#and then before anyone's had time to recover from that suddenly REALITY IS CRACKING APART AT THE SEAMS in a way that is somehow

[kingdomoftyto]

Hey everyone how are you doing today because I'm uh. I'm??? I'm.

:^)

Yeah I'm!! really Going Through It, holy fuck

[ideasnstuff]

Idea 11

A writing based on BSD, but with the realistic essence of my person.

Dedicated to my grandfather who recently passed away.

Rest in peace, grandfather.

It was said that life was three days.

Only three days.

And three days only.

Nothing more, nothing less.

On the first day, the birth.

On the second, the growth.

And on the third, one perished.

Only three days.

And three days only.

The brevity was so great that on the second day it seemed as if one had been born the day before.

Suddenly it didn't seem like years had passed, but days, hours, minutes, seconds.

It seemed as if yesterday one had months and today one would be at death's door.

The absolute naked cruelty, stripped of illusions of the infinity of years that, in the end-

were like just a few hours.

On the third day, then, it seemed like seconds.

Which was why a life - human life - was not years.

It's days.

Making the right choices was not always possible and, more than anyone, Dazai knew that.

Perhaps that's why bouquet of flowers rested in his hands, next to his belly - and why he stood before a round and hideous stone with a round letter and a surname that made his stomach turn.

N. Chuuya

Not even in his wildest dreams had he imagined that moment.

But as they say, in three days... anything can happen.

And that rock was cruel proof of that. ...

...

And... the ephemerality of human life was humiliating for the high and grand dreams of each one.

(Still it never ceased to amaze him.)

To tear apart the highest expectations, the lightest thoughts, leaving chaos and insecurity.

Not exactly for himself, but for others.

And Dazai still wanted to die, even after everything that had happened.

Especially after what had happened.

His eyes didn't see the world the same way after definitively losing a small piece of distant memories…

And if before-

If in the dungeon Dazai had seen the cold and distant opacity of an old acquaintance's eyes...

And the evident distance from the ties of the past...

Now, even those, had been lost-

forever

He saw them as small fragments of the film that was his life.

And if he stretched out his fingers-

He'd watch how quick they would vanish like soft and desert sand.

It was a consistency converted into disorganized pieces that would never be put back together.

There were too many cracks and empty spaces.

It was a shattered relationship.

A lost case.

But now, if Dazai ever wanted to recover it?

It would not be possible.

That was the reality, that was what hurt the most.

Because, matter how powerful it was... it was still a fragile crystal, that broke with absurd ease.

As sweet as popping a thin bubble of soap with a needle.

Plock!

(Chuuya-)

And then, those three days, were not three days.

They became a day, hours, or minutes.

Then, just like that, the arrival of death had been brought forward.

The schedule had been changed.

And she, a lady dressed in blind darkness and with eyes so white they looked like snowflakes, as fragile as the wheat she was harvesting.

Movements devoid of pity and her beautiful, white arms raised in anticipation, carrying a harvest in her hand, letting it fall on the soul of the poor unfortunate.

And then-

Zasp!

Suddenly there was no time for goodbyes, kisses or hugs.

Suddenly it was the end.

The very and human end.

And if there was ever something left to say, the timer had already gone off.

It would be too late.

(It was too late)

The alarm had been activated and life... a life had been ended.

But Dazai lived, he, Dazai was alive and the other-

No, the other two.

Dead.

"Please, show me some kindness and take me with you…"

What would it be like to die?

He wondered.

It was never a thought that had never crossed his mind, but now...

It was different.

Death was not meaningless, not anymore.

But still...

What would there be beyond the precipice?

He couldn't help but think.

The eyes and the soul would close and then… what would happen?

And that would have to be asked of those who can no longer speak.

Their once pink, red lips, now with a deadly shade of purple hardened and roughened by the paleness of the end.

The paleness of death.

And suddenly death didn't seem as beautiful as its ideal.

" Ahh a double suicide, what a sweet ring it has!"

It was not beautiful.

It was not pretty, much less happy.

But even so, the tears - those waters, human eyes let out when they were sad - did not come to him.

(He was never a human being)

Perhaps assured by the futile hope of believing in his plan.

His chest, however, felt heavy.

Terribly heavy.

His heart beating faster and faster was the confirmation of the pain he had felt.

The pain he was currently, feeling.

And it weighed there as if a rope had been tied to his heart, along with a rock.

Somehow, similar to a ship sinking on the sea of life.

And so, like the desperate owner of the ship…

He did not know what to do.

The feeling of seeing someone who once had walked, talked, breathed-

That was now laying on the ground was like seeing a thirsty flower that had nothing, absolutely nothing left to give in an unreachable vase.

It was the cycle of nature, the cycle of life.

Despite knowing death was part of life - after all life was three days-

He did not know how to deal with it, even if he claimed to crave for it.

Too much pain, too much regret, too many emotions.

(For him)

He had buried his friend, but he hadn't been able to burry his partner.

No, his former partner but his longest acquaintance, nevertheless.

(His partner, since he was fifteen years old)

But the tears did not appear in the corners of his eyes.

He had not seen Chuuya's body.

He would have sunk into that small cubicle and stayed there.

He had thought that death was something boring for Chuuya.

Death, pain made Chuuya boring, nothing interesting.

But a death, a death that was not his own, made Dazai human.

Chuuya... he was strong, loyal and…in his own way… he was a kind man.

(That was what made Dazai want to not die)

He deserved better than to die as a piece of a plan.

Would… would they remember him?

Chuuya had always been greatly admired and respected by everyone, but… who would really care about visiting him, even if he wasn’t on Earth?

(Dazai would do it.)

He had only come to leave a bouquet of flowers, lilies, at a stone with the name of his former partner.

No one had the courage to recover the man’s remains and honestly, Dazai didn’t comment on the matter.

He was faced with earth and stone.

What a terrible end.

He knew death would be the one able to free him, Chuuya, from oblivion and no one would know who he had been.

He finally had gotten rid of his curse, but… at what cost?

He was, now, just another grave among many others.

The false confidence he had placed in his plans was painful.

He had made a mistake.

A mistake he knew it was bound to happen sooner of later.

(Moments like these reminded him of how he was just a human being)

(A human being able of faillure)

Dazai’s mistakes always ended in tragedy.

Everything had to be perfect. … …

And one… one of the features that Dazai liked to appreciate the most from afar were human facial expressions.

Particularly, the bright or dull orbs that were the beacons of each person’s soul.

The eyes, the human eye, the mirror of the soul.

For a long time, Dazai had seen the world with only one eye, oblivious to the other riches of life.

When he entered the agency, he was met with completely different eyes than the ones he was used to seeing — happy, light and carefree.

And this caused him a feeling of distance, like seeing the light at the end of a long walk, but being too tired or afraid to get there.

They were luminous eyes, kind eyes, smiling eyes, friendly eyes… of the most diverse shades.

They were like little lights that illuminated Dazai's path, once dark and gloomy.

Temporary lights, drowned out by the darkness, but that still shone, as if it had never seen the shadows of life.

In the Mafia, the lights that existed came from blood and sparks from violent fights.

For him, the illumination was provided by the Lupin Bar and his two friends, who appeared as quickly as they disappeared.

People came and went, like a light that turns on and off as soon as you plan to use its illumination.

"Goodbye!"

He knew, more than anyone, this perfectly well.

He just didn't expect it to happen to the strongest person he had ever met.

The person who had shown him what it felt like being alive.

(How to be human, how to love)

(How to accept emotions, as powerful as love)

But life was a joke.

An absolute cruel joke.

Human nature, like its beauty, was ephemeral.

Finite.

It still seemed like yesterday that Dazai had crossed the stormy path of Nakahara Chuuya, the fifteen-year-old boy who had shaken his world from the first moment they had met.

It was surreal to be standing in front of a memorial to the -once - fifteen-year-old boy he had met on day one.

But as they say, life has three days and Chuuya's third day had arrived.

And Dazai had always known it.

He was know to control his pieces well.

(Chuuya was never his pawn)

How they would act…

(Dazai was never been able to control Chuuya)

(Nor he wanted to)

And the way they could fall.

(Dazai never thought about this for a second)

(Chuuya had always been that wild card that would survive.)

(No matter what)

(At least Dazai thought that much)

But it seems that Chuuya was made from the same darkness as his.

And deep inside he always had known that.

(He just didn't want to face the inevitable and incoming tragedy)

And now it was too late to face reality.

[amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines]

Sweet Pea//the other one (part 2)

hey! no prompts tonight because i have been super busy today and just haven’t had the time to write them, however i will be working on them again from tomorrow so yay! anyway, to say sorry, here’s the second part of ‘the other one’. this is the first part! i know it ended on a bit of a cliffhanger so hopefully this makes up for it! enjoy! 

“Sweet Pea!” You squeal when you feel a pair of arms wrap around your waist. Your feet kick against the dusty ground as he lifts you up, but when he chuckles in your ear and his hot breath fans over your cheeks, you soon still in his arms, now trying to focus on settling your heartbeat. 

He smells like sunscreen and vanilla ice cream and you feel yourself become dizzy, now suddenly extremely thankful that he’s still holding you. You look around at the rest of your friends, none of them paying attention to the two of you, they’re all two busy either sun bathing or jumping into the water that fills the quarry. 

Despite the warnings from your mom about swimming in the water, you have already been in. The rest of her warnings have proven useless, ‘don’t hang out with serpents’ and ‘be nice to your sister’ are the two main ones she’s told you for as long as you can remember, and they’re both stupid. 

Sweet Pea spins you around and the two of you laugh loudly, causing a few of the serpents to look in your direction. You end up making eye contact with Toni when he eventually stops and she sends you a knowing look that makes you quickly drop her gaze. 

“Put me down!” You giggle once you’ve recovered and he reluctantly lets go. You turn around to face him a bright smile on your face that fades when you look at him. Your jaw drops at the sight of his bare chest, Toni and Fangs cough behind you and you quickly close your mouth and look at his face instead. 

“Like what you see?” He asks and wiggles his eyebrows. You roll your eyes and shove him slightly, deciding that maybe it’s best not to face him right now. So instead you turn around and look for Sadie who’s been put in charge of the drinks. 

“No, I’m just surprised to see you without your serpent jacket, I thought it was attached.” You tease and he huffs.  

“So, where did the Mayor of Riverdale think her doting daughter is today?” 

“Shopping with Betty and Veronica.” You smile and take a sip of your drink.

“Damn.” He sighs and you frown at him. 

“What?” You ask, your tone filled with worry and your eyes scan over him, trying to find out what’s wrong. 

“It’s just. I don’t know how you’re gonna explain this.” 

“Explain wha-” You furrow your eyebrows and watch as his frown turns into a smirk, but he cuts you off by picking you up and throwing you into the water. He runs and jumps in after you and you shove him when you both come up for air. 

“I hate you so fucking much.” You say, despite the large grin on your face. 

“No you don’t.” 

Your tears rolls down the glossy paper and onto your pyjama pants and you throw the photo to the floor. It’s no longer a happy memory, a candid moment between the two of you captured by Toni, it’s a reminder of what used to be.

It reminds you of something you thought was real, when in reality it’s never been. 

Lying back on your bed, you stare up at the ceiling and count the cracks. It’s the only thing you’ve done for the past two days. You manage to convince your mom that you’ve caught something so you don’t have to go to school and she won’t let anyone in. 

Josie has tried on multiple occasions to talk to you, but anytime she even tries to, you shut her down by staring at her until she leaves. Toni had tried to catch up with you when you found out, but you practically ran all the way home and she knew better than to try to follow. 

She knows you need time. 

You need to be alone to try and figure out where this leaves you. 

You’re not entirely sure you know who you are right now. You spent so long loving Sweet Pea and wishing for a future that could be. 

You searched for clues and hints in his texts, wondered what it meant when he hugged you for what felt like longer than normal, and tried to stop yourself from smiling when he bought you random gifts ‘just because’.  

Now though, now that you’ve taken off your rose tinted glasses and seen the world for the grey bleakness that it actually is, you realize that none of those things meant anything. And all those nights spent worrying that something was wrong, was because of her. He loved her, and not you. 

You heard the hurt in his voice when she shut him down, it’s how you sound when you talk about him. You know what it looks like when you’re in love with someone who doesn’t feel the same, and now so does he. 

And it’s shit. 

After a week of moping in your bed and faking a migraine, your mom finally forces you to go to school, despite your protests of not wanting to kill anyone with your totally real flu. 

And so finally, you clutch your books close to your chest and cross the threshold of Riverdale High. 

It looks no different, nobody looks at you, nobody even acknowledges you, something they have never done. It’s like you’re the most important McCoy, why would they? And so you breath a sigh of relief as you make your way to your first class. 

You pass Josie and her lips part as if to say something, however they quickly close again and you pass her in silence. 

Your almost at your class when you hear your name being called and you curse quietly. 

What does he want? 

You want to cry. Why does he have to keep being here? Why does he have to keep forcing you to remember that he exists and that he doesn’t want you. 

“Y/n, please?” He begs, his voice cracking and you feel your heart break all over again. You take a shaky breath before forcing yourself to turn around and face the brown eyed boy who’s staring at you with so much sadness in his eyes that you think he’s gonna burst. 

“Yes?” You force out and try to smile at him, however it comes out as more of a grimace and so you just purse your lips and wait for him to answer. 

“Can we talk?” He asks and you look behind you. 

“I er- I have a class to get to.” 

“I know.” He nods. “Chemistry with Miss Click. You sit beside Neil and he throws pencils at his brother Will who sits on the other side of you. Toni sits three rows behind you and constantly passes notes to you that sometimes make you laugh so hard you snort and then have to pretend that you’re just coughing when Miss Click asks you if you’re okay. On Thursdays, Olivia is always late, and when she does turn up she always offers you the last of her gum because you help her catch up on what she’s missed.” 

“Sweet Pe-” 

“It’ll only take a minute.” He interrupts and you sigh before reluctantly nodding. 

The corridor suddenly empties and you feel yourself shrink under his gaze. 

“I know you love me.” He says and your eyes widen. 

“What?! I er- who told you?” 

“Fangs.” He says and you let out a deflated sigh. “But it’s okay, because I’m glad he did. It made me realize something. I know what classes you have and who you sit beside in each one. I know that when you’re sad you always want chocolate and when you’re angry you want tea. You cry when you see a cute cat on the street and you always pet dogs no matter what, even if they are barking at you and are literally about to rip your arm off. You don’t like dark chocolate but you’ll eat biscuits covered in dark chocolate, and you like peas but you don’t like sweetcorn because you think they try too hard to be different. I know the excuses you tell your mom and I know the ridiculously stupid lengths you go to to keep them up like bribing the chess club to pretend that you’re apart of them and even convincing the yearbook committee to publish a picture of you with the club.” 

“Why are you telling me this?” You smile sadly and he mirrors your expression. 

“Because, I know you. I know how much you love all of us and I know how hard you fought for all of us. I know that you always buy Fangs Twizzlers whenever you’re at a shop, and you buy me Twinkies and Toni Milk Duds because they make us happy. I know all of these useless facts about you, and I know so much more. And I know nothing about Josie, other than what everybody else knows. I know her as a McCoy, but I know you as Y/n. And-and, I love you Y/n.” 

“What?” Your jaw drops and he bites his lip anxiously. 

“I am so, so sorry. I should have told you it’s just Josie didn’t want anybody to know and I wanted to make her happy. But I made you and everybody else worry and I ended up making you miserable. I have been an idiot. I thought I liked Josie but I think I was just pretending that I didn’t love you because I didn’t want to ruin what he had if you didn’t feel the same way. 

“Sweet Pea.” You laugh nervously, not really sure what else to do. He reaches out and grabs your hands, pulling you close to him. 

“You’re not the other one Y/n, you’re the right one.” 

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[ot7always]

My Fair Lady

Word Count: 8.1k

Pairing: Crown Prince!Taehyung x Captain of the Guard!Reader

Genre: Historical/Fantasy AU, fluff, smut, angst

Warnings: Sparring (swordfight/fistfight), I’ve literally never fenced in my life I’m sorry for any errors, pining, mentions of battle scars, angst angst angst, angsty sex, crying during sex (and not in a sexy way), unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, it’s super angsty but I promise it’ll be okay

Rating: 18+

Summary: His brother unable to spar with him that day, Crown Prince Taehyung comes to you in need of a partner. 

A/N: This fic was such a wild ride of a writing experience, and I literally lost chunks of writing because of my laptop crashing multiple times. But this fic is my baby, please let me know what you think!

Huge thanks to @wwilloww​​ for beta reading for me, and also @peekaboongi​​ for crying with me as I wrote.

Tagging @moonmintrails​​ @ppersonna​​ @irissilujm​​ @dee-ehn​​

Masterlist

--

You gaze swept across the palace training grounds, hands clasped firmly behind your back. You watched as your soldiers trained, whether it be alone or with each other, and kept an eye out for any glaring errors – incorrect form, weak footwork, and the like.

As the youngest Captain of the Guard in history, it was your duty to ensure each of your soldiers, men and women alike, were in prime condition. Though the position was not passed through bloodlines, you had taken over from your father following his retirement from duty. He was a very well-respected man, and you were determined not to disappoint him. You would continue to prove time and time again that you deserved the honour of your place.

You kept your eyes forward even as you sensed a tall presence settle beside you, taking on a similar stance to your own.

“My Lady,” a deep voice greeted. Your nose crinkled at the title. While it was true your family was of noble station, you much preferred to be addressed as “Captain.” You sought to distance yourself from your cousins who enjoyed hosting fancy balls and tittering about the latest messenger visiting from overseas.

You gave the man beside you a brief once-over, eyes quickly returning to your soldiers in the field. The Crown Prince was looking particularly fresh today, white cotton shirt laced neatly and tucked into black pants that moulded to him like water. His dark curls appeared freshly washed, small tendrils swaying in the wind, having escaped the small tie at the nape of his neck. He smelled suspiciously of lavender. Perhaps he had been delving into his sister’s perfumes once again.

“Your Highness,” you nodded curtly, ignoring the pang in your chest at his appearance. While you tried to put up a good front, you were not immune to the Prince’s charms.

“You know I don’t like when you call me that,” he smiled bashfully at his feet before turning the entirety of his attention to you. “I am in need of a favour,” he continued, gaze imploring.

“What can I do for you, Your Highness?” you responded, suppressing a smirk when you heard him sigh at your words. Having grown up around him, even sharing lessons and training together before you surpassed his abilities, you would consider the two of you friends – more, even. However, you had an image to keep up, barriers that needed to be kept in place lest anyone question your ability to prioritize the royal family’s safety without distraction.

“I require a sparring partner.”

“Do you forget yourself, Your Highness?” you grinned at the notion. Not many dared to challenge you to a fight, and the last time Taehyung matched you in skill he was perhaps a foot or two shorter.

“I beg of you, Captain. My brother is feeling out of sorts and I am in need of a distraction. I have been meeting with courtiers all morning and I cannot begin to express how tiring-”

“He’s taken ill?” you cut in, eyes wide and tone laced with concern as you finally turned to give the Prince your undivided attention. His younger brother was only 15, and you had developed a soft spot for the boy over the years. The plague which tended to come and go from your Kingdom was no joke. While many recovered, many more slowly but surely lost their lives.

“Don’t worry yourself too much, My Lady. Our doctors have assured us it is simply a minor ailment.” His heart warmed at your obvious affection for his brother, knowing how much you cherished his younger siblings. He wondered whether he himself held a similar place in your heart. “Let’s not concentrate on that which will resolve itself quickly in time. Rather, I am still in dire need of a partner. Please?” he appeased, giving you his best impression of a pout. You tried not to crack a smile at the resemblance to his sister.

Your hesitation did not last long – you found it difficult to deny Taehyung anything, not that he asked much of you very often. “Very well, then. Though, we are not exactly dressed for the occasion, are we?” you chuckled, meeting his eyes. It was true. Having only recently left a meeting with those who would accompany Their Majesties to town the next day, you were dressed in a white blouse, dark leather bodice laced on top. While your leather boots allowed for sufficient footwork, the suppressed movement of your torso was not exactly ideal for a fight.

“We both know that you are more than capable of fighting in such attire. Come,” he said, giving you no time to refuse before you were led to the central combat ring. The ring was often used to host friendly tournaments and was clearly visible from any spot in the field.

“Are you so keen to showcase your defeat to my entire squadron?” you teased, shooting the Prince a grin as you caught the foil he tossed to you. Light, thin, and dull, it ensured you did not cause any serious injury lest you accidentally hit him. Cotton, after all, was not the most ideal material to prevent bruising. As for you? Well, you didn’t plan on getting hit anyway.

You took up your position opposite him, bent slightly at the knee, sword in hand, opposing hand clenched comfortably behind your back. You watched as Taehyung settled into the same posture. You clicked your tongue in disapproval upon seeing his form. Shoulders tense already, you sighed. Well, you would just have to see if he fixed his error later on.

“Ready when you are, Sweet Prince,” you smirked, exhaling a laugh as his face flushed. It was a nickname given to him by the men and women he’d seduced and bedded over the years. Even if he’d invited them into his bed only once and never again, they never stopped singing his praises. A part of you was desperate to know what he did to impress them.

“I don’t have all day, Your Highness,” you called out, smile slowly lighting up your face at his embarrassment. A lie, of course. If he asked you to stand there and wait for hours while you simply stared at each other you would do it. You liked to tell yourself it was because of your royal duty, but in reality you had never been able to say no to him, even in your childhood. There was something so charming yet shy, so mature yet naïve about him, that had you wishing for his happiness at every moment. He was a walking contradiction you wanted nothing more than to solve.

Having collected himself, Taehyung launched himself at you quickly, sword flying its way toward your shoulder – easily parried. You figured the two of you would ease into a proper match. After all, neither of you were properly warmed up, and you refused to listen to the Prince’s complaining of sore muscles if you could avoid it.

You remained light on your feet, focusing solely on defending against his basic lunges rather than attempting to retaliate. That would come in time. It wouldn’t be so enjoyable if you didn’t toy with him just a little, right?

After several minutes of rather simple steps, you figured you were ready to break a sweat. The next time his blade swung at you, you batted it aside and thrust your own at his chest, tip poking into his shirt before he could even blink.

“Come now, Your Highness. Shall we see what my father taught you?” you taunted, backing away to your original position. Your heart warmed when you saw the fire light in his eyes at the challenge, his playful expression temporarily replaced by sheer focus. You couldn’t conclude which was more handsome.

The next time he flew at you, it was with newfound ardour, the clink of metal on metal a familiar symphony to your ears. The Prince was skilled, you would give him that. Not that you were surprised – you recalled a time in his youth when he dedicated himself fully to training in this exact spot.

You gave yourself fully to your reflexes, blade swinging left, right, and circling round as you blocked his attacks. Quickly side-stepping a stab toward your neck, you grinned. Despite your original hesitance, you were enjoying yourself. Seeing the sweat form on Taehyung’s brow from his effort, you were happy to see him dedicate himself to something so completely. His technique focused on agility over power, something well-suited to his long limbs and lean muscle. You were the same – fight smart, not hard, your father used to tell you.

Backing away suddenly, Taehyung pouted slightly as he caught his breath. “I can tell that you are going easy on me, Captain. At least try to hit me, I swear to you that I can handle it.” You chuckled at his words.

“Very well, Your Highness. Though if I may point out, perhaps it would serve you better if you relaxed your muscles more. How can you expect to hit me when your shoulder fails to follow through?” you chided. Taehyung bit his lip at your words.

“My apologies, Captain. I find it difficult when I am near you.” Your brows furrowed, unsure whether you heard correctly. He has trouble relaxing around you? You preferred not to pick apart such a statement.

In answer, you lunged at him, a tide of satisfaction flowing through you when he moved immediately in response. You allowed him to continue on the offensive, though this time you followed up every few parries with a riposte, ensuring you never actually hit him with your blade.

Steel was flying through the air so fast it was a blur, your focus lying solely on the flurry of blades between your bodies. You quickly lost track of time, though based on the slight burn in your calves the activity must have gone on for quite a while.

It became almost like a rhythm – feet dancing, you blocked thrice, circling around for a responding thrust. Little did you know, in your focus you missed Taehyung’s wistful glances as he took in your appearance – gaze sharp, hair around your face flying as it escaped your tight knot at the back.

While you did your best not to make contact, your efforts were not perfect. Because as the Prince stepped left rather than right as you had expected, your blade made full and hard contact with his abdomen, confirmed by the faint oof that accompanied the motion. Broken out of your trance, you stared wide-eyed. “My apologies-”

You let down your guard for only a moment, but it was enough for him to swipe your blade aside, his own resting right between your collarbones. Raising your eyes to meet his own, you found only a grin, no sign of pain. That little-

“KIM TAEHYUNG!!!” you bellowed, ignoring the nearby gasps at your blatant show of disrespect. The eldest soldiers only shook their heads in dismay, having become used to your antics over the years. You whipped the side of his blade with your own, force enough to send it flying out of his grasp. “I was worried about you!” you shouted, stalking your way over to his retreating body, met only by a full-bodied laugh and hands raised to defend himself.

He took hold of your shoulders, keeping you at arms’ length as you glared up at him. The look only sent him into another fit of laughter. “The look on your face was magnificent, Captain,” he snickered, ignoring the betrayal on your face. “I’m perfectly fine, also. You needn’t worry so much-”

“Oh, you will not be fine by the time I’m done with you, Your Highness,” you seethed, picking up his discarded blade only to chuck it at him with just a little more force than necessary. “If you wanted a fight, Kim Taehyung, you’ve found one. I will pray for your recovery.”

Taking up your position for the third time of the afternoon, you scanned his features opposite you. He had no blaring weak spots, though you would be surprised if he did after all his years of training. He was fast, though you would bet that you were faster. Defeating him at his full capabilities would not be extremely easy, but if you gave it perhaps 80% you supposed you could be done within minutes.

“Any last words?” you goaded, grinning at the fleck of worry that crossed his face. “You look afraid, Your Highness.”

“It is perhaps in my best interest to remain a bit afraid, My Lady,” he chuckled lightly, eyes keen as they awaited your first movement. The narrowed your eyes, taking him in, planning your actions. He’s not wrong, you thought. Everyone in this field was just a little bit afraid.

Taehyung jumped when your blade made contact with his own, a high-pitched screech ringing out as he fought you off. You gave him no time to contemplate his own actions before you lunged relentlessly at him, delivering strike after strike without pause. He was forced to remain on the defensive, putting in his full effort to parry and step away in time.

Despite his struggle, you were impressed he was able to keep up with you as well as he was. He’s been training more, you noted. His improvement was clear compared to the last time you fought only several months ago. However, in a game of stamina, you were sure to win.

The top of your bodice dug sharply into your chest as your breaths quickened, but you were no stranger to discomfort. Over time you had learned to put aside such trivial things. Aches and pains were part of your job, and you’d be damned if you didn’t do it well.

Unwilling to let go of your pride, your steps quickened, Taehyung’s blade moving frantically to keep up but inevitably slowing slightly as you did not give him time to breathe. If you hadn’t focused all of your energy into this alone with no distractions, you perhaps would have poked fun at him.

When his sword arm lagged only slightly behind, arms slightly too wide, slightly too open, you struck hard. Batting his blade to the side only centimetres above where he held it in his grasp, you simpered, watching his shocked face as his blade went flying. His eyes darted between you and the blade, metres away, seemingly contemplating whether to give up or to pounce on it.

“What now, Little Prince? If this were a battlefield, would you simply cower in fear?” you coerced, eyes predatory. Perhaps it was sadistic of you, but you relished in the look of dismay in Taehyung’s face. He’d been thoroughly defeated – it was only a matter of how long you would draw it out.

Tossing your own foil to the side, you stretched your limbs before beckoning him over, fists positioned in front of you. It was a petty move and you knew it, for soldiers were much more well-versed in hand-to-hand combat than the Crown Prince, who was known to favour his swords and bows.

Taehyung had no complaints, however. A fight was a fight, after all. As he came after you with one, two, three jabs to your chest, you danced aside as you evaded easily. The difference in speed between his punches and sword thrusts were clear, the former much less practiced than the latter.

You unfortunately had not thought this idea through, because your options for victory without injuring the Prince were limited. While you were aware Taehyung would not mind, it would not be the best image for you to beat the life out of the Kingdom’s Crown Prince in open view of a squadron sworn to protect him.

“Are you so eager for my company that you would draw this out?” he joked, a weak punch toward your face easily shoved out of the way by your forearm. “Or perhaps you find pleasure in cornering me, My Lady?”

“You think so highly of yourself, Your Highness. Is it so disconcerting to find yourself put in your place every so often?”

“Quite the opposite, I think. I’ve never enjoyed myself so much,” he beamed, eyes shining. “I’ve quite missed you, Captain.” You faltered at the admission. While you loved to give him a hard time, you knew he was well aware of your fondness for him. However, you don’t believe you’ve ever said something so forthright to each other, and the statement awakened something in you that you thought you had buried deep.

Noting your slightly frozen state, Taehyung charged at you. However, you would not be fooled twice. The audacity of this man-

Twisting your arm to grab hold of his, you leaped forward. Suddenly taking the force of your full weight, Taehyung had nowhere to go but down, groaning as his back thudded against the canvas floor. Knee digging itself into the Prince’s ribcage below you, you sighted your previously discarded blade nearby. Grabbing hold of it, you held it to his throat.

“Yield,” you whispered, words escaping you much softer than intended. He made no effort to move, only staring up into your face with unspeakable emotion.

“And what if I am happy where I am, My Lady?” he murmured, taking in your appearance. Chest heaving, escaped hair wet with sweat, blouse crinkled – you were perhaps the finest sight he’d ever had the pleasure to lay eyes on. Though his words might have been taken for humour, you saw the look on his face. He didn’t even attempt to mask the desire, shameless through and through.

Before you could even think to respond, smatterings of applause broke out across the field at your victorious display, though they could not even begin to understand what was happening between the two of you. Moment broken, you quickly hopped up, helping Taehyung to his feet but avoiding his gaze. You were afraid to admit how much your heart fluttered when you heard his words, afraid of how much it would hurt when you would be forced to walk away and never speak of this moment again.

It was for the best.

“Y/N,” he called out softly, hands reaching for your own, but maintaining a respectful distance. Your eyes flew up to meet his, unused to hearing your own name in the palace nowadays. The look he gave you was honest, sincere. “Do you feel this too?”

You paused. Though he didn’t quite say what this meant, you could guess. In fact, his knowing gaze told you he only wanted you to admit what he already knew. The man had always been perceptive, and you had more memories with him than with your own family. You were certain he was familiar with your every expression. After all, you could write novels about his face – the way his eyes shone in his passion, the way the corners of his lips twitched when he was repressing a scowl.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Pleading ignorance was the best defense. Admitting to your desires was foolish, and would not change your circumstances. You knew this was deeper than physical desires, but that just made it all the more impossible. Princes were destined for arranged marriage – nobody could simply form a relationship with a future King, least of all the soldier who has pledged her life to his parents. No, a proper relationship was not within the realm of possibility. But neither could you lay with the Crown Prince in good conscience – how would the public trust you to put the King and Queen’s safety above all else if you were warming their Prince’s bed?

Every option to act on your desires was fated for failure.

Taehyung’s hands moved from your palms to your wrists, his thumbs pressing into your pulse firmly. “Your heart is racing,” he murmured, eyes staring into your own as though he knew your every secret. “Why do you hide it?”

“You know why,” you stated, voice soft. “Of course I feel it, but it matters not.” The admission coming from your own lips shocked you. You had danced around each other for years, orbiting each other like binary stars, but you’d never admitted your attraction to him.

“It matters to me,” he whispered, thumb stroking at the soft skin of your wrists with care. “Come to my chambers after dinner.”

Your brows shot up at the suggestion. This was not a light request. You were no longer children, no longer laughed in his company until the maids shooed you away, chiding you for making so much noise.

This was real. As much as you grew to accept your desires, you had never even fathomed acting on them. Not when you knew it couldn’t last – not when your reputation, perhaps even your position, were at stake. “Your Highness, I couldn’t possibly-”

“Please,” he begged, staring into you with an expression you would liken to a puppy begging for scraps. You attempted to turn away, but he only followed. “Please,” he repeated, noting your conflicted expression. It was hard to deny him anything when he was looking at you like that, but even harder to deny yourself when every part of you wanted nothing more than to say yes.

“Very well,” you breathed, sealing your fate. “I shall come when the clock strikes eight, Your Highness.”

--

You couldn’t do it. As much as your heart craved him more than anything, you couldn’t. He was untouchable. If you were any other person, if you were just a court lady, you would jump at the chance. It wasn’t a secret that the Prince has had many partners, and nobody gave it a second thought. But to be with you?

It was improper. Impossible. How could you be trusted to do your duty fully and objectively if you’d laid with the Crown Prince?

After bathing, you made your way to his bedchambers, clad only in a loose blouse and cotton pants, hair flowing freely around your shoulders, still wet. You could not join him in his bed, but he at least deserved a rejection in person rather than your absence.

Knocking lightly on the door, you were startled when it swung open, your arm still raised. He gave you such a sweet smile it was almost painful, still dressed in his earlier attire but hair loose around his face. You stepped into the room, taking in its appearance, having not seen the room in years. It smelled of him, of vanilla and lavender and musk, a scent you would breathe for the rest of your life if it was possible. The room was exactly as you remembered it, mostly barren if not for the set of throwing knives on display – a gift from your father for the Prince’s coming-of-age.

“I’m so glad you came-”

“I’m sorry,” you cut him off, turning to face him. “I came to put a stop to this before it’s begun, Your Highness. You're trying to start something that will be too painful to cease.” Your words struck him, and it physically pained you to see his face transform from excitement to distress.

“But I am not imagining what we have, am I? I have longed for you for years. Am I wrong to think you have too?” he pleaded.

“It doesn’t matter what I want, Your Highness. We can’t possibly do this – think about it. Not only that, I cannot have the palace thinking I earned my position through your bed. There are so many reasons we cannot – I want you but I cannot have you!” You didn’t mean to raise your voice, but you couldn’t help it in your grief. Eyes brimming with unshed tears of frustration, it hurt to look at him standing so close, and yet so out of reach.

At your anguish, Taehyung reached for your face, thumbs wiping away the tears you didn’t even notice had fallen. His tenderness only sent another wave of sorrow through you, chest heavy. “I’m sorry. I know it was selfish to call you here. I know this is easier for me than you. Please forget I ever asked.”

“I know it’s wrong, but...”

“But?” he urged gently.

“Is it so foolish that I want it anyway?” you whispered. You looked at him wide-eyed, gaze pained, searching his face as if it held the answers to the universe. For you, perhaps it did.

“Y/N...” he begun, the sweet sound of your name coming from his lips the final nail in your coffin. Denying that you wanted this more than anything would be the greatest lie you’ve ever told. It was brash, and stupid, and irresponsible, but you wanted to feel this at least once. You wanted to indulge in his touch, his affection. You needed to feel his hands on you, his mouth on your skin, and you didn’t know if you would ever be brave enough to accept him again if you didn’t do it now.

“It can only be once. Nobody can know.” You couldn’t risk the noblewomen catching on to your activities. They were unusually observant, and you didn’t doubt their abilities to discern your relationship with even the faintest of hints. Taehyung knew better than anybody that the palace ladies treated gossip as currency, and word traveled especially quickly on matters involving him. He nodded at your words, but the grave look on his face told you he wished things were different.

“I will cherish our time together, My Lady” he breathed, but his conflicted expression spoke volumes. “We don’t have to do this-”

You shook your head, closing the space between you until your chests were pressed together. Stomach in knots and chest tight, you ran your fingers along his broad chest and down to his abdomen before wrapping them loosely around his waist. You would savour every touch, make note of every expression, save away every delightful noise from his lips, and you would pray for it to be enough to satiate you for a lifetime. Because it had to be.

Tilting your head back to meet his eyes, your heart nearly leapt from your throat at the look on his face. The adoration, the warmness – but most of all, the pain. This was torture for both of you, and you knew it. It was selfish and self-destructive, but the two of you always seemed to bring out both the best and the worst in each other.

Without speaking, you reached up to grab hold of his head, yanking it down to smash your lips together without ceremony. He responded with fervor, moving against you, arms tugging until there was not even a millimetre of space between your bodies. You tried not to think about the desperation in your movements, the saltiness of the tears still present on your face. You dragged your hands over the planes of his chest and down to his biceps, nails digging in slightly when he bit at your bottom lip.

Harshly tugging his shirt from his waistband, you traced your nails up his bare skin, relishing in the uneven breath he let out in response. You would dedicate yourself to memorizing every inch of him. Every dip, every curve would be ingrained in your mind for eternity, your hands tracing patterns into his skin like a brush on canvas.

He did the same to you, his large hands finding their way beneath your blouse and chemise, lifting them both above your head to toss them to the floor. You were bare underneath, having planned to leave for your own bedchambers only minutes after arriving. He sucked in a breath at the sight of you on display entirely for him. His careful fingers traced the scars on your abdomen, accumulated through years of training and fighting on the frontlines. While ugly, you were not ashamed – these were proofs to others and to yourself that you would put your Kingdom above all else.

Bending at the knee, he traced his mouth down your jaw, down your throat, kissing you reverently as he continued his path. Passing over your breasts, he moved lower to mouth gently at the scars littering your belly, his gentle presses causing new tears to spring to your eyes. Was this how it felt to be worshipped? To be loved?

Taehyung took in the sorrow painting your features, but did not comment. There was nothing to be said – he understood perfectly. Perhaps if he pressed his face more firmly into the softness of your skin, he would spare you having to see the twin look of despair he was unable to hide.

Sliding a hand into his hair, you softly brushed it away from his face, gently pulling his chin up to look at you. Your heart wrenched at the sight of him, eyes looking at you as though you were a treasure, as though you weren’t the thing causing him so much pain. As though you wouldn’t leave him alone after this.

Tugging lightly at the collar of his shirt, he quickly got the memo, shucking it off in a direction you didn’t see, too focused on what was just revealed to you. If not for the honeyed gold of his skin, you would have been convinced he was carved of marble. You traced the lines of his body, a tiny smile breaking through at the shudder he gave when your nails scratched over his nipples. Though your actions were slow, he did not rush you. He only watched the awe in your gaze, eyes wide as though if you blinked, he would disappear. The childlike wonder in your face warmed his heart, pleased that you would let your guard down here with him.

You blinked out of your stupor at the sensation of a warm hand on your cheek, the sight of Taehyung’s soft grin at your antics lighting a small fire of embarrassment in you. “Bed?” he asked lightly, nuzzling his face into your neck. The hot breaths near your ear sent a shiver down your spine, tugging him ever-so-closer as you nodded in response.

Pulling away from him, you tugged lightly at the drawstrings to your pants, biting your lip when you saw the Prince follow your every movement. Taking his hands into your own, you brought them to your waistband. “Help me,” you breathed, heart racing at the knowledge that you would soon be laid bare to him.

He took a deep breath before releasing the knot at your waist, tugging your pants ever so slowly down your legs. He knelt at your feet, removing the fabric from your ankles until the only cloth left on your body is your underwear. Eyes falling on your face, he thumbed the waistband, looking up at you in question. At your quiet “please,” he removed that too, your folds revealed to him, shiny with your arousal.

Groaning at the sight, Taehyung latched onto your clit before you could even process the movement, the sudden pleasure making you weak in the knees. He sucked at your bud lightly, taking pleasure in the way you sunk your hands into his hair to ground yourself. When you wobbled slightly in your bliss, his left arm rose to hold you steady at the waist.

When his other hand rose to thumb through your folds while his mouth continued its ministrations, you moaned out. Eyes falling down to observe the Prince, the sight brought a small whimper to your lips, your hips grinding down onto him. He looked absolutely sinful, his eyes heavy-lidded as he delved into your heat with such abandon, focused entirely on your pleasure. When he inserted a finger into you, quickly followed by another upon feeling your wetness, you were sure you would have fallen if not for his arm holding you steady.

“What-” you started, but ended up cutting yourself off with a loud moan at the sensation of his fingers scissoring inside you. “What happened to going to bed?” you managed to get out, utterly breathless.

You let out a gasp when he pulled from you abruptly in response, picking you up at the waist and throwing you onto his mattress. You had no time to reprimand him before he was spreading your legs, mouth and fingers returning to you as he joined you on the bed. Any words were stolen from your throat at the stretch of a third finger, your hips bucking up to get closer to the source of your pleasure.

“You taste so good,” he moaned out, panting. You didn’t miss the way he grinded his clothed crotch into the sheets, heat shooting through you at the sight. When his fingers curled inside you, the heat spread throughout your whole body, abdomen tight and walls clenching tightly around his fingers. You were so close to the edge, it would take only one breath before you fell over.

“Give it to me, please,” he pleaded, tongue flicking over your clit as his fingers continued to nudge that spongy spot inside you. Needing no more encouragement, you fell apart, moans forced from your throat, hips grinding against him as he worked you through your orgasm. When a dull ache begun to replace the pleasure, you pulled away from him, pushing him onto his back.

His arousal was clear, his cock straining in his tight pants enough that it must have hurt. Though, his face held no complaint, only dazed wonderment clear on his features, almost as if he still couldn’t believe what was happening. He let out a sharp hiss as your nails traced the outline of his cock, his teeth biting furiously at his bottom lip.

Deciding not to torture him after the ecstasy he brought you, you tugged his pants and underwear down in one go, Taehyung groaning in relief as his cock sprung free. The tip was angry and red, the slit leaking precum. After freeing him of his clothing, you reached out a hand to pump lightly at his cock, noting the way it twitched in your hold. It looked almost painful, the vein running up the underside big and angry.

You began to lower your mouth to him, eager to return the pleasure he gave you, but were halted by a gentle hand on your cheek. “Please,” he begged, “I can’t. I need you,” he expressed all in one breath, eyes pained and needy.

Taking mercy on him, you rose, shifting until you were seated in his lap, mouth seeking his out. He cried out into your mouth at the sensation of your slick folds rocking against him, grinding down onto his cock. Hand reaching down to position him at your entrance, you pulled your face away to watch his as you sunk yourself slowly onto his length. The moan you let out at the stretch was crude, and it didn’t appear that Taehyung was faring any better, his breaths coming in pants, eyes screwed shut.

He’s beautiful like this, you thought, your own eyes wanting to badly to flutter closed, but your need to take in his every expression won out. Your head tipped back in pleasure as you seated yourself fully, moans escaping as you rocked against him, his pelvis pressing into your clit.

Losing yourself in the sensation, you fell forward to bury your face into Taehyung’s neck, his scent only adding to your pleasure. His hips rocked against your own, thrusts shallow, both of you letting out low moans at the movement. The friction against your clit had your abdomen tightening again, his tender hold on your body the best thing you’d ever felt. But as the pleasure reared in on you again, it was at that moment you remembered the totality of your situation.

You would never get this again.

The thought was like ice-water thrown over your head. How could you have forgotten? His cock deep inside you, his hips rising to meet your own, his hand clutching at the small of your back, his moans – it was all temporary.

You shoved your face tightly into his shoulder, hoping your sob would disguise itself as a moan. But at the shaking of your shoulders, Taehyung paused his actions, hand rising to cradle your head. “Y/N?”

“Tae,” you cried out, heart wrenching. It wasn’t lost on him that this was the first time he’s properly heard his name from your lips since your promotion – no teasing, no games. His heart broke at the sound, your sobs guttural, and he wanted nothing more than to take the pain away. The gravity of the situation brought tears to his own eyes, unable to suppress the emotion any longer.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he whispered, your head lifting to meet his glassy eyes. Your eyes were red-rimmed, your lips quivering. This was an agony that only the two of you could ever understand.

“Taehyung, I-” you faltered, choking on a sob. I love you. You couldn’t say it. What good could it bring you now? But your eyes spoke volumes, the emotion clear on your face. He knew how you felt just as much as you knew how he felt.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he repeated, tears finally escaping his eyes as he tugged you closer. There was no way to be more intimate than this, arms cradling each other as you cried, his cock still nestled inside you.

It would have to be enough.

As your bodies shifted minutes later, the friction against you had you shivering, remembering the position you were in. You pulled your head from his neck to gaze at his face, his eyes meeting your own. It hurt, but there was sad acceptance in your eyes, mirrored in his own. You tried to force a small smile onto your face, but you were unsure whether it appeared as a grimace. You instead elected to press a soft kiss to his lips, eyes falling closed as he returned it.

You rocked your hips together slowly, relishing in the light sighs and quiet moans of the other. Your movements were tender, careful, full of love and affection you would never get the chance to verbalize. When you felt your release creeping up on you again, you arched your back, grinding into his pelvis. Wanting to help you along, Taehyung grabbed hold of your hips, holding you steady as he thrusted up into you, every so often holding himself deep, grinding against you. The emotion of it all had your breath caught in your throat, your orgasm washing over you in gentle waves as you writhed against his body.

You could tell he was coming undone, his thrusts erratic, breaths heavy as he pulled away from you to leave open-mouthed kisses on your collarbone. You moaned at the overwhelming sensation of his movements so soon after your orgasm, but you wouldn’t dare rob him of his pleasure. Not now, not like this.

Groaning loudly, you felt his cock twitch inside you as he continued his thrusts, feeling the warmth of his release coating your walls. He shook in your arms, and you couldn’t bring yourself to confirm whether he was overwhelmed with pleasure or sorrow.

Letting out a whine as you pulled yourself off him, you wiped the mess between your  legs on his sheets. His maids would clean for him come sunrise, and you were anxious to escape the room before you lost yourself fully to despair.

You allowed yourself to bask in his presence momentarily, laying alongside him for several minutes before you rose to get dressed. You kept your back to him, unwilling to show weakness despite your vulnerability only moments ago.

“Stay,” he begged, his voice still husky from the passion you’d shared. Your heart sunk at the suggestion. You wanted nothing more than to stay, but every minute you spent here knowing the outcome only shattered you a bit more.

Fully dressed, you made your way to the door. You could still feel where his hands touched you, where his lips pressed against you, where his cock had been inside you. “I’m sorry,” you breathed, misery colouring your tone. You turned to him, taking in his bare appearance for the last time. You stared, hoping to burn the image into your retinas.

“I know,” was his only response. What more was there to say? Your eyes swept over each other, locking this moment away in your hearts forever. Finally, you turned back to the door, turning the knob and stepping out into the hallway without looking back. The sound of the hinge falling into place behind you felt like waking up from a dream, the period at the end of a sentence.

Your tears fell freely and silently as you made your way back to your chambers. Your heart ached a bit more with the increasing distance, every step leaving a piece of you behind.

It’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all? You supposed whoever could claim such a thing had never loved like this. Because walking away left your heart in a million pieces, the only glue that could piece you back together still staring at his empty sheets, the dip from where your body once laid still warm to the touch.

--

Months went by without speaking of that night. The tonic you’d taken upon returning to your room had worked well, your body having bled weeks later. You had still talked to Taehyung – you had to; your duty required it. But the pain never ceased, only dulled. You told yourself you would move on, that there was no use in dwelling. But the heated glances you caught him directing at you, desire and heartbreak in his eyes, always took you right back to that night.

He hadn’t been with anyone since – not that you were listening. You couldn’t help but to overhear the palace ladies gossiping, spreading word of the Crown Prince denying their advances. You didn’t know what to do with the information.

Having just returned from mapping out Their Majesties route to a neighbouring city, you returned your horse to the stables. While not necessary, you much preferred to prepare yourself for every possibility of attack, taking note of any weaknesses in visibility along the path. Every second counts when you’re under attack, after all.

“Captain!” a voice called out to you urgently. Having just handed off your horse to the stablehand, you turned to meet the man, his hands on his knees as if he had just run a mile before coming here. “I have been looking for you everywhere, Captain. Their Majesties have requested your presence in the throne room.” Unusual, since you had met together only this morning, but you would not keep them waiting.

“Thank you, sir. I will head there now.”

--

You went directly to the throne room, pausing outside to nod to the royal family’s assistant stationed outside. He smiled to you briefly before pushing the door open.

“Captain Y/N to see you, Your Majesties.”

“Let her in, thank you,” a kind, feminine voice rang out.

You stepped inside quickly, taking a knee until the King gestured for you to stand. “I deeply apologize for my appearance, Your Majesties. I had just returned from planning our route for tomorrow and thought it better not to leave you waiting.”

The King smiled at you, the warm-hearted expression reminding you of Taehyung’s. Your chest ached at the thought, but you kept a blank expression. “Hard at work as always, I see. We had something we would like to discuss with you.” At his words, you noticed that not only were the King and Queen present, but Taehyung was stood off to the side as well. Your heartrate increased slightly at the sight of him.

“Your Highness. Forgive my disrespect, I had not seen you there,” you bowed respectfully, ignoring the heat that rushed through you at his appearance. His hair was loose, his outfit form-fitting. He was beautiful. You tried not to think too much on what he looked like beneath the clothes. “What can I do for you, Your Majesties?”

“Captain, my son came to us earlier today with quite the startling proposition,” he began, and your brows furrowed in confusion. When he failed to elaborate, you spoke up.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean, Your Majesty.”

“You see, he came to us in a frenzy and asked, ‘Father, what would you say if I wanted to marry the Captain of the Guard?’” You froze, eyes wide. Marry? You? Taehyung? Your heart pounded violently at the notion.

“Sire, I promise you this was not my idea. I apologize-”

“My dear, do not panic. We are not angry. But we wanted to ask your thoughts.”

“Your Majesties, I couldn’t possibly marry your son.” You made effort not to look at the Prince, lest your composure fail. “I have no lands to offer. No gold, nothing. I cannot offer you any alliance, I cannot bring anything to your family,” you turned to Taehyung, his expression unreadable. “You cannot marry a soldier,” you whispered, heart breaking once again as the possibility was dangled in front of you, lingering just beyond reach.

“Captain, do you know that the people adore you? That they sing your praises when we pass through their villages?” the Queen asked, a bright smile painting her features. Your face grew hot at the mention. “Your soldiers respect you. Your hometown throws festivals in honour of your birthday. Dare I say that you’re more popular than us?” she joked, giggle chiming lightly through the room. Taking in her appearance and mannerisms, it was no question why Taehyung was as handsome and as loved as he was.

“Ma’am, of course not,” you responded, hand raising to awkwardly scratch at your head. You were unsure where she was going with the statement.

“You’ve earned the Kingdom’s trust, Captain. You’re perhaps the most loyal person I’ve ever laid eyes on. Might I also add that you are not just some nobody? Your family has served ours for generations. You are of noble birth,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Do you consider yourself so unworthy?”

You paused at the question. It did not seem to be a trap, and the Queen was certainly not one to be malicious. Glancing around the room, you noted the King and Prince were observing your reaction expectantly. It was not an environment good for your nerves. “A soldier is not fit to be the future Queen,” is the statement you settled for, attempting to maintain a mask of indifference.

“My dear, do you remember what you told me only a few years ago? When I asked you if you were afraid of trying to accomplish what nobody else in history has?” the King’s deep voice rang out. Your gaze snapped up, knowing exactly what he was about to say. Oh no...

“‘Damn history. I will write my own history,’ I think it was.” Chuckles broke out across the room, the Queen tittering, Taehyung snickering. You’d never told Taehyung about that encounter, embarrassment flowing through you every time you thought about it. You focused your gaze on your feet, face burning at the reminder of your words.

“I have since learned to control my words, Sire,” you muttered ashamedly, fingers tangling together.

“Y/N,” the King’s voice called, grabbing your attention once again. “You have guts. Daring. You’re smart, well-trained. And there’s nobody I would trust to guard my life more than you.” You bit your lip at the praise, struggling to hide a proud grin. Being praised by the King was a feat not many experienced. “It would be an honour to call you our daughter.”

You stared, slack-jawed, processing his words. You didn’t notice Taehyung approaching you until his fingers laced with your own, his opposing hand moving to raise your chin. The open affection on his face, the love - it was everything you’d ever dreamed of and nothing you’d ever dared hope for. Your breathing quickened as he sank to his knees in front of you.

“Please,” he beseeched, vulnerability clear on his face. “Spend eternity with me, together. Will you marry me?”

Tears filled your eyes, but for once they were tears of joy, not tears of despair. You dropped to your knees to meet him, arms thrown around his neck. He barely had time to catch you as you threw yourself at him, bodies the closest they’ve been since that night in his bed. Raising your head to lock your eyes on his, you knew the same love you had for him was written all over your face.

“Yes,” you cried, hands raising to cup his jaw. “Yes.”

[backtothestart02]

Don’t Give Up On Me - 1/? | westallen fanfiction

A/N: Idk what this is. It was gonna be the next Muse chap with just a couple paragraphs of angst, but I managed to change it into nearly 2k of angst and I can’t bring myself to write the happy ending tonight, so it’s turned into a two-shot that I’ll hopefully finish later this week. Enjoy. Bring tissues.

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Synopsis: Early S7 - Barry and Iris deal with the after effects of the Mirrorverse on Iris.

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Chapter 1 -

It was a dark, dreary day in Central City.

Iris sat in a light sweater, jeans, and fuzzy socks by the window, her long hair cascading down her back, her forehead pressed to the chilled glass, and didn’t say a word. She’d been silent all morning, sipping her dark roast and forcing small smiles towards Barry whenever he approached her.

It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate him being near. Hell, she’d been without his presence for months, and it nearly killed her. Just being able to feel him nearby was a relief and soothing to her worn-down senses. But she was so lost in herself, still recovering from all that had happened, that on days like today with crime at a low and both she and Barry off work because of the weekend, she really let herself accept what had happened to her and how far she still had to go.

It had been three weeks since she escaped the mirror verse and together with Barry and team Flash defeated Eva McCulloch once and for all. It had given her a high at the time, and frankly she’d just been glad to be alive and sane and reunited with the people that she loved, especially Barry.

But as time passed she started to face the reality of all that she’d lost, the fact that her doppleganger had been able to convince everyone for so long that she was the real Iris. On the surface she didn’t blame anyone. Mirror Iris was a very good actress, because in a lot of ways she was her. She had the same memories, knowledge, emotions… But she wasn’t alive. She wasn’t human. She wasn’t Iris. And for months Iris had been screaming into the void, the ever-present mirror that occasionally let her see her family and friends, that they see the truth. And how could they not see it?

Especially Barry. Barry knew her so well…

Later she’d come to learn that he had suspected Mirror Iris right from the start. She had cooked better, spoken in a foreign language fluently, and hit some guy over the head with a glass bottle, a boundary Iris herself probably wouldn’t have crossed, even undercover. She’d spoken the truth about how she felt about Barry always putting her in a corner when it was time to fight the bad guys, but Iris would’ve never started an argument just for the sake of it. She wouldn’t have made her husband think they were growing apart or that he wasn’t proud of her. She wouldn’t have stormed off.

In the following weeks, she wouldn’t have shut down around him if he didn’t give her what she wanted. When he reassured her that he trusted her, she wouldn’t have merely smiled and thanked him and walked away. She wouldn’t have spent the night away from him while he merely sat reading in the dark. She wouldn’t have told him that it was for the best that the speed force was dead, and he’d lose his speed indefinitely. She knew how big a part of his identity being the Flash was. If he wanted to walk away from it, that was one thing. But to encourage it when he didn’t? She would have never done that.

The revelation that Mirror Iris had slept with her husband, both literally and sexually, hadn’t hit Iris hard at first, but in time it did. How could Barry not tell? In their most intimate moments, how was he not aware that it wasn’t really her?

But when she learned that at the same moment she had declared her undying love for him with her hand pressed to the mirror of another universe, so had he? She forgot all of that. How could she blame him, especially when he realized it was her after she did the most heinous thing? Mirror Iris had tried to fracture their marriage.

How dare she.

Iris would never. And Barry knew that. He knew it.

Everything started to align after that. In the end, Iris had saved herself, shocking everyone and slapping Barry with a burden of guilt unintentionally. Because she’d nearly gone mad, and he hadn’t connected the dots soon enough, and he should’ve been able to rescue her. He was her husband, the Flash. She might not be a damsel in distress, but she needed his help, and he failed her.

Her ever-constant need to be near him, to touch him, to make love to him helped ease his guilt. She was just so glad to be back and to be with him. She forgave him, she said. She loved him, she said. She never wanted to lose him again.

But that was the first week.

It had been two weeks since then, and Barry could feel them growing apart. Iris didn’t say it, but he wondered if she was starting to blame him for not figuring out she was gone sooner. They hadn’t made love in a week, and the last time they had, it had been the result of a fight. He had started it. He’d wanted to push her into admitting she hadn’t really forgiven him.

She hit him with the blow he hadn’t been expecting, even though his argument implied he should have.

“I have forgiven you,” she’d said, tears fresh in her eyes. “But forgiving and forgetting are two different things.”

And he’d felt so empty, he didn’t know what to do. Tears started to stream down his cheeks at the reality that she would never forget how he’d been with someone that wasn’t her, even if he’d been unaware of it at the time.

She approached him then and laid her hand over his heart.

“I blame her, not you. She manipulated you. She made you think I wasn’t your home.” Her voice cracked.

“Then why did you need to forgive me?” he asked sadly.

She kissed him, unwilling to answer his question, not really knowing how to. She walked backwards till she fell back on the bed and eagerly stripped him of his clothing, as he did hers. They made love that night with the intensity of a lightning storm. And in the morning, they were okay again; except they weren’t really. And Barry didn’t know how to fix it.

But he didn’t bring up the subject again. He didn’t want to fight. So instead he walked around her as if on eggshells. He did whatever he could to make her happy. But they didn’t make love since that night, and they rarely kissed, except for a peck here and there when leaving for work or arriving home. Barry still dropped off love letters at her work during her lunch hour, but she didn’t acknowledge them when she got home anymore like she used to. He wondered if there was any use writing them at all. For all he knew she was throwing them away.

His carefully written, poured from his soul love letters to his beautiful wife might be in the trash. And that worried him most of all.

“Want a refill?” he asked, now, in the present, forcing himself out of his morbid thoughts. Because the day itself looked morbid, and Iris looked sad, and all he could think of was to give her more dark roast, because hell, he knew she at least wouldn’t turn down that.

“Hmm?” she asked, turning away from the window to see him holding the coffee pot before her. “Oh.”

Her brows furrowed, then she looked down into her half-empty cup.

“No, I still have some.”

“Is it cold though?” he asked, before he could get down on himself.

She took a sip.

“Mm…lukewarm.” She wrinkled her nose and held out her mug, and he filled it up to the brim. “Thanks, babe,” she said and took a sip before settling in at the window again.

He nodded once, too afraid he’d say something he’d regret if he opened his mouth again, and returned the pot to its holder in the kitchen. He stood there for a while again, watching his wife. She didn’t seem to notice, and she noticed even less when he went upstairs to change and then sped out of the loft to take a run in the rain.

He needed to get away, to figure things out, to put his relationship, his wife, back together again. As fate would have it though, he was unable to come up with anything any more than the previous times he’d gone out for a run for this exact reason.

Realizing staying out any longer wouldn’t do any good, he sped and stopped abruptly once inside.

Iris wasn’t sitting by the window anymore. In fact, she was coming down the stairs when she stopped suddenly, spotting his sad-looking self standing in front of the door.

“Oh, my God, Barry, you’re dripping! Let me-”

She rushed to get some towels and help him dry off.

“I figured you’d left, but I didn’t realize it was to run in the rain. Of all the stupid-”

He tensed, and she stopped herself. She met his eyes and searched them with concern.

“Barry… Are you okay?”

And he hated himself. Because she’d been about to lash out, but she held back because she knew it would hurt him. He wished she’d just hurt him. This dancing around each other thing they were doing was only making things worse. He wished she’d just acknowledge it. If she couldn’t get over what he and Mirror Iris did, the least she could do was be upfront about it.

He didn’t answer, so she pressed forward as if she had.

“Why don’t you go take a shower?” she suggested softly. “I’ll order some take-out and we can watch a movie after.”

‘You’ll touch me?’ he almost said but held back. That would start a fight. He didn’t want to fight, but he didn’t know how to act anymore.

So, he just nodded and said, “Okay.”

Iris forced another smile and headed into the living room to retrieve her cell phone and make the call. Barry sped up the stairs, lightning crackling behind him, so she wouldn’t see him dragging his feet the way he wanted to.

Then he entered the bathroom, undressed and turned on the shower. The hot water should’ve been soothing, a relief to him after the cold rain that had nearly drowned him as he ran outside. But it only made him want to scream, want to yell, want to shout. He wanted to bang on the walls because how in the hell did he pull them out of this emptiness.

The evening would be fake, put on as a means of not fighting and because both of them were tired.

As it turned out, when Barry finished with his shower and dressed in a t-shirt and sweats, he came downstairs to the sight of Iris sleeping on the couch. He lifted her up and carried her to bed. When the delivery man came, Barry paid him and stuck the food in the fridge. He wasn’t feeling real hungry anyway.

...

*Will post on AO3 and FFnet when beta’d.

[wellimaginethat]

Peace of Mind

Pairing: Crockett Marcel x (female) Reader

Word Count: 2178

Author’s Note: So I wasn’t sure where to go with this one but I actually really like how it turned out.

Trigger Warning(s): Mugging, getting beat up, hospital visit, injury, bad words (possibly? idk) corniness and cheesiness because I’m terrible at writing romance, lol

Disclaimer: I don’t owe nor am I affiliated with any of the Chicago shows, I just like to play with the characters

Summary: Crockett Marcel and Y/N Y/LN have been dating for a few months but he’s already incredibly protective of her, so when she gets brought into the hospital after being mugged and beat up, he’s worried and angry.

Y/N = Your Name

(Ignore text, lol. There aren’t enough gifs of him in the gif feature thingy and it makes me sad)

Chicago is a dangerous place. That’s what your mother told you every time you talked to her on the phone. You always assured her that it wasn’t as bad as she thought, but she always insisted that it was. You tried to assure her that you were being safe. You always had someone walk with you to your car when you left work, you carried pepper spray in your purse, you didn’t go out alone.

You hated the idea of telling her what happened to you tonight.

The one and only time you ever walked alone to your car after work and you get freaking mugged. It could have been worse, he beat you up but if someone hadn’t intervened he might’ve killed you.

You were lucky, at least that’s what you kept telling yourself on the ambulance ride to the hospital.

Shit. You knew your boyfriend was working tonight. You just prayed that he wouldn’t see you.

You just wanted to go home and not have anyone fuss over you, but you knew you needed to go to the hospital, you at least had a couple of broken ribs and you were pretty sure your wrist was fractured.

When the paramedics wheeled you into the hospital, you had to practically close your eyes due to the brightness of the lights. It was night and even though the ambulance had lights in the back, they were nowhere near as bright, so you had to let your eyes adjust.

When you finally started to completely open your eyes again, you were met with Crockett hovering over you and asking the paramedics what happened. He looked worried.

You wanted to tell him that you were okay, but for some reason you just couldn’t speak. You hadn’t forgotten how, and you were completely conscious, but you just couldn’t say anything.

“She’s going into shock.” You heard a male voice that wasn’t your boyfriend say.

Shock? Wasn’t that caused by blood loss? Were you bleeding?

Soon the paramedics left your field of vision and you saw someone practically shoving Crockett away from you. You were being wheeled somewhere again.

You could see a doctor leaning over you. “She’s conscious.” He announced to the room, even if you couldn’t see anyone else you knew there had to be. He brought a light up to shine in your eyes. He looked away and looked at someone else. “We move her on my count.” You didn’t hear him count but you knew he must have because you were moved to a hospital gurney instead of the ambulance one.

“Dr. Marcel you can’t be in here.” You heard a woman say, you couldn’t see either of them but you knew that Crockett had to be there if she was saying that he couldn’t be.

“I can’t lose her.” You finally heard his voice and it made your heart hurt hearing how worried and scared he sounded.

The doctor that had been leaning over you looked away, towards the door. “Then let us do our jobs without you hovering.” He told Crockett firmly before turning his attention back to you.

This was where things started to get really fuzzy because one minute the doctor was hovering over you and the next you were waking up in a completely different room.

The minute you started to come to, Crockett was hovering over you, looking tired and worried. How long had you been out?

“B-babe?” You asked your voice hoarse and weak, your throat felt like it had gravel in it.

“I’m right here.” Crockett spoke softly, gently brushing your hair back. “You gave me quite the scare, darling.”

“Sorry.” You tried to tell him but you lost your voice.

He smiled gently. “I’ll get you some water.” He was gone for maybe a half a minute before he was back with a styrofoam cup with a straw. “Here.”

You took a sip of the water and coughed a little, causing a faint pain in your side.

“Careful.” Crockett told you softly. “You have three cracked ribs.” He informed you, which you had already guessed. “A fractured wrist, a concussion, and a nasty cut on your leg.”

So you had been bleeding.

“I don’t really remember any of it.” You told him, your voice still not normal yet. You reached for the cup, which he handed to you.

“Probably from the head injury.” He told you softly. “They told us you were attacked?”

You nodded weakly. “Mugged. Guess he didn’t like that I didn’t have any cash.” You shrugged and instantly regretted it, pain shooting through your side, causing you to wince slightly.

“Are you alright?” Crockett asked immediately, worried.

You nodded again. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” You told him softly, smiling a little.

He nodded and you could see him visibly calm down.

“Are you?” You asked after a brief pause.

“Am I?” He looked at you and raised a brow.

“Are you alright?” You clarified.

Crockett frowned for a moment, nodding slowly before chuckling slightly and shaking his head. “You’re the one in the hospital bed and you’re asking me if I’m alright?”

“You look like hell.” You told him, a small smirk on your face.

“Gee thanks.” He chuckled again and shook his head.

“Did you have a rough shift?” You asked him softly.

He nodded a bit. “Trying to work and knowing you were in surgery was hell, then trying to work and knowing you were in here unconscious was hell.”

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled softly, reaching out to take his hand.

“It’s not your fault.” Crockett said softly, leaning in to place a tender kiss on your forehead.

“How long was I out?” You asked quietly.

“Few hours.” Crockett told you. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

You nodded slowly. “You should go home and get some rest then.”

He looked at you like you were crazy before shaking his head.

“Crockett.” You said softly. “Go, you need to clean up and get some rest. I’ll be fine.”

You could tell he was still hesitating.

“I’m probably gonna be here for a few days.” You said softly. “You can’t stay by my side the entire time, it’s okay, I’ll be fine. Go.”

He sighed and nodded, kissing your forehead again.

“I at least want a proper kiss though.” You told him, smiling as you looked up at him.

He smiled at you before leaning down and kissing you, he pulled back. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic.” You grinned at him. “Now go.” You shooed him toward the door.

He held up his hands in surrender, a smile on his face. “I’m going, I’m going.”

You had to bite your tongue from telling him you loved him, because the two of you hadn’t told each other that yet and you didn’t want to scare him off, so you just watched as he left the room.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss him instantly, but you wanted him to get some rest. You settled back and closed your eyes, deciding that maybe you should get some rest too.

You woke again in the morning and were greeted by a nurse in your room.

“Oh, good morning.” She greeted you with a smile. “I’m April, your nurse.”

You nodded slowly. “I think we’ve met.”

She nodded to you. “I didn’t know if you remembered us meeting or not.”

You nodded again.

“I’m just checking your vitals and then I’ll be out of your hair.” She told you, turning back to what she was doing.

She marked some things down and left, leaving you alone once again.

You were alone maybe a half hour when the door to your room opened and Crockett walked in with a bouquet of flowers. “How’re you feeling?”

“About the same.” You told him honestly.

“I brought you these.” He set the flowers on the table near your bed.

You smiled at him. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know, but I wanted to.”

“Thank you, they’re beautiful.” You reached over to run your fingers along the petals of one of the flowers.

“Not as beautiful as you.” Crockett replied with a smile.

You couldn’t help but smile, your cheeks turning a light pink. You rolled your eyes, trying to pretend like you didn’t like his corny compliment, but in reality it made you a little giddy. “You’re such a flirt.”

“Well I have to keep you interested in me somehow.” He teased you, taking a seat in the chair beside your bed.

You looked at him, the smile still on your face. “Yeah, uh-huh, you have to work so hard to keep me interested.” You rolled your eyes again but it was playful.

“See? I knew it.” Crockett replied, smiling at you.

“You’re silly.” You told him, giggling a bit and shaking your head.

“I think you should stay with me while you recover, after you’re released.” He told you, suddenly changing the subject.

You stared at him in shock for a moment, blinking a few times. “I think I’ll be okay at my place.” You hadn’t stayed at his place more than two nights in a row, and that was pretty seldom.

“I know, but I want to make sure.” Crockett told you, leaning forward a bit. “If you don’t want to, I can’t force you to, but I would like you to stay with me.”

“Are you sure?” You asked quietly.

He nodded. “I want to make sure you’re okay. I won’t be there the entire time but I will be for the most part. It would just bring me some peace of mind.”

You took a second to think about it before nodding slowly. “If you’re sure.”

He smiled at you when you agreed, nodding again. “I’m sure.”

A few days passed by and you were released from the hospital. When you were finally able to leave, Crockett drove you to your apartment to get a bag and then took you over to his place.

You felt a little awkward, because again you had only ever stayed two nights in a row and you hadn’t stayed there the entire time, you had gone home and such.

“You sure this is okay?” You asked him for probably the millionth time.

He chuckled a bit, although you could tell he was getting a little tired of having to continuously reassure you, even so, he didn’t make you feel bad about it. “I’m sure.” He walked over to you and kissed you gently. “It gives me peace of mine to know that you won’t be alone much.”

You knew he wasn’t thrilled that you were going to be alone at all, but you knew you’d be fine and were a bit annoyed that he didn’t think you could take care of yourself. “You do know I can take care of myself, right?”

“I know.” He nodded, pausing a moment. “This isn’t because I don’t think you can take care of yourself, this is so I know that you’re okay.”

You smiled softly and nodded some. “Okay.” You said quietly, touching his cheek gently.

“And someday this might be a permanent situation, so we should make sure we can live together without driving the other crazy.” He commented as he walked into the bedroom to put your bag down.

You stopped for a moment before following him. “Wait, what?” All you got was a chuckle in response, you were shocked because you had only really been dating for a few months. “You think about that?” You asked softly, tilting your head.

Crockett finally turned to face you and stared at you for a moment before he nodded. “I have.”

“Oh.” You said quietly, nodding slowly. “So you’ve thought about us living together…” You trailed off.

He walked over to you slowly. “Does that scare you?”

You looked at him. “No.” You said softly, shaking your head slightly. “What else have you thought about?”

He smiled at you as he stopped just in front of you. “Our future together.”

“Oh really?” You asked softly, not able to help the smile on your face.

“Really.” He said softly. “I see us together for a long time, Y/N, and I hope you do too.”

You nodded. “I’ve thought about it a lot, and I don’t see myself ever not wanting to be with you.” You admitted quietly, your eyes locked on his.

He smiled softly at you and you wondered if he was thinking the same thing you were, if he felt the same thing you did. And for the first time since you realized that you were in love with him, you thought that maybe he felt the same way, but you were still too scared to say it first.

You bit your lip and had to look away.

Crockett brought his hand up and cupped your cheek, causing you to look at him again. He kissed you slowly, gently, before pulling back. “I love you.” He whispered.

“I love you too.” You smiled and kissed him again, you could feel him smile into the kiss.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Dragon Song

The 3E exam was Toyama’s most difficult day. Afterwards, he always had to do a difficult counseling and comfort session with all the students about their visions. And for some who didn’t make the cut, his sessions would include brainwashing and memory wiping to make them forget everything about Cassell so they could go home and continue their lives, ignorant of everything they experienced here. 

He made his way back to his office and sat behind the desk.

He sighed and cleaned his glasses while he waited. No one ever knew what was going on in there. Only those who were monitoring with the cameras namely EVA. Whatever happened, the medical team was ready to take care of it.

But he felt the muscles in his neck were tense and his heart was beating faster than normal. His analytical brain told him he was worried about Tigre. Even though he told himself it was pointless to worry about him, that his fate was with the College now, he couldn’t stop.

So he spoke to himself in casual calm language. “I think its time to admit, that your care for that boy has gone beyond what is professional.” He slid the glasses onto his nose. 

“You could barely leave him there properly without tears coming right? That’s why you left so abruptly. Right now the test is starting and his dragonblood is waking up. He might attack the students inside once he realizes what he is. And then he has no future. You tried. You did all you could. But it’s possible he was doomed from the start.”

“But the heart will do what it will do. Heh... you’re not immune, Toyoma-kun.” He chuckled to himself. “But you cannot drink. Your students will need you now more than ever. You can go drink later.”

The phone, a traditional rotary, rang loudly in the silence. He picked up. “Toyama speaking.”

The raspy inhale told him who was speaking. Schneider’s voice came over the earpiece, “I can patch you into the feed. I would like you to watch.”

“Watch the boy turn into a monster? I don’t think so...”

“That’s not what’s happening. I’ll send the link to your cell.”

Toyama’s cellphone let up and he cradled the landline against his ear while he clicked the link provided.

The video feed showed the classroom. 

Normally the 3 E was absolute mayhem as each of the students’ minds were lost in the sound, like listening to a favorite song, the mind wandered and the body followed and they were compelled to write down their visionary inscriptions on the paper or on whatever other surface they could find. But what Toyama saw made his jaw drop in shock.

Tigre was singing.

He wasn’t just singing, he was singing with a smile of rapturous joy, tears pouring down his face. He wasn’t writing down his answers, he was singing them, speaking each dragon word in turn. As the dragon verses shifted, he would listen briefly and his eyes closed and he would hold in hands to his chest, his face beaming with joy before belting out a full throated perfect rendition of that Yanling.

Toyama felt his eyes burn and quickly blinked away tears for a moment. Relief washed over him like a flood and his smile started to echo Tigre’s. He felt proud that Tigre was succeeding. He wasn’t just performing well on the test, but he wasn't being violent. Quite the opposite. He was joyous, happier than Toyama had ever seen him.

But then in the next moment Toyama’s blood ran cold.

Dragon language wasn’t just words. They were commands. They could impose a rule upon an area to control the elements. They could command a forest to burn. They could command a storm, a drought, a flood, an earthquake, or lightning. Some abilities were so strong, they would destroy the user. If it wasn’t for the restriction placed on the use of this sacred speech by the College’s alchemical array, Tigre would have joyfully sang out and destroyed the entire college and possibly all of Chicago.

“Dear... God...” Toyama whispered. “Is he a Dragon King?”

“No. If he was, we would have erased him and shoved his body in the Ice Cellar. But he is a hybrid of Dragon King level resonance. He’s different from the other hybrids in other ways too. We’ve run other tests. Nothing about this man is natural... and yet everything is.”

“Is this why you have brought him here? Why you were interested?”

“I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you. We’re still studying. In the meantime, you should probably go out to meet him. He doesn’t have anyone else to talk to.”

Schneider hung up the phone. Toyama was brought back to reality. Yes he did feel fond of Tigre... but he was still a doctor and Tigre was his patient. He would have to carefully maintain his mind so he didn’t go berserk and bring ruin to the college. He stood up and made his way back to the library. When he came back outside, the thunderstorm had intensified. Lightning cut across the sky and thunder roared, as thought the sky itself were cracking apart. The trees swayed heavy in the wind.

----

When Tigre came out of his trance, his throat hurt, his jaw hurt and his face was sticky with tears. He was shaking and exhausted. He wasn’t at his desk any more but standing in the middle of the room. He wanted to see Toyama and tell him that he wasn’t mad at him for leaving him alone. So when he found him waiting outside, he ran up to him and hugged him, babbling uncontrollably all sorts of silly things while Toyama told him to get some rest while stroking his hair. 

He suddenly realized after that that other students were filing out. All the other students looked exhausted and limp. He turned to them with a joyous face, but they all just flinched away from him, looking at him with tear streaked faces. Even Porsche, who seemed vibrant and sassy before, hugged her two sisters while crying uncontrollably. Celeste glared at him accusingly and Tigre flinched away. 

“Don’t mind them. Most people don’t experience joy like yours.” Toyama pulled him away from the other students. “I will have to go help them with their feelings.”

Tigre was confused. Why would anyone be sad about what he’d just heard? “Toyama-san, I saw something amazing. You knew right? You knew what I was!”

“I had no idea exactly what you were.” Toyama said patiently. “No one did. Your vision is one that’s personal to you, something deep in your heart.”

Tigre reached up and touched his chest. “But... I don’t have anything there.”

“Maybe that’s...” Toyama wanted to say ‘for the best’ but he didn’t finish his sentence. “I have to go. You’re a student now, so you’re free to roam about as you like. Stay out of trouble. Okay?”

“Okay...” Tigre said meekly and watched Toyama walk towards the three sisters. Only Celeste wasn’t crying, she only looked extremely angry.

No one was happy, except for him.

He walked out to stare at the pouring rain in the entrance. He looked up at the sky that also seemed to be sad. But why? Those voices in his head were still ringing. He could recite every single word. But he whispered them, staying quiet. He continued to whisper those sacred words into the grey. They were still beautiful in his ears.

“Do you not have an umbrella?” 

His dampened mood rose again! “Chu Zihang!”

Without thinking he hugged the flinching man who just tolerated it. 

Tigre released him quickly. “Oh... I’m sorry.”

“It’s normal to be emotional after this. I’m happy you made it. The results will take a few hours to process, but Schneider sent me to congratulate you. He’s my mentor.” Chu Zihang’s eyes were dark and not the yellow he remembered.

“You wear contacts too.” Tigre realized.

“Yes. Toyama explained?” Chu Zihang raised his umbrella. It was large enough for both of them as they walked. He was calm like a granite stone. Tigre was a raw nerve of emotion.

“Yes. I remembered looking into your eyes and feeling something through them like what I heard today. No wonder I recognized you! You  really are my brother! But for the other students, they were very sad. I don’t... understand why...” He looked back at the Library that was shrouded in the rain.

“You’d have to ask them personally. I can’t speak for them. When my dragonblood awoke, I saw a very disturbing image myself. And then something tragic happened. So that memory is sad for me too.”

“Is that why its raining?” Tigre mumbled.

Zihang tilted his head. “I don’t think emotions can effect the weather. Though many people associate rain with sadness. In truth a tropical wave has been pushed up from the gulf by the jet stream.”

“Oh.” Was all Tigre should say, understanding nothing.

“You’re still shaken up. Let me get you something to eat. You’ll be hungry.” 

"Ah! You’re right! My stomach is growling a lot!” Tigre said in shock.

“You must have resonated very strongly. You were just standing there in the entrance to the library staring into space and now you didn’t realize you were hungry...”

“It was wonderful.” He breathed. “I wish I could listen to it again. I’ll listen to it forever.”

Chu Zihang glanced down at him and didn’t comment.

“Have you been out of the hospital long? Why didn’t you visit me?” Tigre bounced along deliberately splashing in the puddles.

“I was recovering still and then after that, Schneider kept me updated on your progress. I couldn’t visit you because visits were not permitted while you adjusted to life outside of prison.”

“Oh... we’re going to your dorm?” He asked recognizing the residential building. 

“Yes. I want to introduce you to a few of my friends. One of them, Lu Mingfei is also looking forward to seeing you.”

“Oh Okay... neat.”

Chu Zihang opened the door to the dorm and there were many people there! It was like a party! When he saw all these people. He was moved to tears again! He covered his eyes with his arm. “Sorry!”

One of them, a dark haired Chinese boy chuckled. “Don’t worry. Everyone cried at my 3E. You’re fine.”

Chu Zihang introduced him. “This is Lu Mingfei. He’s the president of the Student Union...”

“Kinda sorta... really I just kinda hang out here while other people do things for me.” He said bashfully.

A tall muscular blond grinned. “I’m Finger Von Frings.”

“And I’m Susie. Congratulations. Sounds like you passed.” She was a petite Chinese girl, making her the third Chinese in the group.

“I’m Zero. Pleasure.” Said a soft spoken blond girl with a Russian accent, who looked bored to be there.

“This is for you.” Chu Zihang handed him a small box covered in paper and a ribbon, like one of those Christmas gifts he’d seen in pictures.

“Thank you... can I open it?”

“If you want.” Chu Zihang mumbled.

Tigre pulled the ribbon and then opened the box after carefully shredding the paper. Inside was a brand new tablet computer. “It will be useful for studying.”

“Wow... thank you!” He laughed. Then he paused. “What is it?”

[msmarvelwrites]

The Winter Ghost - Part 4

Info: A Devastating car crash causes you to lose your memory and start over. The only thing left in the wreckage was the horrific nightmares which plagued your mind. If you knew what today would entail you would have just stayed in bed. But you didn't and because of that, everything you knew was about to change.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Y/n

Warning: language maybe?

W/c: 3.5K (sorry not sorry)

A/n: Shuri is probably one of my favourite characters in the MCU so please enjoy her sass ❤️ Thank you again to @cutie1365 for editing and making this readable 💕

You sat in the cold steel lab, next to a pile of machines that whirled in the silent room. Small wires attached to your temples and hooked into the computers. You didn't know how you imagined Shuri, but a small 16 year old girl was definitely not it. This was who was going to be prying and prodding through your brain? I guess this is how S.H.I.E.L.D felt the first day you showed up. The thought made you stifle a laugh under your breath and wish you could only remember.

Every 10 minutes after scanning the hologram which hovered just above the desk she would stop, and ask if you were okay to continue. You would nod, unable to actually create coherent words. The process of regaining your memories was excruciating, to say the least. Shuri made it better though. She was bubbly and kind. Her voice was bright and reminded you of the wind chimes your mother used to hang on the porch.

Another blast of electricity surged through your brain, causing you to double over and yelp.

"Okay, okay, that's enough for today." She announced, crossing the room and placing a hand on your shoulder. You flinched her away desperately trying to focus away the pain.

"No. Keep going." You gasped, steadying your breath.

"Y/n, we have to take this in steps. If we dig too deep we can risk serious brain damage, or worse." She explained. You looked up at her concerned face, tears welled in your eyes but you quickly wiped them away.

"Dr. Shuri, please-”

"It's Shuri. Just Shuri. And no, I’m serious. I think we've retrieved some core memories, but there's no way to be sure." She spoke over you, turning her computer off and carefully removing the wires from your head. You winced as she pulled them out, but you were finally able to breathe right again. “We’ll just have to keep tabs on ya’.”

"How will we know what I remember?" You asked, watching her pack her equipment away.

"You won't," She stated, placing a small alcohol wipe in your hand. You blotted the small incisions the wires left behind. Gross.

"But, we'll keep doing bi-weekly checkups and monitor your behavior. There could be trigger words that Hydra has hidden in your brain. The last thing we need is you going all ‘Winter Soldier’ on our asses." Shuri giggled to herself and patted you on the back. You tried to hide the scream of pain that erupted from her contact. You suppressed a cry and smiled as best you could.

"Thank you Dr- um, Shuri. Seriously, I can't tell you what this means to me." You corrected, getting up and following him out of the room.

"Anytime. This is my new specialty I guess. I think I should consider updating my resume to super soldier fixer-upper."

You walked through the compound slowly, still unsure where everything was. Steve had assigned you a bedroom on the top level, close to Agent Romanoff, or Nat as she had asked you to call her. She and a few other former Avengers occasionally stayed in Wakanda after everything went south in Nigeria.

You hadn't really been asked if you wanted to stay here, but Nat explained that Hydra was keeping close tabs on you. It would be safer for you here while you remembered what it is they needed.

As you continued through the hallways you happened upon a large floor to ceiling mirror. You tried to not look, but your curiosity got the better of you.

Your hair was a knotted mess yesterday morning, so you decided to braid it back. Now, long strands fell from it, curling around your face and neck adding to your dishevelment. Dark circles bloomed under your y/e/c and reminded you of the sleep you so desperately needed. The faded Stark Industries tee-shirt hung loosely on your frame over the black elastic biker shorts Nat had given you to borrow. She promised she'd take you back to your Brooklyn apartment at some point to collect your own clothes. You huffed, trying and failing to tuck the few strands that fell from your loose braid back, only having two more shake loose.

As you rounded the corner you noticed two large metal doors. Loud thuds and grunts were protruding out from behind them. The closer you got, the better you could see through the small window.

Nat was sending a graceful roundhouse kick to Bucky's neck. He stumbled taking a few steps back but ultimately gained his balance again. You swallowed a gasp. Bucky was close to twice Nats size. You watched in amazement as she ducked between his legs, sending a swift elbow to the crook of his knee. He immediately dropped.

Quietly you slipped through the gym door, careful not to disturb the two while they circled each other slowly.

You watched in awe as Bucky threw a punch with his metal arm at Nat, who skillfully dodged it, grabbing his wrist and twisting. With the added momentum she swung onto his shoulders, still grasping his arm and yanked him backwards onto the mat with a loud thud.

"Holy shit!" You gasped, and quickly regretted it as the two super heros looked up. You knew they were on your side, but damn. You didn't know how anyone picked a fight with either of them. They both looked so venomous. Nats face softened when she registered your wide eyed gaze.

"She lives!" The Black Widow announced, laughing as she grabbed a towel, patting her sweat slicked face. Bucky stood then slowly, watching you intently like he was waiting for something.

You grin sheepishly and nodded. "That she does. Damn, Mr. Rogers wasn't kidding around. I still feel like I'm vibrating." You chuckled.

"Remember anything?" Bucky spoke suddenly, watching you carefully. You shook your head.

"No, not really. Shuri said it'll take time. That she recovered something, but-" you huffed, a little frustrated and body still sore. "I got this wicked headache instead." You finished. Bucky chuckled and ran his metal hand through his dark hair.

"So," You began, approaching the sparring mat, "do you think you could show me how to do that?" You ask Nat, referring to her insane fighting skills. Her eyes sparkled and she laughed softly.

"I don't know Y/n," she motioned for you to step onto the mat, "think you got what it takes?"

Her dazzling grin dropped almost as fast as her fist flew through the air. You could tell instantly that the blow would miss you entirely, but in that moment something snapped. You closed your eyes and you felt your whole body burst into flames. Images flashed through your mind and when you opened your eyes, everything moved in slow motion.

You looked to your left, watching the assassin's fist fly closer and closer. You tried to take a step back, but your body seemed to switch into auto pilot. In one smooth motion you blocked her wrist, and almost as fast jabbed her side with a harsh blow.

Natasha stumbled back, stunned. You looked down at your hands, like it was the first time you were actually seeing them. Holy shit.

“Oh God, Nat. I didn't mean to!"

Another fist flew at you, to which you ducked, dropping into a squat position you kicked your right leg out. In the same motion you twisted your body, sweeping your foot across the mat and taking Nat down as she gasped. You looked up at her, eyes wide and panting. What the-

"Fuck." Bucky finished your thought. Natasha rubbed her hip in discomfort as she reached for Bucky's hand, pulling her up.

"What the hell was that?" She challenged. You stood, stumbling back a few paces and raising your hands in surrender. What the hell had just happened?

"I- I don't know..." You stuttered, "Nat, I'm so, so sorry I-'' she waved her hand stopping you.

"I'm fine, don’t ever apologise for kicking someone's ass... Maybe you remembered something after all?" She spoke, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow sarcastically.

"My turn." Bucky rumbled. You would have frozen at the darkness in his voice, but your instincts kicked in. The soldier leaned back on his right foot, sending his left rocketing through the air and towards your face. Fire erupted through your body again, startling you awake.

Gracefully you wrapped your arm around Bucky's impending kick, absorbing the blow. His sheer strength made you stumble back a little, but you quickly slid back into the routine.

"Попался” Gotcha’, you smirked. Bucky looked at you, mouth slightly agape.

“What did you just-” He didn't have a chance to finish as you twisted your body, bringing your elbow up delivering it down onto his shoulder with a loud crack. You finished him off with a swift kick through his legs, tackling him to the floor.

"Ow," he mumbled through jagged breaths. You gawked at him in disbelief, holding his hands above his head, straddling the super soldier's waist. Bucky shifted slightly, realising the compromising position you both were in.

"Gotta hand it to ya, punk. That one actually tickled." He chuckled, as you removed your hands from his wrists. He noticed your body was still unmoving, eyes almost glassy. Carefully he tapped your thigh, knocking you back into reality. You physically shook your head, trying to center yourself.

"What happened?" You asked, still straddling Bucky. He looked at you quizzically, trying to read your face for any answers, but came up short.

"Y/n, I think we need to talk to Shuri again." He offered, picking you up by the waist and helping you off the mat.

"Yeah, I think that's probably a good idea." You said, staring wide eyed at the two former assassins.

When you entered the lab, you noticed Shuri was still there. She paced around the room, picking up sheets of paper, scanning them quickly before she looked at the hologram.

"Not possible." She breathed, still unaware of your presence. Bucky cleared his throat, alerting the engineer to the three of you.

"Holy crap!" She jolted. "Hasn't anyone ever told you not to sneak up on a girl with an endless arsonal of deadly weapons before?" Shuri clutched her heart, steadying her breath.

"No, actually." You voiced. Buck coughed trying to cover his laugh.

"Listen, babe. It's important," Nat started, entering the lab further and hoisting her petite figure onto an examining table. "Y/n just handed Bucky his tight ass without breaking a sweat, so we were just wondering... What the fuck?" She emphasized that last word with a raised brow and wide eyes. Bucky scoffed and rolled his eyes as if to say 'she hit you too.' You thought it was probably the cutest thing in the world, watching the former assassin stuff his hands into his pockets and glare at her like he was a kid.

"Y/n, how do you feel?" Shuri spoke, ignoring Natasha, which didn't bother her as she swung her legs daintily off the table.

"Um, fine I think. I'm a little tired but besides that-"

"What's happening here?" Captain America suddenly boomed, storming into the lab. You flinched, startled by his loud voice. Both Nat and Bucky look totally unfazed while Shuri only rolled her eyes. I guess Captains mood swings were a normalcy around here.

Natasha explained the situation to him while he passed the room, arms crossed and a scowl permanently glued to his face.

"How could you let this happen?" Steve finally barked, pointing an accusatory finger at Shuri. You thought if he had spoken to you like that you would melt away, but the small teen only scoffed and brushed him off.

"Hold up, Boomer. I didn't let anything happen. You brought her to me." She started, looking at you almost apologetically. "You told me to find Y/n's memories. That's what I'm doing. Unless you think you could do a better job with your zero years of education and that dinner plate you call a 'shield?'" She scoffed and went back to looking at her computer.

“You made my shield” Steve huffed under his breath.

“Uh, no. How dare you? I would never, the thing is incredibly impractical. I did make it better though.” Shuri mocked the Captain. Jeesh, the girl truly had balls, that's for sure.

"How do you feel?" Steve questioned. It took you a solid five seconds to realise he was looking at you.

"Oh, I'm fine. Yeah, I'm fine. Just really confused." You mumbled, terrified you were going to set the Super Soldier off again.

“Well I can shed some light, would that be okay with you, old man?” Shuri spoke sarcastically to Steve. He only rolled his eyes and waved his hand motioning her to carry on.

“I ran your blood through a few tests. I don't know how I didn’t see this before. I mean it's right in front of us. You failed the drug test. By like, a lot. Which I thought was weird but to each their own ya know? Anyways, I looked into it and your body is literally emanating radiation, which got me thinking. The only people I know who literally sweat steroids are-”

“She’s a Super Soldier.” Steve interrupted. You stared at him wide eyes and back to Shuri. This wasn't possible. You didn't feel super. Actually you felt pretty crappy, to say the least.

“Not exactly. At least, Y/n doesn't have the same chemical compound as you. Whatever serum she's drugged up on, it's not one I've ever seen before.” Shuri finished, holding a test tube of your blood up and analysing it. You felt like you were going to throw up. You didn't know if it was the chaos of the situation or the fun new information that past life Y/n was a steroid junky but it was enough to make you lightheaded. You stumbled back a few paces, uneasy on your feet. A strong arm wrapped itself around your waist, steading you before you could fall. You looked up at Bucky's warm smile suddenly feeling a little more at ease. Gotcha. He mouthed, and you took a deep breath. I am calm, I am okay… Just, breathe.

Ten minutes later and a bunch of arguing the room finally stilled. Shuri explained how she suspected Hydra had a weapon similar to the super-soldier serum, only more complex. The whole thing made very little sense to you.

"Why would Hydra inject me with the serum?" You argued, skeptically.

"Because, they physically couldn't make another drop. Y/n destroyed the lab with all their research. The one they gave to her was the first of its kind. It's flawed and unpredictable. Without her cooperating, recreating a serum was impossible. However, if they injected it into our friend here, they could monitor how it developed in a controlled environment." Shuri explained.

"So, you think the serum they gave me is their super secret weapon?" You asked, stunned. Shuri only nodded.

“You're the blueprint…” Bucky mumbled under his breath. You didn't know if he had meant for you to hear as no one else in the room seemed to notice he had even spoken.

"And you're sure it's in Y/n's system?" Nat asked, her eyes scanning over you.

"I mean, I guess there's only one way to know for sure. I have this…theory. I could be wrong, but I highly doubt it… Y/n, I think it's time you meet our resident teenage witch."

You followed the team into what looked they're common room. Plasma TVs hung on the walls and large floor length windows lined the room.

There sitting on the long couch was a girl. She looked to be about your age, maybe a little younger. You watched as red ribbons of electricity shot out of her hands and through the air like dangerous waves. The small tv remote hovered mid air as her red tendrils held it.

"Maximoff, front and center!" Steve announced loudly, startling the girl causing her to rocket the remote through the air. It flew past you, an inch from your face as it crumbled into the wall behind you.

"Holy shit!" You screamed, ducking as a delayed reaction and holding your hands over your head.

"Language..." Steve lectured under his breath. You mouthed a 'sorry' and stood up again.

"Didn't mean to startle you, I just have someone I'd like you to meet. He gestured towards you as her eyes followed.

"Hi." You spoke quietly. She smiled kindly and spoke apologetically, "Hi. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to throw electronics at you." She shrugged.

"Occupational hazard when you're around me. It's kinda' my thing." You chuckled at that.

"Perfect. Now that you've met... Wanda, will you please fight Y/n." Shuri spoke dryly. The girl, Wanda, looked from Shuri to you.

"Um, no?" You blurted looking at Shuri absolutely terrified. There was no way you were fighting this chick. She just fired a remote at your head with the ease and strength of a shotgun. Hell no.

"Please, you won't hurt her. It's for science." Shuri shrugged, but you weren't sold.

"Yeah, that's not happening. There's gotta be another way we can test your theory." You shook your head frantically. Wanda looked slightly intrigued, crawling across the couch and perching on the arm rest.

"What exactly would you have me do, Shuri?" She questioned, looking wickedly dangerous. The small engineer grinned, crossing her arms over each other.

"Do what we practiced." She cooed, dryly.

The team behind you took a few steps back. You hadn't realised they had deserted you until it was too late. Wanda created a small red blast of electricity in her palm. You watched as she shaped it like a snowball, carefully dropping it between her hands. You watched in awe as it sizzled and sparked between her fingers.

“I really, really don't like this idea.” You voiced, looking back at Steve and Shuri, who only watched in anticipation.

You turned back to face her as the energy surged towards your body. Before it could explode you crossed your arm over your face protecting yourself from its inevitable blow. But it never came.

Carefully you opened one eye, and then the other. More people now gathered in the common room. You looked around at their faces, landing on Bucky who, unlike his teammates looked horrified. You looked down at your hands then, and what you saw made you choke out a gasp.

Your whole body was glowing with the same red electricity Wanda has thrown at you. Your eyes darted up to her and she just stared at you in shock.

"What the hell is happening right now?" You yelled, terrified and feeling like your whole body was vibrating.

"Exactly what I thought would happen. You've absorbed Wanda's powers." Shuri spoke matter of fact, like this kind of thing happened every day. I guess with these people it did.

"Y/n, are you okay?" Bucky demanded. He felt powerless as he watched the Witch’s energy circled around you. You nodded, reassuringly. Though you didn't know if you believed it.

"Okay, what do I do. I don't want this-" you reached your arms out and with a bright flash of red, the electricity exploded from your hands, throwing Wanda off her seat and hurling her backwards. Quickly she caught herself mid air before she crashed through the window, hovering above the floor.

"Holy crap" She screamed, checking she was all in one piece "I sincerely apologise to anyone I've done that to. That really stings." She winced as she landed back on the ground.

"Shit, I didn't mean to. I'm so sorry!" You crossed the room, making sure she was okay.

Wanda laughed, "You sure do make a great first impression." She spoke sarcastically. You half smiled, not knowing how you could help.

"I guess that's kinda' my thing." You spoke, causing a dazzling smile to dance across Wanda's pink lips.

"This is so exciting! I’m going to run back to the lab and run a few more tests. Obviously you aren't able to control how you absorb your opponents powers. You're going to have to practice before we can try that again." Shuri spoke, tearing you away from your exchange with Wanda.

"I am not doing that again." You argued, horrified that you almost chucked Wanda out a plate glass window.

"Sure you are. Come now, science experiment, let's see what else you can do." You huffed and followed Shuri’s voice.

..…………

A/n: as always, feedback it welcomed!! Let me know what you think 💕💕💕

@projectcampbell

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Twenty Eight

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

March 25th, 1999

“Toby?” Remy asked.

“Yeah, Rem?” Toby asked, and Remy’s heart ached at the familiar nickname.

“Why don’t you write anymore?” Remy asked. “You would write all the time before Christmas, but now it’s Spring Break and you haven’t even written once!”

“Oh...uh...” Toby cleared his throat. “I just thought our parents knew you better than I would, since I’m not here, you know? And I trusted their judgement, and...yeah, I didn’t want you to obsess over the letters.”

“I don’t obsess over the letters!” Remy objected. “They help me get through the rough patches, yeah, but I don’t obsess over them! Haven’t you gotten any of my letters?”

Toby tilted his head to the side. “You’ve been sending letters?”

Remy felt a little piece of him die inside. “I bet Mom’s been stopping the mailman from sending them to you somehow,” he grumbled.

“What?” Toby asked.

“Never mind,” Remy said. “You can just...not write. I won’t bug you about it again.”

“Remy...”

But Remy was already running up the stairs to hide in his room.

  April 27th, 2001

Remy woke up the morning after his mother showed up with a pit of dread in his stomach. It was barely dawn yet, and Remy crept out of his room to the living room where there were two windows which looked out to the parking lot below. He peeked out of one of them, and sure enough, he could recognize the shape of his parents’ sedan, sitting on the edge of the street. He couldn’t see his mother inside, but as long as the car was nearby, she was around. He snuck over to Emile’s room and was barely inside the door before Emile was grumbling and sitting up. “Remy, what time is it?”

“It’s early, I know,” Remy said, wincing. “But my mother is outside.”

“She’s what,” Emile said. Fury entered his voice as he declared, “I’m calling the cops.”

“No! Don’t! Please!” Remy exclaimed. “I swear she’s not that bad! If I just talk to her for five minutes she’ll leave! We can go out together if you want, but we don’t need to call the cops!”

“Remy,” Emile growled. “She’s terrorizing you, and stalking you. That’s not okay. I’m calling the cops.”

“Emile, please!” Remy begged. “You don’t have to do that!”

“Yes I do!” Emile practically bellowed.

Remy jumped a good six inches and all the blood drained from his face. Emile’s eyes widened and he stood, approaching Remy, but Remy just backed out of the room before running to his own, closing it with his whole body and trying to keep his breathing steady. Emile and Kim had both taught him techniques that could keep his breathing calm and even, but they didn’t seem to be working right now. All he could focus on was Emile’s yelling, echoing over and over in his head. His face was on fire as tears scorched his cheeks, and Emile was knocking on Remy’s door. “Remy! Remy, I’m sorry, please, let me in!”

Remy whimpered and pressed his hands against his ears. Much as he would love to let Emile in, he was also terrified that if he did so, he would be in massive trouble. He had spoken out of turn, he had argued against what Emile wanted, and Emile had gotten angry because of it. That usually meant the second Remy gave in, he’d be getting at least an earful, if not someone unintentionally hurting him.

There was a pounding at the front door, and Remy flinched. Was his mother making a reappearance this early? It was probably barely six in the morning! Footsteps went to the front door, opened it, and there was rushed mumbling that Remy couldn’t make out. He strained to listen closer, and heard words such as “abduction” and “search” and “press charges.”

Remy’s breathing wasn’t getting any better. He buried his head in his knees. If his mother had gone to the police claiming he had been kidnapped...he was going to throttle someone.

Emile yelped and then there was more knocking at Remy’s bedroom door. “Mister Picani?” a gruff voice asked.

“If my mother is the one who called you, I’m not leaving this room!” Remy screamed, voice cracking. “I’m a grown-ass man, she cannot dictate my life!”

“Son, we need you to come with us,” the man said. “You’re safe, you don’t have to lie to anyone about how old you are.”

Remy growled and moved away from the door, grabbing his wallet from his nightstand and pulling out his ID from one of the front pockets. He opened the door an inch and saw a heavily-built man on the other side, wearing a police uniform. He offered his ID out. “I’m of legal age,” he snapped. “I don’t know what my mother told you, but this is my ID.”

The policeman took it, examined it closely, and scrutinized Remy. “You still need to come with us, son,” he said.

“On what grounds?!” Remy snapped. “No, seriously, on what grounds?! Am I not allowed to split rent with Emile over there?” he asked, nodding to his boyfriend. “Am I legally required to go to college? Are you a truancy officer?” He huffed, “I don’t care what my mother told you, I’m not. Going. Anywhere.”

“We need to verify your age, Mister Picani, and ensure that this isn’t a fake ID,” the officer said.

“Okay, I don’t know what my mother told you—”

“—You’re not coming with us,” the officer finished, grabbing Remy roughly by the arm. “Kid, I’ll handcuff you if I have to.”

“Bite me,” Remy huffed, trying to wrench his arm free.

The officer’s nostrils flared as he asked, “Care to repeat that comment?”

“Remy. Remy!” Emile exclaimed, from where he was barricaded from moving by another officer. “Don’t fight back on this one, I’ll come pick you up from the station as soon as they realize your mother was lying about you being seventeen and a runaway.”

Remy bared his teeth at the officer. “I’m a grown-ass man! You can’t tell me that you seriously believe I’m seventeen!”

“I’ve seen kids taller than you at sixteen,” the officer replied. “March.”

Remy was dragged, kicking and screaming, out of his apartment and into a waiting patrol car. He was unceremoniously thrown in the back, and he fumed in silence all the way to the station. When he was dragged into the station, his mother was waiting for him, and judging by her face she had been crying to some officer or another. “Remy!” she exclaimed, rushing over and trying to hug him.

“Get off me!” Remy exclaimed, shoving her away. “Why would you leave your car outside Emile’s apartment complex and come to the police claiming I was a minor?!”

His mother stared at him in shock, and he just kept his arms crossed, and his teeth bared. “An explanation would be nice,” he threw the words back in her face.

“Remy, you of all people should know that you can’t run away from your responsibilities!” his mother chided. “Your father and I were so worried!”

“Of course you would see it that way,” Remy breathed, before laughing. “Bite me, mother! I’m nineteen years old, I know what I’m doing with my life, and you are not going to be a part of it!”

His mother turned on the waterworks and suddenly everyone in the station was glaring at him. His mother kept wailing and trying to hug him and he kept shoving her away until the officers who had brought him in dragged him to a holding cell, presumably to stop a fight in the front. It wasn’t the classiest place he had ever been in, but it was away from his mother, so he could relax just a little bit. Two other guys were in there with him, one who looked like he was recovering from a bender, and another who Remy had no idea what he might be here for, but who had tattoo sleeves all up and down both arms. “Nice tats,” he said.

The man tilted his chin up at Remy. “Thanks. You mind my asking why you’re here?”

“My mother’s a nut job?” Remy laughed incredulously. “Claimed I was seventeen and a runaway because I dropped out of college and didn’t call her over Christmas.”

The man roared with laughter, causing the drunk to glare at the both of them. “Wow. That’s...certainly something,” the man said. “I’m here because my girlfriend and I got in a fight, and I was angry enough and stupid enough to punch the cop trying to get in between us.”

Remy grimaced. “Ouch.”

“Tell me about it,” the man said. “I really hope they just give me a fine and not, like, jail time.”

“Me too,” Remy said. “My...my friend and I got in a fight this morning too, before the cops showed up at our door.”

“Your...friend?” the man asked.

“Well, yeah. He and I split rent. We’re having some issues and frequent arguments about keeping the place clean, but at the end of the day, he’s still a friend. It’s just hard to remember that sometimes.” Remy leaned against the wall and sighed. “But my mother likes to ruin everything good I ever find for myself in the world, if it doesn’t fit her vision of what she wants for me.”

The man winced. “Oh, she’s one of those,” he said with distaste. “I hate those. The kind where if you so much as bring up getting a tattoo, they’ll start screaming that you’re ruining your life, that this isn’t what you want when in reality it isn’t what they want. I hate those types.”

“Mhm,” Remy hummed. “She’s... the worst.”

“You look beat, kid,” the man said.

“I look how I feel, then,” Remy mumbled.

The man checked by the door but no one was standing there. “You should probably get some rest, kid, especially if your mom tries to get to you.”

“Like I could sleep when she knows where I live,” he laughed.

The man shook his head. “I know it seems like the end of the world, but if you make it clear you want nothing to do with her, sooner or later she’ll back off.”

“You’ve clearly never met her,” Remy sighed. But even as he said it, he was already drifting off to sleep from exhaustion.

When he next woke up, it was to the door of the holding cell opening with a screech. “Mister Picani,” an officer regarded him coolly. “Please come with me.”

Remy stood and followed, somewhat confused. He was led to the lobby, and handed his ID. Both Emile and his mother were waiting for him on opposite sides of the lobby, and the officer said. “The ID is legitimate. Our apologies for disrupting your morning.” And with that, the officer left.

Emile and his mother were both starting to talk to him at once, but Remy just watched the police officer leave. When he couldn’t even pretend to be distracted anymore he sighed, looked between them, and winced as he realized he was still in his pajamas and had no shoes, and he’d have to walk outside like this. He held up a hand and Emile paused in his tidal wave of apologies, but his mother was still going on her tirade. He sighed and gave Emile a look that roughly equated to do you see what I have to deal with? and Emile snorted, nodding.

His mother paused at that, looking between the two of them. Remy took the opportunity to say, “Yeah, I’m going back to Emile’s place, Mom, and there’s nothing you can do about that. I’m not going home with you, I’m not doing whatever you want me to do to ‘redeem’ myself in your eyes, and you can’t stop me.”

“You’ll never get Tobias’ number,” his mother threatened.

Remy laughed, and even though it felt painfully fake to him, his mother looked shocked. “Oh, I doubt that Toby would even want me calling him, Mom. After all, I only ever pestered him about everything, isn’t that what you said?”

Emile visibly twitched, fingers clenching and unclenching in a strangling motion at his sides.

“Don’t bother either of us again, Mom, Emile needs his time to study and I need to actually work if I want to uphold my half of rent,” he said. “Come on, Emile, let’s go. I still need to get my shoes from yours.”

Emile looked down, seemed to notice Remy’s bare feet for the first time, and snickered as he said, “Yeah, I can’t imagine walking around barefoot is accepted at work. Let’s go.”

They walked out of the station in minorly strained silence. “I’m really sorry for yelling,” Emile said once they were in his car.

“It is what it is,” Remy said with a shrug. “Not like I’m going to break up with you over it.”

“Remy, I traumatized you. I...that’s not okay,” Emile said, glancing over at Remy.

Remy shrugged. “Don’t worry about it, Emile,” Remy said. “Give me some time and I’ll forgive you. It will take time, but provided you’re willing to give it to me...”

“Of course,” Emile said.

“Then it’s no worries,” Remy said. He bit his lip. “I really wish I could call Toby.”

“I’m sure you guys will find each other one day,” Emile said. “I doubt he’d just...give up on seeing you ever again.”

“I hope you’re right,” Remy mumbled, moping as he stared out the car window. “I just...could really use his support right about now.”

[crystaljins]

Take a chance. | 04

Characters: Jungkook x Reader

Word count: 11.6K

Synopsis:   You should have known the second your business partner asked you to plan his best friend’s wedding as a favour that it was going to be nothing but trouble. Especially when it turns out he’s in love with said best friend. And dying of a deadly disease because of it.

Hanahaki!au

Notes: LOL i forgot to put an author’s note! THanks for reading and hope you enjoy what I think is the most entertaining chapter of this fic 

Warnings: Angst. Graphic depictions of vomiting. Mentions of illness and death.

Masterlist

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

“How was your sleep?” Taehyung asks you cheerily over breakfast the next morning. You had been unable to rouse Jungkook, and had simply given up and left him to keep sleeping until checkout time. He had looked oddly adorable, curled up in the blanket and his face relaxed and peaceful. Something in your chest had hurt at the sight and you’d decided that a bit of extra sleep was good for him in his condition. Beside Taehyung, Minah is half-asleep, looking significantly less perky and cheerful than she usually does. She’s almost dead to the world as she robotically raises a forkful of eggs to her mouth.

“It was fine.” You say with a smile. It was more than fine- you had a wonderful time with Jungkook the night before. Even just the recollection of lying shoulder to shoulder with him makes you want to smile. Perhaps for the first time, you don’t regret agreeing to plan this wedding. You’re in such a good mood it would take a lot to drag you down right now. “I very rarely accompany clients on their overnight trips, so it was nice to mix things up a little.”

“Jungkook didn’t kick you or anything? When we had sleepovers when we were kids, he had this atrocious habit of sleepwalking.” Taehyung says, chuckling fondly at the memory. You bite back a smile as you picture it yourself.

“I can imagine that would have been very stressful.” You comfort him and he shakes his head. He jerks his fork in the direction of his near-comatose fiancée. “My brother used to sleepwalk, so we had to lock all the doors every night or he’d end up down the street.”

“It was, but I’m used to it- Kook and Minah are poor sleepers. She kicks the covers everywhere and there’s been a few times we’ve had to go to the ER because she’s fallen off the bed and hit her head.” Taehyung complains. “I feel like most of my teenage years were spent babysitting these two.”

That drags out a genuine laugh from you, but you also find yourself bubbling with curiosity.

“The three of you seem so close.” You comment, wondering how to word your question without giving away what you know. “It must have been strange for Jungkook, to have his two best friends suddenly in a relationship.”

Taehyung’s expression darkens and he begins to roll a grape around his plate using his fork.

“It was.” He says, though his tone is slightly guarded. “It was actually one of the biggest obstacles to us being together- we’re the only family Kook has left, and I guess we were both scared that he’d feel like he was no longer welcome if we were to be together.”

You bite your lip contemplatively. Minah has nodded off and is now slumped against the table while lightly snoring.

“How… how did you overcome that?” You ask. Only because you know that inadvertently they’d done exactly what they were afraid of doing. Looking and Minah and Taehyung, you realise the true tragedy of their situation- as much as they love each other, was there ever a way for them to be together without hurting Jungkook? And the reality is so much worse than they could have ever imagined- they probably hadn’t even considered Hanahaki as a possible outcome, considering it’s not the most common disease in the world. Perhaps they wouldn’t be together if they’d known.

“Hmmm…” Taehyung ponders. “It certainly wasn’t easy. Every time I thought ‘She’s the only one for me’, I’d just remember Jungkook and I wouldn’t be able to say anything to her. I felt so strongly though… and I took a chance. And I guess it all worked out, because here we are.” His smile is peaceful and filled with an unbridled joy that makes your heart ache. In answer, the smile you’d had slides off your face. The good mood you’d found yourself in evaporates like mist on a warm day.

Taehyung and Minah both have no idea that currently their happiness is balanced on the edge of a knife. If Jungkook’s condition worsens, or if one day they stumble upon him in one of his weaker moments… They won’t go through with their wedding. It’s something you realise as Taehyung moves on to fondly recount the time that he broke his arm and both Jungkook and Minah had cried the whole way to the hospital. They love Jungkook. You’ve seen it over the past month and you’re seeing it now in the way that Taehyung talks. And if they were to ever know the truth, they’d be forced to choose: Each other, or Jungkook. What sort of choice is that, to be forced to make?

That’s what Jungkook has been trying to prevent this entire time, you realise. That’s why he’s been slowly letting himself die- for the happiness of these two people. You feel sick- though it’s with good intentions, you’re both lying to these people. And yet the alternative is breaking up a trio of friends who have been together since they were kids. Who have faced the difficulties of life together and plan to continue facing them together. And Jungkook is your friend, your co-worker, your friend, and your colleague, and the man who helped you pick yourself up when you had hit rock bottom all those years ago. His happiness and health is what is important to you and now he is the ticking time bomb at the centre of it all, ready to go off at any moment.  Unless…

“Are you ok?” Taehyung asks, interrupting your train of thought and leaning forward in concern. “You suddenly look really pale.”

You flinch and school your features into a practiced smile, the one you reserve for difficult clients. And aren’t these two the most difficult clients you’ve ever had? You clear your throat.

“I’m fine. I just bit my tongue.” You lie smoothly. You get to your feet and nearly knock your juice over. “Shall we get going? We have a lot to do.” You urge. “I’ll go wake Jungkook.”

Taehyung nods and smiles, opting to stay with Minah as she sleepily finishes her breakfast. It is only when you are safely out of view that you let the smile on your face crack. You’ve realised something, though. You have to help Jungkook. You can’t explain the compulsion to do so- you just remember his face last night as he had smiled at you and you are gripped with desperation. And there is a method, a solution to this whole complex situation that can prevent anyone from being hurt:

If Jungkook can get better without forgetting Minah.

++

When you’d asked Jungkook if he could come by your apartment on your first day off after the trip, he’d thought it was to celebrate Minah and Taehyung finally booking a venue. He knows it had been a harrowing few weeks with the two being so indecisive, and after seeing the layout of the garden, he’d known it was because of him that they’d been so difficult. Perhaps you’d been feeling guilty towards him- you’d been a bit strange after that night he’d declared the two of you friends. You hadn’t treated him any differently, or anything extreme like that, you’d just been distracted. It makes him fearful that maybe he crossed some sort of boundary by trying to be your friend. But whatever the reason, he’d assumed you’d sorted it when you asked him to come over, and he’d even brought along some food as a peacekeeping technique for good measure.

But when you open the door, you look like you’re anything but celebrating. In five years, Jungkook has never seen you anything less than pristine. Hair and makeup done, pantsuit ironed, office in order and perfectly punctual. He’s always felt a little embarrassed, what with his messy hair and stained business shirts, standing next to you because somehow, you’ve always been so put together. But currently, you’re the messy one. Your hair is unwashed and pulled into a messy bun that can’t contain all the strands, you’re wearing an old, faded tshirt with ketchup stains on it, you don’t have any makeup on and your apartment. He can only just glimpse it behind your figure, but it looks like a hurricane has gone through it.

“Are you… ok?” Jungkook asks when he finally recovers from the shock. You glance behind you and frown, like you hadn’t even noticed it.

“I’m fine.” You say dismissively, leading him into the living room of your apartment. You have the Netflix selection screen open, but it doesn’t look like you were watching anything. Mostly because of the papers scattered across every flat surface of your living room, on the coffee table, on the couch, spread across the floor. “I have something to say to you.”

Jungkook stares incredulously at the mess around him. Being organised and neat and a little cute about it has always been your thing, as a wedding planner. You were the kind of person to use those pink paperclip hearts instead of normal ones and to have a string of bunting decorating your office for no reason other than the aesthetics. Something must be seriously wrong for your apartment to be like this.

“Is it that you were abducted by aliens?” He questions. “Did you want to induce me into the weird cult you’ve joined?”

You snort and shake your head- he’s noticed you’re a little more playful and less guarded around him since becoming friends. As his boss, you were warm but always professional, a little too serious for your own good, but as his friend you smile a lot more and are more receptive to his jokes. It’s… nice. Unexpected but nice.

“No.” You blink and then look around as if registering the state your apartment is in for the first time. “Although… I can kind of see why you’d think that. No, these are papers that Namjoon sent me.”

“Your brother?” Jungkook asks, setting down the plastic bag of snacks on top of a stack of papers resting on the coffee table. “Why is he sending you papers? Are you considering another career change?”

He gathers a stack of papers on the couch and pushes it aside so that he can settle comfortably amongst the cushions. As he does, he glimpses the title of one- ‘A retrospective review of 162 individuals with Hanahaki treated with cognitive therapy’. He squints at it uncomprehendingly for a moment before waving the paper at you.

“You’re researching… Hanahaki?” He questions, though internally he feels uneasy. He’s not sure why- just the thought of you worrying about his disease when it’s supposed to be his problem makes him feel deeply uncomfortable. You seem to pick up on his concern.

“I wanted to see if there was any other way for you to be cured.” You confess.

He understands- he does. He totally gets and appreciates that you’re trying to help him, but he went down that path when he was first diagnosed. He had visited doctors in secret, begging them for a way to be cured without anyone ever discovering the truth. They’d all, after a cursory physical exam and history, had explained that he would likely need some very aggressive therapy to be cured, and recommended hypnotherapy as the quickest and most painless way of doing so. Apparently forgetting Minah was the only way for the disease to lose its grip on him.

“(Y/N),” He says softly, prepared to break the bad news, news that he’d already accepted a year ago after his fourth doctor’s visit. “You know I can’t forget her…” He tries to explain to you gently, and you shake your head.

“Wait, wait.” You protest. “I know that. And I know why you can’t.” You tell him rapidly, and then you’re moving frantically around the room, sorting through the papers. You’re clearly looking for something. “But I know that it wouldn’t make them happy to know you were suffering either, and that’s so not what you want for them, I’m sure.” You continue to explain. You scuttle over to the paper stack next to his legs and begin shuffling through them. “So I spoke to Namjoon, to see if there was any way for you to be treated, and he said, hypothetically, that if you fell out of love with Minah, then you wouldn’t have to forget her. He said that conservative therapy is supposed to do that and that’s his aim with your treatment, but there’s no harm in trying other, less medical methods as treatment since Hanahaki doesn’t have a physical cause.”

You pause there, distracted by what’s written on the haphazardly scattered sheets. Jungkook feels a strange feeling, watching you sit amongst the mess you had made for him. Perhaps… gratefulness? It’s difficult to find a name for the almost fond feeling he’s experiencing.

“So then what’s with the mess?” He finally asks, aware of the way he feels like there’s something buzzing in his stomach. You pause and squint at him.

“Well, I was trying to prove that it could be done- that if we could hypothetically help you get over Minah, then you wouldn’t have to forget her.” You explain. “And there’s a lot of debate whether it can be done because everything about this disease is so poorly understood and human feelings of love are so complex and probably one of the greatest mysteries of life.” You finally produce a single paper from the stack and brandish it triumphantly. “Here it is!” You cry. “There is one instance of someone recovering spontaneously from Hanahaki. The general academic opinion is that because Hanahaki is rare enough, and humans are so complex, the only effective way to ensure all romantic feelings are removed - which is the duty of a doctor treating a patient- is through the existing treatment options. But some individuals are capable of getting over someone completely without treatment. There’s even speculation that the incidence of Hanahaki may be much higher than suspected because the early stages where it’s just one or two petals and people get over the feelings that cause it quickly enough that they don’t bother to go to the doctor.” You explain, almost breathlessly. It’s difficult to understand your words because you’re speaking so quickly- he registers the presence of numerous mugs with coffee stains on the insides of the brims and the way your hands shake slightly with a caffeine high.

“Did you stay up all night?” He asks. He’d assumed the dark circles under your eyes were just him being unused to you without makeup, but now he’s not so sure. Maybe your unkempt appearance is for an entirely different reason.

“Maybe.” You admit, but you wave your hand in a dismissive manner and begin to skim through the paper you’d finally found. “That’s not important. What’s important is that this man, in this article, proves that it can be done. That you can be cured without complete ruining Minah and Taehyung’s wedding.”

You always seem to have this unique ability to render him speechless. He’s quiet by nature, often opting to remain silent in a situation that he could be speaking up in, but it’s not because he has nothing to say. More often it’s that he’s holding back what he’s actually thinking. But with you, you seem to tear the very ability to speak from his mouth. He never knows what you’re going to do or how you’re going to react to something. And this is one of those moments- like he suddenly has a mouthful of ice, no words will come.

Instead, he feels something. Warm and bright and enlivening- hope. He hadn’t realised how the Hanahaki had made every bone in his body feel like it had been turned to ice until this exact moment, where heat floods his entire being from his chest all the way out to his fingertips.

“It won’t be easy, and it’s not 100%.” You hastily amend, seeing the way that Jungkook has gone deathly quiet. “It’s a shot in the dark, but it’s better than nothing. And these aren’t substitutes for your sessions with Namjoon, either. Think of it like a side project or homework from Namjoon’s sessions.”

“What are you suggesting we do though?” He asks, and his voice has dropped to a breathless rasp.

You smile in response and produce a printed webpage from the top of another stack of papers- it’s a wikihow article. In bold letters across the top it declares How to get over your ex. Jungkook stares at it in confusion for a moment before accepting it from your hands.

“Recovering from a breakup is always hard.” He reads aloud. “There’s always a lot of emotional baggage to deal with and it can be hard to bounce back… This is supposed to help me get better?”

“It helped me.” You admit, and there’s a slight pout to your lips that is surprisingly charming and yet completely at odds with what he’s known of you, as a proper, put-together business woman. “When… when he broke up with me. I used that article to get over him.”

Jungkook knows who the he is, of course. Your ex-fiancé. When you first met him, you’d talked about the guy. You’d shared stories absent-mindedly as you cleaned glasses and mixed drinks while he sulked at the bar counter. It was a relatively quiet bar and he was unemployed at the time, so he had been there almost every night, avoiding Minah, not wanting to face Taehyung’s nagging, and just generally feeling sorry for himself and his inability to find a job. You’d never seemed sad or bitter about it- there had always been a fond nostalgia as you recalled the man in question, despite the freshness of the breakup. For five years it has never occurred to him that maybe you hadn’t gotten over things as easily as he thought you had, and for five years he’s never thought to ask.

“Did… did it work?” He asks. You stare at the article, squinting at it like you’re unsure.

“Well… I suppose it must have.” Is what you say. “Because I don’t feel sad when I think about him anymore.”

That makes Jungkook smile for reasons he’s not sure of. It also makes him think- maybe following the instruction in a wikihow article won’t be so bad, if it’s with you.

“What’s the first step, then?” He asks. You smile brightly and gesture to the Netflix selection screen.

Step 1: Let yourself grieve and process the emotions properly

Too often we force ourselves to move on too quickly. If we don’t allow ourselves to properly grieve then it is difficult to find closure after a breakup. Buy yourself your favourite foods, make a nice cosy spot for yourself at home, and let yourself have a good cry. If you can’t cry on your own, maybe watching sad movies will help you get it out.

A few hours and one quick clean-up of your living space later, Jungkook finds himself blinking in confusion at the credit’s scene. He’d had his doubts when you first suggested you watch Cars together, since it didn’t sound like it would be a sad movie. But he’d also never seen the movie before and had had to take your word for it. It was a good movie, with emotional moments for sure, but it definitely didn’t fall into the category of ‘sad’. It had been a poor plan from the start- he’s not really the type to cry in movies, anyway.

He turns to where you’re seated beside him on the couch, prepared to tell you as much. But he finds the words dying in his throat as he registers your facial expression. You’re devastated- tears pour down your face. Your expression is scrunched like he just told you that your cat died. It’s so baffling, that someone like you would be so torn up over a kid’s movie.

For moment, he can only stare in wonder. You’re such an enigma- one moment you’re a firm, no-nonsense businesswoman, the next you’re the kind of person who genuinely cries in movies and uses gel pen in her planner because it looks cuter. He takes in the way your face is twisted and tears continue to roll down your cheeks. But then suddenly you’re turning to look at him and he flinches away, hiding his face before you can see the expression. 

“Well?” You ask him. “How do you feel? Was having a cry therapeutic? Was it a sad movie? I think for me the race scene is always what gets me.” At that last sentence your voice chokes up and he knows even without looking that a fresh wave of tears has rolled down your face.

Jungkook doesn’t know why he does what he does next. There’s literally not a single rational reason for his next move but it happens- he releases a fake sniffle. He’s facing away from you, but if he were to turn around, he knows the glow of the television would give away the fact that there’s no tears on his face. He makes a point of exaggeratedly wiping at the non-existent tears on his face. 

“It was.” He rasps. He should win an Oscar for his acting. “Thank you, (Y/N).” He adds in another sniffle for good measure.

He’s surprised when he feels your arms snake around his middle and feels your cheek rest against his back, right between his shoulder blades. Your body is warm where it presses softly against him and he feels his face heat for some reason. 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed for crying, Jungkook.” You tell him and he feels the vibrations of your voice against him. “Especially not in front of me.”

“Thank you.” Is all he says. And in the darkness, you never do discover Jungkook’s deception or that the first step in your plan was a failure. But you also never get to see the way a warm, fond smile spreads across Jungkook’s face.

++

“ Step 2: Remind yourself that you have options

While it’s very important that you avoid rebounding fresh after a breakup, it’s important too to remind yourself that you have options. Build self-confidence. This may involve dressing up nicely and going out with friends. Whatever makes you feel attractive and comfortable in your skin. A breakup may leave you with questions like “Is there something wrong with me?” or “Am I not worthy of them?” And these questions can be harmful and hurtful to ask yourself. Instead, remember that you are worthy of love, and that someone out there would be lucky to have you. “

Jungkook reads aloud a few days after the movie night, perched on the edge of your bathtub. You are standing while facing him, focusing hard as you fix his appearance. He grimaces as you lean in close to adjust his hair, oblivious to the way your cleavage is eye-level due to your positioning.

“Explain again how going clubbing with Jin is going to achieve any of that.” He complains as you turn away from him momentarily to fidget with something resting beside the sink. When you turn back to him, your fingers are covered in some sort of product that you proceed to smooth through his hair.

“Well,” You say. “The idea is to make you feel confident and to see that there are plenty of people who would want you.” You don’t add the “even if Minah doesn’t” but Jungkook knows that the implication is there. “I don’t want to set you up on a date before you’re ready, but I have a feeling that with the right clothes and hair, you’d be really popular amongst a lot of people- I just want you to know that. And despite what you say, Seokjin knows the clubbing scene quite well. He’s the best person to have along on this kind of outing. And I’m coming too so that Seokjin doesn’t push you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. Remember our signal- if at any point you want to go home, just come over and smile at me, ok? The point is to have fun, not to feel silly or uncomfortable.”

No matter how Jungkook tries to picture this particular attempt going, he knows with Jin along it will only end in disaster. Either Jin will ditch early in the evening to go home with someone or he’ll spend the whole night making Jungkook wingman for him in increasingly humiliating ways. The only hope for the evening is that you will be there too, but in your current attire he kind of feels more nervous.

You look amazing. You’ve always put-together and well-groomed, but tonight you’ve gone the extra mile. Gone are the pantsuits- tonight you’ve opted for the full clubbing look, complete with styled hair, makeup designed to direct people’s gazes to your lips and a dress that looks so good on you that even he, the man currently dying of hanahaki because he’s that in love with another woman, is being forced to wipe his sweaty palms on his pants whenever you turn away. You don’t even seem to realise how amazing you look.

The doorbell rings and provides him a brief reprieve and a chance to gather his wits as you leave to welcome Jin into your home. What’s wrong with him? Why can’t he get a grip? Why do his lungs keep threatening to go on strike? If he didn’t know any better, he’d say he was about to go into another Hanahaki fit, but the sensation is different. Rather than feeling like something is choking him, he just feels short of breath. Like his heart can’t keep up- especially when you lean in close, oblivious to the way your dress is quite revealing compared to what you’d normally where.

He hears Jin whistle obnoxiously and rolls his eyes. So far, all your plans have been useless and ineffective and yet here he is, letting himself be dragged along. Why is he doing this? He doesn’t really have an answer. To distract himself from questions he’s not ready to ask himself yet, he gets to his feet and examines the clothes you have forced him into. You’d followed him back to his apartment after work and gone through his entire wardrobe before settling on a pair of jeans and a white tshirt. You’d also found a leather jacket that Minah had bought him ages ago and he’d promptly forgotten about and forced him into that. He actually… looks good. Normally his clothes are poorly fitted, and his hair is messy. In his college days, he’d put a lot of effort into his appearance and a lot of girls had liked him. Since then, however, he just hasn’t bothered. Nothing he does gets Minah’s attention anyway, and he still can’t quite get the hang of using an iron. Not to mention that thanks to his sickness, he’s constantly plagued with exhaustion and a lack of energy- putting effort into his appearance just hadn’t seemed worth it.

Looking at himself now, though, he remembers who he used to be. Before starting a business, before meeting you, even before he’d realised the extent of his feelings for Minah. When he was just a stupid college student with his two best friends to look out and care for him. Yeah, at that age he’d already gone through a lot of hardship, having been orphaned at the mere age of 15 and raised by his grandparents since, but he hadn’t wanted to let those tragedies define him. What had followed was a period of his life where he had revelled in the vivacity and excitement that came with being a young adult with minimal responsibilities. Those were probably the days where he was happiness, and he’d forgotten they’d ever existed until this moment. He feels like he’s staring at a stranger, looking in the mirror.

He can have fun tonight. What’s the harm? He suddenly understands the motive behind what you’ve been trying to do- you’re trying to remind him of life outside of Minah. And maybe he can be cured, the more time goes on. Even his sessions with Namjoon haven’t been this helpful or productive, although part of that may have been his own reluctance to be treated. As Namjoon has been constantly telling him, the only way Jungkook can get better is if he has a desire to get better. He swallows roughly and offers himself an awkward smile in the mirror before stepping out into your living room.

Jin ends up dragging the three of you to one of the higher end clubs in the area. As you all stand in line, Jungkook can hear the dull throb of the heavy bass beat radiating from within the club and there are heaps of people dressed in their best and waiting to be allowed in. Jin watches you as you idly fidget with a long, dangling earring and scroll uninterestedly through your phone.

“Don’t you think (Y/N) looks nice, tonight?” He asks Jungkook, leaning in close so that you can’t hear them, not that you are listening anyway. Jungkook blinks before nodding awkwardly.

“Well, she always looks nice.” Jungkook points out. Jin nods and laughs lightly.

“Yes, but you can’t really compare her normal attire to this. If I’d known (Y/N) could dress like that, I would have taken her clubbing with me much sooner.” He admits, tilting his head and blatantly trailing his gaze over your exposed legs and stilettos. It irritates Jungkook, for some reason, seeing Jin eye you like you are a piece of high-end steak rather than his boss.

“Don’t talk about her like that.” He huffs, and rather than get defensive, Jin’s smile widens like he’s just gotten exactly the response he was looking for.

“Why?” Jin presses, and there is something irritating but most definitely troublesome that lurks behind the look in his eyes. “Does it bother you? Do you not like the idea of another man looking at (Y/N) like-“

The bouncer interrupts the conversation before Jin can finish whatever stupid statement was brewing in his mind. He lets you straight through, but he holds up a hand to stop Jungkook and Jin from following and demands they hand over a hefty entrance fee. Jungkook winces as his wallet suddenly feels far too light. On the other side you wait, squinting at the inside of the club like you’ve never seen one before.

“Now,” You say, your tone warning. “This is just to make Jungkook feel more confident about himself, ok, Seokjin? I told you he just needs a little confidence boost- show him how to have a good time and maybe chat up a few girls but no pushing him to do anything he doesn’t want to, ok?”

“Ok mum.” Jin tells you dismissively, already walking past you like you’re an irritating mosquito. He wraps his hand around Jungkook’s wrist and drags him along too. “Go buy us some drinks or something- we have work to do.”

You vanish behind them as Jin pulls him into the crowd where people are already dancing. The crowd seems to pulse with the sultry beat. It’s so heavy and thick Jungkook can feel it pounding in his ribcage, drowning out even the beat of his own heart. Oddly, Jin does not stop at any point to begin dancing- he keeps dragging Jungkook along like he has a specific destination in mind. It quickly becomes clear that Jin has no intention of dancing tonight when he continues to pull Jungkook past the dancefloor and into a quieter booth where the music doesn’t drown out any change at conversation. He settles into the booth and smiles at Jungkook, patting the space next to him.

“At last, a chance to talk properly.” Jin says cheerfully as Jungkook hesitantly follows his lead and slides into the booth beside him.

“I thought we were meant to be meeting girls and-“ Jungkook questions and Jin interrupts him with an amused shake of his head.

“Oh, Kookie, I’m not helping you get with any girls tonight.” He says. “First of all, you can do that on your own. If you need a confidence boost, here it is: You’re a wonderful guy and picking up girls at the club is a stupid way to convince yourself of that, and I’m not sure why (Y/N) thought it would work. But now for my real reason for coming along tonight. I wanted you to realise something about our beloved boss.”

“What?” Jungkook asks, feeling betrayed and uncomfortable despite the fact that Jin was in no way being nasty or mean. He suddenly feels silly coming here, though. Jin jerks his head in the direction of the bar, and Jungkook spots you almost too easily. You’re leaning against the counter, ordering something from the bar tender, but there’s something uncomfortable about the way you hold yourself, no matter how gorgeous your outward appearance is.

“That’s she’s a knockout.” Jin says, matter-of-factly. “To be totally honest, men should be lining up at the door for her. She’s pretty, she’s kind, she’s accomplished. Do you know why they’re not?”

“Why?” Jungkook asks, feelings defensive for some reason. Jin smiles and watches you for a long moment as you gratefully accept your drink and hand over your card to pay.

“Because of you, dear Jungkook.” Jin explains patiently. “Now don’t go looking like I’ve just slapped you with a rotten fish. I mean that in a good way. She’s uninterested in the dating scene already, but pair that with the fact that she started a business with a guy like you, who by all accounts, is sweet, quite clever and occasionally reliable, and men start to feel too insecure to even take a shot.”

“Why are you saying all this?” Jungkook asks. Jin shrugs and leans back in the booth. A group of girls passes by on their way to the bar and start giggling when they see Jin. He merely smiles at them before turning to face Jungkook with a surprisingly serious look on his face.

“Because, Jungkook,” Jin says slowly. “That’s not going to last forever. (Y/N) isn’t a constant in your life like you’ve been treating her. All it would take is for her to meet a nice guy she wants to settle down with and then you’ll have to spend the rest of your life knowing that you missed out on something really great for reasons that even I can’t figure out myself.”

He can’t guess at Jin’s game. What motive does he have, saying all this stuff? Is he trying to scare Jungkook? Currently, all Jungkook has on his mind is to survive until the wedding. Once the wedding happens, he can drop off the radar for a while, maybe get some treatment, maybe not. He’s not got the room or headspace to think beyond that. You don’t factor into anything he’s got planned currently, beyond helping his oldest friends plan their wedding without putting his secret at any further risk.

So why do Jin’s words make him so deeply uncomfortable? Jin has clearly gotten some kind of weird idea in his head, like he’s often prone to doing, and it shouldn’t affect Jungkook at all. It means nothing- you mean nothing to him.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Jin says, getting to his feet and reaching into his back pocket. He pulls out his wallet and slides some money across the table towards Jungkook. “Just think through what I said. I think I’m done for the night and might call it in. Buy (Y/N) and yourself something nice.”

He turns but pauses before he can disappear onto the dance floor.

“By the way, would it bother you if (Y/N) went home with someone tonight?” He asks curiously.

“Why do you ask?” Jungkook responds, oddly defensive and a little pouty. Jin just grins.

“Because I’d do something about that, if it would.” Jin says, and this time he really does vanish into the crowd. Jungkook doesn’t notice though, because he’s too preoccupied with the man who is currently leaning in far too close to where you idly lean at the bar. He’s quite handsome, but you don’t seem to notice. You look bored, only half engaged in the conversation. You probably can’t see Jungkook from where he is seated and are waiting for him to achieve the objective for the night. The man in question looks you up and down in a way that has Jungkook’s skin crawling. He feels nauseous- he’s not sure why. Normally he only feels this way when a particular nasty Hanahaki episode is coming on, and he hasn’t had one today. Perhaps that’s all it is- his body warning him to go home quickly. Regardless, he has no interest in staying a moment longer, especially not with the stranger eyeing you with an intensity that is entirely inappropriate.

Before his mind catches up with his body, he is striding over to you. When you see him, your expression softens. The guy beside you tenses but backs off quickly as Jungkook slots himself beside you and offers him a grin that is probably more of a baring of teeth than a smile.

“What’s wrong? Where’s Seokjin?” You ask. Jungkook shakes his head and offers you a more genuine smile, though it is a weak one. He feels… relieved, now that that other guy has backed off, for some strange reason.

“Doesn’t matter. I’ve had enough. I want to go home.” He says, and that’s really all the convincing that you need.

You don’t find out that the second step was a failure as well.

++

“ Step 3: Take some time to process your emotions.

This is perhaps the most important step to moving on. You need to ask yourself a lot of questions and do a lot of digging after a breakup. Were you too reliant on your ex? Is there anything you feel you haven’t gotten closure? Taking the time to think through these things can be painful and uncomfortable but until you do this properly you can never truly move on. Try writing them a letter, telling them how you feel and maybe all the things you left unsaid, and then throwing the letter away. This can give you an outlet for figuring things out in a comfortable controlled environment.

Good luck!”

You don’t realise you’ve been staring blankly at the article for far more time than you have to spare until Seokjin interrupts your daydreaming by knocking on the door of your office. You hastily minimise the window and straighten.

“Come in!” You call, fidgeting with some of the papers on your desk. You were supposed to be organising honeymoon details for one of your clients, but you’d somehow gotten side-tracked. You don’t even remember what caused you to look up the article you and Jungkook had been working through for the past couple of weeks.

Seokjin pokes his head in. He had never explained his sudden absence that night in the club and you know you’re probably never going to get the actual truth anyway.

“Did you get the-” He asks and you pinch the bridge of your nose irritably.

“Seokjin, if this is about those texts, then all I can say is please stop sending me the link to the professional dog party planner. I know you like dogs, but exclusively planning dog birthdays is way too niche a market!” You sigh exasperatedly. Seokjin pouts for a moment.

“Harsh.” He says. “But actually not what I was going to ask you about- although don’t think I’ve dropped this matter for good. Actually, I was just trying to say that Jungkook apparently left something for you on your desk and he wanted me to make sure you read it since he had to go look at some dresses with Minah.”

You glance at the clock and are surprised to see that it’s already 4 o’clock. You hadn’t realised you’d lost so much of the day.

“I hadn’t noticed it.” You admit, shuffling through the mess of papers on your desk. A clean white envelope addressed to you in Jungkook’s messy writing slips out amongst the clutter and lands on the floor. “Oh, it’s right here.”

Seokjin nods and smiles.

“Well, then, I’m done for the day. Don’t stay too late, ok, (Y/N)?”  He tells you, bidding good-bye with a wave and exiting the office while whistling a tune you don’t recognise. Seri hadn’t come in for the day, since she’d been invited to a wedding for one of her clients so it’s just you in the office. The only task you have remaining for the day is to wrap up organising this couple’s itinerary but for some reason since starting you’ve felt distracted and unproductive. Without realising, your gaze drifts to the envelope Jungkook had left for you. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out its contents.

You’d told him he didn’t have to share the letter he wrote to Minah with you. The final step had been for him to process- he didn’t need you there to help or to pressure him or to turn it into homework. You’d merely said that it was the final thing the article said to do and whenever he was ready, he could sit down and write it and then throw it out. So while you can guess what’s in the envelope fairly easily, it doesn’t mean you’re not surprised to see it resting on your desk, addressed to you. You can only wonder at why he felt the need to have you read it.

You manage to make a little headway into your work but the burning curiosity to know what Jungkook has written cuts more and more into your ability to be productive. Finally, with a tremendous sigh, you can bear it no longer. You know you’re not going to achieve anything when you are as distracted as you are. Instead, you reach for the envelope and carefully peel the flap open, exposing the hand-written letter inside.

“Dearest Minah,

You’re probably surprised to be getting a letter from me, huh? I know I’m not really the letter-writing type but a good friend of mine insisted I do this to help me ‘process’ or whatever. She means well, I suppose, and it’s worth a shot. So here goes… Ha, even though this letter isn’t going to you, it’s harder to write down than I thought it would be. The truth is that I have been lying to you and Taehyung, for a very long time. And I don’t even know where to start with telling you everything, but I guess I can start from the moment I realised just how important you are to me.

Do you remember just after college, when we first found out they were demolishing the old community hall? The one with the garden my mum used to tend, when she was alive? It was when Taehyung was doing that year of study abroad so it was just you and me to deal with that. And I have this really vivid memory of sitting in that garden alone, just missing my mum. I’d felt like nothing in my life ever went right- I couldn’t find a job, I was an orphan, and now they were taking away the one place where I’d always felt happy. And you found me there and sat next to me and I’ll never forget the words you said to me that day- “It’s not places that make us happy or bring us joy. It’s the people in those places- and all three of the people that made this place special are right there in your heart, Kookie. Taehyung, your mum… and me.”

That was the first time that I realised that you’re so much more than a friend to me, Min. You’ve always been the person I go to when things are though, and you’re never too tired or too busy or too stressed to drop everything and pick me back up. You were the person who held me at my mum’s funeral. You were the person to drive me to college and help me move in. And in every moment, I know you hate compliments, but I have to say it: you’ve been beautiful and full of kindness and somehow always smiling. That day was the first day I realised it, but I’ve probably felt that way my entire life- I love you. So much it hurts. So much that it’s killing me.

That’s the secret I’ve been keeping from the two of you. I’ve been dying. For the past year- ever since you and Taehyung started dating. Of Hanahaki. I don’t even know if you’ve heard of it, because it’s not that common. I certainly hadn’t, until the day I started throwing up petals. Apparently, it’s a disease caused by unrequited love I’ll keep coughing up petals until I die. The doctor said I only started vomiting when Taehyung confessed to you because before then I must have subconsciously thought my love was requited. I think that’s what hurts the most about all this- that before Taehyung confessed to you, I always thought it would be you and me. I can remember so many moments where I thought you felt the same- where I thought I had all the time in the world and that one day you’d wake up and decide I was the only guy for you. But you did that with Taehyung.

And I can’t even be mad because I love Taehyung too. He’s my brother, even if he’s not related to me. And the only person I’ve ever met who is as kind and caring as you are is probably him. He’s perfect for you, and you’re perfect for him. The thought of coming between you makes me feel… makes me feel like dirt on the ground. Like I should be trodden on and hated for all eternity. That’s why I couldn’t tell either of you- I knew it would destroy you both. And I know you both would probably call off the wedding the second you find out but that’s not what I want. I didn’t hide this and avoid treatment for an entire year because I don’t want you together, or because I want you to be miserable. I did it because you two are the two most important people to me on this planet.

I didn’t mean to lie to you, for so long. I’m so sorry- I know it’ll ruin you to find out. The day I was diagnosed I went straight to your apartment to tell you, but you were on a date with Taehyung. I’d used your spare key to get in and I was going to tell you and him both, straight away. But… the two of you were slow dancing together and I… I’ve never seen you look that way before. You… you both looked so happy. And I couldn’t bring myself to come between that. I didn’t want to lose either of you and I knew telling you would mean giving up my two best friends.

The purpose of this letter was to help me “process” what I felt. I tried really, really hard to get over you. A friend of mine (You can probably guess who considering I don’t have that many friends) and I tried all these ridiculous methods to help me get over you, and the funny thing is that for a moment, I’d really thought they’d worked. I didn’t vomit for three whole days but then right as I sat down to write this letter, I had an awful episode. And she tried so hard, but for some reason my body refuses to get better. The doctors must be right- they told me I need hypnotherapy. Hypnotherapy means that I have to forget both you and Taehyung… and I can’t bring myself to do that. That would be erasing every happy memory I’ve ever had. I think the cost of getting better is too high. I don’t know what to do. I want to get better, yet the only way is to say goodbye? Is there no way to save us?”

There’s a massive break in the writing here, and then the pen colour changes, like Jungkook had stopped and come back and written this later. It’s addressed to you, to your surprise.

“ (Y/N), thank you for trying. I know you meant well, and I know you tried your best. Thank you for caring enough to want me to get better- thank you for everything. I actually had a lot of fun trying, even if it didn’t work in the end. Please don’t be sad about this! But I think that what’s best for now, is if we just focus on planning the wedding, and we can figure out what to do after. I know you want to help, and the way you can help is just by being you. By being the fantastic friend and co-worker that you are.

I have to go now, because I’ve got plans with Minah and Taehyung, but I’m going to send this letter to you, even though you said you didn’t have to read it. I want you to know the full story and why I made this decision, and I’d really like if you supported me in it.

Thank you again.

-Jungkook.”

A droplet of water lands on the letter and spreads outwards- the ink beneath it bleeds as it soaks into the paper. Steadily, more drops begin to land on the page and the words blur and start to lose their meaning. You slowly reach your hand up to your face and it is only then that you register that there are tears pouring down your face. You’re not even sure why you’re crying. Is it because your plan to save Jungkook failed? But you knew from the start that the chances were miniscule- that it was a shot in the dark to even try.

Up until now, you’d secretly wondered what was so special about Minah for Jungkook to be dying for her. Was it her looks? Her sweet personality? It’s been so long since you’ve even thought about love that you can’t, for the life of you, fathom Jungkook’s decision. Or at least, you couldn’t. After reading this letter, you understand. You can see his love for her in every pen stroke. In the way his letters go wobbly and almost illegible at the parts where it was harder for him to admit things. In the stories he chose to share. You understand Jungkook’s situation, and you knew the plan was just something to give the two of you hope and probably wouldn’t succeed… So why are you crying? Are you upset that he’s accepted what you already knew? Or is it uglier… are you upset that his feelings for Minah are so strong that he can’t move on?

You don’t have an answer.

++

“I feel like we haven’t hung out like this in ages.” Minah sighs, and the expression on her face is serene as she loops her arm around Jungkook’s. This close, he can smell her perfume, and some of her hair catches on his shoulder as she flips it carelessly out of the way. “We’ve been so busy with wedding stuff that there hasn’t been any time to just hang.”

“We’ve hung out.” Jungkook protests. He allows her to semi-drag him down the street even though her full height barely reaches his shoulder. “What about when we went out to dinner the other night?”

Minah frowns and shakes her head.

“Tae and (Y/N) were there. It doesn’t count. And it was to discuss a date for the bridal shower.” She complains. “And you didn’t say a single word the whole night! I’d have thought you’d lost your voice if you hadn’t ordered twice the amount of food everyone else did.”

“I was hungry.” He grumbles. Minah laughs and shakes her head fondly.

“You always did eat a lot. I’ll have to speak to (Y/N) about getting you extra servings at the reception dinner.” She says. She glances around. “Hmmm… anyway, it should be somewhere around here…”

She pauses and turns around the street, her large eyes scanning the names of the boutiques that line the sidewalk the two of them currently stroll down. It’s definitely one of the more expensive areas in town- the only time Jungkook has ever been here was when the Seri’s car broke down and she needed someone to drive her to the cake-tasting appointment she had booked. Finally, Minah’s eyes settle on the place she’s been looking for. The awning and walls are painted white and trimmed in a way that is reminiscent of a wedding cake. In silver letters across the sign, it declares “Bridal Beauty” and three pure white mannequins decked out in floor-length wedding dresses sit in the display window.

“There it is!” She crows excitedly, urging Jungkook to walk a little faster. It makes him smile, her eagerness. That’s how she always is- filled with an excitement and joy for life that no one else can match. “Ok, Jungkook, listen up.” She declares, placing her hands on her hips and trying to look imposing. She doesn’t succeed- she needs more height than the heels she currently wears can lend her, if she wants to be the slightest bit intimidating. And maybe the soft pink lipstick and round eyes and carefully curled hair do not help as well. “I know that you don’t know a thing about fashion, and you’re just going to sit there all bored on your phone while we do this. I want you to know that yes, I could have asked my mother, or (Y/N) or even that girl at work who’s weirdly invested in my relationship with Tae to come, but I chose you. You’re the only person, other than Tae, whose opinion matters. So, try to at least look a little impressed when you see me trying on these dresses, ok?”

Jungkook knows how he would have reacted, before the Hanahaki. He would have grimaced, made some sort of smartass remark, before reluctantly agreeing to do whatever would make Minah happiest. Maybe even mocked her high-pitched voice a little for good measure. But as it stands, all he can manage is a weak smile and nod. Today, he feels especially downtrodden by his illness- he knows you’re probably reading the letter right this instant and discovering what he had quickly realised for himself. How would you react, he wonders? Would you be sad on his behalf? Would you cry? Or will you tuck the letter away and pretend you never read it?

Minah notices his weak reaction, he thinks. Her expression falls, like that wasn’t the reaction she was hoping for, before she leads him inside.

Within the boutique, the air is perfumed, and the décor is airy and bright. White curtains and the bright sunlight filtering in make him think of early mornings.  He can hear soft piano music tinkling from deeper within the boutique. An older woman in a pantsuit who has, on occasion, come in to visit you in the office, appears and smiles widely when she sees Minah.

“You must be the lucky bride! (Y/N) told me you were coming. Come through here. I’ve actually already gathered a few things that might be to your taste for you to try on.” She urges, her bright red lips thinning into what seems to be an attempt at a smile. You also have a business smile, but yours is so much warmer and more genuine. Recalling your smile, he knows for sure that you are crying as you read his letter, and for some reason that makes the ache that has been present in his chest since reading it deepen.

Minah smiles and allows herself to be led away. Jungkook follows into the next room. Half of it is hidden by curtains, which Minah disappears behind. The end he’s in, however, has a plush couch which he supposes is meant for him. He’s supposed to sit on this couch and wait for her to put on her dress. The wedding dress for her wedding to someone else. He swallows down an uncomfortable wave of nausea and hopes he has enough strength of character to survive this without exposing his secret.

The lady from before steps out from behind the curtains after explaining the dresses and walks over to Jungkook.

“Hello! You must be Jungkook! (Y/N) told me about you- it’s nice to finally meet the man behind the numbers! (Y/N) has only good things to say about you.” She says. “Would you like any tea or a hot beverages while you wait?”

“No that’s fine.” He answers with a shake of his head. She nods and offers another thin smile. Of course you would only have good things to say about him- you think far too highly of him. That letter he wrote is probably tearing that opinion to shreds with each moment that ticks by, but he’d resigned himself to this outcome when he’d first finished writing it.

“Well, my office is just over there if either of you need anything. And the bathroom is to the left, over there.” She tells him, before leaving him to his own devices.

He’s playing a game on his phone while Minah changes and is focused on it enough that he is wholly unprepared for when she steps out in her first dress.

All the air whooshes from his chest like he’s just been hit by a moving train and had the wind knocked from him. Minah has always looked pretty in anything she wears, but in this dress she looks ethereal. It’s off-the-shoulder and hugs her torso snugly up to her waist, where it flares outwards in a cloud of tulle and lace. She looks shyly downwards, evaluating the dress for herself.

“Well?” She asks. “What do you think? The fit is loose because they’ll have to tailor it, but not bad for a first go, huh?”

His voice fails him. He’d be lying if he said he’d never wondered what Minah would look like on their wedding day. What kind of dress would she wear? How would she do her hair? Ultimately, he’d always decided that it didn’t matter as long as it was her walking down the aisle, but that doesn’t change how much of a sucker punch to the gut it is to see her in her dress. He hadn’t realised how much it would hurt, the realisation that all of this was real. That Minah really is marrying Taehyung, and there’s nothing he can do to change that, without ruining her happiness. He feels his stomach drop like a stone when a wave of nausea rushes over him and he knows an episode is coming now. He doesn’t have any time to waste.

“Sorry, Minah,” He cries, scrabbling to his feet and swallowing down the first retch. “I think the eggs I ate were gone off-“ He doesn’t finish his lie before disappearing into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him. He does so just in time, because the petals instantly begin pouring from his mouth. He doubles over in pain as retches wrack his whole body.

Dimly, he feels a panic that he hasn’t felt while having an episode in a long time. It’s inconvenient but it’s always the same. He’s used to the disease after suffering it from an entire year. But this time, it’s worse. Never before have petals poured from him in such intensity- never has he experienced such pain while having an episode. Suddenly, with alarming clarity and fear, he understands how this can be a disease that kills. Black spots swim in his vision and he crumples down on all fours. The retches show no sign of slowing.

He’s screwed. He needs help. It’s never been this bad before, and Minah is just outside, banging on the door in concern. Panicked, he had dropped his phone when he first slammed the door shut, and he scrabbles to reach for it now, feeling his head swim and his tongue cramp. He doesn’t know whether you’ll even help him, after reading that letter, but he knows you’re the only one who can help him. It’s almost instinct, to find your contact details in his phone. His hands shake and he chokes up another wave of petals before he manages to hit the call button. The line only rings twice.

“Jungkook?” You answer, and if he weren’t in so much pain he would have noticed the way your voice is raspy from crying. “Jungkook, I got your letter and-“

“(Y/N)!” He cries urgently between retches. Tears stream from the corners of his eyes due to the exertion. “Help me. It’s… it’s never been this bad… Help me.”

He can only barely make out your voice crying his name in concern before everything goes black.

++

When Jungkook awakens, it is in an unfamiliar room. The walls are painted bright yellow and the carpet is a soft beige. The sheets he sleeps on are a soft pastel pink and the blanket is bright pink with different coloured sprinkles printed across it. The curtains are open just enough that a sliver of sunlight comes through, warming the air. He rolls slightly, not quite ready to sit up but also curious about his surroundings. The smell of the air is familiar, but he can’t quite place it- sweet and pleasant, and a little fruity.

A bag hanging off a hook catches his eye- he recognises it as an IV fluid bag. He’s hooked up to fluids. They steadily feed into the crook of his elbow. He stares in confusion at it. He’s not in a hospital. There’s a desk in the corner, stacked with papers and a cork board hanging over the wall opposite him with dozens of photographs pinned to it. The heads of the pins are shaped like little red hearts. There’s also a string of fairy lights hanging over the wall directly above him- they aren’t switched on but they’re in the shape of little dangling pineapples. What hospital would have such cutesy, precise decorations? No matter how he thinks about it, he’s definitely in someone’s bedroom.

He sits up and squints at the photographs pinned to the corkboard. It’s hard to see without his glasses on. He doesn’t know where they are, but he supposes that’s a problem to solve once he works out his location. While he’s staring at the photo-board, unwilling to leave the warmth of the bed, the smell of bacon and freshly brewed coffee starts to filter in from the next room. His stomach rumbles. Had he eaten dinner last night?

His stomach drops as he recalls that no… no he hasn’t. With dread he recalls the way Minah had looked in her dress, the way his Hanahaki had hit him harder than ever and calling you in a fit of desperation. Did… Did Minah find out? This isn’t her bedroom, that much he knows. She’d moved in with Taehyung six months ago. He knows their room. This is… this is someone else’s and the only other person it could be is you.

He can hear two people conversing in the next room and is about to scramble out of bed when you poke your head in through the door, confirming that it is, in fact, your bedroom.

“You’re awake!” You cry, and the look on your face can only be described as heartbreakingly relieved. “That’s good, because I made breakfast! Namjoon says you can come off the fluids and so he’s going to come remove the line before he heads to work.”

He’s…. he’s in your room and you’re making him breakfast? As baffling as the situation is, he knows one thing for sure: He’s safe. If he’s here, in your room, and not in a hospital bed, then somehow you got him out of the situation without Minah finding out. Perhaps your reaction to his letter hadn’t been as bad as he anticipated. He doesn’t know what you did to get him here, but he just knows he’s grateful. A warm, unfamiliar feeling billows outwards in his chest, relief soaked in something else he can’t identify. All the tension drains from his body and when he inhales, the sweet scent he now recognises as yours seems to fill him all the way to the bottom of his lung.

“How are you feeling?” Namjoon asks, stepping into the room. He’s wearing a neatly pressed suit and smells of cologne. He sets a tray of swabs and medical tape on the bedside cabinet before seating himself on the bed beside Jungkook. “I was concerned to hear you’ve had such a nasty episode. It’s to be expected considering your situation, but it’s still disappointing. I suppose that means (Y/N)’s unorthodox methods were a failure?”

Jungkook ducks his head shamefully as Namjoon fidgets with the tape holding the catheter in place.

“I… yeah. They didn’t work.” He confesses. Namjoon raises an eyebrow.

“No need to sound like you’ve just murdered my sister.” He says. “It’s not your fault they didn’t work.”

“I know. I just feel-“ Jungkook begins, trying to explain the guilt and shame he feels, but Namjoon patiently holds up a hand to stop him from speaking.

“Jungkook.” Namjoon explains patiently. “Despite the poorly understood cause, Hanahaki is a physical illness. Just like home remedies can’t cure cancer, hanging out with my sister isn’t going to magically to you waking up better. I only agreed to let her try because I knew how stubborn she is, but also because I knew it was good for you. You haven’t made any progress in our sessions over the last few weeks, and somehow, she got you to open up and reflect on your relationship in a way I haven’t managed to even though I’m literally a specialist.”

That has Jungkook speechless. Namjoon smiles and adjusts his thick-framed glasses on the tip of his nose.

“You’re doing everything you can, and you should be proud of yourself. And despite the doubts I expect you’re feeling, no, you are not getting worse. I ran some tests while you were sleeping and there’s been no progression. And Minah didn’t find out either.” Namjoon reassures him. He glances at his watch. “But I have to get to work. Feel free to enjoy breakfast. She’s actually a good cook. And that bandage can come off in a couple of hours.” He offers with a wink, gathering all his supplies and leaving Jungkook alone in the room.

It takes a few moments to gather his courage to step out into your living room. He doesn’t know why he’s so frightened to. There’s no reason to be afraid- all he should feel is grateful that his secret hasn’t been discovered. Whatever meds Namjoon had administered in first aid leave him feeling better and healthier than he has in a long time, so there’s no reason for dread and unease to grip him like it does.

You have bedding strewed in a nest over the couch, meaning you probably slept out here, and you’re wearing a pretty sundress as you hover over the stove. He takes a deep, shaky breath. For some reason, the second his eyes land on you the fear and anticipation leaves him abruptly and is replaced with a hot, sticky sort of feeling in his chest like his heart is liquifying. For a long moment, Jungkook simply gapes, unable to fathom exactly what it is he’s feeling, and you don’t register his presence until you turn around. You cry out in shock, wielding the spoon you’d been stirring the pot with like a sword as you catch your breath. For some reason he finds it endearing, and an unfamiliar and frighteningly pleasant sensation billows outwards in his chest. 

“Jungkook! How are you feeling?” You cry, recovering your composure and stepping forward towards him. “Namjoon told me you were fine, but I need to hear it straight from you. I read your letter and I-”

The words die in your throat as you find his arms wrapped tightly around you. He had planned to thank you, but to his surprise, his body seems to be moving on autopilot. All he knows is that yesterday he experienced his most painful episode of Hanahaki to date, but seeing you somehow makes him feel like it was all a distant nightmare. But when he tries to explain that to you, all that comes out is a sob. He’s not even sure why he’s crying, but gradually your posture relaxes and your arms snake around his waist. Since being sick, few are the times that Jungkook has allowed himself to properly cry. He isn’t allowed to feel sad and heartbroken, to cry it out like he’s been wronged, because he knows he’s rotten to the core. Only bad people long for their best friends’ fiancé the way that he has been. And you should be pushing him away in disgust after reading the letter and discovering that he can’t move on from Minah even knowing what it means for every involved. But you do no such thing. It feels good, to come apart in your arms, because he now knows you’ll put the pieces back together afterwards.

And the whole time, you don’t say anything. You simply let Jungkook cry in your arms until the eggs start to burn beside you.

[nothingbutfangirlsmut]

“Do you want to wake them up or...”

Prompt: #82

Pairing: Sarah Lance x Reader

Fandom: Legends of Tomorrow

Type: Angst

{This prompt series is to increase my skills and challenge myself. The prompt, character, and story type are all chosen at random by this random decision app I use.}

You and Sarah have been friends practically your whole life. She knew all your secrets and you knew most of her’s. When you finally see her again after several years apart feelings you haven’t had for a really long time come flooding back. (WARNING! ABUSE, TORTUE MENTAL TREATMENT, GIRLxGIRL!)

Growing up I was always the outcast. The weird girl who no one wanted to be friends with. That was until I met Sarah Lance. She never treated me like everyone else. We quickly became close friends. She was my happy place. I could heal all my wounds as long as I was around her.

That all changed when we became teenagers. I began to feel things for her I’d never felt for anyone else. When I finally told her she had smiled but said she didn’t feel the same. She started hanging out with her sister and Oliver Queen more and more. Until one day I never saw her again.

When I finally decided to move on and try to figure myself and my life out I realized I only liked girls. When my parents walked into my bedroom in the middle of a steamy makeout with my “friend” they lost their minds. The next day I was locked inside Arkham Asylum for rehabilitation “treatments”. In reality it was a whole lot of torture that only scarred me for life. Every day they did something to me to “reboot my brain to the proper settings”. That’s what the doctor told me. I was electrocuted, drowned, whipped, starved, and on and on the list went. All to make me a normal man loving woman. I was there for three years until I finally made them believe everything they had done to me had worked. When I was released I knew I was still the same but now just the thought of kissing another woman scared the hell out of me. I never wanted to go back to that place.

I spent the next year with my head down. I made a normal daily routine for myself. I never looked at anyone. No man and no woman. That was until I had to make a business trip to Central City. I was meeting a Cisco and Caitlyn at Star Labs to go over a new project for my boss. As soon as I stepped inside what they called the “cortex” I was surrounded by a group of unfamiliar faces. All but one.

Sarah Lance was standing next to the desk in tight white leather. She was just as gorgeous as I remembered. A sharp pain went threw my skull as the thought of electrocution filled me. I looked away from her as quick as I could.

“(Y/N)?” Sarah’s soft voice questioned.

I closed my eyes tight then took a deep breath. It’s fine. Everything is fine. I can do this.

“Hi Sarah” I said softly.

I kept my eyes down as I shoved my hands in my pockets. My entire body stiffened as arms wrapped tightly around me. I knew it was Sarah. My heart pounded in my chest as everything that had been done to me flashed in my head. I frantically pushed her away. She stumbled backwards looking absolutely shocked.

“I’m- I’m sorry. Please don’t touch me.” I said weakly.

“What happened to you?” She asked.

I didn’t answer her. I couldn’t. There’s no way I could tell her or anyone what had happened to me for three years. Instead, I turned to Caitlyn.

“Do you have the details?” I asked her.

She just blinked at me for a second. She glanced between me and Sarah then shook her head.

“Cisco and Harry have been working on it. I haven’t seen them since yesterday evening.” She said softly.

“Any idea where they are?” I asked her.

She shrugged.

“It’s possible they’re still in the lab downstairs.” She said with a small smile.

“I can show you where it is.” Sarah said suddenly.

I didn’t want it to be her but honestly what could I say that wouldn’t make me out to be an asshole? So I followed behind the beautiful blonde. I kept my hands in my pockets and my eyes trained on the floor. My heart was beating rapidly just from being near her.

“How have you been?” She asked softly as we walked.

I shrugged.

“Fine” I said simply.

“Any boyfriend?” She asked.

I chuckled dryly.

“Girlfriend?” She questioned.

My heart was in my throat at that small question.

“No, stop asking me questions.” I said harshly.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to over step I’m just curious. I haven’t seen you in ages.” She chuckled softly.

I glanced at her to see a soft smile that could light the darkest of rooms. A smile that could light my darkness. I hissed as a phantom shockwave went threw my skull.

“You okay?” She asked looking down at me.

“I’m fine” I stayed as we stopped at the elevator.

For the rest of the walk to the lab Sarah was quiet. I was extremely thankful for that. I didn’t want to talk I just wanted to get what I came here for then leave as quickly as possible.

We stopped in a door way of a large lab. There was two desks and equipment everywhere. At one desk sat a man with short dark hair. He was laying his head on the desk like he was sleeping. Another man was laying on his back next to a white board. He was fast asleep. Sarah chuckled.

“They must have been up for hours. Idiots.” She shook her head.

“Do you want to wake them up or...” She asked turning to face me.

“Yea, I need to know what they have done.” I grumbled then stepped over to the man on the floor.

I used my door to poke him in the side a few times. He snorted then jerked awake. He scrambled to his feet as he ran his hands threw his hair.

“What time is it?” He asked frantically.

“2pm” Sarah answered as she poked at the other man.

The man at the desk jerked upwards turning to look at Sarah.

“Miss Lance, you scared me.” He said in a groggy voice.

“I’m (Y/N) from Gotham.” I told the younger man in front of me.

“Oh, yea, I’m Cisco. That’s Harry.” He said pointing to himself than the other man at the desk.

“I need to see the details for our little project.” I told him.

“Yea, of course” he nodded.

He walked over to the other desk then typed quickly on the key board. A hologram appeared showing a blueprint design. I stepped closer to look it over. It looked exactly like what my boss had in mind.

“How is everything going with it?” I asked keeping my eyes on the image.

“Great actually. It’s been a little complicated trying to work on this and my other work as well but with Harry’s help we are making great progress.” Cisco said happily.

“Fantastic, he’ll be happy to hear that.” I said simply then turned to leave the room.

I slowly walked back towards the cortex. I could hear the other three following close behind me. I kept my eyes down until I stepped back into the room where everyone else was. I stopped in front of Caitlyn. She smiled sweetly up at me from her seat.

“Contact me if you need any more information. Please keep me informed of the progress.” I told her.

She nodded.

“Of course” she said softly.

With that I turned and left the cortex. I needed to get as far from here as I could. As soon as I reached the front door a hand grabbed my arm. I froze mid step. I knew that touch. Delicate but strong.

“(Y/N) please tell me what happened. I can tell just by looking at you.” Sarah said softly.

I took in a deep breath then turned to face her. Her hand fell back to her side.

“It’s a long story that I don’t want to relive. To put it simply my parents put me in Arkham for three years. I’ll never recover from what they did to me.” I said sharply.

I felt the sting of tears in my eyes. I blinked forcing them back. I would not cry. Not here. Not now. Not in front of her.

“Please talk to me” Sarah whispered.

“Why do you care? You ditched me for you fancy rich friends after I told you how I felt about you.” I snapped at her.

She took a surprised step back.

“You’re right. I did. I’m so sorry. When you confessed those things to me it scared me because I did feel the same. I didn’t think it was right to feel that way. I’ve had a long and difficult past few years myself and that taught me not to give a shit what anyone else thought. I have to live for me.” She said softly but sternly.

I scoffed.

“Well I’m glad you could finally make that decision. I had my brain scrambled and my body brutally damaged. When I look at any woman all I can see is that doctor. All I can hear is my own screams and pleads for them to stop. I’ll never be able to live.” I stated harshly.

“I’m sorry” Sarah whispered.

“Don’t be I’ve never had anyone pity me or truly feel sorry for me. I don’t need anyone to start now.” I grumbled then turned back to the door.

“Let me help you. I went threw a lot of pain too but I can help.” She pleaded.

“There’s no help for me unless you can take away those memories but I’ll always have the scars. The scars that remind me how disgusting I am to look at you and see the most beautiful thing to ever walk this earth. The pain I’m reminded of just because I think about kissing you.” My voice cracked as tears fell down my cheeks.

“(Y/N) please” Sarah said stepping forward.

“No!” I shouted.

“Just leave me alone. Forget I ever exsisted.” I whispered.

I didn’t give her a chance to speak as I ran out of the door to my car. As soon as I was a few blocks away I pulled over so I could let out the cry I’d been holding in. I sat there on the side of the road and sobbed. I cried like I never had before. The thoughts of what could have been with Sarah making all the pain worse. My heart shattered as my mind replayed my three years in hell. I can’t think about her. I can’t think about anyone or anything. I just need to keep going. Keep working my routine and stay far far away from Central City and Star City.

—

You can request prompts from the list below!

—

[thescarletofarose]

The Consequences of His Actions

Chapter Ten

Duusu swirled through the air around Emilie’s chair, singing a wordless tune. Nooroo chased after her in an attempt to calm the Kwami, but she cried out her shrill song. Emilie calmly set her coffeecup on its saucer and rubbed her temples. A low but annoying burn thrummed behind her eyes.

“Duusu,’ Emilie chirped. Both Kwamis instantly halted. At the call of her name, the ancient peacock flew around to face her master. Emilie scraped a manicured nail gently down the side of Duusu’s head. “Let’s keep it down, yes? Mommy’s head hurts.”

The Kwami purred, rubbing against the woman’s hand. Nooroo silently watched from the side. His eyes drifted to the adjacent room that held the painting of his master, the painting that if touched in specific places would open– 

“Nooroo.”

Nooroo was startled out of his thoughts but quickly recovered. He immediately flew over to Emilie, his head bowed in submission.

“Carry this,” Emilie said, motioning to a croissant on the platter before her. “I don’t want it to be said that I mistreated Ladybug’s mother.”

Her eyes followed the purple Kwami as it carried out her order without a word. “Afterall, I’m a good master, aren’t I?”

Nooroo lifted his head and met Emilie’s gaze. Her bright green eyes bore into him, refusing to reveal even a drop of the thoughts held within her head. Her smile was gentle, but he knew of the fangs that hid behind those thin lips. The rough exterior of the pastry scraped against his arms as Nooroo cheerfully smiled. “Of course, Master.”

Emilie stood up, brushed off her skirt, and made her way into the atelier with Nooroo and Duusu in tow. At the touch of her fingers, the trio began their descent. Though silent, Duusu swam around Emilie’s head, moving her body to some unknown tune. The fluid but erratic shifts set Nooroo on edge. It would only take one bump in the small space, one graze of a tail feather, to break the thin ice that was Emilie’s patience. He itched to chase after the broken being but that would only raise the risk of something going wrong, and Duusu would see it as a game. 

Nooroo couldn’t help the sigh of relief as the ceiling opened, allowing entrance to the lair and freedom to the flighty peacock. Emilie smirked, and Nooroo realized she knew he had been nervous. 

Emilie stepped into the bare room with a flourish of her wrist. “Sabine,” she called, “I brought you a snack. Don’t worry, I didn’t poison it this time.”

Emilie’s eyes adjusted quickly due to the streaming moonlight, subsequently making her freeze. Scattered debris and glass littered the floor, sparkling in the white light. She turned to see the still bound form of Sabine crouching where she had left her. Emilie slowly scanned the room, landing on a corner of shadows. 

“Oh dear, it looks like I was interrupting something.” She stepped further into the room, closer to the hostage, and said, “As an uninvited guest, it’s rude to not introduce yourself.”

Soundlessly the shadows moved, advancing, growing, and taking shape. The luminescence warped reality, and he emerged from the licking shadows like an entity born from darkness. Emilie’s breath hitched but when she saw the green eyes, her lips curled into a grin.

“Chat Noir,” she said and pointedly looked over his shoulder. “All alone?”

Chat Noir didn’t respond, only stared. Emilie’s hand went up to the two brooches. “How did you find me?”

“Gabriel confessed everything.”

Emilie scoffed. “I find that hard to believe. He wouldn’t expose me at the risk of his son. Think of the emotional damage it would have on him with both mother and father imprisoned.”

Chat Noir swallowed hard and curled his fingers into a fist. His voice cracked as he said, “He would if his son was the one that asked.”

The tension thickened as hero and villain stared at each other, realization setting in the latter. Sabine watched with wide eyes, uncomfortable and confused with the sudden change in atmosphere. 

Emilie cleared her throat. “I suppose I can’t use parental authority to make you hand over your Miraculous?”

Chat Noir snorted, but Emilie just shrugged. She swiped a few strands of hair out of her face with the grace of one used to being in front of a camera. “It didn’t hurt to ask.”

Sabine’s wide eyes went wider at the exchange. “A-Adrien?”

Emilie rolled her eyes and lolled her head over her shoulder to gaze down at the hostage disdainfully. Her lip curled up in disgust. “Obviously, Sabine. Quite the coincidence, is it not? My son and your daughter chasing after our Miraculouses? Well, mine now.”

Chat Noir furrowed his eyebrows. “Her Miraculous? I don’t understand,” he said looking between the two mothers. “You abducted her after learning about Ladybug’s identity. How could she–“

“Abducted her?” Emilie touched her cheek as if stung, though her smirk contradicted the action. “My dear son, I never go to anyone. Sabine came here of her own free will. I just… ensured she stayed.”

“Enough with the lies. As if I would believe Mrs. Cheng would willingly–”

“It’s true, Adrien.” Sabine said, cutting him off. She hung her head in shame. “I-I thought I could convince her… I wasn’t thinking, and I’ve put you and Marinette in a dangerous position.”

Chat Noir stared at Sabine, his brow scrunched as he tried to understand what she was saying. “Y-you…”

Emilie stepped in front of the woman, cutting off Chat Noir’s view of her. She spoke in a soothing voice, tilting her head so that Chat Noir looked up at her. “Don’t worry about her, son. This is a personal matter between Sabine and me. She wronged me and she needs to pay for it.”

“Wronged you?” Sabine’s voice squeaked from behind Emilie. “Emilie, you stole the Miraculouses and the book from my family.”

“Pardon me, but do I hear the pot calling the kettle black? Those Miraculouses don’t belong to your family.”

“Finding and stealing are different.”

Emilie whirled around, her eyes blazing with fury. “I found Duusu, and she chose me–” 

“Enough!” Chat Noir grabbed Emilie’s shoulder and pushed her to the side. He stalked toward Sabine. His body shook as though struggling to support his weight, and his eyes were full of tears. “You’ve known about my mother… my father… and you’ve kept quiet all this time?”

“That’s not true!” Sabine jerked up, her body surging forward with the desperate force to be believed. “Adrien, I swear I didn’t–”

“That’s right, Adrien. She’s withheld the truth all this time.” Emilie said, appearing from the shadows, her voice a slithering wisp of air. She looped her arms through Chat Noir’s and laid her head on his shoulder. Her head fell back until her lips were near his ear. She whispered, “Just think: had she said something in the first place, we wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t have been gone for so long. Your father wouldn’t be in jail. She kept us apart, but you can fix this.”

Faces of countless Parisians being used and twisted from their anger and frustration flitted through his mind. Marinette’s sobs as she, cornered and exhausted, revealed herself to him, breaking a rule she swore to uphold. His father’s betrayal yet the numb understanding as to why he did it. All of them raced circles in his head like a preview to a movie on repeat, each one waiting expectantly for him to fulfill his promise. Chat Noir’s mouth dried and his voice came out hoarse. “I can fix this?”

Emilie straightened up and turned Chat Noir to face her, gently cupping his cheek with a cold delicate hand. “Yes, my precious son. With the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculouses, we can fix everything, regain the past… have a family again.”

In the background, Chat Noir heard Sabine calling out to him, pleading to pay no attention to his mother’s words. Emilie’s grip tightened as if affected by what Sabine was saying, but Chat Noir ignored the woman. His eyes and ears remained focused on his mother’s face. She rubbed gentle but firm circles with the pad of her thumb as she spoke, her eyes silently demanding him to keep looking at her. “We would play the piano together. Your father would be with us, happily listening. The three of us could even watch Solitude. I never got a chance to watch it with you.”

Chat Noir’s heart ached as he tried to draw up these images. He closed his eyes, leaning into his mother’s touch… and then he saw it, clips and snippets of conversations, moments from his past all simmering to the surface. Each one a bubble popping with scalding clarity. 

“Her name is Ananta Haine… she’ll do anything, sacrifice anyone, to get what she wants.” His father’s powerless body fell from the top of the Eiffel Tower, discarded like the wrapper on a newly received toy. His body limp, resigned to his fate.

“She’s been one step ahead this entire time, and I… I’m nothing!” Marinette crumbled against him, sobbing her apologies into his arms as she confessed her intent to relinquish the Ladybug Miraculous.

“You never know, my precious son, people change.’” A man groveled at the feet of his mother as she leered down at him, desperate for her forgiveness, unable to afford losing his credibility. 

“Emile was changed… damaged.”

Gabriel folded in on himself, dropping all airs of importance as he took in the news of Nathalie’s departure. “Nathalie take a vacation? Unlikely.”

“What could you possibly do?” Marinette stared up at him, her eyes, which once held so much life, were now empty and reflected her broken spirit.

“If you had known about my identity before my defeat, would you have revealed yourself?” Gabriel sat across from him, eyes piercing into his soul, looking for an answer that neither knew if really existed. Shadows framed his face, outlining his age and the weariness that was suddenly apparent. The same weariness he knew he would see if he were to look in a mirror. “So. How will you proceed?”

Chat Noir opened his eyes, his breath coming out in short gasps. A familiar sting pricked the corners of his eyes.

“I love you, mom,” he said, tears streaming. “I love you; I hope you know that.”

Emilie smiled and pulled him into an embrace. Chat Noir closed his eyes and enjoyed the warmth of his mother’s arms. He gripped her tightly, trying to take deep and steady breaths. His body shook as the tears rolled down his cheeks. He could hear her heart beating against his chest. The repeating lub-dub gave him a steady rhythm on which to concentrate. 

Finally his body relaxed. He said, “I promise to fix everything.”

Emilie let go and tried to step back, but Chat Noir tightened his grip. He uttered tiny whispers of ‘I love you’ and ‘I promise’ over and over again as Emilie began to struggle to get away. Her arms beat weakly against his black suit as she demanded he let her go, but he barely felt it, protected from minor injuries and his mind elsewhere. He shut his eyes and drowned out any background noise, only listening to his own steady breathing and the now erratic beating of his mother’s heart. Burying his face against her shoulder, Chat Noir squeezed her one last time.

“Cataclysm.”

Emilie stiffened and her flailing ceased. Chat Noir could feel her slip away, but he refused to open his eyes. It was only when he had nothing left to hold that he opened them. Black dust fell through his fingers, sprinkling an already established pile. Chat Noir stared at his hands, turning them over as if only realizing they were there. He flexed his fingers, the last of his mother’s warmth vanishing.

Light gleamed off a hidden object within the remains. With a gulp, Chat Noir bent over to retrieve the item, pulling out the Peacock and Butterfly Miraculouses. They were speckled with ash, but he quietly wiped it off. His fingers lightly trembled as he cleaned the jewelry.

“Adrien…”

Chat Noir jumped, having forgotten he wasn’t the only one. The frantic beeping of his ring reached his ears, and he turned around as his suit faded away. Plagg spiraled out of the ring and landed exhausted on the floor. Adrien immediately picked him up, cradling the ancient body in a hand. He glanced over at Sabine.

Sabine sat in the light, her face twisted in anguish. Adrien gave a weak smile. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Your mother… What have you done?”

“I promised them I would fix everything.” Adrien fondled the brooches in his hand, the metals cool against his sweaty palm. He swallowed hard as his thumb rubbed the bumpy surface of the Peacock Miraculous. “How did you know my mother?”

Sabine shook her head, unable to believe what she was seeing. Adrien took a step forward and she flinched. Frowning, Adrien stopped and sat on the ground. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, Mrs. Cheng,” he said.

“You murdered your mother.”

“I did what I had to do.” Adrien took a breath. “Please…”

Sabine bit her lip and looked away. “I met Emilie while catering for one of her films. I found out she was to star in an upcoming movie with Tibetan influence. I invited her to travel with me to China, so she could do some research for the role.”

“Mom was great at acting,” Adrien said, fondly remembering, “but that doesn’t explain how you both obtained the Miraculouses.”

Sabine’s heart broke, but she continued. “My great-great-grandfather discovered the Miraculouses and the book at the base of a mountain when he was a boy. He quickly discovered their power, but he kept them hidden, knowing the power wasn’t his to use. Later when he became the head of the family, he displayed the jewels and book as sacred family heirlooms. I suppose he was hoping that whoever had lost them would come back, but when they didn’t, he decided that he would at least protect them. I wasn’t aware at the time of the power they held; I thought they were just objects with a silly lore attached.”

“I brought Emilie with me and introduced her to my family. We gave her a tour of our home and the city. The day before she left, I showed Emilie the Miraculouses and the book, along with other family heirlooms. The next morning Emilie was gone, taking with her the book and Peacock Miraculous. I don’t know why she took them, but as I was the one who brought her, it became my duty to retrieve them. Your mother and I fought the day before she disappeared.”

“You lost,” Adrien said. Sabine nodded her head. He had fed Plagg during the time she was speaking, and the Kwami was now hovering beside him, quiet and despondent. Adrien furrowed his brows. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“I was being honest when I said I didn’t know. Your mother disappeared along with the Miraculouses, so I assumed she had run off with them. When Hawkmoth made his debut, I thought he had taken her. I was powerless with useless information, but then you and Ladybug appeared–the two of you defeated that first akuma–and I knew that the true owner of those Miraculouses was nearby. I took that as a sign that I was no longer needed; I could leave it to the two of you.” Sabine ran a hand through her hair. “Gabriel’s reveal and downfall and Emilie’s sudden reappearance are why I approached her. I was hoping she had answers. I didn’t know…”

Sabine looked up to see Adrien attach the Peacock and Butterfly Miraculouses to his shirt, releasing Nooroo and Duusu from the jewelry. He stood up, but a wave of dizziness washed over him, bringing him to a knee. 

Plagg immediately moved to his holder. “Adrien, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Plagg,” Adrien said, waving the Kwami away. He took a second to regain his bearings before standing up.

Sabine looked between the Kwamis and the boy. Her voice shook as she asked, “What are you planning to do?” 

“I’m going to release you,” he said with a jerk of his head. Nooroo and Plagg flew to Sabine and began to untie the ropes, “and then you are going to tell Ladybug to meet me. Tonight.”

Sabine stood up and rubbed her sore wrists. She feared what he would try to do to her daughter, but in her current state she was vulnerable. “Where should I tell her to go?”

Adrien reached into his pocket and pulled out his lucky charm. He held it up to the moonlight, running the memory through his mind. “Tell her to meet me where it all began.”

[bhunene]

the gift of writing; a return to this blog

I have not written since the beginning of the year, and it shows. After a few months of intense writer’s block, I am back, and so is my ability to write.

So, what happened?

At the beginning of winter quarter (which started in January), there were two major assignments that I needed to finish: I needed to write my personal testimony that I was going to deliver at a church retreat and I needed to write my honors thesis. Back then, I cracked my knuckles and smirked, thinking, “This should be no problem. I’ve written a million papers for school. I delivered a testimony in spring of last year. This should be fine.” I sat down and started to work on both of these assignments. The beginning was alright.

And then it wasn’t.

Why, you might ask? Because I could feel the gift and grace of writing leave me the instant I started to write.

Maybe some of you are like me. Of all the creative things that I loved to do as a young girl, writing was always my favorite hobby. It also ended up becoming my most cultivated craft. Throughout all of my life, I would write down everything that came to my mind. As a young woman now, I write every single day, whether for class, for my own purposes (like journaling), or even for others through social media. When I write, there is a sense of ease. Before the last three months, I had never really struggled with getting my thoughts across paper. As soon as a thought sprung up, it was on paper (or on a screen; either way, things were recorded).

Then January fell apart. Between a million different personal problems that appeared, like the sharp nosedive in my mental health and bracing the dead of winter in gray, cold Seattle, I started to feel more and more rundown. In the past, I would turn towards writing down things to help me recover. But for some reason, I couldn’t express myself anymore. I could feel all of these different ideas and emotions in my mind and my heart, but they didn’t appear on paper. Every single time I tried to record whatever it was I was experiencing, I couldn’t. I simply could not find the right words to say.

This feeling of sudden emptiness freaked me out, to say the very least. It was destructive in a way. This crutch that I always had was suddenly... gone. I couldn’t rely on even the most basic of my coping mechanisms. I had no way of writing my book, writing my favorite creative ideas, or writing anything long-winded and beautiful anymore. I could write the very basics of my thoughts, but even then, the things I wrote came off as cryptic and unintelligible, even to me. I go back to my past journal entries and frankly, they make little sense.

The worst thing was that I didn’t know why this was happening to me. I wasn’t sure why I was experiencing a loss like this in my life, especially when everything was beginning to crumble in my life. January and February were months full of exams, deadlines, weekends crammed with a million different things to do, people to meet, appearances to make, and smiles to force. How could I possibly go on without this gift of mine?

The question was legitimate, but so was the answer.

At the beginning of this month, I started realizing just how much writing became a crutch for me. It’s true that it is a gift that is meant to be shared with the world, whether through posts like these, my academic writing, or whatever. But I was so in love with the gift that I did not appreciate the Giver, or the act of giving behind it all. Thus, my ability was, at least for some time, taken from me, perhaps to get me to pay attention to the person who actually mattered: God. 

God doesn’t desire for us to suffer. But, occasionally, when we are exceptionally selfish--as I was in January and February--He does reserve the right to take things from us, only to make us realize our mistakes. He gives it back, of course. In some ways, I was using writing as a very selfish means to boost my own pride or help my own ego. There were some hurtful words that shouldn’t have been expressed, but I wrote anyway. I cast people in a negative light to try to justify the way that I was feeling. Even though I never published these, I could tell that I was harming myself with all the negative, toxic writing. I stopped writing letters to the people I love dearly. I took my gift for granted by assuming that my assignments would be easy, even though they required diligence, hard work, and effort. To put it simply, I did not use the gift well, and that required me to evaluate what it means to use gifts properly.

I took it to prayer (as one should with hardships in life) and apologized, knowing that I wasn’t being very kind to anyone with the words that I was using. I have tried to detach myself from using writing as the only means that I can to cope. The reality is that there are a lot of other ways besides this that I can do to help: I have family and friends who should know when I’m going through a difficult time. I have a therapist that I talk to about my problems. I don’t have to hide behind manuscripts and letters. The sad truth about writing is that I’ve often used it as a way to feed my self-isolation, which I can’t do anymore. I genuinely think God is asking me to be more open with others, even though that absolutely terrifies me, because there are bigger things in my life than me.

Yes. The hard thing to do. Sigh.

...

It’s March now, and I’m sitting at my mom’s, writing this blog post after some random spurt of inspiration came about (in the shower, of all places). How am I going to use my gift properly? Well, I restarted this blog for the purpose of sharing positivity and joy. We find ourselves in the midst of an incredibly difficult Lent, full of sacrifices and worries. But I believe in joy. And finally, there are words that express the joys I’m experiencing.

You can expect a jump in posts from this blog, both original and reblogged, as I try to get my momentum back again. :) My goal is to be more honest, more transparent with all the things happening in my life.

Here’s to fair winds and following seas. And more writing.

-rai

[ericsonclan]

When She Braided Her Hair

Summary: Prisha struggles to adjust to life with only one functioning arm. Violet helps her see that there's still hope.

Notes: Companion piece to “Braiding Her Hair”, this time from Prisha's perspective.

Read on A03:

Prisha sat alone in her dorm room at Ericson’s School for Troubled Youth, trying her hardest to keep perfectly still as she reached with her one good arm to stroke the brush through her hair. Every misplaced twitch had her seizing up in pain, the burning sensation from her shattered arm radiating throughout her entire body. It had already been weeks since the injury, but she was nowhere near recovered. She would never fully recover; she was maimed for life. Prisha gritted her teeth, trying to focus on the task at hand rather than the new grim reality of her condition. She might be an invalid, but she could still have neat hair. She wasn’t letting this injury take away the one part of herself she’d always maintained. Finally after several minutes of painstaking effort and barely contained gasps of agony, her hair had been thoroughly brushed out. All that remained was to braid it. Prisha reached behind her, groaning in pain as she attempted to pull her hair forward. She started her regular steps, separating the hair into equal portions on her left side, right and her back, then froze as the realization struck her: this wasn’t going to work. This method relied on her approaching the braid from both sides at once with two hands. Prisha felt panic rising within her once more, the same she had felt at Ruby’s words as she informed her of what had happened to her arm. The same she experienced as she watched Dana and Marie be taken away while the rest of her group bled to death on the cliffside. No. Don’t let yourself go back there. She would find a new way to braid her hair. Standing up, Prisha walked over to where she’d laid the brush on the desk. Perhaps she could use it as some sort of placeholder, a bookmark while she shifted her good arm to the next position. This could work. The panic subsided as she once again began to undertake the task of braiding her hair. It was soon replaced with anger however as the brush quickly proved itself ineffectual. It would either slide out of the place she wanted it to be or get tangled in the hair it was meant to hold. After a few rounds, the brush became particularly snarled within her hair. Prisha tried to pry it out gently, then grew angry, swinging her hair back and forth. Her crippled arm immediately retaliated with an absolutely debilitating pain, causing Prisha to cry out and crumple in half from the pain. The brush clanged against the metal bedpost and fell uselessly to the ground. “Prisha? Are you OK?”

She heard the door open and immediately straightened up, casting a venomous glare at the treacherous brush. The corners of her eyes stung with tears she was too furious to shed. “What’s wrong?” It was Violet’s voice. She was the one who had carried Prisha back to the school, the girl who had saved her life. For her to come at this of all times was utterly humiliating. Prisha let out a harsh sigh. “I asked Ruby for a brush since after three weeks in a braid my hair looks like it belongs to a mongoose. Silly me though, I forgot that I would need two hands to rebraid my hair, just like I need two fucking hands for everything in this goddamn world!” Prisha felt her chest heaving as her emotions swelled. Damnit, she couldn’t let herself fall apart now! “Y’know what? I can braid your hair. I may not know a fucking thing about hair care, but it’s just a braid, right?” Violet bent down to pick up the brush. “You can sit down on the chair or the bed and I’ll get it done,” Prisha felt dazed. In the midst of all the chaos, she’d been repressing her emotions for weeks now. Having them all come out at once like this was proving taxing. Shakily, she nodded then sat down on the bed facing the closet, pulling her legs up against her chest and wrapping her right arm around them, her left cradled uselessly by her side. She had to make sure she didn’t jostle it. One more bout of pain might be too much for her to manage. She could hear Violet crawl on top of the mattress and sit behind her. To greet that childish outburst with an offer of help… these Ericson survivors really were something else. In all her years on the road, Prisha had only met a handful of people who would offer a stranger a hand. They tended to be those who’d been denied the same kindness in the past and did not wish that suffering to fall on another. From the burn marks on Violet’s face, Prisha wondered if the same story held true for her. Violet hadn’t moved yet. “Umm, remind me of the first step,” Prisha felt a smile weakly tug at her lips. Of course the art of braiding’s been lost with the apocalypse. Everyone else had the sense to cut their hair short. “You need to separate my hair into three equal sections,” “Right,” She could feel Violet touching her hair, so gently it almost felt like she wasn’t there. Prisha wondered if Violet was worried about hurting her. Considering that the purplish bruising of her arm travelled far above her bandages, it was a valid concern. Violet was certainly gentler than Prisha than she’d been with herself in her efforts to untangle her hair. Violet had stilled again. “Do you need the next step?” “Uh, yeah,” “Start with the section on the left side and cross it over the middle section. Then take the right section and cross it the other way, then bring the middle section over. Then just keep repeating those motions,” “Alright. Here goes nothing,” It was sweet of Violet to be attempting something she was clearly uncomfortable with. Prisha could hear her whisper a cuss as one section of her hair slipped out of her grasp. She was such a fascinating person. Prisha hadn’t thought much of her in the months since their first meeting, but the same traits that had stood out in Violet then were present here as well: tenacity and tenderheartedness. The two qualities tended to be mutually exclusive after the world ended. Either you were soft and died or you were hard and survived. It was exceedingly rare for someone to embody both within themselves. Prisha suddenly realized how quite she was being. She’d been so drawn into the peacefulness of the moment she hadn’t considered that her terseness might be unsettling. Awkwardly, she cleared her throat. “Did you used to have longer hair… before?” “When I was little. My grandma used to put it in braids whenever she took me to church. I hated it,” Violet paused and quickly back tracked. “Not that braids are bad! Just on me. She did them so tight,” It was cute how quickly she’d corrected herself. As if anyone had time to be offended by braiding preferences in the apocalypse. “My mother braided my hair when I was little, but she taught me how to do it myself from a pretty young age. She said that braided hair was a sign of dignity for a woman.” Prisha reached up a hand, fiddling with a stray strand by her face. “I know it would be more practical for me to cut it, but something just stops me each time I consider it. Who knows. Maybe it’s just my way of saying fuck the walkers and fuck this entire shitty world. They can take a lot from me, but how I do my hair is still my own fucking choice. I may not control what I eat or where I sleep or…” She took a shaky breath. “Or the well-being of my own body, but dammnit, I still have my hair,” Damn, way to monologue, Prisha. “That’s sorta badass,” Prisha snorted. “Thanks, I guess. Everything’s going to shit and here I am being Indian Rapunzel,” “It works on you,” “Thanks,” Prisha felt a bit of warmth growing in her chest at the reiterated compliment. Violet didn’t strike her as the type to give compliments lightly. She should know better than to brush her words off. Prisha turned slightly so she could look back at Violet who was earnestly focusing on the braiding process. “You know, I can see why you hated them. The braids, I mean. Your hair looks good short,” “If by ‘good’ you mean ‘looks like some hay that a cow shit on’ then yeah, I guess it looks good,” Prisha scoffed. “No, it’s not like that at all. It looks like… y’know that tall grass that grows beside rivers? The kind with those wheat kernels on the end that you can’t eat? Then autumn comes and they turn this warm, light gold tone and just sway back and forth in the breeze…. Your hair is like that,” Shit, that sounded super gay. She hoped she hadn’t just freaked Violet out. “Your braid is done,” Violet draped it over Prisha’s right shoulder. “Thank you,” Prisha said, fiddling with the tail end of the braid. Not bad at all for a first attempt. “You got it perfect. Not too tight,” She turned around on the bed, leaning against the wall. “Sorry you had to come into the middle of my tantrum. Was there something you needed from me?” “Dishes,” Violet answered abruptly. “Omar wanted me to bring your dishes down if you were done with them,” “Oh, yes, of course. Could you tell him thank you for me? His cooking is seriously amazing. The best I’ve had in years,” “He’ll be happy to hear that,” Violet reached out to grab the small pile of dishes, moving backwards toward the door. “I’ll leave so you can sleep now,” Dang it. She shouldn’t have asked Violet what she came in for. “Alright. And Violet?” “Yeah?” Prisha found herself looking out of the boarded-up window, unable to meet the eyes of the girl who’d just helped her for fear of her voice cracking with emotion as she spoke. “Thank you. For dropping by. It helped,” “Anytime,” With that, Violet was out the door and Prisha was alone again. Well, there wasn’t anything else to be done tonight. Her hair was fixed and the tension in her body had finally dissipated enough that she felt she could sleep. Blowing out the candle by her bedside, Prisha lay down on her bed. Her future was still unclear, a fact that terrified her to her very core. But for the first time since she’d lost the use of her arm, lost her group, lost everything… for a few minutes things had been pleasant. Perhaps all was not lost just yet. She needed to stay practical and be prepared for the worst, but the people at Ericson hadn’t kicked her out yet. Maybe, just maybe they wouldn’t? It was too much to think of right now. With a sigh, Prisha closed her eyes, waiting for sleep to take her. She was glad that Violet had dropped by tonight. She’d given Prisha something she thought she had lost: the comfort of knowing she was not alone.

[junghelioseok]

change. | 06

↳ a kind, handsome stranger makes you question your deteriorating relationship.

◇ taehyung x reader | jungkook x reader ◇ angst | fluff | smut ◇ 5.7k [6/10]

notes: i... don’t actually have anything to say about this update? wild. enjoy!!!

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | epilogue ✓

Days pass. The weekend arrives in the form of a sunny Saturday morning, bringing with it blue skies as far as the eye can see. Quietly, you admire the cloudless expanse through the crack in your curtains, not quite willing to leave the cozy warmth of your bed and face reality just yet.

Eventually, the staccato vibration of your phone drags you out of your cocoon of blankets, just enough to grab the device off the nightstand and wake the dark screen. Two text messages blink up at you, and unsurprisingly, neither are from Jungkook. You haven’t heard from him since the fight, and even though a part of you misses him, you still have your pride. And your pride—well, it refuses to let you reach out first and apologize for an argument that he’d needlessly instigated. Even so, the half-empty tissue box on your nightstand sits there like a taunt, cruelly reminding you of just how many tears you’ve shed over him since he stormed out of your apartment.

With a sigh, you glance back at your phone. One message is from Seokjin, and, as always, the sight of his name is a comfort. Your trusty best friend had dropped by to visit the day after your fight with Jungkook, a freshly-baked cake cradled in one arm while the other reaches out to pull you into a hug. Since then, he’s checked on you innumerable times—sometimes making multiple visits a day—and you couldn’t be more grateful for his constant, unwavering support.

[9:23am] Jin: Still on for breakfast tomorrow?

You send back a quick confirmation before opening up the more recent text message, eyes widening when you see the name that pops up onto your screen.

[9: 39am] Taehyung: good morning! do you enjoy coffee?

Your phone buzzes again in your hand, and you almost drop it in surprise. Recovering quickly, you scan the new text.

[9:41am] Taehyung: i prefer tea myself, but yoongi’s been telling me to try this café for ages and i’d love some company if you’re free

His earnest invitation cuts through the dreariness of the past few days like a ray of sunshine, bright and heartily welcome. Still, a sense of hesitation stubbornly lingers, clouding your mind with doubt. Your entire face feels puffy, and you’re sure that anyone will be able to tell with one glance that you’d been crying. But the prospect of getting out of your apartment is enticing—and even more so is the chance to get to know Taehyung better. Besides, wouldn’t it be rude to decline?

After another minute of furious internal debate, you compose a careful message, deleting and rewriting it several times before hitting ‘send’.

[9:43am] You: That sounds nice. I could definitely use some time out and about.

Your phone vibrates again within seconds, and you can’t help the tiny smile that blooms across your face at the sight of Taehyung’s name blinking on the screen once more.

[9:42am] Taehyung: then let’s do it! should we aim for 10:30? 11? either is fine by me!

Ten-thirty is perfect, you reply. He responds with enthusiasm and the address of the café, and you can’t help the way your smile widens as you crawl out of bed and make your way to the bathroom. Your face is indeed a little puffy and your eyes a bit red, but it’s nothing that a quick shower and some makeup can’t fix. Scrutinizing yourself carefully in the mirror, you make sure to cover any splotchiness with concealer before doing the rest of your makeup.

It’s nearly ten-fifteen by the time you leave. A quick glance at your map app tells you that the café Taehyung had specified is a mere ten minutes away so you wander over to the window, cracking it open to decide whether or not to walk. Pleasantly surprised at the mild temperature, you elect to don a lighter coat instead of the oversized wooly monstrosity you have for especially frigid days. A chunky knit scarf completes your outfit, and as soon as you’ve double-checked your purse for your wallet and keys, you are out the door.

Taehyung is already seated when you arrive, his head of coppery hair tucked away in a corner booth next to the window. A smile spreads across his face when he spots you by the door, and immediately he’s bouncing out of his seat and waving you over eagerly. “{Name}! You made it!”

Your lips curl into an answering smile as you weave your way through the tables and chairs to join him in the booth. The interior of the café is warm and flooded with sunlight, illuminating the eclectic collection of furniture within. You’re fairly certain you haven’t seen a single matching set of chairs yet, and a bright yellow couch in the corner covered with an array of throw pillows in shades of orange has you grinning and shaking your head as you take a seat across from Taehyung. “This is quite the place.”

Taehyung chuckles. “The interior decorator may have gone a bit overboard.”

You cast another glance around, taking in the vibrant atmosphere and the cheerful baristas behind the counter. “I don’t know… I think I like it. But you said Yoongi recommended this place, didn’t you? And, well, I know I’ve only met him once, but this really doesn’t seem like the kind of place he would come to on purpose. Or repeatedly.”

“He gets his coffee to go,” Taehyung admits with a grin. That draws a giggle from you, and the two of you share a good laugh before he speaks again. “Speaking of which, we should order before the line gets too long. Think we can save this table by leaving our coats here?”

“Only one way to find out,” you reply, shrugging off your coat and draping it over the back of the booth. Taehyung follows your lead, and together, the two of you head to the front counter to select your beverages. You take the opportunity to observe him while you wait in line to order, taking in the silky floral shirt he’s wearing and admiring the exact way it drapes over his broad shoulders as he scans the chalkboard menu on the wall.

He’s handsome. It’s something you’ve acknowledged before, but the tiny voice in the back of your mind refuses to let you forget about your boyfriend, stubbornly reminding you of his existence at every opportunity. Persistent whispers of Jungkook, Jungkook, Jungkook echo through your head until you feel ready to burst, and Taehyung, ever observant, seems to sense that something is off. Concern etches its way across his face as he reaches out, gently laying a warm hand on your shoulder and asks, “{Name}? You okay?”

“Of course,” you say automatically, forcing your mouth up into a smile. “I’m fine. I must’ve just spaced out for a second.”

Taehyung doesn’t look convinced, but he pulls back nonetheless. The disappearance of the warm weight of his hand leaves you strangely cold, but you shake off the feeling and muster up your most cheery voice.

“So, what are you thinking of getting? You said you’re a tea person, right?”

Taehyung gives you one last glance, lingering on your eyes, and you have no doubt that he can see some of the residual redness from your tears the night before. Still, he turns away after a few seconds, directing his attention back to the chalkboard and tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Yoongi said there’s a strawberry smoothie that I’d like on the menu… oh, there it is! I’ll probably order that. What about you?”

“I need my coffee fix,” you say with a rueful smile. “I’d kill for a latte right now.”

Taehyung grins and nudges you forward lightly. “Good thing you’re up, then,” he says, gesturing to the barista waiting expectantly behind the counter. Flustered, you glance up at the menu on the wall one last time before requesting a medium-sized latte. Taehyung orders his smoothie after you, and reluctantly allows you to pay for both drinks after you snatch his wallet right out of his hands and offer the laughing barista your own card.

“Thank you,” you say after she hands it back. Taehyung thanks her as well, and she offers both of you a nod and an amused smile before turning to the next customer.

“You didn’t have to pay for me,” Taehyung says as you head back toward your table and make yourselves comfortable. His lower lip juts out in a slight pout, and you can’t help but giggle at the expression.

“I’m pretty sure I did,” you reply. “You’ve called me… what, two cabs since we met? I owe you.”

Taehyung shakes his head, brown eyes alight with warmth from beneath his coppery hair. He glows golden in the sunlight shining in through the window, and you almost stop breathing when you notice how utterly ethereal he looks, even just sitting there with a pink smoothie at his elbow. “No, {Name},” he says, and despite his quiet tone, you don’t miss the tenderness lacing his voice. “You don’t owe me a thing.”

///

An hour passes, then two. Your latte is cold by the time you finish the last sip, making a face as the milk foam coats your upper lip. “Ugh. I forgot how weird lukewarm coffee is.”

“Lukewarm smoothies aren’t much better,” Taehyung replies, picking up his cup and giving it a shake. “Oh, well. Just let me apologize in advance for the sound this straw is going to make when I finish this.”

His declaration is followed by a loud slurp, empty air whistling through the straw along with the final dregs of pink smoothie. You can’t help but giggle at the sound, and his lips tilt up into a smile around the straw as he raises his brows and waggles them exaggeratedly.

“So,” Taehyung says, setting his empty cup back down and leaning back in his seat.

You are suddenly reminded of the first time you met. Mirroring his movements, you relax into the plushy leather of the booth. “So.”

He grins, but you can see a hint of hesitance glimmering in his eyes. “So,” he repeats, tongue darting out to moisten his lips. “I don’t know if you have plans today, but I was going to go look at some art pieces after this. Did you… maybe want to join me?”

The slight stammer in his voice makes you smile. “That sounds fun,” you tell him earnestly. “But full disclosure: I know absolutely nothing about art, so I’m going to be pretty useless.”

Taehyung’s grin widens. “Don’t worry about that. Your company’s more than enough for me.”

Your heart swells at his sincerity. The snide voice in your head has long since been banished to the very darkest corners of your mind to cower in silence, leaving you feeling lighter and happier than you have in days. “In that case,” you begin, standing up and reaching for your coat, “I’d be happy to join you.”

It’s a wonder that Taehyung’s smile hasn’t split his face in half, for it is nearly blinding in its brilliance. Rising to his feet, he grabs both of your cups, tossing them neatly into the bin before holding the door for you to exit first. As soon as you’ve both stepped out onto the sidewalk, he takes the lead, chattering happily about the studio you are about to visit. “I’ve never actually worked with this artist before,” he says as he turns the corner and enters the parking lot behind the building. “He’s a newcomer to the scene, but he’s gained quite a reputation for his vibrant colors and abstract style. I’m excited to meet him in person.”

The two of you have reached his car by this point—a sleek silvery vehicle that he unlocks with a flourish. Opening up the door, you climb inside and glance over at the young man who is folding his long limbs into the black leather of driver’s seat beside you.

“Sorry,” he says when he catches you looking. “It’s a bit of a mess in here.”

Curiously, you crane your neck to look at the backseat, one brow arching in amazement. “A mess?” you ask, taking in the half-zipped black duffel and neat bundle of magazines lying there. “This is your definition of a mess?”

Taehyung chuckles and starts the car, the engine thrumming to life as he turns the key in the ignition. The fingers of his other hand begin tapping the steering wheel in time to the song that blares to life on the radio. “It could be neater,” he says as he reverses smoothly out of the parking space. “I normally try to keep everything contained, but I’ve been running around a lot lately with the new gallery. The bag’s full of my photography equipment, but I’m pretty sure some of Yeontan’s toys got lost in there along the way. He’s been sniffing around for his favorite ball for days now, and as far as I can tell it’s not in my apartment.”

You nod at the duffel bag. “I can take a look and see if it’s in there, if you don’t mind me going through your stuff.”

Taehyung shakes his head. “Not at all. My camera’s padded pretty securely in there, so go for it.”

Turning around in your seat, you carefully pluck up the duffel and plop it down into your lap, unzipping it the rest of the way and peering inside. True to his word, Taehyung has filled it to the brim with photography equipment. You spot a smaller black bag inside that looks like it holds a camera, and a neatly-folded tripod buried underneath several manila envelopes that you assume are full of photos. Loose film canisters roll around the bottom, but a flash of bright orange catches your attention amongst all the clutter.

“Found it!” you say, raising the ball in triumph. “At least, I think I did.”

“That’s it,” Taehyung confirms with a laugh, looking at you out of the corner of his eye before directing his attention back to the road. “Are there any more dog toys hiding in there?”

You hum, peeking inside once more. “No, but there is a bag of treats. And what looks like a very tiny sweater. And… a leash?”

Your discoveries earn you another laugh. “Whoops.”

Giggling, you set about removing the items, making sure to place them in a conspicuous spot beside the duffel bag when you replace everything in the backseat. “So you remember to bring them up to Yeontan later,” you say by way of explanation when Taehyung gives you a curious sidelong glance.

His face softens into a smile. “That’s thoughtful. Thank you.”

The remainder of the drive passes quickly. Peering out the window, you see that you have arrived in the more residential part of the city, where rows of brownstone townhouses sit on quiet tree-lined streets. Taehyung is already unbuckling his seat belt and stepping outside so you quickly follow his lead, watching as he double-checks his phone for the correct address and scans the nearest cluster of reddish-brown houses.

“Aha,” he mutters after a few seconds of careful consideration. “That’s the one. Shall we?”

Nodding, you follow him, admiring the well-kept patch of lawn out front. Three short steps lead to a bright yellow front door, a little green sign hanging slightly askew from the knocker reading, Come on in! With a shrug, Taehyung turns the brassy knob and gestures for you to step inside. As he joins you in the foyer and shuts the door behind him, you take a few steps farther into the house.

The first thing you notice is how bright the interior is, radiant sunlight painting the cream-colored walls with streaks of gold. To your right is a long wooden staircase, the railing twined with colorful string lights. On your left is what looks like a sitting room, a dark green sofa littered with tasseled throw pillows taking up the expanse of wall opposite the wide bay window. The remaining walls are covered with canvases—bright colors and abstract shapes splashed across each surface. If you had any doubts about this being the home of an artist, they are erased when you spot the half-finished painting sitting on an easel in the corner.

Footsteps sound from somewhere inside the house, and a few seconds later the artist himself pops into view with a winning smile and an outstretched hand. “I thought I heard the door!” he exclaims, his brown eyes sparkling beneath a mop of cherry-red hair. “You must be Taehyung.”

“And you must be Hoseok,” Taehyung says, accepting the handshake with a grin. “I brought along company—I hope you don’t mind. This is {Name}.”

Hoseok reaches out to shake your hand as well, his smile widening. “Nice to meet you both! Can I get you anything to drink? Tea, coffee, water? Maybe something to munch on?”

Taehyung inhales deeply, and for the first time you realize that the entire house smells like warm cinnamon and vanilla. “Well, if you’re as good a baker as you are an artist, then I won’t say no to whatever it is you’re whipping up back there.”

“I’ve got apple turnovers and some shortbread,” Hoseok replies merrily, already turning toward the doorway that leads to the rest of the house. “Follow me!”

The kitchen, you discover, is just as charming and upbeat as Hoseok himself. A sky blue kettle sits on a pristine white stovetop, which the red-haired man immediately turns on to make some tea. As promised, a plate full of pastries and another full of cookies sits on the counter, and Hoseok gestures for you to help yourself as he putters over to a cabinet to fetch three mismatched mugs.

Ten minutes later, with tea and pastries in hand, the three of you head upstairs to Hoseok’s art studio. At some point, the room was clearly a bedroom, but the only pieces of furniture that remain inside are a long table sitting against one wall and a plain wooden stool in front of an easel that’s identical to the one you saw earlier. Several canvases hang on the exposed brick wall, and even more are piled up against it, facing outward and organized by size. Already, you are dying to take a closer look—and Hoseok seems to sense your curiosity, for he waves you forward with a grin and a playful wink. “Go on, take a look around! Taehyung and I are just going to be talking business anyway, right?”

Taehyung, who had at that moment chosen to take a rather inopportune bit of his apple turnover, can only nod, his brown eyes crinkling as his face lifts into a sheepish smile. Giggling, you hand him a napkin from the pile that Hoseok thrust upon you in the kitchen. “Don’t let me keep you, then.”

Leaving the two men to their conversation, you meander farther into Hoseok’s studio, taking in the vivid colors splashed across each surface. You walk past several still life paintings and one of a seascape rendered in bright blues and yellows before coming to a stop at the chalkboard on the far wall. Vaguely, you are aware of Taehyung and Hoseok slowly making their way around the perimeter of the room as they discuss the various pieces, but you are too entranced by the rough chalk drawings in front of you.

“I’ve always been terrible at drawing hands.” Hoseok’s voice floats across the room, and you realize immediately that he’s talking about the chalk drawings. Hands of every shape, size, and color are scattered across the board, and you marvel at the realism as you raise your own hand and hold it up to each sketch in turn, mirroring the positions. Peace signs, thumbs-ups, high-fives—the accuracy Hoseok has managed to capture in a few simple strokes of chalk is astonishing. They’re some of the loveliest sketches you’ve ever seen, and, you are about to turn and tell him so when the next words out of his mouth stop you dead in your tracks.

“But you know what they say—practice makes perfect, right?” Taehyung nods his agreement, and the red-haired man grins before leading him over to the canvas displayed on the easel in the corner. “This is what I’m working on right now. I really wanted this painting to be perfect, and I’m hoping you might like it enough to display it in your gallery.”

From your angle, you can’t quite see the painting propped on the easel. Quietly, you begin inching to the right, trying your best to be as unobtrusive as possible, and little by little, the work comes into view. You catch a glimpse of purple and a flash of green, and then Taehyung is stepping back to say something to Hoseok and the painting in its entirety is revealed, brilliantly simple and heartwrenchingly tender.

Two hands—one a deep, rich purple and the other a bright, brassy yellow—are twined together on the canvas, fingers interlaced and thumbs crossed over one another. From between their fingers, delicate green vines spring up, winding around and up their arms, each shoot bearing tiny leaves and even tinier red blooms that have yet to blossom. You draw closer as if compelled, and Hoseok beams when he notices your interest.

“I’ve been calling it Love in Bloom,” the red-haired man explains, directing the words at Taehyung. “It’s cheesy, I know. And of course, it still needs a few finishing touches. But I’m really pleased with how it’s turned out so far, and it looks like your girlfriend likes it too.”

You almost choke on your shortbread. Beside you, Taehyung looks about ready to spit out his tea, the muscles in his jaw working furiously as he splutters in response. “O-oh! We’re not… um. We’re not together. She has a boyfriend, and I… we… we’re just friends. That’s all.”

Hoseok’s eyes widen, horror creeping across his features. “Oh, god. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed…”

“It’s okay!” Taehyung assures hurriedly, laying a hand on the red-haired man’s shoulder. “Really. There’s no way you could’ve known.”

Somehow, between the crumbs still lodged in your throat and the wild thoughts darting about your head, you manage to give Hoseok a reassuring nod. “D-don’t worry about it,” you stammer when your voice finally returns.

Hoseok’s frantic expression relaxes, settling into sheepishness. “I really am sorry,” he apologizes again. “Um, maybe we should move on? I still have a few questions about Studio V, if you don’t mind…”

“Of course not,” Taehyung replies. Then his gaze skitters over to you, the corners of his mouth lifting into a small smile. “Do you mind, {Name}?”

You wonder at how quickly he seems to have recovered, taking in the gentle slope of his upturned mouth and the sparkling warmth of his chocolate brown irises. “Not at all.”

/// 

It wasn’t your intent to spend nearly a full day with Taehyung. When you’d left your apartment this morning, you’d expected a nice chat over a quick cup of coffee. Casual conversation and roasted beans, maybe with a splash of milk and a dash of sugar. That was it.

You certainly didn’t expect to still be with him five hours later, when midmorning has descended well into the afternoon and the sun is already beginning to sink toward the orange horizon. “I always forget how short the days are in the winter,” you say wistfully, watching the city pass by in a flurry of steely gray and polished monochrome glass. “It gets dark so fast.”

Taehyung hums thoughtfully from his spot in the driver’s seat, his fingertips tapping idly along the wheel in time with the radio. “It is starting to get dark,” he admits, gazing through the windshield at the setting sun. “Did you want to head home? I can drop you off if you’d like. Or—“ He trails off, his deep voice tapering off into silence, but when you raise a curious brow at him, he huffs out a soft chuckle and continues. “Or we could have dinner.”

“Dinner,” you repeat slowly. On cue, your stomach lets out a loud grumble, as if to remind you that you’ve only fed it shortbread and apple turnovers today.

If Taehyung hears your belly’s rumbling complaint, he doesn’t say anything about it. Still, you can see the way his lips curve upward, his face illuminated by the last weak rays of the golden sun. “The holiday market always has good food,” he says. “Have you been yet?”

“No, not yet,” you answer. “I’ve been meaning to go, though.”

Taehyung’s tapping fingers still on the wheel as he makes a smooth right turn. “No time like the present,” he remarks, and when the car straightens back out again, your jaw drops at the sight before you.

You’ve only seen the holiday market in daylight, walking past on the rare occasions when your errands take you downtown. You’ve seen the rickety carnival rides and the wooden stalls displaying homemade wares, with their painted signs peeling after weeks of exposure to the unpredictable wintry weather. But as the sky fades into dusky hues of blue and purple, a very different scene emerges. Lights begin to turn on—from the streetlamps lining the road to the string lights wound around every available surface—illuminating the entire holiday market in luminescent gold. In the distance, the Ferris wheel spins slowly, stark and bright against the darkening backdrop of the sky.

“Oh, wow,” you breathe. “It’s so pretty.”

“It is,” Taehyung agrees, and as you press against the window for a closer look, you completely miss the way his gaze lingers on your face.

To your surprise—and Taehyung’s delight—it doesn’t take long to find a parking spot. He manages to snag a space along the side of the street just as someone else is pulling out of it, and within minutes the two of you are walking into the brightly-lit market square. Your head spins pleasantly at the sudden influx of sights and sounds, your nose twitching at the smell of fried food and mulled wine. As if on cue, your stomach rumbles again, and, embarrassed, you look up at your companion.

Taehyung is grinning a grin so wide, you fear his mouth might fall off. “Food first?”

“Food first,” you confirm, rubbing your belly ruefully. His eyes crinkle up into crescents, and something in your chest does a funny little flip when he reaches out to grasp your hand and leads you toward the concession stands.

It seems a waste to sit down and eat, so you and Taehyung elect to walk around, admiring the wares of the local craftspeople with baskets of food in hand. The stall to your left is selling glass-blown sculptures, and the one next to it has delicate hand-painted ornaments. Across the way, there’s a gorgeous display of textiles, and another of sparkling jewelry. It’s impossible to stop and admire everything, yet that’s exactly what you want to do. And Taehyung seems to feel the same way, if the awestruck look of wonder in his eyes is anything to go by.

“{Name}, look,” he says excitedly, gesturing at one of the painted ornaments. You recognize the distinctive golden whorls of Starry Night right away, smiling at the way his love for art always manages to shine through.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, watching as he sets down his food and carefully plucks the glass globe from its black velvet casing, spinning it around to admire the brushwork.

He beams. “Do you want it?”

“Do I want it? I should be the one buying it for y—“ you begin to say, only to be cut off by a loud buzzing from your pocket. The sudden vibration startles you, but you recover quickly enough to grab your phone and offer Taehyung an apologetic shrug before answering. “Hello?”

On the other end of the line, you hear a low, deep sigh. Then: “Hey. It’s me.”

“Jungkook?” you ask, your heart rate picking up at the sound of his voice. Pulling your phone away from your ear, you stare at the unfamiliar string of numbers on the screen. “This… this isn’t your cell. Where are you?”

“Work,” he sighs. “But that’s not important right now. I… I want to apologize for what I said the other night. It was completely out of line, and I’m sorry.”

“Jungkook,” you repeat, his name heavy on your tongue. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Taehyung, his coppery hair shining like burnished gold underneath the lights strung up around the market. He’s turned back to the stall selling ornaments in an attempt to give you a little privacy, but the stiff set of his shoulders tells you that he can hear every word. Wordlessly, you take a few steps back, finding refuge along the side of one of the wooden stalls and lowering your voice. “Jungkook, I’m glad you’re apologizing. But shouldn’t we talk about this in person?”

“We should,” your boyfriend agrees. The sound of shuffling papers filters through the line, and you deduce that he must be fidgeting nervously. “How about tomor—“

Out of nowhere, a toddler nearby starts wailing, his cherubic face scrunching up as he reaches up for his mother. The new sound gives Jungkook pause, and you can hear the concern lacing his tone as he speaks again.

“{Name}, what was that? Where are you right now?”

“I’m downtown,” you admit, plugging your other ear in order to hear him better. “At the holiday market in front of city hall.”

Even through the phone, you can hear the frown in his voice. “Alone? You really shouldn’t wander around the city at night, you know. It’s not safe.”

For a split second, you debate letting him believe that you’re alone, only to banish the thought immediately afterward. Jungkook has already gone to the effort of apologizing and he deserves your honesty now. Taking a deep breath to steel your nerves, you quickly explain, “I’m not alone. I have a friend with me.”

“Oh.” A pause. “Is it Jin?”

“Taehyung,” you murmur, swallowing nervously when you hear his sharp intake of breath. “We… we met at Luxe last week.”

You don’t explain any further, and you don’t need to. You can tell from the prolonged silence on the other end of the line that Jungkook has realized which night you are referring to. It’s the night he never showed up for your long-awaited dinner date—the night Taehyung swooped in to your aid and saved your dignity. And even though you don’t explain exactly when or how you’d met your coppery-haired friend, you know that Jungkook’s analytical mind is calculating every possibility.

“I see,” he finally says, his tone clipped. “Well. I guess I’ll stop interrupting, then.”

“Jungkook!” You’re gripping your phone so tightly your knuckles are beginning to turn white. “Jungkook, wait.”

Silence. Then, “I need to go, {Name}. Bye.”

You remain standing with your phone at your ear for several long moments after he hangs up, your heart hammering wildly in your chest as blood rushes through your ears. Jungkook is upset—probably even more so than before. And all at once, regret begins to bubble up in your chest, eating away at your insides until you’re lightheaded.

Taehyung must’ve gotten worried over your extended absence, for his head suddenly pops around the side of the stall. “{Name}? Are you all right?” When you don’t answer right away, he takes a cautious step forward and repeats your name, concern etching its way across his features. “{Name}? What happened?”

You finally lower your phone, tucking it back into your pocket and shaking your head. “It’s nothing. I’m fine, really.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “That was your boyfriend, right? Jungkook?”

You nod. “We… we’re just going through a rough patch. I’m all right. Honest.”

To your relief, he doesn’t press the issue any further. Instead, he simply offers you a small smile and a gentle pat on the shoulder. “It’s been a long day. Why don’t we call it a night? I can drive you back home.”

“Taehyung,” you begin to protest. “It’s okay, I can take the bus or call a cab or something—“

He shushes you with a bop on the nose, just as he’d done back at Studio V. “I’d feel much better if I drove you myself. Call it a gift—a thank you for putting up with me all day.”

You shake your head. “You’re too kind to me.”

“Nonsense,” he replies simply. “The world could do with a lot more kindness, in my opinion.”

And on that note, he gestures for you to follow him back onto the main path through the holiday market, meandering through the milling crowds and wooden stalls until you finally reach the street where his car is parked. The drive back to your apartment passes in amicable silence, broken only by the occasional directions you provide him and the soft sound of the radio.

“Thank you,” you murmur when he pulls up to the outside of your apartment building, stopping right at the front door.

“You’re welcome,” he responds with a smile. “Try and enjoy the rest of your night, okay?”

“Okay,” you agree softly. His smile widens.

Stepping out of his car, you enter the lobby of your building. He doesn’t drive off until he sees that you are safely inside, and you wave at his retreating taillights until they disappear into the night.

Then you pull out your phone and thumb over to your ‘J’ contacts, composing a quick message. I really, really, really need a drink tomorrow. Putting the device away, you head for the elevator.

By the time you step out onto your floor, you have a response lighting up your screen.

[6:43pm] Jin: Brunch instead of breakfast tomorrow, then. I’ll have a mimosa waiting.

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[thewritewolf]

Inseparable Chapter 25: Hawkmoth’s Defeat

Ladybug and Chat Noir march on the Agreste mansion for their confrontation with Hawkmoth.

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@ladynoirjuly2019

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The darkness clung to them as they returned to the Agreste mansion. If all went well, they’d find Gabriel Agreste in his bed, take his miraculous without a fight, and turn him into the police. But where Hawkmoth is concerned, when do things ever good well? After all, there was a limit to how lucky Marinette was.

They landed on the window sill to Adrien’s room and while he worked on opening it from the outside, Marinette watched him carefully. Ever since they had left her room, he’d been quiet, withdrawn. Not that she could blame him. It was easy to crack jokes during an akuma fight when you knew that the Ladybug cure would fix everything. But no matter what happened tonight, there wouldn’t be any going back. There wasn’t a magical cure for supervillain family members.

The latch gave way and they landed inside his room. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t imagined visiting him like this before - suited up as Ladybug, late at night, even entering through the window. She had never managed to gather the nerves for it, but it had been a constant daydream of hers. After the reveal, and after all this... It didn’t feel as romantic anymore.

She realized she’d stopped when her eyes landed on her kitty staring at her with those piercing green eyes.

“Where to next?” The faint smile that had been on his lips vanished like smoke in the wind, and she winced. “I’m sorry, Chat. But the sooner we get done, the sooner we can put all of this behind us.”

He nodded slowly. “I know.” She followed as he exited his bedroom. “It’s pretty late - even he has to be in bed by now.”

“I don’t know, remember when he sent out that akumatized university student at three in the morning?”

“I wish I didn’t,” he said with a chuckle. “I had a photoshoot early that morning, and got yelled at for being so tired looking. Took ages for the make up artists to make me look alive. And to think he ruined his own photoshoot…” He trailed off, the short-lived mirth quickly being snuffed out by that unreadable, flinty stare.

The halls were wide enough that she was able to stand beside him and snake her hand into his. She gave it a squeeze just as they stopped outside a large, ornate door.

“Whatever happens… we’re in this together.”

“Right, we always are.”

“Not just in this fight. When we’re done here, I’m taking you home with me. I’m not going to leave you here by yourself.”

His eyes glistened as he took a long look at her. In a voice barely above a whisper he replied, “Thank you. For everything.”

She nodded. “I couldn’t have asked for a better partner. Now let’s finish this.”

On the count of three, they quietly opened the bedroom doors… only to find the bed empty. Chat Noir growled and kicked the bedside table in frustration.

“So much for catching him asleep.” Marinette cupped her chin. “He must be in his lair, right? And that’s got to be somewhere in your house.”

“Yeah, probably, but do you know how long it took me to find just the peacock miraculous? This place has a ton of hidden spots.”

“Maybe, but he can’t be that far away from it at any given time. Where does he usually spend of his days?”

Chat Noir opened his mouth, then closed it. He considered the question. As the silence stretched on, she began getting restless. She lightly tapped on his forehead with one finger.

“Hey. I can see the gears moving in your head, kitty. Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“Well… he almost never leaves his office if he can help it. And I remember once, I found this big book of heroes in there, and the peacock miraculous.” He scratched the back of his neck. “He must have moved it after I took the book. I guess he didn’t trust me not to snoop any more.”

“We’ll start there then,” she nodded and headed off in that direction. She wasn’t entirely certain where she was going, but it at least gave her a sense of purpose. Standing around was fraying her nerves.

He hustled to keep pace behind her. “But there was already one secret safe in there! Do you really think he’d have a hidden passageway too?”

“Sure! Why not? And right now, it’s all we’ve got to go on.” Chat didn’t have anything to say to that and they arrived in the office in silence. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the tall picture of Adrien’s mother.

“That’s where the safe is,” he supplied.

Clearly, Emilie Agreste was still important to the boys of the household. And if Gabriel was willing to hide the incredibly important miraculous things behind her painting then maybe…

She put her face against the wall and looked across the flat plane of the portrait. When she saw slight indents in some of the painting’s geometric shapes, she smiled mirthlessly.

“Okay, kitty.” He stepped up close to her as she reached her hands up to the painting. “Here goes nothing…” She pressed the indents she could see and suddenly she was falling through the floor.

Well… not quite falling. It felt like an elevator of some kind. After traveling for long minutes, they were deposited inside an empty space with a large window that filtered in the moonlight. White, glowing butterflies fluttered around them. Their soft light did little to illuminate the room, leaving all but the center of the space still lost to shadow. Standing in the middle of that circle of light was none other than Hawkmoth himself.

“This had better be important, Nathalie-” He turned around with an angry grimace only to go slack jawed and wide eyed as he saw the two of them settle into a battle stance. “What- How?! How could mere children have discovered my lair?!”

Marinette had expected Chat to say something, but the only change with him was a look of pure anger in his eyes as he glared at his father.

“We know who you are, Gabriel! Your days of terrorizing Paris are over. Don’t make this any harder on yourself or your family. Surrender your miraculous!”

She’d been hoping that the mention of his family might snap him out of this, but instead it just seemed to make him angrier, more determined.

“Never!”

Chat Noir scoffed and locked eyes with Hawkmoth. “I could’ve told you that wouldn’t work. Gabriel Agreste doesn’t care about his family, about what he’s done to hurt them.”

“You wretched mongrel! Everything I’ve done is for-”

"Another word out of your lying, deceitful, mouth and I give up pretending I won't enjoy this." Her partner spoke in a growl.

“Bold words. Let’s see how well they stack up to reality.” He charged towards them. “At last, your miraculous are finally in my grasp! You will never have the opportunity to tell anyone who I am!”

Her yoyo zipped forward, reaching for his cane to rip it from his grasp, but he managed to bat it aside without much effort. This left him open when Chat Noir swung his baton into his side, knocking the air out Hawkmoth for a moment before he could get his cane in position for a duel. A moment which Chat used to keep pushing forward, unwilling to let Hawkmoth get any time to recover from this assault. The irony that he was using fencing skills that he’d built up thanks to Gabriel forcing him to do extra activities was not lost on Marinette as she flanked Hawkmoth. With her yoyo sneaking around and snaring limbs or tugging on his cane, it was only the older man’s greater experience and strength keeping him in the fight. He’d managed to block an incoming attack from Marinette and use the momentum to knock aside Chat’s baton.

But as the battle dragged on, it was clear that he hadn’t been actively fighting in a long time. It was also clear that he was already getting tired. Soon they were pushing him back, out of the light and into the ring of darkness. She hoped that Chat was the only miraculous user with night vision, and not for the first time she wished that Master Fu could have told them more about the capabilities of their archnemesis.

The baton and cane clashed one last time before the combatants leapt apart, staring at each other between the meters that separated them. Marinette had ended up right behind Chat Noir, twirling her yoyo as she carefully watched for which direction Hawkmoth would move towards. To her surprise, he just seemed to be inching backwards.

“Chat. What’s behind him?” She whispered to her partner. The shadows were too deep for her to see through.

“Nothing,” he whispered back. “Just a blank wall.”

No sooner had he finished saying that then there was a mechanical sound of an automated door opening. Her partner let out a curse and ran forward, Marinette hot on his heels.

“He slammed some button on the wall and ran into a secret passage. We can’t let him get away!”

Several traps were sprung in Hawkmoth’s wake, but all of them were dispatched with ease. They were so hyper focused that the trap would barely have time to open it before they either smashed it to pieces or bypassed it entirely. Did Hawkmoth really think they would be able to slow them down that much?

They entered into another wide open space, but this one was significantly different than the empty observatory that the supervillain had fled. There were plants growing down here, kept alive by the warm glow of light from above. Fluttering between the vines and flowers were even more of the butterflies, with gently pulsing cocoons hanging from the leaves and stems. The feature that drew their attention was the large chamber that almost looked like a mechanical sarcophagus.

A sarcophagus that had an occupant that she only recognized from pictures and paintings, who had been gone from her partner’s life long before Marinette showed up in it. She looked into Emilie Agreste’s face and felt a chill run down her spine.

Hawkmoth stood at the base of the sarcophagus, a determined sneer on his face as he turned back towards them. It seemed that he was done running - in sight of his (late?) wife was where he intended to make his final stand.

Her partner seemed far worse for wear. He stood, transfixed as he gawked at the woman who might as well be sleeping for all she knew. His eyes were distant and blank, his body frozen as the world turned around him. She had to pull him back with her yoyo when it became clear he wasn’t going to block Hawkmoth’s cane as he came crashing towards him.

As she settled into a fighting stance, yoyo twirling into a shield, she heard her boyfriend muttering, “All this time… she was right here…”

Her heart broke, but she didn’t have time to comfort him as she locked into a duel with Hawkmoth. Despite his newfound determination, he was still tired from their earlier struggle and she was at the top of her game. Her only problem was that she didn’t have the advantage in such close quarters. Keeping him at arm’s length was about all she could do without her partner.

Her concentration slipped and Hawkmoth swept her legs. He was just about to swing his cane down at her when he was knocked off his feet as well by Chat Noir’s extending baton.

“You bastard!” Chat Noir shouted as he barreled towards his father, swinging madly in his fury.

Marinette rolled to her feet and helped her partner. Between the two of them, Hawkmoth could barely block every other hit and even that was pushing it. He was slipping, hits were landing, and there wasn’t much longer he’d be able to take this and keep standing. One last solid strike from Chat’s baton sent the older man tumbling across the room. He managed to pull himself up to a kneeling position.

“It’s over, Gabriel. You’ve lost.”

With his head still bowed he started laughing. “No. The miraculous bends to my will, and I have power to spare.”

A black-purple aura surrounded him, hiding him from view, as the two of them watched in shock. Something less than human began to take shape beneath the swirling energy as Marinette realized that somehow… Hawkmoth had learned how to akumatize himself.