise you.” She shouts back. “But it looks like my plans was thwarted by two little imps.” She points towards the children.

Laughing, Dani pushes herself from the window while Flora and Miles watch from the window. “Miss. Clayton was telling the truth, the solider is a girl.” Miles points out as their governess rushes out of the classroom and down the stairs. The large doors fling open and Flora sighs when Dani rushes into her arms while their laughter fills the morning air. “It’s romantic, isn’t it, Miles?” Flora leans on her hand. “To see Miss. Clayton smile like that, it’s perfectly-”

“Splendid, yes, yes.” The older boy finishes as he fixes his jacket. “Come along, Flora, we should introduce ourselves properly.”

“Oh, how exciting!” Flora exclaims. “I have so many questions for the lady solider, how scandalous.” She adds with a giggle.

Miles turns quickly and puts a finger to his lips. “Flora remember that we mustn’t tell anyone about Miss. Clayton and her friend. Remember what mother and father said, if people find out- they won’t be kind.”

When the children enter the foyer, they see their governess taking the blue coat off of her- well the children were smart, they quickly picked up that perhaps that Jamie was more than just a friend even if the adults were too shy to admit it. ��This is full of holes.” Dani seems to tease, poking her finger through one of the tears. “Did anyone teach you how to sew?”

The woman shrugs. “Oh yes, fixing the holes is number one on my list, right under evading British gunfire.”

“I can patch that up for you.” Mrs. Grose says as she comes out of the parlor and takes that coat from Dani. “This one here is terrible at it, I’ve seen her attempt it on the children’s clothes. It is her fingers that need the patching up when she’s finished. I am Mrs. Grose, the Wingrave’s housekeeper,” She looks at Dani, smiling. “It’s nice to finally be able to meet you. We have heard so much about you, the children and I light a candle for you every morning, we are just so taken with your bravery.”

“Oh, the children!” Dani had almost forgotten about them; she was just too entranced by Jamie being here. While only meeting in person once, it was the letters that brought them close. The playful nicknames and the plans for the future, hints here there about their past. The little tidbits of information that was passed only between the two, things that she would leave out when she had read them out loud to the children. She spots them though, standing by the staircase and ushers them over. “This young man right here is Miles, and this little lady is Flora.”

Flora pushes herself in front of her brother and curtseys. “Oh, it is such a pleasure to meet you. Miss. Clayton told us about your adventures, why, we didn’t even know you were a woman until- well until a few days ago.” She took Jamie’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Father says we are fighting for,” She pauses as she recalls her lessons. “Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness and he says that Miss. Clayton and you both have a right to be happy.” Flora beams as she clapped her hands together. “He and mother have a wonderful offer for you at dinner. It’s perfectly splendid.”

Jamie blinks while impressed with the little girl’s vocabulary. She raises an eyebrow towards Dani as she knelt in front of her. “Well aren’t you an intelligent little thing, how old are you?”

“She’s eight and I’m ten.” Miles speaks up, stepping forward. “And our intelligence is all thanks to our wonderful teacher. Lessons can be boring, but Miss. Clayton makes it fun for us. She says, sometimes it’s better to learn with you hands rather than being in a book all day.”

Jamie smirks while Dani blushes. Jamie once stated in a letter that she learned almost everything she knew today with her hands. It is how she learned to farm and to paint after all. “Well, Miss. Clayton sure knows what she is doing.” She grins over toward Dani. “She is very bright, after all.”

Mrs. Grose looks between the two and then walks over towards the children, standing between them. “Well, I think we’ve bothered you long enough and I think the children deserve the rest of the day off, wouldn’t you agree Miss. Clayton. That way you and Jamie can catch up, maybe show her where she is staying?”

Dani brightens and nods her head. “Yes, of course. I’m sure you two can busy yourselves and stay out of trouble?” The children both nod, Flora exclaiming that she does need some time with her dolls while Miles takes his book into the parlor. “They are only being this well behaved because they are dying to hear your stories.” Dani whispers, as she leads Jamie up the stairs. As they wander into one of the halls, Jamie stops, causing Dani to turn to her in concern.

“Are you sure that it’s safe?” Jamie asks. “You trust these people enough?”

Using both of her hands, Dani cups her face, a serene smile on her face. “I promise you; we’ll be safe here. They actually want you to work here after the war, they want to give us a small plot of land on the Manor to build a home.”

Jamie chuckled as she covered her hand over hers, pressing her forehead against Dani’s with her eyes closed. She felt at peace for the first time in a long time, like this woman was her home. “How did you even find these people?”

“They found me,” Dani sighs. “But that is a story for later, you look exhausted. When was the last time you had a good sleep?”

Pulling back, Jamie shrugs. “I have no idea really.”

Dani takes her hand and leads her to her room. “Well, lucky for you, there are some pretty comfortable beds here.”

Once she gets settle, Dani wants to be courteous and give her some time alone. However, Jamie stops her asking her to stay. So, she does, and they lay into bed together, Jamie reaching out to run her fingers through her blonde hair. Her eyes flutter and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Can I tell you something? Just please don’t start thinking I’m strange.”

Jamie scoffs. “I already think you’re a bit strange, Dani, but that’s what I adore about you.” She adds with a wink. “What it is?”

Dani reaches and takes Jamie’s free hand, caressing her rough knuckles. “Before you came along, I always saw him, my late husband. He was my childhood friend, everyone expected us to marry so, we did. I never loved him, not the way he loved me and that and my attraction to women is what got him killed in the end. Sometimes I would feel him over my shoulder, catch him out of the corner of my eye. I guess the guilt was driving me mad, but then, I read your letters and I just felt- different. I stopped seeing him, he no longer haunts me. I just wish things were different.”

“His pride killed him, darling, not you.” Jamie assures her. “How do you mean though, with wishing things were different?”

Dani smirks, bringing Jamie’s hand towards her lips, gently kissing her knuckles. “I wish I met you earlier. Then we could just be two spinsters, living in a cabin with two cats- maybe a dog too.”

Jamie snorts and rolls her eyes. “Yes, spinsters wouldn’t raise eyebrows. We all know what they are doing in their life of celibacy.” She adds with raised brows, laughing at her own joke before Dani moves in, taking her- hell maybe herself by surprise and kisses her softly and slowly. She pulls away just an inch, a soft laugh escapes her lips. “Never done that with another woman before, hm?

Dani shakes her head and Jamie grins. “No I- you’re the first.”

“Well,” She runs both hands into her hair. “We should keep at it practice makes perfect, after all.” Jamie points out, pressing her lips against Dani’s smiling against her lips when she felt her relax in her arms. They had all afternoon alone and Jamie planned to make it a memorable one.

[mollymauk-teafleak]

whose brow is laid in thorn (chapter four)

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4

Please reblog this post and comment over on Ao3!

Huge thanks as always to my lovely betas @minky-for-short and @spiky-lesbian who put up with my hurting them in this way. 

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With war declared across the kingdom and one of the biggest threats his people have ever faced looming closer by the day, Mollymauk needs to grow up fast. A difficult task, when mistakes of the past keep coming back to haunt him and Caleb.

Warning: this chapter includes a description of physical scars caused by whipping, mentions of physical and mental abuse

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There was a summons waiting for him in his chambers but Mollymauk never saw it. He knew where to find his father.

“Caleb, with me,” he heard himself say as they stopped outside of the king’s council chamber, though his voice felt like an echo in an empty room, “Yasha, stay with Jester for me and my mother, if you can find her. Fjord to the docks, I need information, go and talk to whoever you can to find out what my father won’t tell me. Caduceus, same from the temples please. Beau, I need you to look into the city’s defences and armouries, find me any gaps and tell me how we can plug them fast.”

They all moved quickly, each of them seized with the same fear driven energy he felt in his own nerves. All but his sister, who stayed rooted to the spot, her eyes fixed on him and swimming in the candlelight.

“I should go with you…” she began without much hope in her voice.

Molly put his hands on her shoulders, “He...he won’t be in the best of moods, Jessie. Let me speak to him, I’ll come and tell you everything as soon as I know what’s happening.”

Still she didn’t move, trembling slightly like she couldn’t bear to break his hold. When had she gotten tall enough to nearly look him in the eye?

“You’re going to have to go away, aren’t you?” she whispered sorrowfully.

Molly opened his mouth, then quickly closed it, realising for the first time that she was right. He was the crown prince. He would have a battle command. He who deliberately breezed through the palace in see through silks, flirting and joking and glittering his way through everything and actively avoided being taken seriously so no one would think to look too close and see the cracks underneath. He was going to have to lead an army.

He made himself take a breath in, working his lungs like a set of bellows. Judging by the look on Jester’s face, she wasn’t much fooled by the smile he pinned in place.

“We’ll sort it out,” he said firmly, squeezing her shoulders, “Go find mother and look after her for me, you’re the only one who can make her smile.”

He caught Yasha’s eye as she put an arm around Jester and led her gently back down the hallway. The smile slipped off like an ill fitting dress. Things were very, very bad and there was so little that any of them could do about it now.

Molly turned to the heavy oak doors and sighed. The rest of the night up until this moment felt like some dream, something he’d read about in a fairytale once. He couldn’t decide if he was grateful for the last taste of freedom and joy or if it only made it hurt worse.

As his shoulder, Caleb edged a little closer, reminding Molly that as still and dead and silent as everything felt, he wasn’t alone. His heart ached to know what he’d been about to say as they’d danced together but he knew now it was the silly, selfish want of someone who didn’t have to keep a broken kingdom together with his fingertips.

But Mollymauk was glad to have him by his side right now.

The news didn’t seem to have roused the king from any slumber. He was at the head of the council table, blue eyes sharp and aware, his jaw tight enough to crack teeth. His council members were the ones who looked like they’d been dragged from their beds, clucking and squawking over each other in robes and hastily thrown on cloaks, faces slack with sleep and fear.

“Father,” Molly cut through the clamour with a strength in his voice that he didn’t feel, “You and I need to talk.”

“It would seem that way,” his father answered, effortlessly casual, “Clear the room. My son would like to be brought up to speed.”

It happened quickly, it would seem that no one was eager to linger here. Once they were alone, Molly made himself look the king in the eye and squared his shoulders.

“The Jagenoths, father? You couldn’t have picked a less bloodthirsty kingdom to antagonise?”

The king’s eyes were piercing as they fixed on him and he gave a dismissive grunt, rising to go refill his goblet from the flagon of red that was always kept close at hand.

“Precisely what this kingdom needs right now. More jokes and witticisms from it’s heir…”

Molly flared, “Apologies, father. It's so hard to keep track of what you want me to actually take seriously and what you’d rather keep me blind to.”

His father’s shoulders tensed, his voice deadly quiet and movements precise as he looked out through the window over the restless city, “Is this a conversation you want to have now, son? Right now?”

“No,” Molly admitted, catching the brief warning glance from Caleb at his side and forcing himself to calm, “The conversation I want to have is how the fuck we’re at war all of a sudden with absolutey no warning. I mean, for crying out loud, father, the Jagenoths were at the fucking harvest ball this year.”

“Do you now, Mollymauk? You wouldn’t rather slope off to your apartments with your colourful gaggle of friends and pretend this all isn’t happening? I could leave this all to my seasoned generals...”

Molly swallowed hard, feeling an old tremble run through his fingers. Gods, it shouldn't have been as tempting as it was. Beside him, taking advantage of the king’s turned back, Caleb gave him a steady nod.

“No,” Molly’s voice was firm, “You either take me as your heir- all of me, even the parts you don’t like- or you let me go. And being your heir means having your trust. Do I have your trust, father?”

The pause could have been a lifetime for how heavily it weighed on Mollymauk’s shoulders. But eventually, the king turned, his face unreadable.

“I have had several...investments in Shady Creek Run over the years. Ones that have turned sour of late and apparently the Jagenoths aren’t willing to settle it like businessmen. They would rather settle it with blood and steel.”

Molly gaped at him, “What kind of investments are worth invading a kingdom?”

His father simply looked at him with that same inscrutable expression, waiting. Eventually the realisation bled into Molly’s mind and his shoulders slumped. There was only one kind of business that was done in Shady Creek Run.

“You’ve been smuggling. You.”

“Now, son-”

“No!” Molly’s dismay could pass enough as reckless bravery that he bulled over his father, unwilling to listen to another word. He shook his head, stunned, “You, who’ve been going on and on at me for so long about upholding the godsdamned family honour, have been working with fucking pirates and smugglers? Have mercy, father, are you a king or a crime lord?”

“Hold your damn tongue!” Babenon snapped, face hardening, “Remember who you speak to son, with that tone of self righteousness. You know nothing of what I face every single day to keep you in your finery,  the things I’ve had to do to keep the walls of this city standing! You know nothing of being king!”

Molly flinched, he couldn’t help it, bending under the weight of that voice and those eyes. Beside him, he felt Caleb tense and shift his feet. And suddenly, Sorah was there, looming from the shadows that had cloaked her, fingers flexing in warning.

Molly swallowed and bowed his head, the bravery collapsing in on itself, hollow after all, “Forgive me, father. I...I just fear for what’s going to happen now. For my city and my friends. I’ve heard stories of the Jagenoth, of Lorenzo. They say he’s ruthless.”

“He’s all you’ve heard and more, son,” there was a softer, more satisfied tone to his voice now he’d won, “But so is your father. Do exactly as I say and we will make certain he never sets eyes on Asarius.”

Molly nodded, crossing his hands behind his back and feeling the ghost of a stinging slap against one cheek. I’ve never doubted how ruthless you are, father. I just never imagined you were so foolish.

“Perhaps I have been unfair to you, son,” Babanon mused after a long pull from his goblet, “Your leash has been kept short of late while I waited for some sign you had truly grown out of your immature ways. But your interest in the city’s charitable needs and the love you’ve won from our citizens could be of use to me, especially now our kingdom must close ranks against these invaders. This is the energy I needed to see from you...if I direct it in the correct manner.”

Molly’s eyes flickered up to his father’s.

“It is time for those swords to become more than pretty ornaments at your hip, I think. Our master at arms speaks highly of your skill and you have a close knit group of allies who trust you. And with a fine Volstruker at your side, one our good friend Ikithon values so highly, you could cut quite the intimidating figure, a pretty show of our house’s strength..”

Molly frowned, doubtful, “We’re going to barter with the Iron Shephard?”

“Babenon Dosal does not barter, Mollymauk,” the king’s smile became something hungry, “We are going to crush him.”

There was so little time to think.

Molly felt like he was barely holding on, thrown from one emergency council session to another, bounced between strategy meetings and drill training, from an argument about supplies to one about conscription. Things went by in scattershot fragments he could hardly hold on to. It was all just worried eyes, tight mouths, questions no one dared ask. He found himself making rousing speeches in front of formed up soldiers that just two days ago had been dyer’s apprentices, washerwomen, pot boys and stablehands. And in a week’s time, if he couldn’t find a way through this, they would be corpses.

The days until they rode out turned to smoke on the wind. In simultaneously no time at all and more years than he thought he’d ever seen, it was the eve of their departure. Tomorrow morning, the city would watch them ride out of the gates, throw flowers and wave the royal heraldry, call them heroes, all while either ignorant of or willfully blind to the fact that every tragedy this war would fall on them was because of the people they cheered. It was that, rather than any nerves, that made his stomach clench in nausea.

The prospect of the goodbyes he now had to make didn’t help.

Molly took his time down the steps to the courtyard. A cold wind was blowing, as it had seemed to ever since the news came, and he shivered in the training clothes and the sheen of sweat he wore. His mother, at least, was wrapped in fur as she stood by the carriage, the hood pulled low over her face. Few people were supposed to know of her leaving, lest it be too obvious that the king was planning for the worst, for all the bravado and easy confidence in his speeches.

“You should be in the carriage, mother,” Molly said gently as he approached her, close enough that he could see the glint of her eyes under the fur, “No need to be out in the wind.”

“I have more to worry about than the weather, little amethyst,” Queen Marion turned her head slightly to look at him as he stopped at her shoulder, “You have been in the practise yard again?”

Molly shrugged, “I’m packed and ready to ride at dawn. Not much else to fill the hours and Beau always tells me a minute’s worth of practice can make the difference in a fight.”

He’d hoped to give her some courage, some confidence in his ability to protect himself, but in the shadow of the hood her handsome face turned tight and anxious, “Are you sure you can’t be left as castellan? Surely your presence is needed here…”

Molly smiled grimly, “Jester is every bit as capable as I am. She’s so much smarter than everyone gives her credit for.”

“I don’t doubt her,” Marion shook her head, “But allow a mother her selfish wishes to keep her children out of harm's way.”

Molly reached across the distance between them and squeezed her hand inside the folds of her cloak. No matter the circumstances of his birth, no matter how frayed and difficult things grew between him and the king, Marion had never once treated him as anything but a beloved son.

“I’m of age, mother. Now it’s my turn to selfishly protect you. You’ll be safe back in Nicodranas...it must at least be some comfort to see the city again?”

“I have wanted to return for a long time,” Marion sighed, her tone careful with the weight of all her marriage had become behind it, the arguments and the distance and the coldness, “But not like this.”

“I’ll see it one day,” Molly promised, “Soon. After the war, even, I’ll come and get you and you can show me and Jessie all of it.”

Her thumb ran over his scarred knuckles and she smiled the kind of smile a mother gave her child when they were telling her some fancy, “I would like that...where is Caleb? I so rarely see you without him these days.”

“He went to go and collect our maps from the library. We’ll be going into the forests and even with Caduceus on hand, it’s best to have the routes laid out,” Molly explained, trying to smile comfortingly and sound jovial, “We’re only looking to loop around the border and turn back any other raiding parties. Father’s the one riding to face Lorenzo head on. Likely the war will be won and done by the time we catch up with him. We’ll find the old man throwing victory feasts in the ashes, no doubt.”

Marion’s expression didn’t change. She never had been taken in by his affectations the way everyone else seemed to be.

“Just promise me you’ll come through safely,” she murmured, “And...keep Caleb by you. The two of you are stronger together.”

A pinkess rose on Molly’s cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold, “Mother…”

“Just promise me,” Marion sighed, “I worry about you less when I know he’s with you.”

“Of course,” he said quickly, “I mean, he’s my...he’s my guard. He was trained for things like this. Where else would he be?”

Marion made a soft noise that was neither agreement or dissent, “Yes. His training. Of course.”

“Get on the carriage, Mother,” Mollymauk groaned.

At least she had a smile on her face as she leaned up to kiss his cheek, even if it couldn’t last as he helped her onto the carriage and stood to wave as it disappeared through the castle gates towards the docks. As soon as she was gone, a mournful kind of quiet seemed to settle around the place.

One down.

Jester’s bedroom was right next to his own, it always had been even though the royal apartments allowed for much more of their own space. They’d just never wanted to be any further from each other.

When he knocked and pushed back the door, he saw her at her desk under the window. Whenever something was upsetting her, his sister could usually be found painting. But this time, as he came closer, he saw it wasn’t paper and well worn watercolours spread around her. It was account books, ledgers, dusty old things she’d clearly dredged up from some corner of the seneschal’s office.

“Trying to put yourself to sleep?” he hummed, standing behind her chair.

Jester sighed, the edge of her cheek that he could see past her hair flushing pink, “I’m just...I’m going to be in charge after you and father leave tomorrow. I want to make sure I do a good job.”

Molly sighed gently and passed his hand over her hair, “You will, Jessie. Father wouldn’t be doing it if he didn’t trust you.”

She made a rude, rather un-princess like noise, “He has no choice. Mama’s gone and tomorrow so will you…”

“He could ask me to stay,” Molly said firmly, deftly pulling her hair back into a braid, “Mother could be staying here in the castle. But he isn’t. He’s putting our capital into your hands because he knows how smart you are and how much you care. He knows you’re the kind of princess the people need right now.”

Under his fingers, Jester shifted and sighed, eventually unable to bear it any more and whirling around, launching herself upwards and clasping her arms around him hard enough to hurt.

“It just won’t be the same without you,” she whispered thickly.

Molly swallowed hard to keep his own tears out of his voice, “I’ll miss you, Jester. But it won’t be long until we see each other again, I promise.”

He let her tremble and sniffle for as long as she needed to, before pulling back to kiss her head, right between her horns.

“Come now. I’ll miss the whole bloody battle, the route father’s got me taking all around the borders. Nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to worry about,” Jester repeated. Molly hoped he’d sounded more convincing than she did.

“And no putting TravelerCon down as an official holiday while no one’s looking,” he teased, jostling her lightly, “Or if you do, make sure it’s when I’m back.”

Jester giggled, wiping her eyes on her sleeve before flushing lightly pink and dropping her gaze from his, “Okay...um...make sure Beau and Yasha come back safe for me?”

Molly smirked, “Oh? What makes you say that, little sister?”

“Shut up!” she punched his arm, fighting a smile, “Just do it.”

“Okay, okay,” he chuckled, “Though it’ll more likely be the two of them dragging my skinny ass out of trouble.”

“Good...and stick with Caleb.”

Now it was Molly’s turn to feel his cheeks warm, “Have you and mother been talking about me by any chance?”

“I’m not saying anything! I’m not making a single connection between you and him riding off to war together and the fifty million smut books that start in pretty much exactly the same way…”

Molly wrinkled his nose, “Please do not tell me how you know that.”

“Worried I stole yours from under your pillow?”

“You little…” he flicked her nose lightly before the real emotions began to well up through the cracks and he didn’t have the energy to maintain his smile any more, “Caleb’s...he’s just been hurt so bad, Jessie. And so much of it is because of me. If I put him through anything like that again, I couldn’t forgive myself.”

“That implies you forgave yourself last time,” Jester raised her eyebrows before her expression softened, “And what happened wasn’t your fault. Caleb loved you back, it went bad because of that asshole Ikithon and...and yeah, because of father.”

Molly grimaced a little, feeling the weight of those bad memories on his already frayed patience, “I just don’t want to cause him any more pain. What they did to him...he’s not the same Caleb from ten years ago. Trying to force him to be won’t do anything but hurt him more.”

“True,” Jester allowed, “But he also isn’t the Caleb who arrived at the gate six months ago, is he?”

Molly bit his lip, “No…”

“And you’re not Molly from ten years ago. So why can’t the Molly you are now and the Caleb he is now fall in love with each other?”

Molly opened his mouth and closed it again, shaking his head, “I...I just don’t see how it can be that simple. With father and Ikithon and now all of this.”

Jester frowned, “And when you’re king? And they’re gone?”

Molly felt a tightness in his ribs, the ache of want trying to force its way up through old hurts. But the idea that there could ever be a world where the kind of hate and the kind of evil that had pulled him and Caleb apart didn’t exist wasn’t one he dared hope for. How could he, when he was too much of a coward to stand up to it? When he was being raised to put on a crown and keep it all going?

“There might not even be a kingdom for me to inherit if I don’t focus on what’s in front of me,” he shook his head firmly, “I can’t think about it right now.”

Jester seemed to deflate a little but the knowing look didn’t fade from her eyes, “Fine. Focus on coming back safe.”

He ruffled her hair, “You know I will. I’ve gotten this far flying by the seat of my pants, haven’t I?”

“Yeah,” Jester smiled up at him, leaning up to kiss his cheek, “Just don’t do anything too stupid.”

“A novel concept for me. But for you, Jester, I’ll try.”

He wasn’t planning on sleeping that night but Beau had explicitly barred him from her training ground, saying that if she saw him there rather than in his bed then Lorenzo wouldn’t even get the chance to run him through. Telling her that they’d be riding the wrong bloody way for that to happen didn’t seem to change her mind about the threat.

So he’d bid Caleb goodnight, again feeling everything unsaid between them pressing in at the edge of his words and telling himself another time. Now he lay on his back in the middle of his expansive, empty bed, waiting for a restfulness that he knew deep down would never come, staring at the ceiling until his eyes blurred and unfocused. His fingers itched for the smooth leather of his sword hilts but now, every time he imagined picking them up, he would see them lunging forward of their own free will, slicing through flesh and jarring against bone, blood running down their curved steel. He tried to imagine actually taking the life of another person, facing a foe not made of magic or sand and trying to summon the will to snuff out their existence as easily as blowing out a candle.

All Mollymauk could feel was a sickness in his stomach.

He rolled over, sighing as he pulled the blankets tighter around him to fight off the shivers. He couldn’t decide if the soft, dry sobs he heard were his imaginary victim’s or his own inside his mind, echoing back from a future he didn’t want.

Until he realised it was neither. They were coming from behind the hidden door and the veil of magic, they were coming from Caleb’s chamber.

Molly sat up, tail twitching, blankets slipping down to pool around his hips. His instinct was of course to run to him without hesitation, to slide in next to him and hold him and listen while he said all of the things he could never say outside of the circle of his arms. But that was what he would have done before.

Jester’s words came back to him. They weren’t the same Molly and Caleb and maybe, as they were now, they’d never be able to build something like what had come before. But he still cared for him, deeply, and he wasn’t about to lie there uselessly while his friend sobbed in the room next door, not after he’d comforted him before.

He pulled a robe on and padded quickly over to the door behind the tapestry, the stone floor cold under his bare soles between the thick carpets. Only he could enter without Caleb’s permission, the magic was designed to let him through as the one who’s life Caleb was bound to. But still, he knocked, hardly about to barge into the only space in the entire world that was Caleb’s alone.

His first knock didn’t stop the sobs, he had to try again and louder before they choked off and a voice came, raw and quiet.

“Mollymauk?”

“Caleb,” he answered, mouth pulling down at the fear in his friend’s voice, “Please let me in?”

“You...my prince, you should be sleeping…”

Molly sighed, resting his forehead against the stone door, “Caleb, I want to. Please?”

After a long pause, the door slipped from its seamless place in the wall, pushing inwards so Molly had to quickly right himself to avoid ending up in a heap on Caleb’s floor. The cell was pitch black, only the ragged, panicked breathing to guide him towards the pallet his friend slept on.

“Shh, Caleb, it was only a dream,” he moved slowly, giving him every chance to draw away and cling to his space but he didn’t.

One moment there was musty air under his hand and then there was soft hair, clammy, sweat soaked skin. Caleb didn’t pull back, he didn’t flinch. Giving thanks for that much, Molly awkwardly fumbled in the dark until he was sat on Caleb’s narrow bed, scratchy wool under his other hand, shaped to the trembling pair of legs underneath it.

“Just focus on breathing, okay?” Molly whispered, stroking the hair he knew was that deep, coppery red even if he couldn’t see it, “It’ll fade, I promise.”

He felt Caleb nod, one of his hands coming up to lie over Molly’s, clinging to it the way a drowning man would cling to driftwood. It happened quickly and easily after that, like falling asleep. Who moved against who, it was hard to say, like the transition moment between there being space between them and not hadn’t happened. Like Molly had always been embracing Caleb, had always had him weeping softly into his shoulder while one hand’s fingers interlaced with his own.

It felt like finally exhaling.

It would have lasted as long as Molly could make it, if his other hand hadn't eventually slipped down from Caleb’s shoulder to his back, intending to stroke slow, easy circles there just as he’d always done when they’d held each other in the night, as they’d done the first time they’d kissed, as they’d done the first and last time he’d felt Caleb’s body gently press into his own and everything had made sense.

It would have lasted forever if Molly hadn’t done that. If he hadn’t felt the raised, puckered scars under his palm.

He froze, breath catching in his throat. Caleb knew immediately what had happened and tried to pull back, tried to pull the blankets up over his torso but Molly moved faster, hand slipping further to feel just how many there were, how raised and poorly healed and angry they were, before their embrace was broken.

“Caleb,” Molly’s voice was low and level, “Turn on the lights, please.”

He saw the dark shape that was his friend shake it’s head, heard his miserable whimper.

He swallowed hard, forcing his voice to stay calm, measured, “Caleb, you’re safe with me, I promise. I just need to see. It isn’t an order, I’m only asking you to please trust me.”

If he had asked him to leave at that moment, to forget everything and shut the door behind him, Molly would have gone and he prayed Caleb knew that. Without so much as a word, the bare, unscented candle by the bed ignited and, trembling, Caleb turned his back on Mollymauk.

It took everything he had not to make a sound at the ruin of Caleb’s back.

Scars crossed over other scars, the messiest, most tangled delta of rivers Molly had ever seen and he understood now why he’d never seen Caleb without a shirt on since his return, they would have been impossible to hide otherwise. They were raised, almost blistered around the edges, horrible jagged things that had clearly been salted before they were given any treatment.

Molly didn’t need to ask what had made them. Or who had done it.

“Please don’t be angry, your highness,” Caleb’s voice was thin and reedy, again slipping into the cadence of an actor, albeit one who feared execution if his performance didn’t satisfy, “It was my fault, they only whipped me when I was bad.”

“Caleb,” his voice broke, eyes stinging, “Gods, what could have been worth doing this to you? No matter what they might have said, this was not your fault, this was their sick idea of punishment…”

“No, it was, it was my fault!” Caleb trembled, “They told me and they didn’t listen, they told me and I still opened the letters-”

Something inside Molly froze and splintered, “The...the letters? The letters I wrote you? They got you whipped?”

They’d been a desparate act from the beginning, he’d known that. But he’d just been so heartbroken, so wracked with grief and tortured by his own thoughts of what they must have been doing to Caleb at the Academy, what blood price he was paying for their one night together. The letters and the gold he’d pressed into merchant’s palms to have them smuggled into Rexxantrum and past the impenetrable walls of the Academy, he’d been realistic about how likely it was that they’d ever get into Caleb’s hands. But he’d just been unable to sit and do nothing, to imagine Caleb thinking he’d been forgotten. After a year or so, he’d stopped, fearing the worst and unable to keep the hope alive.

And all the while he’d been writing those awful scars across his back.

“I shouldn’t have opened them, they told me after the first one, it was my choice,” Caleb wept, “I had to learn, they said…”

“Gods, Caleb,” Molly tasted bile on his throat, “Why...why did you open them? Why didn’t you write back and tell me to stop, I would have stopped, I never, ever wanted to hurt you more, oh gods…”

Caleb pushed a hand through his hair, unable to answer for a while before his shoulders slumped in defeat. The scripted tone of his voice fell away, like a thin mask crumbling to dust, “I...I missed you so much and reading your words, it helped me keep a hold on myself. It stopped me losing who I was entirely. I didn’t want them to stop.”

It was strangely easy to sound calm now, the fury brought an odd kind of clarity, a separation he welcomed in that moment, “Thank you for showing me your scas, Caleb, hat was very brave of you. You stay here and get some rest.”

“Where are you going?” Caleb turned, still shaking with tremors that ran through his body endlessly.

“I’m going to cut Trent Ikithon’s throat while he sleeps,” Molly replied simply, like he was telling him he planned to take a spring hunt tomorrow, “A pity to give him such an easy death but can’t risk it.”

Caleb groaned, staggering up and grabbing his arm, “Molly, please, no…”

It was so hard to hear him over the crackling fire in his stomach, “It won’t take a moment, Caleb, I promise.”

“You can’t! You have no idea what kind of magic he has, he’ll hurt you!”

“He can fucking try,” Molly’s calm was cracking, the fire spreading, “I won’t suffer that bastard to take another breath under my roof, not after everything he’s done to you. First the crystals when you were just a kid and now this? I’m done, he crossed the line a long bloody time ago.”

“But your father…”

“My father can go fuck himself!” Molly roared then, the rage snapping up and wresting away the last of his composure, bouncing his voice off the walls, “He’s as much to blame! He feeds that monster like some kind of pet, he funds him and gives him that tower room to do gods know what! He’s lied to be, he’s hurt people, he’s made so many people miserable for his own gain and he wants me to be just like him! Well he’s getting exactly what he wanted.”

He moved fast enough that Caleb couldn’t keep him in place. Once again everything was rushing past him like some great hurricane, the only thing he could be certain of was the swords he took from the wall, their reassuring weight. Now he actively imagined blood running down their edge, beading on their wicked tips like rubies. He told himself how right it felt and the anger roared it’s approval.

But then Caleb was in front of him, hands on his chest, eyes wide and terrified, “Mollymauk, I’m begging you not to do this.”

“This is how my father would settle this,” Molly snapped, eyes blazing.

“But you’re not your father.”

That alone reached through the fire inside him and brought him out into the cold. Startled back into his own mind, Molly took a deep, shuddering breath and let the swords fall from his grip, now slack and useless. They hit the floor with a muffled thud.

“You’re not, Mollymauk,” Caleb continued, relief flooding into his eyes, “You’re none of them, you’re different. And that’s why you’re the only hope any of us have. You were my hope, back then, back when they were doing everything they could to break me. And now...now you’re the kingdom’s hope. And they can’t lose that.”

Molly’s face crumbled, shoulders starting to shake, “I just hate what they did to you…”

“Me too,” Caleb murmured, “But day by day I’m pulling myself back from it and it’s all thanks to you. I just need time, Molly, that’s all.”

“Okay,” he whispered, even as his voice broke, “I can wait. As long as you need me to.”

This time it wasn’t Caleb holding him or him holding Caleb. They held each other, as tightly as they could, clinging on as the dark tide rose around them and everything changed outside the door.

If they were granted a tomorrow, Molly promised himself, they would make it a good one.

[jawritter]

You and Me..

Chapter 2

***SERIES WARNINGS**** Rape, non-con, male!rape, injury, violence, description of injury caused by rape, nightmares, self-harm, panic attacks, implied female non-con, language, ass hole Jensen, hurt!Jensen, dark fic, smut. If there is anything else I will add it as I go.

***Chapter Warnings*** This chapter is pretty light. Mentions of death of characters parents, Jensen is a little bit of an ass, language, that’s pretty much it. 

Word Count: 2057

Pairing: Jensen Ackles X Reader, Jared x reader, OFC Steve x Reader, OFC Justin x Reader.

A/N: When I originally wrote this chapter I didn’t even know who Steve Carlson was, so the Steve in this story isn’t him lol. Oddly enough I wrote this before I even really knew he was making an album lol. Anyway, all mistakes are mine, please don’t copy my work, Feedback is golden. If you want to be added to the series tag list, or my tag list just let me know! I hope you enjoy this one. After this chapter things tend to start to pick up a little.

Summary: It’s funny how one choice you made can change your whole life. One mistake can alter your course, and set you on a path that forever will haunt you. Two people find themselves getting through one of the hardest trials of Jensen’s life, on just one small promise. You and Me. We’ll get through it together…

Want more? Check out my Masterlist!!

***MASTERLIST***

***YOU AND ME MASTERLIST***

You woke up, much like you do every morning, with the alarm clock going off obnoxiously on your bedside table.  Mornings were never your thing, but the bills weren't going to pay themselves. You rub your face hard, trying to force your eyes to focus, and your body to stay awake even though it was putting up one hell of a fight. It wants sleep, and you so desperately want to give it just that.

Finally, after about 15 minutes you roll yourself over and stand up next to the bed, looking around your messy room. You had just moved back to Austin not all that long ago. You had always lived in Texas in one place or another, but just one family vacation to Austin when you were a teenager and you were in love with the city. So as soon as you graduated high school you wasted no time in putting your application in for the University of Texas.

Much to your surprise, and a few others, you were accepted. You had wanted to major in either writing or music. Everything went great for about the first semester. Your grades were good. You worked nights at a local bar, much like a lot of your classmates,  and spent your days in classes. You had new made friends, and you were finally starting to get your foothold in life. Well, that's what you thought anyway.

At the end of your first semester of college, your mother was diagnosed with stage 4 liver cancer. When your family called you moved back to your home town, dropping everything to be with your family. Your mother and you were very close. There was no way you were going to stay away while she fights this demon that they call cancer.

It was a long fight. Over and over again she defied the odds of the doctors and everyone around her. Still, after a long five-year battle she lost her fight with the disease. Once the funeral was over you knew it was way too late to go back to college. You had taken some online courses though, and gotten your degree in creative writing while you were at home taking care of your mother.

You and your father had never really gotten along, so staying home wasn't going to be an option. With all that in mind, you did the only thing you knew to do. You made the move back to Austin in the same month as your mother's funeral. Your father had over the years fallen into alcoholism. He'd always fought it, but after your mother's death, it only got the best of him. You weren’t going to stick around and watch him destroy himself.

Last year he straightened out a curve on the way home. He never survived the crash. Your brother had him cremated. He didn't even bother calling you, and telling you till it was all over. Your brother wasn't happy about you leaving home. He blamed you for your dad's struggle with the bottle after mom died, but that wasn't your fault. You didn't put a funnel in his mouth and make him drink. No one twisted his arm. He did it all on his own.

For the past three years, you had been renting an apartment in downtown Austin. It was a small, just a studio apartment, but it was all you needed. You had also landed a job at a small recording stupid in Austin. Even though you loved writing, and still did it on the side, you hadn't gotten your break yet. Music was your passion. It was what got you up in the morning, and helped you make it through the day. It was your therapy. Your outlet. Your escape from this shit existence that was your life.

You had slowly worked your way up In the studio. Starting with getting coffee, and cleaning behind the artist that came in to record. It didn't take long for Steve, your boss, to see that you had a good ear for music. He put you helping in the recording booth not long after you started.

Today you were informed that there would be a new local artist coming in to start his recording process and you were put on his beat. They didn't tell you his name, but they did say that you would probably recognize him. Even though he was local, he was famous, but they didn’t tell you who he was in order to keep rumors down the only one who knew who was coming was Steve. They made you swear not to tell anyone that he was recording, telling you that he wanted it to stay a secret until the album was done. That's why he chose a local recording studio instead of some big one in California.

As you walked to the studio this morning your nerves were vibrating. Justin, another sound tech that would be working with you today, greeted you at the door.

"You ready Y/N?" he asked, greeting you with a smile over his shoulder.

"Ready as I'll ever be," you tell him, putting your purse under the counter in the lockbox you all used and turning your phone on silent. No outside noises were ever allowed in the studio.

"Well I hate to put more on us than we already got, but there are two things you need to know before the artist gets here today. First, Jennifer, the girl that normally does the coffee, drinks, and whatever else the artist needs isn't going to be here today, her son has strep. Second, Steve will also be sitting in on today's session," he said, looking at you apologetically. 

You hated working with Steve. He was such a jerk when it came to recording time. He wanted everything done too quickly. Always in a rush to make a deadline instead of taking his time, and getting the best recording.

Jennifer being gone, and two other guys in the sound room with you means that you will most likely be stuck on snake detail for this artist, and whatever bunch of groupies he's bringing with him all day.

"Lovely,” you said with a sarcastic eye roll. Justin continued to look at you apologetically.  

“It's cool, let's just get this started. I'll get the recording room ready. How many are in his party today?" you asked, waiting for the answer that you dreaded the most.

"Only one other guy will be coming with him today from what I understand. Today is gonna be a lot of met and discuss. From what I understand there will be a guest singing on this album too. So it's probably a good thing Steve's gonna be here. If this guy is a prick then Steve can handle him." 

Justin's attitude toward the whole situation cracked you up. Apparently, he was just as excited about this as you were.

You walk into the recording room and begin to sit out beers, whiskey, water, and even start the coffee pot going in the break room. You walk back in the recording room and start sitting out shot glasses and other things when you heard voices coming your way. You look up in time to meet a pair of deep emerald green eyes staring back at you.

Your breath catches in your throat as you look around the room at all the men.

"I'm the only chick, great," you think to yourself, but there was something about the smirk on the man's face standing in front of you with the emerald green eyes that made your stomach do flips with a feeling you've never felt before.

He smiled at you and It nearly knocked you off your feet. Damn, this guy is gorgeous. That's when Steve decided to speak up.

"Y/N, this is Mr. Jensen Ackles, and his friend, Jared. Mr. Ackles has graciously chosen our stupid to record his debut album," Steve says, moving to stand beside Jensen.

You try to keep your jaw from hitting the floor as you take in the two actors standing in front of you. You had been a fan of Supernatural for years.

You nod at the two men. "It's nice to meet," you say, and they both smile back at you. Neither spoke, which you found odd. When you watched the con videos online they seemed so friendly.

"The room is ready, Steve," you tell your boss, then quickly as you can scamper into the sound room with Justin to wait for them to get started. 

You didn't really need to know what all they were doing. You just needed to make sure that whatever they were doing sounded good on tape.

"You alright Y/N?" Justin asks as you sit down in the chair with a huff.

"Yeah, That's Jensen freaking Ackles. I'm going to be working with Jensen freaking Ackles," you say in a state of shock.

"Easy girl, you know celebrities don't like to be fangirled all over," Justin says with a chuckle as he fires up the equipment and computers.

"I'm a professional Justin. I'm not going to fangirl all over anyone," you tell him with an eye roll. 

You watch as the men stand there and talk, pointing to different things. Steve getting Jensen ready to get started.

After a few hours of recording, and some drinks later Jensen, as well as Steve and Jared, had loosened up a little. Jared was in the sound room with you guys watching his best friend work. He was easy to talk to. During a break in recording while you were downloading the song he just recorded into the computer, Jared had been showing you pictures of his kids. He'd been cracking you all up with stories for the past hour.

"See this is Tom, trying to prank his little brother with a whip cream pie," he said, leaning over to you, showing you the video. That's when the two of you heard Jensen’s deep voice boom over the monitors.

"Hey, Steve, tell your girl in there to stop flirting with a married man, and go bring me some fucking coffee."

The whole room turned to look at you. Jensen was still sitting in the recording room with a guitar in his lap, giving you a cold stare through the thick glass. The comment stung. You weren't his damn maid, and you weren't flirting with a married man. Steve gave you an apologetic look. You knew you had to play along. Jensen was paying them a lot of money. So if he wanted you to shine his shoes while he sang you had to do it.

"Right away Mr. Ackles," Steve said, giving you a look that screamed, “I'm sorry.” 

Jared was giving his friend a death glare that Jensen didn’t seem to notice, or at least didn’t care.

"I'm sorry Y/N, he's just been a little on edge lately. That's not normally Jensen," Jared apologizing for his friend as you stand to go get his coffee for him.

"It's fine," was all you can say. 

In truth though, you felt like he'd just ripped your heart out and stomped on it. Not to mention humiliated you in front of your boss and coworker.  You fought back tears as you poured his coffee and entered the recording room.

You handed him his coffee, not even looking at him. He snatched it out of your hand, not even looking at you or saying thank you. You thought you had a crush on this guy. Turns out he's an ass hole like every other celebrity and artist you'd ever meet. Just another cocky dick that thought his shit didn’t stink.

Watching him on Supernatural and Smallville had gotten you through some really hard times in your life. You would have never thought he’d have done anything like he just did to you. You always pictured him as such a nice, genuine guy. Man, were you ever wrong.

You made your way from the recording room to the front where you kept your purse under the counter and shot Steve a text that said you weren’t feeling good, and you had to go home. Which wasn’t totally a lie, because your heart was broken, and you couldn’t stop the wave of tears that were streaming down your face.

You didn’t know why that one man’s opinion had hurt so much. You didn’t know him, and he didn’t know you, but as you fell back through the doors of the apartment you felt like your heart was shattered into a thousand pieces.

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Tag List:

@deanwanddamons​​ @imabitch4jensen​​ @rvgrsbrns​​ @bi-danvers0​​ @onethirstyunicorn​​ @i-love-superhero​​ @akshi8278​ @alanegaming​ @magssteenkamp​ @lemondropirwin​

You and Me Tag List:

@idksupernatural​ 

@fuzzycloudsz 

@supernatural-bellawinchester​ 

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[thejollyroger-writer]

THE WASTELAND - Chapter Two: THE HOSPITAL, Part 2

Some triggers: this story is rated TEEN, mostly for violence. It takes place during wartime, and some of the characters go through some violence and torture. If you need more information about this, please just message me!

SUMMARY:  In a world that has been saturated in war for as long as anyone can remember, Emma Swan has rebuilt her life as far away from the chaos as possible, opening her own maternity hospital after spending too many years in makeshift battlefield aid stations. But one night, a bloodied and battered soldier finds her hospital trying to get away from an enemy with a penchant for torture and a personal vendetta against him. With the help of Emma’s childhood friend Prince David and a motley collection of humans and magic-wielders, the quest to save Killian Jones’ life from the poison used by the enemy takes them to places even beyond the known world.

Header by the lovely @spartanguard​​ -- special thanks to @cssns​ for making this monster happen! 

Prologue on AO3 // Prologue on Tumblr

Chapter One // (ART by @spartanguard​)

Chapter Two on AO3 // ART by @spartanguard​

CHAPTER TWO: THE HOSPITAL, PART TWO

“My god, Emma, he looks terrible.” If Emma’s eyes weren’t focused so intensely on Killian’s face, on his wounds, she would have seen the flash of recognition that passed across David’s face, paired with a small smile towards the man in the makeshift bed, when she let him into the safe room. 

But she doesn’t. 

“He still has the fever?” he asks after a moment. Neither of them move their gaze off of the wounded man, David’s eyes wide as Emma begins to change some of his bandages, revealing some of the worst of the wounds. 

Some of the worst, but not yet the worst one, which she has covered carefully with gauze and rags to try to keep debris out of it, since she has not yet discovered a way to close it. 

“I think that’s what’s causing the nightmares, and I feel like if I can bring that down, he’ll stop re-opening his wounds when he thrashes around and may actually start to heal.” 

“Is that what’s stopping him from healing?” Emma knows the question he is trying to ask without asking it. It’s something she’s been trying not to think about, an idea that she’s been holding in since the first time she saw the wound on his chest.

“He’s already much better than he was when he got here a week ago, you should have seen him then. I haven’t seen anything that bad since we—” The words stop dead in her throat, memories of a time when she was still on the battlefield flashing in her mind before she can wish the nightmares away. 

But she doesn’t have to say anything more; David already knows exactly what she is talking about, the thought that's been camping in back of her mind but has not yet come to the forefront. Because if that’s the case…

If that’s the case, there’s no way to heal him. All she would be able to do is watch his condition worsen before her eyes until he —  

“The magic-inflicted wounds aren’t helping much, either. They’re bad, David. Definitely the worst I’ve ever seen.” Worse than before , she thinks, knowing that David is experiencing the same memories she is. “He told me that they’re from an interrogation, people trying to get information from him, but I think he’s too afraid to tell me anything more, and I don’t blame him. He keeps calling out three names: Liam, Milah, and David. It’s a stretch, I know, but I was hoping you may know something, maybe you recognize him.” 

This time, Emma turns to the Prince as the flash of a smile passes across his face, the memories there no longer from bloody battlefield hospitals, but from somewhere with perhaps a little more hope. “I do, actually, I know him personally, and—” 

Before David gets the chance to say more, Killian groans on the makeshift bed, his eyes flying open. For a moment, they are only filled with terror, most likely from another nightmare. But then he begins to focus on the room around him, first on Emma for the moment it takes to remember where he is before moving to David.

A wide smile spreads across his face — one David mirrors.

"Your highness," Killian says, holding his hand out towards David.

Taking it in one of his own, they share a laugh. "Please, Jones, I've told you a million times, it's David."

Emma is beyond confused, to say the least. "How do you two—?" she starts, but Killian is already asking a question of his own, his attention turned to her.

"So, wait, you know the Prince?"

She can't help herself, and she slings her arm over David's shoulder. "David and l have quite a history, we go way back."

"You and I have that in common, it seems, love."

"I hate to break it to you, Jones, but Emma outdates you by quite a lot."

Emma punches his arm. "Are you calling me old?"

He just scoffs. "I would never."

After the room goes silent for a moment, David turns to Killian, all the laughter drained from his face. “Alright, Jones, now that you know we’re all on the same side here, can you tell us what happened?” 

Killian nods, but doesn’t speak right away. A pained look crosses his face even though he has not moved, and Emma knows this can’t be easy for him. She’s never been inside the war zones that she’s only heard about, but she’s seen her fair share of the aftermath of them in hospitals and on transports — and the fact that Killian’s wounds are by far the worst she’s ever witnessed can only mean that what he went through is far beyond what anyone should have to endure. 

Killian is sitting at the table, a well-worn map spread out in front of him. They have been laying low for a few months now, taking advantage of the silence that the Prince promised the last time they saw him. There was a plan somewhere in his imagination, they could all tell, but it wasn’t time for them to learn it yet, either for their own protection or because he did not yet feel confident enough in it. 

Either way, the six of them were thankful for the opportunity to have a few weeks to recuperate before they’re needed again. 

It’s far from anywhere Killian ever pictured his life taking him, working with an elite group of soldiers hand-picked by the Prince of the Gale, going on secret missions and working closely with the man who was once his enemy — before Killian lost everything and was saved by the Prince himself, pulled from the water moments before he was ready to give up. 

It’s far from anything he pictured, but there's nowhere else he would rather be. 

All he has ever wanted to be is an honorable man, someone his brother would be proud of, and the day he learned that it meant rebelling against Gold and Nephilysis — the day he lost his brother, the only friend he ever had — was the day everything changed. But these men, the men that he has been working with for almost four years now, are some of the most honorable men he has ever known, and he is proud to count himself among their ranks, only hoping that they feel the same way about him.

The house is almost silent, four of them out hunting and gathering supplies, leaving just Killian and Phillip, with Phillip puttering around the kitchen. Every once in a while, the sound of a pot or pan, or Phillip muttering to himself, makes its way to Killian in the living room. 

But other than that, silence. 

And then, suddenly, it is no longer silent, the door slamming open followed by the obvious bang of gunfire taking out Phillip as someone comes around to where he is sitting. In the time it takes Killian to turn towards the ruckus, it is over, the tendrils of dark magic coming from the fingers of the man — only referred to as such because Killian’s dealt with him before, a monster in the body of a young boy — wrapping around his limbs, chilling him to the bone. It’s a feeling that he’s tried to forget over the last ten years, once that’s haunted his nightmares along with the screams from that fateful day. 

“Well, well, well, look who I’ve found,” he says, his voice as clear and emotionless as he remembers. 

(As he’s tried to forget every night for the last ten years.)

“If it isn’t our friend the wanna-be pirate captain.” 

With those words, Killian immediately knows what he’s up against, knows exactly who is still standing in the kitchen. 

Pan squeezes his hand, the tendrils of black magic wrapping tighter around his body.

And then everything goes black. 

  When he wakes, it’s raining. He’s laying in the mud, feels it seeping into every crevice of his clothing, already caking against his skin. He’s been there for a while. When he goes to move, he realizes that he has been chained to the side of the building, his chains shimmering with what he knows is dark magic. He’s also fairly sure he’s been drugged, with the world moving slowly and groggily around him. 

Slowly, the memory of what happened to him comes back: sitting at the table with the map, Phillip in the kitchen, the intruders. He never even got the chance to see if Phillip was alive — though, given who the intruders were, he highly doubts it. He wonders if they also found the rest of the men who were staying in the cottage out in the woods, if they killed each of them as quickly as they killed Phillip; or perhaps some of them are here with him, caught off guard and abducted just as he was and are chained to other parts of the building, or other buildings. 

He hopes not. He hopes, deep down, that if they were not lucky enough to be left alone, that they were lucky enough to find their ends quickly and not waiting for what can only become an excruciating end at the hands of the enemy. 

Especially this enemy in particular. 

It’s impossible, he knows it, but there’s something inside of him that wants to believe escape is possible. He’s been through his fair share of hardships, has fought and snuck his way out of camps before, but never under the nose of powerful dark magic. The cold rain begins to restore his focus, the grogginess of whatever he was drugged with wearing off, and he closes his eyes to focus on a few slow, deep breaths. Before long, he feels more like himself again, and begins to test his luck: seeing just how tightly the chains are wound around his arms, trying to turn and see how the chains are attached to the building. 

“You’re not getting out of this one that easily, Jones,” a voice says, moving through the rain. “You see, I’ve been told that you have something I need.” He knows the voice is familiar, the memory buried somewhere deep inside him, but between his exhaustion and the haze of Pan's magic, it doesn’t come back to him until the figure appears through the sheets of rain and leans against the building beside him, the tail end of a still-lit cigarette held between his teeth. 

Killian says nothing. Baelfire, he has learned, is the most spiteful being he's ever met — not completely surprising, given his father is Gold the Elder, both the most powerful and most corrupt leader the world has ever seen; and he has ended up powerless, a scientific anomaly in a completely magical line. So, while the questions come to him all at once, barraging his mind — are any of the other men alive? What did you do to Phillip? Why are you working with Pan? — he says none of them. 

"My father has given me a mission, sending some of the most powerful members of his army under my command, and we only need one thing. One thing that I've been told you could be the key to finding. Imagine my surprise when I heard your name again, through the lips of one of my informants, after all these years: the man I thought I killed when I sent him falling through the air and into the icy waters of the Northern Mountains. So, Killian Jones, the pirate who apparently can't be killed, this is the first and only time I'm going to ask you nicely: where is Prince David?" 

Anything else, and Killian probably would have answered immediately, having already escaped the grasp of Baelfire once before, and having seen first hand the damage Pan can do without even lifting a finger. But this is a question that he really does not have the answer to, and he feels his heart sink, the last bit of hope he held out diminished.

"I haven't seen the Prince for almost a year. I swear to you, that is the truth." 

Baelfire smiles, and it cuts through Killian's chest like a blade of ice. He says nothing, though, and Pan appears through the sheets of rain, a matching smile spread across his face. 

"My apologies, Captain, but I'm afraid that's not the right answer." 

  Ariel bursts through the doors to the safe room, fear obvious on her expressive face, and Killian's recounting of the story stops. "Emma, we need you upstairs. Now." 

But David jumps from his seat first, hand on the pistol he keeps at his side. "What's the problem, Miss Fisher?" 

"There's an enemy patrol here."

“What do you mean enemy patrol , Ariel?” Emma asks very slowly.

“Two of Gold’s men are here, and I’m pretty sure they’re looking for the runaway.” 

Ariel and Emma both turn towards Killian, but David is already moving towards the stairs. 

“Ruby is talking to them right now, but I don’t know how well she can hold them off. They seemed pretty set on searching the whole building, and one of them is a tracker, so I don’t—” 

“David, I think you should stay here,” Emma calls out to him, stopping him on the other side of the door to the safe room, and stopping Ariel’s words before she can spiral into a rambling mess. 

He whips around. “What?”

“This is a maternity hospital. We’re not on one side of the war or the other, and coming up to a patrol from Gold with the Prince of the Gale by my side isn’t really the best way to show that.” 

After a moment, David nods, backtracking the few steps into the safe room, and Emma passes him to the other side of the doorway. “Fine, okay.” 

“And I’m going to close the door behind me.” 

David nods again. 

“I’ll be right back,” she says, herding Ariel out of the room, as well, before closing the door on the two men. 

When Emma pushes through the doors into the main room, Ruby is standing in the open doorway, her body completely shielding the two patrolmen from entering the hospital. 

“If you have nothing to hide, why are you keeping us from entering?” one of them asks, his voice higher than she expected, almost like that of a child, and the words come out slowly and drawn out. 

“This is a hospital. A maternity hospital, full of women staying here because your war took their husbands away without as much of a second thought about how it would affect them. All you will find here, sir, is a dozen women who curse your existence in the first place.” 

“We’ve heard word of some of King George’s men coming here, bringing supplies.” 

Emma speaks up, rushing down the aisle before Ruby can argue with them any longer. “We get supplies from anyone who is willing to offer them.” 

The two guards look past Ruby, who is still blocking the doorway. “Who are you?” the other man asks. 

“My name is Emma Swan. This is my hospital.” 

“Alright, Emma Swan,” the first one says, and Ruby moves to the side to turn to face her, allowing Emma to see him for the first time. His face looks just as young as his voice sounds, save a thick, ragged scar running down his cheek. “If you have nothing to hide, where were you?” 

Emma and Ruby share a glance, but it’s not necessary; Emma already knows where Ruby told the men she was, if she told them anything. “It’s a slow day here, so I was in the basement making a list of supplies that we need.” 

“I don’t think you understand just how dire this situation is, Miss Swan. My tracker here followed the scent of a man who went missing from our camp to this hospital.”

Emma knows that there is no sense in trying to deny the fact that he was here if the tracker followed his scent, so she thinks quickly to come up with something. “I did bring a man in here a few days back who I found bleeding out not far from here. I tried to heal him, but his wounds were too severe and he didn’t make it.” 

“What did you do with him?” 

“I took him to the local battlefield hospital for them to bury him. We deal with life here, and not death.” 

“If you’re lying to us, if you’re hiding him from us, that makes you an enemy of Nephilysis, an enemy of Prince Baelfire.”

“Just as we’re on no one’s side, we are also no one’s enemy. Why would I hide someone here?” 

“Deception.” 

“I have no reason to deceive you.” 

“Then you won’t mind if we take a look around.” 

Shaking her head, Emma puts her hand on Ruby’s shoulder, pulling her further away from the door. “All I ask is that you leave the women in the beds alone.” 

The silent tracker leads the way down the aisle, stopping momentarily at the beds that currently have women in them. Every eye in the room follows the two Nephilim soldiers down the aisle, but the tracker raises no alarms. Emma has given him a reason for Killian’s blood to be here, and she can only hope that Ruby covered his scent beyond the office well enough to deceive the enemy tracker. 

Her breath is heavy in her chest, watching the tracker work his way around her office. The cabinets, her desk, the cot that he spent the first night on — everywhere that makes sense for the tracker to find Killian’s scent. And then he steps out of the office again, turning the opposite direction from the main room, towards the stairs to the basement. 

Takes a few steps in that direction. 

Stands up a little straighter. 

“Did the man go down this hallway?” the tracker asks, his voice much deeper than Emma expected it to be. 

Emma has to think quickly on her feet, needs to think faster than the weight that she is quickly feeling in her chest. She nods. “We took him down to one of the cots in the basement because of the care that he needed, plus to keep a better watch on him since we didn’t know if he was hostile or not.” 

The tracker nods. “And we can go down there?” 

Emma tries to keep her fear off her face. “Yeah, sure.” 

She uses the biometric lock to open the door, leading the two soldiers down the steps with Ruby bringing up the rear. But she moves to the side when they reach the bottom to stand beside her friend. Ruby looks just as nervous as she is, her hands kept behind her back only to be that much closer to the pistol concealed there. 

The tracker moves slowly through the large room, serpentining around the rows of shelves, stopping every once in a while in front of the items they use the most, where she assumes he picks up the most scents and movements. 

But Emma knows none of them are Killian's. 

He reaches the far end of the room, moving along the wall that contains the secret door to the safe room, though his focus still seems to be on the shelves. She can feel her heart pounding in her chest as he moves closer to the spot in the wall that contains her biometric lock, every inch of her body on edge. In this moment, for the first time in a while, she wishes she was carrying the pistol David gifted her when she opened the hospital, wishes she had something other than the small dagger sitting at her hip to protect herself should the need arise — though she wishes even harder that the need never arise in the first place. 

She can tell something is amiss almost immediately, the tracker's eyebrows landing low on his forehead. 

"Is there another room down here?" 

All she does is shake her head, knowing that if she were to speak, her voice would probably falter. 

He doesn't believe her. He does an about-face, placing his hands against the wall, right around the spot where the door is. Bangs on the wall with his fist. Moves down a little further before banging on it again. And then turns around again, though this time to his companion and not to Emma. 

"There's something here." 

They both turn to Emma, who is doing all she can to hide the shaking of her hands. 

"There's nothing there," Ruby says. Loudly. Defensively. 

"If this man says there's another room there, then I believe him. Open the door." 

"I don't know what you're talking about." 

Before Emma really realizes what is happening, the door bursts open on its own, slamming outward to knock the tracker off his feet. 

There's a deafening gunshot, so close to Emma that she can feel the reverberation of the shot through every inch of her body. 

And another. 

She can't move, suddenly paralyzed from shock or fear or — 

No — 

And then — 

Silence.

Slowly, she lets out her breath, her heart pounding in her chest. She thought she got away from all this, from the gunfire and the fighting and the death , only to have it follow her back to her very hospital. 

Someone is talking behind her, Ruby, she thinks, though it sounds like she is talking through water, and Emma is most definitely drowning.

The body of the tracker lays before her on the ground, a single gunshot in his chest slowly bleeding out onto the concrete floor. 

(That's never going to come clean , she thinks, trying to focus on anything except what just happened to her.

Anything except death.) 

"We have to leave. Now." This time, the voice is David's, a little bit clearer. But the message is as clear as day as Ruby wraps her arm around Emma's waist, leading her through the basement. "Jones, do you think you can walk?" 

"No," Emma tries to argue, turning away from Ruby's grip on her. "No, he can't move, not in the state he's in." 

"He has to, Emma. We can't stay here." 

"He needs constant care, morphine and blood and — and —" 

"Magic," David finishes, trying to prop Killian against his side while carrying a pile of supplies in his hand. "He needs Regina." 

"I can't lose this one," Emma says, trying to wipe the memories of what happened the last time from her mind. She's back in that battalion hospital, back in the dirt and the dust trying to figure out how the hell she is supposed to cure something like that , staring down at — 

"Emma, babe, you gotta stay with me here," Ruby says, her voice far away again, and Emma tries to shake herself back to reality. 

Back to Killian. 

Back to action. 

She snaps back, just like that, her mind moving a mile a minute as she focuses on helping get Killian out of the basement and ready to move. "Alright, let me — let me help you, David. Rubes, can you get these supplies? I'm also — shit , I'm going to need to come back down here for more once we get him loaded into the truck." 

"That's good, because I have to call Mary Margaret before we leave and tell her to meet us at Regina's and not here." 

"Oh, she's going to love that," Emma jokes, and David smiles, helping her hoist Killian's good arm over her shoulder, keeping both the wound from his amputation and the one seeping black magic close to his own body. "Now, Killian, this isn't going to be easy, but once we're back in the truck I'll do what I can to ease your pain so that you're able to sleep for most of the ride back to the Gale, okay?" 

It's a side of her that he hasn't seen in the few days he's spent under her care, the side that she thought she left out in the Wasteland when she decided to turn in her uniform and turn to bringing life into the world instead of being surrounded by death. 

(A life that, in the most mundane moments of her current reality, she sometimes allows herself to admit that she misses: the adrenaline, the ability to give hope to a wounded soldier, and sometimes even the danger of it all. What she doesn't miss, though, is exactly what has haunted her, and what has turned up on her own doorstep now: death, destruction, the type of hatred that is responsible for the kinds of wounds Killian now has to go the rest of his life with.) 

She's right, though. Once he's loaded into the back seat of David's truck, sprawled across the bench seat as much as he can manage, whatever she injects into his arm, paired with the small amount of magic she works as it takes effect, eases his pain enough that everything goes dark, his pain subsided for the time being, and he has drifted into a light sleep before they even make it on the road. 

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