#ty for your support as always (makes the most pathetic face ever of all time)

[shepscapades]

WELL THAT WAS AN UNEXPECTED RESPONSE :( /pos

[vvienne]

ZUTARA FIC RECS

(Don’t) Follow Me Down by eleventy7

Katara is the dread queen of the underworld, ruler of the dead, destined to reign her cold kingdom alone. Until a sun god catches her eye.

they call you refugee by akaiiko

Zuko goes into exile with a scar, a mission, and a wife.

The girl wears ill fitted ceremonial silks. She is too thin, with jutting bones and hollowed eyes. Dirt smudges her cheek. Her lower lip has a healing split in it. Gaudy as her finery is, she wears it like prisoner’s rags.

All of this Zuko registers in the time it takes him to reach the dais and bow. Every muscle aches with the remembrance of what happened the last time he knelt before Father. This time there is no begging, no roar of the crowd, no burning. Still—Zuko’s grateful to stand once more.

Slipping into soldier’s parade rest, he waits for what will come next, all too aware of the girl’s defiant body next to his.

“I am told that this is Katara of the Southern Water Tribe,” Father says, cruel amusement oiling his words. The phrasing makes the girl sound like a thing. “The last waterbender of their pathetic tribe.” Flames conceal all but his shadow, yet Zuko knows from long experience the exacting blade of his father’s smirk. The smirk he must surely wear now. Because he has built up his insult and now he lets it fall. “Your bride.”

the poison leaves bit by bit by paintingcranes

After the war, Katara struggles to breathe.

She’s always known who she is and what her duty was - now she hasn’t got a clue. She didn't realize that learning to live, after just surviving for so long, would be this hard.  

OR: Katara falls in love with Zuko, but first she learns to love herself.

OR: Katara travels the world, Zuko supports a political revolution, Aang faces his trauma, Toph accepts help from her friends, Suki inspires other women, Sokka leads, and everyone heals.

Pulse by damagectrl

The war of conquest comes to a crashing halt when the death of Azulon puts brother against brother, with anti-war Iroh claiming victory.  A young Zuko escapes capture and flees to the former colonies, hiding out for ten years, evading his uncle’s men.

While Zuko was prepared for any Fire Nation detectives and soldiers after him, he finds himself grossly unprepared for a waterbending prodigy turned bounty hunter who has yet to fail to bring in her target.

Practice by ama

Post-Ember Island Players, Zuko and Katara discuss boys, the kissing thereof, the inherent confusion of adolescence, and why love is like fish.

a deep delight of the blood by eruthros

"Me. You could practice on me. If I'm telling you that you can do it, it can't be wrong to practice - just in case - "

The Simple Joys of Tying Up Boys by Letterblade

“So, uh, Suki,” Katara says, worrying at one elbow with her other hand and trying not to let her face light on fire. “Can you teach me how to tie up boys?”

Lovable by LadyCharity

Zuko knew that he could not save Azula. He could only try to forgive her. Fittingly enough, those two were one in the same.

The Scourge of the Mo Ce Sea by ajstyling

She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and with one look at her face he understood the truth of her words. She would kill him and not lose a minute of sleep.

---

Following the destruction and conquest of their home by the Fire Nation, the Southern Water Tribe turned to piracy in order to survive. Katara, Scourge of the Mo Ce Sea, the most infamous of the Southern Water Tribe pirate captains, devises a plot to capture and ransom the Fire Lord's son, but quickly realizes that Zuko is nothing like she expected.

The Worst Prisoner: The element of change (Book 1) by emletish

What if Sokka was there during the events of the Blue Spirit? What if he accidentally kidnapped Zuko? It's not a poor life choice of it's an accident, right?

Once Around the Sun by eleventy7

Later, Katara can see how it all fell apart. Azula in her cell, growing roses; Zuko surrounded by enemies, slowly dying; their friends in the Earth Kingdom, safely escaping. And herself at the centre of it, saving lives and breaking promises. Set after finale, eventual Zutara.

The Blackfish and the Dragon by ama

Katara grew up in the Southern Water Tribe under the tutelage of Hama, the only waterbender ever to have escaped Fire Nation captivity. When Zuko arrives at the South Pole, seeking the Avatar, they are more than ready to defend him. Iroh watches as his beloved nephew throws himself at the ice walls again and again in an impossible siege–-and resolves to do anything it takes to save his nephew from himself. With the assistance of the Order of the White Lotus, he deposes his brother on the Day of Black Sun.

A week later, the Southern Water Tribe receives a petition for peace, and a proposal of marriage.

Fire On The Ice by Dyce

Lu Ten survives the siege of Ba Sing Se, and Iroh returns home to depose the usurping Ozai. Determined that no more sons or daughters will die in war, he begins peace negotiations with the Earth Kingdom and Water Tribes.... offering Zuko and Azula, his secondary and tertiary heirs, as marriage-pieces. Zuko is offered to the Water Tribe... specifically, to Hakoda and his daughter Katara. Mild smut.

Journeys by Smediterranea

Katara, in her final year of medical school, spends her time studying and working without having very much fun. That might change when she meets another workaholic named Zuko... Modern AU Katara/Zuko, with a sprinkling of the other members of the Gaang throughout.

“This tea is delicious,” she says politely.

“I didn’t make it,” Zuko says. “I’m not allowed to handle the tea.”

“Not allowed?”

Zuko flushes and rubs the back of his neck.

“I told Uncle Iroh that tea was just hot leaf juice when I was a teenager and he’s never let me handle it since.”

Catalyst by devNdev

Zuko is captured by the Dai Li in Ba Sing Se. While held in the darkest part of the Crystal Catacombs and certain all is lost, unexpected visitors arrive. Uneasy alliances are made and the motivations behind them are quickly tested. Zuko must fight to survive and heal, facing uncomfortable truths and lies, answering the big questions, and finally fighting his greatest enemy yet.

An end of Season 2 AU leading into Season 3.

oracle bones by orphan_account

The foreign, pictorial characters that bracelet Zuko's left wrist have never been covered in any of his lessons. He cannot read them.

And then he turns thirteen, and his father burns his wrist along with his face.

like we're made of starlight by Naladot

Katara leaves her post as the ambassador to the Fire Nation to take up a new one as the ambassador to the Northern Water Tribe. Her absence makes Zuko realize that he's got an unfortunate crush, which he is determined to keep secret. Unfortunately for him, subtly has never been one of his strengths—especially when he arrives in the Northern Water Tribe and she keeps taking him on what seem to be dates.

side of the highway by visibleworlds

“Why the fuck,” Katara asked, “were you making an omelette at three in the afternoon.”

—

Zuko moves, tries to repair his relationship with his sister, almost burns the house down, and falls in love. It’s a grand time.

The Perfect Color by ParadiseAvenger

A Soul Mark could be left for any kind of love—familial, friendly, romantic, pure, fantastical. Each color represented a different bond between the people that touched skin-to-skin. The colors stayed the same until the death of that person. Then, the Soul Mark would turn grey.

Katara had never seen someone without Soul Marks.

But Zuko’s skin didn’t have colors—it only had scars.

[robinsdearest]

Quick Enemy Patch Up

Jason Todd x Reader

[Totally and utterly based on this TikTok I saw the other day]

You slump against the brick wall. It’s not as comfortable as you’d hoped it would be, but it’ll have to do for now. One hand attempts to dust off the rest of your costume as the other applies pressure to the ever-quickly bleeding stab wound in your abdomen. 

You thought of yourself as a lowly, blue-collar criminal only good for the occasional museum robbery or as a beneficiary gala jewel thief. You always worked solo, had the occasional police run-in, and more often than not, you were met by other Gotham vigilantes trying to catch you. Nothing could surprise you after being in the game for as long as you had been. At the very least, you should have expected a job gone wrong would have ended with a Black Skull goon tying up loose ends. 

You close your eyes and sigh thinking about what went wrong. The ache in your bones and the pounding in your head stole the thoughts away- everything was getting blurry at this point. Breathing was getting difficult, and you really wondered if someone would find your cold body in the morning.

A slight thud has your eyes shooting open, and your free hand goes to the blade you were carrying. Even though you’re wincing in pain, you lean forward to watch a figure emerge from the blackness of the alley. 

“My, my, what do we have here?” The voice mocks as it makes its way towards you. You slightly relax and drop the knife as the dim light reflects off your company’s helmet.

“Red Hood, I didn’t take you as someone to ask stupid questions.” The two of you had a long history of run-ins. He always seemed to be the one to keep you from obtaining your best items. Most of the time, he’d have you in situations pretty similar to this one. He was your very own public enemy number one. 

The man with the hood laughs again; he’s gotten close enough to where he squats just above your sprawled out legs. He takes a gloved finger to lift your chin and examine your face.

“Looks like someone could use some help.” With the pop of the last word, he flicks your chin down. You wish you had more energy to snap back- you didn’t need his help. The snarl you pull does nothing to deter the man. “I don’t plan on knocking someone while they’re down, sweetheart.” He reaches over with one hand to support your upper back and another to lift up your legs. You attempt to struggle against his hold on you at first, but exhaustion soon takes over- you pass out from blood loss before the two of you can exit the alley.

                                    _________________________

The smell of something cooking has you slowly waking up. Consciousness comes to you all at once; glancing around, you realize you’re on a couch in what appears to be an apartment. Your immediate thought is that it looks like it came right out of 1980’s furniture magazine.

Rising up on your elbows, you notice the TV playing a movie you’ve never seen before, a coffee table littered in medical supplies, and an empty wall where you can hear a radio playing behind it. Inch by inch you move the rest of your body until you’re upright. Your entire body seems to be bandaged- there’s a dull ache where your open wound should have been, and you are definitely in clothes that do not belong to you. You get to your feet by holding yourself up on the couch arm. You limp to the wall where you regain a hold to keep yourself standing. Beyond the wall where the music is playing, there’s a dining table with your costume and cowl. Next to it, a dazzling red helmet.

“Damn, I didn’t expect you to wake up that quickly. I was hoping to finish cooking before you woke.” The man’s voice startles you, and flight instincts have you scan the area for your quickest escape route. Spotting a door, you make a run for it. However, the attempt is pathetic, and the fast movement has you face first in the carpet. You cry out in pain as you feel something along your side tear. You hear a string of curses before strong hands are lifting you. “What in the hell was that for? I just patched you up.”

The man places you in a chair at the dining table. He goes back towards the living room and returns with the medical supplies you saw before. He squats next to you and starts to raise your shirt. He tries to fully take it off of you, so you swat his hands away. You’re met with deep blue eyes, and you finally get a good look at the man trying to help you. You let him pull off your shirt while you continue to take in his features: thick black hair, slight freckles across his nose, broad shoulders, and incredibly large hands that seem to work so delicately. A comfortable silence settles between you as he works to fix the stitches you reopened. He finishes and sets the sutures on the table before he speaks. 

“You were barely conscious and almost dead when I found you. I hope you realize that, darling.”

“You didn’t have to help me, Hood. I was doing fine by myself.” The man scoffs in response.

“Fine? You almost bled out before I even got you back here.” He gestures to the apartment and looks down to your costume. He taps your forehead. “And besides, now I know what you look like behind the mask. And you can say the same for the man behind the hood.”

He walks back to the kitchen to finish the cooking he had started earlier. You attempt to pull the shirt back over your head, but fail. You forgo the shirt, and only an instance later is the Red Hood walking back to you with plates in hand. He sits next to you, hands you a fork, places the plate in front of you, and begins eating. 

“Jason.” It’s simply stated in-between bites. The name seems like it fits well. 

“Y/N,” you reply. He hums, glances at you, and finishes off his plate. Once you finish your food, he takes the plates back into the kitchen. After he returns, he picks you up again to carry you back to the couch. Jason cleans your abdomen wound, and then begins working on your other bandages. He takes off several wrappings of gauze and seems to stall his movements as he stares at your exposed back.

“Who did this to you?” For a moment, you hear a touch of concern in Jason’s voice. The thought invites butterflies to your stomach. 

“Well, most of these are from you, remember?” In your mind, you whack yourself. What kind of flirting was that?

“Ah, yes. That I did.” His breath hits at the top of your ear- he’s so close, you can feel the warmth radiating off his skin. “But I’m not talking about old scars, beautiful. I’m talking about who almost put my favorite thief into the ground tonight.”

You ignore most of his words. “Oh, I’m your favorite thief? I didn’t think you could continue to scar someone you would label as a favorite night after night.” You didn’t mean that to come off as harsh as it did, but Jason only chuckled. His breath continued to tickle your ear.

“Don’t get too defensive on me now. I just want to make sure I’m the only one in Gotham giving you things like this to remember me by.” 

His hands begin to explore your back, landscaping all the muscles and marks he could see. You shiver as Jason traces his finger along a thin, white line right in the center of your back.

“That was from uh- um..” And your voice trails off as his hand continues to roam your body.

Jason chuckles. “You don’t have to remind me, darling. I remember.” 

You grin. “That hurt like a bitch. Took me days to get back to the streets.” You turn around so that you are seated facing him. When you finally get situated, there’s a smile plastered on his face that makes your heart flutter and would have made your knees week.

“Oh you think that one hurt?” Jason’s eyes dart from your own to your lips. He begins to reveal a piece of skin under his shirt. “Take a look at this one.”

You slowly raise your fingers to reached out and trace along the jagged scar that you gave to him months ago. A jagged line across his collarbone that was still raised and pink. You puff out air through your nose humorously. 

“Jason, what have we been doing to ourselves?” He adjusts his shirt and he shrugs. 

“I think it’s called just business.” His lips turn into a smirk as he glances over at your half-naked body. “I’ve never been one to mix work and pleasure.”  

“In your dreams, Red Hood,” you respond, rolling your eyes. 

“How did you know I dream about you?” 

Your face immediately turns red: this guy was too much. His following laugh is whole-body and deep, yet he lets you playfully punch his arm. You can’t help yourself but smile. Your once least favorite vigilante had you in a puddle in his apartment. No masks, no facades, no crime fighting, even if just for a night. Maybe the Red Hood would be your enemy turned ally, or possibly even more.

************

[AN: please please please go back and watch the video linked above. I want to give credit to the one who made the TikTok, but I couldn’t find them on here.]

[tsukishumai]

Hii! I’m not sure if requests are still open, ignore this if they aren’t! But I was wondering if I could get #23 from general with Aone? Thank you!! ❤️

Thank you for the request my love! <3

Send me a prompt + your fav character here :)

23. “Hey, look at me. Focus on me, alright?”

Word Count: 1.2k+

Warnings: slight cursing, das it.

A/N: TY FOR THIS REQUEST but i have never written for Aone, nOR do i have any idea HOW to but i tried my best, I’m just rly hoping i didn’t butcher this & i hope u like i anyway :(

Most people have the wrong impression of Aone Takanobu.

You couldn’t really blame them. Just shy of 6’4”, Aone was one of the tallest people in your school, nearly always looking down on anybody that tried to speak to him. He never slouched, always keeping perfect posture, eyes set dead straight as he walked down the halls with an air of command. Maybe it was the fact that he had no eyebrows, but his expression always seemed to be fixed in a scowl. His aura was intimidating, as is expected if one were to be the new Iron Wall. But in the hallways of Date Tech, he wasn’t “Aone, the Iron Wall”. He was just Aone.

As much as you hate to admit it, you weren’t immune to the dangers of gossip. People talked, and Aone wasn’t the type to talk back, allowing the words spoken behind his back to stain his image.

That Aone guy, he’s really scary.

I tried to talk to him once, and he just glared at me.

Sheesh, I wouldn’t want to be caught alone in the room with him.

Knowing there was such a person in the volleyball club, it nearly turned you away from signing up for the manager spot. But everyone needed to be in a club, and you had experience managing your middle school volleyball club. To be frank, you didn’t really want to put the effort into something new. So you sucked it up, and walked into the gym with your application in hand.

In your mind, Aone Takanobu was the leader of the volleyball club. He was probably the one that commanded all his teammates what to do, all of them just mere pawns in his large hands.

Instead, what you’ve come to discover is that Aone might actually just be a glorified babysitter.

Futakuchi is a handful. You had expected that much. His problematic quips never failed to serve as the spark that ignited the rage in Kamasaki-senpai’s heart. Their yelling always bounced around the volleyball gym, throwing out curses and insults until Moniwa forced Aone to intervene.

There was something almost ironic at the thought of Aone Takanobu being the peacemaker. But after weeks and months of after school practices, games, and team bonding activities, you kind of wanted to scoff at ever thinking Aone was anything but peace.

Aone doesn’t say much, but that’s because he doesn’t have to. His intentions are always clearly plastered on his face, and he was as easy to read as an open book. You’ve learned that his lip twitches when he’s upset, and his nose crinkles when he’s disgusted. His mouth pouts a little bit more when he disagrees, and the skin on his forehead is relaxed when he’s satisfied.

His actions are never tainted with any hidden agenda, only ever doing what is correct. That is probably why, even though Futakuchi was made captain, the whole team trusted Aone to be the one to support them.

As a manager, it’s normal for you to pay close attention to your members, right?

Of course you would pick up on little aspects of Aone’s personality. You know he’s respectful with the way he tends to feed the stray cats that littered around the school. You realize he’s gentle when he offers to help the struggling old lady cross the street. (You also learn he’s kind of sensitive about his intimidating looks when she declines his outstretched hand, looking almost fearful at the tall young man attempting to aide her to the other side.)

He shows you that he’s calm and composed every time he’s on the court, and you learn that your kind Aone can actually be ruthless in the way he stuffed the ball back into his opponents face.

Wait, your???

You’ll never forget, however, when Aone decided to show you a lesson in kindness.

Futakuchi was being such an insufferable asshole all practice, you weren’t sure what his endgame was by being such a prick. But it riled you up enough to insult his volleyball skills, and the hotheaded captain wasn’t about to give you the last word.

Maybe it was the volleyball devils down below that compelled you to call his serves “weaker than the joints on his grandmother”, but it was that phrase that had you at the other side of the net, ready to receive one.

The other members could only watch in abject horror as Futakuchi’s angry swing botched the serve, but your stupid pride made you attempt to dive for it anyway. The ball landed on your fingers with just the right spin and strength, and you felt intense pain shoot through your left hand as you heard your finger dislocate with a pop.

You let out a strangled hiss, landing pathetically on your knees while the rest of the Date Tech volleyball team run to your side.

Somehow, Futakuchi made it to you first, looking as if he wasn’t sure whether to laugh, or be concerned. “What the hell, L/N? All that talk and for what?”

“Fuck off, Futakuchi,” you cursed, gripping your wrist with your right hand. You look down at your left middle finger, ugly and crooked and already starting to swell.

“Oh, damn,” Futakuchi’s expression dropped, inspecting your finger. “I think it’s dislocated.”

“I heard it pop,” you nearly whimpered, holding it out for the others to see.

Some boys grimaced, and others simply shook their head at your antics. But in the middle of the crowd, a hand shot out to make way, Aone shoving past his other teammates.

Wordlessly, Aone knelt down in front of you, taking your hand gently into his. He brought it up closer to his face, assessing the damage before positioning his hands around your middle finger.

“Hey, look at me,” he said, his deep voice immediately shushing everyone around him, “Focus on me, alright?”

The shock of Aone speaking will never go away for you, and you were a little embarrassed at the effect his voice had on you. You couldn’t do anything but stare into his eyes, mouth slightly hung open as you vaguely hear him counting down.

“One, two, three.”

In a split second, he pops your finger back into place, and you yelp at the pain. Aone doesn’t let go of your hand, holding it tightly in his as he rubbed his calloused palm along your arm in a soothing pattern. It felt like forever until the aching subsided, the only thing keeping you grounded was the hands of the deceptively tender middle blocker.

Aone stood you up after a few minutes, never letting you out of his hold until he was sure you were stable. He whipped his head to Futakuchi, eyes narrowing slightly at the brown haired captain rubbing sheepishly at his neck.

“Right, you should probably go and get some ice for that,” Futakuchi mumbled, “Sorry about that, L/N.”

“Don’t do that again.”

Aone was not a many of many words, but the ones he did speak always knew how to silence a room.

He turned around and walked you all the way to the nurse’s office, never once leaving your side until you were checked over and cleared to go. His hand lingered on yours on the way back, and you liked the way they nearly engulfed yours.

Yes, you’ll never forget the day you learned about Aone Takanobu’s kindness.

Because it was also the day you learned that you might just be in love with him.

[wh6res]

taeyong — part of the my bloody valentine collection.

prompt. when your soulmate gets a wound or cut, flowers bloom on the same spot in your body.

synopsis. you’re desperate to meet your soulmate. maybe you can put a stop to the flowers stubbornly blooming on your wrists.

warnings. tread cautiously. mentions of mental illness (depression, attempted suicide), swearing, manipulation, implied self-harm, dubious content, forced relationship, unconsensual touching near the end, ty pulling the sadboi agenda

disclaimer. a friendly reminder that i do not, under any circumstance, condone or support any acts like this. this is not love and this is not how a normal relationship should be like. the things i write are all fiction and should be treated as such and if you don’t like it, please do not read it and waste your time hating on it. the 9 members of nct 127 do not act like this in real life and shouldn’t act like this in real life.

by the time you’re graduating high school, you’re used to the sorry glances people sent your way. 

for someone so young, you have more flowers blooming on your skin than any adult. a few small pieces of it blooming in the corner of your cheek, near the jawline. a few of them on your thighs. 

but the most concerning piece is the one on your wrists that are fully covered by the flowers, your skin nowhere to be seen with all the lilies of the valley tainting your skin. 

yet the worse has got to be the summer before senior year. you had been halfway done with the college entrance examination for a local university. your parents said the pain you felt the first time will turn into a mild itch whenever the flowers form on your skin. 

it started small, absentmindedly scratching at something on your neck. initially, you thought it was the heat, your sweat, and the fabric of your clothes irritating the sensitive skin. but when you walked up to the proctor to turn in your exam, you knew that apologetic stare like nothing else—but his eyes had flickered down to your neck. 

when your friends blew up your phone, asking where you are to celebrate, you lied and headed straight back home, head ducked, collars upturned, hiding the lilies of the valley wrapped around your throat like some insignia. 

a year later, you end up studying soulmate theory in university. they say it’s a useless course as there can be no scientific explanation to soulmates. you like thinking you chose the course because of sheer interest but really, you’re just finding an explanation, some external reason that probably bore no results but you trudged forward anyway. 

you’re restless in the pursuit of finding him—or her, you couldn’t care less. the hurt you feel weighs heavy in your heart each time you feel them blooming on your wrist, mind plagued with worry. 

your roommate interrupts your deep thinking as she practically throws herself onto your bed. “i have an idea!” she cheers, determined. “why not part-time in the school clinic? that way if people come in, you can compare their cuts to your flowers.”

“now, you just might be onto something there.”

the hunt for your soulmate still wasn’t easy despite working in the university’s clinic and it only got worse each day. your schedule is killing you, you’re slightly getting behind in some subjects, and you practically live in the library. 

contrary to popular opinions, soulmate theory can be a fucking bitch to study about. what with learning psychology, astrology, and botany all together. it was interesting how all these things can be factors in how people are paired to become soulmates. interesting, but rather complicated in a sense, too. 

they say psychology and astrology dealt with two people’s compatibility. while botany, the meanings of the flowers themselves, was theorized to predict how the soulmate connection will affect their relationship—ultimately, roses were a really, really good sign. 

you have been busy messing up your hair, utterly frustrated and irate—astronomy’s messing with your head and you can’t go a minute without scratching your wrists as the flowers bloomed after the other. 

then something unexpected happened. 

a lanky guy dressed in an all-black ensemble walked into the clinic. well, it was more of a being carried between two guys by the arms rather than walked in. everything about his clothes looked way too big to fit his delicate frame and it hardly looked like it was for fashion style purposes. his skin hugged his body to the bone, eyes sunken, and he looked so frail that a tiny shove would’ve sent him sprawled on the floor. 

his name was taeyong and he lied on the bed unconscious, with handkerchiefs wrapped around his wrists like bandages—courtesy of his friends, who looked deathly worried for the fate of their poor friend. if he had lost any more blood, he would’ve died. you had never seen the clinic in such chaos, people running around, anxious. your leg muscles were sore from going back and forth from the nurse’s side to the cabinets storing all the medical supplies she needed. 

it had been a whirlwind, and after your superior had patched and properly bandaged his cuts, you were left to look after him in the meantime as nurse jung tried contacting his guardian. 

his friends—who you learned were named yuta and jaehyun, were snoozing outside on the bench across the hall, parallel with the clinic’s double-glass door, as they waited for their friend to wake up. 

depression. suicidal. taeyong has been like that for his whole life, jaehyun stated earlier. you can only shoot a sorry look at the unconscious boy lying on the hospital bed. 

it had already been dark outside when you came in to switch out his bandages for new ones—only to realize that his cut is exactly where you had been scratching earlier before he showed up. 

you retracted, unbelieving of what that possibly entails. along the way, you’ve pieced together that your soulmate is probably struggling through something heavy, something that weighed him down so much that it made him believe hurting himself is the only solution, what with all the flowers on your skin. 

“it’s him…” you mumble, wide eyed as you eyed the faded scars around his wrists, eerily aligned to the flowers blooming on your own. 

you didn’t want to overwhelm him, that much was sure. you didn’t want to chase him away if he gets uncomfortable. so for weeks you started leaving anonymous notes in his locker. not the sappy love letter types, just little words of encouragement that could make his day better. 

when their friend breaks out into the tiniest of smiles, yuta and jaehyun’s thankful eyes would scour around the halls. sneakily looking for you behind taeyong’s back. they understood where you’re coming from and hadn’t spoken a word of disagreement when you told them you didn’t plan to make yourself known as his soulmate yet. 

and as if the notes were not enough, you start giving him his favorite starbucks drink every now and then—on days the flowers didn’t bloom as much as it normally would. you turn up half an hour early before lectures so you can place it on the table where he usually sits with his two best friends. even if his class is on the other side of campus, you’d still go. 

but it only took three weeks of creeping around until you’re caught by your soulmate himself. 

“do you want something from me?”

you didn’t know what to say, cat got your tongue as you stood before him holding the drink. you couldn’t weasel your way out and say the drink’s yours, not when he caught you standing before his usual seat, not when you were already leaning forward to place it on his desk.

“uhm… i…” you stutter pathetically, not being able to meet the intensity of his eyes. 

“jaehyun and yuta aren’t exactly the most lowkey, especially with how much their eyes wander when i open my locker. so, do you want something from me? what are you playing at, stalker?”

the name he called you stung like a bitch but you can’t blame him for it. you knew him, he doesn’t know you. you’re giving him gifts anonymously. even if they were all from the goodness of your heart, from an outsider’s view, your actions still appeared sketchy.

“soulmate,” you correct him. 

you watch his features twist into confusion, only for it to morph into shock once he’s digested what you just said. eventually, he schools his expression back to indifference. his stoic face is so intimidating, you thought, biting your bottom lip and fidgeting on your toes. 

“what?”

“i’m your—i’m your soulmate.”

his eyes flicker downwards to peak a glance at the bouquet of flowers painted on your skin. colors as beautiful and vibrant as the day you got them, the stems of the bell-shaped flowers intricately woven into each other. for a split second, you even twist your arms a little, showing him the rock hard proof of your claim. 

ever since you found him, you’ve always contemplated for the better part of your limited free time about what his reaction will be when he finds out you two are soulmates. will he accept you? or worse case scenario, pretend you didn’t exist? the possibilities are unknown especially with someone who seems to be going through so much that the last thing they wanted is this person who thinks they’re entitled to be part of their lives because the universe made it be that way. 

not that you feel entitled… taeyong can reject you all he wants and you’ll give him the space he needs—

he’s crying. 

and not the simple, small tears slowly streaming down his face one by one type of crying, no, his tears were an onslaught. full-on sobbing as he threw himself onto you, wrapping his arms tight around your shoulders as he buried his face into your neck, words heavily muffled by your coat. 

“is it—” he hiccups. “true?”

you blink, from all the reactions you’ve gone through in your head, crying was the very last thing you expected from him—crying and hugging you like you’re the last person on earth and he’s been touch-starved until he found you. 

maybe that was the case. 

you wonder what jaehyun and yuta felt whenever taeyong ditched them to spend time with you—and that was pretty much all the time since he’s found you. he’s like a puppy, following you around wherever you go (unless he has classes) and had been neglecting his friends. whether it was intentional or not, whether his two friends were cool with it or not, you don’t know. 

you try your best to smile every time he runs up to you on the other end of the hall, spotting you coming out of your own respective classroom after lectures are done. 

he’s beaming like a child, inviting you to this cafe he wants to take you to—and pathetic ‘lil ‘ol you just can’t seem to say no to those huge expecting eyes.

but you’re not blind to the slight scowl on yuta’s face nor the razor sharp smile on jaehyun’s features. they want to hang out together, just boys, but now there’s this soulmate who’s suddenly more important than them—what happened to bros before hoes?

but they knew taeyong needed you. heck, he never once smiled like the way he did before he met you. it was like he’s become this whole new person with a child-like innocence reflecting his eyes. 

“so?” your soulmate prompts just as his two friends came over, flanking him. 

taeyong deflates the moment he sees the hesitance in your eyes. “uhm… i actually have a shift in the clinic, and nurse jung said the clinic isn’t some hang out place, so you can’t, uhh…” you trail, not wanting to finish the sentence. 

a little white lie can’t hurt anyone, right? 

taeyong shouldn’t depend on you all the time, not when he also has friends who care about his well-being and mental health just as much as you do. being soulmates didn’t mean he has to spend every waking moment with you and the faster he realizes, the better. 

when you dashed away before he could even mutter out a reply, you miss the frown on his face, his eyes never once leaving your frame until you turned the corner. 

people often favor the underdog. they have this gnawing urge in their gut to sympathize and unknowingly root for their own plot twist or happy ending. 

people look at you and your soulmate and think you have poor, suicidal and depressed and sad taeyong eating at the palm of your hand, following you around like a lonely duckling—the undeniable underdog in a coming-of-age movie, the person shoved around until some bigger, more capable person comes to their rescue (in this case you, unfortunately).

but appearances have always been deceiving. 

your little 3-week head start with getting to know your soulmate had only been on surface-level. you just wanted to help him but taeyong’s obvious attraction—can you even call it that? you’d like to think it’s more of infatuation—is off-putting for you. from standing way too close to putting an arm around you, from walking you to your lectures to walking you home, from the light headpats to having the guts to kiss your cheeks. 

it’s too much and it wasn’t as if you basked in the public display of affection. whenever you tried telling him off in the most gentlest of ways, taeyong would frown and curl in on himself, eyes glossy, darting around, and looking like a kicked puppy. 

you couldn’t leave him like that just because of some harmless skinship, right? he’s just excited and happy he’s found you. weren’t you also the first one to initiate? with all those notes and gifts you’ve given him? and now you’re backing away just because of a few touches?

“you know,” your roommate plops herself on the couch next to you, netflix movie playing as background. “you’re not obligated to fix him. you’re his soulmate, not his psychiatrist.”

you sigh, head diving into the couch pillows. “i’m not trying to fix him, i’m just…”

she raises a prodding eyebrow. 

“…i’m just trying to be there for him.”

taeyong likes to think that he wasn’t doing it on purpose. but the sense of rush and sick pleasure running up and down his spine whenever you force a smile and give in to his wishes proves otherwise. 

all his life he’s been pushed around. tasked to buy his old man beer and cigarettes and an assortment of drugs. if he turns up empty handed, guess who becomes a punching bag? and he has always been alienated throughout his school life. immature elementary kids aren’t exactly the kindest and would’ve picked on every single thing to appear cool to their friend groups. and poor little scrawny taeyong who didn’t speak and didn’t defend himself was just too easy of a target. 

“uhm… you don’t—don’t need to walk me home all the time.” do you think so low of him that you believe he doesn’t sense your fake little giggle?

“but i like walking you home,” he pouts, jutting his lips just a wee bit more for extra measure. he makes sure his eyes are as round and glossy as can be, he noticed those puppy eyes are what gets to you the most. 

he can tell by your tense shoulders, the clear hesitance in your face, that smile that looked too sweet to be real, and your averting eyes. you needn’t say anything for taeyong to figure you out. he isn’t blind to the lack of comfort you’ve developed by being with him. 

he has to think of something or else you’ll be slipping through the gaps of his fingers.

he asked you out on valentine’s day. it wasn’t the simple, forgettable act of popping out the “hey, do you want to go out on a date with me?” question while holding a bouquet of flowers. taeyong made sure you’ll never forget this certain day that he had laid his claim on you—not that it needed to be vocalized, it was his wounds that made flowers bloom on your skin. the soulmate connection should be enough.

but taeyong wanted to go the extra mile.

with the help of his friends (yuta’s popular and jaehyun can be very persuasive), he’s got people handing you lilies of the valley every ten feet until you reach the auditorium in the main building. despite it blooming on your skin you’ve never really seen them in the flesh. they’re like dew drops, bell-like flowers growing in an elegant dip from it’s main stem and appearing no bigger than your thumb.

you were awed, but skeptical.

you meet taeyong by the end of your little journey, standing on a decorated stage with a bouquet of the flowers nestled delicately in his hands. the natural sunlight bleeding through the open windows giving him such a beautiful glow that you couldn’t take your eyes off him. he had smiled and timidly gave you the flowers while asking.

“will you be my girlfriend?” 

if only you’d look close enough, that sugar coated smile contrasted greatly to the sly flickers in his eyes. he knows how your actions are dictated by the reputation you’ve built. taeyong knows you'll say yes, because if you didn't, how could you have rejected your own soulmate who has made you the light of his life? he’s been nothing but kind to you and you’ve only pushed him away! you’re a monster! you should’ve saved him!

if him alone can’t make you say yes, maybe the pressure-induced stare of the whole student body can.

and as you shivered amidst taeyong’s suffocating hug, feeling the triumphant smirk against your head and his prodding nose as he sniffed your hair, you now understood why your body bloomed this specific woodland flower. 

lilies of the valley are beautiful.

but lilies of the valley are poisonous, too.

the flowers remind you of taeyong. 

making things official has only made things worse. taeyong has promised you that after being together he won’t try hurting himself anymore and that he’s a big boy and he can attend his therapy sessions alone. but the itching in your skin is as constant as ever and you just got off the phone with the receptionist of the clinic he goes to. 

“are things alright? i haven’t seen taeyong since three weeks ago.”

if there’s one thing you absolutely hate doing with your soulmate, it’s confrontations. for the three months you’ve been together, taeyong has always, always spiraled out whenever you confront him about something. be it the mildest or the most superficial thing, what started out small will turn into a complete whirlwind and he’d be in a fit of tears by the end of it.

every single time. 

you prefer happy taeyong than sad taeyong—if you can avoid it for as long as you can, you will. but you’re at your breaking point. him lying to you about his therapy sessions is the pin that popped the little balloon of security you’ve been protecting. 

when you arrive home, he’s already there, crouched and sifting through your bookshelf. it wasn’t a surprise or anything out of the ordinary, he possesses the key to invite himself into your apartment any time. “hey, you’re home!” he immediately stands, barreling towards you. 

he encircles his arms around you protectively as he pulls you flush against his body. you feel the tip of his nose prodding against your neck, hearing him inhaling your scent like cannabis. 

you learned to ignore it, this habit of his—but just because you do doesn’t make you any less uncomfortable than the first time he did it.

you don’t bother hugging him back. 

you were too pissed off to keep up with pretenses. 

“the clinic called, said you weren’t attending your sessions. why were you lying to me?” 

when pushed into a corner, you were never one to beat around the bush.

“i don’t like going alone, i told you that, remember?” he quickly replied, shoving you away. “i wouldn’t have to lie to you if you would just come with me for my sessions, don’t you think? you’re blowing this out of proportion when it’s all your fault.”

you wanted to pull at your hair. scratch that, you wanted to pull at his hair—no, not in that kind of way. 

“how the fuck—” you stop. taeyong hates it when you curse. cursing will do you more harm than good. you inhale through your nostrils, willing yourself to calm down. “how is this my fault? i told you i have to run errands for professor kim!”

“then quit working there! they’re not even paying you, it’s just for extra credit! which you wouldn’t even fucking need if you weren’t flunking astronomy so bad.” taeyong must’ve seen your features twisting into that of betrayal. he was there when you were crying your eyes out because you failed the exam. he knew the subject was taking such a big toll on you. 

how could he…

“don’t fucking look at me like that, kitten. you know it’s the truth.”

what is the point of this, some form of payback he’s subjecting you to? just because you didn’t come with him to his sessions? six months in this relationship and you already feel so drained, how would the universe expect you to keep up for a whole fucking lifetime together with him?

“why…” you choke, the tears building up in your eyes as your voice breaks. “so what do you want me to do, then?” you ask, because you genuinely don’t know. 

does he want you to choose? is that it? you didn’t want to lose the credits, but you didn’t want to lose this relationship either, no matter how much you’re drowning in the toxicity of it all. 

because this is your soulmate. 

certainly, the universe wouldn’t destine you to each other if it would only bring forth chaos, right? taeyong has mentioned time and time again that this is his first relationship. of course, he’s depending on you to show him the ropes. 

but it seems he isn’t really a big fan of how you do things. 

“quit.”

you shake your head defeatedly. “you know i can’t. i’d have to take the whole subject again next semester and—”

“i said quit, dollface.” the finality in his tone renders you speechless. “then fucking take the subject again next semester! i don’t care. that’s your consequence for neglecting your major. why the fuck do i have to suffer, too, if my soulmate is such a failure?”

his words cut deep, deeper than flesh, cutting through bone as your knees the urge to buckle and collapse before him. “taeyong, please—”

“honestly, i don’t even know what you’re doing with that professor. you always brush it off whenever i ask you!” the glare he sends could kill. “is this… is this why you’re so adamant about not quitting? then again… what kind of professor is willing to pass his students just by interning for him? i can’t believe i’m only realizing this now!”

this is bad. this is very, very bad. 

“whatever you’re thinking about is not true! trust me—”

but as if he can’t hear you, he dawdles on, trying to connect the dots when there is absolutely nothing to connect. 

“you suck dick for grades? how could you do this to me? how can you do that to yourself?” 

you don’t understand exactly why he’s crying again so you don’t say anything. not because his fierce accusations were right but because even if you try hard to convince him that nothing is going on with your astronomy professor, he’d still cry and whine and paint you to be the bad guy. 

“what… what use do i have in this world if my soulmate thinks i’m not enough? and i lost you to some guy who smelled like prunes of all people!” you would have laughed if the situation had been different, but taeyong was dead serious. “i’m useless. i’ve been useless with my family, my friends, and now you. i can never do anything right, can i? i can never make anyone stay. i can’t even make you stay!”

and like a switch that has been flicked off, your conflicted emotions vanish in thin air. gone are every trickle of anger, confusion, and irritation you felt as he makes a beeline to the coffee table, smashing the little ornamental fish bowl and pointing a shard against his dainty wrists. 

“no!” you tackle him to the ground, groaning when you feel the shard dig into your side yet you made no effort to get off of him. blindly, you reach, twisting his wrist to drop the piece of glass. “you promised!” you wail, clutching the collars of his shirt as you pull him close to you. “stop, stop hurting yourself.”

you feel him shaking his head, his own onslaught of tears staining your shirt as the negativity he’s been bottling pours over like a tsunami, dragging you under the currents with him. “no, no, no…” you splutter, snot running disgustingly down your nostrils. “it’s not true, none of that is true. you’re my love, my moonlight, i’d never betray you for anyone or anything!”

“but—but your professor, the internship—”

“i’ll quit. i’ll take the subject again next semester, it’s not a big deal, okay? don’t worry, i’m here. i’m so sorry!”

it was all too easy.

the thing with noble people like you is the foolish sense of responsibility lying underneath your skin, it’s gravitational pull so strong that you don’t bother to think before you speak, to think before you act, to think before you make promises, because what’s important isn’t yourself, it’s the person lying meek and helpless before you. 

quit, you say? taeyong wants something more.

the evil lying inside pandora’s box can never remain dormant, not when meddlesome people like you who think with a one-track mind pull the lid off its hinges, preaching how every evil can have their own redemption.

a hand finds purchase around your waist as an eerie blissful smile stretches on his lips, eyes clouded over. “really? i’m your moonlight?”

“yes—”

“would you prove it to me?”

he doesn’t make room for your hesitance to settle, he lunges, hands wrapping around your face to pull you into a kiss. it wasn’t like all the other kisses you’ve shared with him, no, this one had a dark, underlying purpose. his hands digging into your open wound to make it bleed, tongue sliding into your mouth the moment you gasped in pain.

your hands press on his chest, trying to push him away but taeyong’s thoughts are running wild. you blush in sheer humiliation when he lets out an almost pornographic moan. with a sinking realization, you’ve become hyper aware of something poking at your abdomen.

no, not yet. you weren’t ready yet!

“taeyong, wait—i’m not—”

“you said you love me, didn’t you?”

[mymegumi]

canis lupus familiaris

pairing: bokuto koutarou x gn!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 3.0k

warnings: meet-cute, dog walker!bokuto, maybe ooc!bokuto + swearing/maybe

note: if this piece seems familiar, it’s because it was the last thing i posted on my old account (@/zumisace) before i deactivated it! i loved it and really wanted it out there hehe. i’m gonna be posting some old works that i really enjoyed mwah. help reading this again the dialogue is so blegh

Labrador Retriever

The first day you notice him, he’s dressed in a pair of athletic shorts, black leggings extending past his knee to the middle of his shin as he stretches. There’s a bright orange leash that’s looped around his hand as he crosses an arm over his broad chest, a happily panting yellow labrador on the other end.

He is single handedly the most beautiful man you think you’ve ever seen, and you have to be careful you’re not drooling when you steal glances at him.

You’re lucky you even saw him, because you never go through the park near Main Street. It’s too crowded, and there are too many men that try and assert their dominance over you—overall you avoid walking this direction towards your favorite bookstore every weekend.

You’d only done it this weekend because there was some sort of construction going on West Street, but you have to sit down at a park bench momentarily just to gape at the handsome man jogging around the park with a dog at his side.

His hair spikes up in discolored disarray, but what might seem messy and uncoordinated on a lesser man, seems attractive on this one. He’s got a wide chest, shoulders broad that fills out his dry-fit shirt as he does some more stretching, and watching him while he does so makes you feel almost like a pervert, really.

You’d taken a quick detour in the park just to sit and watch him, book in hands forgotten as he crouched down, hands rubbing underneath the dog’s jaw with a loving touch. The smile on the man’s lips are wide, and you’re almost positive you’ve seen the smile before but you’re not really sure where.

When he looks up, your eyes catch with his and the smile he sends your way is blinding. You have to hold the book in front of your face just to hide the embarrassment clearly written across your face, but when you peek out a moment later, he seems none the wiser to your blunder.

You’re not usually one to base your attraction to other people solely on looks alone, but there’s something about this guy that tugs at your heartstrings. He’s good with dogs, too, and men that are good with animals are always a plus because they’re good judges of character.

“Hey, how are you?”

You look up to see the dog walker smiling brightly at you, a yellow labrador sitting at his side with a smile that almost matches his. Setting the book aside, you match his greeting. “Hi, I’m doing good, how are you?”

“Ah, I’m okay.” His hand rests on the dog’s head, who whines when he removes it to scratch the back of his neck. “I’m Bokuto, I just saw you looking at Rusty here and thought maybe you were too shy to say something.”

Well, at least your cover wasn’t blown just yet. You introduce yourself quickly while you reach a hand out to run along Rusty’s jaw, heart swelling when the dog seems to lean into your touch. “You caught me. I love dogs, is he yours?”

“Naw,” Bokuto crouches down now, just below your eye level as he rubs Rusty’s chest with a heavy hand, “I walk dogs when I’m not busy with practice, because it’s good exercise and I can get some pet time in without having to make the commitment of a dog, yet.”

“Yet? Do you plan on getting one at all?” Looking up at him, you tilt your head to the side as he shrugs.

“I’m not really sure yet.” Bokuto looks off into the distance as Rusty gets closer to you, nudging your legs apart with a wet nose to rest his head on your lap. “I travel a lot for work, so I’m not sure getting a dog would be smart.”

You hum thoughtfully. Bokuto seemed like a different type of person, from farther away. You hate to make assumptions about people without really getting to know them first, but he really seems like he dives into things head first without thinking things through. It’s nice to know that he cares for the potential dog he might get in the future enough, though.

“I’d get a pet, but I’m not really sure what I would want,” you start as you look back up at him, “I’m not even sure I’m a pet person, to be honest.”

“Everyone’s a pet person as long as you love them enough,” Bokuto encourages you with his hands outstretching, orange leash dangling from his hand making Rusty pick up his head briefly, “I hate to cut this short, cause it was really nice meeting you, but Rusty’s owner here is gonna pick him up in a little bit, and I gotta run him back to his house.”

“Oh, totally fine, I’d hate to keep you here.” You wave as he begins to jog off, taking a semi-willing Rusty with him. “Maybe I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah! I’m here every week walking dogs, so maybe I’ll see ya?”

As his figure retreats into the distance, you can practically feel your heartbeat in your chest. Pressing a hand to your chest, you think it might calm the racing beat as you bite your lip, smile shy as you think about the exchange you’d just had.

Bokuto was a weird guy, is the first thing you think of. Normally, people don’t come up to others in a park just because he’d managed to catch you staring. If he caught you staring at him, you appreciate the fact that he saved you the embarrassment and gave you the dog as an excuse. He seems nice enough, and you’re sure that in another world, maybe you’d regret letting the conversation flow as well as it had, but in this one, you liked talking to him like that.

Maybe you would be back next week, construction on West Street be damned.

French Bulldog

You were absolutely pathetic.

Never in your some odd years of living did you ever think that you’d be the type of person to exercise just because you wanted to see a guy again.

A very tall, adorable, muscular guy that handled dogs well and came up to you with a smile brighter than the sun, but a guy, nonetheless.

Dressed in a set of workout clothes that had practically been collecting dust in your drawers, you were stretching very awkwardly at the park, feeling out of place and uncomfortable. You weren’t someone that worked out often, and you prayed to whatever upper being was out there that no one looked at you weird.

You’d been pacing around the front of your apartment for a good twenty minutes before you decided to jog to the park, trying to keep a slower pace than normal because you didn’t want to be huffing and wheezing when you got to the park.

When you got there, you spotted Bokuto almost immediately. He was surrounded by a small crowd of people, looking embarrassed as they seemed to be asking for his autograph. A thinner, royal blue leash was wrapped around his hand as he waved and posed with some people for pictures.

Was he famous or something? You weren’t exactly sure, but he did have a familiar sort of face. You’d thought you’d seen him before the first day you had seen him, so maybe you’d seen him on your explore feed on Instagram or something.

You weren’t going to intrude on the festivities, content to just continue stretching and maybe actually exercise, but when Bokuto caught your eye, he waved at you with a hand over his head, movements large and noticeable.

“Sorry, I have to go, but thanks for supporting me!” was the part of the conversation that you had caught as you watched him jog towards you, a small white and brown French Bulldog happily trailing after him.

“Hey,” you’re tying your shoe now, crouched on the ground and you hold out a hand for the small dog to smell, “Funny running into you again, stranger.”

“Nice to see you again, you really saved me.” There’s relief in his voice as he holds his hands on his hips, chest heaving gently as he smiles at you. “Y’know, I love my fans, and they’re usually really respectful, but I guess someone caught wind that I started walking dogs and a whole crew of people were here when I got here with Porco today.”

You really hope Porco is the name of the dog.

“Your fans?” You straighten yourself off of the ground and give him a raised eyebrow. “Are you a model or something? I wouldn’t be surprised, you have the looks for one.”

The words leave your mouth before you can really think, and maybe it’s worth not having a filter for that brief moment to see the rosy red blush spread across the bridge of his nose and across the planes of his cheeks. If you look close, you’re pretty sure you can see it start to creep up his neck and on the tips of his ears.

“I’m not–! I’m not a model.” His words are quick as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “I’m a volleyball player, I play for the MSBY Black Jackals!”

“Oh, I’m not really into sports all that much.” You shrug lightly as you feel a weight on your foot, looking down to see Porco resting his butt on your sneaker. “I’m surprised I’m just now finding out you’re, like, famous, though.”

“I thought you knew I was a volleyball player, honestly.” Bokuto looks a little sheepish as he says it. “Usually, people recognize me right away so I just talked about it like you knew.”

“It’s fine! Don’t worry too much, I didn’t even notice.”

Porco makes a strange noise, something between breathing in too hard and sneezing, and it honestly stops your heart for a good minute. Looking at Bokuto, you’re concerned but it soothes off of you when he leans down and just pats the dog’s back lightly. “Sorry, French Bulldogs actually have really bad nasal issues, so Porco tends to do this when his nose gets too dry.”

“Y’know, you sure know a lot about different types of dogs for a guy that doesn’t want one,” you remark as you crouch down with Bokuto to scratch under Porco’s chin lightly.

Bokuto’s laugh is something akin to an angel’s and you want to make him laugh for the rest of his life. “I really wanted a dog when I was a kid, but my mom thought I was too irresponsible, so I did a month long project where I just researched about different dogs.”

“Guess it stuck with you, huh?” He nods, and you’re not sure if he does it on purpose but his shoulder bumps yours gently. “Did your mom end up getting you a dog?”

“No! My sister got a hamster and my mom was worried a big dog, like I wanted, would terrorize it.” his tone isn’t accusatory or spiteful, just reminiscing on the past as he continues to stare at the small dog before him. “It was probably for the better, cause I think I would’ve been heartbroken if the dog died before I was able to make it to the professional leagues.”

Talking to Bokuto is one of the easiest things you think you’ve ever done.

The two of you end up walking around the park when Porco calms down after a while, and the conversation flows as smooth as a river. Whenever there might be a moment of awkward silence, he manages to fill it effortlessly by mentioning something, or even just talking about his experiences as a volleyball player.

Honestly, even the moments of silence aren’t even all that awkward. There’s something soothing about the sounds of both of your feet hitting the pavement and the birds chirping that makes the entire experience one of the better ones you’ve had.

So, when he asks for your number, you give it to him without a second thought.

German Shepherd

Bokuto really likes texting people at odd hours of the day, you’ve learned.

Sometimes you’ll wake up to a text on your phone from the man that he sent at about one in the morning, often asking you something that he had just thought of and can’t bother anyone else with. When you wake up, you typically try and answer his question to the best of your ability, and if you can’t figure it out, the two of you brainstorm the next weekend at the park to see what the answer could possibly be.

The pair of you have slipped into such a routine that seems so domestic it makes your heart clench whenever you have to remind yourself you’re just friends.

Today, at the park, Bokuto has a dog that you’ve seen before. A friendly German Shepherd named Ace that loved to slobber on your hands if you scratched underneath his chin for long enough.

A bright green leash is looped around his hand as he does his triangle stretches, Ace sitting between his feet acting well mannered. Bokuto waves at you as you walk over, tucking your phone away as you greet them both.

“Any clue where in the park we want to go today?”

“You think you’d get bored of the park after a while,” you say off handedly, watching as Ace’s ears perk up at the sight of two squirrels chasing after each other.

When Bokuto doesn’t say anything for a good minute or two, you turn to look at him. “Well, honestly? I was gonna stop coming to this park a few weeks ago.”

“Really?” This is the first you’ve heard of it, and you’re sure your surprise is drawn on your face if the way Bokuto reacts is any indication. “Why’d you end up staying?”

He coughs into his hand, and you’re sure he’s tugging his jacket’s collar up to hide the red dancing across his cheeks right now. “...You.”

You couldn’t have heard that right. You stop walking for a minute, coming to a full stop in the middle of the walking path as you process what he says to you. “You were gonna stop coming to this park… until you met me?”

His hair shakes a little bit when he nods, and he doesn’t meet your gaze. “Yeah. I had that Labrador for some guy, and I was gonna go to a different park cause he seemed like, bummed at this one, but I saw you sitting at one of the benches.”

“I started talking to you, and then I just had to see you again, so I came back the next week, too.” He looks up at you with a sense of alarm in his eyes. “That’s not weird, is it?”

“It’s not weird, Bokuto,” you reassure, stepping closer to him and hitting your shoulder against his easily, “I might have done the same thing. I usually go near the park on West Street.”

His smile is radiant, and you think that you’d love to see that smile every day of your life if he’d let you. There’s something about it that makes a small part of your heart swell, the feeling that you’re the one making him smile like that rears its head over the part of you that knows you aren’t with him.

That could always change, though, you think as Bokuto tugs on your arm as Ace rushes ahead of the two of you, eyes set on a squirrel running up a tree somewhere. His laughter is contagious as you’re pulled along by the dog, and you know that Bokuto could stop him from running, but maybe he enjoys the way the wind runs over him like you are.

Bokuto insists that you wait for him to drop off Ace at his owner’s house, telling you that you have to come with him or wait for him at your apartment. You love Ace, but you’re not too keen on meeting his owner at the moment, so you’re sitting on the steps of your apartment, changed out of your athletic wear in something more fitting for your day to day.

He comes back to you, jogging lightly as he waves at you from down the street. His outfit is the same as earlier, just a pair of black shorts with a navy blue hoodie, and yet you’re sure he’s even handsomer than you’d just seen him before.

“Ready?”

You make a noise of agreement as the two of you set off, yet you’re still not sure where you’re going, instead just following after him without questioning anything. If you were more paranoid, you’d think this would be the perfect time for him to just kill you.

“So, no questions on where we’re going?” God, he always knows when to get you out of your thoughts.

“I just thought you were taking me to a dark alleyway to kill me,” you give him a smile as he makes an incredulous face, surely offended that you even thought that of him.

“No, I was just, uh,” he coughs into his hand, and you’re sure his cheeks are red again without even having to look, “hoping to take you on our first date.”

Smiling at the floor with a grin that doesn’t seem to fade, you clear your throat, “Walking the dogs doesn’t count as a date?”

“Ah, you’re right,” he concedes, dipping his head in a fleet apology, “our first date without any dogs.”

“Unfortunately,” you start, hand outstretching and seeking his, “I was only talking to you for the dogs.”

He laughs, hand intertwining with yours and tugging you closer. “Of course, the dogs were the only selling point I had, right?”

“Absolutely,” you nod in agreement, “I definitely didn’t want to go out with you, just wanted to see the dogs.”

The two of you are laughing and joking like you always do when you go into the small little diner, where you end up having your first date, without any dogs.

[periminkle]

blazes of deceit

this fic is a part of the disney collab hosted by @btswritingcafe​!! please go check out all the other talented writers and their works 💕

+ summary. When the opportunity to finally venture past the stone walls you’ve grown up in presents itself, you jump at the chance to discover the origin of those mysterious lights—even if the trip comes with a harsh truth and a suspicious, yet undoubtedly attractive, tour guide.

+ pairing. jungkook x reader

+ genre. fluff, angst. tangled!au.

+ word count. 26.052

+ rating. 18+

+ warnings. threats against a baby’s life, unwarranted death, mom problems, trespassing, pan violence, hiding a (not dead) body, tying people up with hair, curse words, drinking, thievery, deadly chase, sword/pan fight, recklessly jumping from a great height, graphic descriptions of wounds and blood, general violence, dark family matters (it’s pretty twisted!), orchestrated infidelity.

+ author’s note. happy early birthday to golden baby jungkook!! this fic took me wAY too long to write but she’s finally here! HUGE thank you to my big brain frenemy @guklvr​ for beta reading and hyping me up by boosting my confidence level +2000 even tho she’s on vacation and should be relaxing LMAO i would’ve postponed this until next year if u didn’t push me so TY ILY LOADS CARL 💘 i also wanted to shoutout #1 jk ryder supporter @dewykth​ and wofe @yeojaa​ for encouraging me every step along the way, y’all are the best n ily both to pieces 💝💕

You are positively ravenous.

Flurries of people scurry past the towering bars of your crib, yet none spare a glance in your direction despite your boisterous wailing. Like moths to a flame, they’re all huddled in one corner, surrounding a panting woman that clutches her rotund abdomen in one hand while tightly clasping onto a bejewelled crown in the other.

“What are you waiting for?” she spits out, hardened orbs narrowed in on your pathetic form.

“Your Royal Majesty, it’s only been an hour since you have given birth, please reconsider—”

Her glower is redirected onto the younger woman’s trembling form. “Are you questioning your Queen? Shall we reconsider your life as well?”

“No,” she begs, her tone quivering with anguish, “please spare my ignorant self.”

Your facial muscles begin to cramp and the walls of your throat feel like sandpaper, which only serves to exacerbate your violent sobs. The insistent suckling on your thumb is doing nothing to quell your raging stomach.

Her lips peel back to reveal two rows of pearly white, dazzling teeth framed by a nasty snarl. “Somebody slit that brat’s throat!”

Another midwife adorned in the bloody rags of childbirth darts across the cramped space with a weeping bundle of rough canvas in her arms. As she scrambles to deliver the shuddering newborn into his counterfeit mother’s arms, the clumsy woman trips over thin air, flying across her enraged Queen’s lap. Without a second thought, her backside is pierced by a shiny steel sword, sullied in a crimson liquid when it reappears.

The introduction of another babe deters your cries for attention. Instead, you distract yourself with a dull glimmer that you catch in your peripheral. Your chubby fingers hopelessly extend toward the dingy stars dangling above your head, just out of reach, reflecting the bright orange tiger lily printed onto the high ceiling of your cage.

“Not a soul shall speak of today's treachery.”

You’re well aware that your short arms could never stretch the distance required to satiate your unending curiosity; but they stay aloft, searching for the reassuring warmth of your mother’s embrace.

“Our blood will remain on the throne.”

Screams of agony overwhelm your developing eardrums as your tiny hands come to cradle your head, willing the pain to end.

Every inch of your walls is covered with abstract paintings, doodles of twisting branches snaking around the edges, dainty birds in every colour under the sun, and a joyous little girl dancing in her own brilliant freedom. No matter where you look, bespeckled tiger lilies are buried within the intricate linework like easter eggs, waiting to be found.

Your favourite by far is the uncanny depiction of the image stashed deep inside the crevices of your memory, a sight your heart desires to view most from up close. The miniature illustration captures your longing gaze pinned on the multitudinous lights ascending from a foreign location, golden hair streaming down your back and flowing over the fireplace in your determination to capture its vast length.

You attempt to steel your nerves for the umpteenth time, but you can’t help your nervous pacing across the minuscule length of your room. The entire tower is spotless as a result of your mindless cleaning—floors scrubbed twice, nonexistent dust wiped away, and trinkets set at the perfect angle to encourage your mother to comply with your outrageous request.

Today is the day, after all. The day that you’ll finally convince the stubborn woman to bring you out to watch the masses of floating lanterns disappear into the night sky.

The pitter-patter of your bare feet scuttling against the concrete floors nearly drown out the melodic appellations from outside your window.

“—down your hair!”

You dash over to the aperture, hastily gathering the ends of your mane to fling down while fixing the bulk of it onto the hook above your head. When the figure enshrouded in a black cloak snatches up your tresses, looping it around to create a foothold and carefully wedges one leg inside, you haul them up through the makeshift pulley.

By the time both of their feet are safely planted on the ground next to yours, sweat is beginning to form by your temples and the perpetual ache in your arms flares from consistently being forced to heave another grown adult up the stretch of the colossal tower.

“Welcome home, Mother.” You pull the rest of your hair inside and turn to face the stunning woman who lowers her excessively long hood, the extra length of fabric intentionally stitched on to keep her identity obscure as she travels.

Your mother sweeps you up into her comforting embrace and you allow yourself to relax in her arms, resting your cheek on her chest while your digits tightly clasp on to one another around her middle. Her chin settles onto the crown of your head.

“You would think that lifting me up all these years would give you some more upper body strength,” she says, her disappointment practically tangible. Placing both manicured hands upon each of your shoulders with a light squeeze, she pushes you back to examine your body from head to toe. “But look at you! My poor, delicate, little flower.”

Your forehead creases from your raised brows as a tense smile completes your agitated countenance.

“Oh, darling, what’s wrong? Come, come with Mother.” The adamant woman latches onto your forearm, dragging you over to the rustic fireplace and pressing down on your shoulders. Ever the obedient child, you kneel down onto the thick rug below.

Your mother delicately takes a seat on the antique chair beside you, a weary sigh slipping past her lips before she starts sweeping a brush through your golden strands. As per tradition, you sing the incantation that’s essentially engraved in the back of your mind at this point.

“Flower, gleam and glow Let your power shine Make the clock reverse Bring back what once was mine,”

A gleaming shimmer races across your tresses at the verse and from the corner of your vision you watch the light creases marring your mother’s features fade in rapt attention. She hums along to the tune with a detached, distant look in her eyes.

“Heal what has been hurt Change the Fates' design Save what has been lost Bring back what once was mine,”

You allow your lids to slide closed, gathering all the courage you can muster for the following conversation.

“What once was mine.”

Once the last note fades and a deafening silence reigns, she gently urges, “Tell Mother everything.”

This is it, it’s now or never.

“Uh, well, as you know,” you mumble, clearing your throat, “my eighteenth birthday is tomorrow.”

“Mhm, and I’ve already gotten your present as well,” she hums, steadily working her way down your mass of hair.

You falter at the information she casually reveals, guilt eating away at your conscience for preparing to ruin her good mood. “Yes, I know you’re always thinking of me, but, uh, well—”

“You can tell me, darling.” You register your mother’s heavy palm stroking your head, coaxing the words to tumble out of your mouth.

So you lay it on her. “I was just wondering if you would take me to see the lanterns this year.”

“What was that?” she questions, rightfully so when the garbled words blurt out quicker than you can process.

Before you can second guess yourself, you stammer, “C-can we please go see the lanterns?”

The brush suddenly halts in its path, suspended within the waves and dips of your many strands. Although you can’t see her, you know your mother well enough to feel her stiffen up, peeved at the topic you’ve brought up many times before.

“Petal—”

You interrupt, desperate to plead your case, “Mother, please, I’ve been waiting for—”

“Zip it.” You instantly clamp up at her hissing.

Your mother takes her time to stand, stalking over to halt directly in front of your hunched form. Her daunting figure looms above you, fierce orbs evoking a filthy shame that sinks its claws into your spine, and you lower your stare to her ankles from its intense weight. “Enough. I don’t understand why you keep asking this idiotic question when you already know what my answer is going to be.”

Her spontaneous refusal dampens your spirit, but you press on. “I just, uh, thought that I could see them once for my birthday a-and then I’d never ask to leave the tower again.”  

With a scowl as cold as an executioner’s axe, her arms come to cross beneath her bust. “I’ve already told you time and time again that they’re to celebrate the healthy birth of the Prince, any special ‘connection’ you feel to these lights is simply misguided and naive.”

You scramble to gather the scraps of bravery she shredded in order to sputter out, “But it’s my b-birthday too. Even if it’s just a coincidence, I wanna see them with my own two eyes.”

“How many times do I have to explain to you how dangerous the world is outside these walls? Do you know how many people are jumping at the chance to use your magic for themselves?” She rolls her eyes, chiding at you as if you’re a petulant child who disobeyed their elders one too many times. “If your little heart wants some adventure, you can go downstairs and explore the living room, besides darling, you should be thankful that nothing has happened all these years.”

“How am I supposed to be thankful for anything when you keep coddling me like this!” you lash out, frustration bubbling over at her usual response and refusing to toe the line any longer. Any notion of gently swaying her judgement or prompting her to consider your point of view is thrown out the window.

But your mother is nothing if not resolute.

“What?” Her words turn to ice—syllables forming razor-sharp blades that figuratively line your throat, poised to strike the second you step out of place. “Do you want to repeat that?”

Your breaths quicken, deathly afraid of the repercussions that will follow if you decide to continue your rebellious act. It wouldn’t be the first time that she punished you for begging to leave the tower.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, head hanging low and voice laced with resignation, “I didn’t mean that. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Aw, my precious petal,” she coos, her mood drastically flipping one hundred and eighty degrees as the edges of her lips subtly point upwards at your obedience. “That’s why Mother is here, to guide you in the right direction. You know that I’m only looking out for you, right?”

“Of course, Mother.”

Evidently content with the outcome of the conversation, she turns back to continue brushing through your tresses.

By the time her ebony cloak rests upon her thin shoulders, hood draping over her face, your hair is already hanging by the hook above the window and she hops through the opening to lower herself to the ground below. You watch as her figure shrinks with the increasing distance, only turning back once to give a short wave before disappearing through the lush greenery.

And then you’re alone once again.

In the hours that pass after your mother’s departure, you become well acquainted with the five stages of grief. Of course, your requests to leave have been denied more times than you can count on both hands, but you foolishly believed that mentioning the eighteen years you spent cooped up in one place, fending off boredom, would hit a soft spot.

You forgot that your mother doesn’t have any of those.

Obviously, she anticipated your attempt to convince her by throwing yourself a pity party, as she deliberately mentioned purchasing a gift in advance. Out of all your celebrations, you couldn’t recall a single time where she prepared—much less remembered—your birthday.

Utterly absorbed within your final stage of acceptance, you lose yourself within your thoughts. That’s why the steady, rhythmic tapping on the cobblestone metres below makes you jump, mind wiped clean of everything except questioning the origin of the sound. Goosebumps manifest across the length of your arms, already slick with cold sweat.

Initially, you believe that your mother may have misplaced something, but your doubt accumulates when you don’t hear her usual jingle follow the rapping. You wonder if she is harbouring acrimony at your earlier outburst—even though she seemed quite pleased as she left.

Thus, like the loving daughter you are, you gather the ends of your hair, about to throw the lump over the aperture when you take notice of the stranger’s bulky frame and lack of disguise. Last time you checked, Mother certainly hadn’t chopped all her curls off either.

You can feel your heart thumping in your head, chest rising and falling expeditiously to compensate for the sudden rush of adrenaline surging through your veins. In your distress, her words come back to bite you, echoing within your mind that he must be after your magic.

Mother knows best, after all.

Discreetly glancing back down, you spot the man scaling the wall using two arrows, a feat which you’re sure he wouldn’t be capable of performing without those well-defined muscles, attractively outlined through his thin clothing. Realizing that you’re wasting time ogling at the intruder, you spin back to survey your room, scanning the area for any weapons you can use to defend yourself.

You disregard any prospect of overpowering him and decide to approach the confrontation by taking advantage of your ability to startle him. Before long, the sounds of the rigid arrowheads wedging into the spaces between the stones are no more than a couple of metres away, and you grab the nearest object in a blind panic.

All too soon, his large hands are gripping the window sill, and you scurry to press your body against the wall directly next to the opening. You grip the handle of metal tighter, struggling to keep your heavy breaths silent as you watch his fit form effortlessly raise himself up past the open window.

When he lands inside, you’re transfixed by the way his shirt hangs on his brawny body, the veins in his arms enlarged from the physical exertion of carrying his weight up the tower. Just for that moment, you let your eyes roam his lean figure in unadulterated fascination.

“Hah! Stupid guards, thinking they could catch me after—”

And then that moment ends.

A loud clang resounds throughout the cramped space as a result of the pan in your hand bashing into the back of his head. For a split second, you worry if the force behind your swing is enough to knock him out cold, but then he meets the floor headfirst. You wince for him.

With the substitute weapon in hand, you circle around his seemingly unconscious form up to his head, which is turned away from your prying stare. In order to decipher his level of cognizance, you crouch down and bow over him to get a better look at his face.

Long, dark locks that were perfectly mussed before his fall now cover nearly half his countenance, so you push them to the side to reveal his closed lids and strong brows. Following the curve of his cheekbones, you pass his cupid’s bow to gaze upon his thin lips, a tiny beauty mark laying directly underneath—an intimate detail that you feel uncomfortable knowing.

A faint blush colours your cheeks as you comprehend how utterly breathtaking the stranger is, drastically disparate to the stories your mother told you as a child, where men resembled ogres that lived under bridges, grotesque and unkempt.

He is nothing like that. Not at all.

He reminds you of the princes you read about in picture books—dashing and strong, willing to go to extreme lengths to find their Princess, their one true love. You know you’re taking it too far when you begin to fantasize about his personality purely based on his, admittedly, strikingly handsome appearance. With a vigorous shake of your head, you force yourself out of your reverie and get back to your task.

You stretch two fingers out to rest just beneath his nostrils, feeling the warm air that leaves his body at constant intervals, a good sign that he was not only alive but knocked out cold.

You prod at his shoulder, whispering, “Are you awake?”

No reaction.

With this confirmation, you take hold of one of his wrists with both hands and clench your jaw while leaning back, trying to use your body weight to help drag him. He proves to be much heavier than you initially believed, though you feel him moving inch by inch. Rather than another human being, you simply think of him as a heavy sack of potatoes for the sake of your conscience as you shuffle backwards, heading for the wardrobe on the other side of the room.

By the time you reach said armoire, you collapse on the ground next to him, gulping in as much air as you can. Now, there was simply the problem of shoving him inside. You turn your head to face the stranger, pouting at the prospect of having to lift his bulky self.

After much pushing and rearranging, the doors finally close behind him, although, as you predicted, stuffing him in there took much longer than you would like to admit. You aren’t sure how comfortable he is in the disfigured pretzel position you left him in, but his contentment is not at the top of your list of priorities right now.

Rubbing your palms together, you go to pick up the frying pan that lay discarded on the floor near the window when you take notice of the brown satchel that sat next to it. You have no use for any kind of travelling equipment, obviously, what with your whole life existing in this tall building, and your mother only carries a quaint, woven basket around. She is insistent on living as modestly as possible, and that includes whatever goodies she brings back from her adventures.

That rules out everyone but the stranger. The bag does look more masculine, anyway. Grabbing the strap, you raise the object in question up to have a closer inspection and find the leather to be heavier than expected. There are odd bumps protruding from its exterior, filling you with a tenuous curiosity.

Carefully, you lift the flap open to expose a heavily jewelled crown. Perplexity is written within the creases of your brows as you reach to grab the item within and drop the empty satchel. From your inexperienced eyes, the thing is as real as it gets, a shimmering gold decorated with the finest jewels in the kingdom. The different colours of each gem catch the light, reflecting the brilliant rays onto the walls of your room.

Your impromptu analysis concludes with an inexplicable pull towards the diadem, which you’re uncertain how to act upon until you involuntarily place the crown on your head. You turn to face the mirror leaning against the wall and it feels so right, as though two matching puzzle pieces have finally been brought together. The reflection staring back at you seems complete in ways you have never been before.

Yet, you can’t begin to fathom the reasoning behind all these strange epiphanies, unfamiliar with the tranquillity that quiets the constant buzzing in your head. Overwhelmed, you remove the crown and not a moment too soon, for a familiar, shrill shriek meets your ears.

“Petal!”

Your stomach lurches. Eyes darting to the wardrobe, you’re reminded of the man inside. You know if Mother saw him, she would definitely freak out, maybe even refuse to visit for the next week to drive you insane with solitude. But, then again, you could use him as an example to show that you could handle yourself out in that dangerous world she was always going on and on about.

“Let down your hair!”

You stuff the diadem back in the bag and stow it in an empty flower pot.

Giddy at the prospect of having a legitimate argument to reinforce your reasoning to leave the tower, you dash to the window sill and fling your hair over without a second glance outside. The rush of excitement blinds you from the sensitivity of your sore muscles as you haul her up.

“Petal,” your mother grits out, staggering inside due to your rushed actions, “what did I tell you about checking who’s calling before letting your hair down?”

“Hello, Mother!” you brush off her question, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet. “I have something really important to show you!”

“Don’t change the subject.” She squints her eyes at you, lips pursed with frustration. “You're getting more and more reckless. One of these days, a crook will make their way up here and you’ll be foolish enough to invite them inside, maybe pour them a cup of tea while you’re at it?”

“I’m truly sorry.” You decide to humour her to prevent her temperament from flaring, throwing out a meaningless apology—one you’re used to blurting out left and right.

“Now that’s what I like to hear,” she says, as smug and haughty as always. Your mother removes her coat, handing it off to you. “But today’s your lucky day! Just as I was about to visit, I remembered to bring your present!”

Your heart warms at your mother’s unusual thoughtfulness, although you’re much too eager to prove your strength first. “Ah, thank you, Mother. But I really want to show you—”

“Something more important than your mother’s present?”

“Of course not! I just wanted to get it out of the way so that I could enjoy your present later.” She seems unconvinced, so you add, “Y’know how they always say to leave the best for last?”

The older woman heaves an exasperated sigh, shoving you out of the way as she heads for the armchair in the corner. She slumps her tired form on the rickety seat as it creaks its refusal, then waves her hand, gesticulating that you get on with whatever it is you have up your sleeves.

Perspiration gathers within your palms and you fight to ward off the minuscule smile that plays on your lips while you gradually make your way back to the wooden armoire, “So, you’re always going on about how weak and fragile I am…”

“Yes.” She rests her chin in her hand, scrutinizing every hair on your head as though the answers to your ridiculous behaviour are buried within the multitudinous strands. “And what of it?”

“Well, I just thought that I should show you,” you start as your back hits the old furniture and your fingertips graze its rough texture. “That I’m more than capable of handling myself when we go out to—”

“When we go out?” she interrupts, irritation hardening her sharp features as she fixes you with an enraged scowl. “And where do you suppose we’re going exactly?”

You hesitate as your earlier confidence slips and you scramble to correct your word choice before she completely blows you off. “Uh, I just meant that this will show you how strong I am, and, uh…”

An eerie silence occupies the room when you find yourself at a loss for words. You know that your blabbering will get you absolutely nowhere, so you tighten your grip on the handles of the wardrobe, counting on your actions to speak louder than your words ever could.

“How old are you turning again, Y/N? It was eighteen, was it not?”

You shrink under her abrupt question, choosing to play along to pacify the shreds of annoyance flickering in her orbs. “Yes, Mother.”

“And for how long are we going to play this game?” she asks, standing with her basket in tow. Your mother rounds closer to you and your gaze automatically flies to the floor.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“What’re you hiding this time? Did you find another mouse? A rat?” she mocks, resting one hand on her hip. “Ooh, did a raccoon find its way inside?” Once her face is a mere couple of inches from your nose, you allow your eyes to meet her own, dreadfully empty ones. The sight sends a chill down your spine.

You release your hold on the furniture, dejection seeping from your tone. “Two mice this time.”

Her boisterous cackle echoes off the stone walls and she clutches her stomach in an attempt to quell the onslaught of laughter. The gesture reminds you of the countless other times you tried to ‘prove yourself’ through similar methods when you were younger, catching rodents that occasionally found their way into the nooks and crannies of the tower.

The first time you caught a mouse, you’d been ecstatic, rushing to show it off to the only person you knew. Although at that age, rather than a ticket to freedom, you were simply seeking your mother’s approval and perhaps a few praises here and there. You wanted to prove that despite your lonely upbringing—with your mother lounging around the tower for only a few hours every other day—you could handle yourself. She wouldn’t have to worry.

Evidently, you were too young to understand your mother’s rash nature, and she immediately assumed the worst—that you had somehow managed to sneak outside and wanted to prove your calibre by hunting down a nearby animal. The harsh scolding you received that day still lingers as a scar on your wrist, a painful reminder to never cross your mother.

“The outside world is not a simple matter of ‘two mice’ darling. You should know better than to think I’ll ever be impressed by these foolish displays of strength.” She swoops you up into her arms and you automatically bring your hands to circle her lithe waist. “That’s why you’ll always need Mother to protect you.”

Your chin rests on her shoulder, stare unfocused as you dismally state, “Yes, Mother.”

“Now, onto more exciting matters.” A couple of light, successive pats strike your back and you’re released from her hold. She is quick to open her wooden basket and rummage through the contents, reaching inside for what you assume to be your birthday present. The vegetables in her hand don’t excite you, but you put on a fake grin for her anyway. “I’m making your favourite soup!”

She scurries away from your static form to head past the doorway, but you stop her in her tracks with a low voice. “I’m not really feeling up for soup today.”

“You know how far the journey is to get some of these vegetables, let alone how expensive each one is!” she exclaims, waving said produce in her hand as she spins to face you.

“I’m really sorry, Mother,” you mumble, flashing her your best puppy-dog eyes. “But I ran out of paint recently and I’m feeling kind of down about it.”

She tuts. “That’s a three-day journey, Petal.”

“I know, it’s just that when I can’t distract myself with painting, I get these horrible thoughts of leaving the tower.” Doing your best to reason with her, you shift your weight to the other foot and fiddle around with your fingernails, attempting to appear as innocent as possible. “And I think those paints are a much better idea than going out to see the lights.”

A few seconds pass before a groan escapes your mother’s lips. “You’re lucky Mother loves you dearly.”

You stumble into her torso, grateful that she is unintentionally following along with your plan—a tedious scheme that you were saving as a last resort. She strokes the crown of your head, allowing you to nuzzle your cheek into the comfort of your mother’s embrace before her immediate departure.

Goodbyes are exchanged with some more reprimands sprinkled into the conversation, then she scales down the building and is no longer in your line of sight. You rub the nape of your neck, inching towards the armoire as you ponder whether a trip to indulge in your greatest desires is worth it when weighed against the lifelong bond you have with your own blood.

While navigating through your moral dilemma, you twist open the knob and watch as the scruffy man’s body slumps down to the floor without the support of the door to hold him upright. You refrain from cringing at his reddened nose.

Prioritizing your safety first, you retrieve your trusty pan and manhandle his body onto a chair, the seat still warm from your mother’s presence. This time around, you won’t be able to attain the upper hand by catching him off guard, so you settle on tying him up.

The question is: with what? You have no reason to keep ropes casually lying around the tower and one glance at his bulging biceps assures you that sewing thread will not be enough either.

As you’re thinking about stuffing him back into the wardrobe until you come up with a better idea, the blond strands at the edge of your peripheral catch your eye. For the first time in your life, your excessively long hair proves to be of use.

When he is tightly restrained to the armchair, your tresses acting like a straitjacket around his torso and snaking around his legs, you step back to appreciate your work. Your eyes drift over his corded muscles and roam over his face once again.

Before you let yourself get lost in his model-like features, your free hand reaches out, palm outstretched, to slap him across the face.

You nurse the stinging pain ebbing atop your outermost layer of skin, cradling the appendage to your chest as you hiss out a low whine, although the sound is masked by the low timbre of a groan. Your body stiffens while you gawk at the stranger, watching him gather his surroundings, whipping his head back and forth before his chestnut orbs land on you.

Your grip on the handle of the pot tightens.

“Wha—”

“No! Uh, I mean, hush!” you exclaim, deepening your voice for a rather weak, intimidating effect. “I’m doing the talking here.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat before you can utter another word. His doe eyes bore into yours and you step back, instantly feeling threatened by the intensity of his gaze. He wriggles around in his restraints, testing his extremely limited range of motion.

A prolonged, slightly awkward, silence stretches in the air as you attempt to recall the interrogation questions you practiced while tying him up. Regrettably, you come up blank.

He rolls his eyes at your lack of speech, raising a single brow.

“Well?” he questions, seemingly accepting his lack of free movement and slouching comfortably against the back of the chair. “I thought you said you were gonna do the talking?”

You grit your teeth at his impertinence, shaking off the nerves of talking to another human being that was not your mother as you adorn a superficial, bold facade. Striving to exude the same persuading tone that all those mystery books depicted, you mimic the slow strides you’ve read detectives take around their suspects.

“How did you find me?” You round the corner to escape his unimpressed glare, circling around him.

In turn, he cranes his neck to peer over at you, bewilderment written in the slack of his jaw. “Find you? Who says I was looking for you?” He whistles lowly catching sight of your mane, “That’s some hair you got there. Is that what’ve you tied me up with?”

A scoff escapes your lips, unconvinced at his act.

“Oh yeah?” you challenge, marching back to the front of the chair to dramatically slam your hands down onto his bound wrists, effectively halting his faint wriggling. “Then why did you come all the way up here, huh?”

The dashingly handsome stranger’s tongue prods at his cheek, serving to rile you up further. Taking his sweet time, he inspects the space around him before his focus comes back to you, and he leans in, smirking devilishly. “Sure as hell wasn’t for you, Princess.”

At the odd nickname combined with the close proximity, a flush tints your cheeks and you take a few steps back. He chuckles at his small victory—a deep, melodic sound that sends your flustered state into a muddled craze of butterflies, threatening to burst from within. You purse your lips and narrow your eyes at the man, more so to collect yourself than to unnerve him.

“Got something in your eye?”

You tilt your head back and grumble, exasperated at his lack of cooperation followed by his audacity to tease you further. “For your information, my eyes are working perfectly fine.”

“Good for you. Now, if you’ll just untangle me and give me back my bag, I’ll be out of your hair. Literally.” He grins at his joke, which you don’t find quite as funny.

“Like I’ll believe that.” You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest. “I’ll ask you again. How exactly did you find me?”

“As I said, Princess,” he jeers, his impatience made visible by the bulging veins lining his neck, “why would anybody be after your poor ass? I mean, just looking at the place, doesn’t look like you’ve got much else other than a bunch of hidden property and a shitty old tower.”

“Shitty?” You repeat, accosted at the stranger’s portrayal of the place you grew up.

He takes another look around the place as if to confirm his accusations before curtly nodding his head.

You glower at his blunt words, taking personal offence for the many hours you spent decorating, cleaning and doting over the building. “Well, I didn’t know we were expecting a rude guest. Then again, guests are invited inside, aren’t they?”

“Listen, you seem like the ditzy type, so I’ll keep this short and sweet. I got into a bit of a scuffle with some scoundrels and before I knew it, I was outnumbered!” he recounts slowly and melodramatically as if he is presenting a bedtime story to a child. “Then I stumble through some vines and find this gigantic tower!

“And to my surprise, rather than hidden treasure, this place has some naive, pan-wielding maniac at the top,” he concludes with a sigh, soundlessly implying that you should pity the unfortunate situation he stumbled upon—the unfortunate bit caused by your interference. All you feel is a burning itch to sock him across the face again, although that wouldn’t be too helpful in discovering his real objective.

His whole story sounds like pure bologna to you, but you feed into his obvious lies with a hum of acknowledgement. “Must’ve been so hard for you.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” he whines, a pout forming on his pink lips.

You flash a close-lipped smile and thrust the metal weapon centimetres from his nose with more force than intended, though it seems to do the job when you catch his eyes widen slightly before reverting to the same relaxed stare as before. His posture is evidently tenser than a few seconds ago, which builds your pliant determination.

“Either some truths are gonna come out of that smart mouth or you’re gonna take another nap,” You threaten, waving the pan back and forth.

“Okay, easy now.” The stranger bends his hands upwards by the wrists, waving his fingers down slowly, as though he were calming a raging bull. “There’s no violence needed in this okay? We can make a deal.”

The sound of his cooperation piques your interest, so you inquire, “What kind of deal?”

“First of all, can you lower that?” You comply with his request, although you keep the skillet in the air, ready to strike at a moment's notice if he tries anything funny. “Okay, Princess, how about you give me the satchel, let me go without any trouble and I won’t tell anyone about your little hideout here, hm?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m the one with the upper hand here.” If you two are to come to a compromise, you’re going to need more from the stranger than his word to keep quiet. “And I need you to take me to see the lanterns at the capital.”

A hacking cough morphs into a distorted chuckle in his throat. “Hm, you see, that would be a bit difficult considering the rocky relationship I have with the royals.”

You cock your head to the side, raising the metal menacingly.

His fists curl into balls as a strained grin stretches across his face. “But I guess we could make it work.”

Pleased with his compliance, you continue with your conditions, “You take me to see the lanterns tomorrow night, bring me back home in one piece and I’ll give your bag back. Then you can jump out of the window for all I care, just keep your mouth shut about this place.”

“Do I even have a choice in the matter?”

“Nope.” His lack of protest makes you giddy, and you allow yourself to credulously overestimate your influence over the man. It has to be that or your frightening frying pan, right?

“Then what’re we waiting for?”

A childlike wonder brightens your countenance as you speedily unravel your locks from around the stranger, whipping the bulk of it over the hook and out the window. With his newfound freedom, you catch him combing through miscellaneous trinkets and in fear of him identifying the location of his bag, you call out, “There’s no use, you could ransack the whole tower and never find your precious satchel. You’re better off fulfilling our agreement.”

Fitting your trusty skillet under your arm, you don’t spare him another glance and hope that your bluff is enough to deter his scouring. Thankfully, the clattering of objects ceases and he saunters past the vase with his dear bag inside. Your attention flits to the verdant scenery below.

You allow an exuberant screech to rip through your vocal cords while you effortlessly fly down, your body wrapped around your hair as though the strands have solidified into a firepole and land on the plush, vibrant grass with a bounce. The prickly sensation on your bare skin is not what you imagined the spindly plant to feel like, yet you revel in its oddities nonetheless.

Your companion follows along with less flair, steadily climbing down using the two arrows that were left between the stones. By the time he reaches the ground, you’re already feeling the consequences of sticking your bare feet in the mud by a river.

He rolls his eyes at your antics and darts off while you tread toward the water to wash off the muck between your toes. You swish your foot back and forth, watching the current run off with the dirt and avoiding the miniature fish that gather around you. Their bright orange bodies are stark against the rocks underneath, easy to spot due to the clear, crystalline stream that you’re splashing around in.

When one of them decides to start nipping at your ankles and the rest of his posse tag along, you wade deeper—searching for a grassy area to withdraw from their persistent suckling. As you’re scouring the landscape, enjoying the slight breeze blowing through your hair, you find yourself alone.

This doesn’t bother you at first, used to the notion of having only your own inner thoughts as company. You’re preoccupied with rinsing the brown stains that mark one section of your tresses and gather the clean, soaked mass into your arms before you realize that the tour guide you recruited has gone missing.

At first, you can’t believe he abandoned the precious crown that he appeared to cherish so greatly, but before you can think too deeply about it, a light smack meets the nape of your neck.

“Looking for me, Princess?”

“Stop calling me that,” you whip around, a glare directed at his triumphant smirk. “And where were you anyway? Not trying to run off already, are we?”

He raises his hands up as though he has been caught red-handed, although his digits are curled around what looks to be strips of tree bark and long strands of weeds. Just as you’re about to question him further, he crouches down and grabs one of your ankles, lifting your leg out of the water and closer to him. You yelp and shift your weight to rest on your other foot.

“What?” He secures a few layers of the rough wood to the sole of your foot, wrapping the flexible plants around the bark and expertly tying it at the top. “This is what I get for being considerate isn’t it?”

“Is considerate even part of your vocabulary?” you tease, the relief at his presence causing you to lower your guard.

He freezes halfway through fastening the second makeshift shoe onto your other foot when the orbs staring up at you light up with mischief. Changing position, he folds forwards then rocks back to stand up to his full height. “Ah, I see how it is. Then I would never do something so thoughtful, right?”

“I take it back! I take it back, just finish it up,” you beseech.

“That’s what I thought, Princess.” He bends over to complete the second knot then scampers off to the forest as soon as the job is complete.

As you test out the peculiar slippers—inwardly marvelling at the barrier they provide against the elements of nature—you vocalize your displeasure with the nickname he has taken to calling you, “I thought I told you not to call me that.”

His strides ease up from his hurried pace, shortening to compensate for your smaller steps. “Aw, does Princess dislike being reminded of who she is?”

“I’ve never heard of a Princess living outside of a castle before.”

He hums, tilting his head in wonder. “Is your tower not considered a castle?”

“Not when I’m the only one living there,” you mutter under your breath, although you’re not sure if he catches it or not based on his silence. Regardless, you change the subject before he has a chance to respond. “So are you gonna tell me your name or what?”

Sneaking a peek at his side profile, you catch the endearing crinkle that appears by his eyes when he grins. “What’s with the sudden interest? I mean, I understand the enthusiasm but—”

You strike his elbow with the bottom of the skillet and he whines like a kicked puppy.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I just thought we should be on a first-name basis if we’re going to be travelling all this way together.” You amuse yourself by twirling the skillet around in your grip, acting as though there’s a gigantic pancake that you professionally flip onto its other side. “I would prefer my name over ‘Princess.’”

“I kinda like the ring of it though.” He winks at you, but you’re too invested in your cooking charades to notice. “You can call me Geum.”

“Geum? Like ‘gold’? What kind of name is that?”

“Ooh, someone’s judgemental.” Snatching the pan, he brandishes it around like a deadly cutlass in a seasoned pirate’s hand, bounding around you. He ends his show with the tip aimed straight at your heart.

“Just saying. You’ve got to admit it’s a bit… unique.” You halfheartedly brush him off, fighting to keep your grin from showing. As a side note, you announce your name.

“Whatever you say, Princess.”

Before he can prance off, you pluck the skillet out of his grasp and tear through the dense bushes with your treasure. His war cry echoes throughout the expansive woodlands as he rushes after you, untangling your hair from lone branches as he goes.

To claim that your feet are about to fall off is a gross understatement.

You have been travelling alongside Geum for hours now without a single break. Despite the high spirits that you two kicked your trip off with, the elation from brushing against the silky plants, cooing at the wildlife that crossed your path, and inhaling the fresh scent of damp moss and wet tree trunks from yesterday’s showers wore off quickly.

You’re inclined to believe that your enthusiasm began to subside when Geum yanked you away from running your finger along one set of rich emerald leaves—narrowly avoiding what he explained to be poison ivy. Your curious hands have been cemented to your sides ever since that close encounter.

After your lively bickering dies down, rather than a peaceful, quiet walk, listening to the whispers of the wind and the pleasant chirping of the birds, the antsy man beside you puts you on edge. He can’t stop looking from side to side, trying to peer past the endless birches and elms that obscure your view.

Is Geum expecting someone?

Perhaps some parts of his story are true. Perhaps having a ruffian with other delinquents hunting him is not the best partner to accompany you on this journey—not that you have much of a choice in the matter, it’s either him or no one. You’re unsure which option is worse.

Any conversation you strike is met with teasing remarks, so you give up on prodding him for any substantial information. But with the sky darkening and the breeze turning brisk, you’re about to mention camping out somewhere when Geum says, “We should settle down for the night.”

“I never thought I would agree with something that came out of your mouth.”

“That’s why you’re wrong most of the time.” And there it was, another snotty retort that practically begs you to deck him with the pan you keep tucked in your underarm.

The quibble ignites a fire under your skin, the flames licking at your sides and providing some warmth amidst the chill in the air. “Most of the time? So you’re saying that you’re wrong sometimes?”

“Yeah, nobody can always be right.” He flashes a lazy smirk your way, adjusting the bundle of your locks in his arms. “Like when I said that your hair isn’t an inconvenience.”

You take a second to process his snarky words. With your mind occupied, stuck in a whirlwind of potential reprisals, you unintentionally head towards the distant outline of the castle when you approach a crossroad branching in two opposite directions.

Just as you’re about to let loose a nasty quip, his warm hand wraps itself around your wrist, dragging you away from the faraway mansion. You overheat at the source of the touch, thoughts going haywire.

“Hey, hey!” In hopes of snapping him out of his reverie, you raise your voice. “You can’t blow off our deal now, don’t you want your precious satchel back?”

When he offers no explanation for his cryptic actions, you attempt to pry off his fingers with your other hand—making sure not to trip over your own two feet while you’re at it. Your wriggling is all for nought because Geum’s iron grip is too durable to be outmatched by your fumbling digits.

“Geum, please just,” you plead, ceasing your struggle when the delicate skin in his grasp begins to sting from his strength, “let’s talk about this, okay?”

You’re so preoccupied with regaining your freedom that you don’t notice the dingy sign you two pass; a rubber duck with the words The Snuggly Duckling etched onto the wood. “Shut up and hurry.”

Your jaw drops at his insolent tone, astounded at his change in demeanour. There’s no playful spirit behind his words this time, only a sharp annoyance accompanied by his sudden haste that you feel all too strongly in your wrist. You stumble after him and duck your head through a small doorway, your mind caught up in formulating a coherent response that consists of sounds other than your outraged sputtering.

“Don’t tell me to—”

You’re cut off by the ruckus inside the establishment. Burly men surround the two of you, drinking, howling in laughter, practicing their aim with throwing knives—there’s even a large group of people fighting in one corner. The amount of blood streaked across the walls, their clothes, and pouring out of their open wounds is concerning. You can smell the metallic tang from the entrance.

When the hand around your wrist disappears, you find yourself yearning for the physical connection, serving as some kind of reassurance that he is not leaving you to the metaphorical, and sort of literal, wolves before you. In order not to lose Geum as he wades through the crowds, you latch on to the thin hem of his shirt. He pays you no mind and continues onward.

Skillfully slipping through the giants while you bumble behind him, you two arrive at a row of vacant barstools. You loosen your grip at the unexpectedly tranquil space, such a drastic contrast to the commotion in the background that it’s like you’ve been transported to another place altogether.

You’re brought back to reality from the loud grunt that booms throughout the joint, although you tune out again when you hear a punch being thrown, then a crack that you can only hope isn’t a bone. Or two.

“Uh, Geum?” you ask, although he pays your appellation no mind. His attention is focused on the intimidating, tattooed man behind the counter.

“Joon.” Your unofficial tour guide takes a seat. “A mead?”

Determined to stick close to the only familiar face in the building, you slide onto the seat next to Geum. The overwhelming scent of liquor hits you hard, causing you to crinkle your nose the exact moment that your narrowed eyes spot the bartender, Joon, awkwardly cough into his fist, trying to stifle his snickers for your sake.

“Just a water for her.”

While Joon confirms Geum’s order with a slight nod, you cast your head down to stare at your twiddling fingers. Your mind is still reeling from the abrupt change in scenery, unsure how to carry yourself in this new setting. It was no problem in the dense forest, with only Geum to judge you—but it isn’t like you’re trying to impress him anyway.

In here where hordes of broad men are gathered, drunk out of their minds with crimson staining their attire, you’re scared. Everything is too raucous, too rancid, too overwhelming. You’re uncertain whether the trip to the capital will play out as you’ve imagined and you turn towards Geum to tell him as much when—

“Was this from me?” You instinctively flinch at his tug on your elbow, although regret rushes down your back, clawing against your spine like ice-cold water when hurt flashes across his shadowed orbs. Before you can blink, it’s gone.

As a feeble apology, you offer a tightlipped smile. Referring back to his words, you examine your arm and grimace when you spot the blooming scarlet streaks encircling your wrist, taking the shape of Geum’s slender digits. “Oh, uh, don’t worry. It’ll fade.”

It’s not a lie since the marks will eventually fade. You hope it doesn’t turn black and blue before that though.

A clear glass is thrust your way, which you’re overjoyed to snatch from Joon’s hand, noting Geum’s copper liquor from the corner of your eye. Hours of travelling without any form of hydration definitely took its toll on you, evident by your severely chapped lips that you can’t help but swipe your tongue over every minute—not that the dried saliva is doing you any favours.

Before you have a chance to sip from heaven in liquid form, you’re halted by a gentle finger tracing the length of your forearm. Thankfully, you’re not as skittish this time around, remaining frozen until Geums pulls back; the pale, discoloured scar he was following having tapered off into your natural skin. “Where’s that one from?”

His strange inquiry confuses you with its unusually intrusive nature considering his inability to chat seriously five minutes ago. You pause for a second to debate on revealing the truth or constructing a comical narrative for the sake of avoiding a sombre turn to the light conversation. Despite your decision, your lips rebel, taking on a mind of their own. “A punishment.”

Bronze orbs snap up to yours, boring into the deepest parts of your soul and uncovering each of your secrets one by one as if they’re gems, buried within the layers of your lonely childhood. You’re transfixed. “Mother said it would remind me to never leave the tower.”

The condensation running down the side of the chilled cup meets the edge of your palm, sliding down your index finger and becoming a stark reminder of your parched mouth. You lift the glass to take a sip, but a taste renders your control inoperative as you guzzle down the rest, leaving not a single drop inside.

Your famished stomach makes itself known with a growl when your thirst is quenched. Attracting the attention of the bartender with a small wave, you ask, “Is there any chance you’ve got some food here?”

“We’ve got anything as long as you’ve got the coin for it, blondie.”

You shudder in alarm at the introduction of another patron in the bar. Leaning away from the repulsive drawl to your left, you shift over to position yourself as far away as possible. Seeing your discomfort, the stranger takes a few steps forward to invade your personal space once more and you recoil back with a jerk of your torso.

The abrupt motion messes with your centre of gravity, tipping you over the edge of the barstool. Just as you’re about to have an unpleasant meeting with the floor, a palm darts out to the small of your waist and steadies you. You follow the arm up to Geum’s clenched jaw.

“She’s not looking for anything that you guys can offer.”

Your throat tightens at your companion’s harsh answer, wary of how the other men will react. The burly man to your other side bursts out in obnoxious laughter and a glint of light reflecting off of his silver teeth catches your eye, which you recognize from earlier. He’s one of the goons that was involved in the fistfight near the entrance.

“As if you’re packing anything better.” He nudges his lackeys behind them and they chuckle along like they’re all in on one big joke.

“It’s not hard to top a baby carrot.”

Panicked at his provocation, you glimpse at the challenging smirk plastered across Geum’s lips. You aren’t sure why he’s trying to pick a fight or if there’s any logical reasoning behind his actions at all, but you tap on the arm still attached to your torso, conveying your opinion on his moronic pride with your widened eyes.

Of course, men will be men, and the little posse arranged behind the silver toothed boss riles their leader up, encouraging him with disgruntled yells and unintelligible speech to prove their dominance. With you in between the two blockheads, you’re sure that you’re not going to like how this plays out.

Dismissing your distress, Geum takes a sip of his drink. He seems unbothered by the commotion surrounding him and you envy his nonchalant demeanour.

“You got any bite behind your bark, pretty boy?” His lackeys change tactics, switching over to goading Geum on. You assume their greater numbers spark their courage, reassured that they could overpower one man. “Or are we just trying to impress this little miss right here?”

“I’m not sure if it’ll be very fair for you guys,” Geum says cockily, scrutinizing each member from head to toe then returning to his sweet mead. “I mean, just looking at you boys, doesn’t look too impressive if you ask me.”

If the atmosphere didn’t thicken with a fatal tension, you would have giggled at his smart mouth. But the other man’s nostrils flare in resentment, beginning to surge forward before he’s interrupted by a spindly boy who thrusts a paper below his nose. “Boss, you were right, it’s him.”

His unsightly features twist upwards in joy, displaying his horrendous set of chompers once more as he chuckles. That’s when you realize that a sinister smile can be much more frightening than any bellow of rage. “Looks like you’ve got quite the bounty on your head there, Geum.”

At the snarl of his name, your eyes dart to the wrinkled sheet in his hand which he graciously flips to face your direction. An uncanny depiction of Geum’s face is drawn, a sum containing many zeroes painted underneath his name. What appalls you the most is the red, bolded letters at the very top, distinctly spelling out wanted.

Geum is a wanted criminal.

While your mind is reeling, sight blurring and breath quickening from the influx of information, the man in question unabashedly finishes off the last of his alcoholic beverage and proceeds to slam the glass onto the counter. Through all of the clamour, you pick up Joon’s exasperated sigh in the background.

The door to the establishment flings open, hinges creaking as the wood bounces back from the sheer force of the blow. While everyone is distracted by the bustle, Geum stealthily hops off his seat, slipping an arm around your waist to soundlessly lead you to the other side of the counter. Although you’re reluctant to follow, you refrain from squabbling with him in order not to attract any unwanted attention.

“We’ve received a report that a well-known thief has been spotted in the premises—”

Geum kneels in front of the shelves lined with drinks of all shapes and colours, fiddling with something you can’t see from your position behind him. Following his lead, you crouch behind him, softly muttering in disbelief, “You really think they won’t find us hiding here?”

A click is heard as a few of the racks cave in on themselves, revealing a concealed passageway. Geum shakes his head towards the opening, silently directing you to enter first. You’re hesitant to accompany him any farther but you’re pushed forwards by Joon’s calf on your back and you understand that you don’t have much of a choice in the matter anymore.

If you’re caught now, you’ll be accused of being an accomplice to whatever crimes Geum committed.

You spare a thankful nod to Joon, stealing a glance at the guards blocking the entrance while you’re at it. Their white uniforms are decorated with accents of bright oranges and reds, a familiar flower fastened to the right side of their chest. One of them holds another copy of Geum’s wanted poster which you tear your gaze from, willing yourself to escape from this mess before thinking about anything else.

Geum shoves you through the opening, and you crawl through the underground passage as fast as you can in order to keep his pinching fingers away from your ankles. You two are far enough to safely whisper short phrases to one another, but he insists on being a nuisance as he urges you to pick up the pace.

It’s pitch black when the trapdoor shuts behind Geum, and you’re unable to make out your own hands in front of your face; with no other path in sight, you blindly head forward. As you continue, you pass torches burning with a bright fire that provide light, illuminating the stones around you and the shadows following you. You wonder how often this underground system is used to have fire running at all times.

Eventually, the tunnel’s height expands enough for the two of you to comfortably tread through on your feet. If you weren’t tired enough from walking for hours on end, the brutal jog which Geum sets is more than enough to tire you out within mere minutes.

“Geum,” you heave, unable to catch your breath with your chest fruitlessly rising and falling, never passing enough air for you to gather your senses. He’s too far to catch, effortlessly sprinting ahead, yet you still uselessly reach out to capture his attention. “Geum.”

You push yourself to the limit, another few minutes passing by before your powerless body can no longer handle the stress of the strenuous activity, and you slow down, coming to a full stop. One hand on the rocky wall steadies your dizzying sight as you hunch over, throat burning and stomach aching. Even though you try to remain standing, your legs involuntarily give out and you end up on the floor.

As you try to regain your breath, hands grasp your shoulders and gently shake you back to reality. Geum’s intense gaze is only centimetres away, torso bent to level with you. “You can do this, come on. We have to lose them.”

“I,” you huff, “I can’t… It’s… too much.”

Geum’s arms return to his sides, his brows furrowing as you watch the gears whirring in his head through your blurry vision. When he spins around to face the exit, you cry out in a hoarse voice, believing that he’s leaving your pathetic, crumpled form to fend for yourself—but instead of running off, he crouches to the ground with his backside to you. “Get on.”

In spite of your resolute will to arise from your folded position, your legs can’t seem to extend outwards in order to climb onto his back, which you convey by tapping his shoulder and pitifully shaking your head. Geum’s lips pry apart to respond, but his words are drowned out by the pounding footsteps that echo throughout the tunnel walls. He curses under his breath as he turns and scoops your fetal form into his arms.

All you can register is his natural woody scent enveloped in the sweaty musk that drenches his frame, your body clutched tightly to his torso as he races to the end of the tunnel. You grip his thin shirt in one fist, unfamiliar with the warmth fluttering in your chest, so you brush it off as another side effect from the arduous sprinting.

A bright light can be seen at the very end, but your eyes are locked on the well-defined jaw of the man carrying you as if you were as light as a feather, running as if your lives depended on it—which they kind of do.

You couldn’t differentiate the pounding of Geum’s shoes from the mob of guards pursuing you two. As you slowly recover from your exhausted state, the guilt of becoming a burden settles into the creases of your face, worrying lines etching onto your features from thinking about your impending fate.

Your thoughts wander to the reasoning behind this violent chase. By the fancier uniforms they sport, you suspect their position to be rather high, perhaps palace guards or ones belonging to the royal family. Reminded of the wanted poster clutched within one of their hands, the image stirs unease within the depths of your stomach that’s already stinging from the massive amounts of cardio you’ve done today.

Before you can connect any dots, you’re out in the wilderness again, although instead of the sun’s blazing rays on your face, the moon’s tender beams spill over your surroundings. The sort of serenity that accompanies the stillness of the later hours are interrupted by your rapidly beating heart, which is amplified by the pulse felt on your left side.

After a few more strides, Geum comes to a sudden halt.

“What’s wrong?” You tilt your neck to look at his face in curiosity. Although he doesn’t appear fatigued, his cheeks only slightly flushed from exertion and a few sweat droplets racing down his temples, you ask anyway, “Are you tired?”

The grip under your legs lower you to the ground and you stand in front of Geum, beginning to worry about losing your advantage over your pursuers. He doesn’t provide a verbal response to your questions, simply shaking his head and causing the tips of his hair to sway back and forth with the motion. The strands cover his eyes when he stops, but he doesn’t bother to brush them aside.

Geum’s shoulders slouch, heavy from the weight of defeat. You’re unnerved at his strange actions, turning to look ahead at the obstacle that’s forcing him to give up all hope.

You two are standing at the edge of a cliff.

Your knees buckle at the length of the drop, which seems never ending from your viewpoint. The tenebrous shadows of the night obscure the bottom, painting the jagged walls with uncertainty at any chance for survival. Your heart constricts as the despondency emanating off of Geum slithers its way into your rapidly diminishing resolution.

“When they get here,” he announces, bravery shining through his firm tone, “I need you to run as fast as you can. I’ll distract them, just focus on getting back to the bar. Tell Joon to take you somewhere safe and trust no one but him.”

You’re baffled at his complete change in attitude as well as his idiotic plan. There’s no trace of humour in his piercing orbs though, simply an obstinate determination that implores you to obey his orders. But you aren’t about to abandon the first friend you’ve ever made. “Are you insane? What do you think you can do against trained soldiers?”

“There’s no other choice.” He nudges your torso to position yourself behind him, both your backs to the cliff, watching the guards get closer and closer. Dread weighs ponderously on your limbs, the adrenaline pumping in your veins with every footstep marching to surround you two. You’re cornered.

The soldier closest to Geum unsheathes his sword and steadily approaches. You slip the rusty pan into his hand and he inconspicuously reaches back to pat your thigh, reminding you of his reckless scheme.

Seeing your defensive stance, the guard rushes forward, thrusting his sword forward to slice through layers of skin. Instead, the clang of metal against metal resounds throughout the empty cliff and your apprehension increases tenfold with your front row seat to Geum’s doomed duel, fending off a glinting sword with your rickety skillet.

Although he’s fighting well considering his enormous handicap, you spot more soldiers creeping their way into the skirmish, unable to stand and watch one of their own be bested in battle. Overall, the odds weren’t looking too great for your pan-wielding knight.

You have to do something. With Geum’s plan off the table, you can’t think of anything other than taking your chances with the cliff. You gather all your faith in the landscape, Geum, and yourself while taking a deep breath. Waiting for an opening within the clash, you cautiously inch towards Geum and when one particularly hard blow jolts both men back a few steps, you snatch up the opportunity.

Before another guard can take his ally’s place, you rush over to snake an arm around Geum’s lithe waist, tugging his back to meet your chest. During this process, he nearly elbows you in the face, writhing around in your tight hold until he recognizes your delicate hands on his stomach.

With the enemy frozen in confusion at your ostensibly desultory actions, you take advantage of their shock to stumble backwards, proving harder than necessary due to Geum’s long legs tangling with your own as you head towards the edge. You’re nearly there when one of the guards pick up on your plan to escape, jumping into action with his razor-sharp sword and waving it in a deadly arc that nearly slices both of your heads off clean.

Thankfully, you lose your footing on a slippery rock and tip over.

While airborne, any air is momentarily robbed from the heavy drop in your gut and a terrified shriek rips past your mouth as you lose your tight grip on Geum, utterly absorbed in your fear. The distance between you two grows, but because of his quick reflexes, Geum is able to fist a clump of your clothes in his hands and pull you into his chest with one hand resting on the nape of your neck.

You don’t have enough time to react to the new position before both your bodies are enveloped in gelid water. All of your nerves fire off, enraged at the sudden change in temperature. A violent shiver overtakes your limbs in a weak attempt to warm yourself up.

Although Geum’s palm on your neck withdraws to wade your bodies back up to surface, the grip around your middle only tightens.

The stream parts as you two float back up to meet the chilly air, greedily filling your lungs as you unravel from one another in order to paddle your way to shore. The current sweeps you along, aiding your furious efforts to reach the ground again.

Geum arrives at the muddy grass before you, swiftly lifting himself out and turning to fish for your soaked form. White puffs of your breath escape your mouths because of the low temperature, yet they dissipate as quickly as they’re formed.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” You close your eyes and nod. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

The fire crackles alongside the chirping crickets, forming a peculiar orchestra with the breeze blowing through the rustling leaves. You extend your frigid digits as close to the flames as you dare, desperate for its warmth, yet recoiling from the sting of its heat all the same.

“Might as well stick your whole hand in there while you’re at it.” Geum emerges from the tenebrous thickets of the forest, making his way into the dull glow of the bonfire with a bundle of skinny twigs in his arms.

You’re drained from the day’s events, but you flash him a smile brimming with gratitude, appreciative that he’s intent on keeping the fire alive despite his inevitably numb appendages. You insisted on swapping turns, allowing his body to warm up a bit while you scavenged for wood, although he dismissed your offer multiple times, claiming that moving around was much more effective for him than any flames.

You’d have to disagree with him there. The burning fire feels incredible heating up your skin from the outside in.  

“If you take a second to come and enjoy the warmth, then maybe you wouldn’t be so moody,” You jest, rotating the fish skewers that Geum expertly caught in the river with a sharpened branch. By the slightly burnt edges, you suppose it’s ready. “C’mon, let’s eat before you head off again.”

He grunts his affirmation, depositing his findings on top of the ever-growing pile of wood and taking a seat on a fallen log located a couple of feet away from you. You allow the meat to cool down before separating the fish from the stick it’s impaled on and passing it to him.

“Is your hair dry yet?” He’s too preoccupied with forcibly ripping the fish in half to avoid scaling it, so he doesn’t catch your affectionate, lingering gaze.

You hum, grabbing a lock of your wet strands. “Not quite.”

He places his meal next to him on the log and leans over to take the bulk of your tresses in his grasp. You watch as he lays the blonde strands near the fire, quietly giggling at his strange logic.

“You think the heat is going to make it dry faster?” The appearance of his wide grin elicits the return of the bizarre tightening in your chest, a crushing pain that makes it difficult to breathe. You haven’t had a bite of the fish but nausea swirls in your stomach as your hands turn clammy and you rip your eyes away from Geum in hopes of collecting yourself.

Seeing your doubt towards his surely infallible rationale, his brows scrunch together and he pauses his movements in his perplexity, a distant look swirling in his eyes. He should be completely unaware of the turmoil raging within you, yet all your previous worries dissipate with the smoke of the fire as his face becomes increasingly wrinkled, flashing an expression more ludicrous than the last.

After you beg and plead with him to stop, cheeks aching from smiles and belly throbbing from laughter, he breaks out into his own set of snickers. More than satisfied, Geum grabs his fish again and begins to nibble on the meat inside. “You never considered getting a trim?” he asks between bites.

A few seconds pass as you calm yourself down from your hysterical state. “Never allowed to,” you answer, short and vague to keep the pleasant atmosphere.

“Allowed to?” His voice is laced with his astonishment. “Who’s telling you what to do at your age?”

Fidgeting with your own skewer, you ponder over an answer that’s precise enough to satisfy his curiosity, yet obscure enough to conceal your identity at the same time. Your eyes dart from side to side, following the light of the fire as it illuminates a wet, crimson stain on the sleeve of Geum’s jacket.

“What’s that?” you question, scuttling over to his log and sitting down next to him. To get a better look, you grab his elbow and pull it towards you.

“Nothing. Don’t change the subject.” He tries to shrug off both your concern and your hand that’s clutching onto his arm, which only makes you tighten your grip. At the increase in pressure, a low groan slips past his lips and you instantly release your hold at the sound.

“Does it hurt?” The memory of the guard wildly slashing his sword in the air comes to mind and you realize that although the blow didn’t cost either of your lives, his upper arm must have borne the brunt of the force instead.

“It’s fine.” He attempts to brush you off again, but you’re as clingy as a leech and refuse to budge from his side.

You latch on to the lapel of his jacket and tug. “Take it off.”

Despite your solemnity, his low chuckle sends an involuntary shiver down your spine. “Already asking me to strip? I’m not that easy, Princess. How about you take me on a date first and I’ll think about your offer?”

“You know what I mean,” you grumble, exasperated that he persists on maintaining his incessant teasing while injured.

When he finishes cleaning off one half of his meal, about to reach for the other, you move to stand in front of him. You dismiss the wild pounding of your heart to focus on slipping his jacket off of his opposite arm.

He puts forth no effort to stop you, although he’s definitely not helping much with his limp, bulky appendages that are a lot heavier than expected. Slowly but surely, you tenderly thread his injured arm out of his sleeve with careful hands.

The white, short-sleeved shirt he’s sporting underneath makes it easy to spot the splotches of crimson dyeing the hem of his sleeve through the dim, orange light. You approach his laceration delicately, treating him like a frightened animal. He snorts at your earnest actions.

Lifting the fabric covering the entirety of the gash, you gasp softly at the depth of the wound, grimacing as though it’s your own limb that’s been hurt. “You shouldn’t be moving around with this, you’re not letting it heal.”

“I’ll endure any pain to keep you close,” he whispers, sweet honey dripping from his words as he loops his other arm around your waist, effectively pulling you in between his open legs.

His chin is a mere few centimetres from your belly button, gazing up at you with a flirtatious wink as he perches his hand onto your lower back. You hold your breath, worried that he can hear the utter chaos erupting within your chest due to the close proximity.

Flustered, you push at his broad shoulders, desperate for some room to breathe. Geum flinches at your touch and you instantly regret your thoughtless behaviour. Your concern at the severity of his wound multiplies tenfold, feeding into a disquiet that nestles into every cell in your body. “I’m serious, it doesn’t look good.”

One hand falls into his lap while the other comes up to ruffle his damp locks. “Don’t get shy now, Princess.”

Taking in the defeated slouch to his back, the distant glaze that darkens his bronze orbs, you think about your hair. You think about how much younger your mother appears after she detangles each strand. You think about all the scars you’ve avoided throughout the years by singing a simple tune.

This man saved your life, and it’s time for you to repay the favour. You consider waiting until he’s asleep to heal his arm, plagued by the distress of being mistaken as a witch. Mother warned you about those kinds of people, who are ready to ruin your life in order to improve their own—anything ranging from taking advantage of your unworldly qualities to selling you for a pretty penny.

Mother always knows best. Right?

You peer into his expressionless eyes that stare holes into the dancing flames, the other uneaten half of the fish still laying untouched. From the limited time you’ve spent together, you shouldn’t feel this distraught at his pain, as though a chunk of your heart is bleeding out with him and leaving you in a puddle of your own misery.

But one look at Geum’s laceration and even a child could tell that the relentless stream would end his life before long. No matter how well he can conceal his shallow, rapid breathing, you begin to make sense of his sweaty, pallid countenance that shreds any remaining skepticism you hold against him—dismissing the wariness brought about by those wanted posters.

“Geum.”

His eyelids shut close at your grave tone. “I know. It’s fine.”

At your hesitant tone, he sluggishly spares you a placid, tame smile. You hate it.

The Geum you’ve come to know is exuberant, taking all his hardships in stride with a sly smirk to boot. He’s brilliant, craftier than any artist, and resourceful even in the face of despondency. He’s compassionate, extending his own neck to save yours, always sympathetic to your plight.

This Geum is hollow, a shell of the person you knew.

The crushed downturn of his doe eyes doesn’t belong to his captivating features. You yearn to watch that classic, mischievous glint sparkle in his irises as he taunts you endlessly, testing how high your pulse can spark when he invades your personal space yet again.

You take a seat next to him. “No, uh,” you stammer, “I got a solution. You just can’t scream or freak out or anything, okay? Most importantly, you can’t tell anyone. Not a single soul.”

Before he can react to your cryptic warnings, you separate a lock of your hair, wrapping it around his wounded bicep. He raises a single brow at your strange antics but provides no further opposition. You’re pleased with the amount of trust he’s placed in you.

You close your eyes, and then you sing.

“Flower, gleam and glow Let your power shine,”

Starting from your roots, a golden glimmer races across the tresses of your hair. Bewildered, Geum recoils in his state of shock but remains rooted in his spot nonetheless.

“Make the clock reverse Bring back what once was mine,”

He follows the scintillating shimmer in your strands until he reaches the portion wrapped around his bicep. You absentmindedly wonder if he can feel his flesh reconstructing, cells dividing at a rapid rate to close the smooth gash.

“Heal what has been hurt Change the Fates' design Save what has been lost Bring back what once was mine,”

Your lids slide open to stare at his wide eyes, his jaw hanging ever so slightly. You’re glad to see that his previously pale complexion has given way to his natural, lively undertone.

“What once was mine.”

When the last notes fade out, eventually overpowered by the lone hoot of an owl, you gingerly untangle your hair from the shell-shocked man. Geum slaps his other hand over the healed skin, his head rapidly darting between examining his arm and making absurd facial expressions that convey his amazement. From his naturally cool composure, you treasure this rare moment of awe.

“Wha—”

Your stressed squeak halts him in his speech. “Please don’t freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out.” He looks like he’s trying to convince himself more so than you when he continues, “Not freaking out. What’s there to freak out about? I mean, magical healing hair? Completely normal.”

Your grin is filled with mirth at his nervous tone, and you lift his prodding digits from the site of the wound. Or at least where it used to be. “You feel okay?”

With all of your attention directed towards analyzing his healthy appendage, ensuring that your magic had not screwed up somewhere along the process, you miss Geum’s tender gaze roaming over every inch of your countenance. “Yeah, I guess I’m more than okay now.”

“I promise I’m not some kind of witch or anything like that. Just, uh, was just born with it,” you try to explain despite being in the dark about many of the nitty-gritty details yourself.

“Born with magical hair?”

You giggle at the absurdity of his question, although the validity remains true, it’s rather peculiar to hear it out loud. “Some of us are born with more talent than others. But that’s also why I can’t cut it,” you smile sheepishly, deciding to answer his earlier question now that your secret is out in the open.

“It turns brown and loses its magic.” You gather all your strands into one fist, pulling the mass to the side to expose the short, chestnut coloured strands underneath. You feel vulnerable and exposed with your neck out on display, sharing the fragility of your powers with a man you’ve known for less than twenty-four hours.

But it’s Geum, and he doesn’t feel like a stranger to you. “An overbearing mother is also part of the reason, but that’s a story for another time. Carrying it around can be heavy and the tangles can be brutal, but I guess it has its perks.”

He hums, stretching his torso to throw some twigs into the fire in hopes of enlarging the dwindling flames. “Yeah, I, uh…”

You stay silent, neither dismissing nor pressuring him into voicing his thoughts.

“My name isn’t actually Geum.”

A teasing smirk lifts the corner of your lips as you lean closer and nudge his arm. “You don’t say?”

He scoffs at your playful demeanour and pushes you back with one finger on your forehead. When your upper body is tilted away from him and your head is facing the starry night sky, he retracts his digit and speaks so softly that the noise is almost carried away by the wind. “It’s Jungkook.”

“Jungkook,” you test it out, matching the syllables to the face. It’s a bit strange after getting accustomed to associating him with the name ‘Geum,’ but in a way, it complements him better.

“Yeah.” He pauses and you shift your body to study him, memorizing the slopes and angles of his side profile. His orbs reflect the flickering fire, engulfing the newly added branches in its blaze. “I just thought somebody should know.”

“Is Geum your alias... for when you’re being a criminal?” Although you’re hesitant to delve into the subject, especially right after he’s begun to unveil his true identity, your curiosity outweighs reason and you can’t contain yourself. You can’t say that you’ve never questioned the diadem hidden in his satchel.

Crowns don’t belong to convicts who run from justice.

You wait for his answer with bated breath, unintentionally trapping your lower lip between your teeth in anticipation. Please, Jungkook.

“If you’re trying to ask what I did,” he hisses, knuckles turning white from his clenched fists, “Yeah, I stole it. Those assholes don’t deserve their riches.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenches, his anger radiating off him in waves. You wish you could eat your previous words because of how furious he’s become, but you’re committed to finishing the job. “Are you talking about the King and Queen?” Your brows pinch together in your discomfort. “Was that their crown?”

“This is your first time out of that tower, right?” You confirm his inquiry with a quick nod of your head. “How much do you know about the kingdom?”

“Jungkook—”

He tuts, fixing you with a strict glare. “Answer the question.”

“Well…” While recalling all the knowledge you picked up from your mother and the few historical books within your collection, you fiddle with a strand of your hair and organize your thoughts. “The castle is located in the middle of the capital, said to loom over the entire kingdom with its height. After it was rebuilt to accommodate more space for the Prince, everyone, from poets to milliners, cried over the beauty carved within those walls.”

He expels a deep sigh, causing you to question the legitimacy written in those pages you recited. “I asked about the kingdom, not the castle.”

His question leaves you dumbfounded. The information you collected over the years is limited to everything inside that grandiose, opulent building. There was nothing about the land, animals or even the common folk.

A gust blows the smoke of your little bonfire towards you, and you blink rapidly to avoid any soot from lodging itself into your eyes. Jungkook plucks a large leaf from one of the plants nearby, lazily fanning the fumes away. “That cozy castle and the royal family sitting on top of it all couldn’t care less about their people. They rake their luxuries from our hard work when even one jewel off that crown could feed hundreds.”

You process the cold truth in silence, a shiver overtaking your limbs in spite of the heat in front of you. “Is that why you stole it?”

“I don’t care if they want to plaster my face all over the kingdom and put a bounty on my head, I’m not going to stand around and watch people die from their greedy hands,” he states, proud and resolute.

You’re torn between the anguish nipping at your heels and the relief washing over your head. Living sheltered in that tower, you had no clue about the perils outside your own stone walls, is this what Mother was trying to protect you from?

However, discovering the true nature behind Jungkook’s crimes restores your faith in him, and your shoulders relax as you crane your neck to peer at the stars again. With your curiosity quenched, you move on to another question. “So, how many people get to call you Jungkook?”

He follows your example, leaning back and revelling in the breathtaking sight. “Nobody knows my real name, everyone calls me Geum.”

Your jaw drops a fraction from the admittance, feeling rather privileged that he chose to share it with you. “Your family calls you that too?”

“Don’t have any,” he brushes off your sympathetic gaze with a shrug.

“Why the name Geum?”

You catch his tiny, forlorn smile in your peripheral. “I grew up hearing all about the royal family’s massive parties, overflowing with family, friends—people. They were never lonely. And since they were parading their money around, I thought that was it, that was the secret.”

The dejected tone in his voice clogs your airways and makes it difficult to breathe, stunning your motionless form into remaining as still as a statue, the magnitude of his sorrow sweeping over you in fatal waves.

“And I hoped that maybe naming myself ‘gold’ might give me some luck with that.” With his shoulders downcast, his eyes flicker over to you, gauging your reaction.

You desperately wish you could turn back time to console the young boy whose heart was too big to fit inside his tiny body. Although he’s grown into it now, you strive to ease his suffering by even the slightest fraction. “I think ‘Jungkook’ is even better for making friends.”

The edges of his lips flip upwards as he navigates his face to halt directly right in front of your own, pressing one hand to the other side of your farthest thigh and caging you in. “Would you be my friend, Princess?”

All your blood rushes to your head, warming your cheeks. In a futile attempt to preserve any of your remaining dignity, you shrink back to maintain some distance. But his smirk grows at the sight of your shy response to his advances, his orbs flitting down to your pink lips before returning to your eyes. He looks absolutely ecstatic over your flustered state.

His hot breath fans over your lips and you gather any rational sense you have left inside your muddled brain to push him back, missing the split second his confident facade cracks and a sliver of insecurity shines through. It’s instantly replaced by a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“No matter what you decide to call yourself, I’ll always be your friend.”

Seconds seem like hours as the two of you stare at each other, seeking to uncover the words left unsaid. Jungkook’s palms press against his knees, pushing off of them to come to a standing position and effectively ending your little moment. “I’m gonna go get some more wood.”

You nod, staring at his retreating backside that ventures into the adumbral forest once more. Even though the perpetrator of all these complex emotions is no longer within sight, you feel unsettled from the mere thought of him, yet your heart yearns for him all the same.

“Oh, Petal, I thought he would never leave!” A distinctly high-pitched cry rings out in the empty space, a voice which you didn’t expect to hear until at least tomorrow night.

Your head whips to the side to confirm your suspicions. “Mother?” Her dark figure emerges from the shadows and your heart drops to your stomach. You fumble for the right words, at a loss from her unexpected appearance. “How did you—”

“The better question is how could you, Petal?” she corrects, continuing to step into the light provided by the fire. The once comforting flames turn harsh, sharp pops bursting forth from the aggressive combustion. She lowers her hood to reveal the disappointment etched into her youthful features—and without fail, the sting of upsetting her burns through your conscience. “Really, how could you betray your own mother like this?”

You stand, determined to explain yourself, “Mother, he’s different from the monsters you told me about. If you get to know him, he’s sweet and caring and kind an-and he isn’t after my magic!”

“And that’s where you’re wrong, my naive, little Petal.” She tilts her chin up slightly, peering down at you. “Everyone is the same out here, all looking after themselves.”

You approach her within a few strides. “Mother, please listen to me, he’s different! Even though he puts on a tough front at times, he’s really considerate on the inside.” You fiddle with the tips of your fingers as you whisper the next part, “And I, uh, I think he might like me.”

The reaction you least expect is her startling outburst of laughter, powerful enough to fold her in half, and you wait for her giggles to quiet down before warily stepping forward. Your mother is acting awfully strange. “You think he likes you? And what makes you think that?”

You blanch at her ruthless words, wincing as though they assumed a physical form and punched you repeatedly in the gut.

Her maniacal snickers abruptly cease and a frown mars her lovely face once again, her expression one you recognized from previous reprimands, whether it was shattering a vase or begging to go outside. Your chin falls down to meet your chest, unable to muster up your faux bravery for any longer.

“I’m asking what gave you the idea that he would like some insolent, unsightly brat like you?”

You can’t open your mouth to respond, frozen in fear.

“Hm, what’s with the silence? You seemed so certain earlier, Petal. This is why you never should have left, look at this pitiful romance you’ve created,” she mocks, rounding your nervous form like a predator playing with their prey. “Let’s put him to the test then, shall we?”

Your head snaps up at her odd suggestion, eyes widening at the satchel she uncovers from behind her slim form. “You found it?”

She tosses the bag to you and you outstretch your arms—only to catch it a second too late. The bag drops to the floor and the flap flips open. You race to collect the sparkling crown that tumbles out, hastily shoving the diadem back inside before Jungkook wanders back, even turning towards the fire to ensure his continued absence.

“Why so scared?” your mother questions smugly, “I thought you said that he’s different from the rest of them?”

“He is!” you exclaim, rushing to defend him.

“Then give it to him, let’s see if he stays once he has the crown back in his hands. But don’t come crying back to Mother when he runs for the hills,” she snarls, lifting her hood over her short curls and withdrawing into the woods.

Your mind reels from your mother’s visit, but your concern lies with where to stash the leather satchel in your grasp. Dead leaves crunch under approaching footsteps and you examine your body, contemplating the best area for your idea.

Hiking the hem of your dress up to your stomach, you loop the strap of the bag through your left foot, twisting and repeating until it’s coiled around your ankle and the pouch snugly rests against your skin. You shimmy the satchel until the middle of your thigh where it refuses to go any higher.

Satisfied, you release your dress, smoothing the fabric down and confirming that nothing is suspiciously sticking out. You violently shake your leg back and forth to ensure there would be no future problems and sure enough, the straps tenaciously cling onto your thigh throughout all your testing.

“Hey, look what I found! He’ll definitely save us some travelling time tomorrow, but I don’t think he likes me much.”

Jungkook appears from the area your mother disappeared with an overwhelming pile of lumber in his arms. You stroll over to lessen the load, but he brushes you off and bypasses you to drop it beside the fire.

A white horse tromps along after him, trying to nip at the crown of his head while he shoos it away with a waving hand. The comical sight distracts you from the dreary thoughts of your mother, although the stiff strap wrapped around your leg forbids you from forgetting about it.

When you snap out of your reverie, Jungkook is cocking his head to the side at your unusually spacey behaviour.

You spare him a weak smile and shake your head.

Rather than sore feet, the next day your entire crotch is painfully numb from riding Maximus, the quirky horse who holds an obnoxious grudge against Jungkook for reasons unknown to you. While Max allows you to rub his cheeks, scratch his neck and run your fingers through his mane, he huffs if Jungkook so much as breathes too loudly.

Oddly enough, the stallion follows Jungkook around like a lost puppy despite his cold attitude. What is with males and their inability to show their appreciation for one another?

Jungkook insisted on being in front and taking hold of the reins even though Max refused to let him mount his back at first. After some caresses and loving words with the sweet animal, Max permitted you to hop on—which Jungkook was not pleased with. It was a nice change of pace to watch the ordinarily suave man lose his cool over a horse’s favouritism.

In the end, the only way Jungkook was allowed on was by sitting behind you, latching onto you for stability. The animosity growing between the two males adds to your amusement, so you remain unbothered by the hostile glares you can feel Jungkook throwing over your shoulder and the aggressive puffs of air that blow through Max’s nostrils every once in a while.

“Tell me how you found Max again?” Skepticism leaks into your tone, courtesy of Jungkook’s thieving habits.

You could practically feel his eyes roll back into his head as his arms tighten around your waist. His built torso is glued to your back, which repeatedly distracts you from the path ahead. “I told you that I was collecting some twigs off of the ground when this guy appeared out of nowhere! I was scared shitless.”

“You mean to say that someone accidentally lost their horse in the middle of the woods?” You glance sideways to peek at his chin, lodged into the crook of your neck. His face is merely a couple of millimetres from your own.

When he insisted on resting his head there, you had thoroughly embarrassed yourself with a flaming face, resembling a ripe tomato ready for the picking, coupled with your inability to enunciate any word properly. But after hours of his head smooshed against the side of your face or leaning against your upper back, you finally relax into his hold, finding comfort and safety in the appendages coiled tightly around you.

“Sounds plausible, doesn’t it?”

You scoff at the impish grin stretching across his cheeks at his own horrible excuse.

The castle comes into view in the ensuing half-hour, the imposing building no longer obstructed by the towering trees of the forest. Your spirits are dampened slightly by the cruel secrets Jungkook revealed yesterday night, although your giddiness at the prospect of living out your dreams makes you vibrate in excitement. You remind yourself that you’re here for the magical lights, not the castle.

The faint pounding against your back picks up speed for a reason drastically different to your own. He is essentially walking right into his own imprisonment—his wanted posters more than likely plastered across every flat surface inside the marketplace with soldiers littered around the premises. You gather the sturdy reins into one hand, freeing the other to hold Jungkook’s conjoined digits over your stomach.

Completely engrossed in Jungkook’s dilemma, neither of you notice Max racing into town until a screech pierces your ears. You apologize profusely for the spilled legumes that begin rolling away from the young woman, and you whip Max into trodding off before she curses you out.

Once you’re satisfied with the amount of space between yourselves and the unlucky woman, you tie Max’s reins to a nearby fence and race to join the festivities carrying on all around you. Spotting Jungkook’s unsure form lagging behind, you dart back to tug on his wrist, flashing him an encouraging smile before lugging him from one stall to another.

You don’t get far before you experience a sharp pain on your scalp. With the large amounts of people bustling around the tiny square, your hair is a tripping hazard that you try to quickly bunch up into your arms. Your hair is way too long to carry by yourself, so you turn to ask Jungkook for help, though he’s nowhere to be found.

Your mind races to the worst-case scenario. The guards must have caught sight of him, capturing him off guard while you were none the wiser and now he’s going to be hanged for his crimes all because you were too stupid to—

A couple of little girls with flowers decorating their braids physically yank you out of your trance, their tiny hands gathering your multitudinous strands and dragging you off to the side. You’re about to protest against their actions, more concerned over Jungkook’s whereabouts than anything, but after catching a glance of said man playfully waving at you from a few feet away, you allow yourself to be whisked away.

The three girls deftly move from left to right, taking locks of your hair with them as they knot it all into one humongous five strand braid. When you stand up to your full height, you’re amazed to see that none of your hair touches the ground. Considering the hefty weight that pulls at the back of your head, you know this solution can’t last too long.

They scatter various fresh flowers all over, the scent of the blossoms wafting around your figure. As you’re appreciating their handiwork, an arm wraps itself around the curve of your lower back, drawing you into a herculean chest while you blow air kisses filled with your gratitude to the snickering girls.

Jungkook maneuvers you into a narrow alleyway, and you get a chance to admire his glittering irises from up close.

“Guards?”

He only grins.

You’re certain to keep an eye out for any wandering soldiers from that point on, with you pulling Jungkook behind crowds or him dragging you into the gaps between small buildings. Despite the situation being rather stressful with your lives at stake, your escapade is thrilling nonetheless and you enjoy being pressed up against his lean frame, carelessly giggling to yourselves.

Although neither of you carries any silver, window shopping proves to be equally as amusing—browsing through homemade accessories, toys and masks that you play around with, flashing ridiculous faces at one another.

The delicious smell of baked goods drifts through the streets and prompts your mouths to fill with saliva. You appreciate the artistry behind their beautifully decorated exteriors, adorned with colourful frosting and sprinkles. One booth catches your attention and you latch onto Jungkook’s hand to drag him along.

Rows and rows of shiny green bottles are positioned in perfect rows on a table inside the booth and plushies hang from the sides, acting as bait to any passerby. You tug on the hem of Jungkook’s dark vest, gesticulating towards the game with awe.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a few silver coins that glint in the sunlight. Your eyes widen into saucers at his mischievous grin and you smack his arm, chiding him for his wandering hands as he assures you that he found them on the ground. When he goes as far as to insist that he saved them from being trampled on, you can’t help your tinkling laughter from escaping.

Perhaps it’s karma that prevents your rings from landing on top of any bottle, but the exhilaration of watching the rings soar in midair with a flick of your wrist as Jungkook’s chants fill your ears is priceless. Certainly more precious than any stuffed animal.

You two amble about the streets again, side by side. Long fingers intertwine with your own and your heart flips in your chest, suppressing the raging flush that threatens to colour your cheeks whenever Jungkook is involved. You look around your surroundings, trying to conceal the cheeky grin on your face, resembling that of a toddler with their favourite candy.

Before long, your travelling gaze takes notice of the people hunched over on the ground, concentrated on the stones below them. With a closer look, you discover the sketches littered across the stone pathways—some spanning the entire street and some smaller than your palm.

You bolt over to join them with Jungkook in tow. This whole hand-holding business is proving to be more useful than you thought.

There are pieces of different coloured chalk dispersed throughout the streets, and you pick up an orange one, urging Jungkook to do the same. He searches around for a bit until he decides on a white coloured chalk.

By the time you’re finalizing the tiny drawing you sketched onto the uneven stones, the stub in your hand is half the size of your pinky. Your joints ache from kneeling for so long, but you’re more than satisfied with the bright tiger lily staring back at you.

You stand up, brushing off of any stray rocks that have embedded themselves onto the bare skin of your legs and nudge Jungkook’s arm with your foot. He grumbles under his breath that you ruined the white blob he claims to be a bunny, but you jest that it was doomed the moment he picked up the chalk.

The retort silences him and you stretch your hand out to help him stand, grinning sheepishly at the pout on his pink lips. He accepts your peace offering, although rather than using your aid to get up, he yanks you downwards and your unstable body lands right into his lap. You squeak at his retaliation and wriggle violently in his hold as he curls himself around you, his chin resting onto your shoulder and arms wrapping around your torso to quell your futile efforts of escape.

“You like the nation’s flower?” He questions, nuzzling his face into your upper back.

“Nation’s flower?”

He hums his confirmation and you feel the pleasant vibrations on your neck before he’s nodding towards the purple pennants that dangle off of thin strings, stretching between buildings. Now that you’re actively inspecting the marketplace for the flower, you notice the continuous motif of the orange lily sprouting everywhere from decorations to paintings.

Jungkook seems to have abandoned all hope on his own masterpiece, for he lifts you up by your underarms and leads you away.

As you venture through the rest of the market, grazing through the various stalls, you examine all the knick-knacks depicting the famous tiger lily. It soothes you slightly, recognizing the flower decorating your walls back at the tower.

Lost in your trance, you don’t catch Jungkook slinking away, disappearing into the crowds.

As you turn the corner to browse the next stall’s wares, a massive stained glass window depicting a family of three catches your eye. The man appears stern with his furrowed brows and deep-set frown, and the woman’s forced smile fits awkwardly onto her face. She’s holding a tight bundle of canvas, a tiny face peeking through the layers of fabric in her arms.

Rays of the setting sun pierce through the coloured, translucent material and surround the art piece with an ethereal glow. You’re transfixed by the woman, reminded of your own mother’s delicate features.

You shake off the unpleasant feeling of your last encounter with her and analyze the three squares dedicated to the child’s crumpled face. The only noticeable detail you can make out is his chubby cheeks.

“Interested in the Prince?” A warm breath whispers into your ear, “Am I not good enough for you anymore, Princess?”

You spin around to face Jungkook, barely able to contain your delight as you examine the playful glint in his eyes. “Bold of you to assume there was ever a point where you were good enough for me.”

He scoffs, hands automatically coming to loop around your middle. “I know you’re not suggesting that I’m anything less than stellar company.”

You hum aloud, feigning contemplation by rubbing at your chin and a wide grin breaks his irked performance. He tries to hide his little slip by burrowing his face into the crook of your neck.

His soft cheeks on your bare skin along with his large hands squeezing at your sides elicit all your muffled giggles to burst past your lips. Pure, unadulterated glee bounces around your stomach.

Some of the lilies lodged within your golden strands fall loose and flutter onto the ground with the movement. You intercept one that drops from near your temple, plucking it out of the air and slotting the stem just above Jungkook’s ear.

He pulls away from subjecting your clavicle with his tiny nips in order to rest his forehead against yours. Your head is cradled by one of his palms and you watch as his heated gaze roams down to your lips. Entranced by his overwhelming presence, your eyelids slide shut as he leans forward slightly, tilting his head to the side before a meaty hand encloses around the circumference of your upper arm, yanking you away from him.

Panic seizes your muscles. Your heart threatens to shatter your rib cage with its fierce pounding. The soldiers. You extend your other arm to reach out for Jungkook—the same alarm piercing your flesh is reflected in his blazing orbs. Before he has the chance to rush after you, a dainty woman clothed in a primrose dress sweeps him away as well.

Barely a whole day has passed since you began running away from the soldiers, yet you’re more than certain that the soldier’s attire solely consisted of their royal uniforms, which did not include any flowy, pink garments. You whip back to your own abductor; a stout, jolly man with a cheshire grin stretching from one ear to the other.

He releases you in the middle of a swarming mass of people, moving their bodies left and right to the beat being pounded out on tabors and the sweet melody spilling from a nearby flute.

The man spins you around, encouraging you to let loose and sway your hips to the upbeat song as you’re handed off from one partner to the next. Somewhere within the chaos, you spot Jungkook’s longing stare and you subconsciously inch closer to his side.

The second that you two are within reach of one another, you dart into his arms. Just as you’re about to slip into his comforting embrace, a scrawny boy takes your place while an older woman wraps her arms around your shoulders. She wastes no time before guiding you into a dip, her palms supporting your back.

Upside down, Jungkook’s annoyed countenance is an amusing sight that you gleefully chortle at. Knowing that he is similarly distraught at the prospect of being unable to dance together soothes your aching desire and you savour the thrilling experience of moving as one part of a greater whole.

You prance and twirl your heart out as if it’s your last time. And you’re sure that it will be.

Eventually, both of you are able to slither your way out of the dancing crowds, and the cheers die down the farther you get from the main square. The sun is rapidly falling past the horizon and the capital is shrouded in the deepening twilight. You assumed that he would lead you to see the lanterns about now, but you’re clueless as to why you two are heading away from the castle.

“Jungkook?”

He turns back to you with a breathtaking smile resting on his lips, the dwindling light casting an otherworldly radiance around him. Reaching for your hand, he intertwines your fingers with his own as he leans down to softly bump his forehead against yours. “You’ll see.”

Jungkook directs you towards the moat that surrounds the marketplace, ushering you into one of the many gondolas lined up against the dock. You narrow your eyes at him and he attempts to reassure you with a simple, “We’ll bring it back.”

This man will truly corrupt all your morals.

But you’re so entranced in his spell that you follow along without more than a tiny squeeze at your interlaced digits. You release his hands before he jumps into the boat, the wood swaying back and forth under his weight, worrying you instead of the unbothered man a few feet away. As you take a sharp inhale, about to follow in his footsteps, Jungkook grips the sides of your hips and lifts you into the gondola with him.

You fix him with a reproachful glare at his unexpected actions yet the silent scolding doesn’t last long, for you’re hopeless to the sight of his elation, sticking to him like a second skin. Powerless against his charms, you sit on the thin wooden seat on the other side of the boat and watch him grab an oar, dipping it into the water and propelling you two forward.

You want to admire the unobstructed view of the sparkling night sky, but nothing can beat the galaxies hidden within Jungkook’s eyes, thus you try to seem as inconspicuous as possible in ogling him from your peripheral. However, your futile efforts are rather pointless considering your position, facing the handsome thief rowing the boat at the other end.

You think the title is fitting since he’s stolen your heart without a problem as well.

Once he deems your spot satisfactory, Jungkook strolls over to your side, taking a seat on the bench across from you. His legs slot in between the spaces of your own.

“Now that I think about it, it’s the Prince’s eighteenth birthday too,” he states. “He must be pretty excited, taking over the throne and everything.”

You perk up at the news. “He’s succeeding the King?”

“Mm,” he affirms, wetting his lips with a swipe of his tongue. “King announced an early retirement or something because they’d already found the Prince’s betrothed. His coronation is today.”

You nod your understanding, thinking about the responsibilities bearing down on the poor boy. “It’s kind of weird to think about, y’know, being the same age and even sharing the same birthday but leading completely different lives. He’s about to get married, lead a country and me...” you falter, pausing to string your thoughts into a coherent sentence. “Well, this is my entire dream. Seeing these lights is everything to me.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” he asks, shrugging his shoulders. “You’re living your own life, on your own journey. Comparing yourself to others does nothing but rob yourself of your own happiness.”

You hum with a teasing lilt to your tone. “Suddenly the boy who named himself ‘gold’ in the hopes of attracting some friends is giving me advice?”

He breaks out into a chuckle, doubling over and laying his forehead on your shoulder. His hands reach out for the locks of hair resting on your lap, plucking one of the flowers swimming in your strands. Like Hansel and his bread crumbs, many of the blossoms that fell off throughout your time in the marketplace left tracks of your whereabouts. Only a few flowers remain with you.

With the delicate daisy between his thumb and index finger, he rolls the pads of his fingers against each other, spinning the white petals so fast that they blur together into a splotchy circle surrounding the yellow centre. Once he becomes bored with the flower, he lifts his head and stretches his arm out with a classic smirk that heightens his flirtatious nature. “For you, my lady.”

You huff at the offering. “You act as if it wasn’t already mine in the first place.” Despite your sharp words, you gingerly pluck the stem out of his grasp, fingers brushing against his own. When you raise the daisy up to your nose, the invigorating floral scent startles your senses once more.

With not much else to occupy your time, you decide that now is a better time than ever to dislodge the wilting buds from your tresses. You face the side of the gondola overlooking the water, grabbing onto the ledge and leaning forward.

You muster all the grace you have within your bones to place the ivory daisy onto the water’s surface. The flower drifts along the calm current, painting the atmosphere with a tranquil serenity.

Despite your best efforts to suppress them, your clumsy tendencies shine through when you tip your torso over a smidge too far, losing your balance and diving headfirst for the water. Jungkook is quick to latch on to your wrist, steadying you before you accidentally throw yourself overboard.

You’re sheepish in both your apology and thanks. To avoid any further mishaps, one of his hands remain on your lower back and the other collects the remaining blossoms in your tresses, handing them off to you.

A slow rhythm develops between you two and your raging thoughts come to a standstill, a red light halting the traffic within your mind. In front of you, a garden of assorted blossoms assembles, floating gently towards the ornate castle. One sprout catches your eye.

A tiger lily.

Directly below its long petals, a flash of bright red catches your eye in the reflection of the water. Jungkook’s deep voice cleaves through the soft sloshing of the water. “The lanterns.”

“It’s…” You struggle to piece together proper words to describe the sight before you. One lantern lightens the dark sky, drifting alone in the expansive space before a bunch of others race to join the first. Their warm, yellow glow overpowers that of the moon, painting the landscape in an orange tint that seems to welcome you into its embrace.

“Beautiful.”

You’re too distracted by the enchanting sight before you to notice his eyes trained on your profile, and so you soundlessly agree with a nod of your head. It’s as if time has ceased in its endless ticking, halting in its tracks for another world to open where only you and Jungkook exist.

You don’t mind the idea as much as you think you would.

“I have a surprise.”

You turn over to face him, head tilting in curiosity. He carries a paper lantern in his open palms and your brows furrow at his attentive, considerate behaviour. “Jungkook?”

“We should join in on all the fun, right?” A genuine smile illuminates his soft features instead of the usual smirks he casually throws your way. Oddly enough, despite your inability to operate in front of his flirty personality, you adore both sides equally.

“Kook, wait.”

He perks up at the nickname, reminding you of a dog with its tail violently wagging back and forth—you can’t help but be enamoured by him. You raise the hem of your dress up to the middle of your left thigh and he sputters, looking away. “Hey, hey! I know I’m pretty irresistible but this boat is not the place to—”

“No, you idiot.” You snicker at his unexpected timidity, shimmying the coiled strap down your leg and covering your decency once again with the fabric. “I have something for you too.”

He peeks at you, ensuring that you’re sufficiently clothed before turning to face you. A cold sweat settles over the outer layer of your skin as you watch his brows raise at his satchel in your hands. Keeping the lantern in one hand, and his steady gaze focused on your eyes, he gently pushes the bag down to the floor of the boat, the metal of the crown banging against the wood.

“All I need is you,” he whispers the words into the empty space of the night, the syllables getting lost somewhere within the mellow breeze blowing by. Your heart constricts at the reassurance that this time, Mother is wrong. You fight back the tears gathering at your waterline and grab the other edge of the lantern after he lights the candle inside.

“Ready?” he asks.

You nod and the two of you slowly lift your arms to release the lantern with the masses drifting above you. After a bit, you lose sight of your paper lantern and you glance back at Jungkook to ask whether he was able to keep track of its location, but your voice gets stuck in your throat when you become captivated with the childlike wonder buried within his orbs, roaming over the sky and examining every single lantern at once.

His scouring eventually leads him back to you. He catches you staring, but neither of you care enough to break the moment. His eyes soften and you two shuffle forward on your seats, being pulled toward one another like magnets. Your legs entangle with his in the cramped area and you lean forward until your lips are millimetres from one another.

From this close, you have a perfect view of your reflection within his brilliant irises, the shallow scar that runs along his cheek, the cute birthmark right under his mouth. His eyes are locked on your mouth and you take that as the go-ahead signal to close the gap and slot your lips against his soft ones.

With your evident lack of experience, Jungkook takes control immediately, a hand flying to the back of your head, threading through your hair to keep you in place as he sucks at your lower lip. His tongue swipes at the closed seam that blocks him from your mouth, and you instantly open up to clash tongues, although you shrink back soon after, letting him explore your hot cavern.

You sneak a peek at him every time you two separate for air, confirming that this is indeed reality and not some product of your wild imagination. He invades all your senses and keeps you locked to him like an addict desperate for their fix, his other palm searing through your clothing with its heat and burning a hole through the thin fabric of your dress.

When you finally pull away, you feel feverish and dizzy as a raging blush colours your cheeks. You can’t find it in yourself to look directly into his eyes, but he reaches for your chin and forces you to study the haze of passion in his gaze.

Every part of your body is lit aflame from his touch. Hooked on the feeling of his plush lips pressing against yours with your tongues swirling in tandem with one another, you’re about to lean in for more when his eyes dart off to the side and he abruptly jerks away as if you burned him with your embrace.

His startling jolt snaps you out of your dazed state. With your head out of the clouds, you notice that the lanterns have already moved onto the next town over, taking their warmth with them. The fire within you, kindled by Jungkook, dwindles with the uncertainty of your future together.

Without so much as another word, Jungkook snatches the oar from the bottom of the boat and jumps back to his position at the front of the gondola. He urgently paddles the two of you back to land and you fumble for words. “Jungkook, I—”

“It’s not you.” His statement is reassuring in writing, although his tone is detached, distant in a way that crushes the passages to your lungs. Lost in your dejection, you’re powerless to prod him for any more information than that.

Before the boat can hit the edge of the dock, Jungkook springs out with his leather satchel tucked under his arm, pausing to mutter, “I just—I have to take care of something. Please believe me when I say I’ll be back.” His anguish leaks into his voice and you will yourself to nod, a forced smile on your lips. “Wait for me.”

He dashes off with your heart in his hands. You steady your shaky breath and place your faith in him, the man you have come to trust with your life.

You spend the next half hour struggling to get out of the gondola, craving the flat land to ground yourself. By the time you manage to clamber out, there are a couple of discoloured blotches on the length of your dress that put your many failed attempts on full display. You fan one of the bigger spots to help it dry faster, but the fabric becomes chilly with the extra wind and a shiver slips down your spine from its icy temperature.

Languid footsteps approach your frigid frame and you brighten up, forgetting about the cold. “Took you long enough. Y’know, for a second there I was worried you’d actually lef—”

You pick up more than one pair of feet advancing on you and your eyes widen at the lanky, redheaded twins that stop in front of your path. Cursing your quivering limbs, you cringe at the tremor in your voice when you ask, “What did you do to him?”

They simultaneously snort at your question and the one on the left replies, “Sorry about this, lass, but you’re gonna have to come with us.”

The blood drains from your face and you repeat, louder, “What did you do to him?”

“Aw, don’t get all riled up now. But don’t worry your pretty little head, we’re going to take you right to him.” They corner you back to the dock and you scramble to locate a weapon to defend yourself with. At your wit’s end, you prepare to jump into the murky waters.

However, before you get the chance to move another muscle, an intense pain blooms at the back of your skull, wrapping around to your temples accompanied by a flash of light exploding behind your eyes. Then everything goes black.

Your head pounds as a dull ache nestles itself deep within your bones. Your vision is nothing but a blurry, indecipherable mess of colours, so you opt to keep your eyes closed instead. You’re kneeling on cold tiles that rub your knees raw when you subtly shift into a more comfortable position, discovering the existence of the shackles around your wrists and ankles.

“—nd the girl. We expect you to keep your end of the deal.” The rugged tone that speaks is one that you recognize from before your blackout—one of the redheads.

“Yes, yes, all the charges laid against you have been cleared,” a high-pitched voice meets your ears and you subconsciously grimace, physically recoiling from the sound. Thankfully, your sharp motions go unnoticed. “You’re free to go.”

“What?” You hear shuffling nearby, the rustling of clothes getting farther away from you. The distinct, metallic sheen of a couple of swords being unsheathed follow and the footsteps come to a sudden stop. “You promised us gold.”

The woman scoffs, “Now why would I give you crooked-nosed knaves anything more than a death sentence?”

Many polished boots clamber against the ground with such force that the vibrations can be felt through the flesh of your folded calves. The grunts and garbled screams that ensue are silenced within seconds and two hefty weights hit the floor with a limp, lifeless thud.

“A pleasure working with you boys.”

There’s more shuffling, then something is dragged past your crumpled form. The throbbing across your cranium worsens and you’re incapable of fending off the blissful oblivion of desolation any longer, thus you surrender to the darkness once more.

The next time you open your eyes a harsh light coats your surroundings and the blocks of colour are clearer, sharp enough to decipher the intricate detailing painted on the tiles beneath your knees. Someone chokes on a wet cough, and your eyelids snap shut once more. Your nose crinkles in disgust as well.

“Her tiny skull should have been rolling through these halls eighteen years ago.” The woman’s wretched tone fills your ears, words full of deadly poison.

You remain chained, kneeling against the ground with your head lowered. A numbing sensation lingers no matter how much you fidget in place, bearing down your limbs with the weight of your useless nerves that refuse to fire off.

Another, deeper, voice responds, “Tone it down. Her magic is powerful, the advantage we hold over the other kingdoms is colossal with this kind of sorcery on our side. If she falls, the whole empire will fall with her.”

Sorcery? Although you can count the number of people you met on one hand, you’ve studied heaps of books and drilled your mother with enough questions to know that your magic is unique and rare—a product of alchemy that occurs merely once every millennium.

“I see no point in keeping her around when we cannot access her magic at our will, she is as good as worthless to us. That halfwit of a sister was incapable of locking this churl in a tower for long enough, and look at her now, running around, wreaking havoc with a criminal.”

Your mind swirls with the sudden barrage of information, unsure as to why these two strangers hold deep insights into your life, as well as the knowledge about your unusual hair.

“There is nothing to worry about, Jimin is on the throne. We will simply send her away once again,” the gruff voice states, exasperation clear in his tone.

A deafening thud reverberates throughout the spacious room. Helpless to the dreadful fear swimming in your veins, your body shudders in response to the noise.

The woman shrieks, clearly at her wits’ end, “I want her dead! Guillotine, hang, drown, burn, I could care less. She poses a threat to Jimin’s throne with her existence, and we have gone through too much to have our plans foiled by this knave. We were merciful enough in having my imbecilic sister continue to meet with Jimin throughout the years.”

There’s a long, drawn-out sigh before the man answers, “Have some heart, darling, that is her son you speak of.”

“In the eyes of the people, he is my son and the King,” she seethes. Her enmity is strangely familiar, yet you fail to identify the woman through her voice. “Quit acting as if I am the only sinner here and remember how much we both sacrificed for our blood to inherit the King’s throne.”

“It is not your blood though, is it, dear wife?”

The tension within the room is thick, palpable in the dense air in the way that makes breathing difficult. “You must have enjoyed sleeping with my sister more than I believed. Do you want to call her back here? Play a good husband and wife for the counterfeit King?”

You couldn’t keep the tremours from breaking out over your body as your breaths quicken and an abundance of liquid races to your eyes. It was all beginning to come together, but you wait for the two to confirm your suspicions.

The man chuckles with hollow intent. “Do you fail to recall your own words, pleading with me to follow this foolish scheme of yours? I would have much rather preferred a foreigner rule the kingdom alongside our daughter.”

“Funny, that’s not what you said eighteen years ago.”

You let out a choked sob, unable to repress the sounds of anguish that tears at your skin to brutal shreds. Enraged rivulets stream down your cheeks, and you lift your torso to stare at your legitimate parents. They turn to you, the man distraught and the woman with pure disgust.

“How—” you stammer through your heavy wails, “how could you?”

“So the Princess found out.” Your biological mother raises from her royal seat, storming over the short distance to your trembling form. “Fine, we can strike an agreement.”

She reaches behind your head to grab a handful of your hair, yanking your head up to peer up at the exquisitely decorated ceiling. When you yelp in pain, she crouches down to your level, baring her pearly white teeth as she threatens, “Leave. Be a good little girl and go hole yourself back up in that tower. Don’t worry, Mommy will come get you if we ever need that magic of yours, hm?”

You desperately wriggle around to loosen her hold, but she only grips your strands tighter, pulling downwards to introduce more pain to your scalp. “That thief will stay right here to ensure you keep up your end of the deal, alright?”

At the mention of Jungkook, your heart stutters and your expression morphs to that of despair, momentarily forgetting about the strain to the sensitive skin of your head. “Where is he?”

She smirks and snaps her fingers. The door to the throne room is pulled open with a loud clack, and Jungkook’s weak, bloody form stumbles through the grand entrance, hanging upright with the help of two sturdy guards.

“Kook,” you achingly howl.

“Mopping all his blood off the floor would be terribly tiresome for the maids.” She jerks your head down to bear witness to the sneer stretching across her lips. “It’s all up to you, really.”

“Let me heal him!” you agonize, sobs ripping through your chest, burning through every tissue to the outermost layer of your skin. “Pl-please, please let me heal him. I’ll leave, I won’t say a word, I’ll do anything you want—I’m b-begging you, please.”

The wicked smirk playing on her lips grows wider at your pleading. She shoves your head away, the momentum of the push throwing your whole torso over to the side, bringing about a harsh meeting with the floor. With Jungkook occupying every crevice of your mind, there’s no space to register the pain pulsing through your groggy body.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

You scramble to your hands and knees, disregarding the scrapes and bruises littering your limbs. Despite your tunnel vision directed towards reaching Jungkook, your movements are sluggish from the extended period of time spent kneeling in one position.

The guards supporting him release their hold on his arms, and you scramble to catch his limp frame in your arms, but your depleted muscles can only manage to soften his fall with your body. You detangle yourself from him and hurriedly begin wrapping your hair around his torso.

Your jaw trembles at his damp locks, sodden with sweat and stuck to the side of his head dripping in crimson. The vicious colour oozes out of the deep gashes you locate across his back, peeking through the tears in his shirt and stains the bloody spit drooling from the corners of his cracked lips. Great purple welts fill the rest of his exposed skin, completing the heart-wrenching picture before you.

You pick up the weak croak of your name, and you hiccup from your fierce laments at his red-rimmed eyes. “Guess I was right all along, Princess.”

Your mother’s cruel words follow the nasty glower she shoots his way. “Shut up or we’ll end your pitiful life now, you filthy criminal.”

“Jungkook, I’m here,” you reassure him, beginning to wrap your excess strands around his arms before he stops you with a stained hand. “Jungkook let me—”

“Stop,” he mutters, gripping his side in pain.  

“No! I can’t—I can’t let you die.” You grit your teeth, disobeying his words and going to wrap your tresses around his broken body once more.

“If you go back there,” he coughs, an alarming amount of blood spurting out, “then you’ll—”

“It’s fine, everything will be alright, okay?” You press your palm over his hand and the icy bite that greets you hardens your resolve. “We’ll figure it out.”

You take a deep breath, readying yourself to sing the incantation engraved into the back of your mind when Jungkook’s fingers graze your cheek. You unconsciously lean into his touch, examining every crimson stain marring his delicate features.

His doe eyes soften at your orbs roaming his face and when your gaze settles on his thin lips, he snatches the chance to land a peck against your mouth. The fleeting kiss fills you with greed, and your eyes flutter shut despite your rationale as you dip towards him for another.

You halt, gasping at the gut-wrenching sound of your tresses being severed from the base of your neck, the noise snapping you back to reality. Your eyes widen at Jungkook’s relieved countenance as his torso reclines to the ground, the sharp dagger in his hand rattling onto the tiles beside him. When you reach back to assess the damage, your hand grips onto the short strands that reach no further than your shoulder.

You glance back at the heaps of dead, brown hair sprawled across the palace floor and your mind wipes clean of any coherent thought. Instead, your chest caves in on itself, breathing made impossible because of your collapsed airways and you choke out, “Jungkook, what did you—”

“What an absolute halfwit, does he think he did anyone a favour with that little stunt of his? Without your hair, we have no need for either of you.” Your biological mother laughs, the notes turning ominously maniacal towards the end. “Kill them.”

Guards immediately surround you two, and in a weak attempt to protect him from their pointed swords, you cradle Jungkook’s powerless form to your chest. You prepare yourself to bear the end of their piercing blades.

“What do you roaches think you’re doing?” she seethes, blazing orbs flashing with white-hot fury. “I said, kill them!”

The gigantic doors burst open again, but this time, a lean man strides forward. His blond strands are neatly styled away from his forehead and the regal red robe hanging upon his shoulders elegantly sway after him. The soldiers part ways to make room for the intimidating man and one of his retainers at the door announces, “The King is here!”

You struggle to even out your frantic breaths, thankful for the distraction that grants you a break to rack your brain for a method to escape the dreadful situation you two have found yourselves in. Debating whether you should fight back, sneak away or plead for forgiveness, your eyes dart wildly around the room. A woman donned in a black cloak lingers slightly behind the King, gazing at you with a murderous glare that sends pin needles into the thin lining of your stomach.

“That’s enough,” the King states.

“Jimin.” The former Queen races up to him but is stopped by the retainers that encircle the King.  “What business do you have here? There are more important matters for you to attend to.” Her eyes narrow at the sight of the woman behind him.

“No, I think this has gone on long enough.” He sweeps his gaze over to the two of you, Jungkook barely clinging onto life, nestled within your protective embrace. The woman latches onto his bicep, her head vigorously shaking back and forth, yet you’re uncertain whether her disagreement will relieve your anguish or worsen it.

Despite her insistence, his head nods in your direction and the woman that raised you begrudgingly marches up to you, barely acknowledging your presence in favour of pressing her palms against Jungkook’s open lacerations. He winces at the pressure and just as you’re about to tell her off, you discern the thick gauze that rests between her hand and Jungkook’s side, the sterile white shade expeditiously being replaced by a bloody crimson.

“What are you talking about, dear?” the former Queen asks, a hard edge to her tone. “These two are hedge-born lowlives, simply not worth your time.”

He crinkles his nose in disgust, flicking his hand towards the former King and Queen. “Lock them up in the dungeons.”

Both their eyes widen comically, jaws dropping to the floor. However, you can’t find joy within their despair when Jungkook’s survival is still up in the air.

The woman sputters, recklessly thrashing her body to escape the soldiers’ grip. The man simply lowers his head, seemingly having accepted his fate as he follows the guards without another word.

“Did you forget who put you in that throne, Park Jimin?” the woman screeches, the blood vessels lining her neck about to implode. “How dare you disrespect your pare—”

“How could I ever forget your treacherous actions?” he spits out, disgust lacing his voice, “How could I ever forget how many lives you’ve ruined, dear aunt.”

“We did it all for you!”

“You did it for yourselves,” he hisses. Relief trickles through the tips of your fingers, spreading across your body like wildfire from the King’s aid. “Get them out of my sight.”

“You worthless—” Her shrieks echo throughout the halls, though you’ve long lost focus in their conversation after watching the two wretched souls being punished and put in their rightful place.

Your aunt passes some thick bandages from inside the bell sleeve of her cloak. You gratefully accept the offering, pressing it against his lower back—wishing that it’s not too late, that Jungkook has not lost too much blood yet. The passive stare that your aunt fixes you with crams your head with doubt and you begin to panic, bringing one of your hands up to cradle his face.

Although you’re convinced that you wailed through an entire year’s worth of sobs, the tears sliding down your face refuse to stop, dripping down and landing onto the dirtied skin of Jungkook’s cheek. You press your forehead against his, hoping against hope that some magic remains within your body, that the tiniest bit will reveal itself like a bag trick and heal his wounds.

But your magical hair was extraordinary enough, and this is no fairytale.

“Get those two to the physician’s,” the King orders.

Guards scramble to action, ripping you apart from Jungkook as you unsuccessfully attempt to resist being separated again. You’re absolutely spent from the tiring events of the past couple of days and your weary legs give out as the soldiers lift your drained form into a standing position.

Jungkook is moved onto a sturdy sheet, then carried away past the double doors and out of sight. Your flimsy arms wrap around the shoulders of two guards as they assist you in following Jungkook to the physician, passing the King on your way.

His plush lips stretch into a sympathetic, tight-lipped smile, but the adrenaline from earlier wears off and the sting of your own wounds drains you of your manners, uncaring that you’re facing the King. Thankfully, he dismisses your discourtesy instead of beheading you, and you’re hauled away from the gracious man.

On the way, you’re close enough to overhear what he mutters under his breath. A garbled scream rips through your throat in protest, and you shoot the King the deadliest glare you can muster. He releases a deep sigh at your childish antics, waving as you turn the corner.

“Poor guy doesn’t look like he’s going to make it.”

You spend the next few, rather tedious, days in a luxurious bed, being fretted over by everyone from the maids to the chefs. It was difficult to indulge in the extravagance that the castle had to offer when you were anxiously awaiting news regarding Jungkook, which they refused to disclose until your own condition improved.

After all the pampering, you were permitted access past the confines of the expansive room you were forced to recover in. Your injuries were minor in comparison to Jungkook, thus you were granted freedom much earlier than him.

Not like he was capable of stepping outside of his room anyway.

Although his body is repairing his torn flesh incrementally, he shows no signs of consciousness—not the twitch of a finger, the flutter of an eyelash, nothing. Doubt claws a bit higher up your torso each day, waiting for the moment that the disquiet slithers up your esophagus and suffocates you.

Despite the crushing news of his coma-like state, you work diligently to ensure that neither you nor Jungkook becomes a burden to the castle by picking up various duties. Jimin continuously waves off your attempts to help, but you’re restless and desperate for a distraction from wondering about Jungkook’s condition all the time.

Jimin banned you from performing some of the maid’s tasks once, then sorely regretted it when he had to tend to your nervous breakdown in the afternoon. Since then he has kept his comments on your excessive working habits to himself.

Today you’re in Jungkook’s room, dusting off the spotless shelves that house the many herbs being grounded into powders and rubbed as a salve onto his injuries daily. You organize the rolled bandages for the second time in the past hour and mop every inch of the floor.

You can’t devote yourself to lingering by the unconscious man’s side for too long, otherwise your mind gradually begins to spiral into every possible worst-case scenario and you simply can’t handle the reality of a future without him. It sounds overly dramatic—many of the maids you have grown close to over the months claimed as much when you brought up your journey together.

But they didn’t hear his melodic laughter that followed his teasing smirks when he said something flirtatious, effectively making your heart skip a beat. They didn’t feel his hand always reaching out to make contact with you in some way, craving your touch to ground him to reality. They didn’t see his eyes softening when he gazed at you as though you were holding his entire world in your eyes.

They didn’t know Jungkook the way you did.

You strain the mop of its excess dirtied water before stowing the tool away in the storage room. When you return, a draft filters in through the open window and you race over to close it, worried that Jungkook may catch a bothersome cold that will delay his healing process.

You take a seat on the lavish mattress adjacent from his thighs as you stare out the window in front of you. The air remains stale in spite of the fresh breeze that blew into the room seconds prior, and the dull atmosphere persists due to the lifeless man inhabiting its space.

You’re uncertain how many more times you can handle walking into this room with his weak body lying motionless on these pristine sheets, but you will endure it all without complaint for him. A knock at the door catches your attention, and you twist around to meet Jimin’s friendly beam. “How is he?”

“Same as he always is,” you state, allowing yourself to take in Jungkook’s sunken cheeks and pale face. “Unresponsive.”

“You wanna join me in the gardens for some fresh air?” At your unsure raise of a brow, he convinces you with, “You’ve been cooped up in the castle the whole day.”

The both of you head out to view the lush scenery outside, seated amongst the blooming tulips, although your eyes are drawn to the lilies that border the lilac cosmos. You trace the familiar shape of the orange flower with your pupils, reminiscing on the doodles decorating your room’s walls back at the tower. That seems like forever ago now.

Other than his lack of consciousness, Jungkook’s condition remains relatively stable and yet you still find it burdensome to stray too far from his side. The staff is under orders to instantly notify you should he arise while you’re away, but that doesn’t ease the disquiet that rouses whenever you leave the castle walls.

You’re convinced that the second you wander off, he will wake up without you there; a thought too unbearable to consider. You crave to lose yourself within his molten ember orbs once more, exploring the undiscovered galaxies in his gaze.

“These past few months must seem unfathomable,” he starts, pressing his lips together to ponder over his next words before continuing. “I don’t know how my mom treated you in the tower but, knowing her, I’m guessing it wasn’t too great.”

His casual mention of the affectionate term you pleaded to call your mother for ages—the topic she despised almost as much as you begging to venture outside the tower—stung the slightest bit. From her actions, it was evident that she never cared for you as much as her own, biological son, but it was difficult to dismiss the joyful memories you shared with her, no matter how few and far between they were.

“She started visiting me a few years back, explaining all their horrendous crimes and insisting that she was the only one I could trust. She told me about you, too. Your mother ordered her to lock you away in that tower and ensure that nobody ever found out the truth in exchange for my seat on the throne. ”

Your head lowers at the information, brows furrowing as you contemplate your true relationship with the woman that raised you from birth.

“When my mom caught word of you travelling with the thief, she returned the crown in hopes that Jungkook would run for the hills, and you would be left to come back with her. Her goal was to overtake the kingdom from your mother.” His eyes gloss over with a distant sheen and you sympathize with him; the boy was used as a tool, just like you.

“It’s reassuring in a way.” His strange admittance prompts you to glance up at him, confusion swirling within your orbs. “At least we’re both suffering from our family’s despicable actions.”

Our family.

His optimistic viewpoint hits you like a wave crashing against the shore, sharing his vast fortitude and washing away a fraction of the sombre agony tormenting your heart. Although Jimin’s life was no doubt disparate from your own, you two are connected through the blood running through your veins. Even if those same bonds brought you to a tragic meeting with your own wicked parents, at least you could rely on one person within your family.

The edges of your lips curl into a tiny smile aimed at the blond man across from you, your own short, chestnut coloured hair providing a stark contrast. “I’m glad I can rely on you, Jimin.”

He readjusts his weight on the green, iron chair and leans forward to rest his elbows on the metal table between the two of you. “I think this is the first time you’ve called me by my name without me having to remind you.”

You quietly giggle at the memories flooding your mind, from the hostile attitude you first approached him with, then the days he comforted you over Jungkook’s motionless form, to Jimin demanding that you call him by his first name. You consider yourself extremely lucky to have someone as gracious and compassionate as Jimin to be your half-brother.

“I know we’ve already gone over this,” he starts with a serious edge to his tone, “but this is your last chance.”

You rip your gaze away from the plants to lay a couple of light pats to his hand. Despite the lack of context, the topic is familiar to you, as he has gone over this with you many times. “No, I don’t want the throne. You trained for this position your whole life, so I’m entrusting the kingdom to your capable hands. All I ask is for you to fulfill my request.”

Jimin releases a heavy sigh. “If you really want him free of all his crimes, there’s no way you two can live within the capital.”

“That’s fine with me.” You shrug your shoulders, unconcerned about the prospect of having to leave the busy city. “I don’t think I could live somewhere like this anyway.”

You don’t expand on your reasoning, and he doesn’t question you further, simply sparing you a solemn, understanding gaze. Supposedly, you aren’t supposed to pick favourites within your family, but Jimin is definitely golden in your eyes.

“Deeply sorry to intrude, Your Royal Majesty, but your betrothed is at the door and wishes to meet with you.” A guard inches his way towards your table with his head bowed, hands respectfully gathered behind his back.

Jimin looks to you with an apology on his tongue, but you wave him off before any explanations can spill from his plump lips. “Go get your girl.”

A bright smile enlightens his features as he springs up from his seat, dusting off his uniform before bounding after the guard. When he quirks his head back, you demonstrate your encouragement through a thumbs-up that you wave from side to side until he is satisfied, facing forward with a gleeful snicker.

You inhale the outdoor air, about to head inside yourself to rearrange Jungkook’s bandages again when your eyes wander back to the tiger lilies that caught your eye earlier. Within a few strides, you reach the vibrant buds, stretching your hand out to pluck a few stems. The sweet smell invades your senses.

With a tiny bouquet in hand, you make your way back inside, the metaphorical load on your shoulders a bit lighter than it was before. You expertly maneuver your way through the halls towards Jungkook’s room with the dwindling hope that today will be the day that his honey orbs reflect the sun’s light filtering in the window, filled with the mischief and tenderness that you remember.

When you’re met with his unmoving form instead, another sliver of that faith shatters into tiny shards.

You shake it off and head back to the windowsill, where an empty flower vase rests. The lilies within your grasp are carefully inserted inside and you place the bouquet back onto the tiny platform. Their floral scent wafts throughout the space as you take your place beside his legs.

As part of your usual routine, you use this time to relax. Just for a moment, you give yourself the room to breathe, giving your brain free rein to feel the emotions raging within you and fantasize about your future with Jungkook. You imagine yourself in a tiny cottage, craving a quaint place to live after the immense tower you were raised in.

The two of you would settle down there, adopting a pet to keep you company before you inevitably brought a few children into the world. Their genders didn’t matter, as long as you could raise them with Jungkook, forming a tight-knit family that shared all the love the both of you lacked growing up.

A warm hand wraps around your wrist. Your head snaps to follow the direction of his arm, curving into his broad shoulders, and past his sharp jaw with your heart in your throat. Tears gather at your waterline, spilling over onto your cheeks as you hiccup from the sudden sobs that overtake your body.

The doe eyes that stare back at you carry your whole world in their weight.

+ epilogue.

Tiny footsteps scuttle around the wooden floors, screaming in delight from being chased by a much larger, yet still very childlike, man. “Betchya can’t catch me, daddy!”

Your husband playfully roars at the taunt, speeding up his strides to snatch the little girl up into his arms. She shrieks at the hand that comes up to tickle her little torso.

“Okay, okay, enough playing you two,” you command, calming the baby boy in your arms that becomes far too excited from the chaotic energy erupting within your cottage. “It’s dinnertime!”

“Dinnertime!” your oldest repeats, violently wriggling around in her father’s grip to force him in lowering her back to the ground so that she can run to her spot at the table. She looks from side to side, doe eyes flitting back to you with a pout on her lips. “But where’s Pascal, Mommy?”

You pass the baby to Jungkook, freeing your hands in order to bring the steaming hot food from the stove to the table. The beige chameleon fades back into his natural emerald colour once you grab him by his scaly torso, dropping him into your daughter’s awaiting hands.

Her squeaky voice chides, “You can’t hide from Mommy.”

A boisterous, yet melodic neigh notifies you of Max’s presence in your backyard, and you shamble past the wooden door to hand the carrots you prepared for him. He snorts in delight as he lowers his head to the floor and begins chomping away. At the sight of his dirtied mane, you take a mental note to give him a thorough wash and brush later on.

Before you head inside, you catch sight of a blond man making his way towards you. “Jimin!”

His eyes reduce to two crescents from the wide grin that occupies his face. He swapped out his imposing robe for a commoner’s shirt and slacks, and they strangely suit his lithe form better than his bulky uniform.

“And where’s our lovely Queen?” You tease, elbowing him when he reaches out to ruffle the top of your head.

“Taking care of things that I don’t want to do.” You two snicker, ecstatic to see one another, and you step aside to let him coddle your children. The slight breeze in the air gingerly kisses your face, rustling the leaves on the trees surrounding your tiny house, and you close your lids to relish in the tranquillity of nature.

A pair of familiar arms curl around the shape of your waist and a smile creeps onto your lips as you open your eyes to examine Jungkook’s face, inches away from your own. He brushes your brown strands over your shoulder, leaning in for a quick peck as a loud chorus of disgust is vocalized behind you.

Both of you break out into giggles at your daughter’s behaviour and turn to face your family waiting for you inside. With your hand tangled with his, you walk to a brighter future together.

[gothighunicorntolerance]

Baited

Logan is kidnapped by the Dragon Witch, a notorious super villain.

AO3

Putting his laptop in his bag, Logan stood from behind the librarian’s desk. 

“Bye, Logan!” His coworker Patton said. “Have a nice day!”     “Goodbye, Patton. You as well,” Logan slung his bag over his shoulder and started walking to where his car was parked, behind the public library where he worked. Stopping to fish his car keys out of his pocket, his thoughts briefly wandered to his boyfriend, Roman, who would probably be finishing up his shift at the restaurant he worked at.  When Logan got home to their apartment, they would change and then go out to dinner- they had been planning tonight for a few weeks now, and though Logan wouldn't admit it to anyone except Roman, he was quite honestly very excited. 

Right as Logan found his keys after checking all his pockets, he heard footsteps behind him. It was likely Patton, though he new Patton didn’t normally leave until later-

Before he could turn around, a pair of hands clapped over Logan’s mouth, muffling the shriek that escaped his lips.

He struggled, trying to shake off his attacker, but they were too strong. Logan was kicked to the ground from behind, someone still holding him. His head hit the asphalt and his vision became blurry- he was now just dimly aware of his hands being bound together.

He now lay helpless on the ground, his cheek and glasses pressing into the concrete, a knee on his back. 

“Get him to the boss,” someone said before a cloth was pressed over his mouth and nose. His vision blackened as hands grabbed him around the waist and started dragging him away from his car, away from tonight’s dinner plans. 

Roman sat on the couch, looking at his phone and waiting for Logan’s text that he was heading home. As the hours ticked by, Roman became increasingly worried. If Logan was staying late, wouldn’t he text? It wasn’t like Logan to miss or forget plans, so what was the hold up? He and Logan had been planning this dinner for weeks, and their reservation was in half an hour! 

Roman bit his thumb, a nervous habit that Logan was trying to get him to stop, and decided to call his boyfriend. Even though Logan was very strict about his rule that he had his phone on silent while working, surely he would pick up, right? 

    Roman took a deep breath and pressed the call button. It rang once, twice, and Roman mouthed “please answer, please answer, please answer…”

    He answered! 

“Logan! Hey, I was getting worried! Are you staying late?”

“If you want to see him again, you’ll come to number 7 Sanders Street. Be there in an hour or he goes. You will not tell anyone you have received this message, and you will come alone.” 

    The voice that replied wasn’t Logan’s, but it was a familiar one nonetheless. 

“You! Dragon Witch! What did you do with him!?” Roman shouted into the phone, already jumping off the couch.

“You’ll have to find out,” she crooned. “Be there. I’m waiting.” 

She hung up the phone and Roman let out a grunt of anger. How could he have been so stupid? He should have protected Logan better, he should have never made so many enemies! 

Logan blinked his eyes, and for a moment thought he was still asleep. He sat alone in a pitch black room. He tried to stand, but found himself tied to a chair, handcuffs on his ankles and hands, the other end attached to the metal chair. He tried to shout for help, but all that came out was a pathetic “mhph!”, the duct tape digging into his lips. 

And to make it truly impossible for him to escape, a rope was wrapped around his torso, tying him to the back of the chair. 

Suddenly a ray of light fell on his face as a door opened and someone walked in. 

Though he had never seen them in person, he knew exactly who just walked in. 

She stepped closer to Logan, dragging a talon across his forehead. When she pulled away, something dripped down the claw- blood. 

She smirked and, without warning, ripped off the tape that served as Logan’s gag. 

“Dragon Witch,” Logan spat through his stinging, swollen lips. 

A grin spread across her face. “Oh, you recognize me! I was sure I had to do some introduction!”     “Why am I here?” Logan snarled. “Let me go.” 

“Let you go? No, I don’t think I can do that. And as for why you’re here? Well, from what I hear, you’re very smart. So you should be able to figure it out.”

“Wha-” Logan was cut off by her hand covering his mouth- something he was getting very tired of people doing to him. 

Another piece of tape covered his mouth, this one much larger than the last, almost covering his ears that he now realized were not supporting his glasses. 

The Dragon Witch turned around, her cape flourishing behind her. Before she closed the door and left Logan in the dark, she looked over her shoulder and looked at him.     “Oh, and for your sake, I hope you boytoy comes for you.” 

As the door locked with a click, suddenly everything came into place. 

The odd bruises Roman came back home with. The odd scars Logan saw on Roman’s back. And Logan knew who he was here. 

He was bait for The Prince, the superhero who was also his boyfriend. 

    Roman drove, his heart pounding. The only thing he could think of was Logan- how afraid he must be, how angry Logan would be if he found out that Roman, of all people, was a superhero! Roman had planned on telling Logan, honestly! He just… was afraid of what Logan would say! But now Roman drove to 7 Sanders Street with his only fear being that Logan would be hurt. 

    He parked the car a block away and climbed up a fire escape. He would enter the building from above, find Logan, and get out, hopefully without confronting her. His cape dragged behind him and his mask was already sweaty from his anxiety for his boyfriend- oh, if he ever saw that damn Dragon Witch, he wouldn’t go easy on her! 

    Sparks flew out of Roman’s clenched fist, and he took a deep breath. What was Logan always saying? 

Be calm, or else things can go wrong. Anger can figuratively cloud your judgement.

Right, Roman had to be calm. “Logan, I’m coming,” he whispered. “Just hang on, my love.” 

Roman leapt across buildings, illuminated only by the moonlight, until he was on the roof of number seven. He opened the door that led to the rooftop and began his descent, his only light source a spark of electricity held between his fingers. 

He silently trod through the warehouse, looking for any sign that Logan was here. 

If he was the Dragon Witch, where would he keep his prisoners? He shuddered to think that Logan was a prisoner, but thought where he would be anyways. 

Of course! The most central room at the top story- it would be the most secure room, and surely she would be expecting him to charge in from the front door! 

Roman made his way toward the middle, and listened for any signs of struggle. 

There- a faint noise behind one of the doors! 

Roman closed his hand around the door handle and searched for a sign of life- he was able to find heartbeats after he learned from Logan that every human being gives off a small amount of electricity! 

And there it was! A heartbeat! 

Roman slowly opened the door, his other hand ready to blast electricity at anyone who wasn’t Logan. 

But there, in the center of the room, tied to a metal chair, was Logan, his head slumped to his chest. 

Roman rushed in and knelt beside him. 

“Lo?” He whispered, touching Logan’s cheek. “Lo, it’s me, please look at me!” Roman said tearfully. 

Logan’s eyes fluttered open and then widened in surprise. 

“Lo, I’m going to get you out of here. Nod if you understand. Logan nodded. 

“Okay. Okay, this is going to hurt a bit. I love you so much,” Roman said, peeling the tape off Logan’s mouth and cringing as he saw the extent of Logan’s injuries: a bloody lip, a black eye, and a cut on his forehead as well as a multitude of bruises on his arms and neck. 

“R-Roman, I-”

“Logan, I’m so, so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner-”     “It's okay, love. We’re going to talk later,” Logan said hoarsely. 

Roman nodded and began untying the rope around Logan’s torso. With the rope gone, Roman saw the next problem. Everything else was metal- the chair, the handcuffs that held Logan down still, and even the floor. 

It was as if the room had been designed to keep Roman from using his powers. And, knowing the Dragon Witch, it probably had. 

Logan noticed his hesitation, because he said, “Roman, what’s wrong?” Roman could hear the twinge of fear in his voice. 

“I- I don’t want to hurt you,” Roman hesitated. 

“What can you do?”     Roman looked away. “I’ve said too much already, and you probably figured out the rest… but I generate electricity, and- and everything here is metal.” 

“Oh.” Was all Logan said. “Well, that explains the static.” 

“Logan! I’m going to hurt you if I use my power, and you’re going to get even more hurt if I leave you here!” Roman was close to full tears now- he couldn’t see a good solution! 

Logan thought for a minute. “Take my shoes off.”     “W-what?” That was not what Roman was expecting to hear. 

“Take my shoes off,” Logan repeated. “My socks, too. Then I need to put my feet on the floor, and then any electricity you use will be conducted by the metal and away from me.”

“Okay. Okay, Lo, I swear I am going to get you out of here. I love you so much.” 

“I love you too, Roman. Now stop wasting time and do it.”

Roman did as instructed and looked to Logan. 

“Don’t tell me when you do it, I need to be relaxed. Now come on, Ro,” Logan closed his eyes as Roman put his hands on the cuffs, ready to spark. 

Concentrating on the cuffs, Roman pictured electricity running through the chains to the locking mechanism, forcing the pins to open. And with a click, the locks around Logan’s wrists sprung open. 

Logan stood from the chair, though his ankles were still bound. 

“One more, Lo,” Roman crouched, putting his hands on the other set of cuffs, and with another click, the cuffs fell off. 

“Can you stand?” Roman asked, holding out a hand.

“I think so-“ Logan got to his feet but collapsed with a quiet shriek.

“What’s wrong?”

“My- my knee-“

“That’s okay, I’ll carry you out of here if I have to,” Roman said. 

“Ro-” Logan was cut off by a shriek. 

“You!” Roman turned around to face the Dragon Witch. “You did this to him!” 

Logan, his knee still injured, stumbled back into the chair as he watched the confrontation with a mixture of fear and awe. How could he be so lucky to be in love with someone who was so fearless? Who would face injury or death to protect him? 

The Dragon Witch unfurled her leathery black wings as Roman’s hands crackled with electricity. 

Roman took a step backwards and put himself in front of Logan, ready to Leo in front of anything aimed at his boyfriend, his love, at the nerdy librarian he was so lucky to have seen that night….

Her wings flapped, a gust of wind blowing Logan’s hair in his eyes. Her taloned fingers began to move in a circle, black mist sprouting from around her. 

Then, before Logan could react to the burst of light shooting from the Dragon Witch, he was being thrown over Roman’s shoulder. 

Roman sprinted out of the small room, the Dragon Witch right behind them. Roman ran up the stairs the way he had come, but all too late he realized the flaw in his plan.

He wouldn’t be able to jump around the rooftops and carry Logan at the same time. 

Logan saw his hesitation, and, as Logan was prone to do, came up with a plan. “Roman. The authorities, while utterly useless, always come to the fights they think are going to cause collateral or infrastructural damage, right?”     “Yeah, but I don’t see what that has to do with getting you out of here!” Roman shouted back, still running. 

“It means you need to put me down and fight her! Then the police will come and take me to the hospital or something! I’ll say I got in the way of her plan or something, so she took me to this warehouse and then you saved me!”

Roman realized that Logan was right, as he usually was. 

“You might get hurt!” Roman had reached the rooftop, the Dragon Witch still thundering after them. 

“I know. But that’s a risk we have to take if we want to get out of here,” Logan explained, cupping Roman’s cheek as he was set down by some discarded wooden pallets. 

Roman turned to face the witch as she climbed up to meet them. 

“Dragon Witch,” Roman said with more anger than Logan had ever heard. “You hurt him. You will pay for this!”

“Will I, now?”     She lunged at Roman, the black mist gathering again. A bolt of electricity shot out of Roman’s palm, striking her in the wing. She howled in pain, forcing Logan to clamp his hands over his ears. He watched with a morbid fascination as flurries of blows were exchanged, each landing hits on the other. 

Roman’s fist connected with her shoulder while her talons scratched his arm, blood dripping onto the concrete roof. Angling himself into a sitting position behind the pallets, he clenched his jaw as he heard sirens approaching from below. 

“Hey! Up here! Help!” Logan shouted, peering over the edge and waving his hands. A firefighter looked up in horror and began to run inside while another started to set up a ladder. The Dragon Witch looked over and let out a yell of fury. As Roman, unaware, readied another bolt, the witch dove in front of Logan just as Roman let the bolt go. 

Logan couldn’t move, only seeing it come towards him. The white hot energy crackled through the air as it pummeled toward Logan. 

It hit him square in the chest, the electricity spreading out through his arms and legs. The tingling sensation spread until he was numb all over and his eyes closed, but not before seeing Roman’s screaming face. 

***

Logan woke in a hospital bed, IV tubes and heart monitors and other medical equipment in and on him. 

The first thing he registered was the beeping, and not a moment later a group of nurses came in. The next hour was a blur of activity, of being asked questions like what did he remember (he was on the rooftop, watching the fight), who’s the president (that orange asshole, but not for long!), and who he wanted to see. 

The last question was the only one he truly paid attention to. 

“Roman,” he said. “I want to see Roman.” 

A minute- or perhaps an hour- later, a nurse came in, followed by Roman, red eyed and disheveled looking. 

Roman gasped and ran to his side. 

“Logan, I-”

“Ro. Roman, I love you so much. C’mere,” Logan put his hand over Roman’s.

“Logan, Logan! I thought I lost you, and I couldn’t live with myself if I had. It would have been my fault, and I love you too much to ever be able to let go. Starshine, I love you so, so much. I love you more than there are stars in the sky.”     Roman began crying again, and Logan put a hand on his face to wipe away the tears. 

“It’s not your fault, Love. Please don’t blame yourself.”

“But Logan, I hurt you!” 

“No, no you didn’t. You saved me, Roman. If you hadn’t come, I would still be tied up in that dark room, and I wouldn’t know where you are. But I’m here with you, and that’s what matters to me. Now stand up and kiss me, you sap.”

Roman knelt over the hospital bed and met Logan’s chapped lips. Never had he been so glad that he was kissing his boyfriend, his Starshine, the love of his life. 

And in that moment, Roman resolved that nothing, nothing would ever lay a hand to hurt Logan ever again. 

And in that moment, Logan knew that Roman would do anything for him, and he would do anything for Roman. 

“I love you so much,” they murmured against each others’ lips.

[sylverstorms]

Azula x Mai

The moonlight was too bright.

Mai felt bombarded by its glow as it reflected off the marble steps of the beach house to shoot directly into her brain. A curse was hissed under her breath. Ty Lee, a few ways ahead of her, giggled. It was a wonder how she could skip up the stairs so easily considering how much she’d drank, probably the amount Zuko, Azula and Mai had consumed combined.

To be fair, she was more used to drinking than the rest of them. Or rather, she was the only one accustomed.

Zuko was nearly out after the first quarter of his gin bottle, a fact that Azula –of course— had to point out in that typical, demeaning way of hers. It quickly led to an all-out war between the two siblings about who would drink who under the table. For the record, Mai did point out how bad of an idea it was, though she knew them better than to expect either to back down.

Ty Lee put her money on Azula winning. Mai had to be a good girlfriend and support Zuko. It was no surprise to anyone when, thirty minutes down the line, he collapsed face-first into the sand. The princess erupted into a fit of laughter about how pathetic he was.

Mai had moved to help him, but Zuko, red-faced from both alcohol, anger and the shame of loss, brushed her off and stomped his way up to the beach house. Azula, knowing she wasn’t as unaffected as she pretended to be, made up an excuse about not missing her beauty sleep and bid them goodnight. Mai’s sharp eyes didn’t miss the uncharacteristically ungraceful way she climbed the steps, nearly tripping twice.

That left her alone with Ty Lee over their own bottles. Apologies were said and accepted for the hurtful things spoken earlier that night, around that same fire. Mai didn’t intend to stay out so late, yet her friend’s stories swept her along. By the time she suggested they get to bed, as well, she couldn’t really walk in a straight line.

It was a small miracle she made it to Li and Lo’s house on her own. Mai would add it to her small list of achievements, if she could also locate her shared room with Zuko.

One hand glued onto the corridor’s wall for support, she managed to get to a familiar point. Two adjacent doors glared at her. Past muddled thoughts, Mai could recollect Azula picking the left one that morning. She turned the handle to her right and stumbled inside.

Zuko, bathed in shadows, had his back turned to her.

Mai sluggishly shrugged off her top and stepped out of her sandals. She tried –tried being the key word— to slide as softly into bed as possible. The body beside her stirred under the cocoon of covers but didn’t wake. If she were any soberer, she would surely start to stress about sharing a bed with the prince for the first time, or what the proper distance to keep was. Right then, however, she was drunk and growing colder by the minute.

There was no logical explanation as to why it was that chilly in the heart of summer, in Ember Island.

Mai bit the corner of her lip and decided— screw it.

She slid closer, to the part of the large bed that was wonderfully warm. Then she got greedy and pressed herself fully against the firebender. And— oh, he was warm as a furnace. Mai didn’t remember Zuko ever being that hot, before, but it was wonderful.

His hair felt longer, too, under her cheek, yet all she could focus on was the sensation of holding flames in her arms. Other things, little things, registered scarcely in the back of her brain. He didn’t smell like usual, of smoke and fresh spices. Instead, a mix of sandalwood and fire lilies tickled Mai’s nose. She couldn’t help but nuzzle deeper into the source and inhale.

Was Zuko’s skin always this soft to the touch?

Mai didn’t know how she’d never noticed that or taken advantage of it. Kisses were one thing and she greatly appreciated the hardness of his muscles, in the few times things between them had gotten more heated than that. But this? This was just perfect.

Or perhaps the drink was doing more to her than just making her dizzy.

The theory was proven correct when her company shifted against her until she gave them room to roll onto their back. The brush of silky hair against her neck ignited something in her. The fingers that came to rest on the bare skin of her side felt like a brand.

Inhibitions lowered, Mai didn’t hesitate to crash their lips together.

The kiss was as burning as the rest of her lover. Lips too soft that tasted like cotton candy and gin parted all too easily for her. Mai wove her hand into raven hair and tugged. A low groan escaped Zuko that didn’t much sound like him. The nails that dug possessively into her flesh and the tongue that slipped into her mouth were unlike him, too.

If anything, they reminded Mai of Azula.

That was a thought she didn’t want to take into bed with her boyfriend… but it made her grow more aroused regardless. Right and wrong –or wrong and so very wrong— didn’t seem to matter to her body. She’d always been attracted to edges, blades, deadly things. She didn’t know of any deadlier than Azula.

Mai grew frustrated into the kiss. It was too good and that made it not enough and she wasn’t in any state to control her urges. She pressed her thighs together to relieve the ache building there, but that only made it worse. Her head was a mess. Her body was a mess.

Agni, I need—

She was wet, wetter than she’d ever imagined she could be, and she needed Zuko to make it go away so she wouldn’t go back to thinking about Azula again. Anything but that.

Just a little, she told herself as she slid a leg over her lover’s and pressed herself down on their thigh. ‘Just a little’, but it was too satisfying when that little spot was hit just right, when strong hands gripped at her hips and urged her to continue at her leisure.

Mai bit her lower lip to mute the moans threatening to spill from her lips into little gasps. It was like having sex with fire. Flames were everywhere, in her mind, under her parted legs, licking across her skin, driving her insane.  

It wasn’t long before they consumed her.

Mai stilled and shook. The body beneath her followed suit. A moment suspended in time, until she collapsed into the firebender’s neck, exhausted and limp.

She drifted to sleep surrounded by the scent of fire lilies.

…

 Noise. Too much noise.

Thankfully, it was muffled outside her door. Mai held tighter onto the lulling warmth against her. Ty Lee’s voice echoed in her ears. Then, Zuko’s. Something in that sound started to spring the gears of her mind into motion. Zuko’s…?

“Agni, shut up…” Azula’s voice grumbled, hoarse from the previous night’s drinking.

Only, it shouldn’t be Azula’s voice coming by Mai’s ear.

“What—” she began to ask.

Never got around to finishing that sentence. The princess’ eyes snapped open and zeroed in on her, while Mai sprang up. The flare of pain across her head at the sudden movement was nothing compared to the sheer shock of the realization…

Last night I—

What did I do…?

She remembered fire. She remembered moving in the dark against someone. Worst of all, she remembered loving it.

Mai brought a shaky hand up to her mouth, while Zuko’s complaining from outside intensified. Azula was an expressionless statue, not moving, not blinking, not even breathing. She was the first to break the standstill when she abruptly stood and went to gather fresh clothes from her bag.

Like nothing was out of the ordinary.

“Azula—” Mai usually prided herself for being the level-headed one. Not this time. This time, she was panicking.

“Hm?” A non-committal noise.

“Last night…” she couldn’t even bring herself to ask. And what could she say, really? ‘Did I really cheat on your brother with you’? ‘Did I dry-hump you like a sl—

“Did something happen?” Azula turned to her with the world’s most impassive face.

Mai wanted to yell at her. To slap her across her gorgeous fucking face. The asshole did not get to do that with her, act like nothing happened, like they could go back to their lives as they were before.

“Not the first time we had a sleepover, Mai.” she said as she opened a drawer to take a bathtowel in hand. Her knuckles were white around the fabric.

The elder noble opened her mouth to speak.

Zuko’s voice cut her off.

“And where the hell is my girlfriend?!”

Azula disappeared into the shower. Mai dropped her face into her hands and wished for all of it to be a bad dream.

 …

 But it wasn’t a dream. It was a real-life nightmare.

Mai couldn’t even look at Zuko in the eyes. Ever since he was a child, Azula had tainted everything for him. She took and took from him. To think that she would even ruin his relationship, that she would even take her away…

The thought was unbearable.

It was too easy to be angry at Azula. For being in what was supposed to be Zuko’s fucking room, for not stopping her, for taking it all so in stride. But. It wasn’t her fault, was it? She’d drank more than Mai and she wasn’t the one to press up to her and initiate their kisses. If it had been another trick to humiliate him, Azula would have gloated already.

In a sense, Mai would have accepted that easier than her utter silence.

“Can you just tell me what’s wrong already?” Zuko asked, coming closer to her. “Did I do something last night when I wasn’t in my right mind?” His eyes were wide. He sounded desperate.

It wasn’t him who should be torn up. “…Nothing’s wrong, Zuko.” she lied in her dismissive monotone.

“How can you say that?! You flinch every time I touch you!” he snapped. His hand wrapped around her wrist to make the point.

Mai hated how lukewarm he felt compared to her flame.

She hated her.

How could Azula ruin this for her? 

It took Mai years off her childhood to convince herself her crush was on Zuko and not his mean little sister. She didn’t like anything about the fire princess other than her stupid good looks. She was the devil incarnate. Selfish, arrogant, inconsiderate, powerful, deadly, gorgeous— Mai was glad to leave for Omashu, to leave her behind. She thought the years would reduce those feelings to an awful memory. And they had.

But they hadn’t wiped them completely. And one taste of the forbidden fruit was all it took—

Mai pulled away from Zuko, something in her chest cracking at the hurt in those amber eyes. “I’m sorry. I just need some time to myself.”

She left without looking back.

Azula was in her room, packing her things, when Mai barged in.

“Ever heard of knocking?” A slender eyebrow raised. The princess had her hair down again and it shouldn’t look so damn attractive on her.

Mai walked over to her, her darkest glare on. “We need to talk.”

“What about?” Such composure. She so badly wanted to mess it up with a knife to her pale throat.

“Oh, I don’t know. How about the thing after you and Zuko left the bonfire, yesterday?” Mai deliberately raised her voice.

Azula flashed into her personal space in an instant, eyes yellow like a dragon’s and ten times as dangerous. “Keep your voice down.” she ordered in a low hiss.

Ty Lee was still in the house. Not to mention Lo and Li.

“So, let’s talk about yesterday, Mai.” Azula said. “I beat my idiot brother –again. He dashed back here before he could embarrass himself further. But, of course, he couldn’t tell left from right, let alone which room was his.” she explained. “I opened the door to see him sprawled out in what I’d declared was my bed, so I grabbed my things and came here.”

Mai was dreading the next part.

“Ty Lee took the couch she’d wanted since we arrived. You took the right turn –bravo— albeit with the wrong company. We slept. That’s it. Time to go home now and focus on the actually important things.”

Lying. Always lying about everything. Are you seriously going to lie about this, too?

A part of Mai cracked. Her face didn’t show it, but she knew Azula could tell, just like she could tell the dark things the princess hid behind her mask of perfection.

“And to think I believed you when you promised to never lie to me.” A parting promise made at the docks before a years’ long separation.

Azula’s jaw clenched. “Just. Forget it.” There was a flash on emotion in her yellow eyes, like a shooting star.

“I wish I could.”

“Why, was I that good or is Zuzu just that bad?” Her tone. That smirk.

Mai’s hand moved before she knew what she was doing.

Azula’s head snapped to the side from the force of the slap.

Mai gulped the bile down. Boiling anger was instantly replaced by guilt. The princess’ jaw was already turning red, stark against the paleness of her skin, where she struck her. She deserved it. But…

But.

“I-I’m sorry, Az—”

Azula grabbed her hand before Mai could trace her thumb over the mark. Nails bit into her skin and the temperature rose to near-blistering levels. She half expected the princess to burn her for daring to hit her. She half feared it. But Azula kept the flame contained in her own body, there only as a warning.

“This time, for the sake of the help you’ve provided me, you get a free pass. Next time you try anything like this, I will burn you alive.” And who she saw in her eyes then, Mai did not recognise as her friend, nor her past crush. “Never speak of yesterday again.”

Her hand was released, the skin uncomfortably hot but not burnt.

She made it easy, at least.

She made it easy for Mai to forget any past attraction to her.

To despise the new her.

Ko-Fi

[beanfic]

Chapter 16

Word count: 1206

Warnings: Angst

Author’s note: I can’t believe this is the last chapter and the creator is coming to an end! I really hope you all enjoyed my very first series! Thank you all for the endless amount of support, and I can’t wait for my next series!

“I..I don’t know what to say,” Nico stuttered as he lowered the knife. He let go of Tyler who dropped to the ground, and Clancy bent down to see if he was okay.

“Don’t you see? Look at all these people, all these people are impacted by their music. Dad, I know you blame their music for my past actions but the fact is that I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for them,” Clancy told her father as tears streamed down her face.

Nico looked at her with sympathy, and then looked out at everyone. He was at a loss of words as he started to think. He walked over to Sacarver and told him to let Josh go, and Clancy ran over and wrapped her arms around him

“I was so scared you were going to die,” she whispered into Josh’s chest and he rubbed her back.

“Nicolas,” Keons grumbled and the other Bishops looked around at each other to figure out what was going on.

“I’m the leader of Dema, Keons. Not you. I am,” he spoke strongly as he walked over to the Bishop. “You follow my rules.”

“You can’t even get cowards to follow your pathetic rules,” Keons spat but Nico shook his head.

“Maybe it’s because there is not a need for such cruel rules.” He turned around and looked out at the sea of yellow, but he turned back around towards Tyler as he heard him start to sing.

“In trench, I’m not alone,” Tyler sang, standing up, and the Banditos joining him once again. The black on his neck and hands were finally gone.

“Tyler,” your eyes filled with tears as you saw your husband regain his strength.

“Daddy!” Autumn escaped your arms and ran up to Tyler, running into his arms.

You finally reached Tyler who was now holding Autumn and Connor. You wrapped your left arm around him.

“It’s okay.” He whispered into your ear.

You looked up at Nico who was staring down at your family, but his hand was intertwined with his daughters.

“A ban on music is a ban on happiness,” Clancy whispered, looking up towards her dad and he nodded.

“What are you saying?” Keon's walked up to Nico, putting his hand on his shoulder. Nico looked up at him, his eyes wet.

“Look what I have done,” he gestures to the crowd of yellow. “There shouldn’t be a ban.”

You exchanged a look with Tyler, completely shocked as to what was happening. Was the leader of your country really coming to an understanding? What was going to happen now? You could never forgive him after what he has done to your family, even if the rules change.

“Create your music.” Nico walks over to Tyler and you. Autumn and Connor hide behind your body, and Nico kneels down. “I want to say thank you and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t understand,” Tyler mumbled but Nico raised his hand.

“You are the reason my daughter is alive. It is no one’s fault but mine as to why the past happened,” he spoke softly as he held his hand out towards Autumn but she shifted away from his gray hand.

“Don’t fear me,” he whispered to Autumn. “You remind me of Clancy when she was younger.”

“Is the ban gone?” She asked with wide eyes, and Nico nodded.

“I think it’s time for you guys to leave the city and go home.” Nico walked away with his head held low. He walked past Keons who stood there with anger filling his body.

“Tyler,” you held him tight. You pulled away and placed your hands on his cheeks, pulling him in for a kiss.

“I’m safe. We’re safe,” He whispered. He placed his hand on your belly and looked up at you with his brown eyes. “I can make music again.”

“I know,” you smiled through the tears that were now falling. Connor and Autumn were both holding each other, and Josh was standing off to the side. Clancy was talking to him, and you decided to go over and thank both of them.

“Thank you so much, Josh,” you said and he pulled you in for a huge hug. You pulled away and looked over to Clancy. She looked up to you shyly and her red hair covered most of her face.

“I’m so sorry this all happened,” she started to say but you pulled her into a hug as well.

“Without you, we probably wouldn’t be alive,” you told her.

“That’s how I feel with your husband's music.”

“We’re free!” Tyler raised his hands up in the air and Josh high fived him. He picked up Autumn with one arm and held Connor’s hand with the other.

“Time to go home?” you ask and Tyler nodded.

“Time to go home.”

-------------

Two months had passed since your family was captured by Nico, and it has also been two months since the ban was removed. It took only two days for Nico to have another emergency broadcast where he lifted the ban and explained the new rules for Dema.

Listeners and creators didn’t exist anymore, as anybody could be a listener. There were still regulations on becoming a creator, but Josh and Tyler were playing shows already. They have been traveling to different Trenches in Dema and creating new music and it seemed like the good old days once again.

Your stomach was showing more, and you had found out that you were having a little girl. You were excited that she would be able to be sung to sleep by Tyler since Autumn was never able to experience that. You continued being a clothes maker since you enjoyed it and allowed you to stay at home with the kids since Josh and Tyler were busy playing shows so often.

Autumn had chosen to become a DNA tester just like Connor after listeners were taken away, but she was excited to be just like her older brother. The school became different now too, as everyone knew who Autumn and Connor Joseph were. They weren't really used to all this fame, but it was something that they eventually would be able to live with.

Clancy was spending more time with your family as well, especially Josh, ever since she was now allowed to go to all the shows. She was such a sweet girl, and sometimes she would come over just to talk to you about girl advice. It didn’t surprise you when she ended up admitting her feelings for Josh either.

Dema was different now. It felt safer and happier. You would walk outside and hear your neighbors playing music and singing. Music, art, and media were back.

Tyler was back.

----------

“Hey listen to this song I’m writing,” Tyler walked down to the living room where you were laying with Westley.

He started to strum on his Ukulele and began to sing, “You know I've always been collected, calm and chill and you know I never look for conflict for the thrill.”

“That’s beautiful, Ty,” you stated as you pulled him into a kiss.

“I’m so glad we’re safe,” he murmured into your hair that was covering your ear.

“Me too, my love.”

[scftuan]

Get Oh (Part 1)

Genre: romance/thriller

Rating: M

Characters: Sehun x reader feat. Chanyeol

——————————

There were many things you prided yourself on.

Your academic achievements, your musical accomplishments, your ability to be liked by every teacher on campus (though you swore you weren’t a teachers pet).

Yet there was one thing that you were having to reconsider as being something to be proud of (mainly because you were lacking in it greatly at the moment).

And that thing was: patience.

For somehow you had slept through your alarm and wound up barely making it to your morning lecture, which meant the only seats left were the ones in the back and there was only one person who made a habit of sitting in the very back.

Oh Sehun.

Tall, broad-shouldered, nice ass, a handsome face with a stern brow over a pair of dark brown eyes that were always somehow partially shrouded by his messy black hair-it was blonde a week ago, the jackass would be bald before he graduated college-and a mouth that would make even a straight man melt.

And you hated him.

Why?

Because currently he was in the back of the class, completely at ease as his latest catch of the week draped herself across him, whispering what must be the most disgustingly pathetic sexual promises and emphasizing it by touching everything she could and not-so-subtly trying to suck a hickey into his neck.

You ground your teeth as you tried to ignore their antics and focus on the lecture, but it was becoming increasingly hard as the giggles and soft sighs of imaginary pleasure continued behind you. By the end of the lecture, you had managed to write a handful of notes and leave with at least the beginning and ending statements intact in your mind.

As you gathered your things to leave, you rolled your eyes at the continued chit-chat between Sehun and his…girl. She seemed to be pouting about not having sex with him immediately but he assured her he’d give her a call. You scoffed, rolling your eyes at the two of them. ‘Of course he won’t, the jackass.’ You thought as you tucked away the last of your things and prepared to make your exit.

Unfortunately, you were met by firm resistance in the form of the aforementioned jackass.

For whatever reason, Sehun had parked himself right in your way, his signature smirk turning the corners of his mouth up slightly.

With a slight sigh, you looked up at him and asked with the most deadpanned tone you could manage: “What do you want Sehun?”

In mock hurt, Sehun placed a hand over his heart and gasped at you, “Why Y/n, you wound me so, I thought we were closer than that.”

You laughed, shooting him a unamused look as you replied: “I think all of those bleaches and dyes are going to your head Sehun, in what universe have we ever been close?”

He grinned at that, his perfectly white teeth practically blinding (seriously, who was his family dentist?). “For the record, I only ever choose colors that allow me to never have to bleach my hair. But anyway, I wanted to ask you how you enjoyed the show in the background?”

You glared at him, pulling the straps of your book bag up as you prepared to make your escape. “Oh you mean the soft porn that was going on in the middle of a lecture concerning only the highest of philosophies known to man?” You took a step closer, ignoring the obvious height difference and the fact Sehun smelled like mint and something distinctly woodsy, “Honestly Sehun, we all know that if it wasn’t for the money your daddy pays this school every year, you’d have been kicked out before your first month of freshman year.”

Not waiting to see his reaction, you pushed past and headed for the exit, a small part of you feeling almost as bad for the jab as the other part felt victorious.

——————————

In all honesty, you weren’t sure why you hated Sehun so much, at first you assumed it was just a general dislike for his fuckboy ways. But when he’d slept with your roommate and left her absolutely broken, you’d sworn to hate him with every ounce of your being.

Oh Sehun was the epitome of everything you despised. Loose with his morals, thought with his dick more than his brain, unnecessarily privileged (his dad practically owned half the school), and lacking a basic conscience and academic desire-you weren’t even sure what his major was.

With a sigh, you leaned back on your apartment’s couch, tipping the contents of the beer your roommate had smuggled in into your mouth, the harsh burn of the alcohol welcoming with all the shit you had going on.

Though you never let it show, your academics were beginning to crush you, leaving you drained and unable to find joy in almost everything, even your music, the thing you’d dreamed of since childhood, felt unreachable and far too luxurious to imagine.

“For fucks sake Y/n, I can practically hear your depressing thoughts from the hallway.”

You smiled slightly, looking over to see that your roommate Suzy had finally arrived, takeout in one hand, random movie from the local redbox in the other.

“I hope you brought as much chow mein as you could afford because I am ready to drown all of my problems in as much greasy and unauthentic Chinese food as I can.” You shot her a grin, and though her eye roll was probably meant to be ‘tired of your antics’, it came off as more of ‘let me support you with food and beer.’

As you and Suzy began to spread out the takeout and the extra bottles of beer, the conversation quickly picked up and wound up revolving around the subject of your day and just how suckish it was.

“So tell me,” Suzy began, tilting her head inquisitively at you as she twirled her chopsticks around, “why exactly did Sehun cause you so much trouble today?”

You rolled your eyes and stuffed another bunch of noodles into your mouth in order to buy enough time to think of a proper answer. Once you had gracefully swallowed and taken a long sip of your beer (okay maybe it was more like downing the rest of the bottle in one go), you finally replied. “In all honesty I don’t quite know myself, I just know that he’s an overly privileged jackass who treats women like dirt and they all still fall down on their knees for him.”

Suzy laughed, “Oh Y/n, if you only knew what he could be like in bed…”

You practically choked on your piece of chicken, the memory of Suzy having once slept with the asshole (and promptly had her heart broken) suddenly coming back to you. “B-but he broke your heart?”

Your friend shrugged and continued to dig into her food, “You have to remember that was almost a year ago and I’m an overly sensitive type who gets attached for the amount of time it takes to have an orgasm and then promptly forgets all about it.”

You opened your mouth to argue but quickly realized she was right. Suzy had no qualms about her sexuality and enjoyed the occasional hookup. You’d only just met her when she’d had the fling with Sehun and so seeing her with a ‘broken heart’ had made your dislike for the young man secure-not knowing that Suzy would easily move on within three days.

Once the takeout (and the beer) had been demolished and Suzy had discovered a comfortable sleeping position on the nearest couch, you managed to stumble your half drunk self into a shower and then promptly into your bed. That night, your dreams were filled with brokenhearted cries and the flash of a charming smile before a mouth was pressed against your own.

Morning came much too soon for your taste; the sun streaming in through the curtains making your eyes squint and your head throb. You discovered your body was slightly sweaty and uncomfortable from your dream last night (images of being kissed by someone you swore you knew still flashed across your mind). “I’ve really gotta stop drinking.” You mumbled, a large yawn assaulting you as you stretched your arms above your head. You hadn’t even managed to pull on a more decent pair of pants (what? Last night you were drunk and tired, panties seemed like the best option) before Suzy was bursting into your room, eyes flashing with excitement as she bounded towards you.

“You would never believe it!” she half squealed, “We’ve just been invited to what is going to be the largest-second only to the end of the school year bash-of the semester!”

Translation: Suzy had been invited and she was dragging you along with her.

You scrunched your nose up at the thought and finished properly buttoning your jeans. “Thanks, but no thanks.” You replied, grabbing the nearest brush to drag through your hair before tying it into a rather realistic looking ponytale. “You know that’s just not my thing, I prefer to get drunk in the safety of my own apartment.”

But Suzy gave you a look that told you you would indeed be going if she had to drag you out by your book bag.

And all you could do was sigh.

—————————

The party proved to be as much of a bore as you dreaded. College kids swayed together with the overly loud music, red solo cups overly full with booze grasped in the hands that weren’t trying to grope each other.

You frowned at your colleagues and continued sipping at the bottle of soda you’d brought with you (someone had to be the designated driver). Suzy had disappeared into the crowd and abandoned you to observe the scene in a lowly corner of the room. You sighed as your eyes scanned the room, distain at the obvious grotesqueness of the way most of the others acted, and curiosity at any scene that looked slightly interesting. As you continued your menial task, your eyes happened to land on none other than Oh Sehun himself.

As usual, some random girl was draped on him, his arm holding her possessively by the waist. Yet he seemed…distracted. His eyes darted this way and that and he kept shifting from side to side, he even ignored whatever the girl was trying to whisper to him as she pressed herself against him. You hadn’t realized you’d practically been staring until his gaze landed on you. For a moment, you thought he’d throw one of his stupid winks and smirk at you, instead, he shot you a frown and subtly shook his head.

But now you were fully intrigued.

For the rest of the evening you kept an eye on Sehun, the young man drifting from place to place, the girl following him about, yet he remained uninterested and distracted.

You stared down at the now empty bottle in your hand, your eyes flicking between it and Sehun, who had managed to somehow magically detach himself from his girl and who was now standing closer to the end of the room. His look continued to grow more intense as the night wore on; he couldn’t stay in one place, always walking this way and that, as if he were waiting for something.

Out of pure boredom, you looked away for a moment (you didn’t think Sehun would go far), but by the time you’d looked back to his original position, the tall young man was gone.

You frowned, wondering where he could have disappeared to. Setting your bottle down, you prepared to go after him when it occurred to you just how odd you were acting. Go after Sehun? What were you, one of his admirers/stalkers? With a groan, you stepped back, deciding that you had obsessed over Oh Sehun quite enough for one night.

Yet even as the event wore on, you couldn’t shake the oddness of Sehun’s behavior.

——————————

The next couple of days passed in a blur. Ever since the party (which had proven to be just boring as you originally thought), you hadn’t been able to take your mind off of Sehun, and with the way he’d been acting in class lately, it became even harder.

For some reason, Sehun hadn’t seemed like himself. To anyone else, he looked like just as much of an ass as he always had, a girl always on his arm; yet his eyes betrayed that something else was going on. For some odd reason, you’d find random excuses to glance back at where the boy sat in his usual spot in the back. He always looked calm enough, his aura one of boredom with whatever the professor in front of him was babbling on about, but his eyes held a dark determination you’d never seen before.

Finally, after hardly a week of this behavior, you couldn’t take it anymore.

You were going to confront Sehun head on and get whatever this curiosity was out of your system.

It was late on Friday when you found yourself in the library, the place practically empty save for you, a librarian, and none other than Oh Sehun. You glanced up from your studies to see the aforementioned wandering farther into the rows of books, his brows furrowed in concentration as he looked over their titles.

You barely heard the librarian give her ten minute warning till closing time, instead choosing to quietly move from your seat to follow Sehun as he kept walking.

This was crazy, there was no way you were stalking Sehun (okay you wouldn’t call it stalking, just keeping an eye on him until you got up the nerve to let him know how his behavior had been bothering you). You only noticed the dimming of the lights and just how deep into the recesses of the library you had walked when Sehun suddenly spun around, his dark eyes catching you and pinning you into place.

You waited for him to send you a smirk (maybe a laugh if he was in a good mood), followed by some flirty comment on how you just couldn’t stay away. But instead his eyes were like steel, his expression clearly not amused.

You just barely registered the click of a lock and the final dimming of the lights, leaving you and Sehun shrouded in the evening shadows, the fading sun doing little to give you much illumination.

As you opened your mouth to speak, the sudden sound of a door being opened reached your ears, followed by a few harsh whispers.

You didn’t move, choosing to continue staring at Sehun as the whispers cut off.

Why your breathing was so heavy you had no idea, but you did know that it was too much for the extreme silence in the room.

Sehun stared back at you, his breathing just as heavy but much more silent. You barely had time to register the flash of annoyance in his dark eyes before he was grabbing your hand and pulling you harshly into the closest hiding place.

You tried to protest but were cut off by his large hand over your mouth, though the proximity of your bodies in such a small space was enough to leave you speechless anyway.

“If you make a single noise,” he hissed, “I will personally kill you myself.”

[hey-hey-chan]

A Broken Will pt.2 - Felix

pt.1

Told in Felix’s POV

A/N: Listening to Wedding Dress by Taeyang makes my heart hurt

“Felix! Today’s the day! Wake up and prepare for the royal ceremony!” My mother announced, shaking me awake. 

This time, I was fully awake and functional. I nodded with a stoic face, showing no emotion.

“Ok mom, I’ll be there right away.” I said while rolling out of bed. The short woman crossed her arms and raised a brow as if she was investigating me. 

“Huh?” I asked pulling on a shirt. She shook her head and turned around.

“Nothing, just be ready for the ceremony. I mean, it is y/n and Hyunjin’s wedding today, you must be prepared.” 

Oh yeah, like I forgot that was happening today. 

“Yeah mom, I understand. I’ll get up right away.” I stated curtly. She sense tension in my voice, but said nothing as she walked out. 

I sat on the edge of my bed and sighed, placing my face in between my hands.

“How did I let this happen? How did you lose the one thing that made you happy?” I whispered to myself. 

5 years ago, 

I was dating the most beautiful, talented, and the sweetest girl in the entire world. 

But 5 years ago, 

I also lost the girl to my own insecurities. 

And I never stopped blaming myself since then. 

I felt a stray tear trickle down my face, making me feel pathetic. I felt more and more flow out, then suddenly I no longer had the ability to keep in my choked sobs. I covered my mouth and sobbed harshly into my hands. 

I then heard a knock on the door, making me stop moving and wipe my face viciously with my blanket, that I would have to wash later. 

“Yes?” I choked out, my voice not deceiving anyone. 

The door opened, revealing my concerned mother. 

“Felix? What’s-” I couldn’t hold in my tears in front of my fragile mother as she rushed to my side and shut the door. 

“Honey, what’s wrong? This, this is supposed to be a great day. I know we’re not royalty but-” I shook my head, pushing her hands off of my gently. 

“No, that’s not it. It’s just, just.” The words couldn’t roll of my mouth, which frustrated me. I felt the soothing touch of my mom who patted my back.

“I know, honey. You don’t have to lie to me anymore.” I pulled away from my hands, looking her in the eyes. 

“Wait, what?” She laughed at me, her eyes crinkling into crescents. 

“I know you were dating y/n when you guys were kids. I mean, it was quite obvious.” I sat in disbelief at her words. This whole time, I’ve been trying to hide my feelings from my mom, but she knew this whole time. 

“And honey, I know you still love her, I see it every time I mention her name or every time you pass her in the hallways and especially whenever the topic of her marriage comes up. But, Felix, you know you can’t say anything against the marriage. That will end in your death.” 

Her words hit harder than expected, putting my social standing in perspective. I wasn’t even able to fight for the girl I love in the fear of being executed. 

I nodded, hopefully calming her nerves and mine.

“I understand. Don’t worry, I’m done doing anything rash from now on.” I laughed bitterly, remembering my foolish teen years. Instead of accepting my words, my mom slapped me on the head, making me groan in pain.

“That’s a foolish thing to say, of course you’re going to make mistakes along the way and be really dumb, I just want you to be dumb and alive, not dumb and dead, ok?” I nodded. She smiled and nodded.

“Now, I know this is hard sweetheart, but you must pull through. This is the life we were born into.” At those words, she turned and left a suit she carried in here at my door. 

“This was tailored by the queen herself. I hope you wear it.” She shut the door, leaving me to my many thoughts.

The suit was a crisp black with a red tie, tying the outfit together. 

I stared at the custom made suit as it mocked me, knowing Hyunjin, the groom, would be wearing a better suit, one that made y/n look at him like he was the last pizza in the box- 

I cut off my thoughts, realizing why y/n could never marry someone like me. I was the guy who would think about pizza for a date while Hyunjin would take her our to a 5 star restaurant with like, lobster or something. 

The clock ticked by, making the pain in my head pound even harder. 

Then, I made the decision. 

I put on the suit and made my way to the royal ceremony, which would also be the funeral for my heart. 

I arrived at the venue and watched as all of the higher ups and royals gathered in one area, making me feel inferior and out of place. 

I glanced around, looking for the queen and soon to be king, but they were no where to be found. 

“Ew, why is there a servant here? I thought this was a very.. select group of people.” 

“I know, like please leave the workers out of the actual venue, what was the queen thinking?” 

I felt my pride take a hit, knocking me down to my knees. 

If I didn’t know my place before, I sure as hell felt it now. 

“Ladies, please, we welcome all guests. This is supposed to be a positive and cheerful event, let’s not mess that up, shall we?” 

I heard the familiar voice say, making all the knots in my back tense. 

“O-oh, of c-course, Prince, or I mean, King, Hyunjin.” The girls bowed and quickly escaped from the wrath of the king. 

I suddenly felt awkward, having to be rescued by the guy the love of my life chose over me. 

“Thanks, I mean, they didn’t really bother me though.” Hyunjin slapped me on the back, making me flinch.

“Nonsense, I will not have any of my guests discriminating any of my other guests. I do not tolerate this social ladder our society has been obligated to abide by. Plus, a friend of y/n is a friend of mine.” He said these words kindly, but I felt like they had a different meaning behind them. I laughed.

“Oh please, we haven’t talked in years. I’m sure you’re her best friend by now.” I noted. Hyunjin smiled. 

“Yeah, I guess so. But you were still the first.” He looked me in the eyes with a steady gaze. 

“But thanks for letting me have her buddy.” I gave him a tight grin and nodded. 

“She’s better with you anyways.” I added kindly, hoping there would be no bad blood between the king and I. Hyunjin laughed. 

“See you at the wedding?” I nodded. I saw his back disappear into the crowd, shaking hands with tons more people. 

I heard the familiar sound of the wedding bells and melodic music playing. The crowd stood, awaiting the arrival of our queen. 

I steadied my heart, hoping it wouldn’t freak out if I saw y/n walking down the aisle. 

I felt my heart beat harder and harder in anticipation at the arrival of the woman who I should’ve grown old with. 

I turned away for a moment, holding my elbow up to cough.

And that’s when I saw her.

My whole world stopped once I laid eyes on the most beautiful girl on the planet. She had a veil that hung on her back and of course, the poofiest dress she could have tailor made. 

She always wanted to look like a princess.

But I could say, for certain, she looks like a queen. 

Suddenly, her dark brown eyes locked with mine, gazing intensely into my soul, bringing back the happy and painful memories of our teen years.

But that contact was only made for a half of a second before she turned to face her groom. 

The man she was going to marry.

The man she was going to grow old with.

The only man she had eyes for. 

The pain in my heart returned, as if a hand reached out to squeeze all the blood out of my heart. 

“You may now be seated.” 

I slowly took my seat, thankful for the moment as my legs were losing feeling. 

“We are gathered here today to celebrate love, life, and happiness. We are also here to see a new king be born and our queen finally make a promise to the love of her life.” 

The crowd cooed and smiled at the young girl they saw grow from a bratty girl into a mature woman. 

Y/n’s smile radiated as she gazed at the man in front of her. 

And I knew that I would do anything to have her smile like that at me.

The whole ceremony passed by like a blur as I had blocked it out from my subconcious. 

“Hyunjin, do you take y/n to be your lawfully wedded wife? To cherish her and to love her as long as your eternity may be gifted.” 

He smiled at the queen, gazing at her softly. 

Oh please, even I would swoon at that. 

“I do.” The crowed whooped and cheered. 

“And do you, y/n, take Hyunjin to be your lawfully wedded husband? To support him and his duties as long as your eternity may be gifted? To be a great wife to him and help him through all his hardships?” 

Everyone waited for the queen to speak the words I’d been dreading to hear the entire ceremony. 

“Felix, do you think we’ll ever get married?”

I stared the girl, smiling at her scared face, making her scrunch up her nose and hit me.

“Hey! What was that for?” I yelped, though I was still laughing. She hit me on the arm even harder. 

“Ok godzilla-”

“Felix! Be serious for once! Do you think we’ll ever get married?” I was about to make a joke once more, but I saw her tear-filled eyes. My heart dropped at the sight; I leaned closer to wipe the tears that fell onto her soft cheeks. 

“Hey, we can do whatever you want, y/n. I’m only following whatever you say.” I smiled. She pouted again, making me yearn to take away her sadness. 

“But, I mean, you’re a servant and I’m going to be queen one day.” Her sobs became even more distinct when she started talking. 

I sat up and pulled her closer to me, but she flinched away. 

“I’m serious, I’m scared that one day, someone will take you away from me.” Her painful expression mine, and I knew I had no words of advice to give her as I was afraid of the same thing.

I tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, making her facial features clearer. 

“I will never let anyone take you away from me, I hope you know that.” 

Her face morphed into a smile, returning to the bubbly girl I know and love. 

The memory faded, bringing me back into reality. 

“Yes, yes I do.” 

Claps and cheers erupted, petals and streamers flew, making me flinch as I would have to clean them later. 

“Hyunjin, you may now kiss the bride.” 

I saw him give her a shy smile, but nonetheless, he leaned down and claimed the lips I used to claim as mine. 

The cheers grew louder as the couple stomped out being followed by the wedding party I wasn’t allowed to be apart of. 

Followed by the guests I weren’t allowed to mingle with.

Followed by me, who belonged no where in this party.

I sighed, growing angry at myself for thinking these pitiful thoughts. Though, a small part of me knew they were true. 

I wasn’t good enough to be here, I didn’t drink purified water, get a college education, dress in dresses and suits daily, and I wasn’t in the line for any royalty. 

I was just me.

A servant, a poor boy who serves the girl who is sentenced to life to serve the girl he loves and the boy she loves his whole life. 

And I wasn’t satisfied with this life. 

I stormed out of the ceremony as the crowd was all mushed together so I wouldn’t look out of the ordinary. 

I wasn’t too familiar with my surroundings, so I ran as far as my legs took me. I loosened the tie I never word and took off the blazer I didn’t own. 

“Fuck!” I yelled to myself. I was at the back of the venue, thankfully it was completely empty. 

“Hey!” I heard a voice yell. I jumped in front and stared the person in front of me. I could’ve felt my heart stop beating right then and there.

“Y/n?” I stuttered out. The girl scoffed, returning a pose that wasn’t fit for a queen. She crossed her arms and raised a brow.

“Where do you think you’re going?” She asked with that snappy tone I used to admire. Which now just pissed me off.

“Just taking a breather, sorry I’m not used to prancing around with the royals.” I felt my tone turn bitter. She shook her head, smiling despite wanting to tear my head off.

“Ok, ok, fine, be like that Felix Lee. But this is my wedding, and shouldn’t you at least be trying to enjoy it?” I scoffed, placing my blazer on the nearby table.

“I don’t have to enjoy anything that I’m not meant to partake in. I know my place.” I spat. As soon as I said those words, I wanted to take them back.

The girl paced back and forth, making me forget she was a queen and instead just a girl I once knew. And a girl who once knew me. 

She then stared at me with a gaze that could kill.

“Fine, be like that! But this is my wedding, and you aren’t going to ruin it.” She spun around, making her wedding dress spun magically around her. 

Out of impulse, I grabbed her wrist. 

“Wait, I didn’t mean that.” I blurt out, confusing myself as to why I was trying to confuse the girl. 

As I turned her to face me, I saw tears trickle down her cheeks. I immediately wiped them away like the night when she told me she wanted to marry me. 

I slowly cupped her face, rubbing the tears away. 

She suddenly threw my hands off of her, making me jump back in surprise. 

“No! No, no, no, you do not get to just swoop back into my life and do this! I am married now! Married!” She cried out. I laughed.

“Ok, you’re married but I’m not. Does that put that into perspective now?” She growled.

“Yes, it does. It means that I moved on and you haven’t.” I smiled cockily at her words.

“Ok, are those words for me or are they for you?” I asked, mustering up as much courage as I had. 

She stopped moving, grabbing her dress to run away, but had no desire to. 

She stopped to think about my words, making my heart beat out of my chest. 

She then made up her mind and shook her head in disgust at me.

“They’re for you, Felix. Have a nice life.” 

[thepatricktreestump]

black & red

ten : tyler //trigger warnings and gender neutral reader throughout//

He should’ve known it was going to happen sometime. It was inevitable. They would have found out sooner or later. He was so stupid for thinking he could keep it a secret. Josh found out in less than a week of meeting Tyler. He had tried to get him to stop so many times, made him promise to stay clean, but it never worked. Blurryface was too strong to fight against, and most days, Tyler just gave in. It was better than struggling, because usually if Tyler tried to talk back, things only ended up even worse. “They know now,” Blurry teased Tyler in the back of his mind as soon as he had locked himself in the bathroom after getting back from the walk. His arms and neck was drenched in the black paint, his eyes burning a furious red, Tyler feeling as if he was suffocating. “They’re going to hate you so much. They probably think you’re disgusting, pathetic, useless. They will leave you.”

“No,” Tyler shook his head. “Don’t think those thoughts.”

“You can’t just push me away!” Blurry roared, his words sounding in Tyler’s mind like the clash of noisy cymbals. He could barely breathe. “You know I’m right! Y/n doesn’t love you! They just pity you! Just like Josh!”

“Leave Josh alone,” Tyler grumbled, closing his eyes tight. “Just let me deal with this.”

“I’ll be back. I always come back…” Blurryface murmured, the paint dripping down his skin into the skin, slowly fading away. Tyler stared at himself in the mirror, watching as the red in his eyes began to dim, the black paint diminishing, his lungs filling with air once again. He hated having panic attacks. It always felt like he was being choked to death, Blurryface screaming in his ears, his eyesight growing fuzzy, his heart beating so fast he was afraid it would burst.

But it was okay now. Tyler was on the couch with y/n, being held in their arms, told that he was loved. He had told them that they made him feel okay again, that he could clear his mind when he was holding their hand, how he felt safe. He didn’t mention Blurryface, because that was a secret he had decided he would keep for later, something even Josh still had a hard time understanding. “I wish I could make it go away,” y/n mumbled, cupping Tyler’s cheek, staring in their eyes with heartbrokenness and sorrow. “I wish I could make you feel better.”

“You do,” Tyler insisted, closing his eyes and inhaling a shaky breath. “You help.”

“Clearly not enough,” the words stung as soon as they left y/n’s lips, and Tyler flinched. “I-I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Tyler whispered. Josh had told him something similar on several occasions.

“It’s not,” y/n shook their head. “I need to be there for you when you need it. I’ve been a really shitty partner alright? I should’ve known, and I should’ve made it easier for you to tell me, or at least respected you, or reacted better, or-”

Tyler cut them off with a kiss, his lips pressed against theirs, him easing into their touch. They brought a hand up to hold the back of Tyler’s head, deepening the kiss, Tyler slipping his tongue into their mouth. They tasted so sweet. He slowly backed away, giving a small smile. “You’re not a shitty partner,” he corrected. “I love you so much, okay? If anyone’s a shitty partner, it’s definitely me. How about we just start over, yeah?”

“Okay,” y/n chuckled. “Uh, can I get another kiss though?”

Tyler looked at them, beaming, before tackling them with a hug, kissing them passionately and laying on top of them, his hands tangled in their hair. He closed his eyes and kissed them over again and again, his body pressed up against theirs, reveling in the feeling of being so close to someone he loved. Y/n let out a soft hum as Tyler trailed his kisses down their jaw to their neck, sucking on their skin softly, then sprinkling kisses down towards their chest before returning his lips back up to their mouth. “I love you so much,” Tyler breathed when he broke away, staring into their eyes. “Thank you. For everything.”

He was about to kiss them again when he felt a buzzing in his pocket, and he groaned. “Joshua?” y/n laughed. He climbed up off of them and rolled over on the side of the couch, searching for his phone in the pocket of his jeans, fishing it out and hitting accept.

“Nope, just a stupid telemarketer,” Tyler scowled. He pressed decline before tossing his phone to the other side of the couch, about to roll on top of y/n again, when they stared at Tyler. “What?”

“Nothing,” they blushed.

“Something,” Tyler narrowed his eyes.

“I just wish I knew more about you,” y/n shrugged, looking away shyly. “And I was thinking of how handsome you are. And how much I love you.”

“The last two were flattering, but I’m afraid the first one I think we need to work on a little more,” Tyler addressed, propping himself up with his arm resting against the couch, giving y/n all his attention. “What do you want to know about me?”

“Not anything in particular, but I feel like there’s some stuff you hide,” y/n admitted.

“Too many things,” Tyler could hear the faint whisper of Blurryface in the back of his mind, and he forced himself to suppress the distraction.

“I don’t mean to keep secrets from you on purpose,” Tyler explained. “I’m just trying to protect you.”

“From what?” y/n frowned.

“Hell, I don’t know,” Tyler gave a pained laugh, trying to cover up his nervousness. “My screwed up life, I guess.”

“Don’t talk that way,” y/n insisted. “I love you and your life, Ty.”

“You don’t even know all of it,” he argued.

“I’m trying to,” they murmured. “Can’t you see that? I’m trying to connect and understand and learn more, but you just keep pushing me away. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Tyler pressed his lips together, closing his eyes, feeling guilty. They deserved to know. They had a right. But he wasn’t ready to tell them. He didn’t want them to know. He was so scared of them finding out, them judging him, them leaving… He reopened his eyes, staring at his everything before him, sitting across from him on the couch, concerned and desperate and thoughtful expression yearning for his response. All he could hear was Blurry whispering in the back of his mind though, mumbling terrible things about how he never stood a chance or how he could never reveal himself to her. “I don’t know what to do anymore either,” Tyler admitted.

“Why can’t you just tell me?” y/n begged. “Josh keeps telling me about how I need to watch my  back and be careful and how you’ll tell me when you’re ready and all that bullshit, but I’ve been waiting forever it seems like. I know you’re hiding much more than just scars, Tyler. And I don’t mean to pressure you or make you feel scared, but I just want to understand, or at least try to. I want to help you, try to do something to make things better, make this stop. I want to be there for you when you need it, be the one you come to when you need a shoulder to cry on, the person that’s there for you when you need it most. And if that person is Josh, then that’s just as good. Let it be him. But I don’t see you getting help anywhere, not from me, not from Josh, not from anyone.”

“Josh knows,” Tyler whispered. “He’s the only one who needs to know.”

“Well what are you hiding? Did you kill someone?” y/n gave a soft laugh, but their laughter slowly faded into a more serious tone. “Tyler?”

“It’s more like someone killed me,” Tyler wanted to reply, although Blurryface was keeping his mouth shut.

“You can’t tell them,” Blurryface snapped. “Not now. Not ever.”

Tyler felt drips of black start to pool at his fingertips and he quickly got up off of the couch. “I’m so sorry,” he shut his eyes, feeling small and weak and embarrassed. “I’ll be right back.”

And with that, he stood up, racing to the bathroom, feeling ashamed and guilty as he locked the door, sinking to the ground, burying his face in his hands. He had just promised y/n that they would try to work through this and figure things out, stop hiding and keeping secrets, that they would make a change, and yet here he was, back to square one all over again. No wonder they hated him. They did hate him, right?

“Of course they hate you,” Blurryface growled, eyes burning a bright red.

“I know,” Tyler grumbled, feeling twice as pathetic. “I just keep giving them even more reasons.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Blurry soothed. “Remember that none of this matters. People will come and go, Tyler. They will all get your hopes up, pretend to support your dreams, make you fall in love, and then they will crush your heart and abandon you forever. But I never will. I won’t leave you Tyler. We can stay here forever. You and me. Inside of your mind. We can play this game, can’t we? It’s very fun once you know the rules. After all, I win every time.”

“Stop,” Tyler pleaded. “That’s not true. Josh won’t leave me. Y/n won’t either.”

“Ah, but they will,” Blurry insisted. “They all leave sooner or later. You’ll see in time. You’ll learn.”

“You’re right. Everyone will leave me. All of them will,” Tyler nodded, trying to get a hold of the situation. “All of them including you. Right?”

“Oh silly child,” Blurryface just gave a dark chuckle, sending chills up Tyler’s spine. “…I’m the only one who will never leave you I’m afraid.”

[dictionaryrainbowarchive]

The Coffeehouse Quintet - Book 4: Bad Dad

Jeremy tapped his foot, trying to hide his impatience. He stood in line with Rebbecca, his daughter, at the coffeehouse just around the corner from the Roslyn Derkins Theater. Despite being late in the afternoon, the shop was still crowded. There was a long line of mostly men stretching back almost to the front door.

The single father rubbed his daughter’s back. Her navy wool sweater felt rough to his hand. There was no mistaking the couple’s relationship as father and child. They were a spitting image of each other. Jeremy’s strong features and trim body made him look dashing and athletic. The same build, however, made Rebbecca look boyish and wispy.

Checking his watch, Jeremy was glad to see they still had thirty minutes until Rebbecca’s audition. A drama girl throughout high school, she’d been the star in every production. Her supporting father’s small IT firm that he ran kept them happy and would have provided the financial resources needed to send her off to a large Arts school. Her grades and applications, on the other hand, hadn’t been enough to get her in.

She decided to take a shot and work her way into the industry, rather than study her way in. Today was her first major audition and she’d asked her dad to go with her for moral support. She’d been insistent that they arrive early for the audition and they’d arrived way too early. The theater hadn’t even opened yet. Rebbecca was a nervous wreck waiting outside so Jeremy suggested a cup of coffee or tea to calm her down.

“Do you really think I can get a part?” Rebbecca asked, not for the first time that day.

“Yes, honey. You’ll be terrific. You’ll do just fine. They won’t be able to stop from falling all over themselves just to get you to contract.”

Rebbecca beamed and hugged her father’s arm. “Thanks, Daddy. I’m just so nervous because I’m not beautiful or busty like those girls on TV.”

“You’re beautiful to me, sweetie, plus there’s more to acting than just looks, and you’ve got it. You’ll do just fine,” he answered and patted the hands hugging his arm.

The line in front of them was barely moving. Jeremy checked his watch. At this rate, they wouldn’t have time to drink their coffee. Jeremy wondered what was taking so long.

As if she’d read his mind, Rebbecca said, “I bet all of these people are here for the same reason we are. They’re here early and wanted a drink before auditioning. I’ll never get the part over all of these people!”

“Shhh,” Jeremy said and hugged her head to his chest. “You’ll do just fine. There’s lots of rolls to be had, plus most of the people here are men. They wouldn’t be going for the same parts you are. You’ll do just fine.”

“But...”

“You’ll do just fine. Just think of what you want to drink and don’t worry about the audition.”

The two stood in silence for several minutes and the line crept forward. They hadn’t made it half way through when Jeremy saw the reason for its sluggishness. The barista working the counter was topless and had the most massive breasts he’d ever seen. She was filling orders for cream by milking herself directly into the customers’ cups. The process in itself wasn’t slow, but the gawking patrons prevented the line from moving with any kind of speed.

The startled gasp from his daughter showed that she, too, had noticed the reason for their delay. “Oh my god, daddy! Look at her! If a girl like that can’t get a part, how could I ever imagine that I could?”

“It’s okay, honey. You’ll do just fine. Not everyone wants to be an actress.”

“This isn’t like auditioning for my school play. This is serious.”

“You’ll do just fine.”

A man reading a newspaper nearby folded it up and slammed it on the table. If it hadn’t been for his outburst, Jeremy would never have noticed him. He was too average looking, too ordinary. “That’s enough,” the man said. “You two, come sit down.” He pointed at the empty seats across from him.

“I’m sorry, we don’t really have time for...”

“Now!”

Against his will, Jeremy’s feet moved him forward. Rebbecca gave him a terrified look that let him know she’d gone over against her will as well. They each pulled a chair out and sat down. Jeremy gave his daughter a reassuring look and said, “Don’t worry. You’ll be just fine.”

The man let out a frustrated cry. “This is ridiculous! How many times do I have to hear you say, ‘You’ll do just fine’? I know, technically you just said, ‘be just fine’ but it’s still close enough to piss me off.”

“I’m sorry, mister. I didn’t know I was offending you...”

“It’s not just me. Anyone within earshot is probably wishing for bad things to happen to you.”

“No they...”

The man cut Jeremy off. “Hey, lady,” he said to a girl sitting nearby. She was dressed as if her natural habitat was a night club, not a coffeehouse. Her pink floral print halter top v-ed down to show every inch of her artificial looking breasts. Her long blond hair hid the strings tying her top on and draped down the sides of her body causing Jeremy’s eyes to focus even more on her exposed cleavage. Jeremy wondered what sort of upbringing could produce a girl like her. “What would you do if you heard this guy say, ‘You’ll do just fine’ one more time?”

The girl glared at Jeremy. “Probably kick him in the fucking balls.”

“See! It’s not just me.”

Hanging his head, Jeremy glanced over at Rebbecca. He couldn’t read her expression. “I’m sorry, I won’t say it anymore.”

“No, it’s too late for that now, Jeremy.”

“How did you...”

The man waved his question off. “Really, Rebbecca here is already 19 and if she doesn’t have the self confidence to make it on her own without you constantly saying, ‘You’ll do just fine’.” The man shuddered. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to say those words again. Anyway, as I was saying, if she doesn’t have the confidence to make it on her own without...those words, then you really messed up as a parent.

“I think you have done a pretty crap job. Look at your daughter. She’s pathetic. She’s got this whole,” the guy waved his hand around in a small circle pointed at Rebbecca, “innocent girl next door thing going on, but it’s really quite annoying. You’re 19, girl! Grow up. You don’t need daddy around to hold your hand.

“’Aww, everyone’s so much prettier and better than me.’ Please. You only do it because you want the attention. You want the sympathy. You’ve got the confidence in you. Hell, there hasn’t been a single play you haven’t had the lead roll in. How you fucked up on your applications so bad, not even I know that. My only guess is you did it so Daddy here would feel sorry for you.”

Their host took a sip of his coffee and let the scared stew for a minute.

“Here’s the deal. Your daughter, like always, she’s going to get the lead in the audition and be wildly successful. I’m telling you this now. And you know it’s true that I can do this.”

Both Jeremy and Rebbecca nodded their heads. Jeremy didn’t know how he knew, but the core of his being radiated with the knowledge that the man was telling the truth.

“So, you see, there’s nothing to worry about. There’s no reason to say those words. If, for any reason you do happen to say them, there will be a punishment.” The man snapped his fingers and the huge breasted barista left the customers at the counter and came over.

“Are they going to help me remove whatever is stuck up my ass?”

“No. They disgust me. Get their orders so they can leave and I don’t have to look at them anymore.”

The woman turned to Rebbecca. “Well, aren’t you just so cute! Has anyone ever told you, you should be an actress?”

“Actually, I’m waiting for an audition to start.”

The man clapped his hands once. “No chitchat! Just orders.”

“Sorry, sir. What can I get for you, dear?”

“I’ll have an earl grey,” Rebbecca said.

“And you sir?” the waitress asked Jeremy.

“Just a black coffee.”

The woman looked downcast. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like some cream? It’s homemade!”

“Okay, two creams.”

Jeremy and Rebbecca still hadn’t regained the free will to move about, so they sat in silence while they waited for their orders. The man sat back and started reading his paper again. Jeremy wondered what their table companion meant by “punishment”.

From the other side of the newspaper, the man said, “You know, this wasn’t my paper at first. Belonged to a guy not much older than you, Jeremy. I made a bet with him that he couldn’t resist fucking this slut.” The man let out a chuckle. “I kind of cheated, though. I took away his distaste for nasty skanks. It’s not like I made him like them, it’s just that he no longer hates them. Would have been too easy for him to pass on temptation otherwise. But don’t worry, I’m playing straight with you. Just guaranteed success and punishment for you-know-what.”

Not really having a clue what the man was talking about, Jeremy nodded. “What do you mean by punishment?”

“I mean, you will become an even worse parent than I think you are. I’m sorry, Rebbecca. You’ll probably have to suffer through it until things get better.”

A drop of sweat rolled down the side of Jeremy’s face despite the cool temperature. “What will happen? What do you mean?”

“Tsk tsk tsk. Now where would the fun be in telling you? You’ll just have to wait and see.”

At last the woman came back with their orders. She gave them their cups and then backed up. “Hold your cup up a little higher, mister,” she told Jeremy.

He held it up to shoulder height and then the woman grabbed one of her nipples. She tweaked it once, twice, sending two streams of milk flying towards his cup. Not a drop spilled outside of it. “There you are. Miss, would you like any cream in your tea?”

“No, thank you,” Rebbecca replied.

“Alright then. And since you’re special guests, it’s on the house. Have a nice day and come back soon!” The busty barista made her way back to the counter and started filling orders again.

Once they had received their orders, Jeremy and Rebbecca found they were free to leave. From behind the newspaper, their host said, “Don’t say it, Jeremy. Just don’t say it.”

* * *

The 40 year old father sat next to his brunette daughter. They sipped on their beverages while the auditorium filled. They hadn’t said a word to each other since they’d left the coffeehouse.

Rubbing a hand through his thick hair, Jeremy looked over the information about the comedic musical Rebbecca was auditioning for. Not being the biggest play goer, Jeremy hadn’t heard of it before, but apparently it was a huge success on Broadway. It was a modern day, musical rendition of Shakespeare’s Taming of the Shrew.

Rebbecca was hoping to land the role based off of Katherina. She and Jeremy agreed that she had a better shot at it. Even though he’d reassured her in the coffeehouse, her assessment of her looks was quite realistic. She wasn’t remarkable or beautiful enough to fit in the Bianca role.

The auditorium filled around them. Rebbecca twitched in her seat. His green eyed daughter pulled her pony tail over her knit sweater. It went well with the sensible blue jeans she was wearing. Letting go of her hair, she started to fiddle with the silver bracelet her daddy had given her for her 18th birthday. At the time she’d refused it, knowing how thin their budget was spread. The down turn in the economy had really hurt her dad’s private business.

Rebbecca’s mom had passed away while she was very young and Jeremy had raised her the best way he knew how. He had trouble running his IT company and being a single dad. The man at the coffeehouse’s insult about him being a bad father had cut deep.

Jeremy reached over and rubbed her shoulders. “You’ll do just fine,” he said. As soon as the words left his mouth, Jeremy flinched. What was going to happen?

“Daddy! That man told you not to say that!” his daughter admonished him. She flicked her golden ringlets off her shoulder and Jeremy withdrew his hand from her pink and gray diamond-checked sweater. She turned her crystal blue eyes up at him and gave him a smile.

His stunningly beautiful daughter put her hand on his chest. “It’s nice of you to come down with me and reassure me and stuff.” Her diamond laced, gold Tiffany’s bracelet sparkled in the light. “But what would really give me confidence would be some new Dior earrings. I know I could nail the Bianca part with some of them...”

She didn’t care that her father was juggling his debt on two mortgages and three credit cards. Rebbecca’s insatiable appetite for brand name clothing had run Jeremy into the ground. Without the jewelry, Jeremy knew his gorgeous daughter would be a shoe in for the part of the beautiful and spoiled Bianca. She wouldn’t even have to act the part. Being her father didn’t spare him from her charms. “I’m sorry, honey. There’s no time to get them before the auditions start.”

The punishment! Jeremy cried in his head. Did Rebbecca notice it, too? The daughter he’d so lovingly raised was gone. In her place was a beautiful, spoiled brat that he felt no connection to. This version of his daughter would never be caught in something as plain and simple as the navy sweater she used to be wearing.

Memories of his plain daughter refusing the simple silver bracelet were joined side by side with his new glamorous daughter throwing a tantrum because he’d bought her a Tiffany’s bracelet and not the Chanel one she’d wanted.

He looked at the alluring creature next to him. Questions ran through his mind. Was the old her still inside there? When she looked at him, did she see the old him? The him who ran a floundering, but viable IT company, or did she just see the new him, the low level, underpaid IT clerk and a soon to be bankrupt security firm?

If the old her was still in there, she must be crying out about how her new lust for name brand items had done to her father. It’d driven him into massive credit card debt, taking a third mortgage out on their house and finally forcing him to get a graveyard shift just to have enough money to eat. She looked up at him and her sky blue eyes sparkled at him. “Do you promise to get me some after?”

On the outside, there was no hint if she was still there or not. As far as Jeremy could tell, the insecure girl he’d comforted in line at the coffeehouse had been completely replaced by the new Rebbecca. This version of her had tried to flirt her way up to the front of the line at the coffeehouse. After she hadn’t gotten any where with her attempts, he’d reassured her to try to keep her calm and his reassurances had angered that man. Jeremy tried to picture him in his head but came up blank.

“I’m sorry, honey. I don’t have the cash today. I get paid next Wednesday. I’ll get you some then.” Even if his old daughter was in there, she probably couldn’t see the old him inside his new beer-bellied, thinning haired body. The loser persona that had come as a punishment to his words masked the former father.

Pouting her full lips, Rebbecca looked down. “You’ll be just fine without them,” Jeremy told her. He couldn’t believe what he’d just said. Even after tasting the punishment for the first time. He winced. He couldn’t look. He didn’t want to know how he’d changed them.

A man stood up on the stage. Jeremy focused on him so he wouldn’t have to know what he’d done to them. The man tapped on the mike once and the auditorium went silent. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming out today to audition for a Women’s Network original movie, Trouble Daughter.

“We’ve gone through the applications that you handed in this morning. We’re going to be calling out parts and then those who we’d like to have audition for that role. If you don’t get called, it’s because we’re not looking for someone with your particular talents and we wish you luck in your future endeavors.”

The play had changed. It wasn’t even a play anymore. It’d turned into a tryout for a bad movie on a cable channel Jeremy had never even heard of. Unable to control his curiosity, the nervous father glanced over at his daughter to see what had happened to her. Neither the pink and gray sweater vest she wore nor the unbuttoned pink dress shirt underneath it did anything to cover her new, full cleavage.

Thick makeup adorned her features. On the previous incarnation of her, those features were delicate and cute. The only words that Jeremy could find to describe them now were “sexy” and “tease”. Long gone were the plain features that she’d once fretted over so much.

Her taste in clothing matched her taste in jewelry now: gaudy, revealing, and above all name brand. He could count his meager paychecks by counting the articles that adorned her. High stockings stretched up from her black heels and stopped bellow her knee. Just like her enlarged breasts, her now well toned, creamy white thighs were put on display as the black lace DKNY skirt she wore only covered her legs to mid thigh. Or was it a Banana Republic skirt? No, Jeremy didn’t think this new girl would touch something as cheap as Banana Republic, let alone wear it.

Jeremy’s once athletic form was nowhere near to be found. While his daughter was getting sexier, he was getting fatter. The IT company that he’d once owned was now his employer. His old business was now more successful than anything he could have ever dreamed of. It had become a major player in the technology industry. Jeremy had nothing to do with it, though. He was just the parking lot security guard. All day he sat in his booth and ate donuts while watching the little portable TV he’d put in. Former friends and employees now sneered at him as he checked their ID badges and let them into the lot.

Today, he hadn’t come down to be moral support for his daughter. In this changed reality, he was here to make sure she actually came to the audition. The new him hoped that she’d get the lead part of the troubled daughter, not for her success, but so she could start paying for some things on her own.

“You should cover up some,” he told her.

“Relax, dad. I’m looking the part.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes at that. He knew this edition of his daughter wasn’t dressed any different today than normal. She took any opportunity to flaunt her ample chest and toned legs. In this life, he was never strict with his daughter. She was beyond control. Even if he tried to lay down rules of some sort, he was constantly working to keep one step ahead of the nonstop collection agencies and was never around to enforce them. As a result, Rebbecca didn’t even pretend to obey him.

“...Next is for the part of Bianca, the daughter. Please go up to the second floor and wait in room 203. Clair Abraham, Alexandra Douglas, Fran Driver, Rebbecca Elman, Tracy...”

“That’s me!” Rebbecca bounced up out of her seat. She handed her drink to her dad. “Go on up and wait for me. I wanna go out and get a quick smoke before my audition.”

“Rebbecca Elman! I thought I told you to quit smoking.”

“Dad, I’m 19 and if I want to smoke, I’ll smoke all I want.”

She walked off and left him to stare at her back. Her expensive skirt swayed back and forth with her steps in her three inch heels. The motion called attention to the bit of creamy white flesh visible just below the short hem down to the knee high stockings.

Having finished his drink long ago, Jeremy took a sip of his daughter’s tea. He sputtered and spit most of it out. There was more bourbon in it than tea. It explained why she still had some left when he’d finished his coffee, but he couldn’t figure out what the hell was she thinking getting drunk before her audition. Things were getting too far out of hand.

He knew as part of his punishment, he couldn’t change who they were, but maybe he could stop them from getting worse. Maybe he could fight it somehow and make them better in the future.

Jeremy went into the men’s bathroom to dispose of her drink. He started to pour her drink out, but his hand froze as memories of the most recent Rebbecca came to him. To put it simply, she was a pain.

This daughter had never been in a play at school. This daughter hardly ever went to school. She’d been suspended numerous times for smoking in the girl’s bathroom, or being drunk during class. He didn’t know how she had heard about this audition, but the movie seemed like a parallel to her life story. This version of her’s life story.

The balding factory worker looked at himself in the mirror. Bags were permanently sketched under his eyes. In this world, he couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t worked a double shift. The job as parking lot guard was no more. It’d gone the way of his base level IT position and his career running his own company. His real self seemed forever away.

All that was here for him in this world was overworking, beer and TV. Yesterday, he’d pulled the late night shift and then the morning shift. For the first time in a week he’d gone home before 11PM. He’d been planning a nice night with a six pack and sleeping in front of the TV. His plans had been dashed by finding Rebbecca topless and making out with her boyfriend on the sofa. No, it was worse than that. It wasn’t her boyfriend, it was just some kid she’d brought over to pass the time.

It was too much for Jeremy. He couldn’t handle the changes. He’d come into the bathroom to try to revert them back to how they used to be. He’d come in to dump the drink down the drain. Instead, he bottomed the cup and gave a satisfied “Ahh”. Glancing back in the mirror, he gave his pudgy cheeks two quick pats. His five o’clock shadow felt rough on his hands. “You’ll be just fine,” he told his reflection.

Shit! Jeremy thought. He wondered if it counted if he said it to himself. The guy hadn’t said anything about that. He hoped it didn’t count.

Jeremy shook the empty flask in his hand. He couldn’t focus. He was too drunk. Dropping the useless flask into the sink, it clattered and came to a stop on top of the drain. Jeremy put his hands on the side of sink and banged his comb over into the mirror.

He’d been punished again. The job at the factory hadn’t lasted five minutes. To that last Jeremy, it had lasted a life time. Just like the Jeremy before that had been a glorified crossbar for a life time. Just like the Jeremy before that had been a glorified computer janitor. Somewhere he’d started out owning his own business.

So many lives in his head combined with ample amounts of alcohol made it impossible for Jeremy to think. The world was a dream to him. He had to take stock of who he was now. At some point he’d been athletically built. Now Jeremy couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been called some variant of “fat”. When he’d turned fourteen, he’d doubled in size as he’d started drinking heavily.

The thoughts of him owning a company were comical to him now. He’d never even graduated high school. The closest thing he had to a job was losing what little cash he had at the dog track.

Food stamps and TV had raised Becca. Jeremy hadn’t cared about what she did until she’d turned 16 and could start working. Now he skimmed her paycheck to take care of himself. He hiccuped. Memories muddled even more in his mind. He couldn’t remember if he was skimming of Becca for booze money or if she was skimming off him for brand name clothing.

Alcohol was the answer he decided. Drowning the memories was his only recourse, but his flask was empty. The unemployed dad stumbled out of the toilet and hoped Becca had some more.

She was off hiding. His daughter had begged him not to come to the audition with her, but he wasn’t going to miss this for the world because he loved her and wanted to support her. That thought belonged to some other him. He didn’t know which one. Maybe it was the original, but he couldn’t even tell which version that was any more. It definitely wasn’t the reason this version of him was here. The most recent Jeremy had a different aim.

He stumbled into the audition room for the background dancers in Holly Molly’s new music video, Trouble Daughter. That’s why he came. Auditions for that tasty tart’s newest pop tune’s video meant young fit women, young fit women who were scantily clad.

The lecherous fat man licked his lips and scanned the ample amount of cleavage displayed in the room. He wondered if Holly herself would show up. He loved the teen sensation and a picture with her could replace all his rag mags.

Jeremy’s erection poked out the front of his pants and he winked at one of the waiting girls as he stuck his hand in his pocket to adjust himself. The girl glowered at him. He looked up her fishnet stocking leg to her small tight black shorts. He could have spent hours staring at her flat stomach, but didn’t want to waste the time when he could be looking at her large tits in their black bra shirt. If asked, Jeremy couldn’t have described her face.

One of the men working on the lighting came over to Jeremy. He looked around nervously for someone to support him, but no one looked his way. “Sorry, sir. You’re not allowed in here.”

“My daughter’s up next and I’m gonna watch her.”

The man reeled from the alcoholic reek of Jeremy. Before he could protest again, Becca came back in, stinking of tobacco and pot. She was dressed in an outfit identical to the other girls. “Shit, pop, why the fuck didn’t you tell me I was up next?”

She handed him her purse and he dug out her flask. He sipped on it while he watched his daughter perform. Jeremy wasn’t ashamed to admit that watching his own daughter shake her ass and large natural boobs got him even harder. The way she squatted down and shook her rear like she was actually riding a cock drove him wild.

Those other girls didn’t have a chance. Becca had gotten pointers from the girls at the strip club where she waited tables. He was so proud of his girl. She was going on to bigger and better paychecks for her deadbeat dad to leach off of.

He looked at his platinum haired daughter finish her set and his eyes went crossed. She wasn’t how he remembered her, the busty girl who made her way around to all the boys in the trailer park where they lived. Rather, she was a mousy reserved brunette that cowered in front of all these people.

She was his sweetheart. He took care of her and seeing her dressed like that made his heart break. He wanted to cry. He’d done this to them. He’d kept saying those words even though he knew they’d be punished.

Jeremy took another sip from the flask. Drown it out, he thought. Tossing his head back caused him to lose his balance and stumble back into one of the waiting girls.

“Oops. Sorry about that,” he said.

“You ripped my stockings, asshole.”

“No need to get all huffy. Put some new ones on and you’ll be just fine.”

Jeremy cursed himself. He wanted never to speak again. He was afraid if he opened his mouth again it would be those four words and he didn’t know how much more degrading things could get. His old selves drowned themselves in the alcohol. Not one of them could bear to see what the most recent change would bring.

The stripper he’d bumped into glared at him for a long second then walked off. The alcoholic trailer trash looked up in time to see his tramp of a daughter finish her audition.

She clasped her bra back on over her artificial chest. Jeremy didn’t know where she’d gotten the money to get a tit job. When she came home with them, he’d hit her something fierce. Bitch holding out on him. He brought her into this fucking world and she owed him god dammit.

It’d turned out to be a blessing, her tips from stripping had doubled after she got them done. As fiercely as he’d hit her, Jeremy apologized and took her money for booze.

Word of a softcore documentary about strippers flew through the club one night and visions of Beka breaking into the world of softcore and him rolling in the profits flashed through Jeremy’s mind.

Stripper Trouble, a look into the troubled lives and tribulations of exotic dancers. Whatever the fuck that meant, so long as Jeremy got cash from his daughter’s ass, he didn’t care.

Beka sashayed over to her shit head father and pushed him back into an empty chair. “Jesus Christ, Jeremy. I fuckin’ told you not to come down here. You’re gonna fuck it all up.”

Raging out of the chair Jeremy raised his hand to slap his impudent daughter down. He stopped well short but she ducked anyway and her cheap bleached hair went sailing. Everyone was looking at them.

“The fuck you lookin’ at? Mind yer own god damn business!” Jeremy yelled at them.

Shaking, Beka grabbed her purse from Jeremy and took out a small pink vile. She unscrewed the cap and snorted two nostrils full of the white powder inside.

“Damn junky,” Jeremy said. “I ain’t gonna hitcha. You’ll be just fine.”

“Mr Elman,” someone said.

Jeremy looked up. Two large muscular men were walking about naked. Their johnson’s were bigger than Jeremy even imagined existed. They swung back and forth as the porn studs made their way off the set.

The dolled up starlets prancing around really took Jeremy’s attention. He was so glad he came down to this porn audition with his daughter. He recognized so many of the girls from his tapes. It was only a matter of time before his slut of a daughter was one of them.

“Mr Elman.”

“Fuckin’ what?” Jeremy looked at the guy talking to him. “Hey, you’re that prick from the coffeehouse with that big titty chick.”

The man blinked once, twice. “Yes, I am. I see you’ve become quite elegant.”

“I don’t care for none of yer college words. What do you want? I wanna get me some more signs from the girls before they get outa here.”

“If you would, sir. I have the contract ready for you.”

Jeremy glowered at the man. “Contract? What are you on about?”

The man pulled Beka up by her arm. She didn’t resist, but didn’t make an effort to stand either. He grabbed her father with his other arm and led the two of them over to a table. “Please, have a seat, Mr Elman.”

Sliding out a chair, Jeremy slouched down in it. His mysterious companion drug his coked up daughter around to the other side of the table. The man left her standing as he sat down.

He pulled out a piece of paper, a pen and a check for two million dollars. The man slid the paper and pen across the tabletop and leaned back. The original Jeremy read the paper.

“I, Jeremy Elman, do hear by swear under pains greater than I can imagine that I will never utter the words ‘You’ll be/do just fine.’ again. In accords with this, I shall give away all rights to my daughter having proven to be the worst parent possible. For compensation, I shall receive a check for two million dollars.

“Having suitably received punishment for her false innocence which caused me to incessantly utter the aforementioned words, Rebbecca Elman shall live happily as she is now with no recollection of my existence.

“In the event of my death, she shall still receive all of my worldly goods as is her right.”

The Jeremy that he’d become couldn’t read it. He could make out his name and his daughter’s name. The rest was chicken scratch to him. “What’s all this mean?”

“It means you’ve got a choice, Jeremy,” he said. “Sign the paper and you can have this,” he held up the check, “or stand up and take this home,” he pointed to Jeremy’s daughter, Rebbecca.

She wasn’t the trashy stripper the worthless father knew so well. She was the Rebbecca the loving dad had come to support. The frail girl stood covering her shapeless form with her sweater. She hugged it tightly to her chest. Her white, functional underwear clashed with the nudity and risque surrounding her. Her dull brown hair was pulled up in a pony tail that limply hung down her back. On her left wrist there was a silver bracelet with a heart charm dangling off it. In the heart was the word “Daddy”.

She shifted her weight from foot to foot. Tears welled up in her eyes. “Daddy, please. I want to go home,” she said.

Somewhere inside him, the caring dad cried out for the poor girl. He wanted to protect her, to coddle her. The alcoholic trailer trash sneered at the worthless girl. He wanted to put her to work to make him some money.

Jeremy looked from her to the check. The two of him battled in his head.

Protect her!

That worthless whore?

She’s my baby! She’s going to be an actress!

She’s my meal ticket! She’s gonna be a porn star!

Jeremy’s hand shot out and picked up the pen. He made his mark on the paper. His former selves disappeared, leaving only the new Jeremy. Reaching across the table, he snatched the check out of the man’s hand. He looked up at his daughter. “Shit, bitch. You are home.”

Rebbecca’s arms fell to her sides and she dropped her sweater. She started shaking. Her mouth fell open and a constant moan escaped her lips. The pony tail dangling down her back exploded in a wind storm of platinum blond. Her giant hair framed her face. Makeup appeared in heavier and heavier coats across her lips, eyes, lashes and lids. Her white functional underwear morphed into black decorative and revealing lingerie.

As her garments changed, her hips widened out and her ass expanded. Her breasts filled and inflated, stretching her new bra to its limits. Steadily, she grew in height to match her 6 inch stilettos. Lacy stockings snaked their way up her calves, stopping on her thighs just above the knee.

Her shaking got more violent and finally she screamed out. “FUCK! That was the god damn best orgasm I’ve ever had in my life.” She set her eyes on Jeremy. “I think it’s because I’ll never have to see your sorry ass excuse for a father again.”

Jeremy sneered at the woman he’d just sold to the porn industry. He stumbled back away from the table.

“Mr Elman, thank you for your business. If anything should happen to you, don’t worry. The money will be transferred to your next of kin here.”

“That whore ain’t gettin shit from me.”

“Very well. And remember, you just signed a contract swearing that you’ll never say that phrase again.”

Jeremy waved his hand at the man once or twice and then staggered away. He bumped into the door and spun into the hall. “The fuck?” he muttered.

Drunk and exhilarated, he exited the theater and out into the bustling street. Grinning deliriously, he pulled out his check. “Two fucking million. Yeah, Jeremy my boy, you’ll be just fine.”

He held the check up and looked at it as he walked. Not even the sound of a bus’s horn and screeching tires couldn’t tear Jeremy’s eyes off it.