#this is /light hearted but at the same time. SIR. this has plagued me for YEARS

[aroaceleovaldez]

also it was a cruel joke on Rick's part to title the first book in his series about/for dyslexic teenagers... "The Lightning Thief." how dare you sir. you know exactly what you did. your target audience will never be able to spell the name of your book correctly.

[sprog-writes]

Soulmates AU but it's like this:

Just like in the real world, the idea of soulmates is just a myth. A story. A part of culture's folklore, but generally regarded to be some kind of romantic thing that's not actually real.

But after Simon gets rescued from the desert, after he wakes up in that coffin, after that brush with death, he starts seeing red threads connect people by their fingers.

He can touch them, sometimes, if he focuses enough. He thinks he's going crazy for a while. Having some kind of hallucinations.

So he does some research, he learns about the strings, and at first it does nothing to reassure him he's not going crazy. But then he finds a forum, a gruochat, something like that, with people recounting their own experiences with it. All with the same common denominator: they died, for a bit. And they didn't stay dead.

He doesn't visit the forum again after that. He still thinks it's bullshit. His eyes don't linger when he sees how a really entangled red line connects Price and Nik. He doesn't stare when he notices two practically invisible circles wrapped around two recruits pinkies, holding each other's fingers while they talk and they laugh.

And he avoids looking at his own hands like the plague. He tells himself he doesn't care. He tells himself it's not important. Not even when the other end of that thread is closer than he'd ever imagined. Not even when the hand it's connected to hits his shoulder.

He does cave, after a while. He spends some time in that forum. It's the only thing he can do not to actually go insane when it feels like his hand is being constantly pulled towards his Sergeant and him with it. Those people... At least they understand. There's a woman who was resucitated after a heart attack. She was declared dead for 2 minutes. When she woke up she thought the strings were because of something wrong with her eyes. When she went online, she couldn't help but stare and agonize about how the father of her children wasn't connected to her. They loved each other, but the universe didn't deem that enough, it seemed. It ended up ruining her marriage.

Some of the people there hated the string, just like her. Predestination doesn't match with everyone.

There's those that are hopeless romantics, who see this as the best thing to happen to them. That pass their days trying to follow the line.

Some others saw their "soulmates" as just their perfect match, but still believed you needed to put in the work to have a relationship.

Ghost doesn't know where he stands.

The more time he spends with Johnny, though, the more he understands how perfect he is for him. He's certainly disappointing some of the people in the forum, proving the universe, Destiny, whoever is responsible for it, right. But he can't help it, when everything that comes out of his Sargeant's mouth makes his eyes crinkle, when every quip and jab is met with equal responses, when seeing those blue eyes light up when he enters a room makes him want to be Simon again.

Price notices. In all the years he came back, Ghost has never been as obviously bothered by the strings as much as he is now. Not since he first thought they were hallucinations.

So, when he finds himself in the Captain's office, he expects some kind of reprimand. A well meaning question about his health.

Instead, he's met with, "Congratulations."

He blinks. "Pardon me?"

"Soap's a good lad. He's got his flaws, but who doesn't?" Price goes to light the cigar he'd been holding when Ghost walked in.

"... I don't follow, sir." He says, even though he knows exactly what Price is implying. He wants the Captain to stop pussyfooting and say it.

Price takes a drag of his cigar and blows the smoke out in a way that doesn't directly hit Ghost, even though it doesn't bother him anymore. "I don't care if you're dating or just fucking or what have you, Simon." He looks him in the eyes when he says his name. It leaves Ghost feeling prickly and oddly vulnerable. "But... You seem happier, lately."

"Fraternization -" the weak excuse he had started to pull out by instinct was interrupted by Price's laugh.

"Son, I couldn't give a single fuck. Look what we're doing here! Look at the people involved. No one cares as long as we get the job done." He chuckles again. And Ghost wants to tell him. He wants to explain about the threads, he wants to ask about Nik, he wants to spill all he feels for his- for Soap. Wants to go to his room, pull him out, kiss him in front of everyone, and intertwine their pinkies just like those rookies were, so that their fingers are so close that the string is barely visible.

But he doesn't. Instead, "There's nothing going on, sir," he tells Price, like a coward.

[abyislan08]

Traversing Teyvat

Chapter 3: Part 2: An Ice Peacock’s Tears

Synopsis: The Cryo vision holder has a chat with you. The events that unfold are not as expected

Authors note: Ayo, I just had to finish the last part today. The rest were ready along with the part 1. Enjoy my lovelies.

Warning: Not proofread.

<1/2/3.1/3.2>

Masterlist

The Knights were pretty well funded inspite of it being an organisation that doesn’t tax people for its services. The hall’s were grand and the rooms were luxurious. The cavalry captain’s office was no exception. The light streamed in through the huge windows. The curtains were partially closed and the walls were decked with maps scribbles and documents. All in a chaotic manner. Kaeya motioned you to take a seat, smiling in a way that you recognised to be his mask. A few moments ago you he was smiling with amusement, but now it was the same smile, the aura was different. A buzzing sound plagued your ears as you sat down. Was it your emotions or was it the fact that your heart was beating in your throat? Whatever it was, the sound wasn’t helping with the situation at all.

You shuffled towards a familiar chair, the one that you repeatedly created in your serenitea pot, all because you wanted to recreate his office.

Confusion and a numbing sense of shock flowed through Kaeya’s mind. Years had he practiced putting on his mask and yet this sense of foreboding shook him and he could barely conceal his emotions. This familiar face he had seen along with a blond headed traveller, The eyes that had kept on watching over him, the voice that seemed to follow him every time. The entity that he thought was imaginary was now in front of him and all he could do was pretend it wasn’t real. It worked once and it work once again. Right? He rested his arm on his chair while he stood looking at the person sitting awkwardly and refusing to look at him, only archons know why.

“ So, About the horse. Since you were very headstrong on getting him to join my cavalry. I might as well get to know him better. Give me a few more details about this future horse of favonious.” Kaeya gestured, “A cavalry captain has the right to know at least that much doesn’t he?”

“His name is Rugby, Brown and has an affinity for….Philanemo Mushrooms.” Of course you couldn’t tell that Rugby who was actually your dog loved dog biscuits. That wouldn’t be realistic. You hadn’t planned anything after meeting Kaeya. So you had to wing it.

“Philanemo Mushrooms?”

“ Yes, cooked in patties, like how Timmie’s mom prepares it. You should try it once. No wonder why Rugby loves it.” You blinked like as-a-matter-of-factly.

Kaeya didn’t budge, his face was hard to read.

He hummed, “ How long have you been in Mondstadt? You seem to know everyone here. Well, better than me I suppose.”

“ It’s been over an year or so, sir. I don’t think this has got anything to do with Rugby I guess.” You said, trying to wheel him away from finding out that you were here for only three days.

“ Yes indeed, but the knights have to verify your background. You could always be a fraud if we aren’t too careful. Lately suspicious people have been popping up in Mondstadt.” Kaeya stared. Scanning you with his starry eye. “You are a part of the adventurer’s guild aren’t you?”

“ What gave it away? I have been a member for an year and half.” You smiled. Of course that didn’t mean your palms weren’t sweaty and you just wanted this nerve wracking interrogation to end.

Kaeya shrugged, “The boldness. How Bold can a commoner be to actually waltz up to the illustrious cavalry captain with a blatant lie and still believe that the captain actually bought it. Only someone who has ventured into the crevices of adventure can have the audacity. Am I wrong?”

Shit. But yet once again you weren’t surprised, You didn’t main him for over 2 years for nothing. This was expected. You had to play it off cool.

You raised your arms in retreat, “ Welp, you got me. As expected of our beloved Captain.” You smiled, “Now then, Please ask away whatever questions you have, Of course a maiden would want to meet the captain to bask in his glory, and the very maiden will have her own ways.”

Kaeya chuckled, It felt slightly off. It wasn’t his usual suave laugh, It sounded forced.

“Guess you have adventured a lot in the past, would you mind enlightening me with your past.”, Kaeya gestured, “I am quite intrigued for I haven’t heard of a ridiculous name such as Rugby. As far as I know, No nation has such ridiculous names.”

“Uhmm. I’d rather not. It’s a long story and will take up your time.”

“Oh~ But you wanted to spend time with me, did you not? Please go ahead.”

“I do not remember where I come from, But I have visited a few places so far.” You had to give him something or else he might sniff you out. You could narrate your commissions in Inazuma. It might make it sound like you came from Inazuma. That sounded right.

“Oh a child from the land of Electro? Pretty rare in these parts of Mondstadt if you ask me.” Kaeya said in a robotic voice. He didn’t seem to be buying it.

“ That is quite the reason why I chose to come to the city of freedom. The shogunate wasn’t my cup of tea.”

He raised his eyebrow. And smiled, he seemed to agree now. “Yes indeed, The Raiden Shogun seemed to put up quite a fight, getting struck by lightning repeatedly isn’t fun in the long run.”

“ Urghh You tell me.”

“ How’s the traveller?”

“ Going to Sumeru. Going to save another nation now.”

He paused. The room grew colder. Strike.

Realisation dawned. You gave away the fact that you fought the shogun. Wait. How did he know that?

Hold up. Are all the vision bearers self aware?

How come Sara didn’t know you? Is it because she was NPC. What about Katheryne? Why isn’t anything making sense? How far does the self awareness extend to?

Your skin had gone cold. Your heart was hammering and you could barely feel your fingers. A ringing pain in your ears, you couldn’t even hear anything clearly. The world started spinning. What is happening?

“Y/N”,

You stared at your feet. No response.

“ The one who controls us. How did you end up here?” His voice was grave. It was almost close to a hiss.

You remained a statue. The shock seemed to numb you entirely. All you could do was zone out.

“ All my life, I thought that you were a hallucination. A voice that seemed to laugh at me and jeer at the choices I made. At first it felt comforting.” He spoke.

“But, whenever the voice popped up I felt my arms move at my own accord. It was as if I was a puppet.”

Puppet. You heard that loud and clear.

“ Mona Megistus once did tell that we were the pawns of fate and we are played by destiny.I laughed it off. But we both knew that what she said was true. She managed to maintain a straight face, Kudos to the all knowing I presume.”

You looked at him. You never knew the reality. His eye seemed to darken. He looked like a kid, who was told Santa wasn’t real. But here It was his reaction to you being real.

Sorry. I am sorry. That word seemed to be written all over your face.

“ Your presence was comforting indeed. In the darkest of times when no soul seemed to even care glance my-our way, I heard your voice. Crying. Sobbing at my fate.” He continued, “ Maybe you were crying at my fate or you were crying for me. Either ways it confirmed that our fate wasn’t exactly in your hands. But we were.”

That one rainy night, Bloody cold and helpless. As he limped towards a home which didn’t seem to exist at that time, when his whole world was spinning as he clutched the ice orb, he heard the voice for the first time. A weak choked voice whispering No. As if it was his mind screaming. Once he got himself somewhere safe he could hear the same voice comforting him or itself. But for some reason, he felt comfortable under its watch.

Guardian Angel I guess.

He looks at you, pale with shock. Guess you didn’t expect this side of story at all. He still wonders what your existence means. Who were you really?

Here you were losing your mind. You read the webtoon and plenty of fanfiction narrating the scene Ragbros angst, but never did you play an event that had the cutscene of that event. But then how did he hear you cry ridiculously when you were drunk and you had reached friendship level 10 with Kaeya and was reading his lore. Did that mean that you going through character stories meant you were at the moment in the story.

It didn’t make sense.

They were under your control. But you cant change their lives either. Other than stuffing them in a ridiculous teapot.

What now?

“Y/N, why are you here?” his voice was distant. He did not look at you.

“I..don’t”

“ My life was anything but free. Of course you know it. From my very birth till today, all I have ever lived is a life that someone else set up for me.” His voice grew louder, but more like a hiss, he seemed to be trembling.

“Just, when I thought it wasn’t half bad and I could actually live life like a dream things went out of control, only for me to get to know that it never was in my control.” Control.

He pushed his chair back. Slammed his fist on the table. Shivering with pure confusion and anger. His eyes watery, his breath heavy. His vision seemed to glow brighter by the moment and the air grew heavier.

“ Do you know how it feels…,” His eyes finally met yours.

The dark blue star dancing frantically, The scar beneath his eye patch pulsing rapidly, “ TO KNOW YOUR LIFE WAS PLAYED OUT FOR THE ENTERTAINMENT OF ONE INDIVIDUAL?”.

The air started frosting, snowflakes fell. Kaeya stared at you. Time froze.

Entertainment.

That was the sake of the development of a game. That was the sake of the creation of characters. But once you took the characters into your life, cherishing them they were given a life.

Now that you know this, what now? All you wanted to do was unlock teleport waypoints to travel around more smoothly.

It’s been more than a minute now. What’s up with Kaeya? The snowflakes didn’t move either.

Crackle.

The glowing vision, sparkled. It started glitching? The table started shifting, the hues started changing. The light pouring through the velvet curtains started changing. The clock started turning back to an hour. Kaeya started walking back to his chair, on his own accord. Glitching.

His eyes seemed to look at you in fright.

What’s happening to me? It screamed.

His mouth seemed to glitch. The room spun. Red and green pixels radiated from you, engulfing the entire room.

Silence. The room was set right. You swore you could here the same ding that you here whenever the game reconnects to the server.

Kaeya was in his place, smiling forcibly, birds chirped near the window. The sun poured in as usual. There was no frost, no snowflakes. The air seemed light.

You knew where to go now.

“ I’ll take care of it captain.” You whispered and walked up to him. Gave him a pat on his cheek and walked out of the door which was just opened by a confused Harry, who was just about to ask the captain why he wanted no one to enter his room. Only to see at a captain looking through his documents and no one else.

[ladyartemesia]

All I Want For Christmas is You

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Female Reader

Summary: When Park Jimin is unable to escort his precious sister through the gauntlet of corporate holiday galas, he blackmails his best friend Taehyung into being her chaperone. After all, who better to safeguard his headstrong sibling than a man who would never want her for himself? (She and Tae have spent the better part of a decade mutually disliking each other, and that’s putting it mildly.) Yet, even the best laid plans may go awry at Christmas and Kim Taehyung is about to discover that the girl he never wanted has become a temptation he cannot resist...

Genre: Comedy • Fluff  • Smut

Tropes: Brother’s Best Friend (Reader is Jimin’s Sister) • Enemies-to-Lovers

Collab: This work is part of the Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tropes Collab featuring original holiday themed works by @ppersonna • @xjoonchildx  • @underthejoon • @yeojaa​ • @untaemedqueen • and @snackhobi

Word Count: 17K (I know—I am shocked too honestly)

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: suggestive photographs • mention of accidentally being hit with a baseball • hints of jealousy and possessiveness • light tit slapping • explicit sexual content • m/f oral sex • consensual unprotected sex (shield it before you yield it y’all) • Viola’s mirror kink makes yet another appearance •

Acknowledgements:

To @ppersonna​ (Lindy) @underthejoon​ (Fal) and @xjoonchildx​ (Ana) you guys are my heart. Your support, willingness to read (and re-read) and give honest feedback made this fic special. Your friendship is my daily dose of awesome. Truly, I love you.

To @untaemedqueen​ (D) all of the above applies to you, but I owe you a little something extra for the LITERAL HOURS you spent in the doc with me. This fic would not be here without you. You kept me moving. You inspired me. You were amazing. Thank you so very much. This story is lovingly dedicated to you. 

To @hobi-gif​ for being the most thorough and incredible beta reader and for having all the important girl chats with me. I think you learned more about my past than you wanted... Either way you made this story better and I am profoundly grateful for the hours of time you spent. I have removed all the Hope-No-No words in your honor. 

To @lemonjoonah​ as always, you knew EXACTLY what I needed to tweak to make this story work. (Gotta pass that Lemon Litmus Test or no dice lol.) My lovely soul twin. You’re a bloomin’ rockstar. 

Please Picture This Taehyung:

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Yes. Because you absolutely owe me.”

“Then send me a bill, not your unmanageable harpy of a sister.”

Jimin raised a single unimpressed brow. 

“Kim Taehyung. It was exactly five years ago today that I carried your drunken naked ass two miles in the rain after you set your clothes on fire and sprained your ankle at that Beta Phi party.” He paused dramatically. “Do you remember what you said to me that night? After I deleted several pictures off phones and paid off half the party to keep it out of the papers?”

The man in question shifted uncomfortably.

“That incident is a bit hazy in my memory. I’m not sure I recall—”

“Jiminie—you’re the best and I—I owe… you. I owe you the most, Jiminie. I do—I owe you a favor—one BIG favor—anything you ask… Even though... I actually like being naked. I don’t think we need clothes. We should all be naked. Everyone. Then there would be world peace.”

Taehyung’s jaw dropped. 

“You RECORDED IT?!”

Jimin grinned, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

“Naturally. And I had it all ready to go—just in case you needed extra convincing.” He crossed his arms and fixed his best friend of nearly fifteen years with a triumphant smirk. “I’m calling in that favor today, Taehyung. Now are you a man of your word or not?”

“He did WHAT?!”

Your mother winced. 

“Jimin was... uncomfortable leaving you alone for the holiday season. He normally accompanies you to the galas but this year—”

“This year I was going to go alone and finally build my reputation as an asset to this family!”

Park Soomin sighed as she watched her daughter pace fiercely around the living room of their luxury suite. 

“No one doubts that you’re an asset, but… in light of recent events...”

Rage and embarrassment flared up in your chest before you could stop them. 

“This is about Milo… isn’t it?”

The silence that greeted your statement was confirmation enough. 

“Are you ever going to trust me again?” you whispered. 

“Oh sweetheart... it isn’t you we don’t trust...”

Tears burned at the corner of your eyes, but you ruthlessly blinked them back. 

You would play along with their humiliating schemes. 

For now.

“So which one of Jimin’s Ivy League brat pack did he blackmail into babysitting me? 

For the first time in the entirety of the conversation, your mother looked truly nervous. 

“Kim Taehyung.”

You tripped over your own feet and face-planted into the sofa. 

“Jungkook, I need to look into faking my own death. Nothing too over the top. Just a tasteful disappearance—”

The man in question could barely restrain his grin. 

“You don’t pay me nearly enough to deal with your mother in the event of your tragic demise and miraculous resurrection.”

“I could pay you more.”

“Or,” Jungkook replied with a heavy dose of judgment coloring his tone, “you could put on this ridiculous tie and stop trying to weasel out of it.”

“Sometimes I wonder why I pay you at all,” Taehyung growled, yanking the tie from the younger man’s grasp. “Clearly I’m not the one in charge.”

“Your words, sir, not mine. Now shall we go over the details and itinerary?”

If Jeon Jungkook wasn’t the best executive aide in the city (and one of his closest friends) Tae would have drop-kicked him right then and there.

“Could you at least try to look like you’re not enjoying this?”

“I’m sorry, sir. It was insensitive of me to ignore your suffering in this delicate time. The trauma of escorting a beautiful woman to a series of glorified buffets weighs heavily upon you.”

Taehyung tightened the tie so aggressively, he almost strangled himself.

“Beautiful woman?!” he wheezed. “We’re talking about the girl who showed up to our formal graduation party looking like she just escaped from Azkaban.”

Jungkook bit the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. 

“Tae… how long has it been since you’ve actually seen Ms. Park?” 

“Seen? Maybe three—four years.”

The heir-apparent of Kim Holdings avoided the public end of corporate culture like the plague, preferring to leave the requisite schmoozing to his personable cousin, Kim Seokjin. 

However, he had crossed paths with his adolescent nemesis in... other ways. 

Taehyung was romancing a lovely young socialite who suddenly ghosted him after someone told her that he wanted at least eight naturally-birthed children. 

Soon after, your favorite charity received an anonymous 30,000 dollar donation requesting that you be featured in the dunk tank for an upcoming benefit carnival and then the same anonymous patron paid for at least fifteen little league teams to attend. 

In retaliation, someone petitioned the National Aviary Society (chaired by a very influential senator’s wife that no one ever refused if they wanted their permits to go through) to make Taehyung the MC at their annual awards ceremony—knowing full well he was allergic to birds (not dangerously allergic—just enough to be miserable).  

Taehyung had sniffled and sneezed through approximately one hundred parrots, parakeets, and other assorted fowl until he was ready to commit murder. 

The last several years had been littered with similar incidents of the two of you taking thinly veiled potshots at one another. 

“I can’t imagine she’s changed very much,” Taehyung bit off absently. His mind was abruptly consumed by how he could get revenge for those demonic birds. 

He didn’t notice the smile creeping over Jungkook’s face. 

“No, sir. I’m sure she hasn’t changed at all.”

Taehyung had only ever had the wind knocked out of him once before. 

He was Dionysia High School’s star pitcher for three seasons and during one particularly tense game against JY Prep, Lim Jaebeom whacked a line drive right into his solar plexus. 

That’s how it felt to look up and see you at the top of the stairs. 

In his head, you were still the mischievous imp from his childhood. Every prank he played was directed at the fierce little fiend with braids and braces who’d knocked him and his date into the university fountain while experimenting with her friend’s skateboard. 

But she was gone… and in her place was something far more dangerous. 

A woman. 

Silken fabric wrapped tightly over curves you definitely didn’t have four years ago. That wild hair had been tamed into shining waves and pinned elegantly at the nape of your neck. The wicked slit that traveled all the way up your thigh teased a smooth shapely leg that all but demanded the viewer fantasize about running their hand up the length of it. 

Suddenly it was very clear why Park Jimin wouldn’t let his sister venture into the corporate cesspool alone. 

Because the sight of you could make a man desperate. 

Betrayal—of all things—slowly crept over Taehyung as you descended toward him like some sort of angel floating down from the heavens. 

His mind went blank. Just watching the seductive shift of your hips as you swayed ever closer felt like a violation of his friendship with Jimin. He could feel the judgmental stares of an imaginary Bro-Code Council boring into him from on high. 

“I see you’ve recovered from your memorable tenure as the Aviary Society’s Master of Ceremonies.”

And just like that the brat was back. 

Taehyung breathed a hefty sigh of relief, secretly thrilled to be in familiar territory with you. 

“Naturally I was delighted to help Senator Mitchell’s wife. In fact, Mitchell’s office just fast tracked all my pending permit requests for the new year.” He tilted forward, coming into your space a bit. “I should really send you a thank you card.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you scowled, breezing past him like an indignant queen. 

Tae could practically see the steam pouring out of your ears. 

“Of course not,” he chuckled.

The first gala of the holiday season was an extravagant annual affair hosted by Min Corp., a Seoul based investment firm that commanded billions in assets. This year, the theme of the event was the Joseon Dynasty and the entire ballroom had been gloriously transformed into a stunning celebration of the Min family’s royal heritage. 

Attendees were gifted their own traditional fan, each uniquely crafted by artisans from Damyang. Taehyung’s was all black with bold silver calligraphy while yours was a beautiful bamboo and silk piece decorated with pomegranate trees. 

You had already whacked three people with it by the time dinner was served. 

“It really is a pity these fell out of fashion,” you lamented. “They’re quite useful.”

“You are deranged,” Taehyung mumbled, massaging his temples in exasperation. 

“Nonsense. I only fanned those who deserved it.”

“Harkins?”

“He was staring at my rack for a solid minute.”

Taehyung could hardly blame the man, it was a battle he himself was losing after all, but Harkins was twice your age and married—therefore his ogling was in especially poor taste. 

“Okay... What about Kang?” 

“He was verbally abusing one of the waitstaff.” 

“Alright, fair enough, but why on earth would you go after sweet old Mrs. O’Malley?”

“She was about to grab your ass.”

Taehyung’s mouth dropped open.

“She’s eighty-five!”

“And still kickin’ apparently.” You shook your head in disgust. “As if I’d whack an eighty-five year-old woman for anything less than non-consensual touching.”

“I- I- mean—surely you must be mistaken,” he coughed. 

“Oh, there’s no mistake. That nasty old crone is a serial offender. She likes to play it off as dementia, but she’s as sharp as a tack. Last year she got a whole handful of Jimin. Honestly, I’d call the police on her, but the commissioner is her grandson so I doubt I’d get very far.”

Taehyung turned to the woman in question just in time to see her totter lecherously toward Jung Hoseok, fingers already twitching in anticipation. 

“Is nothing sacred?” he mused hollowly. 

You shrugged. 

“Many people who accumulate as much as our families have start believing that they are entitled to whatever strikes their fancy.” Your eyes met his with a hint of bemusement. “Surely you should be used to this sort of thing by now?”

“Yes, but I was hardly expecting it from little old ladies!”

The remainder of dinner was a terse affair where you pretended he didn’t exist for the entire meal and he in turn pretended that the spunky young heiress seated to his right was the most darling creature to ever walk the earth. By dessert she was ready to get married and you were ready to vomit. 

Afterward, Taehyung found himself quickly converted to your views on fan usefulness as you began strolling through the crowd intent on strengthening your family’s corporate ties. 

“Kim Taehyung,” you ground out through clenched teeth, “how am I supposed to do business if you keep stabbing everyone I speak to!”

“I don’t know what you’re implying. I’m simply not used to carrying one of these. I may have accidentally grazed a few overzealous individuals—”

“My last three conversations have been rudely disrupted by the blunt end of that accused fan.”

Taehyung crossed his arms smugly. 

“And what of it? Jimin sent me along to keep an eye on you and the gentlemen in question were hardly behaving themselves. No one has to put their hand in my back or lean that close to me when they’re talking business.” 

“That’s because no one wants to get that close to you,” you replied sweetly. “You’re gross.” 

A devastating grin slid slowly over his features as he leaned forward to whisper in your ear. 

“I can think of several women who might disagree.”

He just barely caught the hitch in your breath before- 

“Like who? Miss Blushes-and-Giggles from dinner?”

“Jealous?” Taehyung drawled cockily. 

“Only in your dreams, Kim.” Then, with a deliberate flick of your fan, you turned your back to him. “I’m headed for the ladies room. Do yourself a favor and don’t follow me in.”

It was twenty minutes before Taehyung realized that you slipped out the back entrance of the restroom. 

It took another ten for him to locate you on the balcony flirting outrageously with Min Yoongi. 

The young heir of Min Corp. was just leaning closer to whisper sweet nothings in your ear when a black fan slid right in between the two of you. 

“Lovely weather we’re having,” Taehyung observed cheerfully. His eyes bounced between you and Yoongi with barely concealed fury and you let out a miserable groan. 

“Mr. Kim,” Yoongi cleared his throat significantly. “What an… unexpected surprise.”

Frustration clawed at your chest as your overbearing guardian nodded smugly in response. 

It was time to teach him—and Jimin—a lesson. 

“Yoongi,” you sighed, sliding your hand pointedly through the crook of his arm, “I’m not feeling at all well. Would you perhaps… escort me home?”

Taehyung suddenly looked as if he’d swallowed a live octopus. 

Yoongi grinned, clearly thrilled with the prospect of simultaneously spending more time with you and irritating Taehyung. 

“It would be my pleasure.”

“Jimin is gonna kill me,” Taehyung grumbled as he watched Min Yoongi help you into the passenger seat of his Aston Martin. 

An ugly green feeling he refused to identify twisted sharply in his gut when you smiled coyly at the other man. 

“This is ridiculous,” he snarled to no one in particular before yanking his phone out of his pocket. 

Jungkook picked up on the second ring. 

“Sir?”

“I need you to drive to Ms. Park’s apartment and tell me if she goes in alone or if Min Yoongi goes in with her.”

“You want me to what?!” 

“Just do it!” he snapped, downing an entire glass of champagne before signaling his own driver. 

Fifteen minutes later his phone vibrated from the car seat next to him. 

1 New Message from: Jungkook

Her building has four separate entrances. Which one do I watch? 

Taehyung could practically feel the vein pulsing in his forehead as he scrolled through his contacts. 

You picked up on the fourth ring. 

“Hello?”

“Where are you?”

“Oh it’s you… Wait—how did you get this number?”

“Jimin. Obviously. Now please answer the question.”

“Oh a ‘please.’ Who knew you had manners?”

“Answer the question, Park. I’m tired.”

The distinct sound of a zipper unzipping carried through the speaker. 

“I’m at home, of course. Where else would I be? I just got here like a minute ago.”

He had a sudden vision of Min Yoongi helping you out of your dress. His grip on the phone tightened. 

“Are you alone?”

You snorted. 

“I don’t see how that is any of your business.”

Taehyung saw red. 

“I’m coming over.”

There was a loud crash and several colorful words in at least three different languages. 

“Wha- No! I’m trying to go to bed!”

“With who?!”

“With myself, you idiot!”

“Prove it!”

“Fine! I will!”

The line disconnected and Taehyung swore loudly. He was just about to direct the driver to your building when his phone went off again. 

1 New Message from: Park Gremlin 

He almost choked on his tongue. 

You were clearly in the middle of undressing and—in your irritation—probably hadn’t looked too carefully at the picture you sent.  

At first glance it was simply a shot of your empty room (presumably “proof” that you were alone) but you neglected to consider the floor-length mirror hanging in the far corner…

A mirror that showed you angrily holding up your phone with your gown pooled deliciously around your waist and the soft round swells of your breasts strapped into lacy red lingerie. 

You were exquisite. 

A fierce, hot sensation gripped him ruthlessly, and this time there was no mistaking it. 

Desire. 

Your phone lit up on the bed where you tossed it after snapping a photo for your tightly-wound man nanny. 

1 New Message from: Kim Grinch 

I didn’t know you liked Van Gogh. 

Your head tilted in confusion. 

There was a Van Gogh print in your room, but he couldn’t have seen it because it was behind you when-

Oh NO.

You gasped, scrolling back up to confirm what deep down you already knew to be true. 

… You just sent Kim Taehyung a topless mirror selfie. 

Several miles away, smiling smugly in the backseat of his town car, Taehyung was sure he could almost hear you screaming. 

“Good morning, sir. Which would you like first; the bad news or the worse news?”

Taehyung groaned from underneath his covers. 

“Don’t you ever knock? I could have a woman up here.”

“You’ve never brought a woman up here.”

“Is that the bad news?” Taehyung yawned. 

“No,” Jungkook tossed a small stack of newspapers and printed digital articles into his lap, “this is the bad news.”

Pictures of you, Min Yoongi, and even himself were splashed over the front pages of all of them. 

PARK ANGEL TRADES ONE CORPORATE HEIR FOR ANOTHER AT MIN GALA

WHO WILL WIN THE PARK ANGEL’S HEART? KIM TAEHYUNG OR MIN YOONGI? LET US KNOW IN THE COMMENTS

NEW ROMANCE ALERT? PARK ANGEL LEAVES JOSEON BALL WITH MIN SCION 

“The Park Angel?” 

“That’s what the media calls her... The public is rather fascinated with her actually.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Taehyung mumbled. 

“Of course not, sir. It’s a great mystery.”

As usual, Taehyung chose to ignore his aide’s lethal snark and pressed on to the matter at hand. 

“This is a flaming disaster.”

“Oh I don’t know. I really appreciated the picture of you staring on forlornly while she and Yoongi climbed into the Aston Martin. Takes a real gift to capture all that drama in a single frame.”

“Which one was that?!” 

“It’s right under the MAN DOWN: PARK ANGEL LEAVES KIM TAEHYUNG HEARTBROKEN headline.”

Tae ran his hand down over his face in exasperation. 

“I’m surprised my mother hasn’t called.”

“She has. Twice.”

“I don’t suppose that’s the ‘worse news’ is it?”

“No.”

“Of course it isn’t. I’m never that lucky.” He collapsed backwards into his pillows with a beleaguered huff. “Go ahead then. Tell me.”

“Park Jimin is on the line for you right now.”

After a small eternity on the phone with Jimin (assuring him that NO Min Yoongi had not despoiled his precious sister and YES he would definitely do better next time), Taehyung was forced to attend an impromptu brunch with his mother. It took considerable effort, but he was eventually able to convince her that you were neither breaking his heart nor expecting his child. 

By the time he arrived to collect you for this evening’s event, Taehyung was already sick of hearing your name (he’d spoken it no less than three hundred times since Jungkook woke him this morning).

You were in much the same boat as Taehyung, having spent most of the afternoon pacifying Jimin and clearing up your own mother’s romantic delusions regarding the Min and Kim heirs respectively. 

Tonight’s gala was a Victorian Christmas Ball thrown by the National Literary Fund and the entire venue had been transformed into a Charles Dickens fever dream. 

Unlike the Min Gala (whose theme was guarded like a state secret every year) the Literary Fund’s tribute to A Christmas Carol was tradition and you were dressed accordingly in a custom corset gown with gorgeous detailing. 

Every second of effort it took to lace yourself into the monstrosity was worth the look on Taehyung’s face the moment you slipped off your cape. 

“Something wrong, Mr. Kim?”

Taehyung was desperately trying to look literally anywhere but your chest, where said corset was serving up your breasts like a debauched buffet. 

Jimin. Think of Jimin. Think of what Jimin will do to you. Think of how much trouble she’s caused-

He peeked again.

I would pay a million dollars to suck those tits. 

“Nothing at all,” his voice cracked. 

The itinerary for the evening included performances by a local children’s choir, a traditional waltz, and—of course—dinner.

You both managed to get along without snapping at each other during the choral performance, but as two of the largest donors to the Children’s Literacy Initiative, neither of you could escape being drawn into the waltz. 

The energetic socialite who Taehyung flirted with over dinner the previous night eventually lured him onto the floor while you graciously accepted an invitation from a lovely older gentleman who chaired the Fund’s event committee. 

For the first few movements, you were thoroughly enjoying yourself. Mr. Lee was charming, respectful, and still an excellent dancer despite his advanced age. It wasn’t until a familiar sound caught your attention that the lightness in your chest suddenly felt heavy...

Taehyung was laughing. 

You heard him do so many times over the years, and in each instance, the carefree magic of it never failed to make your heart flutter. 

But now he was smiling down at the pretty little heiress and laughing for her… and the flutter in your chest was accompanied by something else. 

Something that felt an awful lot like longing. 

“Does he know you look at him like that?” Mr. Lee asked quietly. 

Your eyes flew guiltily to his, but it was too late. The old man had caught a glimpse of the secret you buried deeply for more than a decade; so deeply, in fact, there were times you almost forgot it yourself...

Almost. 

“No,” you whispered, “he has no idea.” 

Disaster struck at dinner. 

Taehyung quite liked dancing with the lovely Miss Something-or-Other. She was sweet and funny and (unlike with you) he wasn’t constantly torn between agitation and raging inappropriate lust in her presence. 

The cold shoulder you offered him when he took his seat seemed even more frigid than usual and he spent half the meal wondering what he’d done to earn your amplified disdain when suddenly—

Your hand smacked down on his wrist, seizing it in a vise-like grip. 

Taehyung nearly choked on his steak and was about to give you a searing set-down over your spontaneous grabby-ness when he noticed your expression. 

“What’s wrong?” he whispered, leaning forward in concern. 

“I-I need—” 

It looked as if you were in some sort of physical pain and Taehyung was rapidly becoming worried. 

“I need your help,” you finally managed to whimper and the next thing he knew, you were dragging him away from the table and into one of the secluded alcoves near the main entrance hall. 

“Is there anyone around? Can anyone see us?” The look on your face bordered on unhinged. 

“No. There’s no one. Park, are you okay? What’s going on I—”

“I need you to unlace my dress,” you hissed frantically. 

At that moment, a bomb could have gone off and Taehyung wouldn’t have blinked. 

You, however, were completely preoccupied with your own distress and therefore oblivious to his. 

“My earring broke during dinner and fell down there and now it’s stabbing me—”

Your eyes were beginning to tear. Taehyung remained frozen, still trying to figure out whether or not this was a lucid dream. 

“—it’s definitely pierced the skin and there’s a possibility I’m gonna start bleeding through the fabric—”

The mention of blood snapped him out of his daze somewhat. 

“A-Alright. Just turn around—brace yourself on that wall.”

You quickly did as you were told and Taehyung began to tug fruitlessly at the ties cross-crossing your back.

“Why won’t this—”

His fingers fumbled over the knots, desperately trying to loosen them, but they simply wouldn’t budge. 

“I can’t—I can’t get it. Whoever helped you into this thing made sure you weren’t getting out of it.” 

You whined in frustration and the earring shifted a bit in response. 

There was only one other way to fix this (and you would almost rather be in pain). 

“Taehyung I—” you turned to face him again, forcing your eyes shut before reluctantly doing what had to be done “... I need you to reach down the front of my dress and get it.”

He blinked. Twice. 

“I’m sorry—What did you just—”

“Please, Tae,” you whispered desperately, letting your lip tremble in a way he had never been able to resist, “it hurts…”

He gulped. 

His eyes dropped to the matter at hand.

This is fine. Everything’s fine. She’s in pain, right? You’re basically a doctor right now. You’re just going slide your hand in between the most mouthwatering pair of breasts you’ve ever seen and then—

Taehyung’s manic inner monologue was interrupted by the sound of his own moan. He immediately faked a coughing fit to cover it and prayed you hadn’t noticed. 

(You hadn’t. You were actively being stabbed.) 

“I can’t believe I’m actually doing this,” he muttered, curling his fingers over the scalloped edge of the bodice. 

You bit your lip, desperately trying to hold back any reaction, but when his knuckle brushed the pebbled tip of your nipple, you gasped. 

Oh.

His hand stuttered, lingering a moment too long over the tight little peak as his gaze suddenly shot up to meet yours. Both of you had been studiously avoiding eye contact, yet now it was as if neither of you could look away. 

Taehyung wet his lips reflexively. 

“It’s too tight,” he whispered, “I need more leverage.” 

Then his arm wrapped over the curve of your lower back and he drew you tightly against him, anchoring your hips just enough to fully slip his hand between your body and the corset. 

You were so warm.

So soft...

“I can feel it,” he grunted, “but I can’t get a good grip on it.” 

His mouth pressed into a tight line as he leaned forward, bringing your back up against the wall. You let out a little squeak and his eyes darted briefly down to your mouth before he spoke again. 

“Hold on to me.”  

You nodded and wordlessly slid your arms around his waist.

If you concentrated hard enough, you could almost pretend that this wasn’t one of the most erotic moments of your life. 

You could almost pretend that it meant nothing. 

Your mind was spinning wildly, wondering what he was thinking, wondering if he noticed how strangely you were breathing or how hard your heart was beating...

“I’ve got it,” he murmured. Shivers shot down your spine at the dark timbre of his voice. 

He was so close. You could feel every word he spoke brushing softly against your skin. 

“On ‘three’ I’m going to pull it out… Are you ready?”

You drew in a final steadying breath. 

“Do it.”

He nodded. 

“One… Two… Three—”

Taehyung yanked his hand back and several things happened at once. 

Your breasts bounced almost entirely out of the corset. 

The decorative clasps on the front of your gown tangled with the buttons on his shirt and when he pulled back, three of them went flying off like stray bullets. 

And finally, the corset didn’t relinquish Taehyung’s hand quite quickly enough and, as a result, you toppled forward and crashed down on top of him, smashing your newly bare breasts to his newly bare chest. 

It could have been ten seconds or ten hours that passed by while the two of you lay there, breathing heavily in a pile of confused arousal when—

“... Is… everything alright here?”

You both looked up to find a thoroughly scandalized member of the waitstaff standing over you. 

Taehyung saw his life flash before his eyes—ending (of course) with Jimin murdering him for this. 

He gulped again. 

“I can explain.” 

It was decided—for the sake of appearances—that you would both leave the venue (immediately) in separate vehicles. 

Taehyung dropped a cool three hundred in crisp bills on the unfortunate waiter in order to help him ‘forget’ whatever he may or may not have seen. 

Neither of you spoke another word to each other in the ten minutes it took to bribe all the appropriate parties, gather your coats, and call for two separate town cars. 

Something had happened when he touched you; a subtle shift in the precarious balance of your relationship that you both felt keenly, but could not possibly begin to define. 

Taehyung barely even remembered climbing into the back of a vehicle. His body was firing on auto-pilot after the sensory overload of the last half hour. It wasn’t until he was nearly home that he realized he was still holding onto your earring. 

His mind began to wander as he examined the troublesome bauble in his palm. It was a striking piece; deceptively complex and unexpectedly beautiful. 

Just like you.

He told himself that the heat pooling low in his belly was anger—that the strange anxiousness to be near you was simply a desire for retribution—that it was merely platonic curiosity that left his hands aching to explore the rest of your curves. 

Lies.

… and pitifully transparent ones at that. 

Still, he clung to them desperately out of self-preservation. 

The gentle hum of his phone suddenly disturbed Taehyung’s silent contemplation. 

1 New Message from: Park Gremlin 

I made it home safely. 

Taehyung’s fingers were typing a reply before he could properly consider the consequence of his actions. 

To: Park Gremlin

I require proof… like last time. 

He nearly threw the phone the moment he sent it, running his hands down over his face in disbelief. 

You’re playing with fire, Kim Taehyung. 

And he was burning up already. He had no business sending you texts like that. Maybe you wouldn’t catch it. Maybe he could just-

The phone went off again and it was embarrassing how quickly he scrambled to open your response. 

His heart stuttered in his chest. His breathing ceased entirely-

And he knew—he knew—there was no coming back from this.

At first glance the photo was nearly identical to the shot you sent him last night. Same room, same angle… 

same mirror.

Yet this time, the reflection was quite different. 

The temptress in the glass wore nothing but that sinfully delicious corset and a pair of silky lace thigh highs, each accented with a green satin bow. 

He wanted to rip them off with his teeth. 

 “Oh Taehyung,” he whispered, as a dark wave primitive longing tore through him, “you are in so much trouble.”

Across town (buried beneath a pile of blankets) you were still struggling to process the boldness of your own actions when his response lit up your screen. 

1 New Message from: Kim Grinch

Green is my favorite color. 

“WHERE IS HE—”

Taehyung awoke to a series of crashes and shouts echoing from the floor below him. 

Jungkook was already seated in the corner of the room reading a newspaper. 

“Good morning, sir,” he said without looking up. “Would you like the bad news or the worse news?”

Suddenly the french doors of his bedroom slammed open and one very irate Park Jimin stormed through. 

“I swear I should have seen this coming. The two of you have always been obsessed with each other, but I never imagined—”

Taehyung’s eyes widened guiltily. He quickly schooled his features into a confused glare. 

“Jimin, I’ve only been awake for fifteen seconds. What the hell are you talking about?!”

Another stack of newspapers hit his lap and this time the pictures were mostly of him with his shirt ripped halfway down his chest. 

KIM HEIR AND PARK ANGEL CAUSE AN OLD-FASHIONED SCANDAL AT VICTORIAN BALL

FORGET MISTLETOE: KIM TAEHYUNG DISCOVERED UNDER THE PARK ANGEL AT CHRISTMAS CELEBRATION

NAUGHTY NOEL? PARK ANGEL’S STEAMY AFFAIR WITH CORPORATE PRINCE 

PARK ANGEL TOPS KIM TAEHYUNG’S CHRISTMAS TREE

He winced a bit at that last one. 

“You have ten seconds to explain before I start throwing things.”

Taehyung opened his mouth to do just that, but he was interrupted when his mother marched into the room waving the same articles that Jimin had just thrown at him. 

“KIM TAEHYUNG I raised you better than this! How could you!? That poor girl!”

“Mother!” he squeaked, yanking his blanket up over his chest like a frightened debutante. 

Jungkook began surreptitiously filming the whole debacle from the corner. 

“Indeed,” Jimin added darkly, crossing his arms over his chest, “how could you?”

Taehyung sighed heavily. 

“Is anyone else going to come charging into my bedroom?”

“Just answer me once and for all, is she pregnant?” 

“WHAT?!” 

“NO! Mother! Oh my—”

“Why does your mom think my little sister is pregnant?!”

Taehyung waved his arms wildly in exasperation. 

“My mom thinks everyone is pregnant! You know this!”

Jungkook could no longer contain his hysterical cackling. He very nearly fell off the chair trying to hold it all in. 

“Mr. Jeon,” Taehyung ground out irritably, “if it’s not too much trouble, could you please escort everyone out of my bedroom so I can get dressed!” 

“So you see—I was basically like a doctor,” Taehyung finished emphatically. 

He spent the past twenty minutes explaining to the entire table (which now included both you and your mother) why it was necessary to shove his hand down the front of your dress. 

Park Soomin had shown up at his door looking for answers (and dragging you behind her like a sacrificial lamb) about three minutes after Jimin. 

You had taken one look at Jimin’s murderous expression and insisted that the situation be evaluated over breakfast at the cafe down the street (where there were lots of witnesses). 

Which was how you, Taehyung, Jimin, and both your mothers ended up discussing your cleavage over coffee in a public restaurant. 

Jimin was the first to break. It was a few snorts at first, but he was basically in tears by the end of it, wheezing about how he never doubted Taehyung for a second and holding on to his sides from laughing too hard. 

Taehyung’s gaze met yours for a brief, heated exchange. He conveniently forgot to mention your slightly-less-than-explainable ‘check-in’ texts, but their existence was palpable in the air between you. 

“I think I’ll take a walk,” you muttered, excusing yourself from the complicated atmosphere at the table. 

Taehyung’s eyes lingered on you a tad too long as you wandered away, a fact that wasn’t missed by either of your mothers.

“Just a few more events and you can go back to not seeing her at all,” Jimin chuckled, patting him on the back. 

“Yeah,” Taehyung answered with a tight smile. “That’s… great.”

The cafe had a lovely little balcony area decorated with all sorts of comforting Christmas foliage. It was far more inviting than the awkward conversation and confusing stares you and Taehyung had been trading all morning. 

For the first time in the nearly fifteen years of your relationship (such as it was) you didn’t know where you stood with him… and it bothered you more than you cared to admit. 

Taehyung had always been important to you, whether you wanted him to be or not. He mattered—effortlessly—from the first moment you met him and continued to do so without regard for your sanity. 

Whatever was building between you now would almost certainly bring change… though what kind of change was anyone’s guess. 

It was hard to imagine the years ahead without the strange excitement he always brought to your life, but some things were simply out of your control…

“I never thought I’d see you here.”

A profoundly unpleasant feeling (something similar to falling through the ice on a frozen pond) overtook you. 

“Milo.” Even saying his name felt gross. You sighed. “What is so strange about seeing me here?”

The man in question blushed in a way you once found irresistible. 

“I looked for you everywhere. All your usual places—”

“I avoided them.”

I avoided you. 

Milo nodded. 

“I—I figured.” 

He took a step closer and you instinctively moved back. The hurt in his eyes was unmistakable, but you had long since become immune. 

“What are you doing?” you hissed angrily. “I thought I made myself clear the last time we spoke.”

“Yes, but—” his hand reached out to curl over your forearm and you recoiled, “you didn’t give me a chance to explain—”

“Excuse me.” 

You both turned to see Kim Taehyung with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at Milo like he was a roach that crawled across his dinner plate. 

“Your mother sent me to come find you. She wants to leave.” 

You nodded and moved to pull away, but Milo’s grip tightened on your arm. 

“No—please if you just give me a minute—”

“That is enough,” Taehyung snarled, seizing the other man’s hand and forcibly removing it from your person. He angled his body between the two of you protectively. “I think it’s time for you to go.”

Milo’s eyes narrowed. 

“You’re Kim Taehyung. I read all about you in the papers this morning.” His lips twisted into an ugly sneer as he addressed you. “You really think you’re better off with him if that’s the way he treats you?”

Taehyung tensed menacingly beside you, but you laid a gentle hand on his arm to calm him. 

“None of that is any of your concern.” Your gaze rose to meet his defiantly. “Nothing about me is your concern anymore.”

Milo’s eyes fell to where your palm rested on the other man’s sleeve, noticing the way you both unconsciously leaned toward one another. 

“This isn’t over,” he muttered, storming off. 

After he was gone, you let out a breath you hadn’t known you were holding. 

“Thank you,” you whispered (though you couldn’t resist adding), “I could have handled it myself of course…”

Taehyung laughed. 

“Oh I know. I was at that party where you knocked out Tyler Jung for grabbing your ass.” 

You grinned. 

“I’d forgotten about that.”

“Well I’m sure Tyler hasn’t.” 

(He neglected to mention that he split Tyler’s lip behind the library the next day, just to make sure it was extra memorable for him.) 

“I wish I could forget about Milo.”

“... Are you still in love with him?” 

The words tasted like ash in his mouth. 

“No.” You smiled softly. “I’m not sure I was ever in love with him actually. It’s more—” you sighed, “—embarrassment… wounded pride.”

Taehyung tilted his head curiously and you found yourself continuing. 

“In the beginning, he was very playful and charming—and obviously handsome. He reminded me so much of—”

you. 

You cleared your throat. 

“Anyway… I was quite taken with him at first. I didn’t suspect any ulterior motives.” You shrugged, trying to hold back the unpleasant emotions that always threatened to overrun you in moments like this. “I just thought he liked me.”

Taehyung’s eyes filled with sympathy and understanding as you spoke. It felt oddly natural to open up to him this way. 

“Jimin is very protective of me—with good reason it turns out. He was suspicious of Milo and hired people to do some discreet digging.”

Your hands wrapped around your body for both warmth and comfort. 

“Milo’s family owns several companies, just like ours, but they’re all struggling. His father sent him to me hoping that he would eventually get compromising information… a sex tape or photographs—something of that nature. They intended to blackmail Jimin into doing business with them.”

Taehyung felt his jaw clench painfully. Fury, hot and profound, rolled through him. 

“I should kill him.”

You shook your head, amused in spite of yourself. 

“That’s exactly what Jimin said.”

“He has good instincts.”

“Scum like Milo aren’t worth it,” you chuckled. “He never got what he wanted… but I was still mortified. I felt like such a fool for believing him.”

“No,” Taehyung’s hands slid up to cup your shoulders, “it’s not foolish to believe that someone cared for you.”

It would be so easy to care for you. 

“Besides…” his eyes fell briefly to your lips as he searched for the right words, “I saw the way he looked at you and—even though he’s clearly a terrible person—I believe his feelings may have been genuine.”

You nodded. 

“That’s what he keeps trying to tell me—that he did have bad intentions, but ended up falling for me anyway.” You shook your head. “As If I could believe a word he says.”

The silence between you stretched comfortably. Taehyung sensed you had more to say, so he waited until you were ready to voice it. 

“I think that’s why I’m so sensitive about handling things on my own lately… and just now even. I want to prove to everyone—to myself—that I’m not a liability.”

“Hey,” he whispered, tipping your chin up till your gazes met, “no one thinks you’re a liability. And even if you are capable, no one should have to fight their own battles all the time—especially when they’re emotionally compromised…” His thumb gently brushed away the small tear that escaped down the curve of your cheek. “That’s the benefit of having people who care about you.”

“... Like you?” 

The words left you so softly, you could almost imagine they were still in your head where they likely should have stayed. 

Taehyung’s eyes widened in surprise. His gaze became even more intent and you ceased breathing altogether. After a moment his lips parted as if he was about to speak- 

“What’s going on, guys?”

You both jerked back at the sound of your brother’s voice. He was standing in the entrance to the balcony, gaze darting suspiciously between the two of you. 

Taehyung was a bit dazed, but you were always quicker on your feet. 

“I ran into Milo… Tae was calming me down.”

Jimin’s eyes hardened immediately. 

“Where is he?”

“Long gone,” you mumbled, ambling over to the familiar warmth of his arms. “I just want to go home.” 

The Black and White Ball was one of the most coveted invitations of the holiday season. 

The dress code was quite strict (all black or all white—no exceptions) and it was one of the few events where people actually arrived in limousines. 

Taehyung loathed limousines. He felt absurdly pretentious pulling up to your building in such a gauche ride, but traditions and appearances meant too much in his world to simply disregard them. 

His ensemble for the evening was a beautifully tailored black suit with hand-stitched baroque detailing. Oddly, he found himself wondering what you would think of it... 

“You look like a vampire.”

Taehyung turned at the sound of your voice and was struck, yet again, by how incredibly beautiful you were. 

You had chosen to wear white, donning an exquisite gown with delicate pearl beading and a daring sweetheart neckline that molded perfectly to your frame. 

If he looked like a vampire, you were surely an angel. 

Still…

Angel or not, he couldn’t let that comment pass. 

“I think I’m offended.”

“I can’t imagine why. After all, loads of women are attracted to Nosferatu.”

Taehyung’s eyes narrowed. 

“There are so many sexy vampires in popular culture, but you just had to lump me in with the creepy bald one...”

You shrugged playfully. 

“I wouldn’t want you to think I was going soft.”

A wicked grin danced over your lips as you strolled past him regally—just as you had many times before... 

This time, however, he let his eyes linger a little longer on the view. 

Lord have mercy. 

“Of course not,” he coughed. 

“You’re what?!”

You rolled your eyes.

Tonight had been going rather well. 

The two of you formed a mutual unspoken agreement to pretend that your last encounter on the balcony (and on the phone) had never happened and (despite the heated glances you occasionally traded) the bickering and playful banter characteristic of your relationship had all but returned to normal...

Until Taehyung learned of your participation in the evening’s main event. 

“I told you, I’m part of the date auction this year.”

“Does your brother know about this?!”

“I didn’t see any reason to bother him with it.” You were suddenly preoccupied with your nails. 

“Woman,” Taehyung sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “are you trying to make my life difficult?”

“No, I’m just naturally gifted in that respect.”

You turned and began making your way to the front, but Taehyung was hot on your heels and clearly not ready to let the matter rest. 

“I cannot believe you’re actually going through with this! It’s not 1810, you know. We shouldn’t just auction off women for dates—”

“You’re absolutely right, Tae Tae.” You brushed a condescending pat over his cheek. “Nowadays we auction off the men too.”

Then you sauntered off to join the rest of the participating women—and men—backstage, leaving Taehyung to stew about the entire situation from the crowd. 

“As you know, all proceeds from tonight’s auction go to fight childhood hunger right here in our city. For legal purposes, I must advise all bidders that you are only bidding on the company of the individual in question.”

Taehyung shook his head. “Jimin is probably going to kill me for this.”

“If you place the winning bid, then you and your date will receive two VIP tickets to the Governor's Winter Wonderland Gala which comes with a variety of amenities including; a luxury limousine service, one of the private and famously romantic Winter Wonderland dinner experiences—”

His eyes fluttered shut. “Jimin is definitely gonna kill me for this.” 

“—unlimited free drinks, ten complimentary tickets for each of the grand prize raffles, photos with the Governor and his family, along with many more surprises!”

Taehyung grabbed a champagne flute from a nearby waiter and downed it in one go. 

“And now for our first date of the evening! Mr. Jackson Wang!” 

Jackson went for a cool six grand because no one was brave enough to outbid his girlfriend. 

After him, the beautiful Manoban heiress and her handsome cousin Kim Namjoon went for twelve grand each.

Jung Hoseok started a frenzied bidding war between two young socialites and Mrs. O’Malley. He ended up going to the lovely Ms. Ana Fallon for a staggering twenty thousand dollars. 

Taehyung’s own cousin, Kim Seokjin, paid a jaw-dropping twenty-one thousand dollars for Lin Yuna, the young CEO of Lin Cosmetics. (Taehyung made a mental note to ask him about that later.) 

Then it was your turn. 

“The next lady on our list needs no introduction. The lovely Park Angel has graciously agreed to a date with one lucky bidder tonight! Who will it be? Do I hear ten thousand?”

“Ten thousand.”

Taehyung swung his head toward the first bidder and breathed a sigh of relief. 

Tam Martin, one of your best friends and very gay. 

“Eleven thousand.”

“Twelve thousand.”

“Fifteen.”

“Sixteen thousand dollars.”

“Seventeen thousand.”

“Eighteen.”

Taehyung was having trouble keeping up with all the bidders. His ears were starting to ring again and a strange unpleasant nausea was building in his stomach. 

“Twenty thousand.”

“Twenty-five thousand.”

“Thirty thousand!”

At the sound of the last bidder’s voice, you noticeably paled. Your eyes flew to Taehyung’s and immediately he knew exactly who it was. 

Milo.

Before he could even react to the new information, another voice joined the fray. 

“Forty thousand.”

Min Yoongi smiled smugly from the other side of the room and even had the audacity to throw you a wink. 

You smiled shyly at the young heir’s boldness and Taehyung felt something downright unholy rise up in his chest. 

No. 

Milo was still bidding. 

“Fifty thousand dollars.”

Not her. 

“Sixty,” Yoongi countered.

She’s mine. 

Suddenly Taehyung was on his feet. 

“One hundred thousand dollars!” 

The silence in the backseat of your limousine was deafening. 

Tension charged the air like an electric current as the significance of the last hour weighed heavily between you. 

The spacious luxury vehicle allowed you to sit facing one another. Taehyung’s eyes were focused on his hands, but you were looking at him—letting your mind run wild with speculation. 

And hope. 

Part of you was still there, on the stage, watching him stand up and bid a fortune for the pleasure of your company. 

His gaze was so fierce when he spoke, like an ancient emperor calling out his decree for the people to obey. 

You dreamed about him bidding on you when you signed up for the auction (even before Jimin bullied him into accompanying you). You let yourself imagine him speaking out again and again till the others stepped back—

Yet you never dared hope for it. 

However, the last several days marked an unexpected turning point in your relationship. 

For years, you and he were like magnets with a too-similar charge, but something had shifted irrevocably between you, and somehow your stubborn similarities became opposites that could not resist their attraction. 

Kim Taehyung was one of the wealthiest men in the city…

But he didn’t need to buy your heart. 

It had always been his, even if you didn’t want to admit it. 

He had claimed you tonight—and every single soul in that ballroom knew it. 

The next move was yours and you intended to make it. 

“Mmm,” you hissed a bit, bringing your hand to rest just below your breasts. 

Taehyung’s gaze flew up in concern. 

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes, it’s just that scratch from the earring,” your fingers rubbed gingerly at the spot, drawing his focus to it, “it still stings.”

“Oh… I—” he shook his head, “I didn’t realize it was that bad.”

“Do you want to see?” 

Taehyung’s eyes rose slowly to yours. 

You watched the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he considered your words. Anticipation vibrated through your blood like notes struck on a piano—

Then he nodded...

And you both were lost. 

Trembling fingers slid the zipper down the side of your gown. The dress itself was a marvel of physics designed to support you without the need for a bra. 

Taehyung drew in an impossibly deep breath as the fabric drifted to your waist, baring the perfect mounds of your breasts to him entirely. 

“Here,” you whispered, pointing to a small red mark just under the curve of your left one. 

He bit back a moan. 

“I—I see. That looks… painful.” His fingers dug into the seat beside him. “Is there anything I can do to help?” 

You nodded. 

“Kiss it better.”

Taehyung felt the air knock out of his lungs like a sucker punch. 

This must have been how Adam felt when Eve offered him the forbidden fruit all those millennia ago. 

He knew he shouldn’t—

but he could never deny you. 

“Of course.”

You watched as his tongue darted out to wet his lips. He looked like a man possessed and you reveled in the power of it. 

It was for you. 

He wanted you. 

Your back arched up the slightest bit, beckoning to him—offering him a taste of what he was so desperately craving. 

Touch me… please. 

Large palms landed on either side of your thighs, bracing him on the seat beneath you. The tip of his nose teased the delicate line of your collar bone and he swore violently under his breath. 

Then his lips were on your skin and your mind went blank. 

“Taehyung—“ you moaned. 

Hot open-mouthed kisses spread over the soft swell of your breast and you gasped— shuddering helplessly as a fierce wave of pleasure tore through you.

Sweet merciful heavens. 

Over the years you imagined a moment like this thousands of times in your head—only to discover now that you had pitifully underestimated both his passion and his skill. 

You had dreamed of a quiet fire—but he had unleashed an inferno. 

The lewd sounds of his mouth nipping and sucking at your tender flesh filled the small space around you as he poured himself into each obscene contact—stopping briefly to flick his tongue over the taunt peak of your nipple. You trembled breathlessly at the sharp snap of sensation, letting your head fall back against the seat as you buried your fingers in his soft curls. 

“T-Tae—”

Finally his mouth fastened over the tiny scratch, and the kiss deepened. You knew what he was doing, what the result of his efforts would be—

He was marking you. 

And you wanted it. 

Oh how you wanted it. 

Suddenly the car took a sharp turn, causing Taehyung to lose his grip on the seat. His arms wrapped around your torso for balance, dragging you fully against him.

“Does it feel better, Angel?” he growled. 

You nodded frantically and he nipped at the underside of your breast. 

“Speak up.”  

“Yes, Taehyung,” you whimpered, “it feels so much better.” 

“Mmmm,” he hummed, brushing his mouth along the sensitive column of your neck. “Who knew you could be such a good girl?”

Then his hand came up to grip your chin, turning it so your lips were almost against his—

“Madame. We’ve arrived.”

The driver’s voice cut over your senses like a shard of ice. 

Taehyung jerked backward and immediately buried his face in his hands. 

Your fingers hastily yanked your dress up and you stumbled out of the car in a daze, letting your feet carry you forward until you collapsed on top of your bed. 

Did we just...

You hadn’t even begun to collect your thoughts when your phone buzzed from inside your purse. 

1 New Message from: Taehyung 🙄🥴🙈

I need to know you made it safely to your room. 

You grinned. 

Greedy boy. 

Back in the limousine, the boy in question was nervously tapping the corner of his phone against his chin as he waited for your reply. 

1 New Message from: Angel 🤬🥵😅

Oh? But you saw me walk in… and I’m already in bed.

Taehyung growled in frustration. 

She would be a tease. 

To: Angel 🤬🥵😅

I tend to worry. Put my mind at ease. 

He shook his head. 

I have officially gone insane. 

The phone buzzed again. 

1 New Message from: Angel 🤬🥵😅

Well… We can’t have that can we… 

Taehyung literally felt the whine tear out of him as he opened the picture. 

Your gorgeous body (the body he’d had his hands and mouth on for one glorious minute) was nestled decadently atop a pile of fluffy blue blankets and wrapped in nothing but a tiny silk robe. 

The neck gaped open just enough to show off the pretty red marks he left on the delectable curve of your breast. 

He groaned, biting down hard on his bottom lip.

To: Angel 🤬🥵😅

That's all I get after I made the pain go away? Good girls send real proof, Angel

The screen lit up again almost immediately. 

1 New Message from: Angel 🤬🥵😅

Guess I’m not such a good girl after all...

Jimin came tearing through the Kim Manor front gate at precisely 7 AM—only to find Jungkook camped out at the entrance with several outdoor space heaters and a giant mug of hot chocolate.

“He told you not to let me in, didn’t he?”

Jungkook took a long satisfying sip of his cocoa. 

“I hope you don’t feel singled out, sir. I’m not allowed to let his mother in either.”

“I need to talk to him.”

“Of course, Mr. Park, let me just pull up his schedule—”

“I need to talk to him now.”

“I’m afraid Mr. Kim is booked solid for the morning.”

Jimin stomped his foot like a petulant child. 

“I know he’s up there.”

Jungkook grinned. 

“You’re welcome to climb the trellis and check. I promise not to stop you if you make it all the way up.”

“COME DOWN HERE AND FACE ME YOU COWARD!” Jimin shouted at the top of his lungs. 

Jungkook took another long pull of his drink. 

“Might I inquire as to the reason for your visit today, sir?”

“The reason for my visit,” Jimin yanked out his phone and angrily began typing into the search bar, “is that your boss paid ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS for my sister at a date auction last night and I want to know what the hell is going on between them!”

The article Jimin pulled up (DEVILISH KIM TAEHYUNG BUYS HIMSELF A $100,000 ANGEL) featured an image of the two of you entering the Black and White Ball. Your head was thrown back in laughter and Taehyung was grinning down at you as if you’d personally hung all the stars in the sky for him. 

A genuine smile crept over Jungkook’s face as he studied the photograph. 

“That’s quite a headline.” He handed Jimin’s phone back. “Have you asked your sister about it?”

“No, I swung by earlier, but she wasn’t home so—” His eyes widened. “Oh my—is she—”

Jimin suddenly took off running for the trellis, and Jungkook scrambled out of his chair to chase him. 

“KIM TAEHYUNG IF MY SISTER IS IN THAT ROOM—”

He was already three feet off the ground when Jungkook yanked him back. 

“I thought you said I could climb the trellis!”

“Yes,” Jungkook wheezed, “but I didn’t think you’d actually do it!” That trellis is a hundred years old! A few more feet and I’d be scraping you off the antique brickwork!”

Jimin scowled and crossed his arms. 

“Are you by any chance open to bribes?”

“Normally yes, but Tae promised to double my Christmas bonus if I didn’t accept them today.”

Jimin continued to eye the trellis speculatively, clearly willing to take his chances. Jungkook sighed and rubbed his forehead. 

“Mr. Park, I promise you… He came home alone last night. In fact, they both returned earlier than usual because your sister had a 7 AM finance meeting.” He paused significantly to glance at his watch. “Which is probably where she is right now.”

“Oh… Well.”

Jungkook bit his lip to hold back a snort and Jimin’s eyes narrowed. 

“He has to come down eventually.”

“One would think.”

The young Park heir glanced toward Taehyung’s window again just in time to see the man in question dart back behind the curtains. 

"I KNOW YOU'RE AWAKE, KIM TAEHYUNG, YOU PHILANDERING SLEAZE BAG!" 

Jimin made another jump for the trellis and this time Jungkook caught him in mid-air. 

“Sir, I’m sure it was just the maid!”

“It’s not the maid! I’d know that raggedy mop of his anywhere!”

Jungkook was out of breath at this point. Park Jimin might be small, but he was fierce. 

“Perhaps it’s best if you took a moment to collect yourself,” he grunted. “There’s a lovely new spa down the street and they sent Taehyung two free deluxe packages.”

Jimin stopped struggling. 

“Oh?”

Five minutes later, Jungkook sighed deeply and fished his phone out of his back pocket. 

“He’s gone, sir.”

“Excellent work, Jungkook. I never doubted you for a second.”

“However…”

“... However?”

“I had to give him your spa passes.”

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

“Are you headed for a gala or the guillotine?”

Taehyung rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t pay extra for commentary.”

“It’s complimentary, sir.”

The Kim heir tugged absently at the material of his absurdly expensive evening wear. 

Why do these events always have to be so uncomfortable? 

“Seriously, Tae… you seem,” the young aide searched for the right words, “unusually tense.”

Taehyung’s mind flashed back to three nights ago when he had his mouth wrapped around your breast. 

“Not at all,” he coughed, loosening the collar of his shirt. 

Jungkook bit his lip.

“Is this about Ms. Park, sir?”

The cufflinks Taehyung was attempting to fasten suddenly went flying across the room and hit a lamp. 

Both men winced. 

“I think that was your grandmother’s.”

Taehyung sighed. 

“I admit there have been… some developments.”

Jungkook nodded nonchalantly, trying to disguise the fact that he was internally frothing at the mouth for details. 

“... Such as?”

Taehyung gulped. 

“It started out rather innocently I suppose…” he cleared his throat, “but there may have been some suggestive photographs.”

“There may have been? Are you not sure?”

Taehyung colored guiltily. 

“Well—”

“Do you need me to check for you, sir? I have an art history degree.”

“Absolutely not.”

Jungkook grinned. 

“That’s what I thought.”

Taehyung yanked his tie out of the younger man’s hand. 

“Things have… escalated a bit.”

“Escalated how?”

I licked her tit in the back of a limo.

“Physically.”

It was everything Jungkook could do to maintain a straight face. 

“That’s… shocking.”

“Then why don’t you seem shocked?” Taehyung grumbled. 

A small smile played across Jungkook’s lips as he pointedly ignored the elder man’s observation.

“So what are you going to do, sir?”

Taehyung was silent for a long moment. 

“I honestly have no idea.”

Watching you walk toward him was an experience.  

Taehyung wondered absently if this was how it would be from now on; if for the rest of his life just the sight of you would be enough to scatter his mind and his pulse and even the way he breathed. 

Your dress tonight was deadly. 

It was a decadent red satin halter that clung to every curve. The truly wicked detail, however, was a daring slit that ran the entire length of your leg. 

Taehyung was certain he was going to trip over his own tongue at some point if he looked directly at you for too long. 

Oh help. 

Memories of your previous encounter flooded his senses. Every second you were getting closer and he didn’t know what to do—what to say. 

So he didn’t say anything at all. 

Not a word when you reached the bottom of the stairs. Nothing but silence as he opened the door of the limo for you. More silence and no eye contact as he settled into the seat across from yours—

And you tolerated that for about three minutes. 

“I never thought I’d see the day when Kim Taehyung didn’t have a comment about something. Perhaps I should mark this down on my calendar.”

The words were lightly spoken, but you were shaking on the inside. The last time the two of you were alone together he had your dress around your waist and you were moaning his name. Now he wasn’t talking and you were torn between panic and irritation. 

Taehyung, however, latched onto your passive barb like a lifeline. 

“Is that a hint of sarcasm I hear from the benevolent Park Angel?” He grinned. “Surely not.”

“Red is not a particularly angelic color. Perhaps I’m feeling feisty today.”

Taehyung leaned back in his seat and indulged himself in a thorough examination of your outfit. The urge to run his hands over the satin-covered lines of your body was nearly unbearable. He curled his fingers into fists to keep them from doing just that. 

She is definitely trying to kill me. 

“Should I be worried?”

Now it was your turn to grin. 

“I guess we’ll find out.”

The Governor’s Winter Wonderland Gala was by far the most extravagant event of the holiday season. Tickets cost a small fortune and sold out almost immediately. 

But it was well worth the price of admission.

Thousands of lights sparkled overhead as you made your way through the great hall of Governor Kim’s mansion. 

It was like stepping into a fairytale. 

Taehyung couldn’t take his eyes off you. The sheer wonder in your expression was breathtaking. 

You were breathtaking.  

“Governor Kim, it is such an honor to finally meet you.”

The Governor was a handsome man in his early fifties with a smile that was every bit as lethal as it had been twenty-five years ago. 

“The honor is all mine, Ms. Park. I trust my nephew is treating you well.”

Your eyes widened. 

“N-nephew?”

Taehyung shrugged. 

“I don’t really talk about it much.” 

The Governor chuckled and you cleared your throat to cover your nervousness. 

“Yes, he’s been a very capable escort.”

“Is that so?” Governor Kim smiled charmingly. “Well if it doesn’t work out, my son Seokjin is still single—”

“Thank you, Uncle. It was lovely to see you as always.”

You squeaked as Taehyung placed his hand firmly on the curve of your back and practically dragged you away. 

The Governor just shook his head and laughed. 

“Oh kid, you’ve got it bad.”

Everywhere you looked there was beauty. 

Whoever planned the gala this year had truly gone above and beyond. Surrounded on all sides by glittering trees and snowy vignettes, it was easy to be swept away in the festive magic of the evening. 

All in all (despite some initial awkwardness), you were having a fantastic time...

Until she showed up. 

“Kim Taehyung! Is that you?”

Every single hair on your body stood on end, but before you could determine the source of the shrill squealing, you found yourself being nudged aside by a blinding golden gown and some very high heels. 

“Aubrey,” Taehyung grunted as five-and-half feet of gorgeous wrapped herself around him like a clinging vine. “Long time no see.”

“Not since that vacation in Aspen,” she giggled. “We had quite a time, didn’t we Tae Tae!”

Suddenly you had the most unholy urge to slap the spray tan right off this woman. 

Instead, you plastered on a vibrant smile and placed your hand on Taehyung’s sleeve.

“Um. Excuse me, Tae Tae, perhaps you could introduce us?”

Taehyung looked as if he’d just been served raw fire ants for dinner. 

“Yes. Of course. This is—”

“Aubrey Alicia St. Valentine,” she interrupted with a smug little smirk. “Taehyung and I go way back.” Her expression grew just the slightest bit tighter. “And you are?”

“His date,” you deadpanned. 

“Aubrey,” Taehyung cleared his throat, “I’d like you to meet Ms. Park she’s—”

“Oh my goodness! You’re Jimin’s little sister aren't you!” Aubrey slapped her hand over his chest and he winced. “That is so precious of you to take her around like this!”

Your eyebrows raised right up into your hairline and Taehyung groaned. 

“Yes, he was kind enough to sign me out of the nursery for the evening.” You offered them both a painfully vacant nod. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I see one of my play-dates near the buffet.”

Then you turned on your heel and sauntered off without another word. 

Taehyung moved to follow you, but Aubrey curled her fingers into the crook of his arm and pulled him back. 

“Oh let her go, Tae. You and I have so much catching up to do.”

Taehyung pointedly removed her hand from his elbow. 

“Some other time perhaps.” 

Aubrey pouted prettily. 

“You’re not running off after her are you? She’s a big girl, she can take care of herself.”

Taehyung crossed his arms and fixed her with a knowing look. 

“Funny... that’s not what you were implying a moment ago.”

“A moment ago I didn’t have you all to myself. Now I do.” She had the decency to blush. “Perhaps I got a bit jealous.”

“You don’t say.” His eyes continued to search the crowd for any sign of you. 

“It seems I had good reason to be,” she murmured quietly. 

“Aubrey... Listen I—”

She cut him off with a finger to his lips.

“Don’t bother Tae Tae. I’m petty, but I’ve never been pathetic.”

He grinned. 

“Never.”

The lady sighed and gave him a heated once over.

“What a shame.”

Then she strolled off with a rueful smile. 

“You know what I don’t understand?”

You turn to find Min Yoongi leaning casually against a nearby column. He looked absurdly handsome as always, but his grin was just the slightest bit mischievous. 

“What don’t you understand, Mr. Min?”

The question was clearly a bait, but you were still fuming from your earlier encounter with Ms. St. Valentine and therefore desperately in need of a distraction. 

Yoongi pushed off the column and lazily made his way toward you.

“I don’t understand how a man pays a hundred thousand dollars for an evening with the most beautiful woman in the city, and then leaves her all by herself.” He leaned forward with a playful grin. “Perhaps you could enlighten me?”

Oh he’s good. 

You made a show of tapping your chin thoughtfully. 

“I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for that one.”

Yoongi sighed and shook his head. 

“Couldn’t be me.”

You laughed then. He really was a delightful man. In fact, if you still had your heart, you might have considered letting him take a shot at it. 

Alas. 

You tilted your head speculatively. 

Surely there was no need to brush away good company...

After all, no one else is interested in spending time with me. 

“Since my escort is otherwise occupied, perhaps you could join me for dinner?”

Yoongi held out his hand. 

“I’d be delighted.”

Taehyung wandered around the mansion for nearly forty-five minutes looking for his date.  

Panic was just starting to build in his chest when he finally spotted you

—at his private dining table with Min Yoongi. 

It was everything he could do not to storm over and yank the other man out of his seat by the lapels. 

Alright, Angel. If this is the game you want to play… then let’s play. 

Taehyung felt his anger rise with every step, but he ruthlessly suppressed any sign of it and instead adopted a charming smile. 

“Min, I didn’t expect to find you here. What a… delightful surprise.”

Yoongi’s expression was just a shade too satisfied. Taehyung could already feel his blood pressure beginning to skyrocket. 

“Yes, Ms. Park believed that you were otherwise occupied and invited me to share the meal with her.”

“I see,” Taehyung practically snarled. “However,” his gaze landed heavily on you, “since I paid for this table, I hope you won’t mind if I join you as well?”

You avoided looking at him up to this point, but now you were choking on your wine

“Easy there, Angel,” Taehyung murmured as he pulled up a seat extremely close to yours—so close that your thighs were nearly touching. 

Oh boy. 

Over the next several minutes Yoongi continued to flirt openly and you continued to smile prettily and pretend Taehyung wasn’t there (which naturally infuriated him). 

You should have known he wouldn’t let you get away with such behavior so easily. 

This was Kim Taehyung, after all, and if there was anything that could be counted on when it came to your shared history, it was that one (or both) of you was always ready to escalate. 

You had just offered the young Min heir yet another flowery compliment when you felt Taehyung make his move. 

Two warm fingers slid under the silken slit of your dress, coming to rest possessively over the soft flesh of your inner thigh. 

You squeaked and nearly spat up your drink. 

Taehyung leaned forward in fake concern, wrapping his arm around you as if to offer aid. 

“Are you alright?”

His hand continued to move significantly beneath your gown, but his face was the picture of innocence. 

You glared. 

“Just fine, thank you.”

A slow grin crept across his features as he began to trace soft intimate patterns over your skin.  

On the other side of the table, Yoongi tilted his head in genuine solicitude. “Are you sure?”

You nodded sharply. 

Satisfied, he resumed speaking about whatever it was he’d been saying—though you couldn’t understand a word of it at this point because the torturous strokes Taehyung was leisurely drawing over your thighs were moving closer to your center with each passing second. 

Yet you made no move to stop him. 

You should have. 

You should have slapped his touch away—rebuked him for his boldness—

But you didn’t. 

So he just kept nodding and smiling while Yoongi spoke, even as his fingers teased you with the maddening persistence of a man who knew very well what he was doing. 

You gasped aloud when he finally brushed the pad of his thumb over the thin cotton of your panties. 

“T-Taehyung—” 

“Hmm?” he turned to you, seemingly surprised by your attention (it was—after all—the first time you’d addressed him since the beginning of the meal).

“Could you pass me the salt,” you sputtered (hoping to cover the fact that you moaned his name involuntarily). Unfortunately, Taehyung seemed wholly aware of your ruse, offering you the salt shaker with a superior smirk.

You seriously considered stabbing him with a fork. 

However, before you could carry out any bloodthirsty plans, he pressed his fingers directly over your clit and your eyes rolled back in your head

“Oh my g—” you bit your lip stubbornly, “this lamb is just so good.” 

Sweet mother of macaroons, he is too skilled at this. 

You shoveled another bite into your mouth to cover your whine as Taehyung began to rub tight little circles over your sweet spot. 

Across the table, Yoongi nodded in blissful unawareness. 

“Yes, I agree, the lamb is excellent—very tender.”

Taehyung took advantage of the momentary distraction to slip beneath the fabric of your undergarment. 

Your fork clattered to your plate and your hand came up to cover your mouth as he began running his fingers up and down your soaked slit.

It was everything you could do to hold back your depraved whimpering. 

“I can’t wait to taste it,” Taehyung replied, flicking your clit in a way that guaranteed he wasn’t referring to the lamb. 

At this point Yoongi seemed to notice you were in some sort of distress. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and leaned forward. 

“Ms. Park, are you well?”

Taehyung chose that moment to sink his finger into the welcoming heat of your pussy. 

“Yes,” you almost sobbed, “I’m-I’m very well—thank you.”

“Excellent,” Yoongi smiled as he rose to his feet. “If you’re feeling up to it, perhaps you could favor me with a dance?”

Several attendees were already making their way to the center of the floor and the orchestra was beginning to play.

Your entire body, however, was vibrating like a plucked harp string and Taehyung was still brushing back and forth against your clit, driving you toward a release that promised to be explosive. 

There was no way—simply no way—that you would be capable of hiding it. 

“Yes! I would love to dance with you,” you squeaked, grabbing hold of Taehyung’s wrist frantically. The feel of him pulling out of your sopping core was nearly enough to have you coming right there. 

Thankfully, Yoongi remained utterly oblivious to the debauchery unfolding beneath the table. He took your hand and helped you to your feet with an eager smile (and it was a good thing too because your legs were still shaking). 

When the two of you reached the dance floor, you turned back for the briefest instant—

just long enough to meet Taehyung’s heated gaze as his lips closed over the finger he buried in your cunt. 

Emotions were a funny thing. 

They impacted your judgement, affected your body, altered your behavior… 

And occasionally eroded your common sense. 

Sitting alone in the corner of the Governor’s ballroom, Kim Taehyung found himself experiencing a full spectrum of emotional side-effects. 

His hands clenched as he watched Min Yoongi spin you around the floor. 

His heart pounded every time he caught a flash of your shapely leg peeking through the slit in your gown. 

His blood boiled when you threw your head back and laughed at something the other man said. 

It was difficult to pinpoint which emotion was to blame for each of these reactions. There were certainly a number of them boiling over in his subconscious. 

Frustration—

I didn’t even want to talk to Aubrey! How are you acting like anything she said was my fault?!

Rage—  

Why is challenging people to duels illegal? I would fight Min Yoongi at dawn. I would fight Min Yoongi now. 

Jealousy—

You asked her to dance while my fingers were in her pussy. We are not the same. 

But perhaps the most persistent—the most overwhelming— emotion twisting through him was longing. 

You and Taehyung spent nearly four years apart, and he was so desperate to be near you—even then—that he resorted to childish pranks in order to remain a part of your life. 

He hadn’t recognized his actions or desires for what they were. He hadn’t realized what you meant to him...

But now, after spending the last several days with your hand on his arm and your laughter in his ear, he could no longer imagine spending another moment without you. 

Everything seemed to crystallize as he watched you laughing and dancing in the arms of another man. 

Uncertainty became clear. Complications became simple. 

And when he saw Min Yoongi’s hand slide dangerously close to the perfect swell of your backside—

Emotion became action.

“Mind if I cut in?”

It wasn’t a question really. Taehyung was already shouldering his rival out of the way and pulling you into his arms. 

“Taehyung,” you hissed, shooting the bewildered Yoongi an apologetic look over his shoulder, “what are you doing? This is so rude—”

“You’re absolutely right,” he agreed, sweeping you through the couples on the floor with practiced ease. “It is unpardonably rude to steal someone else’s date. He’s lucky all I did was steal you back.”

Your mouth dropped open. 

“Oh? So you finally remembered that I was your date?”

Taehyung’s grip on the curve of your waist became a shade rougher as he pulled you through the next turn. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means—” you stepped forward vigorously, nearly smashing your body into his, “—that you spent forty-five minutes with Aubrey Alicia St. Valentine when you were supposed to be having dinner with me!”

Taehyung growled and yanked you flush against him. 

“I spent forty-five minutes looking for you while you were giving away my table to Min Yoongi!”

The two of you sailed through the next several movements glaring at one another before you snapped again. 

“None of this would have happened if you had just told Aubrey St. Spray Tan that you were with me—”

“I did!”

“Instead, you let her call me a baby!”

“What let? Aubrey is a grown woman!”

“But—”

“And—you stormed off before I could say anything, so how would you know what I let?”

“You didn’t come after me!”

“Yes actually I did—but she grabbed my arm!”

“Really? Well what else did she grab?”

Taehyung abruptly realized how silent everything around you had become. 

People were staring—and not even discreetly— just full on staring with their mouths hanging open. 

Well that’s great. 

Taehyung’s hand closed around yours and you suddenly found yourself being marched across the dance floor at a breakneck pace.

“What are you doing?”

“Continuing this discussion in private.”

“We can’t just go somewhere private in the Governor’s mansion!” you sputtered, struggling to keep up with his larger strides. 

“You mean in my uncle’s house? Yes—actually we can—and we will.”

Taehyung proved to be a man of his word, dragging you past two security guards and into the roped off section of the manor with nothing more than a nod. 

The residential wing of the Governor’s home was beautifully decorated with traditional Korean artistic touches—all of which you were unable to appreciate while Taehyung was speed walking you through the halls. 

After a surprising amount of turns and archways, he yanked open an ornate wooden door with the words Reflection Suite written on a plaque above it in beautiful calligraphy. 

You almost giggled when you got a look inside. 

On the surface it was a tastefully furnished guest room with a simple cherry wood desk and a cozy double bed set in an elegant matching frame.

However—

The ceiling and one full wall were nothing but massive mirrors. 

Reflection suite indeed. 

The door slammed shut and Taehyung rounded on you with a stormy expression—though you weren’t waiting on him to fire the first volley.

“This is definitely going to get us in trouble.”

“I told you, I can go wherever I want in this house. It’s fine.”

“Then why did you take us here?”

“Because you were shouting—”

“I was shouting?! You were shouting I just—”

Suddenly your back was against the wall and Taehyung’s mouth was on yours. 

He hadn’t brought you here for this. When he grabbed your hand, he was only trying to get away from the crowds. He told himself that he needed privacy so you could talk—so he could clarify things. 

But the minute the door closed and you flared up again in all your magnificent rage, he was lost. 

He had to kiss you then. 

You were so lovely. So fierce. So wildly irresistible and he was too utterly smitten to fight the need to be near you—to be with you in every way that he could—for a single second more. 

The shock of Kim Taehyung pressing his lips to yours lasted about two full seconds—and then there was nothing but ravenous insatiable need. 

Finally. 

Everything was him. 

Everything was this—this sweet indescribable ignition of a desire that spanned years. You moaned eagerly against his mouth in wanton delight. After a decade of sparks, you were more than ready to burn. 

“Taehyung—”

His name poured out of you like a prayer. You needed him everywhere and miraculously he seemed to understand—

Not that he was prepared to be polite about it. 

“Where’s that smart mouth now, Angel?” he growled, tangling his hands in your hair to expose the tender column of your throat. “Nothing to say?”

Your only answer was a desperate whine as he spread hot-open mouthed kisses down the soft skin of your neck all the way to your collarbone.

Now was not the time for patience. He would be tender with you later. You absolutely deserved soft sweet caresses and slow leisurely love making and he was absolutely going to give them to you—every day if you’d let him. 

But not today. 

The minute his mouth encountered the barrier of your dress, he gripped onto the sides and yanked it down to your waist.

“You knew just what you were doing in the back of that limo, you little brat,” he hissed, taking one swollen nipple into his mouth and tormenting it with his tongue.

“Tae-ahhh!” Your back arched involuntarily in ruthless pleasure. 

“I spent hours—days even—wanting to get my hands on these perfect tits.” He licked the other nipple obscenely, squeezing the soft mound till it bulged through his fingers. “And you offered me the barest taste with that coy little grin, knowing it wouldn’t be enough—” 

He reared back and landed a firm slap on both breasts and you screamed.

It was so so good. 

“Look at them now,” he murmured, “so swollen and needy and mine.”

If any other man had said those words, you would have cut his heart out with a butter knife. 

But you had always belonged to this man body and soul, and to hear him acknowledge it so primitively felt like the sweetest vindication. 

“Yes!” you sobbed.

The affirmation only inflamed him further. He teased and fondled the tender flesh till you were shaking.

Your fingers curled into the soft waves of his hair as he indulged himself. He looked so ridiculously good sucking your nipple, moaning lewdly with his eyes pressed shut in cathartic bliss. 

“This is all your fault, Angel,” he groaned. “You just don’t know how to behave.”

His hands gripped the curve of your backside, lifting you right off the floor and into his arms. Your mouths fused together heatedly as he carried you to the bed, and you giggled against him when his words finally processed. 

“You’ve been saying that for years.” 

“It’s been true for years,” he muttered, pulling one of your legs up around him so he could grind against your cunt while you kissed. 

Your fingers tugged at the buttons of his shirt, tearing them off when they didn’t unhook fast enough. You waited too long to be with him like this to care about anything other than the feel of his skin against your own.

“Impatient, are we?” he chuckled, bringing his lips around to nip at your ear. 

“You’re one to talk,” you shot back, yanking the ruined garment right off his shoulder just so you could sink your teeth into it. 

Taehyung moaned loudly, snapping his hips against yours with an involuntary jerk.

“You really are such a brat,” he hissed, fisting his hands in the satin length of your skirt. “Let’s see how fierce you are with my tongue in your pussy—”

His words were so filthy and raw, yet they stoked a frenzied need in your belly like nothing you had ever encountered. 

“This dress is evil,” he snarled, fumbling with the zipper for a moment before switching to a more destructive tactic. “It has tormented me all night and now it’s in my way.”

The stitching proved no match for his resolve, and—after a few vigorous tugs—he ripped it apart from the slit on up, leaving you covered in nothing but the thin cotton underwear he had breached earlier that evening. 

After disposing of your shredded gown, Taehyung paused for a moment just to take in the sight of you. 

“What a perfect little angel,” he taunted playfully, snapping the band of your lingerie against your hips with a cocky grin. 

Then he brushed his nose right up against the sopping fabric and inhaled deeply. “You smell just like heaven,” he growled before licking you right through the cloth, “and you taste even better.”

The sensations twisting through your body were merciless. You needed more or you were going to shake apart. 

“Taehyung please,” you whined, pressing against him shamelessly.

“Oh a please?” he chuckled, throwing your own words from the first night back at you. “Who knew you had manners?”

You would have screamed in frustration, but he cut you off with an open mouthed kiss right over the wettest part of your panties.

“Perhaps I can make a good girl of you yet,” he chuckled, as you opened yourself wider to encourage him. 

You nodded frantically, letting out another moan when he yanked the flimsy little scrap of lace down your legs—smearing a line of arousal over your thighs.

“So messy,” he tsked, tapping his finger right above your knee where the naughty little streak ended. “What am I going to do with you?” 

Then he pressed his tongue over the shiny trail of slick and licked it right off. 

You gasped loudly and his lascivious smirk was almost beautiful enough to make up for all of the shameless teasing. 

Almost. 

"You want my mouth, pretty Angel?” he whispered, letting the words brush maddeningly against your folds. “You want me to feed on this sweet little cunt?”

Every cell in your body cried out for release. He already edged you under the table at dinner and now he was determined to unravel you entirely. You would say anything—do anything. 

"Please—" you whispered.

"Please who?" 

Normally you met his arrogance with a cutting riposte, but an entire evening of methodical torment had left you beyond desperate. 

"Please Taehyung,” you begged needily. 

He grinned. 

“That’s right, Angel. Kim Taehyung. Not Min Yoongi or any other pathetic trust fund prick that’s panting for a taste of this pussy.” His eyes fastened on yours significantly. “You belong to me.”

Then his tongue licked a flat stripe over your glistening slit and you sagged onto the bed in relief—only to be thrown back into oblivion when his lips closed over your clit. 

Your body arched involuntarily as a ruthless wave of pleasure tore through you. Your eyes and mouth flew open in a silent scream and it was in that moment you remembered exactly where you were. 

Underneath a giant mirror. 

The passionate woman staring down at you was nearly unrecognizable. Her body was littered with her lover’s marks. Her hands gripped feverishly into the sheets beneath her—-

And Kim Taehyung was kneeling between her thighs, suckling on her weeping cunt with obscene satisfaction. 

It was the sexiest thing you had ever seen in your life. 

Your hands reached down to tangle in his hair, using it for leverage as you ground against his face. 

Then suddenly his grip on your legs tightened and his tongue plunged roughly into your trembling core. 

“Tae—ahh oh my—I can’t—”

The sensation was so intense that your hips bucked violently. You could not keep still. You were charging towards an explosion and your body was shaking itself apart. 

The noises tearing from you were incoherent. Everything around you focused in on the juncture of your thighs where Taehyung was licking inside of you again and again until—

You shattered. 

And the force of it nearly bent your back in half. 

Delirious sobs poured from your lips as he worked you through it, letting the obscene flood of your cum soak his face. 

The sight of him slowly lapping at the release between your folds, was unspeakably erotic. He ran his hands in soothing circles over your skin while you twitched and fluttered back down from your high. 

Then he was kissing you again. 

It was softer this time, but you felt truly depraved—and instantly obsessed—with the taste of yourself in his mouth—on his skin.

You could barely understand this ravenous hunger. You’d just found relief, yet you were already reaching for more. 

Your hands snaked down and wrapped around his still covered cock and he hissed in ragged pleasure. 

“So eager,” he gasped, as you pushed him back against the headboard—but you didn’t have time to bother with his teasing.

You were gonna blow Kim Taehyung into space. 

He bit his lip when you yanked down his pants and boxers together, freeing his arousal with stunning efficiency. 

It was almost unfair to discover that his cock was every bit as beautiful as he was.

“Of course,” you muttered. 

The sultry smirk he shot you in return had your cunt flooding all over again.

“You think Min Yoongi has a cock like mine?”

“I don’t think about Min Yoongi’s cock,” you retorted, wrapping your hand around his length, “you’ve always been the biggest dick I’ve ever met.” 

“I knew you thought about my dick,” he groaned as you began to work up and down the swollen shaft. 

After a moment, his hand slid over your chin to grip your hair, drawing you forward till your lips were almost touching. 

“I wonder what this pretty mouth can do,” he whispered. 

You gasped against him and he smiled. 

“Do you know how often I pictured your lips around my cock, Angel?”

You mewled shamelessly and he growled, cupping your cheek as your hands continued to service him. 

“Do you know how often I imagined this perfect throat stuffed full of my cum?” 

His palm slid down to lightly grip the soft flesh of your neck and you shuddered against him with a needy whimper. 

“I know you could suck me so good, Angel. I’ve wanted it for so so long...”

Your mouth actually watered with anticipation. 

The desire to be good for him—to give him whatever he asked for—consumed you. 

Taehyung let his head fall back against the headboard with a groan at the first brush of your lips along his shaft. His hips rutted involuntarily as your tongue wrapped around the tip and you hummed with pleasure at his enthusiastic response. 

After a moment you slid him into the welcoming heat of your mouth, taking him in as far as you could in one stroke. His jaw dropped open and his entire body jerked forward. 

“Yes, that’s it, Angel—feels so good.”

His praise was addictive. 

You loved that you could bring him to this. You loved to see the haughty Kim Taehyung coming apart as you sucked him. 

It made you feel beautiful—powerful even—and you reveled in every second of it. 

Your eyes were starting to tear. His length began to throb and pulse against your tongue and you knew he was close—so close you could almost taste him—

Yet suddenly he was pulling you back and you whined pitifully at the loss. 

Taehyung chuckled, dragging you toward him till your dripping core slid across his cock.

“I’m not coming before I get inside that pretty little pussy,” he swore, working your hips over his sex till it was drenched in arousal. 

The crass words filled you with the fiercest, most incredible want and you clenched reflexively against him in response. 

“Is that what you want?” Taehyung whispered as he bore you back into the mattress, pinning both your wrists above your head. “You want me to fill your empty little cunt?”

You did. 

You wanted it so so bad. 

“Please.”

Taehyung gently lowered himself closer to you, resting his forehead intimately against yours as he lined up his cock at your entrance. 

“Are you sure, Angel? Because there’s no going back after this... If you give yourself to me, then you’re mine—and I’ll fight tooth and nail to keep you.”

“Taehyung, you idiot,”—a tender smile spread over your face as you wrapped your arms around his neck—“... I’ve always been yours.”

He swore violently—letting the slight tremble in his voice betray just how deeply your words affected him. 

Then his fingers tightened on the soft flesh of your hip and he filled you to the hilt with one delicious thrust. 

There was a moment—the smallest space in time—where your eyes locked together and everything seemed to suspend; a strange perfect calm before a monumental storm. 

Then your world caught fire. 

Taehyung drove himself into you with passionate fury, letting years of denial fuel the insatiable rhythm of his strokes. 

Every time he told himself no. Every time he held himself back—

Every bit of it burned away as you screamed his name. 

The feel of him was indescribable. 

You imagined it too many times to count, yet your dreams fell pitifully short of the visceral reality. 

He was bloomin’ magnificent. 

Your fingers clawed up and down his back, desperate to hold on to something while he pounded into your g-spot like an animal. 

“This tiny cunt is the tightest thing I’ve ever had around my cock,” he gasped and you whined needily at his praise. “Like it was made for me—” his hand came up to grip your breast, “like you were made for me.”

“Yes—”

Taehyung’s need seemed to amplify with every whimper and moan that fell from your lips. The feelings you sparked in him were fierce and unapologetically primitive.

He would go to war for you—build a fortress for you—fight a dragon if one dared come close. 

You were his. 

And he felt like a savage every time you cried out for more. 

Suddenly an unexpected movement in his periphery caught his attention.

He’d been so consumed with the extraordinary rush of claiming you that he’d forgotten—

This guest room was thirty-five percent mirrors. 

And now… he couldn’t look away. 

The sight of your bodies tangling together in headless bliss played out before him like a scene from his most debauched and forbidden fantasies. His reflection grinned back at him in fascinated ecstasy while his beloved nemesis lost herself in the pleasure of his cock.

Something dark and wild began to burn in his chest as he studied the lovers in the glass. 

“Look at you, Angel,” he whispered softly, “you really are perfect.”

Then he pulled out of your core and you whined bitterly in protest, chasing his body to rid yourself of the sudden unacceptable emptiness. 

“Still so needy,” he taunted, gripping your hips and flipping you on your stomach before you could even think to protest.

“I want you to watch that pretty angel in the mirror come on my cock,” he groaned, plunging back into you from behind. 

The new angle was somehow impossibly deeper and your body shook as another wave of pleasure overtook it. 

Your fingers clawed into the mattress for purchase as he pistoned into your trembling mound. 

Only Kim Taehyung could rail you like a whore while he worshiped you like a queen. 

He gave you a moment to adjust before drawing your body back against his chest. His arm wrapped over your stomach as he slowly eased your legs apart, unfolding the lewd tableau of your bodies joined together for the voyeuristic gaze of the glass.   

“Look at yourself, Angel,” he growled, mesmerized by the way your breasts bounced with every thrust. “Look at how well you're taking me.” 

Then his fingers slid down to rub your clit and you screamed. 

“Tae! Ah-ahh!”

The pleasure building within you now was violent. You were coiling too tightly, too fast—

“That’s right Angel. Take it all.”

Your eyes locked with his in the mirror for the briefest instant.

And then you flew apart. 

Taehyung threw his head back with a carnal moan as you clamped down around him. His body was hurtling toward its own release with reckless speed. 

“I’m close,” he panted, “where can I come?”

“Come inside me please,” you begged, and Taehyung’s eyes widened in frenzied lust. 

“That’s what you want? Huh?” his thrusts became rougher as he chased his relief, “You want me to fill this puffy little pussy with my cum?”

“Yes, I want it so bad—“ you sobbed. 

“Sweet Angel,” he groaned, gripping at your breasts as he pulled you tighter against him. 

Then he met your gaze in the mirror again. 

“I want everything with you; a home—a family—your body in my arms every morning when I wake up—” his voice trembled, “I want it all.” 

The raw vulnerability in his eyes nearly broke you.

“Tae,” you gasped softly, too overcome with joy to manage anything else. 

His mouth pressed hungrily against the curve of your shoulder. You could feel his cock throbbing in your core as he bent you forward, pounding into your sex with exquisite precision. 

"Stay with me, Angel,” he whispered. His thrusts became erratic as he neared his high. “I don’t want to live without you anymore.”

The glorious thrill of his words tore over your senses with euphoric brutality. Your walls tightened greedily around his cock and the taunt cord of pleasure finally snapped. 

He came with a broken groan, flooding the welcoming heat of your womb with his release. 

“KIM TAEHYUNG!”

The sound of his name being shouted by the absolute last person in the world whose voice he wanted to hear woke Taehyung from a dead sleep.  

His eyes widened in panic as he began yanking pillows and covers from all over the bed in a frenzied attempt to hide—

The doors to his bedroom flew open with a resounding crash. 

“Jimin,” he squeaked, trying to look as casual as possible next to a giant pile of bedding. “What uh—what brings you here at—” his eyes darted to the clock on the wall, “—7:30 in the morning?”

Then he frowned. 

“And how the hell did you get past Jungkook?”

Jimin’s murderous expression broke momentarily to allow for a smug grin. 

“Kendra.”

Kendra Jackson was Jimin’s executive aide. She was fierce, capable, intelligent—

And insanely gorgeous. 

Taehyung groaned. 

Poor Jungkookie never stood a chance. 

To the surprise of absolutely no one, yet another newspaper landed on Taehyung’s lap.

KIM HEIR BRINGS NAUGHTY ANGEL HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

Underneath the headline was a picture of you and Taehyung (dressed in clothes you stole from Jin’s childhood bedroom) kissing passionately against the side entrance of the Governor’s mansion. 

One of your legs was wrapped around his waist and he was clearly grabbing your ass. 

“Ah… well you see the camera distorts everything from this angle—and-and the lighting is bad so it’s not really what it looks like—”

“Is that so? Cause it looks like you’ve got your tongue down my baby sister’s throat!”

“Okay—okay,” Taehyung massaged his forehead nervously, “so maybe it’s sort of what it looks like but—”

“I’ll kill you.”

“No wait—” he held up his hands to delay an already advancing Jimin. 

“Why should I wait?!”

“Because—”

“—I trusted you with the most important person in the world to me—”

“The situation is just not that simple.” 

“—and you grabbed her ass in public!”

“Admittedly not my finest hour.”

“So you tell me right now—”

“But you don’t understand it’s—”

“—Why the hell would I wait?!”

“BECAUSE I’M IN LOVE WITH HER!”

For a moment there was absolute silence. 

Then your head popped out from the massive pile of bedding. 

“Really?”

Jimin’s mouth fell open. 

Taehyung groaned again. 

“As usual, your timing is impeccable.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring his comment.

“Are you really in love with me?”

“Of course I’m in love with you! What part of I want you to have my children did you not understand?!” 

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Jimin choked. 

“That’s not the same thing!”

“It is for me!”

A radiant smile lit up your face. 

“I’m in love with you too.”

Taehyung’s expression softened. 

“Angel I—”

Then you were kissing and Jimin swung around with a horrified shout.

“Oh! No no no—Come on!”

He stumbled out of the room, hands firmly clamped over his eyes. 

“This is not over, Kim Taehyung!” the scandalized young Park heir howled in exasperation… but there was a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

Back in the bedroom, Taehyung shook his head at Jimin’s ridiculous caterwauling. 

“No, it’s not over,” he laughed, pulling you deeper into the comfort of his arms. “It’s only just begun.”

Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story. 

This baby took FOR-EVER to write. I started it in November and literally worked on it a little every day. 

If you enjoyed it— even just a tiny bit—please consider taking a moment to leave me some feedback. It is so incredibly uplifting and rewarding to hear reader thoughts and reactions to my work.

I promise to treasure every word like gold. It took a lot to bring this story to life. Your kind words would mean the world to me.

[bellakitse]

Nothing ever stays the same

Farmer's Market redux.

A few days after running into his parents at the farmer's market, Carlos and TK run into them again. This time Carlos tells them who TK really is to him.

Spoilers for 2.04

They give the farmer’s market another try. TK suggests it since they didn’t get a chance to explore all of it the last time. Carlos agrees, even though he’s a little tentative about it.

TK swears up and down they’re okay and spends the rest of the week at his place. Carlos thinks it’s both to reassure him they’re fine and because Owen and Gwyneth are acting weirder than ever around everyone.

“They’re both jumpy as hell and secretive,” TK mentions as they walk around the market hand in hand, stopping here and there at different stalls. He smiles sweetly at the old lady that offers him to try one of her organic strawberries. Carlos watches him as he bites into it, smiling as TK’s smile grows at the taste. He opens his mouth when TK turns to him, offering him a piece, and nods when he asks if they should get a pound of the berries.

“What do you think is up with them?” he asks curiously after paying the woman.

“Oh god, who even knows with those two,” TK answers with exasperated fondness. It’s a familiar tone for TK when talking about his parents and their weird relationship. “I rather not speculate, to be honest. I don’t need any more parental trauma,” he says with a dry smile that says he’s only half-joking.

Carlos lets out a sympathetic sound before touching his shoulder, tugging him gently towards him. He’s relieved when TK comes into his space without hesitation. Even though TK has repeatedly told him everything is okay between them and understands his situation, Carlos can’t help but be unsure. He knows he really hurt TK just a few days ago in this very place, and the thought has been plaguing him since. He can’t stop thinking of when they first began and how TK’s reluctance to define them hurt him. But back then, they weren’t in love. If TK denied them now, he’d be heartbroken.

It kills Carlos that he did that, allowing his fears to take over, hurting the man he loves.

“Hey,” TK questions quietly, his green eyes soft and loving. “Where did you go? You were a million miles away just now.”

He shakes his head and forces a smile on his face hoping it’s enough to distract TK. The sad, knowing look on TK’s face tells Carlos it isn’t. He winces at the loud sigh he lets out.

TK reaches out, touching his thumb to his brow, smoothing it over, and Carlos can’t help a sound of his own at the gentle touch. He closes his eyes as TK leans in, pressing his lips to his temple as he hugs Carlos to his side.

“Stop feeling guilty already,” he murmurs against his skin, huffing out a dry laugh when Carlos tries to deny it. He gives Carlos a look as he pulls back. “It’s like you think I can’t read you like a book by now. I see every worried look you send my way. It looks like you’ve had a stomach ache for days now, enough, baby,” TK lightly scolds him, his affection for him shining through it. “We’re moving past it, okay?” he finishes in a serious tone.

Carlos looks at him and finds nothing hidden behind his eyes he doesn’t mean. He opens his mouth to say yes, that he’ll listen this time and move on from their fight when he stops short, the reason for their argument standing by the cheese stall a few feet away from them. “You gotta be kidding me,” he whispers, honestly shocked at the chances. Since when do his parents visit the farmer’s market so damn much?

TK turns his neck to follow his line of sight; he tenses against him when he finds what he’s looking at. “Damn, what are the odds,” he says under his breath. He turns back towards him with a smile so forced on his face, Carlos thinks he actually hears his heart break from seeing it. “I’m going to take a walk around the corner before they see me. You go say hi.”

TK takes a step away from him without waiting for an answer, and Carlos realizes he’s serious; he’s really willing to hide to make sure he’s comfortable. Carlos has never loved and hurt more for someone in his life. He sticks out his hand, taking TK’s before he can take another step away from him.

“No,” he says softly but firm even as his heart pounds like a jackrabbit against his ribcage as he comes to a decision. He’s scared, he can hear his pulse roaring in his ears, but he refuses to let TK feel like he did days ago; he won’t let them go through that again. “No,” he repeats once more as he gives TK’s hand a squeeze. “Nothing ever stays the same,” he reminds him of his comment from the other night, getting a quirk of TK’s lips in return. “And I don’t want it to.”

TK’s eyes widen as he gets his meaning; they stray to Carlos’ parents. They still haven’t noticed them but probably will in a matter of seconds. “Are you sure?” he asks, concerned. “This doesn’t have to happen now, I meant what I said.”

“I know,” Carlos cuts him off, knowing TK has been nothing but sincere since their talk. TK is more than willing to let him set the pace to this, and Carlos couldn’t possibly love him more for it, which is why he can’t hide him from the people he loves. “Come on,” he whispers, tugging on his hand as he starts to walk towards his parents. He feels TK give it a squeeze of his own.

“Mami, Dad,” he calls out to them, getting surprised smiles in return as they turn towards him.

“Carlitos!” his mother says happily, as his dad lets out a chuckle.

“Twice in one week at the same place,” he says with a grin. “Is the farmer’s market where first responders hang out these days? In my days, we’d just hit a bar,” he teases.

Carlos tries to smile at the joke, but his focus is on his mom, who has quickly zeroed in on his and TK’s clasped hands. She looks up at him with wide, surprised eyes.

She stares at him for a moment more, understanding entering her brown eyes. “Oh,” she says softly.

“Yeah,” he whispers back with his heart in his throat. “Mami, Dad – this is TK,” he says before looking back at him, not at all surprised at the love and support he finds in his gaze. “He’s my boyfriend, and the man I’m madly in love with.”

He turns back to them, finding their attention on him, though they both stray a look at TK once more. “I lied the other day because I was scared,” he tells them, answering their silent question. “You guys and I don’t talk about me being gay, and for years that has worked out fine,” he says, holding up a hand when his father opens his mouth to speak. “I know you guys love and accept me, but it’s been easier all these years to just ignore the elephant in the room because there was never anyone that really mattered to me.”

Carlos turns to look at TK once more, smiling at him as his heartbeat settles into a peaceful rhythm. He knows, no matter what happens next, everything will be fine because he has TK.

“That’s changed now,” he finishes knowing how true it is.

There is silence between the four of them for a moment before his father clears his throat. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, TK,” he says with a small but sincere smile.

“Yes,” his mother follows gently. “Very nice to meet you.”

TK swallows first before giving them a smile of his own; it’s nervous at the edges but beautiful. “It’s very nice to meet you too.”

His mother smiles at TK the same smile she usually reserves for him, it’s welcoming and kind, and it loosens the tension in Carlos’ shoulders. Proving she misses nothing, she instantly catches it, her expression changing once more as she looks back at him.

“You were scared to tell us about your relationship,” she comments quietly, looking sad when he gives her a shaky nod. “Oh, Carlitos,” she lets out a sigh before taking a step towards him.

Carlos swallows hard as she looks up at him, holding his breath when she reaches out, touching his cheek. “Tu sabes que te amamos, no importar qué, si? Siempre mijo, we love you,” she says sternly with tears in her eyes.

Carlos looks over at his dad, who looks affected by her words too. “Listen to her, son,” he says gruffly. “Your mother is always right.”

“That’s right,” his mother answers smugly, as she gives him a  watery smile. She pats his cheek lovingly before she looks over at TK again.

“You have a kind face,” she tells him, chuckling when TK blushes a bit. “Sweet boy,” she grins. “I can’t wait to get to know you better.”

“Maybe Carlos can bring him to Tia Lucy’s,” his father suggests suddenly, and Carlos lets out a startled laugh at the way his mother lights up.

“Yes,” she says enthusiastically. “Oh, you have to, Carlitos. You know how Tia Lucy loves pretty boys. She’ll adore him.”

“I would love to take him,” he says after clearing his throat, still a little shell-shocked at the turn of events. “That is if TK is okay with it.”

TK nods quickly as a bright smile takes over his face, and Carlos has to hide his own as his mother’s eyes widen in response; he understands her reaction perfectly. It’s taken months to not be completely overwhelmed by TK’s beauty.

“Okay, then,” his father says with a clap of his hands. “That’s settled then, we’ll see you both on Sunday. TK – “ he continues as he holds out his hand to him. “It was nice to officially meet you. You’re okay for a firefighter.”

“Thank you, sir,” TK chuckles as he shakes his hand.

Carlos is pulled into a hug by his mother and then his father, both of them squeezing him tight. His mother surprises both him and TK by pulling him into his own hug. She whispers something into his ear that causes TK to smile again as he nods at her.

They watch them leave, rounding the corner before TK turns to him with the gentlest smile he’s ever seen.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around him before the first tear falls down Carlos’ face.

He shakes, but TK just holds him tighter, running his hands up and down his back. Whispering that he’s there, and he has him until Carlos can take a steady breath. When he pulls back to look at him again, TK is ready, wiping the tears off his cheeks.

“What did my mother say to you?” he asks, holding his breath at the bright smile TK gives him.

“She thanked me for loving you,” he tells him, causing Carlos to swallow around another lump of emotion forming in his throat.

“She’s right,” he whispers as he leans in, pressing his forehead against TK’s. They stay like that, blind to the world around them. Right now, there is nothing but TK and his love in Carlos’ world. “Thank you for loving me.”

TK closes his eyes, his adoring smile firmly in place. “Loving you, Carlos, is the easiest thing I have ever done.”

translation for what Carlos' mother says to him: You know we love you, no matter what, right? Always, son

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Can I have a drabble with Thrawn ?

I was thinking about a scene, shortly after the death of the emperor and Vader and the death star explosion. He would summon Reader to tell her they are among the last authority figures of the empire alive and although he has everything under control, it will be difficult and he could really use an hand this time.

Bonus point if they hug.

Thank you Darling (may I call you that way?)

A/N: Okay, so we’re going Original Thrawn Trilogy canon with this. Let me see what I can do. And you absolutely can, if you like.

Also, this turned into a thing because I have no sense of control.

Word Count: 1.4 K

You kept your head high as you walked through the quieted hallways of The Chimaera.

Nobody could focus on their duties and none of the officers had it in them to give orders. The shock of information had dumbfounded the entire ship. The second Death Star was destroyed. Half of the Imperial Fleet was gone. The Emperor was dead.

The rebels had done it. It was the beginning of the end.

But, The Chimaera was still there and all waited on baited breath for their Grand Admiral's orders.

You tried to focus on your steps rather than the whirlwind of emotions threatening to drown you. You had always been sure of who you were and where you stood in the galaxy. You were Commander Y/N of the ISD Chimaera, second to Grand Admiral Thrawn of the Imperial Navy. But what did that mean, if the Empire ceased to exist?

You shook your head.

No. Empire or not, you were still a Commander. The Chimaera was still your ship and so long as it kept flying, that would never change.

With new found resolve, you quickened your pace stopping just in front of Grand Admiral Thrawn's office.

You knocked on the door and a moment later, it opened with a small hiss.

Upon entering, your eyes were drawn to the holo projection in the center of the room. It did not take you long to realize the calamity of the scene before you. The Battle of Endor in all it's fiery disaster.

Thrawn stood in petrified stillness, watching the holo in intense concentration; his glowing red eyes illuminated in the dim blue light.

You stepped forward, focusing your attention on the calmness of his form rather than chaos.

"Has the fleet regrouped?" you asked.

Thrawn turned his eyes toward you, refocusing to the present moment.

"No," he said. "This was sent to me from the Accuser, requesting assistance from all Commanders."

"Should I plot a course, sir?"

He shook his head. "No. We're too far out of range to provide any timely assistance. There are others on their way.”

You nodded, understanding the logic behind the statement. Still a question buzzed in your mind, one that was plaguing everyone on the ship: what do we do next?

You kept quiet all the same, knowing if Thrawn wanted to tell you, he would do so, in his own time.

Thrawn turned off the projector, allowing white lights to fill the darkened space. He then reached behind his desk and pulled out a crystal bottle filled with amber liquid and two glasses.

"Join me, Commander?" he asked.

It wasn't and order, which itself prompted it's own question.

"Depends on what we're drinking to, sir."

"To our fallen officers," he answered, pouring a healthy dose into each glass. "And to the new Empire which will rise from the ashes."

He held out the glass, which you took with caution.

"Implying the Empire has already fallen."

Thrawn raised an eyebrow. "Do you believe it will survive?"

You opened your mouth, with a ready yes on your lips, but stopped. Taking a moment, you looked down, examining the ridges of the glass in idle thought.

"No," you said, slowly. "If it was just the Death Star or just the Executor, that would be one thing. But the loss of both and the Emperor is too much. There is no central leadership, and will all the Navy's resources poured in the second Death Star, I doubt there is enough remaining to maintain control over the rebelling systems."

You looked up to meet Thrawn's approving eye at your assessment.

"Of course," you continued. "If there were someone to take control..."

A small smile tugged at the corner of Thrawn's lip as he bowed his head.

"You flatter me, Commander," he said. "However, how many of the remaining Admirals do you believe would willingly follow my orders?”

Your instinct was to say all of them, but again, you hesitated. As your superior officer, you had learned to trust Thrawn's command implicitly, but a quick review of your history reminded you of how rare that truly was. There was a reason the Emperor had left Thrawn to deal with the fringes of the Empire rather than involve him in Core politics.

Each and every Grand Admiral would see themselves as the successor to the Emperor's legacy, not the alien with nothing but rumors to uphold his reputation.

You let out a sigh. "None, I suppose."

He inclined his head in acknowledgment, just as he raised his glass.

"The Empire is gone," he said, solemnly. "Long live the Empire."

You each took a drink. The expensive liquid both burned and soothed your throat on its way down. It was an odd sensation, but one you hadn't realized you needed until that moment.

"I take it you have a plan," you said.

"The start of one," he assured, with just a hint of a smile. "In the mean time, we shall continue to maintain control of our own systems. Whatever resources available, we will refocus into our fleet. With any luck, others may join us, but we cannot rely on that fact."

You nodded, finally feeling as if your feet were starting to settle on solid ground.

"Shall I inform the crew?" you asked.

He shook is head. "I believe it would be best if they heard it from me."

There was a pause as you waited for him to dismiss you, but, no such order came. He just kept looking at you.

It was a familiar look, but one always caught out of the corner of your eye. The kind of look that left your heart racing and blood warm. Now, so clearly directed at you, it was hard to breath.

"Is there something else, sir," you prompted.

He blinked as if coming back to himself. "How long have we known each other, Commander?"

You frowned, slightly taken aback by the sudden change of subject.

"Ten years, more or less."

He nodded, setting down his drink as he did so. "I could tell you exactly; ten years, seven months, and twelve days. You were a Captain at the time."

The warmth in your cheeks spread, forcing you to put down your glass as well.

"And you were a Commander," you said, the memory coming back to you with the ease. "It has been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Yes." The word was spoken so softly, you almost wondered if someone else had said it.

Glancing up, you caught a strange gentleness in his expression. It only lasted a moment, but it was there all the same.

"You don't have to stay," he said.

You straightened in bewilderment. "Sir?"

"The reinstatement of the Empire is a task which will take years to complete," he continued, calmly. "It will take dedication and sacrifice. Only complete devotion will allow it to come to fruition. I plan to announce that any who wish to leave the service are free to do so and return home. Those who remain, will likely never see their home worlds again. It is not to be taken lightly, and I will not have anyone on my crew who doubts their resolve.”

He paused, just as a hint of emotion came into his voice.

“I would not force you to stay, if you do not wish it."

You stared at him, mouth gaping in wonder. Your answer came easily.

"I'm not leaving you, sir."

He blinked. Your stomach twisted.

You had said “you”; not the Chimaera, not the service, you.

You wanted to take back the words, but it was no use. You knew the truth and now so did he. You might be willing to give years of your life to the service, but you would give your entire self to Thrawn.

He watched you with an unreadable expression. Slowly, as if approaching a frightened animal, he walked out from behind his desk.

"I thank you, Commander," he murmered. "I admit, I hoped that would be your answer. I could not imagine the next few years without you with me."

Your breath hitched, just as he stopped only a foot from your body.

He had said "me".

Without a word, he reached out a hand and tenderly pressed it to your cheek.

His touch sunk into your skin making your melt into him. You placed your hand, over his, keeping it there. If this was your imagination, you needed to cling to if for as long as you were able.

He stepped closer, his glowing red eyes gazing into yours as the warmth of his breath brushed against your lips.

"There is something else I must ask of you," he whispered.

"Anything."

He leaned a hair closer, his nose brushing against your own. "May I kiss you, now?"

A small smile came to your lips. "You needn't ask."

With that permission, he pressed his lips to yours pulling you into a slow and passionate kiss.

The Emperor was dead. Long live the Emperor. And long live the one at his side.

[acesydneysage]

Sydney's descriptions of Adrian in each book

@vablappreciationweek Favorite ship: Sydrian

In my Demi!Sydney masterpost I mentioned how, in her first description of Adrian, she notices that he's handsome, but describes him in a more detached way, comparing him to a work of art:

The speaker was a Moroi guy, a little older than me, with dark brown hair that had undoubtedly been painstakingly styled to look messy. Unlike Keith's ridiculously over-gelled attempts, this guy had actually done it in a way that looked good. Like all Moroi he was pale, and had a tall lean build. Emerald green eyes studied us from a face that could have been sculpted by one of the classical artists I so admired. Shocked, I dismissed the comparison as soon as it popped into my head. This was a vampire, after all. It was ridiculous to admire him the way I would some hot human guy.

Now compare that to her description of him in The Golden Lily, after they already have some emotional attachment:

His sarcasm aside, he looked supremely delighted to see us. He had the tall, lean build that most Moroi guys did, along with their typically pale (though not Strigoi-pale) skin. I hated to admit it, but he was more good-looking than he had any right to be. He wore his dark brown hair stylishly messy and had eyes that sometimes seemed too green to be real. Adrian had on one of those button-up printed shirts that were trendy with guys lately, with a blue pattern on it I liked. He smelled like he’d been smoking recently, which I didn’t like.

It's less dramatic, but much more involved, in my opinion. This got me thinking about the topic, and this is now a compilation of Sydney's first full description of Adrian in each book. It gets adorable and it gets sad.

In the plane in The Indigo Spell, when she's absolutely not halfway in love with him already, no sir:

I was watching the attendant fasten an oxygen mask when a familiar and intoxicating scent washed over me. [...] I kept sneaking glances out of the corner of my eye, partly to see if he was looking at me and partly just to study his features. He was the same Adrian as ever, annoyingly good looking with his tousled brown hair and sculpted face. I vowed I wouldn’t speak to him, but when I noticed he hadn’t written anything in a while and was tapping his pen loudly on the tray, I couldn’t help myself.

Don't you sneak admiring glances at your friends?

In The Fiery Heart Sydney is in full hormonal teen mode, unable to focus on the meeting where she's about to join a witch coven because she's distracted thinking about making out with her vampire boyfriend (look how far my baby has come):

After a lifetime of praising myself for stoically adhering to mind over matter, I was kind of astonished that someon as cerebral as me would take to physical activity as quickly as I had. Sometimes I tried to rationalize it as a natural animal response. But really, I just had to face the truth. My boyfriend was insanely sexy, vampire or not, and I couldn't keep my hands off him.

In Silver Shadows, on the other hand, actual physical descriptions are set aside in favor of ripping my heart out of my chest. First looking at a picture:

I had no idea where she’d gotten the picture, and I didn’t care. My heart leapt as I looked into their smiling faces, faces I loved and had missed so terribly. I’d imagined their faces countless times, but there was no substituting the actual image. I took in every detail: the way the light played off Adrian’s hair, the way Jill’s lips curved in a shy smile. I had to swallow back a wave of emotion welling up within me. Maybe Sheridan had meant to punish me by showing them, but it actually came off as more of a reward—until she spoke again.

Then when she actually sees him in person:

They fell out of my line of sight, and suddenly, my vision was filled with the most beautiful image I could have hoped for: Adrian. For a few seconds, that doubt plagued me again, that this was just one more deception on the Alchemists’ part. But no, there he was before me. Adrian. My Adrian, gazing down with those piercing green eyes. I felt an ache in my chest as emotion momentarily overcame me. Adrian. Adrian was here, and I fumbled to find something to say, some way to convey all the love and hope and fear that had built within me these last few months. “Are you in a suit?” I managed at last, my voice choking up. “You didn’t have to dress up for me.” “Quiet, Sage,” he said. “I’ll make the hilarious one-liners during this daring rescue.” His eyes, warm and full of love, held mine for a moment, and I thought I would melt.

The Ruby Circle is still kind of sad, since Adrian got hate crimed, but it's a sweet ending to this compilation:

There was nothing more I could say as I helped wipe blood and dirt from Adrian’s face with a damp cloth, brushing aside wayward pieces of chestnut hair. He gave me his devil-may-care smile and still managed to look dashing, despite his bedraggled state. [...] Looking at Adrian now, I felt a surge of love well up within me, despite our earlier tension. I could no longer imagine a life without him in it. It was impossible.

We start with cute for an evil creature of the night and end with I can't imagine my life without him.

I think the compilation turned out to be a nice little map of their relationship, so here's this quick thing I made, because I got caught up in the day 2 prompt and didn't prepare properly for the rest of the week. TBF my favorite character, ship and platonic relationship were on that fic.

[little-honeypie]

Loch-hearted

The mighty Hunter Vanguard, Cayde-6 finishes off his 'great' and 'inspirational' speech with everyone gathered round cheering at the thought of loot. You shake your head, pushing your way through the crowd to the edge where your few personal items reside neatly packed into or laid beside your backpack. The crowd disperses and the fireteams pair up. You can't help but think about yours, where they are and if they're even alive. The thought turns your stomach over, making the colour drain from your face as you worry over your treasured dumbasses. Though most see you as the 'lone wolf' or antisocial type and, to be fair, you are. Mostly. Those who dare get close tend to find out you're mostly bark and little bite. You reach down into a side pocket of your bag, carefully dragging a knife from its holster. You look over it, gently tracing the engravings in the blade made by one of the hunters on your team. It says something in a language you can't read and knowing the hunter that gave it to you, you probably don't want to know but at least it looks aesthetically pleasing. You hear a shuffle of footsteps directly behind you and without thinking, you spin on your heels, thrusting the knive's blade towards where you estimate your opponent's throat to be but simply stab something solid. They yell and jump back. Cayde! He rubs his chest with a whine.

"I woulda expected this from one of my hunters, not one of Ikora's nerds!"

He exclaims. Your face regains its colour but only to defy you and show how embarrassed you are from almost potentially killing the hunter vanguard. You lean forward, bowing and apologizing profusely. He laughs, looking at you with consideration.

"Just came over 'ere caaause you weren't headin out or pairin up."

He unholsters his hand cannon, the Ace of Spades with a flashy twirl.

"Came to kill ya unless ya got an excuse."

You stare at him like a deer in the headlights.

"I uhm... I was about to head out..."

He snorts.

"And your fireteam?"

You look to your feet. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes his mouth.

"Riiigght... Are you a newlight, guardian?"

You shake your head.

"Alive for two years, sir."

"Good good, and 'sir'? I like that."

He grabs his chin in thought.

"I like that A LOT."

He repeats. He hums, thinking it over. Obviously not thoroughly.

"Alright, it's decided."

You tilt your head.

"What's decided?"

"You. You're decided."

Your brows come together to form a concerned frown.

"I'm decided?"

"Yup, you're on my fireteam now."

You blink at the Exo.

"What?"

"What's what? You're on my team now with Ikora, speaking of Ikora, where is Ikora? Ikora!"

He wanders away shouting and looking for your vanguard, leaving you to gawk at what just happened. You grab your bag, throwing your arms through the straps and picking up anything you didn't pack away. You run after him to keep up but you keep losing sight of him through the bundles of lightless guardians. You whine. He's a vanguard. And though not awfully serious about his job, defying him even accidentally could end you up in trouble! You look around through the various exo faces but can't find him anywhere. Your heart rate picks up. Where'd he go? Was he joking about you being on his fireteam? Your head clouds with millions of different thoughts, none the same, all colliding with one another. You feel your cheeks and the tips of your ears burn as tears threaten to escape down your face. You hear your ghost's voice softly telling you that you'll be ok and there's no need to stress but you can't help it. You just want to run away and hide. You feel a hand grip your left shoulder firmly and spin you around.

"Eyyyyy, Guardian! Lost ya there, also lost Ikora but found yo- Guardian, are you crying?"

It's Cayde's turn to be the deer in the headlights now because he stares, blinking at you with a shocked look. He gently places his other hand on your right shoulder.

"Hey..."

He says softly as if he were speaking to an animal or child.

"You alright? Did one of those big mean titans say something to you? I'll fight em, you know."

You shake your head, not meeting his gaze. He looks around awkwardly.

"Uhhh, look, we gotta get civilians out buuuut uhhh... Come, come."

He lets you go, spinning on his heels and slipping into the crowd again. Your stomach spins with anxiety, making you sick as you quickly push past guardians. This time you can see the Hunter vanguard but he's still moving too fast. You reach forward, just managing to grab hold of the hem of his cloak to keep track of him. He turns to see who or what has his cloak, thinking it's a potential thief. He stares at you once again, looking from you to your hand that holds his cloak. He tilts his head for a moment before chuckling.

"Ah."

He gently swats you from his cape and offers you his hand, his faceplates move to give you a soft smile of sorts.

"No more running off then."

He says genuinely. You take his hand in yours.

"Well, now we just run off together."

He jokes, coaxing a grin from you. You round up as many groups of civilians and lightless guardians as you can without being detected by Cabal and herd them from the city to safety. Ikora and Zavala are M.I.A and the vanguard radio channels are silent, some are filled with riddles and codes that you, nor your ghost can decipher. Despite feeling helpless, at least you have Cayde by your side. He reminds you of your hunters or maybe they remind you of him, either way, you can't help but think about them. The anxiety plagues your dreams, waking you up gasping for air with your hair sticking to your face from your cold sweat. Cayde springs to his feet, weapon drawn, spooked by you.

"What is it, guardian?"

He asks, looking around for any sign of danger. You breathe deeply to calm your nerves before shaking your head.

"Nightmares... Sorry."

You sigh, lifting your hand to your chest to feel how fast your heart is going as if it will help. He stows his weapon and takes a seat beside you, pulling his knees to his chest as he looks at you from the corner of his optics.

"What about?"

He asks.

"Of course, I understand if ya don't wanna talk about it but hey, I've been told I'm really good at comforting people."

You half laugh, wiping sleep from your eyes.

"Uhm... I dunno, it's kind of a cluster fuck... At first I'm with my fireteam and I hear the sound of a ketch when they're all gunned down around me and I can't do anything... Then, I'm where I was originally resurrected..."

You copy his positioning, pulling your knees to your chest, resting your arms along them and then your chin. He tilts his head to watch your face.

"And... Where were you ressed, Guardian?"

You close your eyes with a cringe and a sigh.

"I originally woke up in a submarine at the bottom of the ocean, surrounded by my half decayed... Crewmates? I don't know what we were but I think we were military of some sort..."

You feel your nails dig into your skin as you tell your story.

"There was little oxygen and I couldn't just transmat out... Let's just say no amount of ressing will teach you how to swim... It was rough to say the least."

He hesitates for a moment before placing a gentle hand on your back and slowly rubbing it in a soothing gesture.

"Well, you don't have to do any swimming, like, at all. Promise. Only kinda swimming we'll do is swim in the loot we get after we win this war, alright?"

You chuckle.

"C'mere, you'll sleep better if ya got a big strong hunter to sleep on, warlock. Careful, I have a lot of knives, I miiiight be pointy."

He jokes as he pulls you carefully against him. You've read the leaked bits of fanfiction he's written about a hunter and warlock, maybe he's romanticising the situation but you don't quite care. Whether he is or not, it's kinda comforting. He lies back beside your sleeping bag while you stretch your limbs out from your previous foetal position and rest your head on his chest. You hear the 'bud-um, bud-um' of his robotic heart. You listen silently to the steady rhythm for a while, closing your eyes and simply taking the sounds of the exo in

"I didn't know you had a heart." You tiredly mumble. He laughs grogily.

"Thanks."

He says sarcastically.

"Noooooo"

You whine.

"I didn't mean it like that... I didn't know exo's had hearts... I don't know what I thought you had though..."

He brings his hand up and gently combs through your messy and knotted hair.

"Eyes down, guardian, I got you."

He mumbles. Over the past few days he's done nothing but poke fun and be overly annoying but his words make your stomach twist and turn which confuses you greatly because it's not... In a bad way. You let out a sigh, nuzzling your face tiredly against him. He smells like grease, gun powder and a strange mixture of spices that all burn your nose very slightly but you don't mind.

As the early morning rays just reach their fingers of light over the hill you're both perched on, you wake wrapped in the exo's cloak. You yawn as a shiver runs through your body and you draw the worn material closer. Cayde's arms are still snaked around you. You lift your head and look to your fire that has long since gone out. It's cold. You should get some more wood. You carefully and slowly get up, doing your best to not disturb the vanguard. You carefully set his cloak over him. As you step away from your half assed campsite, he groans lightly.

"Where are you goin?"

He asks groggily.

"Just out to get some firewood, I won't be long, promise."

He hums tiredly as he rolls over.

"Don't go too far."

He mumbles. You don't have to walk far to find sticks and wood but none of it's dry due to the early morning dew. You groan and move deeper into the forest in hopes to find dry wood. Even a little would do just to get it going. You stumble over a few tree roots, falling on to your hands and knees with a yelp. You laugh at yourself. Warlocks are supposed to be the most graceful of all classes but you are an absolute clutz. You dust yourself off, clutching what sticks and wood you've collected with a weak grip due to the cold having worked it's way into your fingers. 'Maybe I can get a fire going' you think. 'I'll just use my solar abilities and- oh, right.' No powers. You groan. How did Cayde get it going last night? He probably has a lighter or something. Oh well. Your mind wanders to Cayde. Why does he treat you the way he does? You'd met previously but only brief conversations, a handful of bounties and then some loot exchange but that's about it. Sure, you've always found him intriguing and by all means, attractive but he could've talked to anyone from that crowd but he singled you out. You weren't the only solo guardian there. Why you? Why did he choose you of all guardians? There were older, more experienced guardians and hunters! Why did he choose a small warlock like you? You're distracted by the thoughts until you hear the crunching of footsteps surrounding you. You look up and around. Oh god, what's there? It could just be deer! But it's never that simple... You groan.

"Alright, whatever you are, just... Lemme go. I don't wanna hurt you. Just lemme go light my fire."

You squint at the bushes around you, trying to make out what it is when bright blue eyes stare back at you. And lots of them. Fallen. A small Fallen squadron has surrounded you. Great. You step back only to hear one of the Dregs call to the others. This can't be good. They step from the shadows and into the light that barely squeezes past the leaves of the trees. There's a captain, a handful of dregs and one wretch.

"Please, grant me passage."

You plead to no avail.

"We are alike, the great machine has been taken from the both of us, please do not fight me."

They simply stare at you, chattering occasionally to one another as they wait for you to move. You sigh, moving to step around the captain that looms above you only for him to swing at you. You move back with ease, avoiding the hit only to back up into the arms of a dreg, you stamp it's foot and when it lets go, you drop your wood, spin around and punch it out. More advance. You take out a few more, completely distracted from the Captain before you feel his claws wrap tightly around your upper arms. His lower arms wrap around your stomach tightly, squishing you until it hurts. You yell in pain from his iron grip. He laughs as his one and only Wretch approaches, arc spear drawn and buzzing with electricity. You kick, flail and do whatever you can to get free but it's no use.

"Get the fuck away from me!!"

You yell as the wretch thrusts it's spear into your thigh. You scream so loud that it echoes back in the valley around you. Your body convulses involuntarily from the arc running through it. 'This is it.' you think as you quickly start to reach your limit. You close your eyes. All you can hear is their sick, twisted laughter and the zap of the electric weapon before a loud shot rings out and the arc spear is pulled from your leg, tearing your flesh with it. You squeal but give a very slight sigh of relief before you dare to open your eyes to see the wretch dead on the ground, head missing from its shoulders. There's another shot and suddenly the captain's grip is completely gone. The Fallen drops to the ground, dead. You collapse with a loud whimper, unable to support your own weight. Your hunter companion is at your side. You hear him say... Something. Whatever it was, you can't make it out. He reaches for you but flinches back when he gets zapped. Your eyes flicker open, then closed over and over as you fight for consciousness. Blood pours from your thigh. Though the spear cauterized the wound it inflicted though, when it was pulled out, it pulled the flesh it had adhered to out with it, opening the wound. Cayde grips the wound tightly in attempt to stop the bleeding which only makes you mewl with what little consciousness you have left. He lets go, carefully looping his arms underneath your back and legs and carries you back to the campsite. He lays you down on his sleeping bag because it's not like you could make it anymore dirty. He frantically digs into your bag in hopes that you have some sort of medical supplies and luckily enough, you have a travel sized medkit stashed in the bottom of your backpack. He scoots close to you, fumbling open the case and digging through, grabbing a small bottle of disinfectant and a bandage roll.

"This is gonna hurt."

He says as warning but you can barely hear him. He twists off the cap and pours it over your wound, making you squirm and groan with what little strength you have left. He shushes you softly as he ties the bandage around your leg tightly. You feel your head fall to the side as unconsciousness wins the fight over your body. You wake to a throbbing pain that courses through your body. You see Cayde sitting by you, hugging his knees to his chest and staring into the fire that he got going. You grunt and sit up only for your head to spin and be grabbed by your hunter companion and pushed back down.

"You're not ready for that, Nessy. You'll hurt yourself if you do that."

You reach your hand to your head as if it will stop the ache and the spinning but surprisingly enough, it has no effect! A sigh escapes your lips.

"How long have I been out?"

You ask.

"All day."

He says dismissively.

"All day?!"

You sit up suddenly again only to get the same results as last time.

"Guardian, are you TRYING to kill yourself? Cause you're going the right way about it."

You whine.

"We were supposed to move camp today."

He scoffs.

"Yeah, well we can't do that, can we? Not in your condition..."

You frown but you know he's right.

"How does it look? Cause it feels greeeeat."

You say sarcastically. He chuckles.

"I changed the bandage a few hours ago. You should heal fine but we needa work on getting our light back."

"I'll get right on it."

He looks at you with an amused expression.

"Well come on, chop chop, hero! Ya shoulda done it by now!"

You share a laugh, quickly falling into silence. You slowly reach out to him, only just being able to reach his hip. You tug gently on his form fitting shirt for his attention. He looks from your hand to you.

"Guardian! I don't think you're in shape for something like that!"

He says jokingly. You frown, confused by his words before it sinks in. Your face goes bright with embarrassment.

"Not what I wanted!!"

You say defensively, making him snort and laugh. He sighs fondly, scooting close to you and carefully pulling you to him, he's so gentle as if he's scared a touch too harsh could kill you right here, right now.

"Is this what you wanted, Nessy?"

He asks knowingly. You extend your arm over his broad chest and rest your head against him, mumbling some sort of affirmation. You sigh contently before a question pops into your mind.

"Cayde?"

He hums curiously.

"What do you mean by Nessy?"

He chuckles.

"Well, you WERE stuck at the bottom of the ocean..."

Well, that didn't help.

"You DO know the pre-golden age myth, right?"

What? You think about the golden age and pre-golden age myths and tales you have read about and know... Ah! The Loch Ness Monster! You lie in silence.

"Are you call me a monster, Mr 6?"

He laughs with a scoff.

"I dunno, are you a monster?"

"... I don't think so."

"Welp! Then I'm not calling you a monster."

You snicker.

"You know you just... Made a nickname out of my trauma, right?"

He hums in acknowledgement.

"But dooooes that upset you?"

"Well, no but-"

"Then it's fine, Nessy."

You go to speak only to close your mouth. He's right you guess. Though you were curious of the 'Nessy' name, it's not quite the question you really wanted to ask. At least talking with him has distracted you from the pain. You feel anxiety bubbling up in your stomach as your face starts to get hot. He tilts his head down to look at you. You see him reach over, gripping the base of his glove and quickly removing it and putting the back of his hand to your forehead.

"Cayde?"

"You're kinda hot, Nessy. And your heart is beating pretty fast."

How does he know? Are you sick? Oh God, does he know what you want to ask him? Does he know that you're head over heels for the stupid hunter vanguard? No. You haven't told anyone that. Are exos psychic? No. That's not how they work. Is it? You don't know jack shit about exos so maybe it is! You can't help but over thinking a million different ways this could go within seconds. He tilts his head curiously as he gently strokes your cheek with his knuckles which snaps you from your thoughts.

"What are you thinking about, Ness?"

He asks quietly and genuinely. You stare for a moment before looking elsewhere, embarrassed.

"Uhm..."

Your voice cracks.

"I just uh... Why did you choose me of all guardians? There were so many people there and Ikora was there. Why... Why did you... Why me?"

He scoffs lightly before sighing, staring up at the stars above.

"I've had my eye on you for a while."

Your heart sinks.

"Why..?"

You ask in a voice that's barely a squeak.

"Cause Ikora wouldn't shut up about ya!"

He chuckles.

"Guardian this, my Warlock that! So, I had to see for myself. I may or may not have done recon on you a few times aaaaand I realised you uh... Well if Ikora liked you so much for so long then you'd be a good person to have on my fireteam... And so when I saw you, fireteamless, I uh... I took my chance."

You feel... Weird about his answer. It's an answer you were kind of expecting and yet... You can't help but feel some what hurt. Obviously not as hurt as you physically are but hurt none the less.

"Oh."

Is all you manage. He sighs.

"AAAAnd... I mean, I was gonna ask when we actually won the war and weren't in the wilds buuuut IIIII wanted to know if you wanted to get ramen. Your treat of course."

[downtonabbeyrevisited]

Season Two Episode Two

Following a typically chaotic opener, Episode Two of Season Two strikes a far more sombre tone. The arrival of Henry Lang as Robert’s valet brings the first of this episode’s three plot points that address the impact of WW1 on the mental health of its soldiers. There is nothing funny to say about either shell-shock or suicidal ideation both of which are vast, complex issues that, for my money, Downton Abbey isn’t the vehicle explore in (because they require more time and depth than the pace of the plot in Season Two affords) and it certainly isn’t my place to make light of them in this rather irreverent corner of the internet. So I’m going to have a go at treading a fine line here. Forgive me if I stumble. 

Lang is clearly in the grips of something awful and yet in an attempt to avoid the indignity of having maids in the dining room, he is bumped up to footman duty. He struggles throughout, culminating in him depositing his cargo on Edith’s dress. Mrs O’Brein has firmly taken Lang under her wing, recognising that he is struggling and offers him assurance and comfort that she has never gifted to Thomas. 

Across the Village, Lieutenant Edward Courtenay is in the hospital having been blinded by gas. The use of gas (both chlorine and mustard) had a devastating impact on soldiers in WW1 but was also the root of the development of Zyklon B. Frtiz Haber, a German Jewish chemist, enabled chlorine gas to be used a weapon in WW1 and his research was later developed into the Zyklon process which was used by the Nazis to murder millions, including his own family. This is only one of a dizzying number of appalling ironies to be found in the World Wars but as I said last episode, I’m not a military historian so I’m going to leave it there. Edward had plans to return to the country after his graduation from Oxford to pursue the simple life (although one gets the feeling that his idea of the pursuit of a simple life will still be one that is very well upholstered). Thomas has taken it upon himself to read Edward’s letters to him and  together with Sybil is helping him to adjust to living life with a different set of parameters. But growing pressure on the hospital’s limited capacity means that he is to be transferred elsewhere. All three voice their dissent at varying volumes to Major Clarkson who falls back on the very real backlog of wounded men. After Edward has died, Major Clarkson, Isobel and Sybil talk about a renewed need for the Abbey to become a convalescent home, an idea that has been bubbling under the surface for a while now. Meanwhile, Thomas has been left on his own to process both Edward’s death and the implications of witnessing a lack of support given by his own physician to those with depression.  

The usually reliably jovial Mrs Patmore also has a more somber episode with her pursuit for the truth about the death of her nephew Archie. Robert finds that he has been shot for cowardice. Not only does this mean that her family is in mourning but they will now have to navigate the stigma and undue shame that came with having a relative die in this way. So entrenched in British life was the derision levelled at those who were shot for cowardice or desertion that it was only in 2006 that pardons were offered by Britain for 309 of those that were executed by firing squad during WW1. I know I said I’d leave it there with the military history, but that felt like an important bit of context. 

We are now in 1917 and Matthew is still in the same trench that he was in 1916 (a detail I hadn’t actually noticed until I got the screen cap for this) so it looks like his strategy of downing tools mid-fight and continuously popping back to Blighty for important plot developments isn’t really paying dividends. Perhaps the addition of William to the ranks will help him? William certainly seems to think so and if the speed at which he moves through the various stages of his ‘relationship’ with Daisy is any indication of his tactical prowess, the British Front will not only be well within Germany’s borders but will be breathing down Russia’s neck in a fortnight. In any other episode, this would certainly get the award for oddest relationship dynamic but Sir Richard Carlisle exists. 

Sir Richard makes his debut at Downton, having been introduced in name only in the previous episode. He and Mary met at Cliveden which is a regular haunt of mine, giving me hope that one day I too will from a strategic alliance with a newspaper magnate. He may know how to talk his way around a boardroom but he is lacking in the sartorial department. Whilst Sir Richard manages to avoid catching fire in his tweed, Lavinia is not free from the heat as he threatens her with his connection to her uncle. He may not know much about navigating the niceties of Downton, but at least he has cottoned on to the fact that any major disagreement should occur under a specific tree. Whilst Mary’s signature move is weeping into her gloves, Sir Richard’s is grabbing women by the forearm. A female friend of mine told me that one of her favourite things about the pandemic and the compulsion to keep 2m away from anyone (and not just emotionally) is that she has not been ’steered’ by a male hand on her lower back since 2019. It turns out that she can enter and exit rooms just fine on her own and I get the impression that Lavinia could get the gist of Sir Richard’s rage without the vice like grip of a man probably about twice her age. 

Twinned with the ’tree of emotional conflict’, the ‘platform of romantic uncertainty’ provides the backdrop for Sir Richard’s proposal of marriage to Mary which is a declaration that really feels like it should come with a series of well-formatted charts. Mary’s heart, however, is still very much with Cousin Matthew. After being counselled by Carson in a type of conversation I cannot imagine her ever having with her father, she is on the verge of coming clean with Matthew. But in the second round of Lavinia vs. Mary, Lavinia declares that she ‘could not go on living’ without Matthew and Mary winds her neck in. 

Also having a romantic entanglement this episode is Edith. Drake, previously of dropsy fame, has lost his farm hands and Edith turns up to offer her help in a wildly unsuitable trouser and heeled boot combo. But she soon gets down to it by pulling up a tree stump and flirting in a barn whilst a rather lovely border collie looks on (I’m currently trying to talk myself out of getting a border collie and this incident has done nothing to help things). After showing Drake that she can drink from a bottle like literally every single other human on the planet, the two share a kiss and some highly awkward dialogue that only slightly resembles ‘Carry on Downton’. 

Whilst Edith is more than happy to crack on in a barn, Mr Molesley is much more backwards about coming forwards. Apparently having predicted the creation of ‘The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society’, he figures that a book is the perfect kindling for romance when you exist in a glossy depiction of the past. Sadly neither Elizabeth nor her German garden can lure Anna from Bates who is fast shaping up to be schrodinger’s boyfriend. Anna proceeds to make some odd analogy where she compares Mr Bates to her moon-based child, revealing a rather unhealthy amount of codependency in that particular relationship. 

Romantic declaration of the moment 

Again, it feels like anyone but Sybil and Branson should get this but I am an agent of chaos and here we are. Branson defends Sybil’s will to work and has ample opportunity to see her shine in her chosen field. The admission that she will not be returning to her old life is a little chink of light that Branson basks in. 

Expressive eyebrow of the week 

I nominate Carson’s entire face when he realises that he has taken on too much and goes an impressive shade of red. As Carson frets about spoons, sauce, and something I can’t quite fathom, he starts to resemble a man who is re-arranging the deckchairs on the Titanic. Carson’s battle to get a cork out of a bottle and knocking into chairs is a warm up to his rather dramatic collapse which is accompanied by a pretty disturbing groan. Sybil springs to action and he is soon efficiently ensconced in his own quarters. 

Wait, what? 

“I got a lot done on the train” Clearly Richard was on a train that was unencumbered with the wifi issues that plague the Pendolino.  

“It takes a good deal more than that to shock me.” Mary’s shock-o-meter is a pretty odd instrument. It is unresponsive to corpses of diplomats but goes into absolute meltdown at the notion that she might have to live in a cottage. 

“Let's hope my reputation will survive it.” I’ve not checked (and I categorically never will) but I would put money on the fact that someone has created a rarepair out of this. 

“How can Matthew have chosen that little blonde piece?” Is Lavinia blonde? Women’s hair is not really my forte but I would have thought she was more akin to Tim Minchin than 1998 Justin Timberlake. 

“I believe in this war. I believe in what we are fighting for.” William seems to have a better grip on what all of this is about than I ever did in high school history. The ‘A’ that eluded me is heading his way. 

“I thought he might've died for love of you.” How I love snipey Thomas. It’s good to have him back. To borrow a quote from Bottas (another man who is currently living a life in which his destiny is his own demise) ‘traditions’. 

“Fold it in, don’t slap it” The more season two goes on, the more I think that Moira is just an amalgamation of some choice elements of Julian’s kingdom. 

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO, “World War V.”

I realize the title would be a lot more clever if V wasn’t also the roman numeral for 5, but whatever.

I know this one is a bit over the top but in the immortal words of one of my favorite authors “err on the side of awesome.” and I will not apologize.

But I am interested, at the end, comment what two songs you would use in this scenario. I am intrigued. I will tell you the songs I imagined at the end of the story :)

“So, your plan is to…. Intentionally wake the dead?”

“Wake the, very long hibernated, and then blast them with hard rock music while we mow them down with machine guns? And…. remind me YOU are the GA armada Admiral? And this is your tactical genius.”

Admiral Adam Vir adjusted the chestplate of his space suit, “Well say anything in that sort of voice and it will sound stupid, but hear me out. It is much easier to take something out all at once than it is to go hunting them down one by one and having to worry about missing something. We bring in the helicopters, and the vibration of the rotors will disturb the ground causing the infected vrul to rise. Now knowing the Vrul, and knowing that complicated beats affect their ability to navigate, move and completely wipe out their fine motor control. Furthermore, they seem attracted to vibrations in the air and through the ground which means we will be able to confuse them even more and keep them away from the city. Barring that, the Vrul have their force fields up, which are more than a match for light machine gun fire and will even keep out the strange pollen.. There is no better time to deal with this.”

He tucked his helmet under one arm, “I trust that makes sense to everyone?’ he turned around to the docking bay where over fifty men and women stood in neat rows of polished flight suits, helmets tucked under their arms. As he spoke, their heels snapped together with a loud crackle, and their hands rose into a salute.

Behind them double the amount of marines raised their hands into the air and chanted with loud voices that rose into the air with a roar.

Admiral Vir turned to the commander of the 113th graduating class of Earth’s UNSC Airborne Helicopter division, which he had brought in on special loan. These men and women were yet to fly any real tactical missions though they had all logged thousands of hours of flight already in their careers. Many of them had never left earth until this moment, and their first mission was going to be on the face on an alien planet.

He smiled, “if you knew as much as I did about aliens, Major, you might understand why we are doing something that seems so ludicrous, but sometimes when dealing with extraterrestrials, this is what we have to do.”

He turned to where a line of fifty pod shaped objects were being loaded one by one onto a rolling rail leading towards the airlock. Beside it half a dozen small fluffy shapes were busy overseeing the attachment of fifty identical Sonic cannons to the front bottom of each. There was a break in their work as one of the small creatures came waddling across the deck.

Admiral Vir Knelt down setting his hand on the floor and allowing Lord Avex to step onto his hand and then onto his shoulder as he stood back up.

The rest of the crowd watched in wide eyed awe, though they were, luckily, well trained enough not to do or say anything stupid despite their large eyes and quivering lips, which suggested they wanted nothing better than to cuddle the stuffed-animal esque alien that rested on his shoulder, “The cannons are in place, Admiral, and I have examined each of the pods, and the yare ready to be deployed.”

“Thank you Lord Avex, your work is much appreciated.”

It was just then that Sunny walked across the deck to join them. She was wearing her space suit as well and carried her helmet under one arm. The new recruits staired on in shock as she walked over to stand next to him, “The machine guns have been mounted and are ready to go Admiral, A few of our number have volunteered to go with the marines as extra support. Behind her at least a dozen other Drev raised their fists into the air and chanted their excitement not all that different from the line of marines on the far end of the hanger.

Admiral Vir nodded turning back towards the group of young pilots, not much younger than himself, and stepped up onto the nearest crate.

“On behave of the Galactic Assembly and the Vrul council, I thank all the men and women here for agreeing to accompany us on this mission today. You will be the first airborne unit in history to participate in an operation off Earth as their first assignment. You are thousands of lightyears away from home, orbiting an alien planet thousands of years older than our own, and today your mission is not one of destruction, but of liberation. For thousands of years the Vrul have been trapped inside their walls, until time and tradition made them forget about the dangers lurking outside.” he turned his eyes to look over every last man and women that stood before him, “What we are about to face is like nothing humanity has ever faced before, below the soil of this planet lies a plague dormant for thousands of years, a horde like locusts ready to rise up and infect the city. Now we have our protections, we have our suits, and the Vrul have their shielded city, but it is our job to start riding the planet of it’s plague.” He smiled, “Plus it always helps to have door mounted machine guns and a little rock ‘n roll.”

There was a sharp cheer from the men and women before him who raised their fists into the air. Behind them the marines joined in, and so did the Drev, who, he was pleased to say, had taken to rock like they had guitar solos for breakfast.

Still grinning, he reached up, pulled on his helmet, “Right, let’s get this done.”

He pointed to Sunny, Ramirez, Maverick and a few others, “With me in the elad chopper. The rest of you split off and gear up.”

His words were obeyed almost immediately as he stepped  over to what had once looked like a pod, but was now clearly a very specialized sort of chopper. 

As he slid into the pilot’s seat, and the others strapped in behind, he heard, “I thought you were a fighter pilot, not a helicopter pilot.” They pulled on their helmets.

Adam adjusted his harnesses, “I can fly anything from space ships to paper plans, you can bet your ass if it leaves the ground, I know how to fly it.”

Maverick buckled herself into the door gunner position, “Yeah, but if it has wheels, you better bet he’s probably gonna back it over your mailbox.”

“Put a sock in it Maverick, that is hardly my fault. I never really got the opportunity to practice.”

The door at the back shut and locked tight.

All around them other doors were being locked into place, and once all of the pilots had indicated they were ready to go, Admiral Vir gave the signal, and he felt the ship change course. He adjusted his comms set and called up to the bridge where Simon would be piloting them into position.

“How are we looking, Somon.”

“Almost in position Admiral.”

“Now remember to pull back into low orbit once you let us drop, or else the gravity well is going to pull you in, and it is going to be a bitch to get her back out.” “Yes sir, I know sir.”

“Good.”

He turned his eyes forward as a red light burst into life above their heads. Everyone evacuated the airlock as the fifty pods were brought by rail towards the doors. Behind him he could hear the others chanting something, though his heart was hammering so hard he could hardly hear what they were saying.

Funny thing is he bet he felt like every one of those new pilots getting ready for their first mission. He didn’t know if it was just him, but it felt like this every single time, and he wouldn’t trade it for the world. He ignored the tingling sensation in his bladder as the light blinked green before the airlock door, and the ramp slid open.

All went silent, and below him he watched as the light of the vrul homeworld washed over the deck before him pouring like golden honey.

The sight was breathtaking, steeling the air from his lungs as he looked down.

“Damn.” 

It would just never get old.would it.

“Prepare for drop, in three, two, one, drop.”

The latch on the back of the rail released, and suddenly they were falling away from the ship. Adam was pressed back in his seat as they accelerated downwards towards the open atmosphere.

Lights blinked on the console ahead of him and the tracking screen picked up his target.

They were approaching, and they were approaching fast.

They were entering the atmosphere now, and he felt it as their pod began to rock and rattled around him and fire began to lick up on the southside of his pod. It was almost deafening as they roared into the atmosphere. He turned on his comms watching as other pods roared into the atmosphere back and behind him. He could see them on his radar as they roared downward.

He had to wonder what it must be like for them.

Their first mission, and they were doing a high altitude drop onto an alien planet.

He almost envied them their excitement. Because he had done stuff like this before, and he was still grinning like an idiot.

Light rose up around them as the sky behind them turned blue. Clouds passed below them in great swaths, and he reached down to the controls ready to deploy.

He set of a general count for the rest of the pilots.

Three 

Two

One.

He pulled the release, and the engine roared to life. There was a sudden firing as the engine spurted downward, lifting them airborne for a second and slowing their descent. His innards dropped as G force allowed his stomach to crawl into his feet. Then the rotors deployed like a fan. There was a sharp chunk and then a whirr as they began to fall again, and then the rotors caught, and began to spin. The rear rotor did the same sliding into position. Both caught with a roar, and he whooped with adrenaline.

He toggled his radio.

“Alright, ready the door gun.”

Behind him the doors were slid open, causing a rush of air to blast into the open carriage as Maverick rolled the gun into position and locked it at the door with a loud snap. On the other side Maverick was doing the same. Beside him. Sunny took control of the extra rear mounted guns set in place especially for this mission.

Adam had the guns already built into the chopper, as well as missiles if he felt like it.

Beside him and below him, he watched as the fifty other choppers deployed like his. Some of them were a bit wobbly, but everything he saw seemed to go well.

“Alright everyone take it in low, and on my mark deploy the cannons.”

He angled them lower roaring towards his target.

Below them, the Vrul city was a glassy blue purple bubble against the orange, brown landscape.

He took point, and the other choppers fell into flight beside him, clustered in ten open groups of five helicopters each, and together they rolled in low over the landscape, not twenty feet above the ground in some cases, though those were only the pilots who were comfortable getting that close. From here he could see the thudding of their rotors causing the dirt to shake and the strange trees to quiver. 

The wildlife began to roll out in different directions, racing across the ground and away from the roaring choppers as if they knew what was coming, He scanned the ground, with Maverick and Ramriez leaning on the machine guns behind him.

“See anything yet?”

“Not yet.”

He opened his comms to everyone else, “Alright everyone, deploy sonic cannons in three, two, one go.” 

The first line of lyrics, and the first drumline rolled from the directional cannons, blasting the ground with a focused beam of sound like a laser for noise.

He whooped bobbing his head to the music, the sound so powerful he was able to hear it over the roaring of the rotors.

He sure hoped the Vrul had taken his advise and hidden in inside bunkers for this.

They roared over the landscape turning in a huge clockwise circle over the landscape.

“Report if you see anything.” he ordered.

At first, it didn’t seem like anything was going to happen, and he worried that his idea, which had seemed so cool and tactical to begin with , was nothing but a waste of resources. How embarrassing was that going to be to explain to the UNSC.

Yes, I borrowed the entire 113th graduating class to go on a joyride around the Vrul capital city, yes here is my rank and gun, I will now go live on the moon in exile never to show my face again.

“Sir! I have something.”

“Go.”

“Just south of the city, sir. I have movement coming from the trees in thermal.”

“Same here sir.” 

He was at the point of the circle, so he wasn’t likely to see it, made sense.

“Alright , let’s give it a pass. I want as many of those bugs out of the ground before we start shooting.”

They roared over the ground with the sound of the base rattling the stone below them. As he watched, one of the strange animals he had seen running, tipped over as the cannon passed over it and fell to the ground twitching. Apparently pattern tolerance was not something that many things on this planet had.

“Sorry guy, but things are going to be better when we are done.”

Rocks jumped and rattled as they took a wide turn around the city.

He could see the shield pulsing against the sonic waves that were bouncing off the ground and back into the air.

The blades of the helicopters cut through the air so fast it was like a light grey translucent wall against the sky.

They had almost made a full rotation.

“Holy shit.” for a second he wondered who had spoken until he realised that it was himself.

They were everywhere, swarming like ants over the landscape, turning the ground black in some places as they crawled over each other in confused circles. As the music got closer, their purposeful movement turned into awkward confusion.

“Stagger!.”

The formations staggered, falling behind each other so that everyone was always covering one segment.

“Ready to deploy the  sonic attack on my mark, in three, two, one, mark.”

It was a guitar solo this time, one that he had listened to thousands of times, and one that he couldn't have resisted using to kill zombie Vrul.

Th drumline cut in as the third obvious pattern in the song, and as it roared over the wave of Zombified Vrul, there was an immediate reaction as they all began staggering and falling to the ground, behind him he felt as the guns opened fire on either side with a sharp burrrr as the rotating barrels started spitting hot lead at 1,000 rounds per minute.

He laughed with something like maniacal glee as the powerful rounds poured into the infected creatures ripping them apart sometimes four at a time sending a wave of yellow pollen up into the air, to be kicked up by helicopter blades as they passed over. His circle kept him closest to the wall, so he was able to catch the majority of them before they could even attempt to make it to the city.

He toggled his own guns, and stitched a line of bullets over a completely black mass, which erupted into a burst of yellow. His circle took him around to where the Vrul had managed to make it to the wall of the city, and had begun climbing each other like they planned to create a ladder using bodies to the top of the wall. He gunned them down with great prejudice. As they moved along the wall, more and more of the creatures had piled themselves higher and higher, but that is not a trend that they allowed to last long. One of the piles managed to make itself three quarters of the way up the wall before their sonic attack hit them, causing the tower to collapse as both glorious drum lines and bullets roared into them.

He carved a circle through the sky coming over their first line of attack, where dark bodies were doing the best to crawl over their fallen brethren and pools of yellowed pollen having fallen to the ground. Ahead of him he could see a cloud of yellow where the following helicopter was stitching tis way over the landscape with great prejudice.

Behind him, he thought he heard Maverick cackle like a swamp witch as she loaded another belt of ammunition.

Yeah sure people back home were cool, but they would never be this cool, flying over an alien landscape, killing alien zombies while listening to a little ACDC, They could dream but nothing would ever be more awesome.

He couldn’t wait to tell his siblings.

His sister would be so jealous.

She had always been a fan of the zombie genre.

“Admiral, Admiral I think some of them are starting to fly.” Came the nervous comment over the com.

“Alright, remember the drill, just keep calm, and go higher if you can, then when you have enough clustered below you, drop one of the canisters.”

There was an acknowledgement over the comms.

With that announcement still running through his head, he got ready to drop one of his own canisters.

He was in view of the last helicopter as it rose into the air pursued by hundreds of little black dots that would erupt into yellow spores as they were hit by machine gun fire, and then something dropped from the bottom of the chopper, and then exploded just above the rising infected.

Thousands of tiny organic needles rained down on the vrul, cutting straight through their helium sacks, and sending them crashing downwards, into their companions, and finally to the ground where they erupted on impact, killing even more of their companions.

Up ahead, a wall of black rose before him, but he was faster.

They rose into the air and he roared over the wall, dropping one two and then three canisters in quick succession causing a wave of them to drop to the ground. The following helicopters followed his lead. He was having to rise higher and higher into the air, but still he was managing to keep ahead of them, they were slow and he was fast, but that didn’t stop a few of them from getting in front of him. 

There was a jolt as his rotors hit one of them, and he gritted his teeth, it was fine, one or two was fine as long as he didn’t allow them to gum it up.

He pulled back and up and continued to drop more and more of the caisters.

One or two of them floated high enough to make it close to his sonic cannon, but they were blown back and the pressure caused their helium sacks to rupture.

***

The Vrul council stood on the wall overlooking the outside of the city as a wall of the Vrul infected rose into the sky obscuring everything in a wave of dark bodies. Human helicopters roared in a wide circle around the city, and everywhere they went yellow spores erupted into the air. All of them wore safety masks as a precaution, but that didn’t stop the fear that rose up in them as they stepped back arms held out in shock. Dr. Krill stared on in fascination and awe. He wasn’t wearing hearing protection like the others, he could handle human music to a certain degree, and it was pretty muffled through the shielding.

He watched in shock and awe as one of the helicopters cut too low, and rolled right into a dense thicket of the floating bodies. There was a horrific eruption of yellow as the rotors caught hundreds of the creatures, and then the helicopter itself began to spin out of control crashing and rupturing Vrul as it roared towards the ground.

The emergency systems deployed firing one last time to slow the chopper’s crash. The sudden burst of flame ruptured a line of the Vrul infected before it finally plowed into the ground sending up a wave of yellow spores.

“Sweet Nebulon.” one of the council muttered.

Two more helicopters went down, and it looked as if there weren't going to be enough bullets.

What had they done!”

***

“Everyone, On me, increase sonic cannons! Now!” he had seen the three choppers go down, and he had seen all three of their safety measures deploy, but he couldn’t be sure if any of them had survived. “Avoid the crash sites. Everyone on me!”

The entire fleet of remaining choppers clustered together turning up the volume on their sonic cannons, and the combined force was so powerful that some of the bodies began to rupture even without gunfire though it still tore downwards.

They took two more passes before he saw his ammunition running low. That was fine. The Vrul bodies were no longer coming in waves and it would be harder to hit them from above, now that they weren’t just coming in a wave.

He aimed for one of the crash sites.

“I want a group of us to set down. Only choppers with Drev on them!”

There was agreement as ten choppers split off to the three crash sites.

Adam roared down from the sky, and set down on a smoking heap of yellow coated bodies.

He cut the engine , and reach back to pull his spear from where it was attached to the floor of the chopper. It wasn’t a Drev spear and it wasn’t a human spear but something in between, with the reverse spike on the end like they had done with the NeoSpartans.

He turned in his seat just in time to see the two marines push their machine guns out of position and one of the infected Vrul to come charing at Ramirez.

A spear appeared in his hand in that moment, and he ran it through the face.

Sunny was behind him a second later, and together they were out the door, three of them armed with spears, maverick armed with her assault rifle, and together they made their way towards the downed chopper.

Making it there just in time to see as a pile of clustered Vrul was ruptured from within, and a very angry Drev came roaring out.

He recognized from the height who it was.

“Kanan!” he heard Sunny yell.

They ran over to help, sweeping through the cluster of Vrul zombies before they began fanning out across the open plane.

He turned up the speakers on the outside of his suit and allowed it to blare music as he raced towards anything that still looked to be moving. A few of them were still floating into the sky, but the remaining helicopters were taking care of those, and Maverick from the ground on occasion.

He ran one through the face, turned and clubbed the other in the head like he was swinging  for a home run.

His blad sliced straight through the neck of one as he staggered over the uneven ground.

To the side of him, sunny was cutting through them with impunity like a god of war, touching them though they never touched her, the yellowed gore spattering her suit.

As more and more of the Vrul were cut out of the sky, more and more choppers landed, and men and women filed out, running in open lines, using whatever the could to dispatch the remaining bodies.

He saw one of the new pilots grab a Vrul by the neck, and twist it like he was breaking the neck of a chicken, surprised when the entire head came off. He kind of hoped the Vrul council did not see that.

By the end of the battle. Four of their choppers had been downed. Two humans were dead, both of them in the crashes, and at least four more critically injured.

He felt bad about it.

But he couldn’t have predicted that.

At least none of the pilots had died.

Two of his marines had though, tossed from the choppers as they were falling from the sky. It made him sick to think about their families, the ones that he would have to send letters to, but he tried not to think about that for now.

Thousand upon thousands of the vrul zombies were dead, and even as he thought this dozens more were being dispatched by hand by humans who were no more than walking radios at this point, having chosen their own theme songs to fight zombies.

Some of thor picks were quite surprising, though he couldn’t blame them for their humor or their irony.

They still had a long way to go, but at least he knew how it could be done.

Vrul past, hopefully, would never come back to haunt them. 

The two songs I imagine Adam picked for this was 

First: Raise Hell - Dorothy

Second: Thunderstruck - ACDC

[pact-with-faith]

Satan's Firecracker

This is a gift-fic for my friend @fictionsthings ! I wrote this for them, based off the song Firecracker by Cami-Cat! I hope you enjoy! :D

Satan wasn’t typically one for parties, much preferring the comfort of his room or the library, being surrounded by books, near infinite knowledge, all ready and waiting at his fingertips. However, unfortunately, his attendance was mandatory, according to the eldest Avatar. As much as he’d love to avoid it like the plague out of spite, his brothers would never let him hear the end of it, and there was one thing making it tolerable. Well, one person, he should say.

Tadashi. One of the human exchange students, and his partner. In chaos as much as in romance.

He started to look around the giant ballroom for them, eyebrows furrowing a bit in frustration. Curse demons for being so tall. Or humans for being so short. Either or. Despite their bright green hair, he still somehow managed to lose track of them. They’d promised it’d only be a minute, they were going to get a drink before Beel got to it all, and would bring some back for him as well.

Unable to ignore a small nagging in the back of his mind, he went in search of them. It helped that he was already in his demon form, similar to most of the demons present, as it meant that people cleared out of his path much easier. No one wants to be in the way of the Avatar of Wrath, after all.

Frowning to himself once reaching the buffet table, Satan glanced around. Beel was seemingly taking a break, perhaps drawn away by someone to ensure that others had a chance to get at the hors d'oeuvres, as there weren’t any particularly familiar faces at the table. Let alone one framed by radioactive green.

However, he noticed that same shock of green out of the corner of his eye, disappearing through a doorway.

Bingo.

He followed after them, his relief at having caught sight of them faltering when realizing they were heading outside. To the garden. Where were they going?

Satan broke into a light jog to catch up, easily taking the stairs down two at a time. “Tadashi?” He called out, relieved when they stopped. At least they weren’t upset with him in particular.

They turned back to him, their expression turning sheepish. “Hey, Satan.” They greeted softly once he caught up to them, fidgeting with the buttons on their coat.

“Is something the matter?” He asked them gently. “Did someone say something to you? If they did, I swear-”

He was cut off by them gently grabbing onto his boa, letting out a laugh. “No, no, no one said anything.” They reassured. “I just…”

When they trailed off, Satan gave them a concerned look as he gently put his hand over theirs, giving it a soft squeeze. He wouldn’t rush them to explain what’s bothering them.

It took a bit for them to steel their nerves. “I just… don’t feel like I fit in. Especially there, with so many big important demons…” They explained. “I’m just a human, and I don’t even have magic like Solomon does… I’m pretty sure the only reason anyone in there even tolerates me is because Lord Diavolo wants me here for the exchange program. I was never really a party person to begin with, then adding that in…” They shrugged, looking away almost guiltily.

Satan listened closely to their explanation, giving their hand another gentle squeeze to prove he’d been listening. “That’s understandable… most of the demons in there are up on high horses anyways. Lord Diavolo has… a lot of work ahead of him, with trying to get the three realms on equal footing.” He admitted.

“But where were you heading?” He asked after a moment, tilting his head a tiny bit.

Tadashi got awkward again as they answered. “I was gonna head back to the House of Lamentations… It didn’t really make sense to stay if I didn’t feel like I really fit in, but I didn’t want to disturb any of you.”

Satan’s expression softened, gently pulling them closer and giving their hair a playful ruffle, just laughing at the glare they shot up at him for the action. “You wouldn’t have disturbed us, and it would have been safer to let us know.” He reminded gently.

But before they had the chance to feel guilty, he let them go and took two steps back, giving an exaggerated bow towards them, one arm outstretched to them and the other across his waist.

“But if you’ll humor me… Tadashi, may I have this dance?”

Their face flushed red, clearly surprised by the sudden shift in tone. But it didn’t take long before they were breaking into laughter of their own, falling into a half curtsey, half bow of their own.

“But of course, good sir~” They teased as they took his hand. Satan just chuckled, the couple standing up straighter.

They could faintly hear the waltz being played in the castle, but they paid it no mind.

Instead, they focused on their own rhythm, their breathing, their heartbeats. That gave them the beat to dance to. Their steps gradually picked up pace, the duo moving away from each other so their hands were the only connection they had, only to take three more steps and be chest to chest.

Satan left his tail loose behind him, the ends of his boa and the tips of his hands, feet, and horns occasionally lighting with the faintest flickers of green fire, a little added flare that came from the raw emotions he felt, being able to focus so heavily on this moment with Tadashi.

Tadashi.

A mere human, with no powers to their name, but more confidence than any of his brothers. Willing to face death itself to defend them.

A human, the human, one of the few people in all three realms who looked at him and saw more than his Sin. Saw more than Wrath. Who saw a bookworm who felt too much, who’s rage wasn’t even always his own. They saw him at his worst, and helped bring him back down to calmness, softening his edges. Shared quiet moments with him in front of the fireplace, reading and enjoying each other’s company. Sharing the excitement of new developments in books they were reading. Taking turns reading to each other.

Tadashi, the human who gave him the world.

The same Tadashi who humored his mischief, who terrorized Lucifer alongside him. Who wasn’t afraid to call someone out, no matter how powerful they may be. They felt a lot too, but instead of it being explosive and destructive and all consuming, they were warm. Exciting. They make people happy, even beyond his family.

Comparing himself to Tadashi, it felt like comparing a canon to a firecracker.

That’s the best way to describe Tadashi in a single word.

Firecracker.

So as Satan spun them around before letting them back away again, their pace having picked up enough to make both of their hearts pound, he let his magic flow through them too. Just a little, not enough to risk hurting or overwhelming them.

When Tadashi’s free hand flew out behind themselves in a grand pose, licks of green flames flew from their fingertips. They faintly felt the heat on their hand, which left an icy cold in its wake, prompting them to look at what had just happened.

Satan just chuckled and gave them a gentle tug, guiding them closer to himself and shifting their weight to dip them backwards, easily holding them up. He let his tail sweep just above the ground around them, followed by a trail of the same green flames.

“Thought I’d… spice it up a little.” He explained, his voice just over a whisper.

Tadashi snorted in amusement, shaking their head and grinning. They leaned up just enough to plant a small kiss on his nose, turning the Avatar of Wrath pink as he helped them both stand up again to continue their dance.

With each new twirl and dramatic movement, both of them danced with the hellish fire, seamlessly passing the lead back and forth.

The impromptu dance came to an end as Satan gently pulled Tadashi close to his chest, an arm around their waist. His free hand reached up to gently rub at their cheek, his expression soft and eyes swimming with emotions as the glow of magic faded while he worked on catching his breath and calming his heart.

Tadashi tilted their head into his touch and shut their eyes, letting out a content sigh. “That was...wonderful.” They admitted quietly, so hesitant to break the silence by speaking too loudly.

Satan hummed his agreement, leaning down to place his forehead against theirs, letting his tail slowly and carefully wrap around one of their legs, ever so careful not to let the bony appendage scratch their skin. “It truly was…” He breathed.

“I love you… My Firecracker.”

[dulce-pjm]

Hi! Could I request a Jin or namjoon arranged marriage! au with “One more kiss.” Thank you!!

of course!! let’s do it ;) took some creative liberties since i got multiple arranged marriage requests, hope that’s okay!! it's rather angsty

namjoon with au #1 - arranged marriage!au and prompt #6 - “One more kiss.”

make your own request here using these prompts!

rainy day promise

namjoon x reader! ft. bestie!hoseok

word count: 2.4k (i’m honestly so proud of myself for not making this a borderline oneshot)

genre: fluff, angst, arranged marriage!au, (very very slight) historical!au and wartime!au

summary: when namjoon’s away, all you can do is worry. 

The rain has always made you sleepy. 

It reminds you of quiet nights by the fire, curled against his chest as he reads to you. It makes you feel him kissing your temple softly and whispering “Good night, love,” when he sees your eyes flutter closed and your breaths become heavier. The rain and his memory are too comforting, too tempting to resist drifting off into dreamland. 

“You alright, Y/N?” The question has you jolting in your seat, eyes flying from the drops cascading down the window to the man next to you, a warm smile gracing his sharp features. 

The meal in front of you has long gone tasteless and your date has noticed, picking up at how you’ve gone from merely playing with your food to not touching it altogether. 

“‘M fine,” you murmur, shoveling a few potatoes into your mouth despite the nausea rising in your stomach. Your eyes go wide when he grabs your wine glass, taking no time at all to fill it. 

“You’ll be better if you drink a little.” You feign glare at him but his smile remains stern. 

“I’m really alright, Hoseok.” You take a swig of the wine anyhow, letting the drink warm your cheeks and sting at the back of your throat. 

“You’re worried about him, aren’t you?” You don’t answer, suddenly finding your untouched peas very interesting. He’d be picking them off your plate if he was here. Hoseok places a gentle hand on top of yours. “Y/N, there’s no sense in getting all worked up. He’ll be okay, always is.”

There’s a clang on the opposite side of the table when your uncle’s silverware hits the table. 

“What are you two talking about over there?” You briefly cringe, summoning a sheepish smile you’ve worked to perfect over the years. 

You both brush it off. Hoseok, ever personable, is able to change the subject before you can blink, chatting with your aunt about some upcoming play he’s directing. 

Hoseok is wealthy, like his father and grandfather before him. He’s kind and funny and better with people than you’ve ever been. He could provide you with a comfortable life, away from the war. That’s why your aunt and uncle chose him for you, why they orchestrated this arrangement underneath your nose. 

You hadn’t rejected him, not exactly. You’ve never been in any position to reject the courtship or engagement. But both you and Hoseok know your heart lies elsewhere. 

Your aunt grabs your hand, but her gaze lies on the man to your left. “I mean, really, Kim Seokjin! When word gets out, there’ll be rioting on the streets just to get into the show, I’m sure of it.” Hoseok laughs awkwardly, giving you sparing glances to keep track of your worrying mind. 

“I was just as surprised as you when he auditioned. It’s been an honor to work with him. I actually hope to—”

The dining hall door slams open. You whip your head towards the door along with the rest of the guests. The messenger is drenched, looking haggard with disheveled hair and rain still dripping down her face. 

“I— I’m sorry, sir—” Her teeth are chattering. “The merchants returned. There was—”

“Slow down, Hana,” your aunt says, always maternal. “It’s alright. Take your time.” She nods, taking a deep breath as a puddle of rainwater forms around her feet. 

“There was an injury. The carriage flipped while they were passing through the valley, because of all this rain.”

You’re on feet before you can think twice, heavy dining chair scraping against the hardwood as you push it backward. Hoseok shoots you a warning look that you don’t catch. 

“Excuse me,” you mutter. “I’m not feeling well.”

Hoseok stands with you, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I’ll escort you.” 

Your uncle shakes his head, scolding, “No, stay with us, Hoseok. It wouldn’t be proper.” You could laugh. Neither of you has ever been particularly proper with each other. 

You bid your aunt and uncle goodnight, ignoring a concerned stare from Hoseok. As soon as you’re out of sight, you dash towards the basement, towards the closet you always meet him in when he returns. You pray you’ll see him there and not surrounded by medics. 

The closet is placed discreetly, the door hidden by old barrels and shelves, bare walls and damp floors making this corner of this house largely unused and untouched. 

You knock thrice on the door, pause, and knock a fourth time. When the door doesn’t open, you repeat the code. 

No answer. Your heart drops into stomach as you stumble backwards, breathing spiraling out of control. 

“Hey, love.” A soft hand lands on the small of your back and you gasp, spinning to face him. He’s all smiles, lips stretched into his dimpled cheeks as he resists the urge to kiss you right here. “Miss me?”

You throw your arms around his middle, pressing your face into his chest as he digs his nose into your hair. 

You know how self-conscious he is about his intimidating aura. His sharp glances and sharper words often have most of the staff avoiding him like the plague, but to you, he’s all soft embraces and blushing cheeks. 

--

“How was the trip?” The two of you are perched on worn stools that wobble when you lean too far one way, arms wrapped around each other to keep them from moving too much. Your head is pressed against his shoulder while he traces patterns on the back of your hand that's resting on his thigh. 

“It was... amazing. Honestly.” 

“I’m glad.” And you are. But you can’t help but always worry. These trips are dangerous and take much too long. When war and battle beckon at your door, every day without him in your sight is another day of anxiety.

Namjoon is a servant of your uncle’s house. He’s a cartographer, having studied at the same university as Hoseok and yourself, earning admission through his merit alone. The first times you saw him, he was bent over old maps and worn books, the weak candlelight illuminating the texts in front of him and his face poorly. Under the ruse of taking nighttime strolls, you’d found yourself sneaking peeks at him more often, smiling softly at the dark tufts of hair he’d run his fingers through until it stood up on his head. 

You remember when Hoseok introduced you to him officially, tired of hearing you gush about him, and the three of you became a unit, joint at the hip wherever you went. 

You hadn’t realized how good those days were, not when you had them. When you and Namjoon were giggly and sweet and bashful and it took Hoseok fighting tooth and nail for either of you to confess your true feelings. He’d been delighted when you finally gave up on hiding it, nearly shrieking in joy when he saw Namjoon sneak a peck on your cheek in the corner stairwell.

Those days were golden and joyful, full of laughs and long nights doing schoolwork and attending fancy university parties only to sneak away with half the buffet. 

The days were good. Until they weren’t. 

Until your uncle and aunt and Hoseok’s parents informed you of their longstanding agreement: that the two of you be married. 

It’d been nothing but an absolute shock, but the both of you knew better than to say no, knew better than to risk their wrath. Hoseok would have been fine, though his parents certainly would have been unhappy. But if you rejected your uncle's wishes, an orphan with nothing but gratitude for their kindness in taking care of you, you couldn't be too sure they wouldn’t just relieve you of your position here, sending you to the streets. And you and Namjoon had neither the means nor the connections to fend for yourselves in the city, not in times like these.

When Hoseok got on one knee the next week in your dining room with Namjoon watching from the corner, newly hired by your uncle at your own suggestion, you said yes. Neither of you wanted it, but Namjoon insisted Hoseok go through with it, too caught up in his worry for your safety to think of himself.

It'd been difficult keeping the ruse, especially once your university days were over and there were much fewer places tucked away from your aunt and uncle's eyes and ears. It'd have been much more difficult without Hoseok, but he's always been the charmer out of you three, easily diverting attention and prying eyes when need be.

"I actually got you something."

Your eyes light up in surprise as you shift to face him. "You did? But you said—"

"I lied," he replies with a small smirk. "We always planned to stop by a few cities. I just wanted to see your face when I surprised you."

You giggle softly, lightly slapping at his arm. "You still lied.”

“For a good cause,” he jokes, pecking at your cheek before drawing a small box from his pocket. His cheeks flush slightly as he hands it to you. It reminds you of those first times you spoke to him, when you were both sputtering messes that could barely hold eye contact for longer than a moment. 

It’s small but heavy in your hands, the size somewhat indicative of its contents. It fits just so in your palm, and when you open it, tears spring into your eyes at the small ring nestled into the velvet cushion. It isn’t shiny or decorated with diamonds or worth half your university tuition like the ring Hoseok gave you. It’s humble and wooden, deep brown and adorned with intricately carved with roses and other patterns you don’t recognize. Your thumb runs over the grooves almost instinctively, as if trying to memorize the feeling as quickly as possible. You can almost see his face when he spotted it in some market or shop, see that lit up expression on his features when it reminds him of you. 

“Oh, Namjoon...” You swipe at your eyes quickly, but when you meet his gaze, there’s already a few stray tears cascading down his face. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurts as you smile, lifting your hand to cup his face, thumb brushing away the tears on his cheeks. “I know it’s not much. But I thought you might like it. It’s discreet, so I figured you could wear it around, if you wanted to.”

You chuckle softly and wonder what you’d done to deserve him. “It’s perfect.” You remove Hoseok’s engagement ring from your finger and quickly replace it with Namjoon’s. You already know you’ll be running your fingers over it again often, treating it like a tether to him when he isn’t here. It won’t sit on your ring finger, of course, but for now, you leave it there, admiring its simplicity. 

Namjoon takes a deep breath, pulling your hands into his. “I know everything’s uncertain right now. And I know that might not change for a while.” He runs his thumb across the ring, looking at it intently before lifting your whole hand and kissing it gently, plush lips ever soft against your skin. “But this is a promise. That one day I’ll sweep you off your feet and we won’t look back.”

You laugh loudly this time, maybe a bit too loudly, but you don’t care. “If I don’t sweep you off your feet first.”

He doesn’t ask the question hanging in the air, but your response is enough of an answer as you pull him in for a kiss by the back of his neck. You can taste the saltwater from both of your tears, the moment both incredibly joyful and bittersweet.

When you pull away, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear while you run a thumb over his dimples, all affections. 

“It’s late,” he murmurs. “We should go.”

You sigh, hand dropping from his face. You wish you could drag him to your room, sweet talk him into playing with your hair or reading with you for a while, but you know he’s right. 

You rise with a nod, feet dragging behind you as you make for the closet door, listening outside for a moment on the off chance that someone’s up late and nearby. Namjoon stays in his seat, always leaving after you to decrease suspicion and allow you to get to bed first. When no sound meets you other than faint thunder, you crack open the door, stepping outside. 

But just as you start to close it behind you, Namjoon grabs the edge of the door with his hand, sticking his face out to meet your startled gaze. 

“Wait.”

“Is something wrong?” You search his face with concern, wondering if you should have said more earlier, if you’d hurt him somehow. 

“No, no.” He shakes his head fervently with a smile. “No, that’s not it.”

You furrow your brows at his antics, though you’ve always loved seeing his more silly side. “Then what do you want, Mister Kim?”

His eyes glint with mischief. “One more kiss, Mrs. Kim.” Your cheeks are flushed, but laugh as you grab his shoulders, pulling him close to you as you let him press his velvety lips onto yours, savoring the feeling until he’s with you again. 

“Love you,” you murmur, peppering a few more kisses on his chin and cheeks for good measure. 

“I love you too,” he whispers. “So much.” He starts to shut the door, but pauses, lips down turned slightly in a frown. “Oh— don’t forget to move the ring to a different finger.”

You nod. “I won’t.” It’s bittersweet as the door closes, a reminder that the bubble you two have created yourself only goes so far, that this isn’t quite as real as you want it to be. 

Namjoon saves the longer, more elegant speech and proposal for a future date, like its own unspoken promise. One day social status and money and survival won’t stop you. One day you’ll both be coming home from long days to love each other unabashedly, to embrace without fear or time constraints. 

You smile to yourself as the rain patters outside, your feet echoing behind you as you creep back to your room. 

You wish Namjoon were with you as you climb under the sheets, feeling a bit cold without him here. 

Yes, the rainfall makes you sleepy but as your head fills with thoughts of Namjoon and his promise, you grin stupidly to yourself, thinking you probably won’t get too much rest tonight. 

[blossom-hwa]

To Find Solace in Your Arms - JANGJUN

Well uh. Here it is. Guard jangjun written in five days :D I’ll accept some blame but refer to casey @thepixelelf​ if you want someone to beat up for introducing the assassin thing because she suggested it not me I swear! Anyway, this universe is still dedicated to casey because without her it wouldn’t have happened <3

(Reading To Bloom in the Night/Weaver (linked below) is not necessarily required to understand this story; however, it may offer explanations for certain events!)

Pairing: Jangjun x gender neutral!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, fantasy, guard!au, assassin!au

Triggers: cursing, implications of death, semi-graphic depictions of blood (reader is an assassin)

Word Count: 16.5k

Broken and lost, you find your last chance at redemption in a cursed prince’s loyal guard.

To Spin a Yarn | Golden Child Masterlist

Once upon a time, in a kingdom of song and music, there lived a prince who ran away. Cursed with death, he had found the only person whose life could prevail under his voice, a gardener with the sweetest song, and there was nothing he would not do to keep them close – even giving up his crown. When the gardener was arrested for accidentally learning the secret they willingly pledged to keep, the prince and his guard broke them away and fled into the night, whispering goodbyes to the loved ones they left behind.

The king and queen labeled it a kidnapping, led a manhunt for months, espoused heartbreak and sorrow for their son lost to his disloyal guard and a scheming gardener. Few believed the words of two cold-hearted monarchs, but enough did not care – bounty hunters and assassins pledged their services to the crown’s gold, resolved to kill the alleged kidnappers and return the prince alive (or dead, apparently – the palace, for all its shiny words of heartbreak, was not keen to have him back). However, one by one, they failed, either bled to death in the woods or forced to give up when all leads vanished.

One contractor was left, the most ruthless of all. Few had the coin to pay for the service of any one of his employees, but those who did were never left disappointed. With all else failed and their son still eluding capture, the palace paid for one assassin, asked for the best their money could buy. The contractor gave his due and tasked the job with his favorite employee who had recently fallen out of favor with a mission gone awry – they would have one last chance to redeem themselves.

When the guard sensed a follower, he only sighed and readied himself. The prince and his gardener had gone on further as he had forced them to – after all, he was the odd one out, the one who wasn’t truly needed. His purpose was always to protect even at the cost of his own life. He could keep an assassin off their trail for at least enough time to get away, and all of the others whom the palace had sent had failed eventually. He was the one who was still alive.

But desperation turns claws stronger, knives sharper, pain deeper.

And the guard never expected to come face to face with a ghost.

Neither guard nor assassin left the fight uninjured, both in body and in mind. Memories of ages gone, long pushed away but never forgotten, would plague them as the months passed with fight after bloody fight, knives clanging and words bantering and eyes flashing with emotions suppressed but finally brought to light –

Yet they did not stop. They had their loyalties and they had their duties, and even if they somehow felt at home with their snipping words and clanging blades, none of it mattered. None of it mattered. None of it mattered, not when the assassin learned the truth of the guard’s role in his prince’s kidnapping, not even when the guard looked deep into bladed eyes and saw into the human inside.

Until a secret came to light, and for the first time, a loyalty deeper than that of duty forced the assassin to drop their knife and lead the guard to a home he had despaired as lost forever.

And yet home was not home, even in the warm arms of a second ghost come to life, not when the curved knife of a teasing smile had disappeared in the forest, glittering eyes lost to the night. He prayed to the moon, to the watching stars, that the assassin would someday find their way home to arms that would welcome them as warmly as the ghost’s who had welcomed him.

His arms.

This is the story of a guard charged to protect and an assassin bound to kill, paths fated to intertwine once more after they first diverged, who found solace in knife-bladed smiles and laughing eyes the night they first met under the moon.

. . . . .

“Y/N.”

You turn around from the clothing stall, eyebrows furrowed. What’s Minho doing here, interrupting probably your last moments with your only friend before your employer decides to cut you off? “What are you doing here?”

His eyes remain impassive. “He wants to see you.”

So it’s time. 

You sigh, turning back to your friend and her piles of clothing. “Sorry, work calls.” An easy smile falls onto your lips, masking the anxiety that races your heart. She doesn’t know that you might be six feet under within a day, and you don’t intend to tell her. “Anyway, I left a little something at your house. Make sure to take it in.”

“Oh my – Y/N, seriously?”

But you’ve already turned away, fluttering your fingers in the air as you throw a last smile in her direction. It’s the least you could do – your little gifts will probably end after today, and with her business, she needs any bit of money she can get.

Quickly, you match your steps to Minho’s, ignoring her fondly exasperated shouts as you follow him through the crowded market. “Did he say anything?”

“No.” Minho shrugs, though a glint remains in his eyes. You mentally take stock of every knife concealed on your person. “But you can imagine.”

It takes a lot of restraint to not plunge the blade you’re twirling in your hand into his side. He’s probably expecting it, anyway – you’ve been at each other’s throats ever since you first punched him in the nose, all those years ago. “Yeah, I can.” You keep your eyes perfectly blank, even though fear of death pounds your heart as the two of you pass into the richer community, where your employer lives when he’s in the country. “Bet it’s something fun for you to think about.”

You don’t need to look to see the smile curving Minho’s lips. He’d like you dead, wouldn’t he? Of course he doesn’t say anything, but there’s a reason you remain aware of the knives hidden in your sleeve. Plus the one in your hand.

Finally, you reach the door. A servant pokes his head out. “Name?”

He knows your name. You hate having to say it anyway. “Y/N,” you reply curtly.

The door opens fully. You take a deep breath and sheathe the knife.

“Good luck,” Minho says cheerfully. Your neck crawls where his breath puffs against your skin.

The servant closes the door, leaving you alone with him in a large, open room full of light. The sun’s warmth streams through the windows, burning your skin. But even with that burn, the sunlight turning your skin to ash, you’d rather stay there than follow the servant to the back of the home, the darker rooms where your employer likes to conduct business.

But you follow, step by step, even as your fingers begin to shake and you have to clench the handle of one of your knives to keep them from trembling. You’ll fight. You’ll fight, if he orders your death – it’s all you know, fighting, and you’ll go down the way you lived – it doesn’t matter if he’s your employer, it doesn’t matter if he’ll have someone in there to take care of you when you inevitably fight back – if you’re going to die and have lived as a fighter no one can expect you to just give up –

The servant stops suddenly. You just manage to avoid bumping into him. He knocks on the door, oblivious to you. “They’re here, sir.”

“Enter.”

His voice turns your blood not to ice, but to sludge – slow, barely-moving, clogging your veins until you begin to choke, silently, barely able to move your legs to walk inside the now-open door –

Only one person is inside. You fight to keep the surprise off your face. Why is there no one here? Does he actually think you’ll go down without a fight? Or that he can take care of you himself?

“Sir.” You dip your head sharply.

“Look up.”

You do.

He sits in an upholstered chair, eyes piercing. The chair and the eyes have stayed the same, even as skin has sagged, hair has grayed, and some decorations have been moved out while others have come in. His gaze pins you down and like you’re a teen again, seeing him for the first time after all the horror stories you were told, you shrink under his attention, even with all the knives hidden in your clothes.

(Those horror stories were all true. More than once, when you were still new and hadn’t made your mark just yet, you were one of those called in to clean blood off the floor.)

Your blood is going to be wrung out of the carpets, soon. And it’ll be a lot of blood if you have anything to do with it.

He stays silent, still pinning you with his eyes. You clench your fists beneath the table. Breathe in, out.

“You disappointed me last time.”

Your stomach curdles. You only bow your head in response.

“You know what happens to those who disappoint.”

Blood seeping into carpets, staining the wood floor beneath. Small, shaking hands scrubbing dry red and black with buckets of soap and water. 

Maybe you won’t try to leave behind so much blood, after all. You have a little sympathy left after so many years of fingers and backs aching from rubbing rough cloths against the ground. Spite is powerful, but sometimes sympathy weighs more.

“If you were any of the others, you would be dead by now.”

True. Your last few days of freedom, you assumed, were just because you happened to be a favorite. A sort of last meal served before a prisoner’s execution.

Silence stretches. You keep your head low, shoulders tensed, nails biting into your palms, ready to lunge. You’ll fight. You’ll fight. You can picture it now – a blade aiming for your heart. You’ll dodge, knock the knife away, slide the weapons from your sleeves and throw, hoping they pierce dark eyes before someone rushes in and throws you to the floor, carves open your body until your blood soaks into the ornate carpet –

One hand appears in your line of lowered vision, a piece of thick, creamy paper sliding onto the table. “This is your next mission.”

Your head snaps up. Next mission?

“The prince has disappeared, and the palace now pays a large sum for the capture of his kidnappers within one year.” The paper slides closer. “A gardener and a royal guard. And the prince does not have to be brought back alive – if he was maimed by his kidnappers or caught in the crossfire…”

Somewhere deep in your mind, you understand the subtext. The royal family doesn’t care so much for the prince as it does about maintaining its reputation. But the forefront of your brain is still trying to comprehend the fact that the crown paid your employer to carry out this murder, and despite your last failure, he still chose you.

“You have one year to complete this mission. Shouldn’t be too difficult, no?” your employer says, finally forcing you to look up. He looks faintly amused, almost sadistically so – he has to have known how you expected to be dead already. “The royal guard may give you some trouble, but not more than you can handle.”

You almost question him – why are you receiving this mission and not some other assassin who may not be as efficient as you but still has a cleaner record, zero percent failure versus whatever percent that last mission cost you? But your employer hates being questioned, and more likely than not, he’d take the contract away with a cheerful, “Perhaps I did choose wrongly,” and then where would you be?

“No, sir.” You swallow hard, finally letting go of your fists. Crescents burn in your palms where nails bit into the skin.

“I suppose you are wondering why I chose you for this mission rather than one of those who have not disappointed me yet.”

You don’t dare to nod.

He leans forward. “I considered others. But you have always been the best assassin.” A smile splits his face, like a slit throat. “You remember what I have told you from the start. The best killers are not the bloodiest. They are the most efficient. You do not have to enjoy blood to become a killer.”

That’s true. You’ve always hated the feeling of sticky red liquid soaking your skin. Yet here you are, an assassin.

“Others forget. You have not.” He leans back again. “So I am giving you a second chance.” The smile disappears. “Do not disappoint me this time.”

You’re not going to die. You’re not going to die. You’re going to live to see another day, you won’t have to fight for your existence, you’ll be able to keep your friend safe and support her longer – you even have a mission. A second chance.

Tears of relief prick at your eyes and you bow, fighting the lump in your throat. “Thank you, sir.”

He’s smiling when you rise again, eyes narrowed to slits. “Do not disappoint me,” he repeats.

You swear you won’t.

. . . . .

Jangjun is once again being followed.

Internally, he groans. Seriously, after all those assassins and bounty hunters he and Joochan left dead or in the dust, he would’ve thought the palace had given up by now. Can’t they just let them all live in peace after making their lives hell for so long?

But the king and queen don’t care about any of that, and Bomin probably has only a little influence, if he even knows about the assassins in the first place. Jangjun sighs. At least he sent the other two up ahead first – Jangjun’s just the guard, the odd man out of the trio. His duty is to protect, and he’ll do that to the last. The others are more important. They need time to be happy.

He keeps walking, even as the sky grows darker and the moon begins to rise. The follower stays on his path, but by all the gods, they’re good. Jangjun can’t tell where they are, can only feel something stalking him.

Then there’s a shift in the air. Jangjun stops.

And ducks just in time for a knife to whiz past where his head was less than a second ago.

Before he even hears the blade thunk into a nearby tree trunk, a figure leaps from the foliage – almost on top of Jangjun if he hadn’t whirled away at the last second. Metal rings against the sheath of his sword and he swings it just in time to catch the long knife slashing towards his face.

You’re good. Too good. Way better than any of the others sent to kill him or the gardener, to bring Joochan back to the palace. Metal crashes and leaves fall as you dance away from his single blade, twin knives glinting like lethal stars from the sky – there’s a natural grace to your movements that almost remind him of Donghyun’s sister and the way she moved so fluidly through the air, only your grace slices deadly and sharp while hers flowed supple and soft.

But that isn’t the only familiar thing he sees.

Sharp eyes meet his, glinting dangerously in the rising moonlight. It almost distracts him into thinking – where has he seen that sort of glint before? He knows he’s seen it before, but on who, where, and when – but then a second blade slices towards his side and he remembers he can’t think, he can’t think, thinking is what gets you killed in the middle of a fight –

Animals burst out of hiding as you and Jangjun trample the forest floor. He nicks your arm and you hiss, retaliating with a two-bladed strike against his single sword that makes his teeth chatter with the reverb – and all the while he’s fighting, there’s that nagging thought in the back of his mind that he refuses to entertain, the thought that screams he’s seen those eyes or at least that glint on someone he says he’s forgotten but hasn’t really, has only pushed the memories back after so many years because they never mattered. He would never see them again, not the sharp-eyed pickpocket he fell in love with –

Them –

Oh, gods, them –

Jangjun trips over a tree root. He regains his balance quickly, but it’s more than enough time for you to duck under one flailing arm and slam him against the trunk, wrenching his sword out of his hands and knocking the air of his lungs. One knife rests against his side while the other lodges under his chin, blade pressing into his throat.

He closes his eyes. If this is how he dies, then so be it. Joochan and his partner have gone up ahead and he told them not to come back, to wait until morning and if he didn’t meet with them by then, to continue on their own. If he dies now at the hands of an assassin, he’s performed his duty as a loyal guard to one of the few good people left in this world.

“Where are they?” a voice rasps, raw with panting exertion and pain.

Jangjun opens his eyes. Racks his mind for something witty to say, something that’ll anger you and maybe throw that glint into your eye again, that glint he thought he’d never see until he died. It would be a nice sight to take with him even as he goes, even if it isn’t on the same person who’d disappeared from the orphanage so many years back –

His eyes widen. Your mask fell off at some point during the fight and now your face is bare, visible under the moonlight.

You –

You are the same person –

Jangjun tries to reconcile the images, one of a smirking teenager pickpocketing some rich man on the streets, another of the sharp-eyed assassin holding a knife to his throat. There’s no way – you have to be different – but with your mask torn away, revealing the rest of your face, all Jangjun can see are the growing similarities between the teenaged orphan who disappeared and left him alone at the orphanage all those years ago.

“Where are they?” you hiss again, pressing the knife further into his neck.

Breathing shallowly – he can feel tiny drops of blood beginning to trickle down his skin – he stretches his lips into a trembling smirk. “You don’t remember me anymore, Y/N?”

Your eyes remain blank for a second longer. Then they widen and your grip goes slack with realization –

Jangjun has barely left your hold when you shove him back against the trunk with even more force than the first time. His head hits the bark and he sighs, trying to ignore the aching pain. “Oh, come on, Y/N. You know how I feel about tree bits in my hair.”

“By all the gods –” You groan. “Of course the prince’s guard would turn out to be the most insufferable asshole in the orphanage.”

“And of course the assassin would turn out to be the slickest pickpocket with the worst mouth in the same orphanage,” Jangjun replies. The smile comes easier, now that you’re not actively pressing the knife into his skin. He missed your eyes. “I’m offended you didn’t recognize me at first.”

You snort. “You seriously expect me to remember your face after all these years?”

“I remembered yours.” Jangjun blinks innocently. Of course he did – he couldn’t forget it, no matter how much he tried to tell himself you were probably dead in the weeks after you disappeared –

“You’ve changed,” you snap, though he can see the beginnings of a smile lifting your lips. Curved, knife-like, but familiar in its snark.

Beautiful.

He smirks. “Did I become more handsome?”

“How did you become a royal guard with a mouth as stupid as this?”

“My pretty face and sparkling personality.” Jangjun grins. “Mind taking the knife off my neck? It’s a little hard to breathe.”

In response, you press it in harder, eyes growing dark. Oops, wrong thing to say. “Tell me where they are,” you reply conversationally, “and maybe, in the spirit of old friendship, I’ll kill you quickly.”

Jangjun fights for breath as more blood drips down his neck. The blade in his side is digging deeper, too. Damn, you’re good. “How about in the spirit of old friendship – ow, that hurts – how about you just let me go?”

All traces of a smile leave your lips. The glint in your eye disappears fully, leaving behind only a wild, desperate darkness that Jangjun hasn’t seen before. 

That’s different. 

“Can’t do that, I’m afraid,” you say. “Now, if you don’t tell me right now –”

“Behind you,” Jangjun warns.

You scoff. Damn it. “You seem to think I’m the same idiot from when we were back in the orphanage. That’s almost offensive.”

“Well, it was worth a try.” He shrugs as best he can with your blades in his skin and back pressed against the trunk. “And I’m sure you aren’t all that offended. Are you going to get on with it, now?”

Your eyes narrow. You shift your stance. The knife tightens against his side, but in that one second of shifting, the other lifts just slightly off his throat –

Jangjun hooks his leg around your knee and you buckle, blade dropping from his neck just long enough for him to escape your hold and dart away, scooping up his fallen sword. You snarl, already following, but Jangjun isn’t interested in fighting. He’s only running away.

And, just as he hoped, he’s a little faster.

“See you soon, Y/N!” he yells, sprinting into the darkened forest. Moonlight barely shines through the dark foliage – somehow, he’s certain, you won’t take the risk of following. You’ll hang back, wait until day, track him, and strike when he seems most vulnerable.

He almost misses your words in reply.

“Count on it.”

They send shivers up his spine.

. . . . .

By the time of your next encounter with Jangjun, you have allowed several things to settle in your mind that you didn’t have the time to process during your last fight. You mull them over, one by one, as you walk around the marketplace, picking up the things you need.

First, and most importantly, Jangjun’s good. Too good. Not to say you couldn’t take him – if it weren’t night, you feel reasonably confident that you could’ve followed and taken him down – but you did not realize royal guards were trained to this caliber.

Not your fault. Missions rarely force you to tangle with royalty or their guards – this is a special case. But even then, to have a guard at the same level as some weaker assassins, possibly even on par with you…

“Shouldn’t be too difficult, no?” Your employer’s words echo through your mind. “The royal guard may give you some trouble, but not more than you can handle.”

Your fingers tighten around the handle of your bag. You underestimated him last time. You thought he was still the same boy you left back at the orphanage. You won’t make the same mistake again.

Second, bar his fighting skills, Jangjun is still the same snarky asshole from the orphanage when you two were teens. His brand of humor is unique – it stuck with you through your early days working up through the ranks, even when you went through your grueling training – and it proves that the guard you fought with is the boy you were forced to leave, even more than the smiling eyes that still mark his “pretty face.”

Well, he does have a pretty face. You won’t deny that. That face has been pretty since you met him at the orphanage, pretty enough for your teenage heart to fall a little in love with, and it makes sense that it’s stayed pretty since then. But that same face will be six feet under by the time you’re finished with him, pretty or no, so you don’t dwell on it. You’ve been given a second chance to live, courtesy of your notoriously ruthless employer. No, in the face of such an opportunity, nothing matters, not old friends or even something more.

Your heart twists. Seriously, didn’t you lock those feelings away all those years ago? When you were certain you’d never see Jangjun again after too many failed escapes? It’s just a twist, though, not much more – hopefully the feelings have faded, even if they still exist.

You swallow. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Nothing matters anymore but you and your best friend – she’s all you have and you’re all she has. If she dies because you weren’t there to support her, because you let some old feelings get in the way, you… You don’t even know. All you do know is that you can’t waste this opportunity, not when two livelihoods depend on it, not just one.

The back of your neck prickles. You go back to examining threads, pushing thoughts of assassination away. This isn’t the time for murder, so which of these colors would your weaving friend enjoy?

“Fancy seeing you here.”

Speak of the devil.

Calmly, you pore through a few spools of thread in varying shades of blue, trying not to tense visibly. Of course you would meet Jangjun when you’re not actively following him at the moment – yes, you technically followed him here, tracking his traces along with two others to the town, but you didn’t come here with the expectation of completing your job immediately. It’s a respectable place, not the slums where anyone will look the other way should a murder come to pass, and besides, you’d like the trio to lower their guard a little before you strike next. You’re here to watch and observe, maybe catch a glimpse of the prince and see if you can haul him out before taking care of the other two. However indifferent the palace might be, you don’t enjoy killing more than necessary. Two murders is always better than three, unless in exceptional circumstances.

If Minho was the life in limbo, for example, you might choose to make that third murder after all.

The presence doesn’t leave, even as you pick out a few spools of thread in varying shades of blue. You remember your friend saying she was running out of the color, so this should suffice for another few months. Thanking the shopkeeper, you turn around, ignoring the boy who has now begun following you through the crowd.

He catches up quickly. “You know, it’s rude to ignore people when they speak to you.”

With a sigh, you turn around. “You know, it’s weird to come up and talk to an assassin who’s been hired to kill you. Usually, people stay away.”

“You won’t kill me here.” Jangjun’s eyes glitter with a certainty that almost unnerves you – how can he be so sure of what you will or won’t do after so many years apart? “Too crowded. Too many people. Too respectable. And besides, I have information.” His lips curl. “I’m valuable.”

“Oh really?” Your free hand slips up one of your sleeves just barely, letting a small knife slip between your fingers. Jangjun’s eyes widen a fraction when you press the tip to his side. “Keep walking. Keep smiling.”

He does.

“If I pushed this knife into you right now, you’d bleed out within seconds,” you whisper, nodding your head to a few people who pass. You place a hand on his shoulder in a fashion that might look intimate to passersby, but when your thumb reaches around to press a point on his neck, Jangjun stiffens. “If I pressed here just a little harder, you’d be dizzy enough that I’d have to carry you somewhere else, maybe, oh, because of heatstroke or a migraine, and what would happen to you then?”

Jangjun doesn’t say a word.

“Let’s not mention all the other pressure points I know that you might not, all the perfect places to stab someone so that they die with minimal blood flow, all the ways I could slam you down and knock you out if I was that pressed.” You remove the knife, twirling it once between your fingers in a flash of bright metal before tucking it back into your sleeve. “Don’t get too cocky, Jangjun. You seem to have forgotten I’ve been trained in ways to kill for years.” Your eyes narrow, the genial smile sliding off your face. “I’m not exactly the same teenager from the orphanage all those years ago.”

He looks at you. Scrutinizes your face, stares into your eyes. For some reason, even though you were the one holding a knife against him just seconds ago, it now feels like he has the upper hand.

“Eh,” he finally says, a pinch of color returned to his cheeks. “Maybe in that, you’re different, but don’t worry.” He winks. “Tragically, I think you’re still affected by this pretty face. Careful – it might just distract you into letting me go one day.”

You open your mouth to say something, then only scoff. It’s getting harder and harder not to let a smile spread your lips. You might not agree with Jangjun that you haven’t changed, but he definitely hasn’t. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with this keen a death wish. Why are you even talking to me?”

“I think that if you really wanted to kill me, you would’ve done it by now.” He looks at you out of the corner of his eye – less certain, now, but still decently sure. You’ll take it. “Why waste all this time talking?” His eyelids flutter obnoxiously. “Unless you really enjoy listening to the sound of my voice.”

“As if.” You snort. “But you’re right, this time.” A glint of metal purposely flashes from the inside of your sleeve. “I’m not planning to kill you just yet, not when it’s such a nice day, there are so many people, and most importantly, I just want to get some shopping done. So.” You look at him. “Why are you talking to me while I’m running errands?”

He looks at the bag in your other hand. “What are the threads for?”

“Threads?” You look down. “Oh, you noticed?”

Jangjun scoffs. “I was standing right behind you, it would’ve been a little difficult not to notice.”

“I have a friend who likes needlework,” you say. “She doesn’t always have the money to experiment, though, so I take her things when I can.” You smirk. “Even assassins have a little bit of a life, you know.”

Something unreadable – longing, wistful, more emotions than you have the time to decipher – flashes through Jangjun’s eyes. It’s gone almost as quickly as it comes, though, and you chalk it up to some old memory he never shared with you. “Well, it can’t just be murder all the time.”

“You’re right. Maybe you should’ve become an assassin instead of a royal guard,” you say. “Gotten snatched off the street and all instead of me.”

Jangjun’s face crumples. It’s fast, so fast you barely see it – even faster than that wistful longing present just seconds ago – but even though he’s mostly back to normal by the time you blink, there’s enough of a haunted look in his eyes for you to frown. “Jangjun?”

“What?” He looks at you, easy as ever.

Both of you have stopped in a sea of moving market-goers, you narrowing your gaze at him, Jangjun narrowing his eyes right back. The stare-down lasts several seconds, but when he doesn’t let up, you mentally shake your head. There’s no point in asking if he wants to hide it. Besides, you shouldn’t even care – he’s nothing but a target that you can’t kill just yet because he has information. The banter is fun, but in the end, one of you will be alive and the other dead.

You don’t plan to be the latter.

“Nothing,” you finally say. “Now go away. Enjoy your freedom while it lasts, yes?” A smirk curls your lips. “I’ve got things to do, so watch that pretty face of yours before I decide to put it into the ground.” With that, you begin moving through the crowd.

“You think I’m pretty?” Jangjun calls.

You roll your eyes.

. . . . .

Freedom doesn’t last more than a few days.

Jangjun really had hoped for longer – hell, he spent a whole morning talking to you, making sure you weren’t out stalking his friends while they went on to the next town. The conversation stretched even longer than he thought it would – carried away by you threatening to publicly kill him, a thought that still makes his blood run a little cold, even if it warms with the reminder of your smile.

Your smile. Jangjun needs to stop thinking of it. Even when your lips are curved in a smirk and not a genuine grin, it brings back so many old memories he thought he’d successfully suppressed – bladed, dangerous, mischievous, like a crescent moon glinting in the sky –

(The last time Jangjun caught himself thinking that way, Joochan asked why he suddenly looked so constipated. His partner had to remind them they were on the run for them to finally shut up.)

But you’re good. Too good. And even though that knife-like smile brings back good memories, it conjures more fear than Jangjun is used to. He should expect the worst from you – it’s all you’ve shown, after all.

Still, he doesn’t expect to wake up to a shadow standing in the corner of the room in which they’re staying, blade poised over a sleeping gardener’s chest.

Jangjun leaps off the futon, silent save for the rustling of blankets. You turn around – at some point you’d gotten yourself a new face mask – but he’s already tackling you to the floor before he can register it, trying to wrench the knife from your fingers –

It whistles past his ear with a flick of your hand before thudding into the wooden wall. Jangjun freezes for the briefest second, by the gods, that came way too close to taking him out –

You flip him around, slamming his head against the floor so hard Jangjun can see stars. He struggles against your hold but you’re clearly not interested in him as a target, more focused on the gardener who’s now sitting up on the floor, eyes wide in the moonlight.

Jangjun catches your foot and pulls just as you lunge toward them, another knife flashing. “RUN!” he yells as you crash to the floor with a sharp yell, blade stuck in the wooden floorboards. 

The gardener looks at Joochan, whose eyes have just blinked open as you kick back, releasing Jangjun’s hold around your ankle – he groans as your foot connects with his face but he still locks eyes with the gardener and snaps, “I SAID RUN!”

“GO!” Joochan yells, now fully awake as he takes in the mess of the room – a knife in the wall, Jangjun on the floor, an assassin beginning to sit up, sharp metal already flashing between their fingers – where do you keep your infinite supply of blades because Jangjun seriously wants to know – and finally the gardener slams the door open and footsteps begin pounding down the hall.

A hiss sounds in the darkness. Jangjun turns back to the dark mass rising from the floor, eyes glittering dangerously in the moonlight. “Interesting. Why is the prince so intent on keeping his kidnappers safe?” A knife twirls between your fingers. “Is it because you’re dead either way, with your captors or at the palace?”

Jangjun blinks. Dead either way?

“I was never kidnapped,” Joochan snarls, sword drawn even though the long blade won’t be of much use in such a small room. “Trust me, my life is better on the run than it ever was back in the palace.”

For the first time since Jangjun revealed his identity in that first fight, you look confused. The fire in your eyes fades, replaced with narrowed curiosity. “You ran away,” you state, eyebrows raised. “Well, that’s something I wasn’t told.”

Hope burns in Jangjun’s chest. Maybe you’ll stop following them now that you know the truth, that whatever the palace told you wasn’t true – maybe you’ll have sympathy, knowing that Joochan is running away from something worse –

The fire returns. “Then would you rather be dead, Prince, instead of my returning you to the palace alive?”

“Let him go,” Jangjun snaps before Joochan can respond. Betrayal buries itself deep in his heart – betrayal at what, he doesn’t know, you never promised to keep him alive or anything once you heard the true story (if you had, he would’ve told you everything within a heartbeat), but the cold detachment in your voice rubs him the wrong way – and he stands, placing himself directly in front of the prince. “Y/N, can’t you just have sympathy –”

Jangjun barely blocks your twirling knife. Metal clangs and your eyes bore into his as you bear down on his too-long sword. “Assassins aren’t trained to have sympathy,” you say, cold, unrelenting. The blade presses harder, screeching against his. “And even if I was different, my life isn’t the only one resting on this mission.”

Somewhere in the background, Joochan scoffs. Jangjun shoots him a warning look, but the prince has already opened his mouth. “What kind of cold-blooded killer protects anyone but themselves?”

All of the weight leaves Jangjun’s blade and suddenly he’s pressing against nothing but air. He falls to the floor, arms trembling, as you whirl around to face Joochan.

Jangjun should feel relief. You’re not holding the knife in a dangerous position. He’s also free from your overwhelming strength. But your voice…

Your voice drips with pure ice.

“Don’t presume to know anything about me, Your Highness,” you snarl. Jangjun rises – he needs to get Joochan away, needs to get him out of your line of vision, why did he have to say anything at all – but a blade thunks into the wood next to his hand and he freezes. You barely even looked at him. “Don’t presume that all cold-blooded killers have absolutely zero capacity for any warmth.” You take a step closer. Jangjun can only get up slowly, silently, pray that you don’t do anything to Joochan before he’s fully risen. “After all, knowing you have someone to protect makes it so much easier to kill, doesn’t it?”

Jangjun stands up, just as shouts and footsteps begin to pound at the end of the hall. “Y/N –”

“Oh, we have company,” you cut him off, eyes glittering like ice shards in wintertime. You step back from Joochan, thankfully, and hoist yourself onto the open window – shit, that’s where you must have come from. “Sadly, even I can’t fight an army alone. Mull on my words, Your Highness. It seems you have some people you’d like to protect – maybe we’ll understand each other better next time.”

“Doubtful,” Joochan snarls. Jangjun flinches at the animosity in his tone. “I don’t kill. Not if I can help it.” His words, full of anguished certainty, grate at Jangjun’s ears – he knows his prince is speaking of the curse.

It doesn’t seem to affect you in the same way. “But you would’ve killed me just now, wouldn’t you?” You turn away, letting a small shower of coins fall from your hand to the floor. “Pay the innkeeper for the damage, yeah? I’ll take responsibility – if you’d like to mention I was an assassin, of course.” Your eyes glint in the moonlight, nothing like anything Jangjun remembers. “I’ll be seeing you again.”

. . .

In hindsight, Joochan was a little too quiet while his partner was off sorting out the mess with the innkeeper, but Jangjun still doesn’t expect him to drag him away at the first opportunity and immediately snap.

“You knew them,” he hisses. “You knew them, Jangjun – you said their name. How?”

His hackles rise. All Jangjun has done this entire time is try to protect him, and now he wants to make a fuss over a name? “I wasn’t always a royal guard,” he snaps. “I had a life before I joined, and it wasn’t a savory life, either.”

“So how did you know them?” Joochan demands again. “An assassin?”

“They weren’t an assassin when I knew them at the orphanage!” Jangjun crosses his arms. Might as well give the full truth. “They just disappeared one day and I thought they were dead, but then they turned back up as… this.”

“Gods above,” Joochan mutters, putting his head in his hands. “And after all the times you’d fought them, you just conveniently forgot to tell me?”

“What – it wasn’t relevant!” Jangjun snaps. “What was I supposed to say to you? Oh, hey, I know the assassin who was sent after you because it totally matters –”

“You might’ve said something about their skill –”

“I did! Didn’t I come back injured that one time –”

“– can’t believe you know an assassin – they almost killed –”

“They’re not completely inhuman, Joochan –”

The prince snaps his head up, eyes blazing. “Really? So you bought all that bullshit about ‘protecting’?”

Jangjun feels his lips curl in anger. You may be an assassin now, but the protective streak hasn’t gone away – the look in your eyes was the same when you talked about your needlework friend as when you spoke to him, all those years ago. “No, I didn’t buy that bullshit about ‘protecting’,” he snarls, leaning forward. “Because there was nothing to buy. You never knew them – I did, once.”

Joochan scoffs. “It’s almost like you know them too well.”

Too well.

Too well.

Jangjun’s fists clench at his sides. He can’t hurt a prince, can’t punch him, can’t slap him – he’s sworn to protect –

“I’ve spent all these months fighting off assassins for you,” he says lowly. “I killed people because you wouldn’t use your voice and I respected that. I made you two go up ahead as much as I could so that I would be more likely to die than both of you. I even talked to this same assassin for a whole morning and stalled them so you could get away – and now you’re going to insinuate that I have been working against you this entire time?”

Joochan’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t back down. Jangjun itches to punch him, to knock him over and yell –

“Are things fine over here?”

The voice of Joochan’s partner brings both of them back to the present. They look between them unflinchingly, arms crossed. Jangjun almost feels chastised. “We need to move before the assassin comes back.”

Bit by bit, Jangjun forces himself to untense. They’re right. The moon is still high, the stars still bright, and they don’t have anywhere to stay anymore – they need to start moving. “Fine.,” he says roughly, spinning towards the forest. “Let’s go.”

He doesn’t speak to Joochan before morning comes.

. . . . .

Meeting Jangjun the next time feels different.

He’s alone, this time. Prince and gardener have probably gone up alone like they usually do. You grind your teeth – Jangjun may not quite be your equal in fighting, but he has a knack for staying one step ahead that you really hate – but you spring out anyway, knocking him to the ground.

“Oh, fuck off,” Jangjun gasps, barely dodging your slash. He rolls over and kick – you avoid his leg, leaping out of the way as he lashes out with his own sword. “Now?”

“Would you have preferred next week?” you snap. A knife tip slides between your fingers and you hold it up, watching him closely. “This has been dragging on long enough – wouldn’t you like to get out of this limbo sooner rather than later?”

“I’d say yes if I didn’t want to stay alive, but I do.” Jangjun’s lips curve, though the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. It makes you blink – did something happen to him? “So, sadly, I’ll take limbo a little longer over death.”

“Of course,” you mutter. “That would make my job too easy.”

He lunges towards you in reply. You dance out of the way only just in time, frozen for a second because –

Jangjun doesn’t do offense. He hasn’t been on the offense, hasn’t made the first move in all the times you’ve fought.

Which means he’s now trying to kill you just as much as you’re trying to kill him.

Ah. So that’s what was different.

You bare your teeth, dodging another strike as you swipe under his arm. He hisses as your blade rips through flesh, blood dripping from his side onto the ground. “You know, you’d have an easier time staying alive if you gave up your royal duties and just left the prince to his own devices,” you say, nimbly whirling around as his sword flashes.

Jangjun’s eyes darken. You barely avoid his next hit. “He’s one of only a few I trust to help make life better for people like me.”

Blades clash. Sparks fly. You spin away, eyebrows furrowed. “People like you?”

He doesn’t mean orphans. That’s too generic. He would’ve said “people like us,” then – you fall under that category too, and Jangjun hasn’t forgotten. People like me…

Another person flashes through your mind, a seamstress forced to put her skill into peasant shirts and clothes when her fingers should be flying through colorful threads and shimmering silks, weaving stories into cloth and tapestries.

“I wish you didn’t have to hide,” you say. “Your art is more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen.”

A bitter smile, fingers deftly embroidering a small piece of silk even as she looks at you. “People like me will always have to hide.”

People like me…

A memory returns of Jangjun, looking at the threads in your bag like they were something precious.

Your eyes widen. Gods, how did you not put it together before? “You’re a weaver.”

Jangjun freezes halfway across the clearing you two have torn up in your fight, fingers clenched so hard around his sword that you can see his knuckles turn white. “What, just another reason to kill me?” He laughs, cold, desperate – it chills your spine even more than your employer’s deadly gaze. Jangjun never laughs – laughed – that way. “Collect an additional reward for the murder of a weaver?”

You school your features. “All are equal in the eyes of death,” you quote, readying your knives. “And what makes you think that prince of yours will do shit to help you? His own family killed yours.”

He doesn’t move, though his jaw tightens, the rest of his body tensed to spring. “I don’t,” he finally says, voice sharp but with the slightest wobble at the edge.

The old urge to hold him close itches in your fingers. You clench your knives harder. The urge doesn’t leave.

“I don’t,” he repeats, “but he’s the closest thing I’ve got to hope. And…” His eyes meet yours, cold, betrayed. Any trace of a smile on his face has gone. “He’s one of the few who never left me.”

One of the few who never left me.

Who never left me.

Never left me.

You almost take a step back as the words pierce your chest. “You – you think I meant to leave? You think it was my fucking fault I disappeared?”

Jangjun doesn’t flinch. “Do you know how much it fucking hurt when you left?” he snarls. “It might not have been your fault, but you still left – and you know that my sister disappeared too, how do you think I felt when I’d just convinced myself you were dead and then you came back like – like this?”

“You think it was all sunshine and rainbows for me?” you spit. “Seriously? You think I didn’t nearly get myself killed all four times I tried to escape? You think I didn’t try to convince myself that you were dead too just so I’d give up that stupid hope that you were still alive – and then I come back to see you as one of my targets, someone I’m supposed to kill – you think that was fine for me, too?”

He holds your gaze. “You honestly never seemed to have a problem with it.”

Shit. Gods, why did you say anything at all? Why didn’t you close your mouth – now he knows, now he fucking knows how much it initially hurt to realize just who you had to kill in order to keep someone else alive –

Too late. The words are already out of your mouth, Jangjun has interpreted them, and you don’t know what to say in response. “I do have a problem with it,” you finally say. “But I have a new life now.” You stare into eyes that once used to keep you alive. “And I’m not going to give it up for anything.”

Not for anything.

Not even for you.

Jangjun laughs, short, brief. “You’d die for this friend you have, wouldn’t you?”

This time, it’s your turn to hold his gaze. “In a heartbeat.”

Wind whistles through the trees. Then Jangjun breaks the silence, his voice low, fractured, almost broken. “There was a time when you would’ve died for me, I think.”

Your heart twists. Yes, there was a time, a time when you were younger and more naïve, just another orphan of many at the overcrowded orphanage, when you would’ve died for Jangjun. But such a time never came, not until now.

When it’s already too late.

“We’ve both changed, Jangjun.” You raise your knives. “We both have different people we want to protect.”

His gaze shatters for a moment before it turns flinty, cold. “For the record,” he says softly, “there was a time when I would’ve died for you, too.”

Blades meet in a crash of metal and sparks.

. . . . .

The gardener’s song isn’t as strong on wounds as it is with plants, but Jangjun welcomes any last bit of respite from the pain that he can get. At least the blood has stopped flowing, even if the cuts still sting.

His head hurts more than the wounds do, anyway.

Jangjun sits awake in the alley, staring at the sky of stars. He only barely got away from you, leading you out of the forest and into the town before ducking into the first open place he could find, some old tavern full of seedy people. No one gave him a second glance – people walk into bars injured and bloody all the time, apparently – and he’d waited with his heart in his throat, praying his instincts were right, that you wouldn’t be waiting for him outside and that you wouldn’t follow him to where Joochan has promised to meet him, an alley they’d found when the prince had had to come here to visit one time.

You didn’t follow, as far as Jangjun knows. You never popped out of the shadows to ram a blade through his chest, never dropped down from a roof to slit his throat. For all your bravado, you always seem to take the hard way of killing him – was it that foolish of him to believe you didn’t want to kill him?

But if you weren’t lying, knowing that you have him as a target hurts you, too. You just have other people you care about more.

Jangjun doesn’t think you were lying. That’s not the type of thing someone says as a lie in the middle of a fight. But now, as he’s beginning to realize just how different you are from the teenager he remembered at the orphanage, how can he trust what he thinks?

Gods. Jangjun buries his head in his stinging hands. One of the cuts has probably opened up again.

Why is it so hard to accept that you’ve changed?

Something shifts. Jangjun’s head whips up, ready to dodge a flash of silver in the dark –

It’s only Joochan, startling awake from some nightmare or another. His eyes blink open with a gasp, glittering in the moonlight, and then he winces, rubbing his neck. Jangjun hears a hiss of pain and meets Joochan’s eyes out of habit.

Discomfort crawls up his spine. They haven’t spoken much since that last night at the inn where his gardener nearly died (they would’ve died, definitely, if Jangjun hadn’t woken up at the sound of light footsteps), and neither of them has apologized. But Jangjun doesn’t look away and Joochan doesn’t either.

The prince speaks first. “I’m sorry, Jangjun.”

Jangjun blinks. “Come again?”

“I’m sorry,” he says louder.

A mocking grin curves Jangjun’s lips. “I know, I just wanted to hear you say it again.”

“You –” Joochan scoffs, exasperated, but Jangjun detects a little bit of fondness that lightens his heart. “Gods, you’re a nightmare.”

“And yet you keep me around.”

“For some reason, yes.” Joochan smiles slightly. “But really. I am sorry.” He swallows visibly, eyes still meeting Jangjun’s even if he can tell how hard it is. “It was out of line for me to say that you were anything but loyal. I was angry that they’d almost died, but… that doesn’t excuse it.”

“It doesn’t,” Jangjun agrees. “But I get it. And I’m sorry, too.” The grin falls off his lips as memories of a bladed smile, sharp eyes glinting in the moonlight flash through his mind. “It obviously doesn’t look good that I know an assassin, of all types of people, especially the one who’s after us.”

“You don’t need to apologize for knowing someone.”

Maybe I do, because I cared about them.

Cared.

Jangjun swallows the bitter taste in his throat. He still cares about you. It’s just…

What would he do if it was a choice between you dead, or Joochan?

The answer comes immediately. Joochan. For all the reasons he told you and more – Joochan is good, a truly good person. Even though he technically holds no royal status anymore, he has hope that the prince will be able to bring about some change for weavers, or at least provide a safe haven for him and any others he might find. He deserves Jangjun’s loyalty and more. Jangjun knows he would die for him.

His heart thumps, painfully. There was a time when he would’ve died for you. But…

“You’d die for this friend you have, wouldn’t you?”

“In a heartbeat.”

Maybe he’s changed more than he thought, too.

“Even then, they’re still out to kill us.” He looks up at the cold crescent moon, previously a comfort, now a reminder of your smile. “And you have to know that my loyalty is to you, not to them.”

Regardless of how much I care for them.

Joochan looks like he wants to say something, but he stops himself. His eyes rove over Jangjun’s face, leaving him feeling too open, too vulnerable – what if Joochan sees his struggle? What if he sees that even though Jangjun speaks the truth, his heart screams that it’s a lie?

But nothing comes of it. The prince just dips his head slightly in acknowledgement. “Thank you.”

On any other day, Jangjun would just flippantly say no problem. He doesn’t like to deal with sensitivity and emotions the way Joochan does, after all. But there is a problem. A lot of them, actually. So he just half-smiles and says, “You’re welcome.”

There will come a time when you two will fight again. Jangjun has never wanted to kill you before. He still doesn’t now.

But if he has to, he will. He will.

Because he has other people he needs to protect, too.

. . . . .

You’re back home.

Or almost. You weren’t born here, if the orphanage owners were telling the truth (they had no reason to lie, you’re pretty sure). But since the day you were snatched off the street, this has been where you spent the majority of your time. You don’t know why the prince and his little posse have come out here to hide, but at least it gives you a chance to see your friend before you have to move on again.

“What happened to you?” is the first thing she says when you swing by her stall. Her nose wrinkles in mock disgust, but you can see the concern in her face when you drop your bag of things on her counter, wincing when the strap digs slightly into one of your cut fingers.

“Nice to see you too,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “Is that the kind of greeting you give a friend who’s brought you all this nice stuff?”

“Y/N, honestly,” she says, eyeing the bag. “You don’t need to spend all this on me, it’s really fine –”

“Just take it,” you say, half-smiling. “You know I’m not going to stop giving you stuff no matter what you say.”

Because it’s an apology. An apology for keeping so many truths from her – what you do, who you really are – and for putting her indirectly in danger. Most assassins know to stay far, far away from here or you’ll rip them limb from limb (literally – Minho once tried to mess around with you and that was the only time you’ve ever seen him scared of you), but there’s always a chance that someone whom you’ve wronged will come back for revenge. And what then?

But you haven’t told her. You can’t – all the breath disappears from your throat the second you even think about it. Because what if you lose her, too, the only constant you’ve had since Jangjun, all those years ago?

Your lips twist. Don’t think about him.

“Y/N?”

Too late, you realize you’ve been staring into the distance for a while. “Sorry.” A smile plasters itself back onto your face, only slightly forced. “Zoned out. Thinking about work.”

The concern comes back in full force. Even if she doesn’t know exactly what you do, she knows it isn’t exactly legal – the stuff you buy her, the money you leave at her doorstep doesn’t speak of perfectly lawful causes, after all. She knows it’s dangerous, knows it’s not easy work, but you can handle her concern as long as you don’t have to explain the truth.

“Hey, it’s not bad.” You smile wider, crinkling your eyes to make it genuine. “Just a little rough, recently.” That’s putting it lightly. “How have you been?”

“I mean, I’m not bankrupt yet.” Her lips curl sardonically. “Thanks to you, really. But I’m staying afloat.” She looks around cautiously, then down at the several spools of thread and lengths of cloth sitting at the bottom of the bag. “Weaving… it keeps me sane.”

The gratitude shining in her eyes makes everything worth it, the lies, the pain. She deserves to be this happy and so much more. “Always glad to be of service,” you say, breathing a sigh of relief when your voice doesn’t crack at the end. “Do you have time to take a short walk?”

She looks up and down the small marketplace, whose activity has begun to wind down with the approaching end of the day. “Probably? Give me a moment, let me pack up a little.”

You weave through the thinning crowds together, talking as the sun sets further. Words come and go in waves, natural, and for the first time in days, you feel yourself relaxing as you finally put your mind to things other than murder and boys you knew at orphanages in years past.

But then her eyes fix on a spot in the distance and she stops talking mid-sentence. You furrow your eyebrows, following her gaze – she never stops talking about her latest miniature tapestries or clothing designs –

Your eyes comes to rest on a familiar head of black hair as it rushes through the throng.

All of a sudden, the thoughts of murder and boys come back, pounding every corner of your skull. But that’s normal, and you can deal with it – you can’t not expect to see the people that you’re stalking in the same town, after all. 

What isn’t normal is how your best friend looks like she’s seen a ghost. 

You call her name once, twice, three times before she finally shakes her head and responds. “Sorry,” she says, voice thin. “I saw… I thought I saw someone I knew.”

You look back, pretending like you didn’t see the exact same person. “Who?”

“Never mind, it doesn’t matter.” She shakes her head again, like she’s trying to convince herself. “I just…” A short laugh falls from her lips, bitter, broken. “I thought I saw my brother. Well, a grown-up version of him.”

Brother. She has a brother – you already knew that – but she never described him, never told you his name. All you know is that he was a weaver too and that they weren’t blood-related, her family took him in when his was killed and after her parents were executed, they somehow got separated and she never saw him again. Your heart broke for her the first and only time she ever told you the story – it breaks again, even now, to know that she thought she saw her brother in Jangjun’s face.

Unless –

Your eyes widen.

Jangjun had a sister. He had a sister who disappeared when he was young, after his parents were killed – he never saw her again –

No. You try to breathe. No, it’s not possible, it can’t fucking be possible – there is no way Jangjun is your best friend’s long lost brother, the brother she thought was dead all of these years –

He’s a weaver. He’s a weaver. It’s half the reason he’s stuck by the prince for so long even when he decided he’d had enough to do with royal life – Jangjun is a weaver and your best friend’s long lost brother was a weaver too.

“What – what was your brother’s name?” you ask softly, trying to keep the shake out of your tone. You pray for a name that isn’t the one pounding through your head, the name that gave you the courage to attempt four escapes before you convinced yourself the owner was dead, the name that’s haunted you for the past few months as you try to kill its owner and the two others he’s trying so hard to protect –

“Jangjun,” she says softly, eyes sparkling in the last glow of afternoon sunlight. “His name was Jangjun.”

Your heart drops like a stone.

. . .

You’re not exactly sure when you start breathing again, but luckily, it’s before your friend has the chance to see that there’s something wrong with you, too. She’s preoccupied with her own thoughts, which gives you a bit of time to compose yourself. “Hey, are you all right?” you ask, hoping your voice doesn’t tremble. “Maybe we should go back.”

“I – yeah. Sorry.” She looks down, shoulders sagging. “I was just rattled. Sorry that this got cut short.”

“Hey, shut up.” You nudge her slightly, curving the corners of your lips slightly even as your heart drags down, down, down. “If you’re not feeling well, it’s completely fine. I’ll hopefully be back in a couple of months, anyway – we can talk more then.”

You help her pack up the stall, walk everything back to her small house. At the door you bid her goodbye, and after tossing a pouch of coins inside, you run off into the forest, laughing as she yells fond obscenities behind you.

The laughter dies away the second you know you’re far enough away that she can’t hear you.

Jangjun is your best friend’s brother. Your best friend is Jangjun’s sister. They’re long lost siblings, siblings who loved each other, who miss each other like the earth misses the sky, who both believe the other is dead…

Your back hits a tree and you slide down against the bark. You don’t know. You don’t fucking know. You could be wrong. All of this is speculation, none of it might be true, she could have spoken of a different Jangjun with black hair, someone who isn’t your Jangjun, loyal guard to the prince, one of the targets you’ve been assigned to kill because you kill to keep yourself and your best friend alive –

Your head snaps up. She needs to stay alive. She has to. She’s all you have, no one else – there’s no one else you have, no one since they took you away from Jangjun and made you into this –

You have to kill him. You have to, or else you’ll be dead and there’ll be no one to support or protect your friend. Her business will fail and she’ll be forced to go into the dirty lines of work you dabble in, or worse, people who hated you might go after her. This is your fault – you cared about her so much that you couldn’t leave and now people know she’s precious to you, so you have to stay alive just to protect her from dangers she doesn’t even know, like assassins –

The thought of Minho getting anywhere near her makes you shudder. 

You have to kill Lee Jangjun, her brother, in order to keep her alive.

A dry, strangled sob escapes your lips. Who’s more important? Sister or brother? Both mean things to you, one a lifeline when you were a teenager, the other a lifeline now, one whom you loved as in a romance, the other whom you love as a dearest friend – who do you choose? How can you choose?

Your fists clench, nails digging into your palms. You’ve come so far, fought Jangjun so many times – even though you slipped up once, you’ve made it clear you will kill him for this best friend whom he doesn’t know is his sister. He’s tried to kill you, too – his loyalty to the former prince outweighs whatever he might or might not have felt for you.

You’re on even ground. Even ground, you tell yourself, even as the crescents in your skin begin to burn with blood. One of you will kill the other, no matter what – so all you need to do is keep this secret to yourself.

Another secret. It burns on your tongue. Another secret you’ll have to keep from your best friend, besides your job and how much danger it puts her in.

You swallow, staring up at the sky. It doesn’t matter. Once Jangjun is dead, it’ll only make true the false certainty she has in her mind. Jangjun doesn’t even have a clue his sister is alive – he’ll never know. Only you will know, and even if the secret eats you alive, you’ll keep it until the day you die. That way, it only hurts you. No one else.

The crescent moon hears your silent vow.

I’ll kill him. I swear I will, or I’ll die trying.

I have to.

. . . . .

Everything hurts. Everything either aches with a sore muscle or stings and burns with a bloody slice but instinct drives Jangjun to block your two knives as they arc down towards his chest, glinting coldly in the moonlight –

His teeth rattle in his jaw at the impact, the sound of metal against metal screeching in his ears. It takes all of his strength to keep his stance, to push back against you bearing your blades down even harder. Your eyes glint as they stare into his, wild, feral – he’s never seen you look like this before, not even when Joochan insulted you so many months ago at the inn.

Has it only been months? To Jangjun, it feels like you’ve been back for years, chasing him with your two twin knives, smaller blades flying from your fingers and ripping apart his skin –

You whip your blades away and Jangjun collapses from the sudden lack of weight. One stabs down, down and he rolls away, barely avoiding it as it plunges into the ground. Dirt stings one of his open wounds but Jangjun grits his teeth, rises on one knee to stand up again – he can do it, he has to do it, he has to because Joochan barely got a head start and if Jangjun doesn’t keep you occupied, you’re going to catch up and kill him –

His head slams against a tree trunk so hard he sees stars. Pain blooms from the back of his skull and he groans involuntarily, eyes closing as his sword slips out of limp fingers, falling to the ground.

Cold, sharp metal rests under his chin. Panting breaths puff against his face. “Tell me where they are,” you hiss, “and I’ll make it quick.”

Jangjun almost laughs. This is like déjà vu from the first time you fought, the first time he saw you since they took you away from the streets all those years ago. Only this time, there’s no banter. 

He could change that. 

“Oh, come on, Y/N,” he whispers, the corners of his lips rising briefly in a smirk. “Don’t you know how much I hate tree bits in my hair?”

Your eyes look shiny. Jangjun would almost believe they were teary if he didn’t know for certain you would kill him in a heartbeat, even if it hurt. You might cry later, but not now. Not now.

But does he know even that? Both of you have changed – all of his intuition could be wrong.

He’s right, this time. If those are tears in your eyes, they don’t fall. “Don’t worry.” Your voice doesn’t even shake – if you hadn’t said it yourself, Jangjun would have no problem believing you truly didn’t care that you had to kill him, your childhood best friend. “I’ll pick them out of your scalp when you’re dead, just so you look nice at the funeral.”

“Would you cry then?” Jangjun asks, voice barely a whisper. The knife is too close. “Would you?”

Your gaze shutters. Maybe you’re about to cry. Maybe you’re holding back tears. But you don’t cry, don’t sob, don’t even say anything, so Jangjun doesn’t know, and he’ll never know, anyway, because that knife is going to be stained all over with his blood in seconds. “Tell me where they are,” you repeat. “I’ll find them, anyway – you might as well give yourself a quick and easy death.”

The pain in Jangjun’s head is making it increasingly hard to think. “No.”

That wild, feral look comes back into your eyes, splintering your pupils in the pale moonlight. The blade presses in deeper and your lips thin, no longer stretched in the knife-like curve Jangjun fell in love with – is still in love with –

Deeper. Deeper. Jangjun fights for breath. “Why won’t you just get it over with? Is this your idea of making me suffer?”

Deeper. Deeper. “Seriously –” he gasps – “come on, Y/N.”

Deeper. Deeper. He’s surprised you haven’t broken skin. “I’m not going to say shit –”

With a sound that’s more animal than human, a sob mixed with a guttural cry, the knife begins to drag and Jangjun gasps, ready for the searing pain of skin ripping beneath metal –

The blade drops to the ground and Jangjun follows its path, sinking down without your weight to hold him up anymore. You stumble away, not even flinching when the knife falls dangerously close to your foot, eyes squeezed tightly shut as you take another step back, and then another. Your eyes glitter in the moonlight, the wild, feral look replaced by something even scarier.

Broken, bloody glass. Shards of something completely beyond repair.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” he asks, words wheezing, half air.

Your voice is barely a whisper. “You’re too valuable. You have information.”

Both reasons he gave so many months ago in a crowded marketplace under the sun, just before you pressed your knife into his side to show him just how much you’d changed. He didn’t want to believe it then – didn’t allow himself to believe it then – but now he does. You’ve changed.

But you bought thread – blue thread, he remembers – for your needlework friend. Spoke of her with a familiar smile. Something’s stayed the same, that protective streak. That giving streak.

His lips curve into the trembling semblance of a smirk. “You sure those are the only reasons?”

You snatch up your knife with a grace that belies your broken gaze, positioning the blade between your fingers. But you don’t throw.

“Go.”

Jangjun blinks. “What –”

“Go.” The word rips itself from your throat, grates in Jangjun’s ears – it roars and shrieks all at once, some unimaginable pain flaying his bloody skin. “Before I change my fucking mind.”

He scrambles up, pressing a hand to the wound in his side. You don’t move as he picks up his sword, sheathes it – not a muscle twitches even as he stumbles away between the trees, fleeing the unknown pain in your voice.

Your shattered eyes follow him into the dark.

. . . . .

There are only two knives up your sleeves today, another two sheathed in plain sight at your waist. You lean against the trunk of a tree, fingers clenching a folded, crumpled sheet of paper. Your tired eyes slip shut as the sun begins its descent into the sky.

You couldn’t kill him. You thought you could. Swore you would.

But three months ago, in the forest bordering this very town, you proved yourself wrong.

Your eyes squeeze even more tightly closed. Even though only paper rests in your hand, you can feel the handle of a blade against your palm, pressing it into his neck as blood began to bead on the skin. Moonlight glinted off the metal, off the red streaks painted on his skin – wounds that you had wrought with your own hands. You’d already caused so much pain. Why couldn’t you just end it right there?

“You’re too valuable. You have information.”

Bullshit, even to your own ears. But you didn’t want to say the truth, didn’t want to reveal anything more than you already had by admitting that one time that it hurt you to know he was your target.

“You sure those are the only reasons?”

You take a long, shuddering breath. It’s been three months and those words still haunt you.

How differently could that conversation have gone?

No, maybe you’d say. No, they’re not. There are too many more.

And then, bloodied and exhausted, Jangjun might still give you that tongue-in-the-cheek smirk as best he could and say, like my pretty face?

Or maybe not. You swallow. Maybe you’d have hurt him too much for him to joke like that.

But if he did, you’d shake your head and say no. Not his pretty face – or at least, not just his pretty face. The person who lies beneath that pretty face means more to you than the eyes, the nose, the lips all by themselves.

Then why?

Because…

Because you hurt him. You hurt her. In the process of trying not to hurt one, you hurt them both and even yourself, because all you know how to do is cause pain. All you know how to do is hurt. You slice skin and plunge knives into throats and watch blood drip from cold bodies because that’s all you know, even if you hate it. That’s how you live. It’s all you know.

No, it isn’t, some little part of you tries to argue. Maybe that’s the part that wants you to be the same as that teenager at the orphanage, the teenager Jangjun wanted you to be. You know how to care.

Your first instinct is to deny it. No, you don’t know how to care – if you did, you wouldn’t hurt people so much, would you? But you do. You even told the prince you did. You do know how to care – it’s just that the way you care brings pain to those you love. Always. Without fail.

You care. You fucking care. You cared about your friend so much that you couldn’t stay away even if it would keep her safe. You cared about her so much that you tried to make up for your inabilities with gifts of thread and silk and money. You cared about her to the point that you resolved to kill her brother so you would stay alive to keep protecting her from the danger you keep putting her in.

But you cared about her brother, too. You cared about Jangjun enough that you couldn’t kill him even for her, couldn’t kill him to keep you alive, couldn’t kill him to keep her safe. Somehow, you still cared for that stupid royal guard even years after you first separated, enough that you couldn’t do what you’d been trained to do at all costs. Murder.

You bury your head in your hands. Gods, life would be so much easier if you didn’t fucking care.

But you do. You care. Deeply. Just in all the wrong ways.

And the only way to distance yourself from that is to remove yourself entirely from the equation. No matter whether you live or die – and it’s more likely that you’ll die – you need to be gone.

Or you’ll only hurt them more.

You open your eyes, glancing up through the trees. The orange of the afternoon has finally dipped below the horizon, the first stars begun to twinkle in the sky. Hm. Maybe he isn’t coming. Not that you can blame him, thought – after all you put him through, no wonder he doesn’t trust you.

Then leaves rustle under soft footsteps, and Jangjun appears in a halo of hazy orange-gold.

You stare at him, eyebrows furrowed, lips drawn, shoulders tense. Even if he’s here, he definitely doesn’t trust you. It hurts, a little bit, but you suppose it’s what you had coming. After all, you were the one who was trying to convince him this whole time that you were dangerous. That you could kill him.

“I got your note,” he says flatly. His eyes glance over your figure, take in the two knives belted at your sides. “Almost thought you’d given up, honestly.”

The dryness in your throat makes it hard to swallow. You almost want to say something like I’m not here to commit murder, but even in your head, the words fall flat. After all you’ve done, you wouldn’t even trust yourself.

But if he thought you were going to do that anyway, why show up in the first place?

Doesn’t matter. You open your mouth to ask the rehearsed question. What was your sister’s name? The words sit on the tip of your tongue, ready to spill into the evening air –

“Do you think you could have killed me?”

Jangjun blinks. His eyebrows wrinkle further, though not with mistrust – just confusion. Then something else. But he doesn’t say anything.

You curse internally. “Never mind,” you mutter, turning away. “That’s not what I wanted to ask.” Even if I wanted to know the answer. You swallow. “What was your sister’s name?”

“Why?”

“Humor me.” You dare to glance back. “Just the first name.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then a familiar name falls from his lips, edged with pain.

You close your eyes. Confirmed. “She’s alive.”

A sharp intake of breath. More silence. “You’re lying.” Two words composed of disbelief, anger, betrayal…

Hope.

The corners of your lips lift, just barely. Jangjun deserves a bit of hope. “No, I’m not.”

“Is this your idea of a game?” he snaps. “Because, Y/N, this hurts more than anything you’ve ever done to me already.”

Ouch. But deserved.

You open your eyes. “I’m not lying,” you repeat. “And I didn’t know she was your sister until several months ago.” Before I broke down and tried to kill you for the last time.

“Fine. Let’s say you aren’t lying.” Jangjun crosses his arms. The betrayal in his face cuts deeper than any knife you’ve ever handled. “Why are you telling me? What kind of leverage do you want?”

“I’ll take you to her.” You pause, watching his eyes widen. “On one condition.”

His gaze immediately narrows. “I’m not saying shit.”

“You don’t have to.” You lift up the folded piece of paper that’s been slowly crumpling itself under your sweaty fingers this whole time, tearstained, messy, but truthful. You’ve only written the truth in its lines. No lies.

Your fingers shake the longer you look at the letter. She’ll hate you after reading it. She’ll hate you for everything you’ve done, even if it was for her, and the thought of your best friend hating you so much makes you want to rip the paper to pieces –

No. It doesn’t matter if she hates you. You’ll be gone by the time she’s thought of anything to say to you – if she wants to say anything at all.

You hold out the letter. “Give this to her. Don’t read it unless she allows you.” You force yourself to hold Jangjun’s gaze. “And when she’s done, take her somewhere far from here. As far away as possible.”

His eyes narrow. “You didn’t hurt –”

“Never.” At least, not in the way you think.

Jangjun takes the folded paper between two pinched fingers and slides it into a pocket. “Where is she?”

“Are you going to do what I said?” you ask.

A moment passes. Then he nods. “Yes.”

You turn around and step out of the trees, into the town. “Follow me.”

Evening dims to night as you walk through empty alleys and streets, Jangjun several paces behind. Not once do you turn around to make sure he’s following – you can hear his footsteps, and somehow, instinctively, you’re sure he won’t lose this tentative, temporary trust in you, not now.

Or so you hope.

You weave through the final buildings, emerging on a dusty street lined with dry, wild grass. The street ends not far ahead, but you push through the overgrown grass until you stand in front of a small house, windows boarded shut in a way that makes it look abandoned, but the faintest glow of warm light peeks through cracks in the wooden slats.  

You stop. “She lives here.”

Jangjun pauses beside you. Enough moonlight shines from the sky that you can see the painful hope in his eyes. “How do you know?”

What will he think if you tell him the truth?

You clench your fists, hard. It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t fucking matter what he thinks. He’s not going to see you again after this. “She was my friend.”

He’s looking at you. You know he is. His gaze bores into you like one of your knives digging into skin – he wants you to look back at him.

You don’t. “Go.”

One foot steps forward. Then another. Slowly, step by step, he walks up to the front of the house, as though in a trance, until he stands in front of the door.

And doesn’t do anything.

By all the gods. “Maybe you should knock,” you hiss in a carrying whisper. “You know, the thing where you hit the door with your hand.”

He looks back. It’s too dark to see his full expression, but it doesn’t look hateful, like you expected. Instead, he just lifts his hand and knocks.

Warm light spills onto the ground, darkened only by a figure in the doorway. She freezes – so does Jangjun –

Then she pulls him into one of her tight hugs that you’ve been on the receiving end of several times. You watch as Jangjun’s arms wrap around her too, slowly but with no less strength, and two figures twist into one with a love and care that you know you can only dream of.

Bittersweet coats your tongue. Yes, you can only dream of giving such care, much less receiving it. But at least you’ve done a little to alleviate all the pain you’ve caused, whether it be intentional or not, and there’s nothing more for you to do. Except stay out of their bubble of happiness.

You pull your hood over your head, turning away. This isn’t your happiness to partake in. Neither of them will notice you leaving, anyway, not even Jangjun – they’re still in their own world.

A little smile spreads your lips as you walk forward into the night.

By the time either of them looks back, you plan to have disappeared.

. . . . .

For the first few weeks, Jangjun tries to find you. You can’t have gone far, at least not in several days – he scours the town for you, then when they move, he searches the next town again and again until his sister sits down and makes him see reason, that if you don’t want to be found, you won’t be found. Besides, if you were still hiding out here, he would’ve at least glimpsed you already.

So he gives up his search. His sister is right – whatever happens, until you want someone to find you, no one will. Instead, he spends the days, weeks, months learning and relearning his sister, watching and accommodating and teaching himself how to be an older brother once more. Jangjun tries not to make the same mistakes he did with you – they’ve both changed, of course, even more so than you considering his sister was a child when they were separated, not even a teenager – but he still messes up, inevitably. So does she. Still, though, they learn. Together.

It’s more than anything Jangjun ever could have wanted.

But there’s still an emptiness in his chest, an emptiness he tries to fill with teasing his sister and laughing as she snaps back at him, learning new weaving patterns at the loom by her side. Joochan tells him he looks happier several months later, and Jangjun feels happier, too. There’s no denying that. But something eats at him as time passes. He knows what it is. He just doesn’t want to say it.

He’s waiting for you.

Jangjun doesn’t get it, not at first. He doesn’t understand what drives him out into the town to search for you from dawn to dusk, until someone finds him and drags him back. You tried to kill him – got close several times, too close – and you knew about his sister for three months before saying anything. You’re not the same teenager Jangjun fell for back at the orphanage, you’re someone different. More dangerous.

Yet he still wakes up from dreams of your curved, knife-like smile, and is disappointed when only a cold crescent moon meets his eyes instead.

When his sister finally lets him read your last letter, though, he understands. Through the tearstains and blurred words that mark the paper, he understands your motives, your actions, your apologies. He understands why you did what you did, he understands why you hurt people for the sake of helping others, he understands your overwhelming urge to protect those who’ve shown you kindness because that’s what he does, too, just in a less destructive way – a way that you could learn, if you ever came back.

“They meant a lot to you,” his sister says when his eyes finally lift from the letter. “Didn’t they?”

Jangjun can barely choke out the words to say you still mean a lot to him. Because even now, with all the parts that have changed, Jangjun still loves you, every part of you.

He doesn’t look for you, though, only waits. You don’t want to be found – your last apologies make that clear. You don’t even say goodbye in the end. It’s obvious you don’t expect any of them to want you back. 

Jangjun does. He wants to take your scarred hands between his, lace his fingers with your own, tell you that he forgave you a long time ago and that he loved you, still loves you, with everything he has. So he waits, hoping you’ll return – because if the gods forced your paths to meet once after they diverged, there has to be a chance they’ll let it happen once more.

Then, one day, you return.

He almost misses it. It’s the middle of the night, only a waxing moon spilling pale light through the window, and if Jangjun hadn’t woken up to get some water, he wouldn’t have heard the soft thump of something hitting the ground just outside the house.

Frowning, he pokes his head outside. No one else is awake, so it couldn’t be any of them –

A familiar figure freezes in front of a small package placed by the door.

Jangjun’s eyes widen. It’s you but it can’t be you, you didn’t have that scar under your eye and you weren’t as thin as this –

“Y/N?”

You spin around and sprint away.

Jangjun stays still for a moment, blinking – you came back, you came back –

And now you’re running away.

He sprints into the trees, crashing through fallen leaves and branches that seem to materialize out of nowhere. You’re up ahead – he can hear your footsteps thudding over the fallen grass, see your faint outline in the moonlight – and he’s calling your name but you don’t reply with anything but panting gasps and – are you crying?

It’s almost comical how easily he catches up. Just months ago, you probably could’ve beaten him in a sprint, but now he grabs your arm before you’re even that deep into the trees, spinning you around so he can look at you, just look at you, look at a face he’s been waiting to see for almost a year –

You fight. You struggle in his grip, sobbing now, hitting him with your free hand until he takes that one too, wraps his fingers around yours to stop your fight. “Y/N, please,” he begs, trying to calm you. “I’m not going to hurt you, just –”

“I know that!” you yell, twisting in his grip. “I’m the one –”

A knife slips out of your sleeve, probably loose from your struggle. Its tip digs into Jangjun’s wrist before it drops to the ground.

Beads of blood well up on his skin, glistening in the moonlight. Jangjun stares at the tiny cut, at the thin river of red beginning to trickle down his skin.

You wrench yourself away from his slackened grip, tears blooming in your eyes. Jangjun reaches out again, tries to take your hand – “Y/N, it doesn’t even hurt, it’s fine –”

“It doesn’t matter!” you yell. “It doesn’t fucking matter! All I ever do – you were never going to hurt me.” Your breath gasps, heavy and uneven. “I’m the one who’s only ever going to hurt you.”

Jangjun’s heart cracks at your broken voice. “Y/N, stop.” He takes a step closer and tries not to feel hurt when you take a step back. “Please, just – are you okay?”

“Why do you care?” you snap. “I tried to kill you for over six months!”

“But you didn’t kill me,” he says, holding your gaze even as you try to look away. “You didn’t.”

“So what? I still tried –”

“I did too,” Jangjun interrupts. “I tried to kill you too.”

“But I’m worse,” you snap, words almost a sob. “I’m worse – I’ve killed so many people and some of them I don’t even regret, I try to care but when I do I only hurt the people I’m trying to care for –”

“That last time, you asked me if I would’ve killed you.” Jangjun reaches out. You flinch, but you don’t fight him this time when he takes your hands. “At one point, I swore I would’ve. But now I know I couldn’t.”

Something like a laugh rips itself from your throat, but it sounds more like a wheeze and a gasp and grates at Jangjun’s ears. “Are you stupid? Why wouldn’t you?”

“The same reason you couldn’t kill me.” He squeezes your limp, scarred hands. “Am I stupid for being in love with you?”

“Yes!” You try to tear yourself away again, but he keeps his grip. “Yes, you are, Lee Jangjun – I’m a murderer, a killer for hire, gods, I shouldn’t even have come back, this was such a fucking mistake –”

“Why did you come back?”

You bite your lip hard, as though debating whether or not to say something. Then steel flashes across your expression as you stare into his eyes. “I tried to find you,” you reply, voice tight, “because of that package I left by your door. Thread. Money. Gods, I don’t even remember what I put in there – I didn’t want any of it.”

Jangjun blinks. “Then what were you going to do?”

“I was going to just… leave. I’m a loose cannon.” You laugh, a cutting, brief sound. “I had a year to kill you. Then I didn’t. I’d failed my last assignment – it was either succeed with this one or die.”

His blood freezes. No wonder you were so set on your mission. “Y/N –”

“They’re dead.” Your voice is bleak. “I killed my employer. And several other assassins. Or they would’ve gone after you. And me. Again.”

Jangjun just stares. By all the gods, just how much did you go through in this past year?

“Now you know.” You try to tug your hands away again. “Why aren’t you letting go of me?”

That brings Jangjun back to the present. “Why would I?”

“You really are stupid,” you mutter. “Why do you want someone with all this blood on their hands to be anywhere near you?”

“You seem to think, that just because you’ve killed people and hurt others while trying to protect them, you’re evil,” Jangjun says slowly.

You snort. “Bingo!”

“You hurt yourself more.”

That takes you aback. “So what? I still hurt other people – I hurt you –”

“You’re not evil.” Jangjun forces you to look at him. “You’re just lost.”

“Broken,” you correct.

“Maybe,” he concedes. “But not unfixable.”

You fall silent.

“You’re not evil,��� he repeats. “Not even unforgivable. I forgave you a long time ago. So did my sister. She misses you, you know.”

“Why –”

“You were there for her when no one else was,” Jangjun interrupts. “Not even me. You only ever tried to protect her, even if you didn’t always tell the whole truth.”

“Your prince probably doesn’t want to see me ever again,” you retort. “Doesn’t he mean something to you, too? He was there for you when I wasn’t.”

“He read the letter.” Jangjun runs a thumb over a thin line of scar tissue on your hand. The movement seems to soothe you. “And he said something that made me realize how lucky I really was.”

“Lucky?”

“I had people to care for and who cared for me,” he says. “Joochan, the second prince, several servants and other guards around the palace. You didn’t have anyone, did you? Except my sister, and even that was sporadic.”

A beat passes. You shake your head.

“He’s trying to understand,” Jangjun continues. “You know your struggle better than me, so you know better, but I think he’s at least on the way. His partner, the gardener – they already forgave you, too. Joochan’s just harder to crack, sometimes.”

Both of you fall silent, then, you probably trying to work through your thoughts, Jangjun trying to figure out what you’re thinking. Finally, you open your mouth. “What if I hurt you again?”

Jangjun’s heart crumbles at the waver in your voice. “You might,” he says. “But I might hurt you, too. We’re both learning, you know.” The corners of his mouth lift, slightly. “I’m still trying to transition from being a royal guard.”

“What are you now?” you ask.

He purses his lips, thinking. “A wood chopper. Gardener, occasionally. Cook. Weaver.”

“Your food is edible?”

Jangjun feels his heart lift at the slight teasing bite in your tone. “Probably more than yours,” he snipes back before continuing. “A brother, too. And…” Tentatively, he tangles your fingers with his. You don’t flinch this time. “Someone who loves you. If you’ll let me.”

The tiny smile that was growing slips off your face, but the broken glass look in your eyes fades slightly, less shattered than before. “What could I be?”

“I could teach you to weave or sew.” He looks at your tangled fingers, at the scars that cover your skin. They’re deft and you’re smart, you could pick it up quickly. “Even if you can’t tell stories the same way we do, there are other arts you could learn. Joochan’s partner might teach you to garden – you’ve never heard their song, it’s beautiful.” It might help you heal. “No cooking, though.” Jangjun smirks. “You’d probably burn down the kitchen.”

Your lips curve slightly. He soaks in the sight, the knife-like smile he loves so much, sharp and bladed but protective and somehow sweet. “Would you let me love you, too?”

Jangjun folds your hands in his. Your eyes sparkle – broken glass, yes, but shards on their way to mending, to becoming whole.

He smiles. “My heart is already yours.”

. . . . .

The palace was in fury. There was no trace left of the last assassin who had been sent, and upon investigation, little left of the original company at all. Money had been spent and havoc wrought, and nothing of it. Few cared enough anymore to find a lost prince rumored to be dead, much less the kidnappers who had taken him, and though the king and queen gritted their teeth in anger, there was nothing they could do.

The last assassin found a home in the guard’s arms, a steadiness in the heartbeat of his chest. Though they were hesitant to love at first, knowing how much they had hurt not just him but those who around them too, but the guard was gentle in his voice, patient in his care. Slowly, as the days, months, then years went by, the assassin allowed themselves to live again, to love, to care in the fiercely deep way they had learnt over years past, enough to give their heart to the guard.

Few would have noticed anything strange about the group of five that lived peacefully at the edge of the woods in a small town far from the capital. Certainly no one would have guessed there were two weavers among them, as well as a former prince, palace gardener, and trained assassin. This is where their story should end, with a motley family and their chaotic beginnings.

But someone knew of at least four of the five, and in time, he would ask them to risk their safety once more to bring about change. To topple a regime. For as those around him left to walk their own paths, he sought to find his way too – though in a world of peace and prosperity, not the iron rule of two monarchs whose voices pained more than they claimed to heal.

The words of this story now come to a close, with a furious palace and a tentative love. But the world is not over, not all ends reached. The lives told within still have years left to live.

After all, where one story ends, another only begins.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for whoever’s story comes next <3)

[peakyblinders1919]

Piano Man

Music. His mother loved music.

That’s why he didn’t allow it down at the pubs anymore. Well, that and the war. 

His life had been a somewhat quiet place ever since he had left a boy and returned to the streets of his hometown a new man.

He thought he was dreaming, a place somewhere between the smog-filled Small Heath and an oasis getaway, the sound of a calming waterfall accompanied by the most beautiful piano melody. It was nothing too complicated, (and he should know since him and his siblings were subjected to countless boring piano lessons when they were young, at their mothers request) but it made him listen closer. It made him stop, close his eyes, sway to the music, humming along.

It was a familiar melody, though he couldn’t put his finger on it. And that’s why he thought it was a dream, and that it was just happening more frequently; a good memory, a happy memory he had buried deep in the back of his memory that was resurfacing slowly.

Until he was walking home one day and it stopped him in his tracks, the melancholy notes casting Water Lane in a haze, an indescribable warmth. That’s when he knew it wasn’t a dream, though later that night it filled his head again all until the early morning daybreak.

It was weeks until the song had lodged itself permanently in his head to the point that he was humming it while sat at his desk.

“Tommy Shelby, is that you singing.”

“No,” he cleared his throat when he was caught in the act. “It’s humming...”

“Chopin, innit?” John, surpassingly, was the brightest of their mum’s pupils. “That one mum liked so much.”

“Chopin...” he stewed on the word. “Yeah, I guess. I’ve been dreaming about it lately.”

“I’ve been hearing it to. No really, I have,” he fought, “someone in the house down from us has been playing it at all hours of the night. It’s starting to get on my nerves really...”

—

It was a bad night. A bad dream. It started with the familiar song playing far off in the distance, Tommy approaching a lady on a blanket laid out with a picnic all positioned on the top of a hill. The music was a happy background noise, and the woman turned with a smile when he joined her. It was his mom, with a young pretty face, a version of her from some time between when her happiness was legitimate, radiant like a sunflower, yet before her life mirrored her mind, foggy and gray. 

She didn’t say anything, just patted the spot next to her for him to sit. She hummed the tune while she buttered the bread. 

And then came the bullets like rain, the scene flooded with red, her screams replacing Chopin, her slowly losing her mind, running, racing down the hill towards the lake calling her name, splashing through, trying to pull him down with her. Crying, screaming, agony, a mind that was completely lost, the river calling her, calling her away from him, calling her name to come under. Running, splashing, walking, wading. Drowning.

He shut out of bed, clutched at his chest as he gasped for air. His head hurt, he wanted to cry.

He smoked instead, which in turn only made him more emotional, reliving it over again and again, heightening his senses so every shadow was her corpse. The song a breeze on his neck, making him scratch and scratch, screaming for it to stop.

He *pounded* on the door with a chest handed fist determined to make it stop. Make the music and the dreams and the memory just stop for a second so he could have some peace and quiet. He continued pounding on the door even when it wasn’t there and he was just pounding on air, pinching the bridge of his nose when the music stop and someone answered.

“Can you please stop playing that bloody fucking piano at all hours of the night? Some people are *trying* to get some fucking sleep, they don’t need the sound of Chopin keeping them up.”

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry sir. I didn’t mean to, it's just... well I can’t sleep either, that's why I play. I’m surprised someone around here knows Chopin though. Sorry for keeping you up, I hope I haven’t been too much of a disturbance.”

Now that he was there and he looked into the woman’s eyes, he was soon taken aback by her beauty and her grace he’d forgotten altogether what he was there for. He was speechless for a moment that lingered on, causing her pink lips to purse into a smile.

“No, no uh... not a disturbance at all. A nice change really.”

“I’m sorry my playing kept you up, at least allow me to apologize with a cup of tea. I may know just the recipe that’ll knock you out,” she chuckled. 

He suddenly had forgotten about the nightmare, his mother and the shock and everything else that plagued his mind and kept him up. Now that there was no soothing melody, he felt like he needed it. The lure of her voice, almost as sweet on his ears as the music she produced, pulled him in even further. He was in no state for any of this really, but he was at least sober enough to realize the quickened beating of his heart wasn’t due to the drugs pumping through his veins, but the fact that he was so close to her as he followed her in.

“Maybe... maybe you wouldn’t mind playing one more time again?”

—

When there were whispers about Thomas Shelby, they used to be about his latest venture; who he killed, who he was dealing with, the whispers hushed because people were scared. Now when his name left people’s lips it was to figure out if he had fallen in love with her or her music. 

Ever since that night when he met the beauty behind the sound, he had fallen head over heels for her. Now they both got some sleep, wrapped up in each other’s arms and warmth; she had no need to stay up and keep her hands busy during the bewitching hour, and he had no music to haunt his dreams. They were like a harmony, each complimenting the other beautifully.

And when he did wake from a nightmare, a ghost of his mother, a reminder of the blood shed in France, she was there to play for him.

It was a regular night for them, Tommy waking up with a bolt in a cold sweat, shaking her from her light sleep. She’d trail kisses along his shoulders first, rubbing his back, shushing or humming the song until he had calmed enough to speak. And he only said one phrase, “Will you play for me?” with sad tired eyes. And with sad, tired eyes for him she would take his hands, pull him into the lounge and play for him.

It was one of these nights, they were just like all the others, around 2 am when she sat there like an angel, her fingers beginning to play the familiar song perfectly. Something pulled him closer to her until they were shoulder to shoulder on the piano bench. He watched her hands moving across the keys before he put his hand over hers. No words, just their hands touching, running across the same keys, his fingers picking up the harmony of her notes, completing the song. It was years after that he finally found out all those piano lessons hadn’t gone to waste. His hands knew all the keys to play, where to go next, to the point that he just stopped to watch her. How her head bent over the keys in concentration, how her lips pursed into a smile, how a stray piece of hair fell from her bun, how her cheek were rosy, how beautiful she looked in this light, how she got so swept up by the power of the music that her whole body swayed to the beat.

He waited until the song was over, putting the stray piece of hair back in place. “I love you.”

“I love you too Tommy.” 

He smiled as he leaned over to kiss her, the passion rising from his toes to his stomach as the kiss grew like a crescendo. Their lips danced together, tongues tangled, her hands on him pulling him closer before her magical pull had pulled him in to the point where all his weight shifted forward, his hands thrust forward onto the keys in an attempt to keep himself upright. He swore it was the only time a sound so horrendous had come from her piano. But they made the best music together.

[pearl-blue-musings]

Perchance to Meet pt 6.

Hi fam!

Sorry this took awhile to come out! This took lots of more of my time to come up with and I wanted it to be what I had envisioned so it took longer!

Pairing: Aizawa Shouta x fem!reader

Warnings: slight abuse, mentions of abuse, some angst and some fluff?

I think this will have one more part but yeah we’re getting near the end! 

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 7)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The pride Aizawa has for his students is off the charts as he sits with some of them. He, along with some other well-known heroes have been called in for an extensive mission. Sir Nighteye and his assistant and sidekick Bubble Girl go over the mission.

He takes in the details about Overhaul, or also known as Chisaki Kai and logs it into his memory. He also takes in how his students are handling the grueling information, most notably being careful of his common problem child who ran into the little girl they’re planning on saving as well. He watches the videos of the surveillance done on the men that Overhaul keeps company. Watching for patterns, where they go, what they do etc. However, a particular picture and set of videos cause his heart to skip a beat.

There is Overhaul, at two places he knows all too well.

If Aizawa is panicked he doesn’t show it. But he’s internally trying to find the connection as to why he would visit the places (Y/n) works. It could all be a pure coincidence and that’s what he’s hoping for. There’s no way she would associate herself with someone like that willingly. If she was that kind of person, he would have detected it on her and not gotten himself involved with her. But what if he’s wrong? He has been wrong before, but he knows he isn’t wrong about this.

The meeting ends with final words and plans on what to do. There are some who are unsure of the plan, especially if it involves children aiding them but he knows better. The plan seems entirely logical so long as everything accordingly and everyone brings their A game.

Aizawa prepares to leave the meeting room when he is stopped by a gloved hand. “Sir Nighteye needs to see you briefly, can you hang back?” Aizawa shrugs his shoulders at Bubble Girl and goes back to his seat. He sees Mirai set up another slide show and begins to wonder what this is about and why only he was held back.

“Eraserhead, we’ve done some other research and recon and would like to inform you of another side mission along with the main task at hand.”

He sees Shouta nod and he urges Bubble Girl to show him the video.

“We found this video the other day. The date shows this happened a couple weeks ago. There used to not be a camera here but because of an incident involving an employee, the establishment added it.”

When the video starts, all he sees is Overhaul, his minions, and what seems to be a client buying his product. He starts to take in the background and notices he’s been there many times before. He keeps his stoic face as the video fast forwards to more action. Something happens and part of the camera is covered in blood, obstructing the view partially. Then he sees the door of the building open up

And there she is.

The expression on her face is one he’d hoped he’d never have to see. She’s terrified, flabbergasted, and now covered in blood. He can’t hear anything but now he sees that all eyes are on her. He can see (Y/n) attempting to bargain with who he assumes is Chisaki, and then for him the unthinkable happens.

Her body goes limp as she’s being apprehended and taken away.

Aizawa isn’t one to lose his cool, but that made him jump out of his seat. The two heroes in front of him glance at each other and stop the video. They give him a couple minutes to truly digest what he saw.

“We know that you had a special connection to (Y/f/n). Overhaul not only has a child, but an innocent civilian that was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Clearly, stopping Overhaul and saving the child are most important, but this young woman has been considered missing.” Sir Nighteye pauses and then continues.

“We had to keep quiet about all aspects of this mission and keep this info from the public in order for the plan to work and succeed. I’m sure you understand.” He practically answers Aizawa’s unasked emotional question.

Aizawa sighs deeply, “I get it. What does this have to do with me?”

“You might be the only one who can rescue her. There’s already a lot on this mission that we don’t want to overwhelm anyone, but since it’s you we know you can handle it. Besides, she knows you.”

He can’t get the sight of (Y/n) being hurt and taken out of his head. This is what he wanted to avoid by being with her but apparently not. No matter what he does or tries people he cares about will be in danger because of him. So, logically, what should he do with his emotions and the woman that has invaded every fiber of his being?

He contemplates his next move as he steps out to see his students.

******************

The sound of a metal door clicking closed rouses her from her sleep. Her eyes are slow to adjust to the dim lights that barely reflect off of the cold tile floors beneath her. The four walls around her are plain, nothing on them except for the 28,643 spots that litter them. (Y/n) tugs at her arm and remembers that her arms are chained to a nearby wall. The chains are long enough for her to move with limited mobility but not enough for her to reach the door.

Her eyes and nose lead her to an object on the ground by the door. It looks like her morning meal as she crawls over to the bowl, plate, and cup. She’s starting to regret telling him what her favorite go to breakfast was because this was all she’s had for… Shit how long has she been here? A week? Two weeks?

Her first couple of days she resisted eating anything that was given to her as a form of protest. That earned her Overhaul using his quirk on her, whimpers and yells emitting from her throat at the pain until he put her back to normal. The next time she disobeyed him, he took it out on Eri. The way the “no” escaped her lips, dry from lack of use and childlike in her fear, he knew her soft spot.

Which is why she’s eating now. (Y/n) must be close to to Eri’s room or something because she hears her screams almost as if they’re right in the room with her. It rattles her to the bone, hearing such an innocent girl screaming, yelling, and thrashing in pain. It made her sick. How could that man, no monster, do this? She can’t believe she fell for his act, those eyes and that voice that could persuade anyone got to her. The feel of bile fills her throat the more she thinks about him, Eri, and where she is.

(Y/n) can’t help the tears that fall freely down her face as she thinks of Eri. But also of Aizawa. Fuck, she wishes he was here assuring her that everything would be fine. He’d save her from here, they’d apologize for all the words and nasty feelings shared and then live happily ever after the end.  But she knew better than to think like that. All that did was earn her talks with Overhaul. Sometimes he wouldn’t lay a hand on her but if she was acting out he’d just grab her jaw aggressively, playing with her inevitable death, but always repeating the same things:

“You shouldn’t have been there, Angel”

“Well I did want you to myself eventually but I’m sad it had to be this way”

“Eri would be very upset if you didn’t eat, she hates hearing you cry”

“This is all your fault you know”

Yesterday’s was a new and longer one

“No one will come save you, you quirk can’t save you. You’re such an admirable person that I wanted to love but with your insistence that some hero, someone with a quirk unfit for this world will come to you, you are just like them. Disposable.”

The bruises on her jaw had just healed from the last time but they can match the ones that fade and return on her wrists and anywhere some random hooligan had dared touched her.

(Y/n) finishes her food and pushes the empty dishes toward the door. Usually they’re picked up immediately, followed by pairs of feet walking outside. However, this morning is different. No one comes to pick up her dishes and there’s no one walking outside her door.

What the hell is going on?

Her confusion deepens as her door is swung open forcefully, knocking the plates over making a loud sound. She defensively puts up her hands to block out the person and the light emanating from behind them. When nothing happens, she moves her hands and sees another person she’s come to hate strongly. The white haired man in front of her says nothing as he walks up to her, noticing her body flinching upon their close proximity. Most of his body is covered in a long white jacket and there’s another plague mask hanging out of a pocket. She can feel his breath on her cheek as he unlocks her chains, toying with her emotional state.

Once the cuffs fall freely to the floor, he grabs her wrist and commands, “Come with me.”

********************

It was hard for him to believe what he was seeing in front of him but he pounced into action. Aizawa immediately sees Overhaul takes his quirk. Upon entering the strange cave, he sees the girl in question being protected and shielded by two of some of the best students he’s ever seen. Before he’s able to do more damage and prevent Overhaul from using his quirk further, he’s abruptly taken away from the fight from one of his lackeys, his right-hand man if he is correct.

He lands in an unfamiliar room and is on high alert but thrown off from being attacked. Eraserhead quickly does surveillance but is cut short by an attack from behind. He feels his body slowing and only slightly panics. Then he hears a voice above him begin to talk and mumble to himself about Overhaul and their plan. With his face and body connected to the floor he’s rendered immobile. For the most part he tunes out the figure looming over him until particular words catch his ears.

“I do want to kill you, but it would be better with an audience don’t you think?”

A strong hand grips Aizawa’s hair and force his eyes up and ahead. It takes a while for his eyes to adjust to the room. In front of him is a chair; how long had that been there? What’s more important is who’s sitting in the chair.

It takes more strength than he would like to admit when he sees (Y/n)’s limp. She’s breathing, barely but breathing. He can’t fully investigate the state of her body but he can tell that they had gotten to her. Fuck, he wants to reach out and pull her close but there’s a number of factors preventing him from doing so; other than being held down against his will.

“It’s pitiful really, to see you with such a unique quirk reduced to this. I can feel how much this hurts you to see her but I’ll end that soon.”

The blade that was meant for the black haired man never came, as the door behind them is burst open and Chronostasis is apprehended. Aizawa reclaims mobility in his body and pushed himself off the ground to see an injured Suneater holding onto an unconscious Lemillion. Relief floods his body as the police capture the Shie Hassaki aide and exhales deeply. He turns on his heel quickly to find (Y/n) and get her the help she needs.

“Eraserhead, who is that?”

He approaches her body and kneels down. “Hey, (Y/n) can you hear me?” He lightly taps her cheek and sees remnants of bruising. He lowers his voice so no one else can hear, “Kitten please wake up.” He continues to trace his fore finger and thumb along her cheek to rouse her.

His heart drops when he notices her lips move. “Ung, Sho-“

“Sh sh sh,” he coos, “don’t talk. I’m going to pick you up okay?” Aizawa carefully checks for any restraints and seeing that there are none, picks her up bridal style and begins to take you toward the police.

Now that they are in the light, tears threaten to build behind his eyes upon really seeing her. Discolored skin around her wrists, neck, jaw, and ankles lets him know that she was held here for too long and was possibly, no for sure hurt and abused. Aizawa does his best to keep her body still while rushing toward the surface where he knows she can get help. He feels her cold finger touch his neck making him stop. “We have to keep moving, kitten.”

“Where’s Eri… He was, he was hurting her. Please we have to…”

His almond eyes soften. Even though she’s hurting and in pain, probably closer to death than she’d ever been before her heart still goes out to others. Aizawa isn’t entirely sure of her whereabouts but he needs to keep pressing on. “She’s safe. She’s being rescued just like you are right now.”

(Y/n) nods and then rests her head to his chest clinging on to the familiar amidst the strange. The police and a couple other heroes are all heading toward the top of the building to meet up with the rest of the teams involved. Aizawa holds her tightly against his chest, relishing in this feeling that he knows won’t last forever.

Upon reaching the morning light and bumbling sounds of sirens and commotion, Aizawa treks toward an open ambulance. He drops her off with a medic and hurriedly asks them to look over (Y/n). He hesitantly walks away but turns to see your face, an all too familiar look of knowing that he never wants to see. Her eyes are telling him to go because it’s his job and his job comes first. He’s gonna come back he promises, once he finds Eri.

When (Y/n) wakes again, she finds herself surrounded by bright white and beeps. It doesn’t take as long for her to come to her senses. There’s a drip inserted into her arm and exhales. She notices the wraps and bandages around her previously open wounds and bruises. They are still sensitive to the touch as a reminder that everything that happened had actually occurred. She’s lucky to see clock and calendar near her bed.

Two weeks.

Two whole weeks she was gone. Did anyone notice? How was her shop? Oh God what about Eri? What about the little girl she yearned to see again but couldn’t what happened-

“You’re awake.”

Aizawa stands in the doorway of her room with a small grin. He’s not entirely sure what to do. Is he allowed to rush to you and comfort you? He came out relatively unscathed, but has to deal with a student and a colleague who lost a mentor and friend. That was harsh losing the one who told him about (Y/n)’s whereabouts in the first place.

Her voice is still hoarse from lack of use and malnutrition. “How’s Eri?”

“She’s having fevers from over using her quirk but she’s stable. I’ll be staying by her side to monitor her with my quirk.”

“I see.”

Silence falls between the former couple as they both struggle to find words to say. He knows he needs to go check on Eri but he knows he’s needed and wanted here. He slowly walks in and shuts the door behind him. The look on her face is one of shock, probably because she didn’t expect the work driven man to stay with her, a mere civilian.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said.” Aizawa takes a chair and goes up to her bed to be closer, his eyes never leaving hers. “I wanted to protect you from this. I didn’t want you hurt because of me.” He pauses to collect his next words.

“(Y/n), I,” he looks up to meet her gaze, “I love you. So much so that it scared me. But what scared me most these last couple of months was not knowing how you were, or where you were. And when I found out that you were taken, I couldn’t show it but I was frightened.”

“Shota…”

He squeezes her hand that snuck its way into hers. “No please, let me finish. I’ve lost someone close to me before and I didn’t want to feel that again. My job, my students, they are my life. Then you showed up and changed everything. I was happy and content for once but once the threat of villains increased I figured it was better to have you alive and hate me, than be dead because you loved me.

“I couldn’t do that to someone I care about.” All the emotions Aizawa had held in for too long come flowing out. Small and few tears fall down his face as he buries his head into (Y/n)’s bed. “I didn’t want to say what I said that day, but I wanted to protect you and myself,” his confession comes out muffled from his face being buried in the sheets. He feels a dry hand caress his cheek and he meets her gaze.

“Shota,” she cries, tears falling freely. “I missed you so much.” She coughs as her crying causes her to hiccup. “I wanted to be mad but I couldn’t. I wanted to hate you but I couldn’t. And I wanted-mmph!”

Aizawa interrupts her wailing by placing his lips on hers carefully. He holds her face in his hands and wipes her tears gently with is thumb. The simple gesture sends butterflies to her stomach that she hasn’t felt in too long as they separate.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“God Kitten I missed you.” He brings her in for another kiss, this one stronger and more intentional than before. The kiss was filled with unspoken apologies, whispers of love, and admittance of wrongdoing. The hero was careful with (Y/n) as he pulled her toward him, to hold onto her a little tighter. A cough breaks the spell cast on the two rekindled lovers. Aizawa does his best to hide his annoyance and the awful timing at whomever was at the door. It amused (Y/n) to see that he hadn’t changed too much.

“Um, Sen-I mean Eraserhead? They need you to see Eri-chan. Should I leave or-?”

“No Midoriya, it’s fine,” he scoffs out. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll be right there okay?”

The young up and coming hero was clearly flustered at the scene in front of him and from his teacher calling him by his real name. “Yes sir! But shouldn’t we be using our hero names?”

“We’re safe here. Also, this is long overdue but this is (Y/f/n)

“My girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?!” The green haired teen kindly meets her and bows to the both of them as he takes his leave. He turns around to view the couple one more time. He notes that he’s never seen his teacher look at anyone so softly, well maybe with Eri-chan but…

“Geez, why do I always have to be the first one to know crazy news?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist!: @kiribaku-queen @cupcake-rogue @shinsouskitten @prk-pyo @therealwalmartjesus @susceptible-but-siriusexual 

[theblackberrygirl]

Dead Hearts

Summary: The Red Room is destroyed and Natasha has some unresolved goodbyes to say.

Author’s Note: alright I wasn’t super happy with this bc I felt like it was kinda OOC but my beta reader said she rly liked it so here it is!

Warnings: torture, death, death of children, hypothermia, grief. It’s sad alright

This is a song fic and it’s inspired by Dead Hearts by Stars

Tell me everything that happened

Tell me everything you saw

They had lights inside their eyes

They had lights inside their eyes

“JARVIS, show me the article,” Nat asked, her voice trembling ever so slightly.

“Of course, Ms. Romanoff.”

The headline streamed across the TV in her room. Russian training academy, Red Room, has been destroyed and burned by the US government.

Her stomach dropped. No. It can’t be true. The Red Room doesn’t just get destroyed. That’s not possible, it’s not true.

But it was. It was true. The Red Room had been reduced to a pile of burning cinder blocks.

She felt a strange feeling in her heart. She definitely wasn’t nostalgic. The Red Room had kidnapped her from that house fire when she was 4, leaving her parents to die. They tortured her, made her into a killer, messed with her mind and memories.

They made her kill her friends.

When she had escaped when she was 16 and Clint had found her, she never looked back. She ran and ran because running was what she knew, it was all she knew.

But now, she couldn’t run away. No, for once in her life, it was time to run towards something.

“JARVIS, is the quinjet fueled up?”

“Yes, Ms. Romanoff, but-”

“Get me 29 roses please. I’m leaving in 10 minutes.” JARVIS didn’t answer her, but she knew he was listening.

It was late, around 2 in the morning. Tony would be in his lab. The others would hopefully be asleep. Clint… well, he was a wild card at night. He could be anywhere. But she had known him for years. She knew how to avoid him.

She threw some essentials in a bag before heading towards the quinjet. JARVIS had been listening, because a bundle of blood-red roses laid on the countertop.

She picked them up on her way out to one of the jets. She needed to do this. Not just for herself.

But for them.

-

Did you see the closing window?

Did you hear the slamming door?

They moved forward, and my heart died

They moved forward, and my heart died

-

“Mr. Stark, Ms. Romanoff has just entered the roof.”

“What? Why?” Tony asked, actually pausing his newest project to listen to JARVIS.

“She asked me to make sure one of the quinjets had fuel and to get her roses.”

“That’s helpful,” Tony grumbled. “Is Barton still up?”

“Mr. Barton is currently downstairs in the archery range.”

“Typical. Tell him to come up here, will ya J?”

“Right away, Mr. Stark.”

Tony didn’t go back to his tinkering. He wanted to give Natasha her space, since she’d probably kill him if he didn’t. But at the same time, if this was something important, he didn’t want her to be alone.

“Tony? What’s up?” Clint had arrived in the lab, his bow on his back.

“Hey, do you know if today is anything important for Nat? An anniversary or something?”

“...no? Not that I know of anyways. Why? She alright?”

“I’m not sure, Katniss. JARVIS just told me that she was going up to the jet with roses.”

“Where is she going?”

“The GPS coordinates are set for an area approximately 50 miles West of Vorkuta, Russia.”

“Russia? Why would she be going back to-”

“JARVIS, how many roses did she want?” Clint interjected.

“29, sir.”

“That’s specific,” Tony commented.

Clint didn’t say anything. He wordlessly picked up one of the laptops Tony had laying around and typed something into the search bar.

“Oh no, Tasha… I knew you talked about it doing something, but...”

“What? What is it?”

Clint spun the laptop around for him to see. “The Red Room. It’s gone. And I think I know why she’s going back”

-

Please, please tell me what they looked like

Did they seem afraid of you?

They were kids that I once knew

They were kids that I once knew...

-

Even in a quinjet, the ride from New York to Northern Russia was pretty long, giving her plenty of time to think and contemplate.

She did not want to think. Not about the Red Room, or Madame B, or the other girls, anything.

You owe it to them to remember.

All of her memories before 16 were jumbled. But some things… some things can’t be erased or altered by drugs.

She remembers their names. All of them. All 29.

She had been the youngest girl in her class of Black Widows. Some said that was a weakness. Others said it was an advantage.

But when they brought little Natalia Romanova to that place, still covered in burns and ash, she didn’t care about becoming the Black Widow. She wanted her mother, and father, in their little one-bedroom apartment, with her stuffed rabbit Alexei. It was always cold in that apartment, but when she was snuggled between her mother and father, she felt safe.

She learned quickly that safety was not a feeling in the Red Room. That was something for children, and she was not a child. She was Natalia, made of marble.

On her first night there, when she had silently cried from the pain of cold metal handcuff cutting her wrist, one of the older girls had helped her. She was 8. Her name was Nadia.

Nadia had stolen one of the handcuff keys from the guards. She had unlocked the cuffs and hugged her. Made her a makeshift doll out of an old sock and toilet paper. Told her stories of magic and heros.

In the morning, they found out about what Nadia had done. They punished her until she couldn’t scream anymore. Just before they killed her, she looked at Natalia. “It’s ok”, she whispered. Just before they pulled the trigger.

Magic had not been in that place in a very long time.

After Nadia had been killed, Natalia funneled her grief and fear into her training. She rose to the top, taking down girls who were twice her age and twice her size. She used untraditional methods on the mat, using her legs to take them down since that was where she was strongest.

Her handlers were very impressed with her sudden prowess. She became the best dancer, best fighter, best liar. She picked up the languages quickly. She was as stoic as stone, never flinching or backing down from the threat of a punishment.

They never knew what fueled her excellence. Never knew that she was motivated by rage and grief. For her parents. For Nadia.

When she turned 9 years old, she decided that it was time to repay her debt to Nadia. There was a new girl, the last one for their class. The thirtieth. Sasha.

No one knew what had happened to Sasha. But they did know that she was good. She was unwavering, unmoving. During the day, anyways.

At night, Natalia could hear the girl in the bed next to her trying to muffle her cries. She took out the key that one of the guards had foolishly left in the washrooms. She carefully unlocked her own cuff and Sasha’s.

She rubbed her back silently. Rebraided her French braids that had come undone in the night. Made her a crude doll out of an old sock and toilet paper. Just as Nadia had done for her.

The next morning, Natalia had waited all day for someone to take her to a room to be killed. But they never did. They hadn’t been caught.

Sasha and Natalia continued their routine every night. It was nice to have a friend in a place where friends were a myth.

They were friends for 2 years. They learned to master sneaking around. When Sasha turned 11, someone took her into a room alone. They did this all the time for training, interrogation practice, or just a mental test.

When Sasha didn’t come back that night, she knew something was wrong.

She never saw Sasha again. She didn’t know what happened to her. She still didn’t.

“Landing in 10 minutes,” the jet intercom told her. A wave of anxiety washed over her. She didn’t want to be here. She wanted to turn around, go home, and never come back.

She hated the memories associated with this place. This was the closest she had ever been in the 12 years since Clint saved her. She avoided it like the plague.

The clearing the jet had landed in was still about 2 miles from the old academy. She pulled her coat and hat on and began her march through the barren fields and forest.

Tank tops and shorts. No shoes, she thought to herself. When she was 13, Madame B had given them all black tank tops and shorts. She took away their combat boots and forced them out into the bitter winds.

“Only the strongest will survive this challenge. Only those worthy of the Black Widow title will make it through this. If you are not ready, well, hypothermia isn’t a bad way to go,” she had told them. 2 girls out of the remaining 18 had died that day.

Then they had gone inside to train. The cold made their muscles achey and stiff, but the Red Room was not a place for complaints.

Then they did it all again the next day.

By the end of the week, 7 of the remaining 18 girls were dead, either from exhaustion or the cold. 11 remained from a group that was once 30.

Anastasia. Irina. Svetlana. Alina. Manya. Eva. Kyana.

Their dead hearts were everywhere. The lights inside their eyes extinguished. They’re still out there. And she still cares.

She always will.

-

I could say it, but you won't believe me

You say you do, but you don't deceive me

It's hard to know they're out there

It's hard to know that you still care

-

Pepper, Tony, Clint, Bruce, Thor, Steve, and Fury had all boarded a jet to Russia as soon as Clint told them what had happened. They weren’t going to let her go through this alone.

Natasha Romanoff liked to pretend she didn’t feel things. But they were her family. And family helped each other.

They all sat in silence. Natasha only had an hour on them, but that was still an hour where she was alone and hurting. Even Tony didn’t say anything.

Clint was playing with the spider necklace he always wore. Natasha had a matching one with an arrow. It was a symbol of how deep their friendship went.

Fury was completely still. He had his arms resting on his knees, looking straight ahead. His lips were more downturned than usual, and his forehead was more tense. You could only tell if you had known him for a long time, but Fury was upset. Upset that the woman he looked at as a daughter had to relive this. That she even had to live through it at all.

Clint and Fury were probably getting hit the hardest. They knew the most about what went down in the Red Room. They knew the most about how painful this had to be for their friend.

As the jet lightly set down in the field near the jet that Natasha had taken, they all prepared to walk the 2 miles in the cold weather.

The ground beneath their feet was completely frozen. Permafrost. Snowflakes rushed around their faces. It was painfully beautiful.

The sound of dried grass and leaves under their feet was the only sound on their walk. The wind whistled in their ears. The cold air bit into their exposed skin like needles.

Clint’s breath caught in his throat when he saw her.

She was standing on a pile of rubble with her back to them. Her flaming red hair was flying in the wind. In her arms was the bouquet of roses. Each rose had a note attached, written in Natasha��s small, elegant penmanship.

As Clint looked closer, he saw what the notes were. Names. All of them.

If Nat had realized they were there, she made no move to acknowledge them.

She just stood there. As if she was in shock. To be honest, she might’ve been.

“Sometimes, I swear I can see them,” Natasha spoke. She sounded so… broken. “Everywhere. In the reflection of a window. When I heard a door slam, it was like they were right there like they used to be. Like how they were in here.”

They all stayed quiet. She needed to get this out.

“It’s like they’re following me. Protecting me. I miss them. I miss them all.”

“Inna, Katrina, Larisa, Polina, and Oksana were the first 5 to go.” She held the 5 flowers tightly in her hand, like if she squeezed it tightly enough, she could bring them back. “5, 7, 6, 4, and 8. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” she whispered. Her emotions were coming to the surface, hidden by a thin veil of control.

“Raisa, Sonya, Ulyana, Vanka. I didn’t know any of you. Not personally. But all of you deserved so much better than what you got.”

“Luda, Lubov, and Klara. You were 8 years old. Triplets. Nothing could come between you three. Not the Red Room. Not even death.”

Clint started to move closer towards his best friend. He could see the way she was shaking.

“That week when we stood outside for hours. The cold and exhaustion took 7. Anastasia, Irina, Svetlana, Alina, Manya, Eva, Kyana. I hope that you weren’t in pain when you died. I hope you’re finally resting.”

Only 10 roses were left in her arms, the other 19 laid out on the ground in front of her. The bright red petals contrasted sharply with the grey cinder blocks and white snow.

“Yelizaveta. Liz. We were in actual hell together, and yet you somehow managed to make me smile with your fucked-up sense of humor. In a place like that, dark humor is the only kind you have.” A small smile joined the tears running down her face. “I hope I’ll see you again one day.”

“Taisiya, Sonechka, Nikita, Mischa, Maya, Luda. You were all so smart. And so strong. You fought harder than everyone. Even now, I have yet to meet someone as smart as you six, and 2 of my best friends have more than one PhD,” she laughed.

She was down to the final three roses. Clint put his arm around her. The dam was threatening to break any moment now.

“Nadia.” She let her tears fall for Nadia. “I wouldn’t be alive without you. I wouldn’t have gotten to meet my family. I wouldn’t have gotten to become an aunt without you.” Clint had already been crying, they all had, even Fury, but that had struck him deep in his heart. “I owe you. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she choked out. She bit her lip to keep it from trembling as she gently set the rose down on the ground.

“When I was 14, we had to do torture training.” Pepper let out a small gasp. “After I had finished the whipping and electrocution day, Anya split her bread with me. She cleaned the cuts that I couldn’t reach. In the morning, I-” Her voice began to crack. “They made me be the one to kill her. She was 15.” She set Anya’s rose on the ground next to the others. “You didn’t deserve it, Anya. You were always so good. Better than I ever was.”

“Sasha. Sasha and I were best friends,” she let out a small bittersweet laugh. “When I was with her, I felt like, maybe, we could lead normal lives. Escape. Be happy. One day, when we were 11, they took her away and never brought her back.” She held the rose with Sasha written on it in her hand. “I’m sorry, Sash. I’m so, so sorry. For everything.”

“You forgot one,” Clint whispered. He held out one more red rose. “Natalia Romanova. A little girl orphaned in a fire, who did what she had to do to survive. Who walked through hell and back and still found herself a family and a home.” He set the rose down with the others.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she cried. Clint hugged her tightly as they sank to the ground.

“We were all so young. We were all kids. Just kids,” she sobbed into his shoulder.

Years upon years, over 2 decades worth of grief, sadness, fear, rage, and pain came pouring out. She had been bottling these feelings up for 24 years, shoving them down, and now they were finally being released. Finally being set free.

“They were kids that I once knew. They were kids that I once knew...”

-

Now they’re all dead hearts to you.

They were kids that I once knew

They were kids that I once knew

Now they're all dead hearts to you

Now they're all dead hearts to you

They were kids that I once knew

They were kids that I once knew

Now they're all dead hearts to you...