#avoided it like the plague since season eight

[blueparadis]

╰┈➤ INSCAPE ✦ AYATO KAMISATO.

⟣ ──┈ · · · + synopsis ➢ After a year of marriage when your confrontation strikes the heart of lord kamisato, he dedices to play fair and by your rules. Certainly, if he does what you ask of him, you would not be angry at him would you now?

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⟣ ──┈ · · · + cw ➣ fem!reader, wife!reader, husband!ayato kamisato, trophy wife treatment, terms of endearment, established relationship, marriage of convenience, angst and comfort, enemies to lovers dynamic, sorta hate sex ( but there is no sex. i mean there is but just a little ),drunk!reader, marking, temperature play ( wax play + ice play ), virginity k!nk, foreplay, aftercare >> implied piv sex; 2,2k word count. | blog navigation + koct’23 masterlist. |

A month has passed since you stepped into the Kamisato estate yet Ayato rarely made time for his wife. Of course, like all other men, he used work as an excuse to avoid you like a plague. How could he not? When you confessed that your father had forced you into this marriage with tears in your eyes and rage in your heart yelling that if you could you would have rather die than be a man like him. It was a bolt from the blue to see someone with whom Ayato had decided to share half of him choose death over him. So, Ayato kept his distance; kept up the mirage of this marriage, and deserted you in your misery. It has been a month since the day you married him and nothing has changed since then.

As usual, after eight, Thoma accompanied his master to the study room. “Tomorrow I have to go somewhere. Thoma, please take care of the household for a day.” His butler listens and nods.

“When will you be back Lord Ayato?” Thoma asked hanging his master’s coat in the rack. “Will your lady accompany you?” Ayato pauses stacking files one upon the other on his hand to ponder and then answers.

“It is just work-related.” Thoma beams at that and leaves his master alone in his room. The part where Ayato stands is just the entrance, where the light is always on. He grabs another candle stand and walks up to his desk in the dark, lighting them up. And, when he turns around his eyes glimmered on you like grapes ripening before the arrival of the season. 

You turn around standing against the window admiring the moon in its glory with a goblet in your hand and a wine bottle kept on your husband’s table. It is empty. You look at your husband, part your lips, and bring the goblet near your soft lips speaking in a calm tone. “You do not seem surprised to see me here.” You take a sip and tilt your head. “Have you been thinking about me—like this: standing here, waiting for you, my love?” Ayato does not break his silence. He just watches like a hawk. He leans against his desk crossing his arms over his chest. 

You slowly walk up to him making sure you do not trip. The moment you move the world takes a quick spin, composing yourself you see your husband inches away from you. Finishing the last bit of wine you keep the glass on the desk. You keep your hands on the desk along his firm stature and lean into his face. “Or were you expecting someone else, my love?” You are clearly drunk and maybe so, because you wanted to confront him since never before have you been this rebellious. 

Ayato has always kept a distance from you, letting you live freely, working the way you want. While  attending parties and get-togethers, you were cautious not to let the curtain of perfect marriage slip and show the world its ugly, rotten side. At times like that, his heart warmed from your vicinity; mind and body at constant battle for you. Of course, what would you know what it is like to love someone, and get nothing in return? That kind of love eats you from the inside.

If you hated him openly he could give you an excuse, perhaps an affair or chronic drinking habit but you are perfect maintaining this marriage. But you suspected him of cheating on you was salt to his wound. It hurt his pride. 

Ayato grabs one of your hands, pushing it away and spinning you to stand behind you. Both of your hands are under his grip. His left hand being free finds its way over your breasts. He does not like them. There is a fair amount of distance between his left hand and your upper body. As he finishes tracing your body and ultimately keeping his gloved hand over your belly button he hoarsely whispered into your ears, “You tell me. For whom are you wearing this flimsy dress? 

He rests his chin over the nook of your shoulders. You release a soft breath. “Or is it because you have been lonely?” You rub your thighs together feeling the warmth of his breath behind your ears. “Did you ask help from Thoma?”

“What? How could you—I’d never— Ayato shuhses you swinging his body a little making you sway, as if calming a crying baby. Then he speaks sternly, “At least I have a name. Who are you accusing me of?” 

“Why are you breathing so hard, love?” He exclaims eye over your belly letting you know how much he can feel your restlessness. 

“Leave me Ayato. Leave my hand.” You murmur. There is still a fight in you despite being hurt. He rubs his nose against your shoulder line making you arch your head a bit. He is trying to remember what triggered you and that you were willing to wash all your pride and shame to come to him. You hear a pop sound and a little later feel the graze of his lips, the hot breaths. He understands now. He understands why, why are you here? Closing his mouth he presses his body against your back.

You turn your head to take a look at his face. Your eyes are burning, eyelids heavy and vision focuses and defocuses often. “Thoma— he will, will be here to serve your dinner.” You drawl, one word toppling over the other. The way you took his butler’s name sounded like you were moaning it. “Please. Please Ayato. Leave me.” You feel his hand that was over your tummy loving away and as you take a sigh of relief you turn your face from him. As you close your eyes to dull the incoming wave of pain, you feel his hands underneath your nightgown, nudging in between your thighs seeking permission.

“What?” Ayato drawls tightening his grip on your wrists at the valley of your waist. “Didn’t you say you hated me on our first night? Then, why are you so wet?” He elongated ‘so’ as he spoke into your ears causing goosebumps to light up your supple skin. Embarrassment and shame bloomed all over your body. Your mind denied him while your body was willing to accept him. Not to mention that you are so wet and just from this? Another lie came into the light. The fact that you told him that you were a virgin to keep him ravaging you away is such a brave and bold move. 

“Aren’t you full of surprises my love?” He pulls out his gloved hand making you whimper and extends it in front of you to show how much you are turned on. Your arousal stuck onto his gloved hands, drips along the base of his palm as he motions his ring and middle finger. “Not only that,” He scooted over to a side shamelessly staring at your breasts, “Your nipples. They are hard.” His lips moved closer to your ears. He whispers, “So hard.” Makes him wanna suck and bruise them.

The wine is doing its job perfectly. Your senses are lithe and loose. There is a tingling feeling all over your skin and wherever his touch graces, the feeling magnifies resonating in between your legs. The grip on your hands that are held at your back is still there, still so strong. You fidget with your hands a little and Ayato shifts his hand, inserting his fingers through the gaps of your of both hands locking them firmly. 

You turn your head, with lust coinciding with desperation in your eyes, and your lips dash onto yours. Ayato is surprised at first but when he notices that your eyes are closed, lips so dedicatedly working against his he returns the favor. You think his instincts are becoming dilute. You slip your tongue trying to dull his senses more so that you can break free from his hold but all you feel is the cold grab of his gloved hand on your breasts over the cloth. Your body curls instantly under his touch making you snatch your mouth away.

“C’mon, it is our one-month anniversary. Let’s celebrate.” He mutters reading into your thoughts and then, pulling his glove by holding it in between his teeth exposing his ivory white skin. When he inclines for a kiss you turn away your head. Your breaths become erratic, heavy, and irregular. He can help you with that but you are being so stubborn. There is a pregnant pause before he bends you over the desk, and towers above you to murmur into your ears. “Fine. Have it your way.”

Ayato stands spreading his legs further against your lower body making you immobile. Still, you manage to turn and face him. You notice him holding a candle in one hand. You could sense what was going on in his mind but before your body could follow the directions of your mind he grabbed your hands, locked them by slipping his fingers into yours and pinning them over your head. He lets a drop of wax fall onto your body. It is good that your robe is still on you. But it does not hurt much, there is a pleasure rapidly following the stinging pain making you greedy for another shot.

“That is no good. You are enjoying it.” He growls and pulls your robe down letting a train of wax fall on your skin. You try to scream, thinking about the amount of pain you will get but Ayato’s lips block you from doing so. Tears rolling from the corner of your eyes yet you do not want to let go of his lips. He is kissing so fervently, hungrily. You did not think your husband was capable of such passion.

Ayato breaks the kiss. The resistive forces in your body have died now. He does not even have to tell you to stay still. He bends the candle to let the wax fall on your skin again holding your garment above your boobs. “Now, my dear wife. Who are you trying to provoke by not wearing anything under? Is it me?” He drawls dramatically letting the wax fall in a trail over your boob writing the letters of his initials. You do not scream, neither protest but rather moan in pleasure. The pleasure is addictive, like the cool Breeze after a storm.

Keeping the candle in its place he pulls you up embracing. A certain while you feel the hot wax on your back again and you bite onto the column of his neck. The more he pours, the stronger your sucks and bites become. Once the candle reduces to half he stops and watching your body so bruised and red makes him mourn but the look on your face turns the table.

“Ayato. Ayato, please. I need you.” you start. Intoxication is still in effect numbing your senses. “I need you inside me, please, I miss you.” you moan and whimper in his arms. Ayato hears a knock. He knows it is Thoma. Must have heard your voices. Slipping his coat over you he takes you into his arms. 

“Lord Ayato—” he gasps, opening the door. Ayato adjusts you in his arms and you curl into his chest. 

He instructs, “Thoma. We are going to have dinner later.” and walks towards the washroom. Thoma asks if he should prepare a bath but Ayato just tells him he needs some ice.

Ayato places you beside the sink, on the slab. He starts undressing himself thinking how he will be inside you for the first time, fuck you witless. The way you are drunk so much, he thinks, you will barely resist or feel the pain, only the pleasure. 

Thoma kept a box of ice outside the door already, Ayato picks them up and he walks towards you naked, with ice in his hands, and rubs them over your back.  With such cold hands, he pulls apart your legs to make himself comfortable in between your legs. His cock is hard and awake. You touch his member, making him moan against your ear. He keeps rubbing your back with those ice cubes as you work up his cock to take him in.

“Eager. Aren’t we?” Ayato says against your ears as you place your hands around him. “You have no idea what you are asking for my wife.”

You buck your hips and push him to feel him inside you. The tip of his cock grazes your entrance. You murmur, “Oh, try me. I'm actually hard to impress.” and feel him push his cock all at once, feeling his base against your inner thighs. You scratch onto his back feeling the momentarily alive pain followed by a great wave of pleasure.

“I’m warning you. I’m going to hurt you if I fuck you.” Ayato rasps.

And you mutter over his lips in erratic breaths. “Oh— you mean — sharing the pain, — my dear husband?” 

“Ummm—hmmm” Ayato coos, kissing your lips. The night is going to be long and memorable.

[starlit-mansion]

I've decided that i want to disrupt the strightsized/midsized thriftblogger industrial complex for my fellow actually fat people. I havent been as small as a size 18 since senior year of highschool and my waistline is sitting comfortably at around 50 inches these days and i thrift but it's frequently humiliating. Here are my tips.

one: there isn't nothing. It might be slim pickings. It might be a single rack in a 2 story shop. It might be only 2 pairs of pants in the whole place. But you've been on the street and in the grocery store. You know there are other people your size in the world and their stuff ends up a thrift store too.

two: avoid trendy areas like the plague. do you live in a smaller town? do you have reason to go to one? go to a thrift store there. if you know there are more people your size in an area, then that's a good sign for your chances. you aren't looking for designer pieces at a steal; you are looking for some gently used lane bryant and this is where it lives.

three: it isnt all or nothing. you can get some things thrifted and some things you're probably going to have to buy at a plus sized store. Getting a few nice blouses for cheap can free up your budget for a pair of new pants from a plus sized retailer. For instance, I really cant thrift a pair of shoes for shit because i have extra wide feet and cankles for days, but my partner who is a similar weight has regular sized feet and could thrift shoes easily, and that's a lot of money that could be saved there.

four: if it only almost fits, put it back. if you're anything like me, the fact that you can button or zip it is going to feel like a miracle, but if it hurts or digs in any way, it'll sit in your closet for weeks while the things that don't hurt get worn many times in a row. we don't always have the luxury of everything in our wardrobes sparking joy but it can at least not spark pain.

five: be honest. if you aren't going to fix it or take it out, don't waste your money on a project piece that's going to sit around for the next 2 years and go back to the thrift store from whence it came.

five point five: be a little adventurous though. especially with shirts and dresses. maybe you've never tried that color before but it looks good in the store. this is a low stakes way to expand your style. you can always get rid of it if you decide against it, either within a return window, or donating it back. If your thrift store gives coupons for donating, taking a small grocery bag with a few pieces will get you the same discount as a car full of old furniture, so donate small amounts and often.

six: if you're thrifting online, thrift the brand you trust. like i hinted above, i trust lane bryant. i also trust torrid because i'm tall and torrid is for me and the transfems. search on shopgoodwill or depop or whatever by the brand you know the sizing of. hell, you can also seach the box store brand like time and tru or ava viv on there if you miss that one piece from a year or two ago that was cute and fit you perfectly. Speaking of...

seven: goodwill gets target overstock. you can find new overstock stuff from last season on the racks. i've seen many a thing go from clearance at my local target to on the shelves at the goodwill. keep it in mind if you're broke but used clothes yuck you out. you can find new with tag stuff in plus sizes, either from stores directly or people who just aren't fussed about money.

eight: you have to go a lot to find stuff. that's how the bloggers do it; they made it their side hustle in some way. i don't suggest doing it if you have no interest in it, but if you can put aside a half hour once a week or twice a month to check while you're running your errands, you can start finding stuff. Keep your trips and your budget small, and start looking for stuff for the next season months ahead of time to keep the pressure down.

nine: save a treat. either literally go for a treat afterward for being a big brave bestie and confronting the fact that you have a corporeal form and it needs clothes, or look through the fun thing that relaxes you. Looking for silly mugs? trying to find fine leather purses? want to look at ugly figurines and take pictures of them to text your friend and say "it's you'? Do that. Every time you go to the thrift store, add in the fun thing. If looking for work clothes can't motivate you, maybe looking through the children's paperbacks to try to rebuild your collection of animorphs books that you got rid of in 2005 will.

lastly: cut out the middle man. if you have a friend or relative of similar size to you: TRADE the pieces you're pruning from your wardrobe with each other before you donate them. It will give you the spark of newness that you both are looking for. Also you can reference the "those shoes... look familiar..." vine when you see them wearing something you gave them.

tl;dr: thrift often and in small doses, make it fun for yourself if you can, and also i just heard a tip where if you want to check a waistband size without trying it on, have the waistband fully closed and hold it to your hip. if the ends of the waistband reach your spine and bellybutton, it'll probably fit. So that's pretty handy.

[bi-bard]

You Got All My Love - Duke Crocker Imagine (Haven)

Title: You Got All My Love

Pairing: Duke Crocker X Reader

Based On: All My Love

Word Count: 1,228 words

Warning(s): troubles, anxiety

Summary: Duke never expected to grow as close to someone as he was with (Y/n). The two of them were partners-in-crime, described as trouble by most people around them. Not that either of them had the energy to care. A story in three parts.

Author's Note: Shit. When was the last time I wrote about Duke?

STICK SEASON - NOAH KAHAN WRITING CHALLENGE MASTERLIST

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Part One: The Troubles

I was eight at the time.

Eight.

What was meant to be a wonderful part of my childhood was anything but.

I was part of the 1983 plague of troubles.

My first memory of that phase of my life was at school. There were these kids who had decided that following me around and taunting me was the most exciting part of their day.

I did everything I could. I ignored them, I avoided them, I told the teachers. Nothing ever worked. Everyone was willing to look the other way for some reason. I had long since accepted that I would never find an answer that made me happy.

One day, I was just so angry and overwhelmed.

I couldn't fight, so I tried to run from them. I hit some patch of grass nearby and found myself on the ground. I curled in on myself, preparing for the worst.

Nothing happened.

It took a minute for me to lift my head.

My classmates were all around me. All of their eyes were wide, and they all were surrounding this perimeter around me.

I looked down at the grass. It was all dried. Dead. In a perfect circle around me.

I looked out at the group for help or answers. Anything really.

Even my teacher didn't help me. She just shooed the kids away and maintained a distance from me, telling me to stay exactly where I was.

I felt like I was there forever.

And then, one of the kids got out of the crowd. He ignored our teacher yelling for him to come back.

He stopped in front of me and held out his hand. I didn't move. I was scared that something would happen if I did.

He accepted that.

He sat down next to me on the grass and refused to move. He smiled as he introduced himself as Duke. I was trying to wipe away my tears as I told him my name.

Duke sat next to me while everyone else was staring at me and the teacher was calling my parents. He walked with me when my parents showed up and collected my stuff for me.

I remember my dad smiling at him, thanking him.

I remember waving at Duke as I left.

I was too young to think of what the future was going to hold for Duke and me.

Part Two: Partners in Crime

I wish I could say that I was confused when I heard something bounce off my window.

In all honesty, I would've been more worried if I didn't hear anything against the window.

I pulled open my blinds and smiled down at Duke, who waved up at me. I waved back before pulling on my shoes and jacket before climbing out to meet him.

We were stupid teenagers. This was what we were meant to do.

After that day in the playground, Duke and I became inseparable. Most people came to associate us with each other. Where one went, the other was probably following.

"Hey," Duke said just as I jumped forward to hug him. "Alright, knock me over, it's fine."

"Don't be a dick," I scoffed as I stepped back. "What's the plan tonight?"

"No idea," he shrugged before holding out a hand. "Come on."

I grinned, grabbing his hand and letting him drag me along with him.

I would've given anything to always feel the way I did around Duke. Safe and comfortable. I was able to completely be myself without any risk of judgment or fear of rejection.

That night, we ended up at the end of the dock. Both of us were lying on our backs, mumbling back and forth to each other about anything we could think of. We may have been lying on our backs, but we were looking at each other.

I was in the middle of rambling about something that had happened at school that day.

I was confused when Duke sat up suddenly. "You alright?"

"Yeah," he muttered, not looking at me. "My back just hurts."

"Getting old on me, Crocker?"

"Shut up," he chuckled.

I pushed myself up as I grinned at him.

He looked over at me again. I just smiled a bit wider, silently inviting him to talk.

I couldn't pinpoint the exact moment that something had changed. I just knew that it had. Something in his eyes looked different. Or the air around us had distinctly shifted. I wasn't sure of the source; I was just aware of it.

When Duke pressed his lips to mine, I froze.

I had wanted this to happen, yeah, but I never expected that it actually would. I thought the feelings had been completely one-sided. That he would never see me in exactly the same way that I saw him. But as I sat here, slowly kissing him back, I realized that I may have simply been blind.

He pulled back first, grinning softly at me. "I like you. A lot."

I smiled back. "I like you too, Duke. I have for a long time now."

"Are you telling me I wasted years waiting for the right moment?"

I chuckled at him. "It's okay. I wasted time too."

He tried to play it cool. Smirking and looking out at the water again.

I didn't miss the signs that he was very clearly not as cool as he seemed. His leg was shaking a bit and he kept popping his knuckles. Not to mention that he wouldn't look at me.

I bit back a smirked as I reached over and took his hand in mine before lying my head on his shoulder.

We spent most of the night like that. In silence.

And I wouldn't have changed a second of it.

Part Three: Checkpoints

I always knew that I would find my way back to Haven.

It was all a matter of time.

I'd like to think that Duke knew that too. That's why he wasn't angry when he saw me. He just pulled me into a hug like not a day had passed since we had last seen each other.

We spent days together when I got back.

Like nothing had happened.

It was nice. I had missed it.

We were up late one night. We were sitting on my little couch in the little place I was renting in town. Not many options in a place like Haven, but I made do.

"Can I ask you something," Duke spoke up during a dip in the conversation.

"Sure," I nodded. "What's up?"

"Where... Where are we," he asked. I tilted my head. "We were a couple when you left. We never really had a break-up... we seem to be okay now."

"I... I hadn't really thought about it," I shrugged. "I assumed you didn't want to go down that road after so long."

He shook his head. "I was trying to respect you. But I... I still have feelings for you, (Y/n). Couldn't quite shake them."

I smiled at him. There was a moment before I could speak up, "I couldn't either."

There was a pause.

"Well," he said, "would you like to go to dinner sometime?"

"An official date?"

"I've matured."

I laughed quietly. "I'd like that."

"Good," he nodded. "Good."

I reached over and grabbed his hand.

Yeah, this was good.

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[itsclydebitches]

Hi! You mentioned being a fan of Sherlock Holmes. I've been slowly making my way through the whole canon and I'm just over halfway done with Hound of the Baskervilles! You mentioned someone called James Lovegrove in your tags, does he write SH books? How are they in comparison to Doyle?

Wooo new Sherlock Holmes reader! 🎉 I hope you enjoy Hound of the Beaskervilles—it's a fan favorite for a reason :D

I first read the canon ages ago and since then I've read a lot of pastiches. Lovegrove is, hands down, one of my favorite SH authors next to Doyle himself. With Hound as the exception, I'm of the opinion that Sherlock Holmes works best in a short-story format. It's rare that a novel-length work, canonical or otherwise, doesn't feel like it's dragging on, or has the mystery become needlessly convoluted in an effort to reach the appropriate wordcount. Lovegrove is one of the very few authors I've come across who avoids both pitfalls while also maintaining a style similar to Doyle's, while also crafting mysteries that strike that balance between feeling solvable and making use of Holmes' unique talents, while also putting a strong emphasis on the complex-yet-tender relationship between Holmes and Watson. Nothing will make me drop a SH pastiche faster than seeing that Watson has been replaced by an OC, or I find that he's written to be an idiot, or Holmes really is an "unfeeling machine." Lovegrove writes their dynamic splendidly—which for me is more important than even the mystery itself—and he's got a real knack for crafting a variety of interactions between them. True, much of SH's appeal stems from the formulaic nature of the stories, but it's also nice to take the duo to a new environment, give them new topics to debate, get them into new shenanigans. When I read his works I feel like I'm discovering new things about the characters that would fit right into Doyle's world, rather than simply re-trodding the same events and personality traits Doyle established.

So far, Lovegrove has written three 'standard' SH novels: The Three Winter Terrors (three interconnected mysteries), The Christmas Demon (perfect for the holiday season!), and The Beast of the Stapletons (a direct sequel to Hound). His other SH series, including some short stories, are steampunk and cosmic horror respectively... two genres I usually avoid like the plague when it comes to SH. I'm a purist, frankly. Holmes should stay in his realistic London and any supposedly supernatural creatures he battles should be revealed as clever displays of trickery by the end of the story, so originally I had no interest in either series, despite them totally eight more books. HOWEVER, I just bought Shadwell Shadows, the first in his Cthulhu casebook series, which should tell you something about his writing. This author is getting me to break my purist streak soon—with excitement!—which really says something about how much I enjoy his characterization and structure. If anyone can get me to like a cosmic horror Sherlock Holmes or, the far bigger trial, steampunk at all... it's probably Lovegrove.

So yeah, I definitely recommend giving him a shot if you're looking for more SH to read! Luckily for us, there's thousands of pastiches out there with more coming out each year; a huge variety for whatever kind of SH story interests you most. It's always 1895 :)

[dchan87]

A team doesn’t lose 117 games and counting because of just one thing. In the case of the 2024 Chicago White Sox a meddling owner, dubious leadership, injuries and an inability to properly value and integrate analytics only begin to tell the story. The White Sox would need to win seven of their last nine games to avoid tying the 1962 Mets’ 120 losses for the worst record in modern baseball history. They are the first team since 1900 to have three separate losing streaks of 12 or more games. Opponents have outscored them by more than 300 runs. Few expected the South Siders, who lost 101 games last year, to contend. But no one predicted this level of incompetence.

*Shouts from the rooftops*: SELL THE FUCKING TEAM, JERRY!

And yet for all the factors that led to this season’s disaster, when players and traveling staff try to encapsulate how things reached such a sorry state, again and again they bring up one thing: the plane.

The White Sox charter an Airbus320, a plane first manufactured in the 1980s. It features only eight first-class seats; the rest is coach. A majority of MLB teams charter bigger 757s, with ample first-class seating for the players and the coaching staff. Even well-known frugal franchises such as the Tampa Bay Rays, Colorado Rockies and Miami Marlins charter nicer planes. But not the White Sox.

When a player new to Chicago first stepped onboard this season, he said loudly: “C’mon, man, no show plane?” A chorus of players burst into laughter. Last year, a tweet comparing the planes used by MLB teams caused a stir when it was shared among White Sox players while they were onboard.

A team plane doesn’t make errors or poor baseball decisions. But the White Sox’s decision to use a smaller, older plane reflects how they operate. The difference between the White Sox and other clubs is so stark, players who leave Chicago for other teams celebrate their freedom by texting each other “This is the big leagues.”

“They don’t do the little or the big things right,” said a recently departed veteran.

The Athletic spoke to nearly 40 current and former White Sox employees and others in baseball about the larger issues plaguing the dysfunctional franchise, which is run according to the whims of owner Jerry Reinsdorf. The 88-year-old Reinsdorf led a group of investors who bought the team for $19 million in 1981. (He also owns the Chicago Bulls.) They won the World Series in 2005, but have made only three playoff appearances since, losing all three series.

Many of those who spoke to The Athletic, some of whom requested anonymity to speak candidly about Reinsdorf and the state of the franchise, said that the owner’s views on the game have calcified. That while at times Reinsdorf has carried a big major-league payroll, he has refused to invest in the cutting-edge amenities and infrastructure needed to succeed.

Some of Chicago’s wounds were self-inflicted and immediate, such as hiring Tony La Russa to manage. Others festered for years, such as the team’s reluctance to adapt to analytics, and a leadership structure that led to division. All can be traced back to Reinsdorf, who last season ignored pleas by others in the organization to interview outside general manager candidates and promoted internally instead. Reinsdorf even let popular broadcaster Jason Benetti leave because he didn’t like his style.

“You got a baseball fan owner who thinks he knows everything, and maybe he did in 1992,” said a former employee, “but the amount of info has skyrocketed in the last 30 years and he’s put his middle finger up at that.”

“As long as Jerry’s philosophy is the overarching one,” another former employee added, “they won’t ever succeed.”

In a recent season, while addressing new employees, Reinsdorf was asked which matters more: the Bulls or White Sox winning? Rather than answer diplomatically, Reinsdorf, without hesitation, said the White Sox.

A baseball-obsessed Brooklyn native, he fills his office with autographs and sports memorabilia and loves chatting with scouts, talking about the game and its history. Reinsdorf will proudly tell you he went to Jackie Robinson’s first game in a Dodgers uniform, and he values his friendships with Hall of Famers such as La Russa, Dennis Eckersley and George Brett.

But Reinsdorf’s affection for baseball is also an affection for how the game used to be played. Sources describe him as stubborn and generally unwilling to adapt to an era where his preferred style of play — “get ’em over and get ’em in”— is no longer the sole recipe for success.

“I’m not sure if any owner loves baseball as much as Jerry,” said another former employee. “That’s why he can’t get out of his own way.”

Though he rarely appears on television during broadcasts, Reinsdorf frequently watches games from his suite at Guaranteed Rate Field, which has a door connecting to the baseball operations department.

His influence on the team is everywhere. It’s not unusual for Reinsdorf to text broadcasters in-game about what they’re saying, to attend offseason and spring training meetings (he lives in Arizona) or to solicit advice from his cabinet of handpicked advisors. Last offseason, Reinsdorf let Benetti out of his contract to go to another AL Central team, the Detroit Tigers. Reinsdorf didn’t like Benetti’s personality; he featured analytics, made jokes and wasn’t always effusive toward a losing White Sox team. (Benetti declined to comment, though he made references to feeling disrespected on a podcast with The Athletic.)

“He’s hands-on in every part of the organization,” said former White Sox player and team vice president Kenny Williams of Reinsdorf.

Williams played for the team from 1986-88, then rejoined the franchise in 1992 as a scout. He rose to GM in 2000 and oversaw the construction of the 2005 team, becoming the second Black general manager to win a World Series — the team’s first since 1917 — and cementing his place in Chicago sports lore.

Williams refers to Reinsdorf as a second father and bristles at suggestions that the owner – who Forbes estimates is worth $2.1 billion – only cares about profits.

“He just wanted to break even,” Williams said of Reinsdorf, who reportedly is willing to help finance a new proposed ballpark in the more desirable South Loop location. “I always thought over the years it was a little unfair when people would say, ‘All he cares about is making money.’ I’m sitting in the office and he’s saying, ‘I’m going to give you what I got.’”

The White Sox are run like a family business. Many employees have personal relationships with Reinsdorf, and the team’s job security is arguably the best in baseball. But Reinsdorf can be loyal to a fault.

“They have people there with no business being in Major League Baseball,” said an executive with another team.

The 2005 World Series win was the franchise’s crowning achievement under Reinsdorf, but it also gave the organization a false sense of confidence that kept it from evolving. Reinsdorf and a certain faction of the organization felt no pressure to adapt. The personnel was so insular that multiple former employees described it as a time warp.

One of the Sox’s most glaring failures has been the team’s limited embrace of analytics. Reinsdorf, sources say, would make comments in meetings such as: “You guys know I’m not an analytics person. I’m not big into this.” He questioned at least one White Sox player about whether it was possible to have too much information.

The team didn’t shun the movement entirely. The White Sox were one of the first teams to invest in a spring training pitching lab, purchased iPitch machines for approximately $15,000 each to help train hitters and hired the analytically savvy Ethan Katz as pitching coach in 2020.

“Did we have a large analytics department when I was there? No, we didn’t,” said Williams. “We didn’t have those kind of resources to allocate towards that. But did we (make investments)? Absolutely, and with total support of ownership on that. As long as we proved, or at least made the case, that it could be beneficial for the on-field product.”

But the White Sox’s investment only went so far. To reduce overhead, the team outsourced some number crunching to Zelus Analytics, a private outside firm.

“(They) are good if you have nothing,” one rival executive said. “But the whole point of analytics is to have your own customized models for your players to gain an edge. You don’t get that from an external firm.”

Nor do teams advance when their decision makers are split on data’s value. General manager Chris Getz, like his predecessor, Rick Hahn, advocates for the White Sox to make greater use of analytics. But, like Hahn, Getz never worked for an organization at the forefront of the movement, such as the Houston Astros, Tampa Bay Rays or Los Angeles Dodgers.

Even when they tried to use analytics, the White Sox weren’t sure how. For years, they used two sets of adjusted Trackman data: One, like most teams, they received from a third party, and another was developed by their own analytics people. Sometimes the two sets of data would be dramatically different, making it difficult to evaluate players and write reports. In 2019, a debate about using spin rate versus adjusted spin rate caused internal strife.

“It was comical,” said a former baseball operations employee of different departments using different sets of data. “No one knew what was what.”

In 2024, the White Sox are still untangling the lines of data communication. Several former members of this year’s team pointed to defensive positioning as an area of concern. The White Sox rank near or at the bottom of publicly available defensive metrics, in part, former players say, because their fielders often are in the wrong spots.

“That’s a huge area I felt could be better,” said outfielder Tommy Pham, who signed with the White Sox as a free agent in April and was traded in July. “They know it.”

Former pitchers describe Chicago’s game planning as almost rudimentary. Rather than provide individual plans for each hitter, the White Sox offer generalities such as, “Your sinker will play down in the zone” — an insufficient answer against, say, a lineup full of left-handed hitters who handle sinkers in that area. Minor league pitchers with high walk totals were told things like “work on your command,” with no other specifics, in the offseason.

Hitters expressed similar concerns. “They had information,” one former position player said. “But you didn’t get an explanation or a plan.”

Reinsdorf told The Athletic via email: “Analytics are a very important part of the game, a useful tool that compliments but will never completely replace human judgment.”

Before the 2013 season, Reinsdorf promoted Williams to executive vice president, with Hahn — Williams’ longtime right-hand man — becoming general manager. Hahn was seen as a rising star, a Harvard Law School and Northwestern business school graduate who was part of a new wave in front offices. He planned to modernize the organization, in part by better incorporating analytics.

The White Sox finished no better than 17 games out of first place in the first three seasons under Hahn, and announced a shift in philosophy midway through 2016. The club was “mired in mediocrity,” Hahn said, and in need of a rebuild.

But Hahn and Williams had different views on how organizations should be run, and over time, that dynamic impacted the operation of the team, sources say.

“I was known as and called ‘a baseball guy,’” Williams said. “It was like it was an insult, that I could go in and see a guy work out for a day and tell you he was going to be an All-Star.”

Hahn, facing opposition from the old guard, struggled to bring changes to the team’s usage of analytics and technology. He often pushed back against the perception he wasn’t calling the shots, but effectively had to please multiple power brokers, including Williams, Reinsdorf and, later, La Russa.

Hahn declined to comment for this story. Williams said of their dynamic: “We had a great relationship. During the good times, it was better. During the bad times, there was only one other person it seemed like we could laugh with, and that was each other.”

Williams became less of a day-to-day presence as the team rebuilt, sources say, a point Williams disputes. But in a meeting before the 2020 season, as the White Sox were starting to rebound, Williams announced it was time for the team to turn the corner and that he’d be taking a more active role.

“It was like the (Michael Jordan) unretirement. It caught people off guard,” said one person involved in the meeting.

“Rick Hahn was much better suited to take them forward. Kenny was a platinum employee,” said another former baseball operations employee. “He would show up and block certain trades and want to take the No. 1 pick in the draft. … There was a lot of resentment from people inside about that (dynamic).”

The divide manifested further in the polarizing lieutenants each man chose. Williams had his son, Ken Williams Jr., who eventually ascended to assistant farm director. Hahn trusted Jeremy Haber, another Harvard grad. The younger Williams butted heads with many in player development and, despite his inexperience, was quick to offer dissenting views. Haber could be bullish as he advocated for his boss’ point of view and was seen as an aggressive climber. (Both men are no longer in the organization. Williams Jr. declined to comment; Haber did not respond to interview requests.)

Still, for all their issues, the White Sox’s rebuild progressed. The team developed homegrown players such as Tim Anderson and Garrett Crochet, traded for Lucas Giolito, Yoan Moncada, Eloy Jiménez, Dylan Cease and Dane Dunning and agreed to long-term extensions, with Reinsdorf’s approval, for Jiménez, Moncada and Luis Robert Jr.

The White Sox made the playoffs in a shortened 2020 season. Hahn’s peers voted him Sporting News Executive of the Year.

And then Reinsdorf made a hire that helped unravel it all.

A.J. Hinch’s suspension from baseball for his role in the Houston Astros sign-stealing scandal ended the minute the 2020 season came to a close. Almost immediately, he was courted by Al Avila, then the Detroit Tigers GM, and Hahn.

On paper, the White Sox job was the better of the two. Coming off its playoff appearance in 2020, Chicago was considered much closer to the World Series than a Tigers team with back-to-back last-place finishes.

Hahn told reporters at the time the White Sox were looking for someone who has “experience with a championship organization in recent years,” which was taken as a thinly veiled reference to Hinch, who guided the Astros to two World Series appearances, including their 2017 win.

Hinch and his wife packed for interviews in both cities. Detroit came first, but Hinch was being advised by friends on places to live in Chicago, sources said. But before Hinch even made it to Chicago, Reinsdorf pulled a stunner: He hired 76-year-old La Russa, who hadn’t managed in a decade.

Thirty five years earlier, Reinsdorf had allowed then-White Sox GM Ken Harrelson to fire La Russa from his first major-league managing job, a decision he later called “the dumbest thing I ever did.”

The email the White Sox sent out to fans announcing La Russa’s hire included an image of Hinch’s signature. The blunder was later chalked up to a graphics glitch, but it was seen inside and outside the organization as further proof that Reinsdorf had passed over Hahn’s choice for his own.

La Russa’s hiring was widely criticized, particularly after it was revealed that he had been charged with driving under the influence — his second such incident — that February. The White Sox lost to the Astros in the first round of the playoffs in 2021, their first season under La Russa. And things fell apart in his second season. Injuries to several players in whom the White Sox had invested heavily were a significant factor, but La Russa made bizarre in-game decisions, acted as a one-man show rather than the head of a collaborative staff, and failed to get the most out of his players. His health also suffered. He dealt with cancer, required a procedure to repair the circuitry of his pacemaker and did not manage the team after Aug 28.

Asked about La Russa’s nearly two seasons as manager, Williams said, “I don’t yet have a way to talk about that period of time because it takes me to a bad place, and it will take me from the person I aspire to be.”

The White Sox hired Pedro Grifol to replace La Russa. Nearly 10 months later, Reinsdorf dismissed Williams and Hahn, making a rare pivot away from employees with long-standing ties to the organization, executives who had led the team to back-to-back postseason appearances for the first time in franchise history before some of their moves backfired.

Grifol was an outside hire; he came from the Royals. People within the organization advocated for Reinsdorf to go outside for his new GM as well. He ignored those appeals and instead promoted Getz, a former White Sox player, just nine days after Hahn and Williams were dismissed, without interviewing a single external candidate. The decision required the Sox to work with MLB on a backfill plan to satisfy the Selig Rule, which is aimed at diversifying front office candidates. Reinsdorf said at the time that he selected Getz because he knew the White Sox organization intimately and “we want to get better as fast as we possibly can.”

Under Getz, who spent two years with Kansas City before he rejoined Chicago as farm director in 2017, the White Sox player development system wasn’t exactly thriving. There were off-field issues as well. Former Double-A manager Omar Vizquel did not return in 2020 after a former batboy who has autism accused him of sexual harassment (the batboy in 2022 dropped claims against the White Sox and reached a confidential settlement with Vizquel). And Triple-A manager Wes Helms was placed on an indefinite leave of absence in May 2022, with no reason given for his exit.

Why not at least interview people from other organizations, even just to learn how other teams operate?

“Jerry just thinks he has the answers,” said a former staffer.

The White Sox are now on their fourth manager in five seasons (or their fifth counting Miguel Cairo, who managed while La Russa dealt with his health issues). Grifol – bilingual like La Russa, but 25 years younger – seemingly had a better chance to connect with the team’s young players. But former reliever Keynan Middleton said last season that problems under La Russa continued under Grifol, with players skipping meetings and refusing to participate in drills. Grifol this season frustrated his players on several fronts, calling them “f—ing flat” after a loss to the Baltimore Orioles on May 26, instituting mandatory pregame workouts before night games after the All-Star break and at times employing questionable strategy.

Grifol, speaking publicly for the first time since his dismissal, said the required workouts and his strategic decisions were efforts to help the team improve. Regarding the extra work, he said, “This was (on) all of us, myself included — I’m the manager. Our work ethic has to be spot on during that type of storm.”

Some players and staff sympathized with Grifol, given the team’s poor talent level and lack of quality analytics.

“What manager could have made things better?” Pham asked.

Getz replaced Grifol on Aug. 8 with interim manager Grady Sizemore, and said the White Sox would conduct a search outside the organization for a permanent replacement. He vows to get the new hire better analytical support.

“When I was hired and given the position of farm director, my goal was, let me show everyone the positive impact analytics and technology can have (in the minors),” Getz said. “We had a lot of wins along the way … My intention from the beginning was to modernize. We are going to modernize.”

Reinsdorf promoted Getz with talk of him orchestrating a rapid turnaround. But some of the new GM’s early moves puzzled rival executives.

Getz’s trade of reliever Aaron Bummer to the Atlanta Braves last November brought back five players, but the group included some to whom the Braves were unlikely to offer contracts. In the ensuing roster congestion, the White Sox waived two players who are now useful major leaguers elsewhere: Boston Red Sox infielder Romy González and Miami Marlins reliever Declan Cronin. Getz also traded Jake Cousins for cash and released Tim Hill — effectively getting nothing for two relievers now contributing for the New York Yankees.

It’s too soon to know whether Getz’s four-player return from the San Diego Padres for ace Dylan Cease was adequate, and whether he made the correct call holding pitcher Garrett Crochet at the trade deadline despite receiving attractive offers. The GM’s big move at the deadline, a three-team deal in which he parted with three in-demand players in right-hander Erick Fedde, reliever Michael Kopech and Pham, netted an unproven hitter, Miguel Vargas, and two prospects who, according to MLB.com, are not part of the White Sox’s current top 10.

Making matters worse: Because of MLB’s new anti-tanking measures, Chicago could set a new record for baseball losses and still pick 10th in next year’s draft.

“No one can project a timeline to winning,” Reinsdorf told The Athletic, “but there are many examples of organizations, some very recently like Kansas City and Baltimore, that have rebounded very quickly.”

The Royals, who averaged 100 losses over five full seasons, and Orioles, who averaged 105 over four, did not rebound that quickly. But as the White Sox talk about moving forward, they are in some ways becoming less insular.

This season the franchise added a dedicated coach at each minor-league affiliate to help with analytics. Getz, sources said, tried to push that through several years ago and met with resistance. Getz also brought in notable outsiders in Brian Bannister, Josh Barfield and Jin Wong to the front office, and a committee evaluating all facets of the organization recently presented its findings and a plan for the future to Reinsdorf.

“My experience so far is if it can be presented in a way that is educated and you use the people you have around you, it’s well-received,” Getz said. “Jerry now has a better understanding of the value of analytics. He’s very open-minded and supportive of investing further.”

La Russa remains active within the organization. His title is special advisor to the executive vice president. He travels with the team. It’s not uncommon for him to lend his thoughts to the manager or hitting coach, or to find him in the cage, offering advice and picking up baseballs. He was present when the committee evaluating the organization presented to Reinsdorf.

“I’m not a decision maker,” La Russa said of his involvement. “Chris Getz is our leader with quality support all over. I’m asked to contribute my experiences about how a team plays together.”

Reinsdorf has told people La Russa is the smartest baseball person he knows. He told The Athletic that La Russa’s role involves using his “expertise, experience and excellence” as a strategic resource for the team’s manager. He added: “We would be foolish to not take advantage of his Hall of Fame accomplishments in this game.”

Reinsdorf still watches games. But this year, a year Reinsdorf didn’t want to waste, has turned into a 162-game nightmare. Some of his focus has shifted to his quest for a new ballpark, which would increase the value of the franchise. The White Sox tried to generate excitement for the project this week by leading a boat tour for investors to the site along the Chicago River.

Reinsdorf has said he would advise his family to keep the Bulls and sell the White Sox upon his death.

“Friends of mine have (asked), ‘Why don’t you sell? Why don’t you get out?’” Reinsdorf said last year. “My answer always has been, ‘‘I like what I’m doing, as bad as it is, and what else would I do? I’m a boring guy. … And I want to make it better before I go.”

For now, as his franchise craters, Reinsdorf continues to conduct business in his preferred style, operating out of his suite, surrounded by old friends and memorabilia.

“The rumor was always we will never figure it out until ownership changes,” one former player said. “That the real thing holding it back isn’t the people and player development; it’s the owner.”

(Top image: Meech Robinson / The Athletic; Photos: David Banks / Getty Images; Nuccio DiNuzzo / Getty Images;  Griffin Quinn / MLB Photos via Getty Images)

[dargeereads]

She’s not looking for love but he knows she’s the girl of his dreams.

Brodie, an Until Her novella from New York Times bestselling author Aurora Rose Reynolds & 1001 Dark Nights is now live!

More book worm than Barbie, Reese Shepard is completely caught off guard when the most beautiful man she has ever seen in her life steps in and pretends to be her boyfriend when some creep won’t leave her alone.

She assumes that it’s the last time that she’ll see the chivalrous stranger, but soon he is everywhere she is. And before she knows what’s happening, the two of them are spending all their free time together bonding over their love of the ocean, scary movies, and homemade cookies.

Reese knows that a guy like Brodie Larsen could have any woman he wants and that becomes even more apparent when she finds out that he’s a pro hockey player that’s worth millions of dollars. So to save herself the potential heartbreak she places him firmly in the friend zone.

If only he’d stay there.

The infuriating man starts pushing for more, lots more, and the worst part is she wants to give it all to him including her heart.

Grab your copy today, exclusively on Amazon! Amazon: https://amzn.to/3E40SNG Amazon Worldwide: https://mybook.to/Brodie Amazon Print: https://amzn.to/4dIwUPY

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Keep reading for a look inside Brodie!

Do you really like baking, or is that something you made up so women would find you endearing?” “No, I enjoy it. It’s relaxing.” He picks up his burger and meets my gaze. “You really like fishing?” “I love it, or rather, I love ice fishing. My—” I cut myself off. “Your?” “When I was growing up, I would go with my best friend’s dad and him almost every weekend in the winter. There is something magical about being in that little hut, waiting for a fish we would cook right there after pulling it out of the water.” I shrug. “I haven’t gone in a long time, but that is one of my favorite memories from when I was a kid.” “Have you ever gone deep-sea fishing?” “No, have you?” “I go whenever I get the chance.” His gaze wanders over my face. “What are you doing tomorrow?” “Nothing. I have the day off.” “Do you want to go out fishing with me?” “Are you serious?” “I never joke about fishing.” “Then, yeah. That sounds like fun.” “All right.” He sets his burger down and takes his cell phone out of his pocket. I watch him type something, and then he sets it aside and resumes eating until it dings a moment later. After he picks it up and checks the screen, his eyes meet mine. “Does eight work for you?” “Sure.” I dunk one of my fries into some ketchup. Dropping his gaze, he quickly texts something back before lifting his burger once more. “We’ll meet the charter company I use in the morning, and they’ll take us out.” “It must be nice to be rich and famous,” I joke, then cringe because it’s obvious that who he is is a sensitive topic for him. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” “Don’t be.” He shrugs. “I deal with that kind of shit from my family all the time.” “They give you a hard time about it?” “Constantly.” He smiles. “My brother is the worst.” “So, when you say you play pro hockey, I’m guessing that means you’re pretty good.” “I don’t suck.” His smile is tinged with a bit of cockiness. “I don’t know much about hockey. How long have you been playing?” “Since I was a kid. My dad bought me my first pair of skates when I was four. I joined my first team when I was seven and have been playing ever since. You’ll have to come to a game when the season starts up.” “I’m not really a fan of sporting events.” I hated watching Kirk play football, so I avoided his games like the plague, which probably made me a pretty crappy girlfriend. I just didn’t enjoy the violent aspects of the sport and would sit there the whole time with a pit in my stomach, knowing that one wrong hit could cause irrevocable damage. And knowing what little I do about hockey, I imagine it would be the same thing. “What sports do you like?” “None.” I tip my head to the side. “That’s a lie. That sport they play in the Olympics, where they sweep that black ball thing with brooms down the ice, is pretty cool.” “Curling is not a sport.” “It’s in the Olympics, so I’d guess they’d disagree with you on that topic.” I listen to him laugh, the deep sound just as attractive as he is, especially when his eyes crinkle at the corners. The dimple in his left cheek, which I didn’t notice before, shows ever so slightly. Ignoring the flutter in my lower belly, I focus on eating and just enjoying his company. Being friends is safe, but there is no way I’ll entertain more than that with an apparently famous hockey player who has women throwing themselves at him.

For more information about Aurora Rose Reynolds, visit: https://aurorarosereynolds.com/

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    **Every 1001 Dark Nights novella is a standalone story. For new readers, it’s an introduction to an author’s world. And for fans, it’s a bonus book in the author’s series. We hope you'll enjoy each one as much as we do.**

[ladyartemesia]

All I Want For Christmas is You

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Female Reader

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

Genre: Comedy • Fluff  • Smut

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

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

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

Rating: Explicit (18+)

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

Acknowledgements:

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

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

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

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

Please Picture This Taehyung:

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Yes. Because you absolutely owe me.”

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

Jimin raised a single unimpressed brow. 

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

The man in question shifted uncomfortably.

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

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

Taehyung’s jaw dropped. 

“You RECORDED IT?!”

Jimin grinned, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

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

“He did WHAT?!”

Your mother winced. 

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

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

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

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

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

“This is about Milo… isn’t it?”

The silence that greeted your statement was confirmation enough. 

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

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

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

You would play along with their humiliating schemes. 

For now.

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

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

“Kim Taehyung.”

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

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

The man in question could barely restrain his grin. 

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

“I could pay you more.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook bit the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. 

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

“Seen? Maybe three—four years.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A woman. 

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

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

Because the sight of you could make a man desperate. 

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

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

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

And just like that the brat was back. 

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

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

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

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

“Of course not,” he chuckled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Harkins?”

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

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

“Okay... What about Kang?” 

“He was verbally abusing one of the waitstaff.” 

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

“She was about to grab your ass.”

Taehyung’s mouth dropped open.

“She’s eighty-five!”

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

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

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

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

“Is nothing sacred?” he mused hollowly. 

You shrugged. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taehyung crossed his arms smugly. 

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

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

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

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

He just barely caught the hitch in your breath before- 

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

“Jealous?” Taehyung drawled cockily. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It would be my pleasure.”

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

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

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

Jungkook picked up on the second ring. 

“Sir?”

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

“You want me to what?!” 

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

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

1 New Message from: Jungkook

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

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

You picked up on the fourth ring. 

“Hello?”

“Where are you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you alone?”

You snorted. 

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

Taehyung saw red. 

“I’m coming over.”

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

“Wha- No! I’m trying to go to bed!”

“With who?!”

“With myself, you idiot!”

“Prove it!”

“Fine! I will!”

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

1 New Message from: Park Gremlin 

He almost choked on his tongue. 

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

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

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

You were exquisite. 

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

Desire. 

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

1 New Message from: Kim Grinch 

I didn’t know you liked Van Gogh. 

Your head tilted in confusion. 

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

Oh NO.

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

… You just sent Kim Taehyung a topless mirror selfie. 

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

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

Taehyung groaned from underneath his covers. 

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

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

“Is that the bad news?” Taehyung yawned. 

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

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

PARK ANGEL TRADES ONE CORPORATE HEIR FOR ANOTHER AT MIN GALA

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

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

“The Park Angel?” 

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

“Can’t imagine why,” Taehyung mumbled. 

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

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

“This is a flaming disaster.”

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

“Which one was that?!” 

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

Tae ran his hand down over his face in exasperation. 

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

“She has. Twice.”

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Something wrong, Mr. Kim?”

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

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

He peeked again.

I would pay a million dollars to suck those tits. 

“Nothing at all,” his voice cracked. 

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

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

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

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

Taehyung was laughing. 

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

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

Something that felt an awful lot like longing. 

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

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

Almost. 

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

Disaster struck at dinner. 

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

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

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

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

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

“I-I need—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why won’t this—”

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

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

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

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

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

He blinked. Twice. 

“I’m sorry—What did you just—”

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

He gulped. 

His eyes dropped to the matter at hand.

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

Taehyung wet his lips reflexively. 

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

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

You were so warm.

So soft...

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

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

“Hold on to me.”  

You nodded and wordlessly slid your arms around his waist.

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

You could almost pretend that it meant nothing. 

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

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

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

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

You drew in a final steadying breath. 

“Do it.”

He nodded. 

“One… Two… Three—”

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

Your breasts bounced almost entirely out of the corset. 

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

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

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

“... Is… everything alright here?”

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

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

He gulped again. 

“I can explain.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just like you.

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

Lies.

… and pitifully transparent ones at that. 

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

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

1 New Message from: Park Gremlin 

I made it home safely. 

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

To: Park Gremlin

I require proof… like last time. 

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

You’re playing with fire, Kim Taehyung. 

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

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

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

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

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

same mirror.

Yet this time, the reflection was quite different. 

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

He wanted to rip them off with his teeth. 

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

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

1 New Message from: Kim Grinch

Green is my favorite color. 

“WHERE IS HE—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

PARK ANGEL TOPS KIM TAEHYUNG’S CHRISTMAS TREE

He winced a bit at that last one. 

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

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

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

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

Jungkook began surreptitiously filming the whole debacle from the corner. 

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

Taehyung sighed heavily. 

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

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

“WHAT?!” 

“NO! Mother! Oh my—”

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

Taehyung waved his arms wildly in exasperation. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I never thought I’d see you here.”

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

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

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

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

“I avoided them.”

I avoided you. 

Milo nodded. 

“I—I figured.” 

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

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

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

“Excuse me.” 

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

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

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

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

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

Milo’s eyes narrowed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taehyung laughed. 

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

You grinned. 

“I’d forgotten about that.”

“Well I’m sure Tyler hasn’t.” 

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

“I wish I could forget about Milo.”

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

The words tasted like ash in his mouth. 

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

Taehyung tilted his head curiously and you found yourself continuing. 

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

you. 

You cleared your throat. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I should kill him.”

You shook your head, amused in spite of yourself. 

“That’s exactly what Jimin said.”

“He has good instincts.”

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

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

It would be so easy to care for you. 

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

You nodded. 

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

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

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

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

“... Like you?” 

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

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

“What’s going on, guys?”

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

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

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

Jimin’s eyes hardened immediately. 

“Where is he?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You look like a vampire.”

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

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

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

Still…

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

“I think I’m offended.”

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

Taehyung’s eyes narrowed. 

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

You shrugged playfully. 

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

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

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

Lord have mercy. 

“Of course not,” he coughed. 

“You’re what?!”

You rolled your eyes.

Tonight had been going rather well. 

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

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

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

“Does your brother know about this?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then it was your turn. 

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

“Ten thousand.”

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

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

“Eleven thousand.”

“Twelve thousand.”

“Fifteen.”

“Sixteen thousand dollars.”

“Seventeen thousand.”

“Eighteen.”

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

“Twenty thousand.”

“Twenty-five thousand.”

“Thirty thousand!”

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

Milo.

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

“Forty thousand.”

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

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

No. 

Milo was still bidding. 

“Fifty thousand dollars.”

Not her. 

“Sixty,” Yoongi countered.

She’s mine. 

Suddenly Taehyung was on his feet. 

“One hundred thousand dollars!” 

The silence in the backseat of your limousine was deafening. 

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

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

And hope. 

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

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

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

Yet you never dared hope for it. 

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

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

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

But he didn’t need to buy your heart. 

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

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

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

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

Taehyung’s gaze flew up in concern. 

“Is everything alright?”

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

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

“Do you want to see?” 

Taehyung’s eyes rose slowly to yours. 

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

Then he nodded...

And you both were lost. 

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

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

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

He bit back a moan. 

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

You nodded. 

“Kiss it better.”

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

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

He knew he shouldn’t—

but he could never deny you. 

“Of course.”

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

It was for you. 

He wanted you. 

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

Touch me… please. 

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

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

“Taehyung—“ you moaned. 

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

Sweet merciful heavens. 

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

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

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

“T-Tae—”

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

He was marking you. 

And you wanted it. 

Oh how you wanted it. 

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

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

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

“Speak up.”  

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

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

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

“Madame. We’ve arrived.”

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

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

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

Did we just...

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

1 New Message from: Taehyung 🙄🥴🙈

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

You grinned. 

Greedy boy. 

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

1 New Message from: Angel 🤬🥵😅

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

Taehyung growled in frustration. 

She would be a tease. 

To: Angel 🤬🥵😅

I tend to worry. Put my mind at ease. 

He shook his head. 

I have officially gone insane. 

The phone buzzed again. 

1 New Message from: Angel 🤬🥵😅

Well… We can’t have that can we… 

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

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

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

He groaned, biting down hard on his bottom lip.

To: Angel 🤬🥵😅

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

The screen lit up again almost immediately. 

1 New Message from: Angel 🤬🥵😅

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

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

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

Jungkook took a long satisfying sip of his cocoa. 

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

“I need to talk to him.”

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

“I need to talk to him now.”

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

Jimin stomped his foot like a petulant child. 

“I know he’s up there.”

Jungkook grinned. 

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

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

Jungkook took another long pull of his drink. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jimin scowled and crossed his arms. 

“Are you by any chance open to bribes?”

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

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

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

“Oh… Well.”

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

“He has to come down eventually.”

“One would think.”

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

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

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

“Sir, I’m sure it was just the maid!”

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

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

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

Jimin stopped struggling. 

“Oh?”

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

“He’s gone, sir.”

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

“However…”

“... However?”

“I had to give him your spa passes.”

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

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

Taehyung rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t pay extra for commentary.”

“It’s complimentary, sir.”

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

Why do these events always have to be so uncomfortable? 

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

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

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

Jungkook bit his lip.

“Is this about Ms. Park, sir?”

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

Both men winced. 

“I think that was your grandmother’s.”

Taehyung sighed. 

“I admit there have been… some developments.”

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

“... Such as?”

Taehyung gulped. 

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

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

Taehyung colored guiltily. 

“Well—”

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

“Absolutely not.”

Jungkook grinned. 

“That’s what I thought.”

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

“Things have… escalated a bit.”

“Escalated how?”

I licked her tit in the back of a limo.

“Physically.”

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

“That’s… shocking.”

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

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

“So what are you going to do, sir?”

Taehyung was silent for a long moment. 

“I honestly have no idea.”

Watching you walk toward him was an experience.  

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

Your dress tonight was deadly. 

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

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

Oh help. 

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

So he didn’t say anything at all. 

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

And you tolerated that for about three minutes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

She is definitely trying to kill me. 

“Should I be worried?”

Now it was your turn to grin. 

“I guess we’ll find out.”

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

But it was well worth the price of admission.

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

It was like stepping into a fairytale. 

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

You were breathtaking.  

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

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

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

Your eyes widened. 

“N-nephew?”

Taehyung shrugged. 

“I don’t really talk about it much.” 

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

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

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

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

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

The Governor just shook his head and laughed. 

“Oh kid, you’ve got it bad.”

Everywhere you looked there was beauty. 

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

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

Until she showed up. 

“Kim Taehyung! Is that you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes. Of course. This is—”

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

“His date,” you deadpanned. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taehyung pointedly removed her hand from his elbow. 

“Some other time perhaps.” 

Aubrey pouted prettily. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aubrey... Listen I—”

She cut him off with a finger to his lips.

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

He grinned. 

“Never.”

The lady sighed and gave him a heated once over.

“What a shame.”

Then she strolled off with a rueful smile. 

“You know what I don’t understand?”

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

“What don’t you understand, Mr. Min?”

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

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

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

Oh he’s good. 

You made a show of tapping your chin thoughtfully. 

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

Yoongi sighed and shook his head. 

“Couldn’t be me.”

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

Alas. 

You tilted your head speculatively. 

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

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

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

Yoongi held out his hand. 

“I’d be delighted.”

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

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

—at his private dining table with Min Yoongi. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh boy. 

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

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

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

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

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

You squeaked and nearly spat up your drink. 

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

“Are you alright?”

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

You glared. 

“Just fine, thank you.”

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

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

You nodded sharply. 

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

Yet you made no move to stop him. 

You should have. 

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

But you didn’t. 

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

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

“T-Taehyung—” 

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

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

You seriously considered stabbing him with a fork. 

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

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

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

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

Across the table, Yoongi nodded in blissful unawareness. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ms. Park, are you well?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Emotions were a funny thing. 

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

And occasionally eroded your common sense. 

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

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

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

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

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

Frustration—

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

Rage—  

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

Jealousy—

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

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

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

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

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

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

Uncertainty became clear. Complications became simple. 

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

Emotion became action.

“Mind if I cut in?”

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

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

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

Your mouth dropped open. 

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

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

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

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

Taehyung growled and yanked you flush against him. 

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

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

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

“I did!”

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

“What let? Aubrey is a grown woman!”

“But—”

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

“You didn’t come after me!”

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

“Really? Well what else did she grab?”

Taehyung abruptly realized how silent everything around you had become. 

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

Well that’s great. 

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

“What are you doing?”

“Continuing this discussion in private.”

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

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

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

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

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

You almost giggled when you got a look inside. 

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

However—

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

Reflection suite indeed. 

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

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

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

“Then why did you take us here?”

“Because you were shouting—”

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

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

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

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

He had to kiss you then. 

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

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

Finally. 

Everything was him. 

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

“Taehyung—”

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

Not that he was prepared to be polite about it. 

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

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

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

But not today. 

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

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

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

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

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

It was so so good. 

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

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

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

“Yes!” you sobbed.

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

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

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

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

“You’ve been saying that for years.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost. 

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

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

"Please—" you whispered.

"Please who?" 

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

"Please Taehyung,” you begged needily. 

He grinned. 

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

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

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

Underneath a giant mirror. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Tae—ahh oh my—I can’t—”

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

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

You shattered. 

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

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

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

Then he was kissing you again. 

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

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

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

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

You were gonna blow Kim Taehyung into space. 

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

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

“Of course,” you muttered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gasped against him and he smiled. 

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

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

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

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

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

Your mouth actually watered with anticipation. 

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

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

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

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

His praise was addictive. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You did. 

You wanted it so so bad. 

“Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then your world caught fire. 

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

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

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

The feel of him was indescribable. 

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

He was bloomin’ magnificent. 

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

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

“Yes—”

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

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

You were his. 

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

Suddenly an unexpected movement in his periphery caught his attention.

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

This guest room was thirty-five percent mirrors. 

And now… he couldn’t look away. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tae! Ah-ahh!”

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

“That’s right Angel. Take it all.”

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

And then you flew apart. 

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

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

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

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

“Yes, I want it so bad—“ you sobbed. 

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

Then he met your gaze in the mirror again. 

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

The raw vulnerability in his eyes nearly broke you.

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

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

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

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

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

“KIM TAEHYUNG!”

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

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

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

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

Then he frowned. 

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

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

“Kendra.”

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

And insanely gorgeous. 

Taehyung groaned. 

Poor Jungkookie never stood a chance. 

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

KIM HEIR BRINGS NAUGHTY ANGEL HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll kill you.”

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

“Why should I wait?!”

“Because—”

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

“The situation is just not that simple.” 

“—and you grabbed her ass in public!”

“Admittedly not my finest hour.”

“So you tell me right now—”

“But you don’t understand it’s—”

“—Why the hell would I wait?!”

“BECAUSE I’M IN LOVE WITH HER!”

For a moment there was absolute silence. 

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

“Really?”

Jimin’s mouth fell open. 

Taehyung groaned again. 

“As usual, your timing is impeccable.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring his comment.

“Are you really in love with me?”

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

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

“That’s not the same thing!”

“It is for me!”

A radiant smile lit up your face. 

“I’m in love with you too.”

Taehyung’s expression softened. 

“Angel I—”

Then you were kissing and Jimin swung around with a horrified shout.

“Oh! No no no—Come on!”

He stumbled out of the room, hands firmly clamped over his eyes. 

“This is not over, Kim Taehyung!” the scandalized young Park heir howled in exasperation… but there was a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

Back in the bedroom, Taehyung shook his head at Jimin’s ridiculous caterwauling. 

“No, it’s not over,” he laughed, pulling you deeper into the comfort of his arms. “It’s only just begun.”

Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story. 

This baby took FOR-EVER to write. I started it in November and literally worked on it a little every day. 

If you enjoyed it— even just a tiny bit—please consider taking a moment to leave me some feedback. It is so incredibly uplifting and rewarding to hear reader thoughts and reactions to my work.

I promise to treasure every word like gold. It took a lot to bring this story to life. Your kind words would mean the world to me.

[corpsedaydream]

paint wars part 2

OKAY HERE IT IS! PART TWO TO PAINT WARS

if u haven’t read part one, i’ll link it right here

word count: 3k (yikes it’s a long one)

_______________________________

paint wars part 2

Things had been rough lately.

Real fucking rough.

You missed Corpse so much. You hadn’t spoken to each other since that fight at his apartment and that was fifty-four days ago now, almost two thirds of a season you’d been without him.

“I miss you.” You spoke aloud into the emptiness of your apartment, noting that the time on your phone now said 12:01am. It was officially now day fifty-five without speaking to him.

You swiped away all your notifications on your lock screen, ignoring everything and everyone that was trying to reach you right now so you could look at the person who was ignoring you. You wanted to look at the photo that was still your wallpaper. That first photo you’d ever taken together.

You went to change it on day thirty-eight of not speaking. On night thirty-seven of not speaking you’d gone out with your friends, they’d finally convinced you after a whole month of trying and you got absolutely wasted. So of course you’d called Corpse. But he didn’t answer, not any of the fifteen times you’d called. So that next morning, when you woke up hungover and saw that same lock screen photo and not one response from him, you told yourself you were going to change it. You tried to tell yourself you were angry, but it was just a coping mechanism to ignore the hurt that had been tunnelling through your heart since being without him. You spent an hour scouring tumblr and twitter for some aesthetically pleasing lock screen, but you didn’t save a single one. Nothing could compare to that photo of you and Corpse.

You then started to wonder if he’d listened to any of the voicemails you’d left the night before. You couldn’t remember them exactly, but you knew you definitely left four of them and how badly you wanted to know if the curiosity became too much to bear and he’d listened to them.

And he had.

On night thirty-seven, while you were out drinking, Corpse was in a deep sleep. He hadn’t been sleeping a whole lot lately, so finally, he’d crashed hard that night and slept through the calls you’d made to him. But even though he wasn’t aware of the calls in his sleeping state, you were still present in his dreamland. Every adventure his brain took him on was with you, maybe it was something that kept him asleep, the fact that you were right there in this fantasy. You were talking to him again, he could see your smile, hear your laugh, reach out and grab your hand, he could kiss you again. It was happiness. But then he woke up and he went to reach out for you in his bed, still caught up in the false wonder his dreams had provided him, only to find it was just him and reality slapped him fully awake. You weren’t there with him. You hadn’t been for a number of weeks. He missed you.

On day thirty-eight, when he spotted the missed calls from you on his phone, he cursed himself for being asleep and missing it. But would he had answered had he been awake? He wasn’t sure. So instead, he heard you speak to him for the first time in so long, even if it was through a voicemail you had left in the space of him not answering your calls.

“Oh, fuck- oh my god.”

That was it. That was the first voicemail, there was a lot of background noise but he had heard you so clearly. In your drunken state, you didn’t know what to say, so that’s what you had left with him, until you called back and left another.

"Hi.” You started it simple. He had the phone clutched so tightly in his hand, the device pressed so firmly against his ear, he didn’t want to miss a word. “I- I don’know what to say.” He noticed the slight slur to your words then, you were drunk when you had called. “I’m’a just go.”

You hung up again, but alas, there was another.

“Can I just ask... are you ignoring me?” Your voice was so meek, his chest hurt at the sound of it. He almost went to say no, but this was a one sided conversation, he’d missed the opportunity. “I miss you.” You hung up again, and he had to stop himself from replaying it over and over again to hear you say that you missed him.

But there was one last voice mail.

“I should stop calling, huh?” You sighed and he could picture you with a sad pout, your eyes all droopy with a mix emotion and alcohol. “But, I just want’a talk to you.” You confessed, then he heard another voice call your name in the background before they spoke to you and he listened. “(Y/N)! Here you are, what are you doing? That guys wondering where you are, he’s fucking hot-”

Corpse hung up then, he didn’t want to hear anymore. Jealousy was surging through him as the unwanted images of you with someone else plagued his mind and he threw his phone across his room. Wishing he hadn’t of started listening to those fucking voicemails.

What he didn’t know, though, is how the rest of that last voicemail went.

“I really don’t care.” You’d told your friend at the mention of the guy. Yeah, he was attractive and he was buying you drinks, but you wanted no one except Corpse. “Give me a sec.” You’d told your friend before walking away again, bringing your phone back to your ear to talk to the only person you wanted to talk to right now, even if he wasn’t on the other end of that call. “I hope you didn’t hear that, but if you did, don’t worry it. I’m g’na go home now.” You sighed and looked up at the night sky, there was no shooting star, or really any stars at all because of the light pollution from where you currently were, but you were still wishing that by some magic happenstance, Corpse would pick up his phone and speak to you again. “I wish I was going to yours.”

On day thirty-nine you cried so hard. You thought you had made it past this violently sobbing stage, this was exact state you’d cried yourself to sleep to each night for the first few weeks. Your heart was in so much pain, it was torn apart and you swore only one person had the power to stitch it back together, but he wasn’t there. You hadn’t heard a single thing from him. Were you two still together? Had you broken up? You weren’t even sure. But on day thirty-nine you cried that hard again because Corpse hadn’t responded at all to your calls or voicemails, so you convinced yourself he truly wanted nothing to do with you.

You’d been avoiding searching his name on social media, knowing it would send you into a spiral and you’d overthink every little thing but on day forty-two you’d noticed on twitter that he was playing games live. He wasn’t live himself, but you watched someone’s stream just to hear him again. You cried again doing this, because he was being exceptionally quiet, he wasn’t his normal self, he barely laughed once.

You wished you hadn’t clicked on it. The guilt you felt was already immense, but hearing him so not like himself made you feel even worse for causing all of this. You stopped watching, you couldn’t bear it. You knew you were to blame for all of this, you pushed him too far, you couldn’t believe how stupidly you had acted, you knew better and you did it anyway. The self attacking thoughts kept swirling your mind until you gave yourself a headache.

On day fifty-six of still not talking to each other, you ventured out to the beach with just your best friend. She’d been there for you a lot lately, she also felt bad about that night, but you tried to assured her it was your own fault. She didn’t know Corpse like you did, she didn’t know him at all, that’s why you felt to blame for not stopping the idea before it was too late.

“You should put sunscreen on.” Your best friend told you. You were laying on your towel in the direct sun, enjoying the warmth blasting into your skin, you hadn’t been to the beach in such a long time.

“Yeah.” You answered her, but you knew you weren’t going to. Another time, you would have, you knew the familiar sting of sunburn well and you normally put it on to look after your skin, but you hadn’t really been taking care of yourself too well lately, you just didn’t care enough.

On night fifty-six, you stood in front of your bathroom mirror looking over your body. You’d spent a lot longer at the beach than you realised and now you were burnt so badly and as red as a tomato. “Fuck.” You said out loud, turning and looking over your shoulder to inspect your back, it was just as red. You should’ve worn sunscreen. You left your bathroom to go find your aloe vera plant, only to find that it was dead. “Fuck!” You repeated, the one hope you had to help heal your skin even slightly quickly vanishing. “Oh, fuck. What am I going to do?”

That’s how you found yourself heading towards a 24 hour store to purchase whatever aloe vera cream or gel you could find, you knew it wouldn’t be as good as the plant itself, but you needed something. It was late and you were anxious as you neared the shop, you knew about this place from Corpse, he would often go there at odd hours to get whatever he needed. It was close to his place and you hadn’t driven around this area since that disaster of a night.

You squinted your eyes as you walked in and the harsh fluorescent lights pierced into your eyes after walking in from the night time. You were walking quickly and you told yourself it was because you were embarrassed about your skin being so burnt and you didn’t want anyone to see you like this, but it was really because you were so anxious over the thought of who you could potentially run into in this shop. Your swift steps brought you to the skin care isle and you let your eyes scan the shelves for the aloe vera you so desperately sought out.

“(Y/N)?”

You froze completely and you swore you even felt your heart stop beating. Hearing his voice speak your name again felt like lighting had struck right through you. This couldn’t be real, this had to be your imagination playing some sort of sick joke on you. Slowly, you turned towards the direction his voice had come from and sure enough, there he was. Dressed in all black, a beanie on his head and a mask over the bottom half of his face, your eyes locked with his. There was a pull in your chest, your heart had heard him, too and it wanted so badly to be with him, to be healed by him. You had thought up this scenario a million times over these past fifty-six days, of what would happen had you and him had a run in like this and in every single one you had so much to say, but right now, you were speechless.

Before you had a chance to even try to say anything if you managed to stop being stuck in silence, Corpse spoke again.

“Fucking hell,” He neared you and you sucked in a quick breath at his sudden movement. “Look how burnt you are.” You were wearing tights and an oversized hoodie, so your entire body was covered, but your face was just as burnt and clearly he had noticed. 

This was another aspect that didn’t fit into your scenarios you’d thought up about this moment. You’d imagined you would’ve look amazing. But instead of looking like some beautiful mermaid, you were the same colour as Ariel’s hair from The Little Mermaid. “I know, don’t look at me.” You huffed and dropped your head down, letting your beach waved hair fall around your face.

“You didn’t wear sunscreen?”

“Obviously not.”

“That was silly.”

“I know.”

“Are you sore?”

“Yeah.” It felt so natural to have this back and forth with him. It was brief, but it was enough for your heart to kick back into gear and speed up.

He stayed silent for a prolonged moment so you looked back to his face and his eyes were on your face but it was his turn to glance away then and you took the opportunity to really soak in his side profile. You’d even missed just being able to look at him. 

“Why are you here?” He asked you.

“I need aloe vera and I knew this place would be open.”

“You’re not using your plant?” Butterflies fluttered inside of you that he remembered a simple mundane fact that you preferred the healing touch of the actual plant for sunburn as opposed to what was bought at a store in a bottle.

“It died.”

Corpse suddenly looked back to you and much to your surprise, he laughed.

“Why are you laughing?!”

“How do you kill a succulent?”

“You know I’m not good at gardening and shit like that.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d be able to kill a succulent.” He laughed harder and you started to smile, he was teasing you but it felt so right. And hearing his laughter filled you with a warmth you’d been missing.

“Shut up.” You told him, but you were beginning to laugh too. “It’s hard to keep plants alive.”

“(Y/N), succulents are pretty much impossible to kill.”

“Okay, I get it, I didn’t purposely murder my aloe vera plant.”

“Oh, baby.” The pet name slipped so easily from his lips but it caught you both off guard, so the both of you stopped laughing and your postures stiffened.

Briefly, your eyes met but each of you darted your vision elsewhere. However, neither of you made no effort to move away from one another.

“Sorry.” Corpse said softly.

“It’s okay.” And it was, so okay. You wanted to tell him that hearing him call you baby was all you’d been wanting to hear again over these almost fifty-seven days without him. “I should really get this aloe vera gel on me, though.” You really didn’t want to leave him, but you couldn’t stand in this store forever.

“Are you sunburnt all over?” He asked.

“Yeah.” You sighed

And just as instinctively as the pet name had slipped out, his hands started to move towards the sleeve of your jumper. But he stopped himself when you flinched slightly and he quickly realised what he was doing. “Sorry, can I see?”

“I mean, you can, but I don’t want you to do it because it does really fucking hurt. That’s why I jumped, not because I don’t want you to touch me.” You answered him quickly. “I do want you to touch me- wait, I mean, no.” If your face wasn’t already red from the sunburn, it would have become red then from the blush you could feel forming. And if your skin wasn’t in pain you would have facepalmed yourself. “Sorry.” You apologised then.

“It’s okay.”

Shaking your head, you began to gently slide the sleeve of your big hoodie up.

“Fuck, (Y/N).” Corpse cursed, concern filling him as your skin was practically glowing from the burn it had copped. “You can’t do that to yourself.”

“I know.”

“How long were you at the beach?”

“All day pretty much.”

“You’re that burnt all over?”

“Yeah, I mean, some spots are worse. I think my back and shoulders are probably the worst. They hurt the most.”

He moved to step around you then, disappearing out of your sight as he was now standing behind you. “Can I?”

“Yeah, just be careful.”

And he made sure to keep his movements cautious, he decided on looking from the top, his hands grabbing the neck on the back of your hoodie to pull it back ever so gently so he could inspect. His eyes widened in a combination horror, worry and sympathy. He’d seen you get sunburnt before, but never to this extent. “Oh my fucking god.” The contrast between where the strap of your togs sat over your shoulder, blocking a sliver of your skin from the sun to keep it its natural colour versus the red that was brought from the burn was insane. “It looks like someone has painted you.”

“I mean, I guess the sun did. Just in a really painful way.”

“You’re not planning on going to the beach anytime soon, right?” Corpse carefully released your hoodie then and stepped in front of you once more. Distress was so present on his face, despite most of it being covered. He was so worried about you in this moment.

“Definitely not. The only thing I’m planning on is not going outside in any sunlight until my skin is healed.”

“Living like me.”

“Guess so.”

“My aloe vera plant is alive.” He stated.

“Wow, you’re really just going to flex that right now? Trying to kick me while I’m down.” You joked back, assuming he was teasing you.

“No, I mean...” He trailed off, his eyes struggling to stay on yours as he continued. “You could come over and use it, I know you like the real stuff better and I could help do your back, or wherever you can’t reach.” He was nervous, but he really didn’t have to be.

You could feel it happening, your heart beginning to heal.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Do you want to?”

“Yeah.”

[luxekook]

chapter one.

⇥ pairing: jungkook x reader; eventual bts/ot7 x reader

⇥ genre: college au with fluff, smut & angst

⇥ summary: a series in which the reader meets (and falls for) seven members of the Beta Tau Sigma (BTS) fraternity

⇥ word count: 2.3k

⇥ warnings: 18+, cursing, dirty talk, kissing, hickies, drinking, tatted jungkook, nipple piercings

© luxekook. please do not repost, modify, edit or translate.

characters | prologue | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine

Chapter One

Fall of Junior Year – 8:57am

I curse every single decision that has brought me to this very moment as I power-walk across campus, sweating under the already blistering sun. Campus in August could easily be compared to a swamp given the amount of unearthly humidity, and I'm pretty sure I currently qualified as the local swamp thing.

The only positive feature in my morning has been the table of free coffee and doughnuts staffed by Student Government. The first day of the fall semester always seems to be accompanied by frantically wide-eyed freshmen and celebratory freebies. However, air conditioning is the only thing I would be celebrating today as I finally reach Tyson Hall – the destination of my 9:00am class.

As I rush to my classroom with one minute to spare, I slump into a seat in the far corner – my preferred location for people-watching out of the large windows and for getting away with doing homework for other classes.

Familiar faces surround me, an unsurprising observation given that this is our mandatory research seminar as psychology majors. I notice my friend Jenni sitting in the opposite corner, eyes glued to her phone screen.

Opening my laptop, I shoot her a text to come sit with me. Her head whips up, black braids moving every which way as she immediately piles up her things and hustles over, “(y/n), I forgot you were in this seminar! I just switched over from quantitative research because I couldn’t take any more statistics – or Dr. Harding.”

Dr. Harding is the dean of the psychology department and has been teaching here for ages. Feared by most psychology students for his tough grading and intimidating persona, he’s actually a huge softie – something I discovered by going to his office hours and seeing all 85 pictures of his grandchildren hanging throughout the room.

“He’s not that bad, Jen.”

She scoffs, “You would say that because you got an A in statistics like some sort of wizard. Besides, Dr. Newman is so much nicer.”

Jenni has an excellent point. Dr. Newman is the main reason I chose this seminar. As one of the most respected researchers at our university, she’s known for her qualitative studies on gender across cultures. I consider Dr. Newman to be a real badass woman and I lowkey stan her.

I turn to reply, but Dr. Newman begins taking attendance and class begins.

Fifty minutes later, Jenni practically drags me out of the classroom, “I cannot believe she kept us the whole 50 minutes. Is she aware that it’s syllabus week? It’s practically law to just read over the syllabus and then dismiss class. This is outrageous– (y/n), are you even listening?”

“Hmm?” I totally had tuned her out, focusing on the number of students flooding the quad. I had missed this – the rush of students heading to class, the yells of people greeting each other from entirely too far away, the buzz of excitement over potential parties…

“Unbelievable. How did I forget you have this whole weird-ass feminist crush on her?” Jenni forges forth, “It doesn’t matter. What are you doing tonight? You’re going out with us, right? Luna and I want to go to Hannigan’s.”

Since the three of us had all turned 21 over the summer, we finally could legally go to the bars in town. Hannigan’s currently holds the top spot on the list of bars that most of the upperclassman frequent. It’s a popular Irish pub downtown known for its cheap beer and mixed drinks.

It’s also BTS’s unofficial hangout – a fact that makes me slightly uneasy. After learning who the higher-ups are in BTS, I have taken to avoiding them like the plague. It was a relatively easy thing to do since the spring semester tended to be less focused on rushing and recruiting for fraternities and sororities.

But now it’s rush season, and I’m pretty much fucked. There will be no avoiding seeing BTS’s president Kim Namjoon out recruiting with his vice president Min Yoongi and his social chair Jung Hoseok. There will also be no avoiding pledge master Taehyung leading around new BTS pledges like a mother duckling. And don’t even get me started on how Kim Seokjin, Park Jimin and Jeon Jungkook will be popping up everywhere to advertise the latest BTS bash.

Sighing, I figure that the chances of actually bumping into them at the bar will be slim, given that it will most likely be super crowded and I can easily blend in.

I turn to Jenni as we keep walking towards our next classes, “Yeah, I’ll go to Hannigan’s. Are you going to come over to get ready at our place?”

Luna and I had moved into a cute little off-campus apartment over the summer. As it turned out, it’s cheaper to live off-campus than on-campus if you look hard enough. We also had it pretty good location-wise being just a few short blocks from both campus and downtown.

“Yes!” Jenni replies, slowing to a stop out front of the science building, “I’ll be over around 8 with tequila. I’ll text you later. I’ve got to go to neuro-psych lab now,” she rolls her eyes, “Hopefully we won’t be kept the whole time.”

Waving, we part ways, and I shake my head.

Tequila never leads to anything good.

Hannigan’s – 10:54pm

Fate seems to be on my side for once in my life. As soon as Luna, Jenni and I walk into Hannigan’s, my eyes are drawn to the back table where the BTS usually sits. It’s empty.

It’s practically an unspoken rule that no one else can sit there, and even though the bar is packed with all other tables accounted for, that one remains vacant – and for good reason.

Greek life essentially has a cult following around here. The Greeks provide status for those who are into that whole exclusivity thing. They also provide the best parties because of the size of their houses and because the university will never complain about one of their best sources of revenue.

I didn’t to rush a sorority way back in freshman year because I couldn’t feasibly afford it. The dues were way out of my price range, considering I was already paying for my education on my own. Luna, on the other hand, is in Epsilon Xi Delta (EXID) and consistently makes me and Jenni tag along to different Greek parties with her.

"Come on, bitches! Let's get some drinks," Jenni drags me and Luna through the packed room towards the bar that is already encircled by a crowd of thirsty students.

Tonight’s plan is simple – stick together, have fun, scope out cute seniors. Having already taken some shots before we left (saving that coin), we’re definitely feeling ourselves, flaunting our outfits like we didn’t spend a good hour picking them out earlier.

I had settled on a black t-shirt dress with a checkered flannel tied around the waist and some black Doc Martens. Luna and Jenni had tried to convince me to wear heels with them, but I knew syllabus week was a marathon – not a sprint. My feet would thank me later, and theirs would be crying.

As the bartender slides us our beers, the opening beats of Cocky AF by our badass queen Megan Thee Stallion blast through the speakers dispersed throughout the bar. Turning immediately to each other, we clink our beers together, take a sip, and head to the makeshift dance floor.

We squeeze and push our way through the masses until we reach a spot towards the back where the crowd has thinned out a little more. Within seconds, we’re in motion, hips swaying in time to Megan saying ‘bitch, I look good and you know that’.

Shaking out my hair, I get in the zone and lose count of how many songs we dance to. Eventually, our beers empty and Luna turns to me, “Another?" She accompanies her shouted question with an unnecessary charade of shot-gunning a beer in case I couldn’t hear her. I roll my eyes, laughing while I nod in response.

“Save our spot!” Jenni yells and disappears into the crowd of dancers with Luna towards the bar.

I continue dancing on my own. Swaying my hips, I decide to put my hair up to try to cool off a little in the sweltering bar. The music shifts into a new song, this one slower, more seductive, a favorite of mine – Lost in the Fire featuring The Weeknd.

As Abel’s angelic voice flows over me, a pair of hands slide over my hips from behind me. I start to pull away, but then I notice – the hands are tattooed. And for some reason, that hot little fact makes me relax into the large body behind me.

Those tattooed hands tug me back even more, bringing me flush against him as he falls into time with my movements. God, this guy can dance – a rarity these days.

His body is all hard muscle and heated skin. His mouth is hot against my neck, alternating between kissing, sucking, and biting. My skin buzzes. Fuck, I haven’t felt this way since–

Turning my head slightly, I can make out the vague outline him and it confirms my sinking suspicion... He’s a BTS boy.

"Hey, noona," he murmurs in my ear, his lips brushing over it as he speaks.

Fuck my life, I think as I shiver involuntarily in response. Spinning to face one of Satan’s henchmen, I toss my ponytail over my shoulder and jut a hip out in both defiance and defense. But really nothing could have prepared me for the sight of Jeon fucking Jungkook, the golden boy of BTS.

He somehow looks like he’s gotten even bigger since the last I saw him playing pong against Taehyung at that party – information that I cannot even comprehend. His left arm is completely tattooed, along with a few smaller ones dotting his hands. I glare at them, blaming those hands for throwing me off.

“Like them?” Jungkook waves his fingers in front of my narrowed eyes, “I got them this summer.” Smirking lazily, Jungkook makes his own perusal of me – taking extra time along the way.

His jaw flexes as his eyes turn molten, “You’re killing me, noona. Tae didn’t mention…” He trails off, swallowing hard.

I follow his gaze. Oh fuck. I had forgotten I decided to forego a regular bra tonight because I wanted to show off my piercings. Just having a thin bralette under my dress, my pierced nipples are definitely noticeable under Jungkook’s heavy stare.

Refusing to give into him, I square my shoulders, “Yeah, I got them this summer, too. But, I don’t see how that’s either your or Taehyung’s business.”

At my words, Jungkook rips his eyes away from my tits to finally meet my own eyes again, “Oh, but it really is our business. Tae said we’d like you and I agree.”

His voice is low and rough, and I swear I can feel it washing over my body, making all of my synapses fire in response.

“We?” I choked out. In full panic mode, I spin and try to leave, but I barely make it a foot away before getting stopped by a now-familiar tattooed hand wrapped around my wrist.

Luckily, a crashing sound echoes from the back table where the other BTS boys must be, and Jungkook lets out a string of curses, “Fucking hell, listen I have to go make sure no one’s hurt, or Joon will kill me. Stay here, okay? I’m not done with you, (y/n).”

His hand rushes up to the nape of my neck, pulling me into him. Our lips fuse together in a brutally hot kiss, his tongue slipping against my bottom lip for a fraction of a second.

And then he’s gone – disappearing rapidly through the fray to manage whatever trouble his frat has gotten into.

I stand there, shaking fingers on my lips wondering what the actual fuck just happened.

“Hey, sorry we took so long! This bitch cut in front of us and I swear she ordered for the entire fucking population of North America—”

Luna smacks Jenni’s arm, cutting her off, “You okay, (y/n)?” Luna peers closer at me, “Holy shit, is that a hickey?  We were only gone for 10 minutes!”

My hand flies to my neck as both Jenni and Luna grab me, dragging me to the slightly quieter back alley of the bar. As they conduct the second Spanish Inquisition, I spill the details on what happened.

After a moment of silence following my explanation, they both start talking at once:

→ Jenni: “Hell yes, girl, go off! Jeon Jungkook is fine as fuck…” → Luna: “(y/f/n) (y/m/n) (y/l/n), have you lost your damn mind…”

→ Jenni: “…I’d hit that in a heartbeat. I’m so proud!” → Luna: “…Do you not remember last semester? Are you high? Oh my GOD, did he drug you?!”

“Stop!” I slap a hand over each of their mouths, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you guys are impossible. I am not ‘hitting’ anything, and, no, he did not fucking drug me.”

Sighing, I continue, “It was a lapse in judgement, okay? I remember last semester more than anyone, but he’s just so powerful and I don’t seem to have any common sense around BTS.”

I take my hands away from their mouths and immediately Jenni asks, “Wait, what happened last semester?”

Luna slings an arm around my shoulder, “Come on, let’s go get pizza and a six-pack from Ralph’s. We can go out another night this week.”

“Take-out from Ralph’s?” Jenni’s eyes widen comically, “This must be major tea. Let’s go.”

Instinctively, we clink our beers together for the second time that night and chug the remainder of our bottles in true broke bitch fashion (never leave paid-for beer behind).

With that, we trek back through the door and out of the bar. We finish our night filling in Jenni with our less than savory experience with the infamous BTS fraternity last semester.

But, as I lay in bed for the night, I can’t help but wonder if Jungkook had looked for me that night after I left… Or if he told Taehyung...

taglist (message me to be added):

@catsandstrawberries​ @h5naaa​

[tealquacks]

They Share A Kitchen

An intrulogical (can be read as platonic) fic

Originally posted here : https://archiveofourown.org/works/24317644

While the light and dark sides preferred to keep their distance from one another, they had to share some parts of Thomas’ mind. The imagination, for example, was split down the middle just like the two sides that ruled them, a mix of gnarled trees and fluffy clouds, unicorns and demogorgons, living in hostile harmony. They also had to share a living room, a few hallways, and the kitchen. Almost as if Thomas’ subconscious was trying to push the sides together. 

But the sharing didn’t bring them any closer, especially considering recent events. The “dark” sides avoided the “light” sides and Roman avoided everybody. All the shared spaces did was give Logan reasons to share more fun facts at the breakfast table.

“Studies show certain animals that inhabit areas close to human activity have begun to develop nocturnal tendencies in order to avoid said humans,” Logan had said one day over a bowl of dry cereal. 

“And what does that have to do with anything?” Virgil grumbled. Patton yawned.

Logan sighed. “I’ll answer your question with a question. Why do we always wait until eight am to get our breakfast?”

Virgil looked down into his coffee cup, and mumbled something. 

“What was that?”

“...To avoid Remus and Janus.” 

Logan had huffed triumphantly. Really, he found their little schedule fascinating. He made a little schedule on lined paper, marked out by half hours. He practically had their movements tracked down to the minute. Weeks worth of observation, neatly graphed out. It almost made Logan want to cry. 

Six am to seven am seemed to be the hours where Janus, the resident morning person, dragged Remus to the kitchen and got himself a cup of coffee and made himself breakfast, before making a hasty retreat to his room. Remus made breakfast after him, then left at around seven forty five am. Then the ‘light’ sides (minus Roman) claimed the kitchen from eight am to ten. Sometimes even to ten fifteen, depending on what Patton and Virgil made. 

Roman grabbed whatever leftovers there were at ten thirty. Afterwards, (around 11) Janus would emerge to get another cup of coffee and an early lunch, and Patton would get a cup of tea to drink and chat with him. Roman would slip into the kitchen at noon to get water or a snack, then right at twelve o’ eight, Remus would bolt into the kitchen, grab something to eat, then dash away before Patton could enter for another cup of tea at around twelve o’ twelve. At two, Virgil and Patton would sit in the kitchen and chat.

There were only two ‘dead zones’ Logan could find, where nobody visited the kitchen. Between two thirty and four, where everyone kept to themselves in their room until dinner (which Janus and Remus ate at four, himself, Virgil and Patton at five, Roman at around six if he remembered to eat), and from three am to five thirty am. Logan never had the chance to observe the kitchen that early in the morning— which is to say he never had an excuse to disrupt his sleep schedule. 

Even then, his curiosity plagued him. Virgil sometimes woke in the night to grab a midnight snack, but was he ever there at three thirty am? Some mornings there would be a pot left on the stove, or flour on the counters. Maybe it was Roman, trying to cook but only succeeding in making a mess. Or Janus? No, Janus always cleaned up after himself, it wasn’t him. Did Patton wake in the night to cook or bake…?

The logical thing to do was to ask if anyone went into the kitchen at those hours. The logical thing sounded like far much more trouble than simply staking out in the kitchen and waiting to see if someone came along, then ask them if their late night (early morning?) visits to the kitchen were a part of their routine. That would cut out any unnecessary conversation. Certainly it would be the best option— avoid any conversation that could possibly turn into an argument and distress Thomas, while also ridding himself of this curiosity. 

All of those events led to now. Logan sat on the couch, close enough to hear if anyone entered the kitchen, but obscured enough by the couch that he wouldn’t be seen. Not that that mattered, both the kitchen and the common area were pitch black. Not a single sliver of moonlight shone through the windows. He checked his watch. Two fifty-one. He’d been sitting there for an hour.

Logan briefly paused his train of thought. Why did he care so much? He wanted to complete his chart. Why did it matter to him? 

Logan sighed. The mystery person wouldn’t be here for at least another forty minutes. And that is assuming that they follow their schedule every single day. It made sense that there would be nobody in the kitchen. Every single metaphysical person was asleep. Except for him. 

Being thorough is important. What if he had missed something? Or this person's trips to the kitchen add a whole new variable to his chart? Who knows. He certainly didn’t, so he had to find out.

He checked his watch again. Three twenty am. Huh, overthinking truly was a great way to pass the time. Only fifteen minutes to go until the truth revealed itself to him in the form of one of his fellow sides stumbling into the kitchen. Maybe it would be Patton, taking sock-muffled steps into the kitchen on his way to bake, or Janus with a novel and a desire for a cup of tea. The possibility that simply nobody went to the kitchen between three thirty am to five am hung in the air. It didn’t make him any less curious. 

Footsteps. Heavy, thundering things in the kitchen. Logan jolted. Slowly he turned around to look into the kitchen, and found that the lack of light made his eyes useless. All he could see was a shadowy figure in front of the cupboards. He heard one open, then shut a minute and a half later. 

Logan watched the shifting darkness. Metal scratching metal—what the hell was that? He cringed at the harsh sound. More scraping noises. If he could feel anything, he’d classify the prickles running up his spine as fear, or anxiety, but since he certainly had no emotions, he chalked the sensation up to being cold. Even then, Logan flinched hard when the shadowy figure used a food processor. Three thirty five am.

More metallic scraping (sharpening a knife?) mingled with mindless humming. Maybe it was Roman, making himself food. He hadn’t eaten that day, so he would certainly be hungry. So certainly, if Logan were to turn on the light, he would see Roman in his Beauty and the Beast onesie. But then again, Roman was a shit cook. There wouldn’t be any scraping of knives or sounds of rustling in cupboards— maybe the rustling of a cereal box. 

Could it be Patton? No. Patton always loudly sang while cooking. Or maybe it was Patton, and he was just  being considerate of the other sleeping sides. How would he even confront the mystery chef? ‘Hey, not to sound weird but I’ve been keeping track of everyone’s kitchen time and I want to know if you do this every night. I have a chart. Yes, it is laminated, and color coded. Tell me about your schedule.’

Logan stared into the darkness of the kitchen unblinking. Rustling of… something, more chopping and scraping noises. Something sizzled, and Logan slowly breathed in. Oh, it smelled wonderful, rich and herbal… garlic, maybe. And onion. He checked his watch. Three thirty am, and he still had no clue who the hell was making food. What were they making? 

The fridge opened, and Logan could finally see. The cold light glinted off a long, sharp knife. Logan swallowed. There was a hunk of meat on the cutting board. Peering into the fridge was, well, someone, but when they turned their head, Logan could see the bright shock of white in their hair—

“Remus?” Logan exclaimed, bewildered.

Remus jumped and let out a panicked shriek. Logan stood up from his place at the couch, and blindly stumbled to the light switch. Remus flinched at the sudden light, and Logan just blinked as he took in the sight before him.

Sitting on the counter was a baking sheet with a raw rack of lamb perched upon it, covered in some sort of seasoning. On the stove sat a pot of golden broth that barely simmered, and the source of that delectable smell— a skillet of shallots and rice. Another pan of perfectly cooked mushrooms sat close by. Logan blinked.

“What is this?” Logan asked.

“Food,” Remus answered, “and I would’ve let you have some if you hadn’t scared the shit out of me, ‘figuratively’.” 

Logan raised an eyebrow. Remus looked as disheveled as ever, even though he only wore a pair of boxers with little octopi on them. For once he wasn’t wearing his eyeshadow, and his hair looked like he’d just rolled out of bed. A grain of rice was caught in his moustache. What an odd thing to notice.

“I apologize for interrupting your cooking,” Logan deadpanned, “but if you would be more specific?”

Remus shoved the pan into the fridge, then picked up a bottle of white wine. He took a long swig out of it before pouring a bit into the pan with the rice. It sizzled loudly, and he started mixing vigorously.

“I’m making garlic and herb crusted roast lamb and mushroom risotto,” Remus said.

Logan blinked slowly.

“What?”

Remus looked up from his pan, a little smile on his face.

“Come on, Logan! You’re the smart one, you should know what a risotto is!”

Logan sat down at the kitchen table, staring dazedly at Remus. 

“I know what a risotto is,” Logan said, “a northern Italian dish made with rice and broth until it reaches a creamy consistency, sometimes made with white wine or butter. I didn’t know you knew how to make it, though.”

Remus added a bit of the simmering broth to the rice.

“Why not? I mean, gluttony, envy, greed, all those dirty little sins Thomas associates with me,” Remus said with a shoulder wiggle.

“Well—“

“Are you jealous of my skills? I know how to keep a man happy, Logan. Don’t you know? The fastest way to a man’s heart—“

“Is through his stomach.” An idiom Patton had taught him. Remus nodded rapidly.

“Yes, like gutting a deer! You carve open the stomach and poke through the diaphragm to cut the esophagus and pull everything out! And then you yank out the heart!” Remus cackled manically, pouring more broth into the pan and stirring. A bit of rice flew out. “It’s really tasty. Deer heart, I mean.”

Logan nodded, “And very nutritious. High in potassium and protein.”

 Remus nodded even more, his white streaked hair flopping into his eyes. Logan was still in shock over this whole thing. Who the hell knew Remus could cook? Certainly not him. Now came the hard part, talking.

“Did you know that sheep don’t have teeth in their upper front jaws? And that like, a bunch of sheep are gay!” Remus rambled.

“Do you do this every night?” Logan questioned.

“No,” Remus responded, “most of the time I cook in the buff— it’s freeing!”

“That’s… I mean. Uh. Do you cook every night,” Logan deadpanned.

Remus shrugged.

“On and off. Some days I do some days I don’t!”

Logan opened his mouth, then shut it. Remus, as far as he could tell, was every single bit of chaos Thomas had (that wasn’t already represented by Roman). As Remus himself had said, he was the opposite of rational thought. Remus added a little more broth to the rice, stirring quickly. 

“It’s my turn for questions— I have about seven,” Remus said. Logan opened his mouth to respond, but Remus started rattling his questions off.

“One, why’re you in the kitchen? I’ve never seen you up this late, not very logical of you.”

Logan shrugged, not sure what to say. Lying was Janus’ thing. So he straightened his tie, and said:

“Recently, I have been collecting data about the habits of the other sides, namely, when they use the kitchen. A pattern started to emerge, but there were gaps in my data, one of which exists because of the other sides waiting to make dinner, but the other gap I could not fill, nor could I simply ignore. I assumed everyone would be asleep—“

“—And you got me instead!” Remus chirped. “A pleasant surprise, isn’t it?”

Logan started at the knife laying on the counter. Next to it laid a sharpening steel. His wandering eyes landed on Remus’ back. So pale...

“...It’s certainly a surprise. Where did you—“

Something struck him right between the eyes before clattering to the ground. Logan blinked in shock, before realizing Remus had simply thrown a spoon at him.

“It’s my question time, whore!” Remus exclaimed. He summoned another spoon 

Logan nodded.

“My apologies,” Logan said, “go on?”

Remus’ brows furrowed, but he continued.

“Questions two, three, four, and six—“

“Six?”

“I’m going out of order. Question two: is Roman still a shit cook? Question three: why are you surprised? Four, how long were you sitting there, and six, do you want to eat with me?”

Logan’s eyes went wide as he tried to take in all the questions. Remus stirred in a little more broth, but he never took his eyes off of him. A little disconcerting, but in character for him.

“Well,” Logan started, “Roman is not the most skilled in cooking. His ideas are creative, but the execution tends to be subpar. While cooking he is easily distracted, which leads to burnt things. The food he summons is wonderful, though. However, this information may not be recent nor accurate because I have not seen Roman since the events after the wedding.”

“The events— you mean when Padre flipped out and turned into a frog? And Jannie told everyone his name, and Roman got princey pissed?

Logan nodded.

“Yes. But to answer question three as honestly as I can, I did not have any reason to believe you had any cooking skill, especially not of this level.”

Remus tilted his head. “Why so?”

“Because of what you represent to Thomas,” Logan explained, “all of his “bad” creativity. I had no reason to believe you could make anything good, let alone what smells like a finely made risotto.” 

Logan expected Remus to throw something at him again. Instead, Remus seemed surprisingly calm, looking down at his risotto. Logan straightened his tie again.

“Not only that,” he continued,” but also because Thomas does not possess cooking skills of this caliber.”

Remus chuckled.

“Thomas also does not possess knowledge of a lot of the shit you and Jan talk about. Like, philosophy and psychology and a whole lot of other stuff. Roman knows spanish! So who’s to say that I can’t cook? Besides, Thomas’ perception of me hasn’t done shit since the split, ya know? He has no power over me. He sees me as bad, yeah, and I don’t give a fuck. If you ask me, if Thomas let Janus take control instead of Prudey-Patton, we’d be sailing much much much smoother. But that’s only my opinion of course!”

“Really?” Logan asked, surprised.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I think Janus would be a much better ‘morality’ than Patton. He has good opinions of the shit Thomas should be doing. And, he likes me! I’d say it to his face.  Patton’s face. Actually I might have? I’m not sure! I’m not sure…”

“I don’t think you have,” Logan said, “but it would be unwise for Janus to take Patton’s role, since Thomas is attached to Patton and the sudden shift would be detrimental to his mental and emotional health. Besides, I don’t think Janus could actually take his place, since he also acts as Thomas’ self preservation.”

 Remus rolled his eyes.

“Whatever. Question four! Let’s go!”

“I was sitting on the couch for about an hour and forty four minutes. Before that I was in my room. I came out and sat on the couch at one fifty one, so I wouldn’t be tempted to go to bed.”

Remus whistled low. He let go of the spoon, which kept stirring the risotto even without his touch.

“Goddamn, that’s dedication. I can’t even sit still for half that time! What would you have done if nobody showed up?”

Logan looked awkwardly down at his hands. Honestly, he hadn't thought of what he would do. 

“Go back to my room and sleep,” Logan answered, “but stay up this late for at least a week in order to make sure I had proper data.”

Remus crossed his arms and leaned back against the stove. With one hand, he tapped his fingers to his thumb in a quick rhythm— index finger to thumb, middle finger to thumb, ring finger to thumb, pinkie to thumb, over and over again.

“It really must mean a lot to you. Which leads to question five!”

“I thought you said you were—“

“Going out of order? Well, I’m not! I’m unpredictable like that. Question five! Why does charting our schedules mean so much to you?”

Logan stared at the knife laid on the counter. For a split second, he considered standing up and leaving. Because how could he explain the reason he decided to chart their movements? There were so many, each one sillier and more trivial than the last, each one of them soaked in emotion, so much so there was no denying how he felt, and if the others found out they’d never ever listen to him ever ever again— 

But on the other hand he so desperately wanted to tell him, just to get the words out, so they’d stop pushing on him. Logan fiddled with his tie. 

Logan took a slow breath in.  On the counter laid the knife. Logan’s eyes flicked around the kitchen. Sharpening steel, cutting board, some leftover herbs, Remus, the streak of white in his hair. The air was cold, the floor was hard, the chair felt sturdy, and his tie was smooth. Sizzling of the pan, his own foot, tapping restlessly on the ground, Remus’ quiet humming. The air smelled like chicken stock and a bit of garlic. None of Remus’ usual reek, surprisingly. Logan moved his tongue around a little. His mouth tasted like spit. Nothing more, nothing less. He breathed out.

“I realized that all I do is pointless. Every plan and suggestion I give is ignored, or unwanted, unless I push and push… but even then, I’m not listened to. The chart is what I believe Janus would call a ‘coping mechanism’. I know this, too, is pointless, but knowing that I can complete this without any interruption, without any need for input from the others is comforting. It does nothing, and yet I’ve dedicated a good deal of time towards it.”

Remus stared at him, expression unreadable. That was until a bright, manic smile split his features, and he clapped his hands.

“So it’s like jacking off!” Remus exclaimed.

Logan made a face, looking at Remus with nothing but unbridled confusion.’The spoon in the risotto kept on stirring by itself.

“...And how did you come to that conclusion?”

“Well, it makes you feel phenomenal, it’s something you do for yourself, and it’s good for stress relief!”

Logan blinked slowly, then looked down at his lap, desperately trying to keep his composure.

“That is a good metaphor. Just like masturbation, this chart is, in the end, pointless.”

Remus snorted, and rolled his eyes. He sat down at the table next to Logan, and their knees bumped. Remus set both his elbows on the table.

“I don’t see how it’s pointless.” He said, “It’s something you’re doing to make yourself feel better because everyone else is shit. As you said, a coping mechanism. What makes it pointless?”

“It serves no purpose,” Logan deadpanned.

“Ya see, Logan, when you really, really think about it, everything is pointless!” Remus exclaimed. “Every meal we eat and person we see and every idea we have and every place we go and every happy moment is pointless, because in the end it’ll all go away! It’ll all be for nothing! Thomas will die and we’ll go with him, so everything is pointless!” 

Remus leaned closer. Their foreheads touched. How was Remus’ skin so warm? Logan swallowed, trying to push the tingling sensation in his chest down. Fear. It was fear. 

“Every single little thing is pointless!” Remus whispered intensely, “It’s true, you know it is, so don’t you agree?”

Logan looked him dead in the eyes.

“No, I don’t,” Logan said darkly, “Because while death is inevitable, Thomas’ life still matters. It might not matter cosmically, but his happiness and well being matter to me, and I will do everything in my power to give him a wonderful life, a life he can smile at even when he is close to death. So all those things you just said were meaningless? They matter more than anything. To Thomas, and to me.”

Remus smiled, wicked and sharp, waggling his eyebrows.

“So your chart isn’t pointless,” Remus said mischievously, “nothing you do is. As a part of Thomas, anything and everything you do matters. And if you say it doesn’t, then that makes you a hypocrite!”

Logan’s eye twitched. Ah, dammit, he just got played like a cheap kazoo by a guy who eats deodorant. 

“I guess you’re right.”

Remus dramatically leaned back, arms outstretched like a bird.

“I know!”

Logan sighed, hands in his lap. The risotto kept on stirring itself. Was it done? How long had it been? Logan looked at his watch. He couldn’t see, his vision clouded. He blinked. 

“I don’t know,” Logan said, “I’m Thomas’ logic I don’t know why he won’t listen to me anymore. Why none of them ever listen to me. I don’t feel like I belong among the sides even more. I’m a part of Thomas. It’s hard. I know I’m needed, but I don’t feel that way, and I can’t stop feeling. I’ve tried. I’ve really, really tried. Really, everything feels pointless, because none of my efforts yield anything of value.”

Remus pat his head.

“There there,” Remus said, “now about these feelings. Have you tried turning that big brain of yours off and on again?”

A chortle escaped Logan’s month. Then, a teardrop landed on his glasses. He ripped them off and slammed them on the table, taking deep, slow breaths to calm himself. They didn’t work, and dissolved into hiccuping, pathetic sobs.

“Oh boy,” Remus said. He didn’t move his hand from Logan’s head, gently stroking his hair like how one would pet a cat. Oddly enough, it was a little calming. Logan thought for a second of what the others would see. Remus, in only boxers, petting him as he cried. Remus made a few cooing noises.

“Why did I even tell you all this?” Logan whined, sniffling wetly.

Remus removed his hand. Logan heard him stand, then rustle around a bit.

“It’s like, four am,” Remus explained, “everyone is dumb as fuck at four am. Even you, Raisin Brain.”

“Raisin Brain?”

“A pun on the cereal and a reference to how scrunchy and smart your brain is, like. A raisin? It is also something that proves my point. But I get you, sometimes the thoughts just have to come out. Here, try some.”

Logan looked up from his hands to see Remus, offering him a spoon with some of the risotto on it. He’d mixed in the mushrooms. The risotto was as pale as his skin. Logan took the spoon from Remus, and put it in his mouth. His teary eyes went wide at the taste. The rice was cooked wonderfully, and he could taste the wine and chicken broth. The mushrooms in the dish added a wonderful earthiness,  and Logan forced himself to chew slowly, relishing every last flavor before swallowing.

Remus peered down at him anxiously, twiddling his moustache with the hand not holding the spoon.

“What do you think?” He asked. Logan wiped his eyes, running his tongue over his teeth to catch the last bit of the taste.

“It tastes wonderful, the wine and the mushroom… it’s a very well done dish, you should be proud of yourself.”

Remus clapped his hands, dropping the spoon and letting it clatter on the floor. He jumped up and down, hopping back over to the pan of risotto and taking it off the heat and letting it rest on the stove.

“Won’t it get cold?” Logan asked. He sniffled.

“Not unless I want it to,” Remus said, “and I don’t want it to! I’m serving it with the lamb, which I’m gonna roast. But it has to marinate for a while. Here, while we wait…”

He grabbed the bottle of white wine from the counter and sat at the table with Logan, offering the bottle to Logan. How long had it been since he’d had wine, or anything alcoholic? One week and three days. How long had it been since he’d had wine somewhere that wasn’t his bedroom? About a year and a half. He couldn’t risk being drunk in front of the others. Then they wouldn’t view him as serious and smart, just as a silly, drunken idiot—

None of those others were here. They were all asleep.

But what would Remus think? Would he care? He could hold this moment over his head for the rest of Thomas’ life, and he would no longer be able to keep him in check. He’d truly be useless, unnecessary.

“I can hear you thinking from here, Teach,” Remus said, brows furrowed, “I can get you some water instead?”

Logan nodded. Remus snapped his fingers, and the golden wine faded until it was clear. Logan hesitantly took the bottle, gingerly sipping. Yes, that was water. He couldn’t help but take a deep gulp, almost choking on the cold, wonderful water. He lowered the bottle. Logan furrowed his brows. 

“Wine to water? Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?” Logan questioned.

Remus smirked, “I think my way is more fun. I still have more questions, if you’re game?”

“I’m not ‘game’. If I was, I’d be chess,” Logan said.

“I’d be strip poker!” Remus cackled, throwing his head back in glee. When he composed himself, he looked at Logan. “But that’s not what I mean. I mean. Okay! Question eight.”

Logan blinked. He put his glasses back on, sniffling pathetically.

“I thought you only had seven questions—“

“Question eight!” Remus proclaimed, “why are you so self conscious?”

Logan spluttered.

“What do you mean?”

“What do I mean? Uh. It’s like, four am, and you’re in your usual clothes. I’m in my boxers. It’s a little weird.”

Logan looked over Remus. Pale, a few small scars unique to him. The octopi boxers. 

“I prefer to remain clothed,” Logan said, “especially in places where I could be seen. I have a reputation to uphold.”

Remus snorted.

“Whatever, I’ll get an honest answer from you one day. Now, question seven and six— question seven! What should I cook tomorrow? Er, tomorrow at this time. Time is weird.”

Logan paused, sipping the water slowly. He could say some basic dish, and join him for that, or he could test the theories building in his head, test the limits of the chart by throwing a new variable into the schedule, that variable being Remus.

“Croissants!” Logan exclaimed. He took a deep breath. “Yes. Croissants. Homemade croissants.”

Remus’ brows shot up. He flicked his wrist, and a piece of worn looking paper appeared in his hand. He glanced at the paper, eyes going wide.

“Ah, fuck, this recipe takes like, twelve hours just to prepare the dough, holy shit! This’ll take all day—“

“If you begin the preparation at three thirty am, you’ll be done at four forty pm on the dot.”

Remus looked at Logan with a bright smile. There was still a grain of rice stuck in his mustache, as white as the streak in his hair. Logan blinked slowly, suddenly struck with the urge to say something was pointless so Remus would get closer, press their foreheads together and do… something. Remus flicked his wrist, and the recipe disappeared in a burst of smoke.

“Perfect!” Remus exclaimed, “Come around the kitchen then, tomorrow, I mean. And I’ll make you the Cwossaints.”

“Croissants,” Logan deadpanned. 

“Oh, keep talking French to me, honeycomb! Ah! But now, it is time for the last question, question six!” 

Remus struck a pose, and a pan flew out of the fridge and clattered onto the stove. Pale, polished bones stuck up— oh, the lamb. With a snap of Remus’ fingers, the pan suddenly burst into a plume of green flame, lapping at the walls and the ceiling, leaving no mark, as Remus’ destruction typically did. The rich smell of garlic and cooked meat filled the kitchen. Logan stared at Remus, unblinking. 

“Question six,” he repeated.

Remus made a face, but nodded and spoke. “Yeah, question six! Do you want to eat with me? The lamb and the risotto? I promise, it’s heavenly! And good company would make it even better!”

Logan stared at the stove. Alright. Pros and cons. It was four am, but he could still be logical, weigh his options. 

Pros: A good meal, conversation with someone who listened.

Cons: lack of sleep, another distraction, what if the others find out. 

“I’m sorry,” Logan said, standing from the table, and gingerly pushing his chair back, “but I really should be going back to sleep. It certainly smells wonderful, but I really must be going to bed.”

Remus crumpled a little, dropping the pose.

“Yeah, sure, whatever! I’m sure Jannie will eat it for breakfast. But you’re eating the cross-I-ants, or I’ll skin you.”

Logan nodded, and took a step backward. 

“I will.”

Remus stood, picking up the wine bottle and passing it to Logan. Logan took the bottle, filled with water, not the wine. He gave Remus a tight lipped smile, and walked to the stairs. Logan set his hand on the banister.

“Remus?”

“Yes?” 

Logan didn’t dare look at Remus.

“You have a grain of rice in your mustache.”

Remus cackled as Logan ascended the stairs, not looking behind him. It was as if he was a child again, running away from some sort of shadow monster that emerged only in the darkness. Running away, not from Remus, but from something. A lot of things. The water in the wine bottle sloshed.

Logan reached his room and flung the door open. His bed was perfectly made, indigo sheets pulled up nice and trim with no sign of being slept in. The lights were still on, bathing the room in clinical white light. His desk was covered in papers that he should’ve already looked over. A well loved indigo office chair sat in front of the desk. He set the wine bottle on his desk, and leaned over his chair. There was his chart. Almost reverently, he took a green marker, and, in the once empty space, wrote Remus’ name. 

There. It was done. He’d finished it. It was neat and tidy, and his. He exhaled slowly. Carefully, he undid his tie, then slipped off his shirt. After that, his shoes, then his jeans. He folded them neatly, and set them at the foot of his perfectly made bed. Sleep. Sleep sounded good. So did a lamb dinner. But there would be croissants, another excuse to sit at the kitchen table and be asked silly, harmless questions while studying the pale skin of Remus’ back.

Logan snapped his fingers to turn the lights off, and sat down in the office chair. Nice and comfortable. He relaxed, and took slow, deep breaths to take himself to sleep.

Each breath smelled like cooked lamb and wine.

[jbuffyangel]

Something To Live For: Arrow 1x10 Review (Burned)

I’m back! 

There’s a significant time difference between my 1x09 review and this review. No, I did not take a six year long holiday break. It just became too difficult to complete the Season 1 reviews the summer prior to Season 4. So, I decided to complete Season 1 and Season 2 reviews once Arrow was off air.

This means I have not watched 1x10-1x23 in eight years. I nearly forgot everything. Is L*urel still in this show?

She sure is.

“Burned” is the first real snoozer of Season 1, which kind of sets up the tradition of episode 10-15 slumps Arrow suffered nearly every season.  This has less to do with Arrow and more to do with it being a twenty three episode series. There’s gonna be some filler.

This episode still holds significant meaning to me though because it contains the SOMETHING TO LIVE FOR speech. This is my favorite John Diggle speech, which is why I named my blog after it. It is also the first time Arrow declares their mission statement.

Let’s dig in...

Oliver and Diggle

The bad guy plot is the worst part of “Burned,” so let’s just cut to the chase. There was a terrible fire in Starling City years ago. The fire chief recalled his unit but one of his men, Garfield Lynns, insisted the building could be saved. The chief refused to send in any more men and as a result Lynns died. Except, this is Arrow and nobody stays dead. Lynns is alive, ticked, insane and burning firefighters, which leads to Joanna’s brother (a firefighter) getting killed.

Cool? Cool. Moving on.

Oliver is having difficulty coping with the fact the Dark Archer kicked his ass all the way back to the stone age. It was a somewhat embarrassing loss and Oliver’s body wasn’t the only thing bruised. We are gifted a very lovely training sequences of a half naked and very sweaty Oliver Queen to show he is recovered, so his hesitancy isn’t physical. It is mental.

Source: @olivergifs​

Oliver is having a crisis of confidence and is avoiding suiting up like the plague.

Diggle: This guy, the other archer, he got in your head. He took something from you … he took whatever’s in your heart that lets you jump off buildings and take down bad guys.

Oliver worked for every skill he has. It was not gifted by a bolt of lightning. He does not come from an alien planet. Oliver is a weapon honed over time, which includes his superpower. 

Oliver Queen does not fear dying. 

That’s the “whatever” in his heart which gives him the confidence to jump off buildings. This superpower was honed after five years of fighting for survival. Oliver almost died so many times he’s built some kind of emotional immunity to it. It doesn’t freak him out like it would the rest of us.

The darker side of this superpower is Oliver doesn’t care if he lives or dies. Season 1 Oliver Queen is very fatalistic. He’s not suicidal, but he’s accepted death is the price he may have to pay in order to complete his mission. More importantly, he is drowning in guilt and believes death is the ending he deserves.

There’s rigidity in everything about Oliver – from his beliefs to even the way he moves. His posture is rod iron straight and there’s very little movement in his upper body and arms. It’s a physical manifestation of his PTSD. It’s like he’s encased in a brick wall, a tomb of suffering, which makes it difficult to breathe or move. It’s like the act of living is physically painful.

The problem is - Oliver came home and it is having an unexpected emotional impacted on him. He’s been laser focused on this mission, but bit by bit, the feelings he’s long since buried are resurfacing.  Moira, Thea, Tommy, Diggle, Laurel (AND FELICITY) are chipping away at this brick wall. Oliver didn’t adopt this machine like persona because he doesn’t feel anything. It’s because he feels so much, which means even the small holes in this wall are having a profound impact on him.

This all leads to the greatest John Diggle speech in history! Yes, I say that knowing full well Diggle has spectacular speeches throughout the series, but this will always be my favorite because it’s such a universal theme. 

We all must have something that makes life worth living.  This “something” is not limited to romantic love. It can be family, or work or a cause – basically whatever makes you get out of bed every day. It doesn’t have to be just one thing either. In fact, I hope you find many things/people to live for because that means you are living a full and connected life. By that same token, if you don’t have something to live for then you’re not really living. You just exist.

Or in Oliver’s case - survive. He’s known nothing but survival for the last five years. I think he absolutely cares for Yao Fei, Shado and Slade, but that’s exactly why Oliver shut down. He did care for people and it led to nothing but heartache, betrayal and loss. So, Oliver decided to be done with all that and has worked very hard to keep his loved ones at a distance ever since returning home.

He’s been extremely successful at it in many ways because Oliver refuses to share who he really is with anyone outside of John Diggle. So, that’s why it had to be John Diggle to tell him that it was okay to feel again.

Oliver: I’ve been close to death on the island more times than I can remember and I never feared it. Because I had nothing to lose. But when that archer almost killed me, when I stared death in the face then, I thought about all the people I’ve let into my life since I’ve been back – my family, Laurel, Tommy. And that made me afraid. Afraid of what would happen to those people if they lost me. Again. And for the first time in so long I had something to lose.

Oliver may not fear death, but he does fear what his death will mean to those who love him. Like I said earlier - Oliver is not suicidal. If that was true he wouldn’t have fought so hard to survive the island, but that doesn’t mean he’s ready to live. He’s far from it. But this is the first time in a long time Oliver cared whether or not he died. And that scares him.  

Diggle: Maybe you’ve got it backwards Oliver. You think the people you’ve let in have taken your edge. I think it gives you one. Maybe a stronger one even. You can stare down death with something to live for or not. SOMETHING TO LIVE FOR is better.

That’s endgame folks. Oliver’s story is about a man learning to live again. He will collect more and more people/things that he cares about as he walks this road, which means there is more to lose. Losing his life is far preferable than losing someone he loves again.  Oliver can tolerate a great deal of physical pain. It’s the emotional pain that scares the crap out of him. This is why he fights tooth and nail to keep emotions at a distance. It just hurts too much.

Opening our heart to others often means opening our hearts to pain, but that’s not the only side of love. It brings happiness and contentment too. You take the good with the bad. Diggle is trying to open Oliver’s heart to the good.

Is Oliver alive? Or is he just breathing? The answers to those questions make all the difference in the world. A difference Diggle knows will make Oliver an unbeatable weapon.

Lynns: I'm not afraid to die

Oliver: I know. You're afraid to live.

COULD IT BE A PARALLEL?

Methinks yes. It’s interesting “Burned” revolves around fire. Fire is where Oliver’s story began. Lian Yu was about purification, but it was also a rebirth. 

A rebirth we see expanding as Oliver opens up his heart. A fire is lit from within our hero and it’s growing beyond penance, justice and retribution to hope, passion and enlightenment. Oliver Queen is finding reasons to live again. And it will make all the difference for his survival.

L*urel L*nce

If you sense I have less patience with L*urel’s character in Seasons 1 and Season 2 than I did in Season 3 and Season 4 then you’d be right. My opinions on this character changed radically so I’m coming into Season 1 and Season 2 reviews with a Season 8 perspective on L*urel.

Tommy wants a drawer. That’s all. A drawer. Tommy Merlyn is a simple man. Doesn’t take a lot to make him happy. He even wrote a list explaining all the reasons he deserves and needs a drawer. We never see the list, but I’d imagine it looks something like this:

I AM HUMAN PERFECTION.

I did not sleep with your sister.

I am asking for a drawer rather than run screaming to the North China Sea with above referenced sister.

I make you omelets.

I make your character moderately tolerable which is a miracle in of itself.

I could continue, but you get the idea. What’s absolutely ludicrous is OLIVER gives L*UREL relationship advice.

Oliver: Well we're friends.

Me: Oliver, my son, NO YOU ARE NOT. 

At least she had the common sense to scoff at Oliver’s friendly attempt to intervene on Tommy’s behalf. (Seriously, dude just stay out of it. This is wildly inappropriate.)

L*urel was ready to move in with Oliver (even though she knew he cheated on her regularly), but freaks at faithful Tommy requesting armoire access. JFC this woman is a dating disaster zone.

L*urel: I don’t take things slow remember? I close my eyes and I jump just like you. 

My initial reaction to this speech is to call it nonsense. 

I thought this was a case of Arrow telling rather than showing with L*urel’s character. However, upon further contemplation I have reversed my opinion.

L*urel may be a pragmatic attorney on the surface, but we have watched her run the gamut of human emotions week to week. So much so it’s difficult to get a read on the character the writers are trying to construct. (Spoiler alert: they don’t know what kind of character they are trying to construct). One week she loves Oliver. The next week she’s condemning him to hell. L*urel L*nce’s feelings definitely control her.

She has been reckless too, working outside the law, by contacting the vigilante for assistance. A relationship she resumes after telling her father in 1x09 that The Hood is a killer with no remorse. See what I’m saying about the ever changing emotional spectrum?

I’m not saying L*urel having emotions and expressing them is bad. That’s a healthier reaction than what Oliver is doing, but she has been all over the map. It’s less about who L*urel is as a character and more about the writers needing her to react a certain way to make the episode work.

Oliver likes to present himself as a cool cucumber, but he has a rather unpleasant temper too. It may seem like he’s emotionless, but that is just a façade. It’s a cover for the torrent of emotions he keeps at bay.

Laurel: I think that’s why we spooked each other. Our feelings, our fears, they control us. Not the other way around.

L*urel’s “spooking each other” statement is a big line of bull, which we’ll find out later in the season. L*urel was not spooked by Oliver. She was the furthest thing from spooked, which is why she asked him to move in with her.

Oliver wasn’t spooked either. Anytime I reflect on L*uriver I’m reminded of a scene from Sex in the City. Oliver isn’t freaked out by his feelings. He’s just not that into you, L*urel.

The process in which we get OLIVER to realize this and admit it to himself will take much longer, but I can be patient. It’s time will come.

But do I think these two characters are similar? YES. They are too similar in fact. It’s one of the main reasons they don’t work as a couple. This is exactly why Tommy and Felicity are perfect for L*urel and Oliver.  They need someone steady to temper their emotions. 

They need someone happy to balance out their anger. They need someone with a bright light in order to find their own.

It’s also worth noting that Tommy was ready to run into a burning building to save Oliver so GIVE HIM A DAMN DRAWER L*UREL.

Stray Thoughts

Flashbacks were kind of boring. Fyers kidnaps Yao Fei. Oliver saves his own life by accident. Meh

Thea calling Moira out was long overdue. This kid needs a parent ASAP.

Everyone's fall clothing is really adorable.

JUST UNBUTTON THE FRACKIN BUTTON OLLIE.

Merlyn kidnapped Walter right? Or Moira? I seriously don't remember. I don’t think I care either. lol

L*urel: I am not the best example of healthy grieving.

LL has a rare moment of self awareness, which is lovely.

Oliver: I heard what you said to your father. That I'm a killer with no remorse.

L*urel: Do you?

Me: You impertinent little snot.

I like Joanna much better than L*urel and I wished she stayed, but removing Joanna from the show is the first step the writers took to limit L*urel's role. The shift is upon us.

  Not to be unsympathetic, but Moira is starting to rack up the dead husbands.

Thea fantasizing that Walter is cheating on Moira with a stewardess as the hopeful pitch is YIKES. Goodness this show could be dark.

Musings of the Kiddo  

Kiddo: Yeah! He's actually putting his family first!

Me: Settle down. It doesn't last long.

Kiddo: I thought L*urel was gonna find out.

Me: Oh my sweet summer child.

Disclaimer: Any gifs on the blog are not mine. If you would like a gif removed from my reviews, please message me.

If you’d like to support the blog, please buy me a cup of tea!

[femmeharringrove]

merry christmas yall have the first chapter of a fic i completely forgot about

It’s Christmas eve, and Steve hasn’t slept in at least three days but that’s fine.

It’s not, not really, but those are the two words the boy has learned to live off of: that’s fine. It’s the motto of complacency, his father said once, after hearing it on the radio. Steve was just twelve at the time and already knew then that his father’s opinion wasn’t worth shit. Steve isn’t complacent, thank you very much. If he has to label himself, he thinks chill is a better word. He’s a chill guy, he’s the most chill person he knows, and everyone loves a chill person so it’s fine.

It’s stupidly early and he’s on the stupid green sofa in his stupid big house and he feels like shit, which is a surprise to exactly no one. The living room is a mess – he should clean it, he thinks vaguely, but he doesn’t plan on making a move anytime soon. If his parents were coming home he’d do it; can’t have them knowing their son’s become a wallowing slouch as of late. But they’re not coming.

His mother called yesterday, trilling over the line in her unnaturally pitched voice about how Prague was just beautiful this time of year and she wished he could be there to see but someone had to hold the fort down and speaking of they just won’t be able to make it back for the holidays but how would he feel about driving to Cincinnati on New Year’s Eve to join them at one of his father’s business socials that would be fun right? And Steve just listened because what else could he do?

He hadn’t been expecting them, anyway. The family hadn’t celebrated Christmas together in four years.

And in those four years he’d had options. Tommy’s family was happy to have him over, he spent many a holiday with the Hagans and then he’d spent that one truly merry Christmas with the Wheelers, and it was fine, but now he’s got none of that. This year, it’s him and the big empty house and he sort of hates it but it’s fine, thanks.

Steve watches the shadows on the wall shift with the rising sun and feels some vague sense of relief; it’s easier to breathe when the sun is out. That’s what’s been bothering him, really. When he does sleep, his dreams are plagued with darkness and cold and danger, and when he wakes up it’s still darkness and he feels like he can’t breathe. Those nightmares have gotten worse, infinitely worse over time. It’s easier to avoid sleep altogether sometimes. And he has no obligations this holiday season, no parties to appear at or houses to crash, so he can afford the heavy circles under his eyes this year.

It’s fine. It has to be fine, so it is. Even if it isn’t really.

Hawkins got snow last night. Steve drags himself up from his seat and meanders to the back door, eyes gazing out over the endless white carpeting the ground outside. He used to love snow. Now anything cold makes him uncomfortable. He hates the winter, makes him think of the dark Upside Down.

Or that damned Soviet Union and their officers and their cold, cruel faces watching on as he tells them he’s not a spy.

Had that really been this year? It feels like a lifetime ago. It feels like just yesterday. He tears his eyes away from the snow and pads into the kitchen in search of something warm. Coffee? Definitely coffee. He waits in the kitchen while the dark beverage brews and since he’s here he figures he may as well get some food into his body. Steve can cook – it becomes a necessity when you spend most of your childhood devoid of parents – but he doesn’t really want to cook. Takes too much energy, and he’s not willing to put said energy into that. So he goes with toast, because you can never go wrong with toast, right? He even slathers the bread with copious amounts of butter. It’s not the most fulfilling breakfast, but he likes it well enough.

The coffee finishes brewing and Steve spills a good bit of his father’s whiskey into it before dunking three spoonfuls of sugar in and retreating back to the couch. He grabs the remote on his way over and drops himself gracelessly on the cushions before pressing a button. The screen flickers to life and he chugs half of the hot beverage, flips through channel after channel before settling on some feel-good holiday movie. He hates these movies, he really does, but if he’s lucky it might be enough to lull him to sleep for an hour or so.

Steve used to love Christmas movies. He watched families on television gather together and enjoy one another’s company, children waiting for the magic of Santa Claus while parents shared tender moments under mistletoe. It was everything a younger Steve had desired in a holiday. Even when he had his parents home for Christmas, things had been different. Their home was filled with strange adults, co-workers of his father’s and social acquaintances of his mother’s. Santa Claus never came to visit him – his parents would simply give him a gift or two gathered from their trips abroad. He used to enjoy it, but as he got older the presents got less and less interesting, less personal. He went from wishing for those perfect movie-esque holidays to resenting them. That being said, they have their appeal.

Even now Steve can’t help but get a sense of warm comfort and joy radiating from the film, a warm sensation wrapping around his chest. It’s a strange comfort to him, in spite of his bitterness. There’s something inherently warm about holidays, and yet Steve finds himself feeling cold. He wonders idly what his parents are doing now, if they’ll remember to call tomorrow. The boy sits and sips on coffee and wonders and he’s right about the movie because he ends up dozing for a little bit. He dreams of families and caroling and trees and the whole scene takes on a peaceful, golden haze. Something almost physical wounds around his body like a cat rubbing along his frame in a form of greeting. It’s the nicest dream he’s had in a long time.

Which is why, when the doorbell startles him out of his dreams, Steve feels like he’s capable of murder.

The boy is so confused at first he doesn’t realize it’s his doorbell. When the incessant ringing gets accompanied by an even more incessant knocking on the door, Steve groans. The warmth seeps away and he heaves himself up from the couch. The mug is drained of its remaining lukewarm contents before he sets it on the coffee table. Footsteps land heavy as he stomps his way to the door, yanking it open and preparing to bite off the head of whoever dared to disturb him so early on Christmas Eve of all days.

His face morphs from a snarl to a look of surprise. Dustin grins up at him, oblivious to Steve’s previous anger.

And he’s not alone, either. El is there, too, brown eyes sparkling at him, arm tucked in Max’s as they flash him identical grins. On Dustin’s other side, Will’s smile is something more timid than the rest of his co-conspirators. Steve’s shoulders drop.

“What are you dipshits doing out here?” he snaps playfully. “Not you, of course, Will.” Will’s smile widens while Dustin and the girls make faces of protests.

“Hey!” Dustin squawks indignantly. “I’m your favorite, that’s not allowed to change!”

“Oh yeah?” Steve’s hands settled on his hips. “Who rang the doorbell?” El’s hand shoots up. “Uh-huh. And who started knocking?” The younger boy shares a guilty look with Max, who kicks guiltily at the ground. Will blinks at him in innocent confusion. Steve smirks. “So, every single one of you played a role in waking me up from my nap with the exception of Will. Little Byers is now my favorite.” Max groans and Dustin makes another scandalized sound, while Will and El both try to hide their giggles. Steve feels a mix of fondness and frustration as he watches them; that seems to be his default emotion around these damned kids. Shaking his head, Steve opens the door wider. “Okay, okay, now why don’t you all come in so I can figure out what I owe this visit to?”

“No need,” El responds, her laughter dying down. That amused happiness never leaves her face, however. “Will you have dinner with us?”

“Mom and Hopper want you to join us,” Will adds. “You can help out with the tree and everything.”

“And baking and cooking and shit, because Hop and Mrs. Byers aren’t the best in the kitchen,” Max finishes, and even though Will makes a small attempt to protest he and El share a knowing shudder. Dustin bounces on his feet slightly as he looks up at the older boy.

“Plus, if you say yes I can ride back to the house with you!” He grins broadly. “Whaddya say?” Steve blinks.

What does he say?

It’s a nice idea, sure. He loves these kids, feels safe with the two adults in question, and spending the day with them promises to be interesting at the very least. But if they’re all there, he has little doubt about Nancy and Jonathan being there too, and he’s really not mad about it anymore but there’s a little bit of awkwardness lingering between the trio. And even if he did go, those lovebirds will have each other. The party has each other, Hopper has Joyce.  Steve is bound to be left out eventually. He knows it’s not on purpose, of course, but he knows how this goes. How many times has it happened before? And he’s already a little bit pissy this holiday season, that truth isn’t likely to make this any more enjoyable.

But eight pairs of eyes watch him expectantly, hopeful looks etched onto their faces. Steve’s gaze shifts past them, down the driveway and he finds Hopper’s truck waiting at the end and he doesn’t have to see the man to know he’s also waiting for an answer.

He doesn’t like disappointing people. He’s chill, Steve goes with the flow as a matter of principle, and this is where the flow seems to be leading. He makes a show of sighing, theatrics making the kids smile even wider.

“I shouldn’t –“ A series of pleas and protests interrupt him and he has to work hard to keep from smiling. Damn, Steve should have run off to New York or Hollywood and becoming an actor, he’s good at this. “- Oh, alright. I guess I can come for a little while. Dustin pumps his fist into the air as the others grin widely. Dustin rushes to the Beamer and Max isn’t far behind.

“Get your keys, Harrington, let’s get moving!” he shouts. Steve can’t help but laugh.

“Hang on, you little gremlin, I gotta get real clothes on! And do my hair!” The two set on riding with him dart back over and duck under his arm into the house, and Steve waves Will and El off. “Go on, you two, don’t wait for me. Tell Hop I’ll bring the little devils with me,” he orders. Both nod eagerly before setting off back to the car. Steve sees them off before turning back into the house. Max is in the living room, face wrinkled into something resembling disgust.

“Jesus, Steve,” she says, “Do you ever clean this place?” It has gotten pretty bad over the past month or so. Steve tries not to wince at the judgement he feels radiating off of the redhead.

“Never, it’s a point of pride at this point,” he teases instead, and she makes another face, nose crinkling before she rolls her eyes and makes a snide comment about messy boys. Steve reaches over and ruffles her hair, reveling in her giggled squawk of protest. “Oh, be nice, Mayfield. It’s a holiday!” Dustin’s footsteps thud down the stairs.

“It is the holidays, so I know you got me a gift, Harrington,” he states, eyes narrowing. “Where is it?” Max perks up in interest now, spinning from the curly-haired kid to the taller boy, eyebrows arching up.

“Oh, uh, presents? Yeah, um -” Steve smiles sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. Dustin’s eyes go wide.

“You forgot?” He marches down the rest of the stairs. “I can’t believe you, Harrington! Party members are supposed to get gifts for other party members! How could you forget?”

“Steeeve,” Max whines, head falling back dramatically. “I can’t believe you!” And she shouldn’t. Neither of them should. Again, he’s sure he’s missed his calling in life with the whole acting thing. Of course he got gifts for them – tucked safely away in the trunk of his car. He doesn’t plan on outright putting his name on them, but he’s sure the kids will figure it out tomorrow morning, which ones he leaves for them.

Chuckling at their antics, Steve hops up the stairs two at a time and dives into his room. How did this become his life, dealing with more barely-pubescent teens than any nineteen-year-old should? Steve’s shower is quick, and he styles up his hair before digging out an ugly sweater his grandmother had gotten him four years ago. Back then people were convinced the boy would go through a growth spurt; he did, but he hadn’t beefed up in the way everyone anticipated. The sweater still remains baggy on his slender frame, but he wears it nonetheless. Jeans are hastily yanked on and socked feet are shoved into sneakers before he trips his way down the steps.

Max and Dustin are anxious by the door, and he grins at them as he approaches the hall closet and grabs a coat. He hears his keys jangle softly in the pocket as he pulls it over his shoulders.

“The two of you have no patience,” he teases, watching them dash out to the car. He follows at a slower pace, amusement tugging at his lips. The kids are practically buzzing with excited energy, urging him to speed up, and they clamor into the car the moment he gets it unlocked, Max beating Dustin out for the coveted shotgun position. The younger boy pouts at Steve in the rearview mirror. Steve smiles right back at him. “Don’t look at me, she won this round, buddy.” Max’s smile is smug next to him, and Dustin scowls before slumping in the backseat. Steve shakes his head. “Alright, everybody buckle – even you, slouch potato,” The kid’s sulking is immediately replaced with a displeased squawk, and Steve doesn’t bother to hide his pleased smile as he eases out of the driveway and out onto the road.

It’s an easy trip; Steve exits Loch Nora and cruises down Dearborn. From there it’s a turn onto Maple and he has Max dig out cassettes from the glove box now. Wham! sings about holidays and heartbreak as Steve drives carefully past the Sinclair home, then the Wheelers not long after. He’s sure the occupants of both homes are either not there or too busy to be peering out of curtains in search of their kids’ babysitter, but he doesn’t want to risk having them see him do anything remotely reckless, and so he adheres to the laws of the road. Once he turns onto Cornwallis Street, he relaxes, speed inching up as he goes. Dustin’s previous sour mood has all but evaporated and he talks in that loud way of his, leaning up so he can get a look at the two people upfront. Max is just as chatty, and Steve is happy to let them converse, offering small hums here and there to show he’s listening.

He’s not really listening, but he doesn’t need them knowing.

Whiskey eyes try to focus on the road as he makes another turn, this time onto Kerley. It’s been five months since Hawkins last had to fight off monsters. Five months since the mall went down in flames. Five months since the Soviets and their needles and their gate.

He has nightmares still, about the room and the faces and the pain. Sometimes Robin’s there, panicked eyes screaming at him to help. Other times he sees Dustin, the kid looking betrayed as the general smugly tells him about Steve’s slip-up in his interrogation. Some nights he has dreams that leave him feeling physically cold. Those are the dreams he can never remember – whenever he tries, his head aches in a sharp sort of way that quickly has him leaving the whole thing alone. Even now as he thinks about it a dull throb warns him against it just behind his eyes. His thoughts wander further as the Beamer rolls onto Mirkwood.

Robin thinks he needs help. She may be right. Two weeks ago he almost had a full-blown panic attack in the back room of Family Video after seeing someone who looked eerily like the so-called doctor that ended up tugging his fingernails out with horrific ease. Even Keith had been surprised, awkwardly giving him the rest of the day off. Robin, bless her soul, tried talking him down, but ultimately she just held him while he sobbed frantically. Every day after that she gave him this look and he felt like he was suffocating under the weight of her pity, the cold force of her concern, the bitterness of her remorseful anger.

He still isn’t sure how he knew she was feeling all of that so clearly. Steve’s not great at a lot of things, but he’s always had a knack for reading a room. You learned how to do that after witnessing your parents have screaming matches almost every night they actually spent the night in Hawkins; he had to decide whether the tension in the air was manageable or too electric for him to safely involve himself in. When you struggle up the social ladder of high school, you learn how to read people and earn their favor. It’s his thing, always interpreting. It’s been five months since that little quirk seemed to get more sensitive. He doesn’t exactly know how he feels about that, or if it’s a good thing at all.

Steve slowly tunes back into conversation as he turns off of Mirkwood and makes his way down a simple dirt path. From what he can tell, Dustin and Max didn’t quite miss his additions to their conversation during the drive. Easily the two chattiest people in the Party, the older teen’s convinced they could talk for a week straight, without pause, and never notice the lack of anyone else’s input. It’s impressive, if you ask Steve. Max’s electric blue eyes catch his for a moment and she grins widely. She looks for all the world like a normal girl, not like someone who’d almost lost her brother on the Fourth of July.

The Beamer finally comes to a halt. Steve laughs as the two kids scramble out of the car and rush up the driveway. He takes a moment to turn the ignition off and now he’s suddenly feeling rather hesitant.

Why did he let them talk him into this?

The boy slumps in his seat. He should go home. He should crawl onto the couch in the living room and hide under blankets the rest of the night. The kids would not be particularly pleased with him, he’s sure, but he’ll make up for it with the gifts in the trunk. But if he leaves, when is he going to have a chance to leave those gifts for them? He certainly can’t come back tomorrow, and after that he’s just going to feel bad. Up ahead, Dustin’s head tilts as he looks back at the car.

“Harrington! You coming?” Steve hesitates, waves the kid off, and as soon as Dustin turns again he drops his head against the wheel.

He really, really should leave.

The door is slammed shut with a nudge of his hip, and Steve trudges his way up the driveway. Joyce is at the door, all smiles as usual. In spite of his doubts, the boy can’t help but smile back.

“Steve! I’m so glad you came,” she greets, pulling him into a hug as soon as he gets near. Steve settles in her hold for a few brief moments before tugging away reluctantly.

“Hey, Mrs. Byers. I would have brought something with me, but -“ Joyce cuts him off, gentle hands waving about dismissively.

“Oh, none of that,” she chides, “And it’s Joyce, honey. Besides, you can still help in the kitchen.” Her smile turns almost sheepish. “Hopper and I could use an extra hand.” Both of them are stellar single parents, but Steve knows for a fact that neither can cook to save their lives. Steve’s been mastering the art since he was thirteen, he’s gotten quite good at it. He nods at the woman as he slips past her into the house and for a moment he’s overwhelmed by how homey the place looks.

Wrapping paper, string lights, and other festive odds and ends litter the floor. Hopper and Jonathan seem to be in the process of setting up the tree in a corner. A holiday record plays loudly, barely heard over the roaring chatter of the kids yelling and running around. It’s chaos, the very best kind. He’s surrounded by the inherent warmth of it all and the lingering trepidation melts away quickly as Steve lets his shoulders relax.

Eleven notices him first among the kids, and is quick to slip out of a confused Mike’s grip to greet him. Her hug is warm, and Steve holds her tight, one hand rubbing her back as he returns her embrace.

“Hey, kid,” he chuckles, ruffling her hair. Eleven beams up at him.

“You came,” she proclaims. Now Steve lets out a full laugh.

“Well, of course I did! I couldn’t just not show up. Besides, you and Will left me with the little hellions, remember?” Will comes next, shy smile creeping across his face as he tucks himself easily against Steve’s side. Steve pretends to give him a scolding look. “Had my ear talked off the whole way here thanks to you.” Will knows for a fact the older teen isn’t even remotely upset with him. The attempted glare melts into a grin and the boy relaxes, his smile growing easier as his slender arm squeezes around Steve’s waist, then retracts as he backs off. Lucas, already trapped on the ground with Max and Erica, waves in greeting. His teeth flash brilliantly in his bright grin and Steve tips an imaginary hat in his direction. Not too far off, Mike nods in his own greeting, gruff in his usual manner but maybe the holiday magic is working because there’s something unusually friendly about the gesture. Steve returns it in kind.

When Nancy makes her appearance, she falters at the sight of him and Steve’s body almost flinches with the strangeness of it all. Her eyes blink once, twice before she gives him that sad smile.

“I didn’t know you were coming.” Steve’s answering smile is painfully awkward.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t planning on coming. The kids roped me into this last-minute, you know how it is with them.” He becomes distinctly aware of Jonathan eyeing them from across the room and clears his throat.

Yeah, maybe this is a little bit of a mistake.

His escape comes in the form of Hopper, the man’s burly arm falling across his shoulders in a gruff greeting.

“Glad you decided to show up, kid. You’re the only competent chef in this house,” he jokes, but it isn’t really a joke. You’d think a couple of adults would know how to cook a decent meal – well, Joyce can cook a decent meal, but it’s just that. His smile is only slightly less awkward as he’s guided into the kitchen, tossing an odd sort of goodbye to the girl as he goes. Joyce gives him a relieved look as he enters the kitchen.

“Steve, do you think you could help me with this soup?”

He’s kept pleasantly busy after that. Between helping with Joyce’s mushroom soup, letting Dustin peel carrots for the pot roast, taking that job away after the kid hacked apart the vegetables beyond recognition, and attempting to restore some general sense of order to the lawless land of the kitchen, Steve barely has time to think about Nancy or Jonathan or the yelling all around him. He hardly pays attention to the pleasant buzz filling his body as a result of the warm atmosphere. It’s dark by the time all the food gets finished. He’s oddly proud of himself as he looks at the spread of food on the table. It’s nothing fancy, but beef and soup and biscuits on Christmas Eve isn’t a bad idea if you ask him.

He can sit at the table with the rest of the adults. There’s space, and Joyce asks him sweetly if he’d like to sit with them. Steve feels decidedly more comfortable on the living room floor with the kids, however.

And that just seems to be the bulk of his problems sometimes, doesn’t it?

Steve Harrington is almost twenty years old, and he has nearly no friends his own age. To top things off, he also has no idea what he’s doing with himself currently, his past haunts his sleep and his waking hours, and his future is all but nonexistent. He peaked in high school and his life has been in a steady decline ever since. But it’s not all bad – at least he’s got the tragic honor of babysitting the six toughest kids in all the world.

And they aren’t even kids anymore, are they? They’re creeping up on their fifteenth birthdays, all of them. Dustin’s is less than a month away already. Steve can’t believe it. They were kids just yesterday, it feels. He was a kid just yesterday, wasn’t he? Monsters have a funny way of forcing you to grow up, he supposes. And they’ve truly grown, his kids.

Eleven’s curls bounce as her head swivels back and forth to follow their conversation, smile warm and genuine as she leans against Steve’s right. Dustin’s always by his side, the little snot. He looks so happy all the time, his eyes crinkling around the edges as he talks animatedly on his left. Mike’s grown so tall, it’s crazy. Coltish legs are folded awkwardly under him as he sits by Eleven’s side. Lucas rivals Mike in height, though he looks significantly less awkward as he leans up against an engaged Max. She’s cut her hair recently; it’s not a bad look, though he knows she wants to grow it back out again. Something about her is tinged with a bitter sadness, something that makes Steve’s throat choke up in a most peculiar way. He gets it, though; Billy’s brush with death wasn’t that long ago, and she’s still struggling with her grief. But she’ll be alright, he knows. Billy’s getting better, her friends are too stubborn to allow her to struggle alone, even if Billy isn’t their favorite. And on Mike’s other side, simply enjoying the moment, sits Will. He’s grown too, but he’s kept much of his quiet mannerisms. He catches Steve’s eye and smiles a little wider, an action Steve mimics.

Sometimes, the calmer Will Byers is the one Steve claims as his favorite. In all truth, he doesn’t have a favorite.

He has different relationships with each kid, that’s all. His relationships with some are weaker than others, weaker than he liked them to be. Some of them share a bond even Steve can’t explain. But the one thing each relationship has in common is the boy’s love for each and every one of them. There’s no favoritism, even if he tells them otherwise. There’s no choosing, none of that. Each of these six kids have Steve’s whole heart.

It’s Eleven who catches him staring next, and she must see the fondness on his face because the smile she gives him is soft and tender and knowing in its own way. Eleven took to him surprisingly quick; he didn’t quite understand it yet, but he was glad the kid felt so at ease with him.

He’s dragged into the present by Dustin very suddenly collapsing against his side, snorting in laughter as Mike stares at Lucas, offense clear on his face.

“How do you not like the Beastie Boys?” he questions, and now it’s Steve’s turn to snort.

“No one likes the Beastie Boys, Mike,” he chuckles, trying to ignore the appalled look the younger teen gives him. “It’s just what you listen to when you reach the teen rebellion phase.”

“I’m not rebellious!” Mike huffs. Steve’s sure Karen Wheeler would beg to differ.

He doesn’t want to spend the night. Joyce already has her hands full with all these kids, and he doesn’t want to add on to that, so he goes out to the car once the kids have all gone to sleep in the basement and gets his sack of presents and he’s going to leave after giving them to Hopper, but Joyce stops him, a curious look on her face.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” she questions. Steve feels awkward now, shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“You’ve already got plenty of people spending the night, Mrs. By-“

“None of that,” she cuts him off with a wave of her hand. “You’ll have to come back tomorrow anyway if you leave, you’re having dinner with us.” Steve doesn’t remember agreeing to that, but now he doesn’t have a choice. Hopper, setting a gift under the tree, grunts in agreement.

“She’s right, kid,” he confirms as he stands straight again. “Can’t get out of this one, the kids won’t leave your door until you come back with them. It’ll be much easier on everyone if you just stay.”

And he doesn’t want to because this is their tradition, this is something they’ve been doing together for years as one large family and Steve isn’t really a part of that, so he wants to give them space, but Joyce is already dragging him back inside with the gifts, then she’s off grabbing blankets and Hopper busies him with the task of wrapping last-minute gifts until he forgets wanting to leave.

The couch is his for the night. Joyce gets him some of Jonathan’s clothes and even kisses his forehead and wishes him a merry Christmas before retreating to her room for the night. Hopper wishes him a good rest, and he understands because it’s already ass o’clock in the morning and it’s only a matter of time before those kids come barreling up the stairs to yell about their gifts. The living room is dark, aside from the gentle blinking of the string lights on the tree. It’s a silent night, indeed. He feels warm, and not just from the blankets tucked in close around him.

For the first time in three nights, Steve sleeps. He’s blissfully without dreams.

It lasts barely five hours.

The basement door is opened quite aggressively, and a cacophony of feet thud in before he hears a loud hushing sound, followed by the loudest whisper he’s ever heard.

“Dudes, Steve’s asleep!” one of the little shits hisses. Steve’s fairly sure it’s Dustin. He prays they turn around and go back downstairs for another hour or two.

“Shut up, he’s gonna hear you!” a girl’s voice hisses back, and she’s impossibly louder than the first kid – undeniably Max, Eleven would never whisper that loud. Jesus, who taught them how to whisper?

“Both of you shut up, let’s just get to the target,” a third, quieter voice butts in, and they’re just quiet enough that Steve can’t tell who it is, which tells him it’s either Mike or Will. He’s betting on Mike.

He knows what their target is. Steve takes a moment to contemplate. Either he lets them poke around the presents until Jim or Joyce come in and stop them, which will definitely result in loud protesting and a permanent end to his rest, or he can get up now and get a little bit of sympathy from at least Will for them waking him up. Either way, he’s awake now.

He hears someone poking at a box and goes with the latter.

“Aren’t you little shitheads supposed to wait for your parents?” he groans, eyes peering at the group blearily. All six of them freeze.

“Abort mission?” Lucas whispers to Mike.

“Abort mission,” Steve confirms before the other kid gets a chance, sitting up and stretching. Eleven treads silently over to the sofa and finds her way under his blanket to press into his side.

“Merry Christmas,” she hums, as if she has nothing to do with the early morning shenanigans that roused him. Will joins them on the sofa, and it’s clear the other four are trying to decide how to best fit themselves on the piece of furniture with their babysitter. It’s about to get very cramped, he realizes.

“Yeah, yeah, bah humbug,” he grumbles in reply, but no one misses his fond smile.

Joyce makes her appearance thirty minutes after that, and of all the things she expects to see on a Christmas morning, this was decidedly not it. None of the kids on the couch notice her upfront, too caught up in their giggles and hushed conversation. Steve looks tired, she notes, but he’s not as pale or tired-looking as he was yesterday. He may not be her kid, but she worries about him nevertheless as if he was. Shaking her head slightly, she pads further into the room.

“I hope you all didn’t wake Steve up,” she tells the younger teens as she reaches the sofa. Guilty looks are shared and a few mouths open in hopes of explaining themselves, but Steve beats them all to the punch.

“They didn’t,” he covers, smiling softly up at the woman. “I was up before these hellions tried getting into the presents.” Joyce doesn’t believe him, not for a second, but she leaves it alone as she leans down and gives Will and Eleven kisses on their forehead. Max gets one next, followed by a gentle ruffling of Mike’s hair because he gets fussy about kisses. Lucas smiles as he gets a kiss, and Dustin responds in kind. Even Steve gets a kiss, and he smiles in spite of his surprise.

“Thank you, for keeping them out of the presents,” she tells him as she straightens up and sways off towards the kitchen. He thinks about going to help her, but he looks at the kids sprawled out on the sofa with him and he just can’t bring himself to make them get up, so he stays put. They whisper back and forth about present predictions (Dustin makes a passive comment about some people forgetting to buy presents, Max makes a face at Steve and it takes serious effort to not laugh), and by the time Joyce returns with coffee the six are practically bouncing with restlessness. Their excitement is downright infectious, Steve feels their giddy joy in his bones, his stomach twisting in a good sort of anxiousness. Hopper shuffles in soon after, makes his way directly to the kitchen and gets himself a mug of coffee. He brings an extra one out for a very grateful Steve. Mike makes a face when the smell of caffeine reaches his nose. Lucas doesn’t have to smell it before he gets that disgusted look on his face.

“I can’t understand why you drink that stuff,” he states. Steve inhales the warm smell, sips on the drink (and he’s got to give the chief a thanks because it’s got just the right amount of cream and sugar – not too much, but just enough to take the edge off of the bitter taste), and pauses for added drama before forming his response.

“Lucas, my friend, let’s revisit this conversation when you hit nineteen.” He rests the mug on top of Eleven’s wild curls and revels in her giggled protest.

Outside, the sun is just beginning to poke through the darkness. Steve glances towards the window, watches the black sky turning into blue, and couldn’t help but feel that maybe, maybe, this Christmas isn’t going to be so bad after all.

In an attempt to distract the gaggle of children from the glistening presents under the tree, Steve finally nudges the kids off of him and makes his way to his feet, and he stretches out his body with a few, satisfying cracks in his spine. He’s getting old.

“Hey. You little gremlins want hot cocoa?”

They do, of course they do. And they follow him like a line of duckling behind their mother as Steve trudges into the kitchen. They sit in a row and happily sip on the warm drinks as the brunette then sets about making breakfast. Joyce rubs his shoulder and says he didn’t have to, but Steve is happy to do it, he likes making himself useful. Besides, he’s good at this, the kids love his pancakes. He even whips up scrambled eggs and slices of wonderfully crisp bacon. The smell draws a bleary-eyed Jonathan from his room. He looks surprised by Steve’s presence, but offers a small smile.

“Merry Christmas,” he offers, ruffling Will’s hair on his way by. He pours himself a cup of coffee, and Steve smiles back at him.

“Yeah, Merry Christmas to you too.”

[tysonrunningfox]

Toothless: Return to the Black Pony of Second Chances: Part 6

This is kind of a weird little limbo chapter leading to further shenanigans but whatever 

Ao3

I don’t get involved in drama. 

Really. 

I don’t. 

I don’t care who’s dating who, or whatever.  It doesn’t matter.  I don’t mention it whenever I see someone sneak home late at night.  It’s just not something I care about, beyond the fact that the person in question will largely be lazy and useless the next day. 

It doesn’t matter that Hiccup was having a video call with a pretty girl, because no matter how many times Ruff comments on how tall he is, I don’t care. 

In fact, it matters even less because he’s largely been non-whiny the last few days, at least compared to the twins or Snotlout.  Fishlegs is whiny in a different way, because the accommodations aren’t luxurious or intellectual enough for him, but again, I don’t argue because I don’t do drama. 

I don’t do dramatic exits, abandoning things with a sweep of an imaginary cape as I stalk off for a fresh start. 

Apparently, Hiccup does. 

Or at least he abruptly leaves dinner with most of his plate uneaten, and I’m left chewing on perfectly cooked steak that’s suddenly gone dry in my mouth, his dad not staring at me so pointedly that he might as well be glaring. 

Fishlegs scrapes his fork across his plate and it’s fingernails on a chalkboard. 

Tuffnut picks his teeth. 

And it’s Snotlout, fucking Snotlout, who breaks the tension. 

“Is anyone going to eat that?”  He points at Hiccup’s plate, avoiding my eyeline even though it’s clear he thinks he needs my permission, and my teeth grind together unconsciously. 

I swallow and stab at a potato with my fork. 

“Because if no one’s going to eat that—”

“Go for it,” I bark, making the decision that no one else will. 

I don’t blame Mr. Haddock, and not just because I can’t blame him, but because he just promoted me, effectively, and this is my problem to deal with.  And I don’t know how to act, because I’ve never been good with the interface between ‘boss’ and ‘family’ and exactly how my loyalty should be weighted within that matrix, but it has largely always centered on the horses. 

And Mr. Haddock takes care of the horses. 

“I mean…if no one else wants it,” Snotlout feigns hemming and hawing even as he pulls Hiccup’s plate towards him and I scowl. 

“Speak now, or forever hold your peace.”  It’s directed at everyone else, but Snotlout has to comment, because of course he does. 

“If you’re proposing, is this where someone is supposed to object, or?”  He laughs. 

No one else does. 

I take my last bite of food, teeth clicking against the fork before I stand up. 

“I’m going to go check the fences.” 

“Astrid,” Mr. Haddock tries to let me off of the hook I mounted myself and I pick up my plate. 

“It’s a nice night, I’d like the ride.” 

Once my plate is washed and on the drying rack, I risk the hallway I never walk through to get to the back door, because right now, walking past dusty family photos is better than dealing with Snotlout.  The one closest to the door gives me pause, a gangly second grader between two smiling parents with that stereotypical posing smile, the uncomfortable one that I could never really replicate for school pictures. 

A polite, get along to get along smile that he seems to have lost the ability or intention to use. 

He was a scrawny kid, not that much has changed, and I think back to the brittle line of his shoulders as he hunched over his computer screen, trying to block it from me. 

Hopefully, he’ll be cooled off by tomorrow, or at least keep his grudge to himself. 

The wind whips at my hair on the short stint to the barn and I wish I’d grabbed my hat, but again, not worth dealing with Snotlout, so I jog the rest of the way, trying to remember if there’s a spare in the tack room.  I think I left a hair tie with Stormfly’s saddle, and that’ll have to be good enough. 

I don’t bother announcing my presence before opening the door and I’m shocked to hear someone swear, a horse snorting and pawing at the ground. 

Not just someone. 

Hiccup. 

Who is standing in Toothless’s stall, hand on the black, stupidly-named horse’s shoulder, eyes already narrowing into a glare as I close the door behind me. 

I glare back, like a habit, and he turns back to Toothless’s neck, brushing a fine bristled brush across his muddy neck, like that’ll do anything. 

“If you’re trying to groom him, that won’t work,” I tell him, trying for casual as I walk past Toothless’s stall to Stormfly’s.  She buries her nose in her dinner for one last bite before raising her head and nodding at me.  Excited. 

“I know you can’t help but give it,” his voice is curt, barely undercutting disrespectful, “but I don’t actually need to hear your opinion on everything.” 

“It’s not an opinion,” I fasted Stormfly’s halter behind her ears and walk her towards the tack room, dropping the lead rope so that she’ll stand ground tied as I tack her up. 

“Since I’m already beholden to you, can I please just tend to my horse without fending off your constant judgement too?”  He snaps, and I should go. 

I don’t get involved with drama. 

“It’s not judgement,” I say because it’s not.  That would imply that I care, which I don’t.  He got his work done, the rest of it is none of my business. 

“Right.”  His eye roll is audible, the whisk of that useless brush across the mud in his horse’s fur like nails on a chalkboard.  “Totally believable.” 

I grit my teeth, grabbing Stormfly’s curry comb and raking it through the dried sweat behind her front leg.  She looks at Hiccup curiously over my shoulder, ears twitching, and when I glance back at him, he’s staring at the brush in my hand. 

He instantly looks away, ashamed to be caught again, and I want to bark that maybe he wouldn’t have to hide so much if he stopped doing things he doesn’t want anyone to find out about.  Like talking to not-girlfriends in rooms with unlocked doors, right before dinner. 

But that would be engaging, and I have to check the fences. 

He brushes Toothless again, uselessly, saying something in a calm, under the breath tone that makes Stormfly perk her ears again.  She must see something of Mr. Haddock in Hiccup that I don’t think anyone else does, because her jaw works quietly, expecting her usual treat. 

I set my curry comb down and get my hoof pick, urging Stormfly to lift her front foot with a click and tug at her fetlock as I bend over.  She lifts it easily, still watching Hiccup, and I start clearing the mud from this morning’s ride out of her hoof. 

Hiccup’s eyes are bright like coals on the back of my neck and I wish I’d faced Stormfly the other direction, because I’m also too aware of my shirt riding up my back, the still, sticky barn air against my lower back.  Not that it would be better to have to look at him when I stand up.  Or maybe it would.  I don’t know. 

I’m not usually involved in the drama. 

All the complicated teenage interactions that Ruff is always trying to clue me in on have always just annoyed me.  The reasons Gustav is nice to me or the way that Snotlout and Fishlegs act around girls back from college for the summer are completely irrelevant to what I’m trying to do here, but now there’s the pressure of foreman on my shoulders and it makes me worry about group dynamics and the necessity of at least feigning getting along, that is if I want to stay on through the fall. 

I set Stormfly’s foot down and stand up, yanking my shirt back down over the back of my jeans and glaring at Hiccup over my shoulder. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” he answers automatically, eyes darting back to Toothless’s filthy fur. 

“You’re staring at me.”  I don’t need to ask, because it’s obvious, and he shrugs, not sufficiently deterred.  “Why?” 

“I’m…” He looks at the hoof pick in my hand and deflates slightly even as he sets his jaw, “I’m wondering what you’re doing.” 

“I’m picking Stormfly’s feet,” I move to her back foot, ignoring how my shirt rides up my back again.  Hiccup’s eyes are still on me, curious like he hasn’t been, like somehow this exact second isn’t drudgery and I’m once again plagued with the fact that I don’t actually want him to hate it here. 

Purposefully making this awful for him would be…dramatic.  Without question. 

I want him to get his work done without complaint, and even I have to say that he’s largely done that the past few days.  A little slow, sure, more than a little mouthy about how disgusting he finds things, but he’s been mostly willing.  Mostly productive. 

And he can put in a good word to his dad, if he has reason. 

“Picking her feet?”  He clarifies the term when I stand up again, patting her on the rump and walking around to her other side.  “The ones she’s wearing now are ‘so last season’, I’m guessing.” 

It’s a joke that I don’t get, but he still thinks it’s funny, laughing to himself in a way that feels like it’s at my expense and I bristle. 

“Traditionally, jokes only count if everyone laughs.” 

“Traditionally, the ability to laugh at jokes requires a sense of humor.” He snaps back, edge in his voice making his horse stomp and jostle him with a heavy swing of his head. 

“Just because I’m not going to laugh at something that’s not funny to make you feel better doesn’t mean that I don’t have a sense of humor.” 

“Could have fooled me,” he scoffs. 

And he watches, craning his neck to see me lift Stormfly’s other front foot, and if I didn’t think he’d take it as a victory, I’d go check the fences on foot to get away from the unwelcome, confusing attention. 

“What is so fascinating?”  I stand up straight, forearm on Stormfly’s shoulder as I glare at him.  “Haven’t you ever seen anyone groom a horse before?” 

“No.”  He sets his chin, the line of his jaw skinny-sharp, like he should have put his tantrum away long enough to finish his steak.  “I haven’t.  Or at least, not since I was about eight.” 

I can tell that to everyone else, the ranch feels small.  Restrictive.  Usually, I can’t put together why, given the wide sloping fields and big blue sky, the endless nooks and crannies among the creeks and hills. 

But it’s easier to conceptualize how much bigger the rest of the world is when Hiccup reminds me that he’s spent essentially his entire life, or the part that matters, the part where he formed his opinions and experiences, so far away from everything that I know. 

I should ask him if he wants to learn.  Or even tell him that he needs to learn, but I wonder what he’d want to tell me in return and fall back on something familiar.  Bossy, even though I’d never admit it when it’s thrown back at me. 

“He needs it,” I gesture at Toothless with my chin and he sighs. 

“Yeah, I’m as ineffective as a horse owner as I am as a ranch hand.  Who would have guessed?”  He mimes flexing a skinny arm, making fun of himself like he anticipates me trying to and he thinks it’ll be better somehow if he gets there first. 

Usually, it hurts the same no matter who drops the pitchfork on my foot, so I avoid doing it myself. 

“That mud caked in his fur can irritate his skin, and it’s not helping his leg heal.” 

“Yeah, I get it, but the general store’s car wash is nonexistent and the owner’s mad at me anyway.” 

“You did steal.”  I remind him and he bristles again, his heckles going up. 

“And I didn’t even spin my pistol around my finger in the parking lot while limping in chaps.  Not very regionally appropriate, I know.”  He shoves his hands in his pockets, expression softening slightly when Toothless nudges at his wrist, “I was operating under the impression that most John Wayne movies were filmed in Arizona, or something.  I thought the rules could be adjusted aesthetically, at least.  My ass would get pretty cold in chaps here, with the wind.” 

“Are you serious right now?”  I don’t get involved with drama, but I’m used to Snotlout attempting to drag me back. 

“Never.”  He snorts, and something about it strikes me as truly miserable.  Not pouting.  Not trying to extract sympathy. 

“Have you picked his feet?”  I ask, and it comes out wrong, flat and irritated, because I’m flat and irritated, but he doesn’t puff up or argue. 

“No, these came stock.” 

“Picking a horse’s feet means cleaning out the mud and rocks from the bottom of the hoof.”  I point at Stormfly’s last back foot, putting on my best reasonable foreman voice and trying to make my face match.  “It’s important because a rock or other hoof obstruction can eventually make a horse come up lame.” 

“They aren’t assigned lame in middle school like the rest of us?”  He jokes and I grit my teeth together, struggling to stretch my ranch size world view to accommodate his non-attempt at communication. 

“When a horse is lame, they have a limp, of some kind.  Some issue moving.  It’s a bigger deal for a thousand-pound animal.”

“Ah, the other kind of lame I was assigned.  I get it.” 

“Come here,” I order.  Distinctly.  Foreman voice wavering. 

“Why?” 

“Because I can’t get close to that horse and someone needs to pick his feet, so you can learn on Stormfly.” 

He weighs that for a second and I’m surprised when he nods, carefully exiting the stall, fingers not quite clumsy on the latch but not comfortable either before he walks over to us, threatening to skirt way too close to Stormfly’s rear. 

“Whoa there,” I hold my hand out to stop him and it works, except for his sudden, condescending smirk. 

“Are you talking to me, or the horse?” 

“You.” 

“You just said ‘come here’, I know I’m not a master of deciphering mixed signals but—”

“Don’t walk right behind a horse you don’t know.”  I must say it with some kind of authority, because he pauses, for once, before turning on his heel and walking around Stormfly’s front.  He doesn’t touch her though, even as her eyes follow him and she huffs hot breath against his sleeve. 

“She’s not tied up,” he comments on the lead rope against the ground and I shrug. 

“She’s ground tied.” 

“So, horses are susceptible to gravity.  Noted.” 

“She’s trained to not move when her rope is touching the ground.”  I clarify, handing him the hoof pick and stepping to the side so that he can get at Stormfly’s back foot.  “You need to bend over and pick up her back foot.” 

“Thousand-pound animal,” he points at his chest, a little panicky, “I can’t actually deadlift two-hundred-fifty pounds like you can.” 

“I wasn’t,” I pull back from the argument before it starts, “she’ll help.” 

“If this breaks my back—”

“It won’t.” 

He doesn’t seem to believe me, too cautiously setting his palm flat on Stormfly’s side as he adjusts his grip on the hoof pick.  When he leans forward, his shirt rides up his back, revealing a pale, skinny spine and boxers peeking out of his stupid, pre-ripped jeans.  I focus on Stormfly’s foot, patting her haunch when she easily lifts it for him, shifting only slightly when he fumbles with how to hold her hoof. 

“Put your hand—”  I try to explain and he cups the bottom of her hoof, impossibly awkward.  “Here.  Let me.”  I bend down next to him, grabbing his hand and placing it properly around her hoof wall, tugging her foot up a few inches so that he can properly see the bottom of it. 

“Oh.”  He shifts his feet, turning the hoof pick in his hand and trying to get an angle on it.  “That doesn’t hurt her or…”

“No.”  I try to be patient.  Really.  “Now scrape around the frog—”  

“Very funny,” he sets her foot down all at once and stands back up, wiping mud on pre-ripped jeans and taking a step back. 

“What?” 

“The ‘frog’?”  He snorts, “really?  While I’m bent over are you going to drop a house on me and call me the Wicked Warlock of the Big Evil City?” 

“No,” I hold my hand out for the pick and he stares, guarded like he’s sure there’s a catch.  “I’ll show you.” 

“I’ve always wanted a tour of the secret horse frog,” he hands it over, and I swallow against the urge to tell him how wrong he is, ignoring how my shirt rides up again when I bend over and lift Stormfly’s foot. 

“This,” I trace the triangle in the middle of her hoof with the pick, “is the frog.  There’s a V shaped groove around it, and that’s largely what needs to be cleaned out.”  I demonstrate, a few compressed flakes of mud falling onto the barn floor before I stand up and wipe my dirty hand on my jeans. 

“Does everything having to do with horses have to have some weird word associated with it?”  It’s rhetorical, but he expects an answer, and I think that summarizes most of our interactions.  “Is Toothless even black or is there some other name for it?  Is he Ebony?  Charcoal pattern A-1?” 

“He’s black.” 

“Not Onyx 3A-4B?” 

I’m used to being the butt of jokes.  Or more accurately, the imaginary stick supposedly up my butt being the butt of jokes.  Usually, I ignore it, because there’s no point in engaging.  It gets me nowhere, it doesn’t matter. 

But right now, looking at Hiccup’s smug face, spouting meaningless numbers and trying to act like he’s not mad that I walked in on a call I don’t care about, I remember something. 

My first math packet is due digitally next week. 

“He’s letting you close to him,” I say and Hiccup shrugs. 

“Hasn’t showed me his frog yet, but I figure, at this rate, it’s just a matter of time.”  His awkwardness doesn’t shut him down and I don’t understand how he’s so ok with projecting it. 

Like it’s easier to be uncomfortable if everyone else is too. 

It’s infuriating. 

“Then you should really learn to groom him.”  I pick up my curry comb and hold it out at him, “like if you’re trying to get the mud caked on his neck off of him, you need to use one of these.” 

“This is…a torture device,” he pokes the tines on the comb and I sigh, pressing it into Stormfly’s neck and dragging it across her shoulder.  She arches into it, lip curling when it scratches her favorite itch. 

“It’s a scratch, for her.” 

“She’s bigger than Toothless,” he comments, a little muted, and I shrug. 

“Not by much.”  I exhale through my nose, trying to remember how to cushion things.  “About earlier—”

“When you told everyone that I had a girlfriend?”  He doesn’t so much snap as he snaps back to some previously established protocol and I huff. 

“I’m—You were being secretive in your room talking to a girl, what was I supposed to think?” 

He weighs my rhetorical question like it’s real and shrugs one shoulder, hand idly petting Stormfly’s shoulder, “nothing.” 

He’s right. 

“I don’t involve myself with ranchhand drama—”

“Could have fooled me.” 

It’s like he knows that I can’t fall back on my usual backup where people are scared of me.  It’s not even intentional, usually, people just…don’t expect intensity and when they find it, they’d rather back off than question it.  And his dad made me foreman. 

And my math homework is due next week. 

“I wanted to ask you about the internet.” 

“Wanted?”  He sees right through me, eyebrow raised, stepping away from Stormfly like she burned him. 

“No.”  I tuck my hair behind my ear, “I—your dad never turns it on.” 

“What?  Do you need to check Facebook to connect with the three people in the county who don’t live within a hundred yards of where we’re standing right now?”  There it is again, the cruelty he tries on like a mask.  A mask he wishes were permanent, and something about his determined brooding makes me think it will be soon enough, if he gets his way. 

When he gets his way.  Probably. 

“I need to turn something in,” I stick to the truth, voice curt as I cross my arms, Stormfly’s ears flicking back towards me. 

“To the single county cop who cares about a pack of gum?” 

“To school.”  I grit my teeth, and he is tall.  Taller than me.  And I hate it.  Because how do I maintain anything of ‘foreman’ when I need his help? 

“To school?”  He repeats, frowning, and I sigh. 

“Yes.”  I tap my boot on the floor before turning on my heel and heading back to the tack room to grab Stormfly’s saddle.  I don’t ask Hiccup to move before swinging it onto her back and he barely gets out of the way in time, stumbling backwards and elbowing the nearest stall, startling Hookfang, who snorts and stomps his foot. 

“It is summer—”

“To summer school.”  Admitting it doesn’t feel great.  In fact, I wish I could take it back.  I wish I could take the whole conversation back, that I could have just ignored him.  I’d be half done with my round by now, wind in my hair, peace of mind incoming. 

He’s silent for too long, watching me tighten my saddle, eyes cataloging my motions like he might be planning to steal from me next and my teeth grind together.  Stormfly’s patient as I get her bridle, slipping the bit into her mouth and unclipping the lead rope like I’m not waiting for Hiccup to say something. 

Because I’m not. 

Because he’s not going to say anything helpful.  He’s definitely not going to say anything charitable.  He’s going to relish in having something to hold over me even though he doesn’t understand my world or its consequences, at all. 

He’s a spoiled thief in pre-ripped jeans who has never had to work eight hours after school, trying to keep a horse farm running through disaster after disaster.  He’s never fallen asleep in class because he’d already been up working horses for hours. 

“So, the rumors are true.”  He says, cryptic as I start to lead Stormfly to the barn door by her reins. 

I stop short, thinking about Snotlout and the twins and even Fishlegs.  About the swirling small-town rumor mill that he doesn’t understand.  That he couldn’t understand. 

“What rumors?” 

“You did fail math.” 

“Who told you?”  I shake my head, “never mind, I don’t care.” 

“Fishlegs.” 

“Fishlegs,” I grit my teeth, shoving the door open and inhaling as Stormfly follows me through.   I’ll put him on chicken coop duty for a month. 

Two months. 

“If I help you get internet, what’s in it for me?”  He asks, and he could put in a good or bad word for me and I don’t know which his dad would believe more.  I don’t know how I’m here, or why, or how nothing is clear anymore. 

“I don’t know, Hiccup,” I swing onto Stormfly and settle into the saddle, glad for the height and the mode of transportation, the warm, steady sides between my knees.  “What do you want?” 

“Take me into town sometime.”  He catches me off guard, “I’m going crazy.  I think I forgot what buildings look like.” 

“Usually at least four walls.  A ceiling, typically.”  I should be above his bad influence, but I’m not.  Apparently. 

“Good counting,” his grin is a little too performative to really be cruel and I want to ask about his phone call again, because I think I forgot how to care about petty drama until he showed up and made it too petty to ignore.  “No promises, but I’ll tell my dad about the wonders of anti-virus again.” 

“I’ve got to go check on the cows,” I cluck at Stormfly, pressing my leg against her side to indicate where we’re going.  Finally.  After all these interruptions.  “I don’t know when I’ll have to go into town again but…if your chores are done, I’ll let you know.” 

“And you’re the one who gets to decide when my chores are done,” he grins, clapping his hands on his thighs hard enough that Stormfly tenses.  “Great.” 

I could tell him that he hasn’t been doing the worst job, but I’m not willing to part with another bargaining chip right now.  Not when I know I haven’t been avoiding the drama at all.  I’ve just been blind to my own involvement. 

[aboveallarescuer]

Dany’s problems in Slaver’s Bay

As I was rereading ASOIAF, I made it my goal to compile all* the book passages demonstrating either certain key attributes of Daenerys Targaryen (e.g. that she's compassionate and smart) or aspects of hers that are usually overstated (e.g. that she's ambitious and prophecy-driven).  Doing such a task may seem exaggerated, but I'd argue it's not, for many, many misconceptions about Dany have become widespread in light of the show's final season's events (and even before).

It must be acknowledged that it can be tricky to reference, say, ADWD passages to counter-argument how she was depicted in season eight (which allegedly follows ADOS events). Dany will have had plenty of character development in the span of two books. However, whatever happens to Dany in the next two books, I would argue that there is more than enough material to conclude that her show counterpart was made to fall for flaws that she (for the most part) never had and actions that she (for the most part) would never take. (and that's not even considering the double standards and the contradictions with what had been shown from show!Dany up until then, but that's obviously out of the scope of these lists)

Another objection to the purpose of these lists is that Game of Thrones is different from A Song of Ice and Fire and should be analyzed on its own, which is a fair point. However, the show is also an adaptation of these books, which begs the questions: why did they change Dany's character? Why did they overfocus on negative traits of hers or depicted them as negative when they weren't supposed to be or gave her negative traits that were never hers to begin with? Another fact that undermines the show=/=books argument is that most people think that the show's ending will be the books', albeit only in broad strokes and in different circumstances. As a result, people's perception of Dany is inevitably influenced by the show, which is a shame.

I hope these lists can be useful for whoever wants to find book passages to defend (or even simply explore different facets of) Dany's character in metas or conversations.

*Well, at least all the passages that I could find in her chapters, which is no guarantee that the effort was perfectly executed, but I did my best.

Also, people could interpret certain passages differently and then come up with a different collection of passages if they ever attempted to make one, so I'm not saying that this list is completely objective (nor that there could ever be one).

Also, some passages have been cut short according to whether they were, IMO, relevant to the specific topic of the list they're in, so the context surrounding them may not always be clear (always read the books and use asearchoficeandfire). Many of them appear in different lists, sometimes fully referenced, sometimes not.

I listed the passages back to front because I felt doing so highlighted Dany's evolution better.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To justify the existence of this list, let's see examples of widespread opinions that I feel misrepresent Daenerys Targaryen:

As Daenerys freed slaves in her path to the Iron Throne, she faced win-wins that allowed her to avoid tough decisions -- she picked up armies she didn’t have to pay for, while she got to feel squarely in the moral right because all the men she killed were bad guys. (The Take)

~

As the mother of three Dragons, she’s spent a long time feeling like she’s all-powerful. So many times her secret weapon allowed her to reject two bad choices and take everything she wants not having to get herself dirty with the compromises mere mortals have to make all the time. (The Take)

Are her problems simple because "she faced win-wins" and "[felt] squarely in the moral right"? Did "her secret weapon" allow her to "reject two bad choices"? I would argue these claims certainly cannot be made after reading the books. Neither can be argued that "she's spent a long time feeling like she’s all-powerful", which another long list of passages can prove. So take a look at these passages. 

NOTE: I organized them chronologically because I think the progression of events works better that way, which is different from other lists (that were focused on Dany’s characterization), in which I ordered the chapters back to front because I felt it highlighted Dany’s character development.

Also, many of these passages are the same of my list about Dany's actions and the advice she receives as Queen of Meereen because one passage that is about the problems she's facing can also be about what she's doing about them.

1 Meereen’s declining economy, famine, fighting pits and other internal problems

ASOS Daenerys V

The Great Masters of Meereen had withdrawn before Dany’s advance, harvesting all they could and burning what they could not harvest. Scorched fields and poisoned wells had greeted her at every hand.

ASOS Daenerys VI

Her audience chamber was on the level below, an echoing high-ceilinged room with walls of purple marble. It was a chilly place for all its grandeur. There had been a throne there, a fantastic thing of carved and gilded wood in the shape of a savage harpy. She had taken one long look and commanded it be broken up for firewood. “I will not sit in the harpy’s lap,” she told them. Instead she sat upon a simple ebony bench. It served, though she had heard the Meereenese muttering that it did not befit a queen.

Her bloodriders were waiting for her. Silver bells tinkled in their oiled braids, and they wore the gold and jewels of dead men. Meereen had been rich beyond imagining. Even her sellswords seemed sated, at least for now. [...]

“Was the night as quiet as it seemed?” Dany asked.

“It seems it was, Your Grace,” said Brown Ben Plumm.

She was pleased. Meereen had been sacked savagely, as new-fallen cities always were, but Dany was determined that should end now that the city was hers. She had decreed that murderers were to be hanged, that looters were to lose a hand, and rapists their manhood. Eight killers swung from the walls, and the Unsullied had filled a bushel basket with bloody hands and soft red worms, but Meereen was calm again. But for how long?

~

She found herself remembering Eroeh, the Lhazarene girl she had once tried to protect, and what had happened to her. It will be the same in Meereen once I march, she thought. The slaves from the fighting pits, bred and trained to slaughter, were already proving themselves unruly and quarrelsome. They seemed to think they owned the city now, and every man and woman in it. Two of them had been among the eight she’d hanged. There is no more I can do, she told herself.

ADWD Daenerys I

Food was more costly every day, whilst the price of flesh grew cheaper. In the poorer districts between the stepped pyramids of Meereen's slaver nobility, there were brothels catering to every conceivable erotic taste, she knew.

~

Beyond Meereen’s walls of many-colored brick, Dany’s rule was tenuous at best. Thousands of slaves still toiled on vast estates in the hills, growing wheat and olives, herding sheep and goats, and mining salt and copper. Meereen’s storehouses held ample supplies of grain, oil, olives, dried fruit, and salted meat, but the stores were dwindling.

~

“Magnificence,” prompted Reznak mo Reznak, “will you hear the noble Hizdahr zo Loraq?”

Again? Dany nodded, and Hizdahr strode forth; a tall man, very slender, with flawless amber skin. He bowed on the same spot where Stalwart Shield had lain in death not long before. I need this man, Dany reminded herself. Hizdahr was a wealthy merchant with many friends in Meereen, and more across the seas. He had visited Volantis, Lys, and Qarth, had kin in Tolos and Elyria, and was even said to wield some influence in New Ghis, where the Yunkai’i were trying to stir up enmity against Dany and her rule.

And he was rich. Famously and fabulously rich ...

And like to grow richer, if I grant his petition. When Dany had closed the city’s fighting pits, the value of pit shares had plummeted. Hizdahr zo Loraq had grabbed them up with both hands, and now owned most of the fighting pits in Meereen.

The nobleman had wings of wiry red-black hair sprouting from his temples. They made him look as if his head were about to take flight. His long face was made even longer by a beard bound with rings of gold. His purple tokar was fringed with amethysts and pearls. “Your Radiance will know the reason I am here.”

“Why, it must be because you have no other purpose but to plague me. How many times have I refused you?”

“Five times, Your Magnificence.”

“Six now. I will not have the fighting pits reopened.”

“If Your Majesty will hear my arguments ...”

“I have. Five times. Have you brought new arguments?”

“Old arguments,” Hizdahr admitted, “new words. Lovely words, and courteous, more apt to move a queen.”

“It is your cause I find wanting, not your courtesies. I have heard your arguments so often I could plead your case myself. Shall I?” Dany leaned forward. “The fighting pits have been a part of Meereen since the city was founded. The combats are profoundly religious in nature, a blood sacrifice to the gods of Ghis. The mortal art of Ghis is not mere butchery but a display of courage, skill, and strength most pleasing to your gods. Victorious fighters are pampered and acclaimed, and the slain are honored and remembered. By reopening the pits I would show the people of Meereen that I respect their ways and customs. The pits are far-famed across the world. They draw trade to Meereen, and fill the city’s coffers with coin from the ends of the earth. All men share a taste for blood, a taste the pits help slake. In that way they make Meereen more tranquil. For criminals condemned to die upon the sands, the pits represent a judgment by battle, a last chance for a man to prove his innocence.” She leaned back again, with a toss of her head. “There. How have I done?”

“Your Radiance has stated the case much better than I could have hoped to do myself. I see that you are eloquent as well as beautiful. I am quite persuaded.”

She had to laugh. “Ah, but I am not.”

“Your Magnificence,” whispered Reznak mo Reznak in her ear, “it is customary for the city to claim one-tenth of all the profits from the fighting pits, after expenses, as a tax. That coin might be put to many noble uses.”

“It might ... though if we were to reopen the pits, we should take our tenth before expenses. I am only a young girl and know little of such matters, but I dwelt with Xaro Xhoan Daxos long enough to learn that much. Hizdahr, if you could marshal armies as you marshal arguments, you could conquer the world ... but my answer is still no. For the sixth time.”

~

Many and more of the matters brought before her involved redress. Meereen had been sacked savagely after its fall. The stepped pyramids of the mighty had been spared the worst of the ravages, but the humbler parts of the city had been given over to an orgy of looting and killing as the city's slaves rose up and the starving hordes who had followed her from Yunkai and Astapor poured through the broken gates. Her Unsullied had finally restored order, but the sack left a plague of problems in its wake. And so they came to see the queen.

~

The figs were fine, the olives even finer, but the wine left a tart metallic aftertaste in her mouth. The small pale yellow grapes native to these regions produced a notably inferior vintage. We shall have no trade in wine. Besides, the Great Masters had burned the best arbors along with the olive trees.

ADWD Daenerys II

Before long she was fighting off a yawn as Reznak prattled about the craftsmen’s guilds. The stonemasons were wroth with her, it seemed. The bricklayers as well. Certain former slaves were carving stone and laying bricks, stealing work from guild journeymen and masters alike.

“The freedmen work too cheaply, Magnificence,” Reznak said. “Some call themselves journeymen, or even masters, titles that belong by rights only to the craftsmen of the guilds. The masons and the bricklayers do respectfully petition Your Worship to uphold their ancient rights and customs.”

~

“Your barber has served you well, Hizdahr. I hope you have come to show me his work and not to plague me further about the fighting pits.”

He made a deep obeisance. “Your Grace, I fear I must.”

Dany grimaced. Even her own people would give no rest about the matter. Reznak mo Reznak stressed the coin to be made through taxes. The Green Grace said that reopening the pits would please the gods. The Shavepate felt it would win her support against the Sons of the Harpy. “Let them fight,” grunted Strong Belwas, who had once been a champion in the pits. Ser Barristan suggested a tourney instead; his orphans could ride at rings and fight a mêlée with blunted weapons, he said, a suggestion Dany knew was as hopeless as it was well-intentioned. It was blood the Meereenese yearned to see, not skill. Elsewise the fighting slaves would have worn armor. Only the little scribe Missandei seemed to share the queen’s misgivings.

“I have refused you six times,” Dany reminded Hizdahr.

“Your Radiance has seven gods, so perhaps she will look upon my seventh plea with favor. Today I do not come alone. Will you hear my friends? There are seven of them as well.” He brought them forth one by one. “Here is Khrazz. Here Barsena Blackhair, ever valiant. Here Camarron of the Count and Goghor the Giant. This is the Spotted Cat, this Fearless Ithoke. Last, Belaquo Bonebreaker. They have come to add their voices to mine own, and ask Your Grace to let our fighting pits reopen.”

Dany knew his seven, by name if not by sight. All had been amongst the most famed of Meereen’s fighting slaves … and it had been the fighting slaves, freed from their shackles by her sewer rats, who led the uprising that won the city for her. She owed them a blood debt. “I will hear you,” she allowed.

One by one, each of them asked her to let the fighting pits reopen. “Why?” she demanded, when Ithoke had finished. “You are no longer slaves, doomed to die at a master’s whim. I freed you. Why should you wish to end your lives upon the scarlet sands?”

“I train since three,” said Goghor the Giant. “I kill since six. Mother of Dragons says I am free. Why not free to fight?”

“If it is fighting you want, fight for me. Swear your sword to the Mother’s Men or the Free Brothers or the Stalwart Shields. Teach my other freedmen how to fight.”

Goghor shook his head. “Before, I fight for master. You say, fight for you. I say, fight for me.” The huge man thumped his chest with a fist as big as a ham. “For gold. For glory.”

“Goghor speaks for us all.” The Spotted Cat wore a leopard skin across one shoulder. “The last time I was sold, the price was three hundred thousand honors. When I was a slave, I slept on furs and ate red meat off the bone. Now that I’m free, I sleep on straw and eat salt fish, when I can get it.”

“Hizdahr swears that the winners shall share half of all the coin collected at the gates,” said Khrazz. “Half, he swears it, and Hizdahr is an honorable man.”

No, a cunning man. Daenerys felt trapped. “And the losers? What shall they receive?”

“Their names shall be graven on the Gates of Fate amongst the other valiant fallen,” declared Barsena. For eight years she had slain every other woman sent against her, it was said. “All men must die, and women too … but not all will be remembered.”

Dany had no answer for that. If this is truly what my people wish, do I have the right to deny it to them? It was their city before it was mine, and it is their own lives they wish to squander. “I will consider all you’ve said. Thank you for your counsel.” She rose. “We will resume on the morrow.”

ADWD Daenerys III

Meereen's trade had dwindled away to nothing since she had ended slavery, but Xaro had the power to restore it.

~

The wine was sweet and strong, redolent with the smell of eastern spices, much superior to the thin Ghiscari wines that had filled her cup of late.

~

For centuries Meereen and her sister cities Yunkai and Astapor had been the linchpins of the slave trade, the place where Dothraki khals and the corsairs of the Basilisk Isles sold their captives and the rest of the world came to buy. Without slaves, Meereen had little to offer traders. Copper was plentiful in the Ghiscari hills, but the metal was not as valuable as it had been when bronze ruled the world. The cedars that had once grown tall along the coast grew no more, felled by the axes of the Old Empire or consumed by dragonfire when Ghis made war against Valyria. Once the trees had gone, the soil baked beneath the hot sun and blew away in thick red clouds.

~

“I am only a young girl and know little of such things, but older, wiser men tell me that to hold Meereen I must control its hinterlands, all the land west of Lhazar as far south as the Yunkish hills.”

~

“[...] A ditch, to bring water from the river to the fields. We mean to plant beans. The beanfields must have water.”

“[...] Meereen needs beans more than it needs rare spices, and beans require water.”

~

“You spoke of help. Trade with me, then. Meereen has salt to sell, and wine …”

“Ghiscari wine?” Xaro made a sour face. “The sea provides all the salt that Qarth requires, but I would gladly take as many olives as you cared to sell me. Olive oil as well.”

“I have none to offer. The slavers burned the trees.” Olives had been grown along the shores of Slaver’s Bay for centuries; but the Meereenese had put their ancient groves to the torch as Dany’s host advanced on them, leaving her to cross a blackened wasteland. “We are replanting, but it takes seven years before an olive tree begins to bear, and thirty years before it can truly be called productive. What of copper?”

“A pretty metal, but fickle as a woman. Gold, now … gold is sincere. Qarth will gladly give you gold … for slaves.”

“Meereen is a free city of free men. [...] Go to the Dothraki if you must have slaves.”

ADWD Daenerys IV

“Will the Lamb Men send us food?”

“Grain will come down the Skahazadhan by barge, my queen, and other goods by caravan over the Khyzai.”

“Not the Skahazadhan. The river has been closed to us. The seas as well. You will have seen the ships out in the bay. The Qartheen have driven off a third of our fishing fleet and seized another third. The others are too frightened to leave port. What little trade we still had has been cut off.”

ADWD Daenerys V

Each morning, from her western ramparts, the queen would count the sails on Slaver’s Bay.

Today she counted five-and-twenty, though some were far away and moving, so it was hard to be certain. Sometimes she missed one, or counted one twice. What does it matter? A strangler only needs ten fingers. All trade had stopped, and her fisherfolk did not dare put out into the bay. The boldest still dropped a few lines into the river, though even that was hazardous; more remained tied up beneath Meereen’s walls of many-colored brick.

There were ships from Meereen out in the bay too, warships and trading galleys whose captains had taken them to sea when Dany’s host first laid siege to the city, now returned to augment the fleets from Qarth, Tolos, and New Ghis.

~

Ser Barristan remained. “Our stores are ample for the moment,” he reminded her, “and Your Grace has planted beans and grapes and wheat. Your Dothraki have harried the slavers from the hills and struck the shackles from their slaves. They are planting too, and will be bringing their crops to Meereen to market. And you will have the friendship of Lhazar.”

ADWD Daenerys VIII

Much of the talk about the table was of the matches to be fought upon the morrow. Barsena Blackhair was going to face a boar, his tusks against her dagger. Khrazz was fighting, as was the Spotted Cat. And in the day’s final pairing, Goghor the Giant would go against Belaquo Bonebreaker. One would be dead before the sun went down.

2 The misery of refugees and the pale mare

ASOS Daenerys IV

Within the perimeter the Unsullied had established, the tents were going up in orderly rows, with her own tall golden pavilion at the center. A second encampment lay close beyond her own; five times the size, sprawling and chaotic, this second camp had no ditches, no tents, no sentries, no horselines. Those who had horses or mules slept beside them, for fear they might be stolen. Goats, sheep, and half-starved dogs wandered freely amongst hordes of women, children, and old men. Dany had left Astapor in the hands of a council of former slaves led by a healer, a scholar, and a priest. Wise men all, she thought, and just. Yet even so, tens of thousands preferred to follow her to Yunkai, rather than remain behind in Astapor. I gave them the city, and most of them were too frightened to take it.

The raggle-taggle host of freedmen dwarfed her own, but they were more burden than benefit. Perhaps one in a hundred had a donkey, a camel, or an ox; most carried weapons looted from some slaver’s armory, but only one in ten was strong enough to fight, and none was trained. They ate the land bare as they passed, like locusts in sandals. Yet Dany could not bring herself to abandon them as Ser Jorah and her bloodriders urged. I told them they were free. I cannot tell them now they are not free to join me. She gazed at the smoke rising from their cookfires and swallowed a sigh. She might have the best footsoldiers in the world, but she also had the worst.

ASOS Daenerys V

“I will not throw away Unsullied lives, Grey Worm. Perhaps we can starve the city out.”

Ser Jorah looked unhappy. “We’ll starve long before they do, Your Grace. There’s no
food here, nor fodder for our mules and horses. I do not like this river water either. Meereen shits into the Skahazadhan but draws its drinking water from deep wells. Already we’ve had reports of sickness in the camps, fever and brownleg and three cases of the bloody flux. There will be more if we remain. The slaves are weak from the march.”

“Freedmen,” Dany corrected. “They are slaves no longer.”

“Slave or free, they are hungry and they’ll soon be sick. The city is better provisioned than we are, and can be resupplied by water. Your three ships are not enough to deny them access to both the river and the sea.”

~

“Ser Jorah, you say we have no food left. If I march west, how can I feed my freedmen?”

“You can’t. I am sorry, Khaleesi. They must feed themselves or starve. Many and more will die along the march, yes. That will be hard, but there is no way to save them. We need to put this scorched earth well behind us.”

Dany had left a trail of corpses behind her when she crossed the red waste. It was a sight she never meant to see again. “No,” she said. “I will not march my people off to die.” My children. “There must be some way into this city.”

ADWD Daenerys I

A brothel. Half of her freedmen were from Yunkai, where the Wise Masters had been famed for training bedslaves. The way of the seven sighs. Brothels had sprouted up like mushrooms all over Meereen. It is all they know. They need to survive.

ADWD Daenerys V

“It might have been his fever talking.”

“Your Radiance speaks wisely,” said Galazza Galare, “but Ezzara saw something else.”

The Blue Grace called Ezzara folded her hands. “My queen,” she murmured, “his fever was not brought on by the arrow. He had soiled himself, not once but many times. The stains reached to his knees, and there was dried blood amongst his excrement.”

“His horse was bleeding, Grey Worm said.”

“This thing is true, Your Grace,” the eunuch confirmed. “The pale mare was bloody from his spur.”

“That may be so, Your Radiance,” said Ezzara, “but this blood was mingled with his stool. It stained his smallclothes.”

“He was bleeding from the bowels,” said Galazza Galare.

“We cannot be certain,” said Ezzara, “but it may be that Meereen has more to fear than the spears of the Yunkai’i.”

~

“There’s more coming,” Brown Ben announced when the Astapori had been led away. “These three had horses. Most are afoot.”

“How many are they?” asked Reznak. Brown Ben shrugged. “Hundreds. Thousands. Some sick, some burned, some wounded. The Cats and the Windblown are swarming through the hills with lance and lash, driving them north and cutting down the laggards.”

“Mouths on feet. And sick, you say?”

ADWD Daenerys VI

The Astapori had no place to go. Thousands remained outside Meereen’s thick walls—men and women and children, old men and little girls and newborn babes. Many were sick, most were starved, and all were doomed to die. Daenerys dare not open her gates to let them in. She had tried to do what she could for them. She had sent them healers, Blue Graces and spell-singers and barbersurgeons, but some of those had sickened as well, and none of their arts had slowed the galloping progression of the flux that had come on the pale mare. Separating the healthy from the sick had proved impractical as well. Her Stalwart Shields had tried, pulling husbands away from wives and children from their mothers, even as the Astapori wept and kicked and pelted them with stones. A few days later, the sick were dead and the healthy ones were sick. Dividing the one from the other had accomplished nothing.

Even feeding them had grown difficult. Every day she sent them what she could, but every day there were more of them and less food to give them. It was growing harder to find drivers willing to deliver the food as well. Too many of the men they had sent into the camp had been stricken by the flux themselves. Others had been attacked on the way back to the city.

~

Suffering was the only thing they did not lack. “There is scarcely a horse or mule left, though many rode from Astapor,” Marselen reported to her. “They’ve eaten every one, Your Grace, along with every rat and scavenger dog that they could catch. Now some have begun to eat their own dead.”

~

Little children with swollen stomachs trailed after them, too weak or scared to beg. Gaunt men with sunken eyes squatted amidst sand and stones, shitting out their lives in stinking streams of brown and red. Many shat where they slept now, too feeble to crawl to the ditches she’d commanded them to dig. Two women fought over a charred bone. Nearby a boy of ten stood eating a rat. He ate one-handed, the other clutching a sharpened stick lest anyone try to wrest away his prize. Unburied dead lay everywhere. Dany saw one man sprawled in the dirt under a black cloak, but as she rode past his cloak dissolved into a thousand flies. Skeletal women sat upon the ground clutching dying infants. Their eyes followed her. Those who had the strength called out. “Mother … please, Mother … bless you, Mother …”

~

“The bloody flux is everywhere. A hundred die each night.”

~

“Ser,” she said to Barristan Selmy, “is there no more we can do? You have provisions.”

“Provisions for Your Grace’s soldiers. We may well need to withstand a long siege.[”]

~

The queen surveyed the scene around her. “If we were to share our food equally ...”

“... the Astapori would eat through their portion in days, and we would have that much less for the siege.”

ADWD Daenerys VII

Galazza Galare awaited them outside the temple doors, surrounded by her sisters in white and pink and red, blue and gold and purple. There are fewer than there were. Dany looked for Ezzara and did not see her. Has the bloody flux taken even her? Though the queen had let the Astapori starve outside her walls to keep the bloody flux from spreading, it was spreading nonetheless. Many had been stricken: freedmen, sellswords, Brazen Beasts, even Dothraki, though as yet none of the Unsullied had been touched. She prayed the worst was past.

ADWD Daenerys VIII

“The Yunkai’i grow weaker as well. The bloody flux has taken hold amongst the Tolosi, it is said, and spread across the river to the third Ghiscari legion.”

3 Problems in Astapor and Yunkish alliance with other slave cities and companies

ASOS Daenerys IV

Dany had left Astapor in the hands of a council of former slaves led by a healer, a scholar, and a priest. Wise men all, she thought, and just. Yet even so, tens of thousands preferred to follow her to Yunkai, rather than remain behind in Astapor.

ASOS Daenerys VI

“Two have presented themselves to bask in your radiance.”

Daario had plundered himself a whole new wardrobe in Meereen, and to match it he had redyed his trident beard and curly hair a deep rich purple. It made his eyes look almost purple too, as if he were some lost Valyrian. “They arrived in the night on the Indigo Star, a trading galley out of Qarth.”

A slaver, you mean. Dany frowned. “Who are they?”


“The Star’s master and one who claims to speak for Astapor.”

“I will see the envoy first.”

He proved to be a pale ferret-faced man with ropes of pearls and spun gold hanging heavy about his neck. “Your Worship!” he cried. “My name is Ghael. I bring greetings to the Mother of Dragons from King Cleon of Astapor, Cleon the Great.”

Dany stiffened. “I left a council to rule Astapor. A healer, a scholar, and a priest.”

“Your Worship, those sly rogues betrayed your trust. It was revealed that they were scheming to restore the Good Masters to power and the people to chains. Great Cleon exposed their plots and hacked their heads off with a cleaver, and the grateful folk of Astapor have crowned him for his valor.”

“Noble Ghael,” said Missandei, in the dialect of Astapor, “is this the same Cleon once owned by Grazdan mo Ullhor?”

Her voice was guileless, yet the question plainly made the envoy anxious. “The same,” he admitted. “A great man.”

Missandei leaned close to Dany. “He was a butcher in Grazdan’s kitchen,” the girl whispered in her ear. “It was said he could slaughter a pig faster than any man in Astapor.”

I have given Astapor a butcher king. Dany felt ill, but she knew she must not let the envoy see it. “I will pray that King Cleon rules well and wisely. What would he have of me?”

Ghael rubbed his mouth. “Perhaps we should speak more privily, Your Grace?”


“I have no secrets from my captains and commanders.”


“As you wish. Great Cleon bids me declare his devotion to the Mother of Dragons. Your enemies are his enemies, he says, and chief among them are the Wise Masters of Yunkai. He proposes a pact between Astapor and Meereen, against the Yunkai’i.”

“I swore no harm would come to Yunkai if they released their slaves,” said Dany.

“These Yunkish dogs cannot be trusted, Your Worship. Even now they plot against you. New levies have been raised and can be seen drilling outside the city walls, warships are being built, envoys have been sent to New Ghis and Volantis in the west, to make alliances and hire sellswords. They have even dispatched riders to Vaes Dothrak to bring a khalasar down upon you. Great Cleon bid me tell you not to be afraid. Astapor remembers. Astapor will not forsake you. To prove his faith, Great Cleon offers to seal your alliance with a marriage.”

“A marriage? To me?”

Ghael smiled. His teeth were brown and rotten. “Great Cleon will give you many strong sons.”

Dany found herself bereft of words, but little Missandei came to her rescue. “Did his first wife give him sons?”

The envoy looked at her unhappily. “Great Cleon has three daughters by his first wife. Two of his newer wives are with child. But he means to put all of them aside if the Mother of Dragons will consent to wed him.”

“How noble of him,” said Dany. “I will consider all you’ve said, my lord.” She gave orders that Ghael be given chambers for the night, somewhere lower in the pyramid.

~

“I shall see this trader captain,” she announced. Perhaps he would have some better tidings.

That proved to be a forlorn hope. The master of the Indigo Star was Qartheen, so he wept copiously when asked about Astapor. “The city bleeds. Dead men rot unburied in the streets, each pyramid is an armed camp, and the markets have neither food nor slaves for sale. And the poor children! King Cleaver’s thugs have seized every highborn boy in Astapor to make new Unsullied for the trade, though it will be years before they are trained.”

The thing that surprised Dany most was how unsurprised she was. She found herself remembering Eroeh, the Lhazarene girl she had once tried to protect, and what had happened to her.

ADWD Daenerys I

Lord Ghael had a mouth of brown and rotten teeth and the pointed yellow face of a weasel. He also had a gift. “Cleon the Great sends these slippers as a token of his love for Daenerys Stormborn, the Mother of Dragons.”

Irri slid the slippers onto Dany’s feet. They were gilded leather, decorated with green freshwater pearls. Does the butcher king believe a pair of pretty slippers will win my hand? “King Cleon is most generous. You may thank him for his lovely gift.” Lovely, but made for a child. Dany had small feet, yet the pointed slippers mashed her toes together.

“Great Cleon will be pleased to know they pleased you,” said Lord Ghael. “His Magnificence bids me say that he stands ready to defend the Mother of Dragons from all her foes.”

If he proposes again that I wed King Cleon, I’ll throw a slipper at his head, Dany thought, but for once the Astapori envoy made no mention of a royal marriage. Instead he said, “The time has come for Astapor and Meereen to end the savage reign of the Wise Masters of Yunkai, who are sworn foes to all those who live in freedom. Great Cleon bids me tell you that he and his new Unsullied will soon march.”

His new Unsullied are an obscene jape. “King Cleon would be wise to tend his own gardens and let the Yunkai’i tend theirs.” It was not that Dany harbored any love for Yunkai. She was coming to regret leaving the Yellow City untaken after defeating its army in the field. The Wise Masters had returned to slaving as soon as she moved on, and were busy raising levies, hiring sellswords, and making alliances against her.

Cleon the self-styled Great was no better, however. The Butcher King had restored slavery to Astapor, the only change being that the former slaves were now the masters and the former masters were now the slaves.

“I am only a young girl and know little of the ways of war,” she told Lord Ghael, “but we have heard that Astapor is starving. Let King Cleon feed his people before he leads them out to battle.” She made a gesture of dismissal. Ghael withdrew.

ADWD Daenerys III

“Daenerys, let me be honest with you, as befits a friend. You will not make Meereen rich and fat and peaceful. You will only bring it to destruction, as you did Astapor. You are aware that there was battle joined at the Horns of Hazzat? The Butcher King has fled back to his palace, his new Unsullied running at his heels.”

“This is known.” Brown Ben Plumm had sent back word of the battle from the field. “The Yunkai’i have bought themselves new sellswords, and two legions from New Ghis fought beside them.”

“Two will soon become four, then ten. And Yunkish envoys have been sent to Myr and Volantis to hire more blades. The Company of the Cat, the Long Lances, the Windblown. Some say that the Wise Masters have bought the Golden Company as well.”

[...] “I have sellswords too.”

“Two companies. The Yunkai’i will send twenty against you if they must. And when they march, they will not march alone. Tolos and Mantarys have agreed to an alliance.”

That was ill news, if true. Daenerys had sent missions to Tolos and Mantarys, hoping to find new friends to the west to balance the enmity of Yunkai to the south. Her envoys had not returned. “Meereen has made alliance with Lhazar.”

~

As ever, Lord Ghael was the first to present himself, looking even more wretched than usual. “Your Radiance,” he moaned, as he fell to the marble at her feet, “the armies of the Yunkai’i descend on Astapor. I beg you, come south with all your strength!”

“I warned your king that this war of his was folly,” Dany reminded him. “He would not listen.”

“Great Cleon sought only to strike down the vile slavers of Yunkai.”

“Great Cleon is a slaver himself.”

“I know that the Mother of Dragons will not abandon us in our hour of peril. Lend us your Unsullied to defend our walls.”

And if I do, who will defend my walls? “Many of my freedmen were slaves in Astapor. Perhaps some will wish to help defend your king. That is their choice, as free men. I gave Astapor its freedom. It is up to you to defend it.”

“We are all dead, then. You gave us death, not freedom.” Ghael leapt to his feet and spat into her face.

~

The next morning Xaro’s galleas was gone, but the “gift” that he had brought her remained behind in Slaver’s Bay. Long red streamers flew from the masts of the thirteen Qartheen galleys, writhing in the wind. And when Daenerys descended to hold court, a messenger from the ships awaited her. He spoke no word but laid at her feet a black satin pillow, upon which rested a single bloodstained glove.

“What is this?” Skahaz demanded. “A bloody glove …”

“… means war,” said the queen.

ADWD Daenerys IV

“...Last night three Qartheen galleys sailed up the Skahazadhan under the cover of darkness. The Mother’s Men loosed flights of fire arrows at their sails and flung pots of burning pitch onto their decks, but the galleys slipped by quickly and suffered no lasting harm. The Qartheen mean to close the river to us, as they have closed the bay. And they are no longer alone. Three galleys from New Ghis have joined them, and a carrack out of Tolos.” The Tolosi had replied to her request for an alliance by proclaiming her a whore and demanding that she return Meereen to its Great Masters. Even that was preferable to the answer of Mantarys, which came by way of caravan in a cedar chest. Inside she had found the heads of her three envoys, pickled. “Perhaps your gods can help us. Ask them to send a gale and sweep the galleys from the bay.”

~

“We have heard that the Butcher King of Astapor is dead.”

“Slain by his own soldiers when he commanded them to march out and attack the Yunkai’i.” The words were bitter in her mouth. “He was hardly cold before another took his place, calling himself Cleon the Second. That one lasted eight days before his throat was opened. Then his killer claimed the crown. So did the first Cleon’s concubine. King Cutthroat and Queen Whore, the Astapori call them. Their followers are fighting battles in the streets, while the Yunkai’i and their sellswords wait outside the walls.”

~

“I have never wanted war. I defeated the Yunkai’i once and spared their city when I might have sacked it. I refused to join King Cleon when he marched against them. Even now, with Astapor besieged, I stay my hand. And Qarth … I have never done the Qartheen any harm …”

“Not by intent, no, but Qarth is a city of merchants, and they love the clink of silver coins, the gleam of yellow gold. When you smashed the slave trade, the blow was felt from Westeros to Asshai. Qarth depends upon its slaves. So too Tolos, New Ghis, Lys, Tyrosh, Volantis … the list is long, my queen.”

“Let them come. In me they shall find a sterner foe than Cleon. I would sooner perish fighting than return my children to bondage.”

“There may be another choice. The Yunkai’i can be persuaded to allow all your freedmen to remain free, I believe, if Your Worship will agree that the Yellow City may trade and train slaves unmolested from this day forth. No more blood need flow.”

“Save for the blood of those slaves that the Yunkai’i will trade and train,” Dany said, but she recognized the truth in his words even so. It may be that is the best end we can hope for.

~

“Tell me of your journey.”

He gave a careless shrug. “The Yunkai’i sent some hired swords to close the Khyzai Pass. The Long Lances, they name themselves. We descended on them in the night and sent a few to hell. In Lhazar I slew two of my own serjeants for plotting to steal the gems and gold plate my queen had entrusted to me as gifts for the Lamb Men. Elsewise, all went as I had promised.”

“How many men did you lose in the fighting?”

“Nine,” said Daario, “but a dozen of the Long Lances decided they would sooner be Stormcrows than corpses, so we came out three ahead. I told them they would live longer fighting with your dragons than against them, and they saw the wisdom in my words.”

~

“Astapor is under siege as well.”

“This I knew. One of the Long Lances lived long enough to tell us that men were eating one another in the Red City. He said Meereen’s turn would come soon, so I cut his tongue out and fed it to a yellow dog. No dog will eat a liar’s tongue. When the yellow dog ate his, I knew he spoke the truth.”

“I have war inside the city too.” She told him of the Harpy’s Sons and the Brazen Beasts, of blood upon the bricks. “My enemies are all around me, within the city and without.”

ADWD Daenerys V

“Are there no petitioners today?” Dany asked Reznak mo Reznak. “No one who craves justice or silver for a sheep?”

“No, Your Worship. The city is afraid.”

“There is nothing to fear.”

But there was much and more to fear as she learned that evening. As her young hostages Miklaz and Kezmya were laying out a simple supper of autumn greens and ginger soup for her, Irri came to tell her that Galazza Galare had returned, with three Blue Graces from the temple. “Grey Worm is come as well, Khaleesi. They beg words with you, most urgently.”

“Bring them to my hall. And summon Reznak and Skahaz. Did the Green Grace say what this was about?”

“Astapor,” said Irri.

Grey Worm began the tale. “He came out of the morning mists, a rider on a pale horse, dying. His mare was staggering as she approached the city gates, her sides pink with blood and lather, her eyes rolling with terror. Her rider called out, ‘She is burning, she is burning,’ and fell from the saddle. This one was sent for, and gave orders that the rider be brought to the Blue Graces. When your servants carried him inside the gates, he cried out again, ‘She is burning.’ Under his tokar he was a skeleton, all bones and fevered flesh.”

One of the Blue Graces took up the tale from there. “The Unsullied brought this man to the temple, where we stripped him and bathed him in cool water. His clothes were soiled, and my sisters found half an arrow in his thigh. Though he had broken off the shaft, the head remained inside him, and the wound had mortified, filling him with poisons. He died within the hour, still crying out that she was burning.”

“‘She is burning,’” Daenerys repeated. “Who is she?”

“Astapor, Your Radiance,” said another of the Blue Graces. “He said it, once. He said ‘Astapor is burning.’”

~

If Astapor had fallen, nothing remained to prevent Yunkai from turning north.

~

“We caught three Astapori. Your Worship had best hear what they say.”

“Bring them.”

[...] These three were all that remained of a dozen who had set out together from the Red City: a bricklayer, a weaver, and a cobbler. “What befell the rest of your party?” the queen asked.

“Slain,” said the cobbler. “Yunkai’s sellswords roam the hills north of Astapor, hunting down those who flee the flames.”

“Has the city fallen, then? Its walls were thick.”

“This is so,” said the bricklayer, a stoop-backed man with rheumy eyes, “but they were old and crumbling as well.”

The weaver raised her head. “Every day we told each other that the dragon queen was coming back.” The woman had thin lips and dull dead eyes, set in a pinched and narrow face. “Cleon had sent for you, it was said, and you were coming.”

He sent for me, thought Dany. That much is true, at least.

“Outside our walls, the Yunkai’i devoured our crops and slaughtered our herds,” the cobbler went on. “Inside we starved. We ate cats and rats and leather. A horsehide was a feast. King Cutthroat and Queen Whore accused each other of feasting on the flesh of the slain. Men and women gathered in secret to draw lots and gorge upon the flesh of him who drew the black stone. The pyramid of Nakloz was despoiled and set aflame by those who claimed that Kraznys mo Nakloz was to blame for all our woes.”

[...] The cobbler told them how the body of the Butcher King had been disinterred and clad in copper armor, after the Green Grace of Astapor had a vision that he would deliver them from the Yunkai'i. Armored and stinking, the corpse of Cleon the Great was strapped onto the back of a starving horse to lead the remnants of his new Unsullied on a sortie, but they rode right into the iron teeth of a legion from New Ghis and were cut down to a man.

“Afterward the Green Grace was impaled upon a stake in the Plaza of Punishment and left until she died. In the pyramid of Ullhor, the survivors had a great feast that lasted half the night, and washed the last of their food down with poison wine so none need wake again come morning. Soon after came the sickness, a bloody flux that killed three men of every four, until a mob of dying men went mad and slew the guards on the main gate.”

The old brickmaker broke in to say, “No. That was the work of healthy men, running to escape the flux.”

“Does it matter?” asked the cobbler. “The guards were torn apart and the gates thrown open. The legions of New Ghis came pouring into Astapor, followed by the Yunkai’i and the sellswords on their horses. Queen Whore died fighting them with a curse upon her lips. King Cutthroat yielded and was thrown into a fighting pit, to be torn apart by a pack of starving dogs.”

[...] “And when the city fell?” demanded Skahaz. “What then?”

“The butchery began. The Temple of the Graces was full of the sick who had come to ask the gods to heal them. The legions sealed the doors and set the temple ablaze with torches. Within the hour fires were burning in every corner of the city. As they spread they joined with one another. The streets were full of mobs, running this way and that to escape the flames, but there was no way out. The Yunkai’i held the gates.”

“Yet you escaped,” the Shavepate said. “How is that?”

The old man answered. “I am by trade a brickmaker, as my father and his father were before me. My grandfather built our house up against the city walls. It was an easy thing to work loose a few bricks every night. When I told my friends, they helped me shore up the tunnel so it would not collapse. We all agreed that it might be good to have our own way out.”

I left you with a council to rule over you, Dany thought, a healer, a scholar, and a priest. She could still recall the Red City as she had first seen it, dry and dusty behind its red brick walls, dreaming cruel dreams, yet full of life. There were islands in the Worm where lovers kissed, but in the Plaza of Punishment they peeled the skin off men in strips and left them hanging naked for the flies.

~

Astapor is burning, and Meereen is next.

~

“Your Grace, the Yunkish got three free companies against our two, and there’s talk the Yunkishmen sent to Volantis to fetch back the Golden Company. Those bastards field ten thousand. Yunkai’s got four Ghiscari legions too, maybe more, and I heard it said they sent riders across the Dothraki sea to maybe bring some big khalasar down on us. We need them dragons, the way I see it.”

~

“Can we make a fight of this?” she asked him.

“Men can always fight, Your Grace. Ask rather if we can win. Dying is easy, but victory comes hard. Your freedmen are half-trained and unblooded. Your sellswords once served your foes, and once a man turns his cloak he will not scruple to turn it again. You have two dragons who cannot be controlled, and a third that may be lost to you. Beyond these walls your only friends are the Lhazarene, who have no taste for war.”

“My walls are strong, though.”

“No stronger than when we sat outside them. And the Sons of the Harpy are inside the walls with us. So are the Great Masters, both those you did not kill and the sons of those you did.”

“I know.”

~

[...]“I cannot fight two enemies, one within and one without. If I am to hold Meereen, I must have the city behind me. The whole city.[”]

ADWD Daenerys VI

“...The Stormcrows and the Second Sons can harry the Yunkishmen, but they cannot hope to turn them. If Your Grace would allow me to assemble an army ...”

“If there must be a battle, I would sooner fight it from behind the walls of Meereen. Let the Yunkai’i try and storm my battlements.”

~

“Yunkai will give us peace, but for a price. The disruption of the slave trade has caused great injury throughout the civilized world. Yunkai and her allies will require an indemnity of us, to be paid in gold and gemstones.”

Gold and gems were easy. “What else?”

“The Yunkai’i will resume slaving, as before. Astapor will be rebuilt, as a slave city. You will not interfere.”

“The Yunkai’i resumed their slaving before I was two leagues from their city. Did I turn back? King Cleon begged me to join with him against them, and I turned a deaf ear to his pleas. I want no war with Yunkai. How many times must I say it? What promises do they require?”

“Ah, there is the thorn in the bower, my queen,” said Hizdahr zo Loraq. “Sad to say, Yunkai has no faith in your promises. They keep plucking the same string on the harp, about some envoy that your dragons set on fire.”

“Only his tokar was burned,” said Dany scornfully.

“Be that as it may, they do not trust you. The men of New Ghis feel the same. Words are wind, as you yourself have so oft said. No words of yours will secure this peace for Meereen. Your foes require deeds. They would see us wed, and they would see me crowned as king, to rule beside you.”

Dany filled his wine cup again, wanting nothing so much as to pour the flagon over his head and drown his complacent smile. “Marriage or carnage. A wedding or a war. Are those my choices?”

~

“...The Stormcrows have returned to the city, with word of the foe. The Yunkishmen are on the march, just as we had feared.”

~

“Hard tidings, Ser Grandfather. Astapor is gone, and the slavers are coming north in strength.”

“This is old news, and stale,” growled the Shavepate.

[...] “Sweet queen, I would have been here sooner, but the hills are aswarm with Yunkish sellswords. Four free companies. Your Stormcrows had to cut their way through all of them. There is more, and worse. The Yunkai’i are marching their host up the coast road, joined by four legions out of New Ghis. They have elephants, a hundred, armored and towered. Tolosi slingers too, and a corps of Qartheen camelry. Two more Ghiscari legions took ship at Astapor. If our captives told it true, they will be landed beyond the Skahazadhan to cut us off from the Dothraki sea.”

[...] “How many men were killed?” she asked when he was done.

“Of ours? I did not stop to count. We gained more than we lost, though.”

“More turncloaks?”

“More brave men drawn to your noble cause. My queen will like them. One is an axeman from the Basilisk Isles, a brute, bigger than Belwas. You should see him. Some Westerosi too, a score or more. Deserters from the Windblown, unhappy with the Yunkai’i. They’ll make good Stormcrows.”

ADWD Daenerys VII

On the day that he returned from his latest sortie, he had tossed the head of a Yunkish lord at her feet and kissed her in the hall for all the world to see, until Barristan Selmy pulled the two of them apart. Ser Grandfather had been so wroth that Dany feared blood might be shed.

~

Her foes were all about her. There were never less than a dozen ships drawn up on the shore. Some days there were as many as a hundred, when the soldiers were disembarking. The Yunkai’i were even bringing in wood by sea. Behind their ditches, they were building catapults, scorpions, tall trebuchets. On still nights she could hear the hammers ringing through the warm, dry air. No siege towers, though. No battering rams. They would not try to take Meereen by storm. They would wait behind their siege lines, flinging stones at her until famine and disease had brought her people to their knees.

ADWD Daenerys VIII

“Is there some man in the Second Sons who might be persuaded to … remove … Brown Ben?”

“As Daario Naharis once removed the other captains of the Stormcrows?” The old knight looked uncomfortable. “Perhaps. I would not know, Your Grace.”

No, she thought, you are too honest and too honorable. “If not, the Yunkai’i employ three other companies.”

“Rogues and cutthroats, scum of a hundred battlefields,” Ser Barristan warned, “with captains full as treacherous as Plumm.”

“I am only a young girl and know little of such things, but it seems to me that we want them to be treacherous. Once, you’ll recall, I convinced the Second Sons and Stormcrows to join us.”

“If Your Grace wishes a privy word with Gylo Rhegan or the Tattered Prince, I could bring them up to your apartments.”

“This is not the time. Too many eyes, too many ears. Their absence would be noted even if you could separate them discreetly from the Yunkai’i. We must find some quieter way of reaching out to them … not tonight, but soon.”

[...] “Our prisoners,” suggested Dany. “The Westerosi who came over from the Windblown with the three Dornishmen. We still have them in cells, do we not? Use them.”

“Free them, you mean? Is that wise? They were sent here to worm their way into your trust, so they might betray Your Grace at the first chance.”

[...] “We can still use them. One was a woman. Meris. Send her back, as a … a gesture of my regard. If their captain is a clever man, he will understand.”

“The woman is the worst of all.”

“All the better.” Dany considered a moment. “We should sound out the Long Lances too. And the Company of the Cat.”

“Bloodbeard.” Ser Barristan’s frown deepened. “If it please Your Grace, we want no part of him. Your Grace is too young to remember the Ninepenny Kings, but this Bloodbeard is cut from the same savage cloth. There is no honor in him, only hunger … for gold, for glory, for blood.”

“You know more of such men than me, ser.” If Bloodbeard might be truly the most dishonorable and greedy of the sellswords, he might be the easiest to sway, but she was loath to go against Ser Barristan’s counsel in such matters. “Do as you think best. But do it soon. If Hizdahr’s peace should break, I want to be ready. I do not trust the slavers.” I do not trust my husband. “They will turn on us at the first sign of weakness.”

[...] [“]Set Pretty Meris free. At once.”

ADWD Daenerys IX

“Your Grace. We set the woman Meris free, as you commanded. Before she went, she asked to speak with you. I met with her instead. She claims this Tattered Prince meant to bring the Windblown over to your cause from the beginning. That he sent her here to treat with you secretly, but the Dornishmen unmasked them and betrayed them before she could make her own approach.”

Treachery on treachery, the queen thought wearily. Is there no end to it? “How much of this do you believe, ser?”

“Little and less, Your Grace, but those were her words.”

“Will they come over to us, if need be?”

“She says they will. But for a price.”

“Pay it.” Meereen needed iron, not gold.

“The Tattered Prince will want more than coin, Your Grace. Meris says that he wants Pentos.” “Pentos?” Her eyes narrowed. “How can I give him Pentos? It is half a world away.”

“He would be willing to wait, the woman Meris suggested. Until we march for Westeros.”

And if I never march for Westeros? “Pentos belongs to the Pentoshi. And Magister Illyrio is in Pentos. He who arranged my marriage to Khal Drogo and gave me my dragon eggs. Who sent me you, and Belwas, and Groleo. I owe him much and more. I will not repay that debt by giving his city to some sellsword. No.”

4 Sons of the Harpy attacks

ADWD Daenerys I

“Your Grace,” Ser Barristan said, “there was a harpy drawn on the bricks in the alley where he was found …”

“… drawn in blood.” Daenerys knew the way of it by now. The Sons of the Harpy did their butchery by night, and over each kill they left their mark.

~

“The Sons grow bolder,” Dany observed. Until now, they had limited their attacks to unarmed freedmen, cutting them down in the streets or breaking into their homes under the cover of darkness to murder them in their beds. “This is the first of my soldiers they have slain.”

“The first,” Ser Barristan warned, “but not the last.”

ADWD Daenerys II

Why does she weep?”

“For him who was her brother,” Irri told her. The rest she had from Skahaz, Reznak, and Grey Worm, when they were ushered into her presence. Dany knew their tidings were bad before a word was spoken. One glance at the Shavepate’s ugly face sufficed to tell her that. “The Sons of the Harpy?”

Skahaz nodded. His mouth was grim.

“How many dead?”

Reznak wrung his hands. “N-nine, Magnificence. Foul work it was, and wicked. A dreadful night, dreadful.”

Nine. The word was a dagger in her heart. Every night the shadow war was waged anew beneath the stepped pyramids of Meereen. Every morn the sun rose upon fresh corpses, with harpies drawn in blood on the bricks beside them. Any freedman who became too prosperous or too outspoken was marked for death. Nine in one night, though … That frightened her. “Tell me.”

Grey Worm answered. “Your servants were set upon as they walked the bricks of Meereen to keep Your Grace’s peace. [...] Your servants Black Fist and Cetherys were slain by crossbow bolts in Mazdhan's Maze. Your servants Mossador and Duran were crushed by falling stones beneath the river wall. Your servants Eladon Goldenhair and Loyal Spear were poisoned at a wineshop where they were accustomed to stop each night upon their rounds.” [...]

“Have any of the murderers been captured?”

“Your servants have arrested the owner of the wineshop and his daughters. They plead their ignorance and beg for mercy.”

~

...“but Your Radiance should know that the Great Masters of Zhak and Merreq are making preparations to quit their pyramids and leave the city.”

Daenerys was sick unto death of Zhak and Merreq; she was sick of all the Meereenese, great and small alike.

ADWD Daenerys III

“The Sons of the Harpy.” How does he know that? “They scrawl on walls by night and cut the throats of honest freedmen as they sleep. When the sun comes up they hide like roaches. They fear my Brazen Beasts.” Skahaz mo Kandaq had given her the new watch she had asked for, made up in equal numbers of freedmen and shavepate Meereenese. They walked the streets both day and night, in dark hoods and brazen masks. The Sons of the Harpy had promised grisly death to any traitor who dared serve the dragon queen, and to their kith and kin as well, so the Shavepate’s men went about as jackals, owls, and other beasts, keeping their true faces hidden. “I might have cause to fear the Sons if they saw me wandering alone through the streets, but only if it was night and I was naked and unarmed. They are craven creatures.”

ADWD Daenerys IV

“...More freedmen died last night, or so I have been told.”

“Three.” Saying it left a bitter taste in her mouth. “The cowards broke in on some weavers, freedwomen who had done no harm to anyone. All they did was make beautiful things. I have a tapestry they gave me hanging over my bed. The Sons of the Harpy broke their loom and raped them before slitting their throats.”

~

“...I can reconcile the city to your rule and put an end to this nightly slaughter in the streets.”

“Can you?” Dany studied his eyes. “Why should the Sons of the Harpy lay down their knives for you? Are you one of them?”

~

“Peace is my desire. You say that you can help me end the nightly slaughter in my streets. I say do it. Put an end to this shadow war, my lord. That is your quest. Give me ninety days and ninety nights without a murder, and I will know that you are worthy of a throne. Can you do that?”

Hizdahr looked thoughtful. “Ninety days and ninety nights without a corpse, and on the ninety-first we wed?”

“Perhaps,” said Dany, with a coy look. “Though young girls have been known to be fickle. I may still want a magic sword.”

ADWD Daenerys V

“Your Radiance, Hizdahr was seen to enter the pyramid of Zhak last evening. He did not depart until well after dark.”

“How many pyramids has he visited?” asked Dany.

“Eleven.”

“And how long since the last murder?”

“Six-and-twenty days.” The Shavepate’s eyes brimmed with fury. It had been his notion to have the Brazen Beasts follow her betrothed and take note of all his actions.

“So far Hizdahr has made good on his promises.”

“How? The Sons of the Harpy have put down their knives, but why? Because the noble Hizdahr asked sweetly? He is one of them, I tell you. That’s why they obey him. He may well be the Harpy.”

5 Slow reinstallment of slavery

ASOS Daenerys VI

“What do you want of me, Captain?”

“Slaves,” he said. “My holds are full to bursting with ivory, ambergris, zorse hides, and other fine goods. I would trade them here for slaves, to sell in Lys and Volantis.”

“We have no slaves for sale,” said Dany.

“My queen?” Daario stepped forward. “The riverside is full of Meereenese, begging leave to be allowed to sell themselves to this Qartheen. They are thicker than the flies.”

Dany was shocked. “They want to be slaves?”

“The ones who come are well spoken and gently born, sweet queen. Such slaves are prized. In the Free Cities they will be tutors, scribes, bed slaves, even healers and priests. They will sleep in soft beds, eat rich foods, and dwell in manses. Here they have lost all, and live in fear and squalor.”

“I see.” Perhaps it was not so shocking, if these tales of Astapor were true. Dany thought a moment. “Any man who wishes to sell himself into slavery may do so. Or woman.” She raised a hand. “But they may not sell their children, nor a man his wife.”

“In Astapor the city took a tenth part of the price, each time a slave changed hands,” Missandei told her.

“We’ll do the same,” Dany decided. Wars were won with gold as much as swords. “A tenth part. In gold or silver coin, or ivory. Meereen has no need of saffron, cloves, or zorse hides.”

“It shall be done as you command, glorious queen,” said Daario. “My Stormcrows will collect your tenth.” if the Stormcrows saw to the collections at least half the gold would somehow go astray, Dany knew. But the Second Sons were just as bad, and the Unsullied were as unlettered as they were incorruptible. “Records must be kept,” she said. “Seek among the freedmen for men who can read, write, and do sums.”

His business done, the captain of the Indigo Star bowed and took his leave.

ADWD Daenerys I

These Meereenese were a sly and stubborn people who resisted her at every turn. They had freed their slaves, yes … only to hire them back as servants at wages so meagre that most could scarce afford to eat. Those too old or young to be of use had been cast into the streets, along with the infirm and the crippled. And still the Great Masters gathered atop their lofty pyramids to complain of how the dragon queen had filled their noble city with hordes of unwashed beggars, thieves, and whores.

~

“King Cleon would be wise to tend his own gardens and let the Yunkai’i tend theirs.” It was not that Dany harbored any love for Yunkai. She was coming to regret leaving the Yellow City untaken after defeating its army in the field. The Wise Masters had returned to slaving as soon as she moved on, and were busy raising levies, hiring sellswords, and making alliances against her.

~

The Butcher King had restored slavery to Astapor, the only change being that the former slaves were now the masters and the former masters were now the slaves.

ADWD Daenerys IV

“There may be another choice. The Yunkai’i can be persuaded to allow all your freedmen to remain free, I believe, if Your Worship will agree that the Yellow City may trade and train slaves unmolested from this day forth. No more blood need flow.”

“Save for the blood of those slaves that the Yunkai’i will trade and train,” Dany said, but she recognized the truth in his words even so. It may be that is the best end we can hope for.

ADWD Daenerys VI

“One more small matter, Your Worship,” said Reznak. “To celebrate your nuptials, it would be most fitting if you would allow the fighting pits to open once again. It would be your wedding gift to Hizdahr and to your loving people, a sign that you had embraced the ancient ways and customs of Meereen.”

“And most pleasing to the gods as well,” the Green Grace added in her soft and kindly voice.

A bride price paid in blood. Daenerys was weary of fighting this battle. Even Ser Barristan did not think she could win. “No ruler can make a people good,” Selmy had told her. “Baelor the Blessed prayed and fasted and built the Seven as splendid a temple as any gods could wish for, yet he could not put an end to war and want.” A queen must listen to her people, Dany reminded herself. “After the wedding Hizdahr will be king. Let him reopen the fighting pits if he wishes. I want no part of it.” Let the blood be on his hands, not mine.

~

“The Yunkai’i will resume slaving, as before. Astapor will be rebuilt, as a slave city. You will not interfere.”

“The Yunkai’i resumed their slaving before I was two leagues from their city. Did I turn back? King Cleon begged me to join with him against them, and I turned a deaf ear to his pleas. I want no war with Yunkai. How many times must I say it? What promises do they require?”

ADWD Daenerys VII

Meereenese seldom rode within their city walls. They preferred palanquins, litters, and sedan chairs, borne upon the shoulders of their slaves. “Horses befoul the streets,” one man of Zakh had told her, “slaves do not.” Dany had freed the slaves, yet palanquins, litters, and sedan chairs still choked the streets as before, and none of them floated magically through the air.

ADWD Daenerys VIII

The hall rang to Yunkish laughter, Yunkish songs, Yunkish prayers. Dancers danced; musicians played queer tunes with bells and squeaks and bladders; singers sang ancient love songs in the incomprehensible tongue of Old Ghis. Wine flowed—not the thin pale stuff of Slaver’s Bay but rich sweet vintages from the Arbor and dreamwine from Qarth, flavored with strange spices. The Yunkai’i had come at King Hizdahr’s invitation, to sign the peace and witness the rebirth of Meereen’s far-famed fighting pits. Her noble husband had opened the Great Pyramid to fete them.

~

“It is only for a little while more, my love,” Hizdahr had assured her. “The Yunkai’i will soon be gone, and their allies and hirelings with them. We shall have all we desired. Peace, food, trade. Our port is open once again, and ships are being permitted to come and go.”

“They are permitting that, yes,” she had replied, “but their warships remain. They can close their fingers around our throat again whenever they wish. They have opened a slave market within sight of my walls!”

“Outside our walls, sweet queen. That was a condition of the peace, that Yunkai would be free to trade in slaves as before, unmolested.”

“In their own city. Not where I have to see it.” The Wise Masters had established their slave pens and auction block just south of the Skahazadhan, where the wide brown river flowed into Slaver’s Bay. “They are mocking me to my face, making a show of how powerless I am to stop them.”

“Posing and posturing,” said her noble husband. “A show, as you have said. Let them have their mummery. When they are gone, we will make a fruit market of what they leave behind.”

“When they are gone,” Dany repeated. “And when will they be gone? Riders have been seen beyond the Skahazadhan. Dothraki scouts, Rakharo says, with a khalasar behind them. They will have captives. Men, women, and children, gifts for the slavers.” Dothraki did not buy or sell, but they gave gifts and received them. “That is why the Yunkai’i have thrown up this market. They will leave here with thousands of new slaves.”

Hizdahr zo Loraq shrugged. “But they will leave. That is the important part, my love. Yunkai will trade in slaves, Meereen will not, this is what we have agreed. Endure this for a little while longer, and it shall pass.”

~

“Have you ever heard such singing, my love?” Hizdahr asked her. “They have the voices of gods, do they not?”

“Yes,” she said, “though I wonder if they might not have preferred to have the fruits of men.”

All of the entertainers were slaves. That had been part of the peace, that slaveowners be allowed the right to bring their chattels into Meereen without fear of having them freed. In return the Yunkai’i had promised to respect the rights and liberties of the former slaves that Dany had freed. A fair bargain, Hizdahr said, but the taste it left in the queen’s mouth was foul. She drank another cup of wine to wash it out.

“If it please you, Yurkhaz will be pleased to give us the singers, I do not doubt,” her noble husband said. “A gift to seal our peace, an ornament to our court.”

He will give us these castrati, Dany thought, and then he will march home and make some more. The world is full of boys.

~

Beyond her walls the yellow tents of the Yunkai’i stood in orderly rows beside the sea, protected by the ditches their slaves had dug for them. Two iron legions out of New Ghis, trained and armed in the same fashion as Unsullied, were encamped across the river to the north. Two more Ghiscari legions had made camp to the east, choking off the road to the Khyzai Pass. The horse lines and cookfires of the free companies lay to the south. By day thin plumes of smoke hung against the sky like ragged grey ribbons. By night distant fires could be seen. Hard by the bay was the abomination, the slave market at her door. She could not see it now, with the sun set, but she knew that it was there. That just made her angrier.

6 Marriage proposals and arrangements

ADWD Daenerys I

He might be handsome, but for that silly hair. Reznak and the Green Grace had been urging Dany to take a Meereenese noble for her husband, to reconcile the city to her rule. Hizdahr zo Loraq might be worth a careful look. Sooner him than Skahaz. The Shavepate had offered to set aside his wife for her, but the notion made her shudder. Hizdahr at least knew how to smile. 

ADWD Daenerys IV

“You know why you are here. The Green Grace seems to feel that if I take you for my husband, all my woes will vanish.”

“I would never make so bold a claim. Men are born to strive and suffer. Our woes only vanish when we die. I can be of help to you, however. I have gold and friends and influence, and the blood of Old Ghis flows in my veins. Though I have never wed, I have two natural children, a boy and a girl, so I can give you heirs. I can reconcile the city to your rule and put an end to this nightly slaughter in the streets.”

~

“Peace is my desire. You say that you can help me end the nightly slaughter in my streets. I say do it. Put an end to this shadow war, my lord. That is your quest. Give me ninety days and ninety nights without a murder, and I will know that you are worthy of a throne. Can you do that?”

Hizdahr looked thoughtful. “Ninety days and ninety nights without a corpse, and on the ninety-first we wed?”

ADWD Daenerys V

[...] “I cannot fight two enemies, one within and one without. If I am to hold Meereen, I must have the city behind me. The whole city. I need … I need …” She could not say it.

“Your Grace?” Ser Barristan prompted, gently.

A queen belongs not to herself but to her people.

“I need Hizdahr zo Loraq.”

ADWD Daenerys VI

The priestess and the seneschal were happy to see her garbed in a tokar, a proper Meereenese lady for once, but what they really wanted was to strip her bare. Daenerys heard them out, incredulous. When they were done, she said, “I have no wish to give offense, but I will not present myself naked to Hizdahr’s mother and sisters.”

“But,” said Reznak mo Reznak, blinking, “but you must, Your Worship. Before a marriage it is traditional for the women of the man’s house to examine the bride’s womb and, ah … her female parts. To ascertain that they are well formed and, ah …”

“… fertile,” finished Galazza Galare. “An ancient ritual, Your Radiance. Three Graces shall be present to witness the examination and say the proper prayers.”

“Yes,” said Reznak, “and afterward there is a special cake. A women’s cake, baked only for betrothals. Men are not allowed to taste it. I am told it is delicious. Magical.”

And if my womb is withered and my female parts accursed, is there a special cake for that as well? “Hizdahr zo Loraq may inspect my women’s parts after we are wed.” Khal Drogo found no fault with them, why should he? “Let his mother and his sisters examine one another and share the special cake. I shall not be eating it. Nor shall I wash the noble Hizdahr’s noble feet.”

“Magnificence, you do not understand,” protested Reznak. “The washing of the feet is hallowed by tradition. It signifies that you shall be your husband’s handmaid. The wedding garb is fraught with meaning too. The bride is dressed in dark red veils above a tokar of white silk, fringed with baby pearls.”

The queen of the rabbits must not be wed without her floppy ears. “All those pearls will make me rattle when I walk.”

“The pearls symbolize fertility. The more pearls Your Worship wears, the more healthy children she will bear.”

“Why would I want a hundred children?” Dany turned to the Green Grace. “If we should wed by Westerosi rites …”

“The gods of Ghis would deem it no true union.” Galazza Galare’s face was hidden behind a veil of green silk. Only her eyes showed, green and wise and sad. “In the eyes of the city you would be the noble Hizdahr’s concubine, not his lawful wedded wife. Your children would be bastards. Your Worship must marry Hizdahr in the Temple of the Graces, with all the nobility of Meereen on hand to bear witness to your union.”

~

“...No words of yours will secure this peace for Meereen. Your foes require deeds. They would see us wed, and they would see me crowned as king, to rule beside you.”

Dany filled his wine cup again, wanting nothing so much as to pour the flagon over his head and drown his complacent smile. “Marriage or carnage. A wedding or a war. Are those my choices?”

“I see only one choice, Your Radiance. Let us say our vows before the gods of Ghis and make a new Meereen together.”

7 Changes and/or backstabbing inside Dany’s court

This one is tricky because there are well-reasoned theories that the Green Grace, Hizdahr and the Shavepate were not honest with Dany about their intentions, so I just added Ben's betrayal, but this could change in TWOW.

ADWD Daenerys VI

“Captain, you made mention of four free companies. We know of only three. The Windblown, the Long Lances, and the Company of the Cat.”

“Ser Grandfather knows how to count. The Second Sons have gone over to the Yunkai’i.” Daario turned his head and spat. “That’s for Brown Ben Plumm. When next I see his ugly face I will open him from throat to groin and rip out his black heart.”

Dany tried to speak and found no words. She remembered Ben’s face the last time she had seen it. It was a warm face, a face I trusted. [...]

Daario’s announcement had sparked an uproar. Reznak was wailing, the Shavepate was muttering darkly, her bloodriders were swearing vengeance. Strong Belwas thumped his scarred belly with his fist and swore to eat Brown Ben’s heart with plums and onions. “Please,” Dany said, but only Missandei seemed to hear. The queen got to her feet. “Be quiet! I have heard enough.”

ADWD Daenerys VIII

The Yunkish Supreme Commander, Yurkhaz zo Yunzak, might have been alive during Aegon’s Conquest, to judge by his appearance. Bent-backed, wrinkled, and toothless, he was carried to the table by two strapping slaves. The other Yunkish lords were hardly more impressive. One was small and stunted, though the slave soldiers who attended him were grotesquely tall and thin. The third was young, fit, and dashing, but so drunk that Dany could scarce understand a word he said. How could I have been brought to this pass by creatures such as these?

The sellswords were a different matter. Each of the four free companies serving Yunkai had sent its commander. The Windblown were represented by the Pentoshi nobleman known as the Tattered Prince, the Long Lances by Gylo Rhegan, who looked more shoemaker than soldier and spoke in murmurs. Bloodbeard, from the Company of the Cat, made enough noise for him and a dozen more. A huge man with a great bush of beard and a prodigious appetite for wine and women, he bellowed, belched, farted like a thunderclap, and pinched every serving girl who came within his reach. From time to time he would pull one down into his lap to squeeze her breasts and fondle her between the legs.

The Second Sons were represented too. If Daario were here, this meal would end in blood. No promised peace could ever have persuaded her captain to permit Brown Ben Plumm to stroll back into Meereen and leave alive. Dany had sworn that no harm would come to the seven envoys and commanders, though that had not been enough for the Yunkai’i. They had required hostages of her as well. To balance the three Yunkish nobles and four sellsword captains, Meereen sent seven of its own out to the siege camp: Hizdahr’s sister, two of his cousins, Dany’s bloodrider Jhogo, her admiral Groleo, the Unsullied captain Hero, and Daario Naharis.

~

The Shavepate was absent as well. The first thing Hizdahr had done upon being crowned was to remove him from command of the Brazen Beasts, replacing him with his own cousin, the plump and pasty Marghaz zo Loraq. It is for the best. The Green Grace says there is blood between Loraq and Kandaq, and the Shavepate never made a secret of his disdain for my lord husband.

~

“...I thought I might bring a wedding gift for you, but the bidding went too high for old Brown Ben.”

“I want no gifts from you.”

“This one you might. The head of an old foe.”

“Your own?” she said sweetly. “You betrayed me.”

“Now that’s a harsh way o’ putting it, if you don’t mind me saying.” Brown Ben scratched at his speckled grey-and-white whiskers. “We went over to the winning side, is all. Same as we done before. It weren’t all me, neither. I put it to my men.”

“So they betrayed me, is that what you are saying? Why? Did I mistreat the Second Sons? Did I cheat you on your pay?”

“Never that,” said Brown Ben, “but it’s not all about the coin, Your High-and-Mightiness. I learned that a long time back, at my first battle. [...] Came upon this one corpse, [...] he wore this studded jerkin, looked to be good leather. [...] Under the lining, he’d sewn a fortune in coin. Gold, Your Worship, sweet yellow gold. Enough for any man to live like a lord for the rest o’ his days. But what good did it do him? [...] And that’s the lesson, see? Silver’s sweet and gold’s our mother, but once you’re dead they’re worth less than that last shit you take as you lie dying. [...] My boys didn’t care to die, that’s all, and when I told them that you couldn’t unleash them dragons against the Yunkishmen, well ...”

You saw me as defeated, Dany thought, and who am I to say that you were wrong? “I understand.”

[...] “You don’t never want to trust a sellsword, m’lady.”

“I have learned that much. One day I must be sure to thank you for the lesson.”

8 Child hostages and begrudge of Meereenese nobles over Dany’s “hard justice”

ADWD Daenerys I

“You have no lack of enemies, Your Grace. You can see their pyramids from your terrace. Zhak, Hazkar, Ghazeen, Merreq, Loraq, all the old slaving families. Pahl. Pahl, most of all. A house of women now. Bitter old women with a taste for blood. Women do not forget. Women do not forgive.”

~

The hall had filled. Unsullied stood with their backs to the pillars, holding shields and spears, the spikes on their caps jutting upward like a row of knives. The Meereenese had gathered beneath the eastern windows. Her freedmen stood well apart from their former masters. Until they stand together, Meereen will know no peace. “Arise.” Dany settled onto her bench. The hall rose. That at least they do as one.

ADWD Daenerys II

“They are afraid for their children,” Reznak said.

Yes, Daenerys thought, and so am I. “We must keep them safe as well. I will have two children from each of them. From the other pyramids as well. A boy and a girl.”

“Hostages,” said Skahaz, happily.

“Pages and cupbearers. If the Great Masters make objection, explain to them that in Westeros it is a great honor for a child to be chosen to serve at court.”

ADWD Daenerys IV

“...And yet Your Radiance has found the courage to answer butchery with mercy. You have not harmed any of the noble children you hold as hostage.”

“Not as yet, no.” Dany had grown fond of her young charges. Some were shy and some were bold, some sweet and some sullen, but all were innocent. “If I kill my cupbearers, who will pour my wine and serve my supper?” she said, trying to make light of it.

9 Dany’s problems with her dragons

ADWD Daenerys I

Her dragons had grown too large to be content with rats and cats and dogs. The more they eat, the larger they will grow, Ser Barristan had warned her, and the larger they grow, the more they'll eat. Drogon especially ranged far afield and could easily devour a sheep a day.

~

“Reznak,” Ser Barristan said quietly, “hold your tongue and open your eyes. Those are no sheep bones.”

No, Dany thought, those are the bones of a child.

ADWD Daenerys II

The Great Masters had used the pit as a prison. It was large enough to hold five hundred men … and more than ample for two dragons. For how long, though? What will happen when they grow too large for the pit? Will they turn on one another with flame and claw? Will they grow wan and weak, with withered flanks and shrunken wings? Will their fires go out before the end?

What sort of mother lets her children rot in darkness?

ADWD Daenerys III

Dany wondered how many men thirteen galleys could hold. It had taken three to carry her and her khalasar from Qarth to Astapor, but that was before she had acquired eight thousand Unsullied, a thousand sellswords, and a vast horde of freedmen. And the dragons, what am I to do with them? “Drogon,” she whispered softly, “where are you?” For a moment she could almost see him sweeping across the sky, his black wings swallowing the stars.

ADWD Daenerys IV

Dany did not want to talk about the dragons. Farmers still came to her court with burned bones, complaining of missing sheep, though Drogon had not returned to the city. Some reported seeing him north of the river, above the grass of the Dothraki sea. Down in the pit, Viserion had snapped one of his chains; he and Rhaegal grew more savage every day. Once the iron doors had glowed red-hot, her Unsullied told her, and no one dared to touch them for a day.

ADWD Daenerys V

Brown Ben Plumm bulled over him. “Your Grace, the Yunkish got three free companies against our two, and there’s talk the Yunkishmen sent to Volantis to fetch back the Golden Company. Those bastards field ten thousand. Yunkai’s got four Ghiscari legions too, maybe more, and I heard it said they sent riders across the Dothraki sea to maybe bring some big khalasar down on us. We need them dragons, the way I see it.”

Dany sighed. “I am sorry, Ben. I dare not loose the dragons.” She could see that was not the answer that he wanted.

ADWD Daenerys VIII

The dragons craned their necks around, gazing at them with burning eyes. Viserion had shattered one chain and melted the others. He clung to the roof of the pit like some huge white bat, his claws dug deep into the burnt and crumbling bricks. Rhaegal, still chained, was gnawing on the carcass of a bull. The bones on the floor of the pit were deeper than the last time she had been down here, and the walls and floors were black and grey, more ash than brick. They would not hold much longer … but behind them was only earth and stone. Can dragons tunnel through rock, like the firewyrms of old Valyria? She hoped not.

The Dornish prince had gone as white as milk. “I … I had heard that there were three.”

“Drogon is hunting.” He did not need to hear the rest. “The white one is Viserion, the green is Rhaegal. I named them for my brothers.”

~

Rhaegal roared in answer, and fire filled the pit, a spear of red and yellow. Viserion replied, his own flames gold and orange. When he flapped his wings, a cloud of grey ash filled the air. Broken chains clanked and clattered about his legs.

[...] “You ... you mean to ride them?”

“One of them. [...] Aegon the Conqueror never dared mount Vhagar or Meraxes, nor did his sisters ride Balerion the Black Dread. [...] Balerion had other riders after Aegon died ... but no rider ever flew two dragons.”

Viserion hissed again. Smoke rose between his teeth, and deep down in his throat they could see gold fire churning.

[...] Dany gave her wild children one last lingering look. She could hear the dragons screaming as she led the boy back to the door, and see the play of light against the bricks, reflections of their fires. If I look back, I am lost.

10 Dany’s delay of her campaign in the west

ASOS Daenerys V

“Then what do you advise, Ser Jorah?”

“You will not like it.”


“I would hear it all the same.”

“As you wish. I say, let this city be. You cannot free every slave in the world, Khaleesi. Your war is in Westeros.”

“I have not forgotten Westeros.” Dany dreamt of it some nights, this fabled land that she had never seen. “If I let Meereen’s old brick walls defeat me so easily, though, how will I ever take the great stone castles of Westeros?”

“As Aegon did,” Ser Jorah said, “with fire. By the time we reach the Seven Kingdoms, your dragons will be grown. And we will have siege towers and trebuchets as well, all the things we lack here ... but the way across the Lands of the Long Summer is long and grueling, and there are dangers we cannot know. You stopped at Astapor to buy an army, not to start a war. Save your spears and swords for the Seven Kingdoms, my queen. Leave Meereen to the Meereenese and march west for Pentos.”

“Defeated?” said Dany, bristling.

“When cowards hide behind great walls, it is they who are defeated, Khaleesi,” Ko Jhogo said.

Her other bloodriders concurred. “Blood of my blood,” said Rakharo, “when cowards hide and burn the food and fodder, great khals must seek for braver foes. This is known.”

“It is known,” Jhiqui agreed, as she poured.

“Not to me.” Dany set great store by Ser Jorah’s counsel, but to leave Meereen untouched was more than she could stomach. She could not forget the children on their posts, the birds tearing at their entrails, their skinny arms pointing up the coast road. “Ser Jorah, you say we have no food left. If I march west, how can I feed my freedmen?”

“You can’t. I am sorry, Khaleesi. They must feed themselves or starve. Many and more will die along the march, yes. That will be hard, but there is no way to save them. We need to put this scorched earth well behind us.”

Dany had left a trail of corpses behind her when she crossed the red waste. It was a sight she never meant to see again. “No,” she said. “I will not march my people off to die.” My children.

ASOS Daenerys VI

All my victories turn to dross in my hands, she thought. Whatever I do, all I make is death and horror. When word of what had befallen Astapor reached the streets, as it surely would, tens of thousands of newly freed Meereenese slaves would doubtless decide to follow her when she went west, for fear of what awaited them if they stayed ... yet it might well be that worse would await them on the march. Even if she emptied every granary in the city and left Meereen to starve, how could she feed so many? The way before her was fraught with hardship, bloodshed, and danger. Ser Jorah had warned her of that. He’d warned her of so many things ... he’d ... No, I will not think of Jorah Mormont. Let him keep a little longer.

~

That morning she summoned her captains and commanders to the garden, rather than descending to the audience chamber. “Aegon the Conqueror brought fire and blood to Westeros, but afterward he gave them peace, prosperity, and justice. But all I have brought to Slaver’s Bay is death and ruin. I have been more khal than queen, smashing and plundering, then moving on.”

“There is nothing to stay for,” said Brown Ben Plumm.

“Your Grace, the slavers brought their doom on themselves,” said Daario Naharis.

“You have brought freedom as well,” Missandei pointed out.

“Freedom to starve?” asked Dany sharply. “Freedom to die? Am I a dragon, or a harpy?” Am I mad? Do I have the taint?

“A dragon,” Ser Barristan said with certainty. “Meereen is not Westeros, Your Grace.”

“But how can I rule seven kingdoms if I cannot rule a single city?” He had no answer to that. Dany turned away from them, to gaze out over the city once again. “My children need time to heal and learn. My dragons need time to grow and test their wings. And I need the same. I will not let this city go the way of Astapor. I will not let the harpy of Yunkai chain up those I’ve freed all over again.” She turned back to look at their faces. “I will not march.”

“What will you do then, Khaleesi?” asked Rakharo.

“Stay,” she said. “Rule. And be a queen.”

ADWD Daenerys III

“Those left behind in Meereen would envy them their easy deaths,” moaned Reznak. “They will make slaves of us, or throw us in the pits. All will be as it was, or worse.”

“Where is your courage?” Ser Barristan lashed out. “Her Grace freed you from your chains. It is for you to sharpen your swords and defend your own freedom when she leaves.”

“Brave words, from one who means to sail into the sunset,” Symon Stripeback snarled back. “Will you look back at our dying?”

“Your Grace—”

“Magnificence—”

“Your Worship—”

“Enough.” Dany slapped the table. “No one will be left to die. You are all my people.” Her dreams of home and love had blinded her. “I will not abandon Meereen to the fate of Astapor. It grieves me to say so, but Westeros must wait.”

~

“My lord, I will gladly have those ships, but I cannot give you the promise that you ask.” She took his hand. “Give me the galleys, and I swear that Qarth will have the friendship of Meereen until the stars go out. Let me trade with them, and you will have a good part of the profits.”

Xaro’s glad smile died upon his lips. “What are you saying? Are you telling me you will not go?”

“I cannot go.”

ADWD Daenerys IV

“Your Grace, may I speak frankly?”

“Always.”

“There is a third choice.”

“Westeros?”

He nodded. “I am sworn to serve Your Grace, and to keep you safe from harm wherever you may go. My place is by your side, whether here or in King’s Landing … but your place is back in Westeros, upon the Iron Throne that was your father’s. The Seven Kingdoms will never accept Hizdahr zo Loraq as king.”

“No more than Meereen will accept Daenerys Targaryen as queen. The Green Grace has the right of that. I need a king beside me, a king of old Ghiscari blood. Elsewise they will always see me as the uncouth barbarian who smashed through their gates, impaled their kin on spikes, and stole their wealth.”

“In Westeros you will be the lost child who returns to gladden her father’s heart. Your people will cheer when you ride by, and all good men will love you.”

“Westeros is far away.”

“Lingering here will never bring it any closer. The sooner we take our leave of this place—”

“I know. I do.” Dany did not know how to make him see. She wanted Westeros as much as he did, but first she must heal Meereen. “Ninety days is a long time. Hizdahr may fail. And if he does, the trying buys me time. Time to make alliances, to strengthen my defenses, to—”

“And if he does not fail? What will Your Grace do then?”

“Her duty.”

ADWD Daenerys VII

“...The Frog has a gift for you.”

[...] “And who is he?”

He shrugged. “Some Dornish boy. He squires for the big knight they call Greenguts. I told him he could give his gift to me and I’d deliver it, but he wouldn’t have it.”

~

“May we know what it says, Your Grace?” asked Ser Barristan.

“It is a secret pact,” Dany said, “made in Braavos when I was just a little girl. Ser Willem Darry signed for us, the man who spirited my brother and myself away from Dragonstone before the Usurper’s men could take us. Prince Oberyn Martell signed for Dorne, with the Sealord of Braavos as witness.” She handed the parchment to Ser Barristan, so he might read it for himself. “The alliance is to be sealed by a marriage, it says. In return for Dorne’s help overthrowing the Usurper, my brother Viserys is to take Prince Doran’s daughter Arianne for his queen.”

The old knight read the pact slowly. “If Robert had known of this, he would have smashed Sunspear as he once smashed Pyke, and claimed the heads of Prince Doran and the Red Viper ... and like as not, the head of this Dornish princess too.”

“No doubt that was why Prince Doran chose to keep the pact a secret,” suggested Daenerys. “If my brother Viserys had known that he had a Dornish princess waiting for him, he would have crossed to Sunspear as soon as he was old enough to wed.”

“And thereby brought Robert’s warhammer down upon himself, and Dorne as well,” said Frog. “My father was content to wait for the day that Prince Viserys found his army.”

“Your father?”

“Prince Doran.”

~

“...You mean to marry me. Is that the way of it? The gift you bring me is your own sweet self. Instead of Viserys and your sister, you and I must seal this pact if I want Dorne.”

ADWD Daenerys VIII

“...Your Grace, if I may be so bold, there is another road …”

“The Dornish road?” Dany sighed. The three Dornishmen had been at the feast, as befit Prince Quentyn’s rank, though Reznak had taken care to seat them as far as possible from her husband. Hizdahr did not seem to be of a jealous nature, but no man would be pleased by the presence of a rival suitor near his new bride. “The boy seems pleasant and well spoken, but …”

“House Martell is ancient and noble, and has been a leal friend to House Targaryen for more than a century, Your Grace. I had the honor of serving with Prince Quentyn’s great-uncle in your father’s seven. Prince Lewyn was as valiant a brother-in-arms as any man could wish for. Quentyn Martell is of the same blood, if it please Your Grace.”

“It would please me if he had turned up with these fifty thousand swords he speaks of. Instead he brings two knights and a parchment. Will a parchment shield my people from the Yunkai’i? If he had come with a fleet …”

“Sunspear has never been a sea power, Your Grace.”

“No.” Dany knew enough of Westerosi history to know that. Nymeria had landed ten thousand ships upon Dorne’s sandy shores, but when she wed her Dornish prince she had burned them all and turned her back upon the sea forever. “Dorne is too far away. To please this prince, I would need to abandon all my people. You should send him home.”

“Dornishmen are notoriously stubborn, Your Grace. Prince Quentyn’s forebears fought your own for the better part of two hundred years. He will not go without you.”

Then he will die here, Daenerys thought, unless there is more to him than I can see.

[aevsfires]

Uther. Has touched. My last. Nerve.

(Spoilers beware)

Ok so since I’m going into the season one finale of Merlin tonight might as well get it all out now before I’m crushed by the inevitable weight of the feels I’m expecting. Aka y’all get to read me ranting about Uther again. But before that, quick thing:

Holy crap I was not expecting the ending of episode eight. I kid you not when they dropped that bombshell my jaw dropped and I spent a good twenty seconds staring at the screen uncomprehendingly while the scene finished playing out. I’m not as well versed in Celtic mythology and Arthurian legends as much as I am in Greek and Norse, but when I hear the name Mordred it’s practically instinct for my brain to short circuit. A similar thing occurred when I told my dad; he reminded me of some versions of the legends I forgot- and prompted another short circuit. Thanks, dad.

Speaking of, I spent the majority of episode eight coming up with increasingly... creative ways for Uther to die. Yeah, try all you want to humanize him in like three scenes in the whole show so far (at least, thats how many I bothered to remember), but trying to kill a child (even if I don’t exactly trust said child)? No thank you, king of annoying me, you’ve sunk so far into the hate sink I’ve added you to the list of Characters To Be Brutally Tortured By Hekate For Writing Practice.

My dad finds my rage amusing.

Episode nine was a bit of a wham one for me too, not nearly as much as eight, but it got a gasp outta me.

So wish me luck with this finale everyone, because depending on what happens- and I have no idea, I’ve been avoiding spoilers like the plague- I might be a wreck in a few hours. Expect more ranting.

That will be all. *bows and scrambles to gets siblings to bed early so I can watch this dang thing*

[agustdomain]

All The Pieces Fall

Synopsis: Some pieces mismatch, but some pieces fall into place. They figure out a way to create a beautiful and unlikely picture. Here’s how a few lives intertwined on this holiday, making it count. 

Word Count: 26.4 k words

Genre: Holiday, Friendships, Not present lover, Christmas Fluff

Warnings: It’s really long. Haha I’m sorry. And a sprinkle of angst throughout.

Members: All 7 of them. Hoseok as a brother, Yoongi as a lover, the rest will make their respective appearance (;

Author’s Note: This work is highly special to me. I was supposed to post it last Christmas, but didn’t finish it and vowed to finish it this year. And I accomplished that goal! I am so happy with how it came out. It’s not perfect, but it’s beautiful. And I think that’s reflected in how the piece unravels. Hope you enjoy! Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! ~ Angelo

For as long as she could remember, she was a sentimental person. She enjoyed the smaller details, she collected items that may seem confusing to those who didn’t know her well and at the end of most nights, she enjoyed reminiscing about the people and the things that she loved. Earlier on in life, she knew there were rare feelings that she wouldn’t find anywhere else; when she was a teenager, she documented them and if she ever discovered new and rare feelings, she’d add them to the list. 

First love. Concerts. And the feeling of Christmas. 

There were only three experiences that sparked those rare sensations, but every time she pulled that little note out, it made her smile. Rare feelings aren’t something to be sad about. 

She was aware that many people considered Christmas their favorite holiday. That in itself wasn’t rare. What’s rare is the feeling that blooms in her chest every 24th of December, and what lasts until she goes to sleep on the 25th. Her friends would call her a poetic romantic, always trying to articulate what or how something makes her feel. Christmas was one of the only experiences she certainly couldn’t capture in words. It was too rare, too stunning, too… ah, she couldn’t find the words. 

What she could confirm is that her heart always swelled seeing those she loved surrounding her, the look of joy on their faces unforgettable. The air was warmer on those days, the lights softer. Smiles were more lovely. It’s the Christmas air, her brother Hoseok would say. Perhaps that’s what it was. 

Christmas was the closest, she believed, to the feeling of pure bliss. 

It always has been that for her, and it always will be. Sometimes, things go wrong and it doesn’t seem like Christmas will be the same. Somehow, in some way, it always works out. Even if it’s the slightest shift. 

This winter was the most helpless she ever felt. As her favorite day grew closer, a piece of her hope would splinter off. Her brother didn’t seem to be coming home from university, her parents weren’t batting an eye, and it might be the first Christmas without him. 

She wouldn’t lose faith, though, not yet. Christmas wasn’t over until the clock struck midnight welcoming the 26th. 

This particular holiday always had a funny and inexplicable way of surprising her. She assumed this year wouldn’t be any different. 

She could only hope that even if it’s different, it still captures that feeling she craves all year long. That’s all she wanted as a gift. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Christmas Tree 

“Have you talked to your brother recently, Y/N?”

The words sent her stomach dropping, finding it hard to resist asking her mother to repeat herself out of shock. She knew her mom wouldn’t be happy if she did so. Frankly, she had expected anything but those words to leave her mouth. She had been home for a few days now due to being on winter break as well as scheduling time off of work. Being surrounded by her childhood memories, portraits of her and her brother, and simply being reminded of how Christmas might be different this year, had left her moping around. She was too guilty to admit it aloud, but she found her mother partially responsible for their circumstances. Truly, she did not expect her mother to ask her that one morning after waking up.

It was her favorite time of year, the Christmas season. It was the most blissful experience, so brief and a wonderful rush that fills her once it’s around the corner. The day itself was highly anticipated, but it ended so fast it was almost like it never came. Now that she was a little older, the experience had transformed into an entirely different experience. It was more about giving instead of receiving, and she couldn’t get enough.

That particular morning, she had been lounging in the living room watching a Christmas movie on tv. Her mother joined her shortly after she woke up. Not thinking much of it, she assumed her mom was just joining her to watch the movie. She had not expected her to ask her such a loaded question, and one about Hoseok at that.

She spoke slowly and carefully. “Uh, I haven’t. Why?” 

A brief silence, and it was enough to let her know what she needed to know. More than anything, growing up in her home, her and Hoseok  recognized early on that their parents’ silence typically had to do with their pride. If it was related to an issue and they were responsible for apologizing, it took even longer for them to set pride aside. Hence, their familiar silence. 

“What are his Christmas plans?”

To be fair, she didn’t know the answer that question either. At the realization, her heart sank.

There weren’t enough words to describe how much she loved her brother. Hoseok was his name, and that even conveyed how warm and soft he actually was. He was an enigma, mostly because somehow the moment anyone met him, they fell in love. Even if he spoke two words, they became enamored. Growing up, bringing her friends around her bright brother was fascinating because afterward, they were all smitten. When they were young, it was his friendliness and excitable personality that drew in everyone they met. As they both matured and grew, and he became the young man he was today, people simply fell for everything about him. All of that didn’t matter, though, because above everything else he was her brother. She and Hoseok had an unbreakable bond, one that wasn’t just because they were siblings but also because of a friendship built on years of closeness.

What she lacked, he embodied and vice versa. She loved him and supported him in everything he did. 

Earlier this year and just after Christmas, Hoseok had announced that he had changed his major. It wouldn’t be such an issue if he had been changing to anything but photography. 

When he was eight years old, he had gotten a camera as a birthday gift from their grandpa. Not just any camera, though. Their grandpa had gifted him a Yashica Mat 124G. At the time, Hoseok knew next to nothing about photography. What mattered to him that their grandpa, who was his favorite person in the world, had gifted him something so special to him. Once Hoseok clicked the cranked it and clicked the shutter, there was an everlasting love in his eyes. 

She was six at the time, but she knew her brother had been changed by this gift from their grandpa. 

Since then, his love for capturing the world had never ceased, only expanded with time. It was why she was utterly surprised a couple of years before he graduated high school, and  told her he had chosen psychology as his major instead.

Although their parents loved him dearly, they were too afraid of the unknown that came with pursuing a career in any type of art. At the age of eighteen, he would have done anything to appease their parents. So he settled for his second passion, which happened to be psychology. It made their parents relieved. It made her brother passive. That was over three years ago.

Last year when he was home for Christmas, he confessed to a lie that he had been telling his family since before his sophomore year in college. It had really been plaguing him; she could tell he was hiding something long before that moment. He was on his third year of university, and he had been carrying the secret with him for so long. She had watched as the words slipped past his mouth, about how he was on his second year now of majoring in psychology. She watched the life return to his eyes as the weight lifted from his shoulders. That’s all that mattered.

The repercussions were deadly, the biggest explosion between her family she had ever witnessed. It had been about a year since the fight, but she tried to avoid thinking about it as much as possible. She hated remembering how thundering her father’s voice sounded in the house, rattling the house. She hated seeing her brother transform as he was backed into a corner,  how Hoseok reciprocated with an even bigger storm in his eyes. She especially hated witnessing her brother’s heart break as their father treated him like he wasn’t welcome anymore. The night had ended in shambles, her brother leaving back to school a week early. 

Since then, her father and brother hadn’t spoken. And their mom only occasionally checked up on him, in fear of breaking down and in fear of making it worse. She knew how much it was killing both sides, but Hoseok wanted their dad’s approval and their dad was too stubborn to concede. At this rate, she was afraid for not only Christmas, but for the future.

“I haven’t asked,” She paused, carefully wading through, “Do you want him to come?”

Silence. Then tiptoeing. “He is welcome to do whatever he pleases. Seems that’s what he does anyway-” 

“Mom, enough. Do you want Hoseok to spend Christmas with us or not? Are you really going to let him spend Christmas alone all because he loves something you don’t?”

And she didn’t know if it had been the conviction in her voice, or if it was solely because she missed him so much, but her mom’s next words were exactly what she wanted to hear.

“I want my son home.”

~~~~~~~~~~

That afternoon, after settling down from mulling over her mother’s words over and over, Y/N found herself contemplating the home around her. The home she grew up in, the one that she and Hoseok played tag in and got scolded for running in, the one where her and Hoseok teamed up against their parents in debates and got scolded for as teens. Of course, there were both good and bad memories tied to this house. More than anything, it was their home. Usually, she loved being home completely. It was different, knowing that her dad didn’t welcome Hoseok anymore.

Yet, their parents welcomed her with sweet smiles and warm hugs. Her dorm wasn’t even far, a brief drive away to be quite honest. She had chosen the nearest university to her family because a) it had the major of her dreams and b) she was near her family. With the swarm of school and work, however, she didn’t get to visit as often as she’d like. Yes, that’s why she didn’t visit regularly. It wasn’t because it reminded her of the strain in her family.

It was at dinner that night that she found herself thinking about Hoseok once more. As she sat across from her parents and quietly ate her dinner, she remembered Hoseok’s laugh ringing in the air last Christmas, his smile as she unwrapped her gift from him. Their entire lives, his laugh had always been loud, sometimes obnoxious. It never failed to pull a laugh from her. Even now, a smile tugged at her lips as she recalled how she’d hit him with a throw pillow every time he’d laugh too loud late at night. He would only send her a mocking glare every time she told him to shut up, not worried at all about being caught watching t.v. late on a school night. 

Her smile faded as she remembered how he was a boulder to cover her from the harsh winds of life. When school was overwhelming and he’d find her crying over something she can’t even remember anymore, he would wrap her up in his arms and remind her he’ll always be there. He would say that with her spirit, the world doesn’t stand a chance. She always used to wonder how could it be possible that he viewed her the same way she saw him.

He was a bonfire. People were drawn to him and his warmth. He would never let her hear the end of it whenever she compared herself to him. Thinking of that,  his words rang in her ears. I’m not any better than you, Y/N. You are amazing, the most amazing sister I could ever ask for. Stop comparing yourself to me. Can’t we both be great?

“Y/N? Did you hear me?”

She looked up then, her attention being drawn to her mother. She was sitting to her right, her dad sitting right beside her. The setup almost made her happy. Almost. Except it wasn’t, not with Hoseok nowhere to be found. If he were here, he would be sitting right beside you at the table, finishing her plate when she grew full. Sometimes, their dad would jokingly insist she needs to finish her food. When he would leave the table, Hoseok would shovel all of her food quickly into his mouth, causing her to weaken with laughter as he finished, resembling a squirrel with filled cheeks. After swallowing, he would always say the same thing. “If I can’t finish your leftovers, what kind of brother does that make me?”

“What did you say?”

“I was telling you that the Parks can join us for Christmas Eve after all. It’s been so long since we’ve spent Christmas Eve with them. Their son is back home, too, which is lovely. We haven’t seen Jimin since your guys’ graduation. Isn’t that crazy?” Her words successfully drew her attention, mostly because it had been a long time since she saw Park Jimin. 

Before she could respond, she felt her mother’s probing gaze. She knew what she was going to say. She wished she could stop her, but there was nothing she could do to avoid her teasing.

“I felt like I should let you know. I know you always used to have a crush on Jimin. I would hate for you to be caught by surprise after seeing him again.”

She clenched her fists with embarrassment, keeping her gaze trained on her plate as she pushed around her leftovers. No Hoseok to finish them for her. Hearing her dad’s exclamation, she braced herself for his dramatic reaction as her mom stifled a smile.

“Excuse me? You like the Parks’ boy? If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have ever let him spend the night-”

Her mom waved him off as Y/N cupped her forehead with embarrassment. “Oh, hush. He was friends with Hoseok. And so what if she has a little crush on him? He’s a good boy. Well, now he’s a young man.”

She tried her hardest to pretend her parents weren’t discussing her past crush while residing right across from her. Her thoughts were thankfully enough to keep her distracted. 

It was true that as she was growing up, Jimin had been the boy who made her heart race. He was the school’s sweetheart, mostly because he was sweet to everyone. Because he was sweet to everyone, her heart grew sweet on him. Back in high school, he had been one of Hoseok’s good friends. Having him around made it even easier for her to grow fond of him. 

He had only two girlfriends throughout high school, and each of them were treated like his queen. Whenever he spent time around her, he treated her the way Hoseok did. Back then, she didn’t know what loving someone was like. The way it felt, it was like he truly saw her. He looked out for her back then, bought her her favorite chocolate every time he came over. He even liked to ask her what new music she was listening to, because according to him she always had great taste. When Hoseok let it slip that Jimin had a Spotify playlist with all the songs she told him about, she knew she was head over heels for him.

She buried that crush deep within. He was not only Hoseok’s friend, he was her friend, too. His friendship meant the absolute world to her. The crush she harbored wasn’t deep enough to risk everything. 

At graduation, after she and Jimin took a picture in their caps and gowns, she had stared at the boy in his angelic eyes. They were going their separate ways, him moving across the country. She would always remember him as her childhood crush, the friend that meant a lot to her. And when his lips had brushed her cheek, and her entire body grew warm, she was okay with leaving those feelings right then and there.

Besides, by now she had truly experienced what love actually felt like, all because of a boy with jazz eyes and piano hands. Her parents didn’t know about him quite yet. So, you let them speculate about the Parks’ son. 

“Not that I don’t love talking about love with my parents,” She said sarcastically as she rose to her feet. She held back a smile at her dad’s highly unamused face and her mother’s amusement. “I’m going to head to bed.”

“This early? I know you don’t sleep until 3 am,” Her dad said, calling her out.

“You got me there,” She said, bending down to give both of them a kiss on the head. “Goodnight! Love you.”

Truth be told, she wasn’t tired at all. It was only 10 pm, but it was only a few days until Christmas Eve and time was working against her. For whatever reason, her heart was racing at her plans. This was Hoseok, for crying out loud. She was just afraid he would not take it well when she asked him to come home. 

She had texted him earlier to video chat with her tonight. He agreed, his text exclaiming how much he couldn’t wait to talk to his sweet “Paws”. She couldn’t distinguish whether or not the nickname he had given her a long time ago made her more sad or happy. All she could do was shove it aside as she prepared herself for the tough conversation she was about to have. 

The time had come, and as she shifted in her bed, she prepared herself for what was about to unravel. Inhaling deeply, she hoped for the best reaction. Unlike her parents, she stayed in constant contact with him. He didn’t really like to talk about their parents though, and she knew it was because it hurt him. She hoped this wouldn’t be too much for him.

Finally, his beaming face popped up on her screen and she quickly accepted the video chat, his face temporarily freezing in a buffered smile before it cleared up and she was staring at her brother’s live and in action face. It had been a while since they had video chatted, and staring at him made her realize how deeply she missed him.

Both of their smiles were unrestrained, and they excitedly got out their initial greetings.They talked about school for a while, discussing how their semesters went and what had been difficult about some courses. The topic shifted to work, Hoseok telling her about how he had recently gotten a job at a dance studio. He had gotten hooked up with an interview by one of his friends who majored in music production. He loved it a lot, hoping he would eventually get to be able to teach his own class. After the small talk, Hoseok’s smile died down and she could tell he was going to say something serious.

“I see you’re back at home.”

She didn’t control the surprise that filtered across her face. Nervously, she laughed. “Yeah, I am. For the holidays. Finally, I got some time off of work.” The smile she tried to hold didn’t last, her lips uncontrollably pursed before she decidedly dove in head first. “Speaking of the holidays, Christmas Eve is in three days…”

She didn’t like the cloud that covered Hoseok’s face, his eyes trailing off to the side. It squeezed her heart. Her brother was someone who should always be smiling. It made the world a lot more bearable. But she understood his dilemma. Their dad, who they both cherished, didn’t support the one thing he loved. It hurt her to know he was hurting. 

She continued, her voice sounding small all of a sudden. “Are you coming home for Christmas?”

His voice was just as small, quiet. “I can’t. You know that.”

“Yes, you can. You know you can. Mom and dad love you-”

“Dad sure has a funny way of showing it,” He scoffed, and she pretended not to hear his voice crack. She wished she could hold him tight, just like those times in school when she doubted herself. If only he were here. 

Shaking her head, she tried to find the words. By the look of his face and the sound of his voice, her heart sank with the oncoming disappointment.  “Hoseok, you know he only wants the best for you. We both know he’s  wrong in how he’s handling it, but he misses you. Mom misses you. I miss you.”

“Oh, they do? Then why hasn’t dad spoken to me since that night? How come mom can’t go one phone call without trying to convince me to switch majors, all to appease him? Why do I feel like I’m a villain for pursuing what I love?” He was crying, she could tell by the slight quiver in his voice. He had moved the camera so she couldn’t see his face. 

Her own cheeks were damp, but she ignored it. She was desperate at this point, fishing for the words to bring him home. She needed him here. 

“I want you here. And I know they want you here too. They’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I don’t want to be an outcast in my own parents’ eyes. I miss you so much. I’ll come visit you after Christmas break.”

“Hoseok-”

“I got to go. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“No, wait, please-” 

The call ended just like that. The silence right after was unbearable, her brother’s broken voice and broken heart ringing in her memory. The ring was deafening, painful.  She sat there a moment, frozen.  Although she knew there was a chance the call wouldn’t go well, a part of her had still hoped she would convince him to come home. Instead, her mind began to torture her the realization of what Christmas would be like this year sunk in.

Her face crumpled as her heart did. She wished so badly she could shake her parents and tell them to stop hurting Hoseok. Mostly, she wanted him here. 

~~~~~~~~~~

“Y/N!”

The next morning, she sluggishly trudged down the stairs and found her mother in the kitchen scrambling eggs. She stood in the doorway, watching her mom as she hummed a Christmas tune underneath her breath. Still tired from her restless night, Y/N found herself really looking at her mother. She knew her opinion of her parents had changed since that fateful night when her brother stormed out of the house, no intentions of coming back. She heard it in her mom’s voice yesterday, when she asked about Hoseok. And she saw it when her mom thought no one was looking, her eyes fluttering over the photos of her son hanging in the hall. She missed him just as much as Y/N did. 

“Oh!” Her mom slightly jumped at the sight of her. “You scared me. Sorry to wake you. I need you to run to the store for me and pick up a couple things. I would ask your dad, but he’s at work. It’s his last day before he’s off for a week!”

Her excitement was endearing, and a bitter part of her wanted to be angry at her mom for doing nothing when her dad chased Hoseok away. At the end of the day, she knew that her parents initially had good intentions, that they loved Hoseok and had only been trying to protect him. They simply let the problem spiral out of control and were too prideful to make amends. 

“Okay. Let me get changed.”

Before she knew it, she was driving to the grocery store. Since she woke up, her heart was weak at the memory of the video call last night. Hoseok’s hurt voice, his refusal as she pleaded. She tried to avoid thinking about him, but she couldn’t shake the sadness that came with the reality that he was not coming home. It would be her first Christmas without him, no one to wake her up to tell her to come downstairs. He wouldn’t be there Christmas morning, ready to start watching their favorite holiday movies. Who would finish her hot chocolate for her? Who would force her to dance to Christmas songs? Maybe it shouldn’t be as sad as she felt, but no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t shake the heaviness. A pivotal piece was missing. 

It was like she blinked and she was at the grocery store. She sat in the car for a moment, the ignition turned off and the previous warmth from the heaters dissipating. As the cold air seeped in from outside, she told herself to push down the negative feelings. She would figure it out. She would. For now, she would just focus on the task at hand. 

Stepping out of the car, she hissed at the frigid air, zipping up her jacket as tight as it would go. As she walked toward the entrance, she noticed on the other side of the parking lot there was a sectioned off area where real Christmas trees were set up. Before she went inside, she noticed people hauling off trees to their cars. It was quite the sight.

She bought everything off her mother’s list with no trouble. She was in and out rather quickly, pushing the cart out of the store and avoiding other frantic shoppers as much as she could. With the rapid approaching holiday, everyone was frantic and everywhere was busy. Somehow, she avoided all of it. Because of the music playing in the store, Jingle Bell Rock was stuck in her head. As she hummed it to herself, she gathered in her surroundings as she headed toward her car. 

Taking one last look toward the Christmas tree lot, something caught her eye- moreso, someone did. Narrowing her eyes, she stared for a moment before the familiarity dawned on her. A smile widened on her lips before she raced to the car and put all the groceries in the trunk. After she finished up, she put the cart away and rushed to the tree lot.

As she approached, her gaze trained on the familiar figure that had previously snagged her attention. And she was thankful she had noticed him, because it had been too long since she had seen him. 

When she was close enough, she felt her heart light up like the star on the top of the tree at home. He had let his hair grow long since the last time she saw him, but he was as handsome as she remembered. He was kneeling, fixing one of the Christmas trees that he had placed in a shopping cart. His face was flushed red, from exerting himself or from the cold she didn’t know. She smiled at the festive beanie he wore atop his head. 

Finally, he noticed her. His eyebrows furrowed for a slight moment before his face lit up like the sunrise. A grin formed as he rose to his feet. Without any hesitation, he approached her with open arms. She stepped right into his arms as he said her name with unadulterated happiness.

“How long has it been since I saw you?” He said, cold air seeping out past his lips. She couldn’t describe the joy that wrapped around her at the luck of running into her dearest friend. Kim Taehyung was someone that had entered her life as sudden as a shooting star. But he wasn’t brief, no, he was an everlasting sun. She had met him when she was fourteen, and had forged a friendship that hadn’t been broken by distance or time. Yes, she hadn’t seen him in months, due to different schools and lack of time. That didn’t change anything. And here he stood. And it was like no time had passed.

“I think August. I’ve really missed you, Tae.”

His smile was blinding, erasing the previous distressed emotions suffocating her. “Likewise. It’s been way too long. No one else puts up with my tomfoolery like you do.”

“Maybe it’s because you use words like ‘tomfoolery’.”

His laugh echoed in the air, drawing the attention of a nearby family looking at trees. Glancing at them, she offered up an observation. “Isn’t it a bit late to be looking for Christmas trees? Christmas Eve is in two days.”

Taehyung shrugged casually, adjusting the beanie on his head. “Yeah, but it’s always sort of been a thing my family does. We cut it pretty short to the day itself. We’re badass like that.”

“Or reckless.”

“I like badass more.” His smile died down then, his fond eyes looking her over. “It’s so good to see you. I was going to wait until Christmas to reach out to you. Crazy how it’s not that small of a town, but it never stops us from running into each other.. We have to hang out before you go back-” And something strange happened then. It was like something had physically stopped him from continuing, his eyes glazing over. She had known him long enough to see something was bothering him.

“Is everything alright?”

His eyes found hers once more, shaking it off before feigning a comforting smile. “Everything’s fine! Sorry! I just remembered something. Anyways, want to help me find a tree? Taeyeon wants me to bring the perfect one home!”

Something told her not to force him to tell her what’s wrong. So, she complied. For twenty minutes, she walked the lot with him, offering up her opinions and finding time in between to reminisce about old times. A part of her wished he still lived nearby during school. Shortly after she moved into her dorms, he moved to a nearby city about thirty minutes away. Though he wasn’t far, they were both busy with school and work, and hardly found time to see each other. If they found the time, she was positive he would be the person she spent all her time with throughout the year. 

Soon enough, he found what he deemed ‘The Perfect Pine’, and she helped him carry it to his familiar red Toyota. It brought back some dear memories, and she was unable to control her gasp of glee. After helping him secure the tree in the truck bed, the two of them stood facing each other. 

She patted the trunk. “Haven’t seen this old friend in a minute.”

“Dory missed you. Just like I did.”

She threw her head back and laughed. “I can’t believe you remember our nickname for it!”

“I know, right? We were so excited when I got this car. Named it and everything. Except we never even called it Dory, not even once.”

It was times like this that she truly missed about being younger. Sure, it hadn’t been too long since she had seen Taehyung. And she generally kept in good contact with him. But it wasn’t like when they were younger. It was good to see his face. 

His next question inevitably called back her sadness. It wasn’t his fault, because he couldn’t have known. However, there was no way to cover up the disappointment that washed over her face at his words.

“How’s my boy Hopeful? Haven’t seen your brother in ages. I miss him too.” At her prolonged silence, his hand reached out to her shoulder as he noticed her crestfallen face. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

Shaking her head, she sighed. “It’s… complicated. Let’s just say he’s not coming home for Christmas because he’s clashing with my parents. Has been for a while now.”

He sighed at the news, his hand unconsciously moving to rub her arm comfortingly. “I’m sorry to hear that.” His actions paused for a moment, as if he were pondering what he was about to say. It seemed he decided it was best to say whatever he was holding back. “Since when has an argument with your parents been this drastic though? And since when did that make Hoseok miss out on his favorite holiday?”

“It’s worse than it seems. Our parents don’t really support him and what he loves. And because of that, he doesn’t feel welcome.”

Taehyung frowned. “Your parents never seemed like they would be that way.”

“That’s the thing. They aren’t. My dad’s silence is just his pride. I know he misses Hoseok. My mom asked me to bring him home somehow. They want him here just as much as I do. They’re just too stubborn to make the first move. And Hoseok is hurt. He doesn’t want to make the first move because he’s afraid they’ll just do the same thing as last time.”

“So talk to your parents.”

“I have.” Her voice died, squeezing her eyes to make sure she didn’t get too emotional in front of him. 

“Have you truly talked to them? Have you told them they’re wrong, that in order to have him come home, they need to reach out to him?” 

She opened her mouth to respond but came up short. Because in a way, Taehyung hit the nail on the head. All these months, she hadn’t really called them out for their wrongs. She had only implied that they needed to be more understanding. For the first time since the night Hoseok stormed out, she realized that maybe she played a hand in this prolonged stalemate. Without outright calling them out on their behavior, they won’t think about what they’re doing. It was up to her to ultimately end all the turmoil.

“Tae, what would I do without you?”

He brushed off her compliment, his face drawn in a shy smile. “You would be fine.”

Lunging forward, she held him tight. “No, I wouldn’t. I have to head home, but we’ll hang out before I head back to the dorms. Have a Merry Christmas.” And in that moment, she didn’t register the grimace on his face. Maybe it was because of the stress of her family situation, that she didn’t even notice Taehyung’s own sadness lingering. At that moment, she had to get home and then get Hoseok home.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Mom, we need to talk.”

She turned at Y/N’s greeting, her eyebrows pulled downward in question.

“What took you so long? The list wasn’t that long.”

Brushing her arm dismissively, she explained, “The store was pretty busy. And I ran into Taehyung. But-”

“Oh, Taehyung! How is he? You haven’t brought him around in so long! He was always such a good friend to you-”

“Mom. We can talk about him later. We have something important to talk about.“

“Is everything okay, Y/N?” The concern in her eyes solidified her nerves, but she needed to push through. This talk was going to be hard, but she wasn’t walking away from it without getting her mom to see what’s right. If she failed, then she didn’t know how long her parents and Hoseok’s relationship would hang in a void. She couldn’t stand the idea.

“No. Everything isn’t okay. But it can be.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Her father came home to a gloomy house that evening. Both Y/N and her mother sat in a quiet living room that night, her mom’s stoic expression trained on a blank television. Her own gaze followed her dad’s movements nervously as he shrugged off his coat, meeting her look with his own questioning one.

“What’s going on? What are you guys doing just sitting here?”

“Dad, we need to talk.”

He stared at her for a moment, before he rubbed at his temple tiredly. “Can’t it wait? I’m pretty tired from work.”

“It really can’t. It’s important.”

She could sense his exasperation was building behind his expression, but she was thankful he was at least trying to be patient. “What’s it about?”

She was holding her breath, nervous for his reaction. Exhaling deeply, she just let go. “It’s about Hoseok.”

Disappointment filled her bones at the sight of him guarding his expression, looking the least bit responsive. “We’re not talking about him.”

“Dad, we have to. It’s almost Christmas-”

“So? What does that have to do with him?” His words stung and she unconsciously rose to her feet.

“What do you mean? It has everything to do with him. He’s your son, my brother. Christmas won’t be the same without him!”

“Whose fault is that? If he just listened to his parents-”

“Why would he listen to you if you guys were wrong-”

“I won’t have you disrespect me in my own house, Y/N. If you feel so strongly on the subject, why are you here? You can leave just like him.” His words extinguished any sort of fire previously lit in her veins. She heard her mother cry out in disbelief, but there was nothing else she could do. It seemed he was dead set on being prideful. 

Shaking her head, she muttered, “You’re unbelievable,” before turning on her heels and heading toward the staircase. 

“Y/N.” This time it was her mother, uncharacteristically quiet during the whole argument. Turning to look at her, something in her gaze comforted how upset she was. “I’ll talk to him. Just stay in your room for the night, okay?”

And there was nothing she could do. So she agreed. And she hoped her mother could pick up the pieces. Because if she didn’t, then maybe her family would never be the same. It was her biggest fear at this point. Aside from Christmas, what would their relationship with Hoseok look like in the future? It terrified her. 

She didn’t have to wait long to know how the conversation played out after she went to her room. It was a few hours later when her mom joined her, her hiding beneath the covers. The only light that filled the room filtered in through the hall. Quietly, she walked in and sat beside her.

Her silence unnerved Y/N, and she feared her mom was quiet because she was coming to bear bad news. She sat there in silence for a few beats, her heartbeat the only sound thundering in her ears.

Finally, she spoke.

“Your father is driving up to see your brother in the morning. He’s going to talk to him. And if your brother lets him, he’s bringing him home.”

Her words brought Y/N to tears.

~~~~~~~~~~

Stockings

The countdown was two days until Christmas Eve.

That was her first thought the next day when she awoke. The second thought that flashed in her mind was her brother, and how their dad was going to see him. With that thought, she ripped her blanket off of her and stumbled out of bed. She sprinted out of the room and to her parents’ bedroom down the hall. 

Pushing the door open, her heart rate spiked at the absence of her parents. Spinning around, she made her way down the hall and stairs, finding her mom lounging in the living room watching the news.

“Mom!”

Jumping at her voice, she shot her an irritated look. “Don’t scare me like that! What’s wrong?”

She paused, almost wondering if she had dreamt what she said last night. So she had to ask, just in case. “Did… did dad leave already?”

Her face morphed into realization before she soothed her with a soft look. “Yes, he headed out about an hour ago. He should be there soon. And if all goes well… Hoseok should be home by late afternoon.”

The words filled her with relief as the realization hit her like a knockout.. The words were exactly what she wanted to hear, an antidote to the potentially ruined Christmas. Slinking into the spot next to her mom, a thought struck her.

“How did you change his mind?”

She waved her hand before cupping her mug once more. She sipped at what she guessed was her morning coffee before she answered. “I’ve known your father a lot longer than he’s known himself. He didn’t need his mind changed when it was already where it needed to be. He just needed a little encouraging. He loves Honey and truly does want what’s best for him. All this time, he just needed to realize that Hoseok is in control of his life and is old enough to pick his own path. It’s just up to us to be there if he ever falls.”

Her heart tugged at the mention of the family’s nickname for her brother, then twisted at the sentiment of her mom’s words. She couldn’t help but hug her then, ignoring her playful protests. Soon, she was embracing Y/N back, her hands unconsciously moving to play with her hair. 

In a few hours, the family was going to be what it was supposed to be. And Hoseok was going to be right where he belonged. 

About an hour passed like that, her in her mother’s arms as she tempted Y/N to doze off. Her mom knew that playing with her hair was her ultimate weakness. It almost always led you to falling asleep. She fell asleep briefly before her mom adjusted in her seat and woke her up.

“Sorry, sweetie. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Yawning, she sat up straight in her seat. “It’s fine. I actually think I’m going to get some sleep. Before they come back.”

Her words seemed to please her mom, her eyes getting distant. “Yeah. When they come back.”

She groggily headed to her room then, every intention of hers to get some sleep. Just as she got in the most comfortable position, her phone began buzzing on the bedside stand. 

Groaning, she debated whether or not to ignore it but ultimately decided to reach out and grab it. Looking at the screen, her sleepiness faded at the sight of Tae-rex. 

“Tae! What’s up?”

“Hey. Did I wake you?”

“Nah, I’m just in bed.”

“I just wanted to check up on you, see how things are. Did you… talk to your parents?”

She couldn’t control the smile on her lips and permanently in her heart.. “I did. My dad is driving to pick him up as we speak.”

“That’s awesome! Y/N, that’s so great to hear! I’m happy for you.”

A laugh escaped her, even though there wasn’t anything funny. It just bubbled out from her body. All was well.

“Thank you, Taehyung. Something as simple as pointing out how I feel made a difference. If you hadn’t suggested it, who knows what would’ve happened?”

“It was all you. You’ve always had an influence on people. I admire that.” 

This time around, she wasn’t distracted by her sadness. Immediately, she picked up on his underlying solemn tone. Something was bothering him. 

“Tae, is everything okay?”

He hummed in thought.  It was never a good sign. It always told her everything she needed to know about how he was feeling. It was the sound he made when he didn’t know what to say, and the sound he made when he was hurting. To know that about him was an advantage and a burden, because it meant something was really wrong.

If possible, his voice dropped lower and quieter than it was before. “I’m fine. Why?”

“Something tells me that there’s something bothering you. Intuition, perhaps. Are you really fine?”

He was quieter a lot longer than she expected. Again, it told her all she needed to know. In a way, his silence answered the question. 

“I…” She knew how he worked. Two sides of him were battling, one side telling him to put up a front and the other to open up. Over the years, he started opening up and letting the latter win. Other times, it wasn’t easy for him. She wondered what side would win. She hoped he confided in her. “I’m not fine. It’s hard for me to say.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want, I just-”

“I do want to, though. You’ve always been there for me. Maybe I just wanted to pretend I was okay. Who knows? It’s just hard to say because I don’t want you to feel bad. I’m just trying to be tough for Taeyeon but…” Now, she knew what was coming. She gave him the time to sort out his words, to find them and tell her what was plaguing him. And when he did, her heart dropped.

Taehyung proceeded to tell her about how he had been working hard to make this Christmas an amazing one for his little sister, Taeyeon. She had always been fond of his sister, a youthful little girl who carried the same wondrous eyes of her older brother. And as Taehyung began to open up a little more, a lot more started to make sense. Questions that had poked at her in the past became answered in this moment. She hadn’t known that Taehyung’s mother wasn’t around as much as she had initially thought. Sure, Y/N had been good friends with him since they were fourteen. And she was aware that Taeyeon was his number one priority, that he loved his mom a lot but she wasn’t around as much as an outsider would expect.. 

She would have never guessed that his mom missed out on the holidays that played a part in their family, the holidays that mark a kid’s childhood, the weekends are spent with parents. It broke her heart to know that him and Taeyeon had only been experiencing Christmas with each other as company for who knows how long.

After he finished, she was holding back the pain in her chest and the tears that threatened to fall. He didn’t sound too sad, which meant he was comfortable with the situation. That could only mean this wasn’t the first Christmas his mom wasn’t around. It also must’ve meant he likely saw it coming. And it made the realization even worse.

“...And I didn’t tell you all this so you could feel bad for me. Taeyeonie and I are fine. I just… I was thinking about how sad she looks every time she opens her presents in the morning and only sees they’re from me. You know, on Christmas Eve I do nothing but watch movies with her to keep her distracted. But every time she hears a noise outside the door, her head snaps toward it. Like… like she’s expecting Mom to walk through it. It makes me angry. Because I want to give her the world, but I can’t give her the one thing I know would make her extremely happy. When she was younger, she used to ask questions, wonder why Mom wasn’t around on Christmas morning. Now, my blood boils because it’s like she already knows. She’s conditioned to it, like she doesn’t have to ask anymore. I can’t figure out which one feels worse.”

“Tae…”

“You don’t have to say anything. I know. I’m sorry,” His voice wobbled too, but he was strong. He always had been. 

“Don’t be. You don’t have to be sorry about this.” They both fell into silence, and she wanted to ease his pain, so badly it lit up her entire body. She wanted to embrace both him and Taeyeon, the starry eyed little girl who had her heart the first day she met her. She wanted to do everything in her power to ease their pain, even a little bit. Without any hesitation, she let your heart take the wheel. “Would you guys maybe want to spend Christmas Eve with us?” 

~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N and her mom were on the third episode of a sitcom when she heard a car pull up in the driveway. Pausing the show, they both listened. One car door slam, two car door slam, three-

Jumping up to her feet, she rushed to the front door, her heart soaring at the sound of her dad and Hoseok’s voices blending together as they approached from the other side. Throwing the door open, her eyes immediately connected with Hoseok’s smiley gaze. She launched herself toward him, his laughter breaking past his lips as he accepted her hug effortlessly.

“Hobi! I’m so happy!” She tried to keep the tears at bay, but she was almost in disbelief at the change of events. At this time yesterday, she was unsure of how Christmas was going to play out. She was melancholic at the thought of not seeing her brother. Here she was twenty four hours later, holding him and thankful at the unexpected turn of events. 

Not soon after, her mom interrupted their moment to hug him, her own face shiny with tears. Hoseok offered up a comforting smile to her, but his whole body was bouncy with happiness. Just like he always should be. The feeling in her chest couldn’t be put into words, she was utterly filled to the brim with joy.

Turning to her dad, she hugged him just as tightly. He held her, a chaste kiss being placed atop her head.

“Thank you, dad. Thank you so much.”

“No, Y/N. Thank you.”

“Who’s this?” Once again, her mom interrupted another moment she was having. This time, she had garnered everyone’s attention at her questioning. Y/N’s gaze followed her mom’s inquisition, her eyebrows rising in surprise. Amongst all the embraces and happiness, she hadn’t noticed a lone figure standing back, hovering a little awkwardly. 

He was young, possibly a little younger than her. His hair was dark and shielding his eyes. The clothes that adorned his body were just as dark as his hair. Even though his appearance was gloomy, he had quite the boyish face. 

“Oh,” Hoseok strode over to the quiet guy, his arm falling across his shoulder as he addressed her and her mom with yet another blinding smile. “This is Jungkook. He’s my roommate back at my university. He can be a bit quiet, but once he warms up he’s gonna be as loud as me.”

“Great. Just what we need,” She offered up jokingly. She laughed at the sight of Jungkook flashing Hoseok a disbelieving look. 

“Oh,” Their mom’s tone was surprised but pleasant. “Is he spending Christmas with us?”

“Yeah, he is. Is that fine?” It was the first time Hoseok’s smile disappeared, worry creasing his  face. But he should know better. Growing up, their mom was avid in one particular message during Christmas: no one should spend it alone. Although Christmas Eve dinner typically had the same faces every year, she and Hoseok would expect to see someone there that hadn’t been the prior year. Their mom was soft like that. 

“The more the merrier. It’s nice to meet you, Jungkook.”

~~~~~~~~~~

There was a rhythmic knock at her bedroom door, and she could recognize it anywhere. Considering Hoseok liked to knock the beat of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, it was pretty easy to distinguish. Leaning back in her desk chair, she called out that the door was unlocked. It opened to reveal her smiley brother, inevitably making her a smiling mess too. The joy from earlier hadn’t worn off quite yet and if possible, it felt like she had received an early Christmas present. That’s exactly was. Hoseok was a gift.

“It’s good to be home.”

“It’s good to have you home. It wouldn’t have been the same without you here.” At her words, he beamed even brighter. She wondered if there was anyone as warm as him in the world. She would argue that no, there wasn’t anyone that could compete. 

He trailed into the room then, letting a comfortable silence fall between the two of them. She watched him as he fondly took in her room, chuckling at the sight of a goofy photo of both of them on her bedside. It had been too long since she last saw Hoseok.

“Where’s Jungkook?” She asked, curious about his friend. 

“He’s fine. He’s on the couch playing a game on his phone. I’ll be down there soon.” 

She nodded before asking, “Mom and dad?”

“Went to bed. They said the day took a toll on them. I agree. It was quite the roller coaster.” He finished his statement by spinning and eyeing her, as if she was a suspect in some interrogation room. She met his gaze head on, playing innocent. He continued talking. “I never would have woke up this morning thinking that dad would show up at my apartment, scaring Kook and demanding to see me. When I saw him, I felt like I died. But he wasted no time to apologize, grumpy face and all.”

She laughed a little before getting up and facing him. “I’m glad you accepted his apology.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“They hurt you. And didn’t show their support.”

He merely shook his head before he responded, “I love them and I missed them. We all make mistakes. What I want to know is if this was all your doing?”

For whatever reason, she grew a little shy. “I played a hand. I argued with dad and thought I didn’t get through to him. Mom took care of it though. To be honest, Taehyung gave me the idea to confront them in the first place. I wanted my big brother home.”

His face dawned with realization before suddenly he lurched forward and held her in a light chokehold, rubbing his knuckles on the top of her head. She shrieked in protest, fighting to get away from his arms. He was being too loud, but she had a feeling their parents wouldn’t be barging in to scold them tonight. Gosh, she really missed him. Even his too-strong cologne was the same, practically burning her nostrils. Most people loved it, but she always said a softer scent would better suit him.

After he finished his assault on her head, she huffed and shoved him away gently. Glancing at herself in the mirror, she glared at the sight of her unruly hair. She wasn’t angry, though, she was too happy to have him here.

“My little teddy looks so precious when she looks like a witch.”

“Shut up before I punch you in the throat.”

Yeah, mostly happy.

His eyes went comically wide as he held his hands up in surrender. “Violent! Geez, don’t cast a curse or anything.” Just like usual, his attention shifted as he threw himself on her bed. “Tae, huh? How is he? I think I haven’t seen him since your graduation.”

“He’s…” She was going to say he was fine, but it felt like a lie. Hoseok caught her hesitation, watching her closely.. “He’s tough. I admire him and his strength. He has some things going on with family. I invited him and Taeyeon to Christmas Eve dinner.”

His face was filled with understanding, knowing not to prod. “Are they coming?”

“He said he would think about it. I won’t force him to. I hope they come though.”

“Me too. I always thought he was cool. Cooler than the other friends you brought around,” He gave her a funny look at her eye roll before continuing, “And I haven’t seen Taeyeon since your graduation either. How old is she now?”

“She’s eight now. And we all know how much she loves you.” She feigned bitterness, but it had made her happy years ago when Tae’s younger sister took a liking to her brother. It made it feel like they had two more siblings. 

“What can I say? I’m everyone’s favorite,”He joked, sitting up on her bed. 

“The fact that you don’t know that that’s the actual truth is annoying.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” He dismissed as he stood to his feet. “Now I think it’s time to carry out our Christmas tradition.”

“It’s not Christmas yet.” She smiled at his pointed look. 

“It’s hot chocolate time! And The Polar Express! You know that Kook has never seen it?”

She exclaimed in horror, following him out the room. “The audacity! Speaking of... Kook,” Hoseok smiled at her awkward attempt to use the boy’s nickname, “Is everything alright with him? He’s spending Christmas with us…”

Hoseok’s voice grew quiet, which was odd considering he was so loud in any given situation. “Everything’s fine. The weather wasn’t looking good and his family didn’t want him flying out today. They got him a flight for the day after Christmas. He was really down, and it was one of the main reasons I was going to stay on campus too. But dad showing up out of nowhere really put a dent in my plans. There was no way I was leaving him there alone. So here we are.”

If possible, she admired her brother even more. He had the biggest heart, and one day she hoped to be as selfless as him. Their talk ended there, arriving to the living room to find Jungkook doing the exact thing Hoseok had said he was doing. His gaze jumped up at the sound of their arrival. 

“Kook, it’s time for us to change your life.”

Coolly, he raised one eyebrow. She wished she knew how to do that. “That doesn’t sound good. What nonsense are you going on about now?”

“Watch it, kid. Remember who’s older.”

Jungkook sighed, turning off his phone before he asked again, “What do you mean, change my life?”

Hoseok smiled creepily, evading the question entirely by staring at his friend for a beat too long. She quickly grew impatient, so she reached over and lugged him in the arm. He shouted in pain, effectively ending his theatrics as he complained underneath his breath.

She said, “We’re going to watch The Polar Express. I heard you’ve never seen it.”

“Oh, yeah I haven’t. Hoseok nearly killed me when I told him. You offended too?” The guy had a bit of sassiness to him. It was kind of refreshing, given that a lot of Hoseok’s friends were just like him: warm and bubbly. Jungkook was different, more quiet but more witty and unafraid. 

“No, I’m not. It is going to change you though. Hoseok and I love it.”

“Well. Let’s see if it’s worth all the hype.”

She merely shook her head before taking the recliner, grabbing the remote and finding The Polar Express. About ten minutes into the movie, Hoseok announced that it seemed like it was the perfect time for hot chocolate. The only issue was, neither of them wanted to get up and make it. After having the movie paused for too long as the siblings stared each other down, she suggested a game of rock, paper, scissors to determine who gets up.

“No fair. You know I’m not lucky.”

She shrugged. “Oh well. Best two out of three.” He sighed, before raising his fist to get ready. 

Jungkook called it out for them. The first round, Hoseok chose paper and she chose scissors.

Hoseok cursed, his face scrunching in concentration. She wanted to laugh, but she didn’t want to risk getting him angry. The second round went to him, her shushing him when he celebrated a little too loud. 

The last round, the two of them must’ve read each other’s mind as they picked the same play three straight times. Finally, Hoseok took the round as winner. Jumping to his feet, he danced around wildly, his arms flailing like a seal before he began a smooth dance.

“We get it, showoff. You can dance,” She hissed, having to control the urge to lug him once more. She wasted no time heading to the kitchen. 

“Your sister’s funny,” She heard Jungkook try and say quietly but failing miserably. Seems he and Hoseok do have a few things in common. It eased the loss she just experienced, a smile on her face as she prepared three hot chocolates.

As she waited for the milk to heat, she felt her phone buzz in her pocket. Pulling it out, her smile grew wider at the sight of her nickname for the person that pretty much owned her heart at this point. Reading the text, however, made her heart sink and her smile disappear. 

Yoyo:

Hey… I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’ll be making it back home in time. I’m working Christmas Eve and I couldn’t get it off. As for Christmas, I’m spending it with my family. 

I’m really sorry. I know you wanted me to-

She didn’t want to read the rest, the upset feeling overwhelming her as she set her phone down. Trying to get a reign on her emotions, she finished preparing the hot chocolates. Taking them to the boys, she gave them a weak smile before going back to retrieve her own mug. 

She remained pretty quiet for the rest of the movie, forcing a laugh every time Hoseok made a joke or Jungkook made a witty comment. Somehow, she managed to fool the boys into thinking she was okay. 

It seemed something really didn’t want this Christmas to go well for her. 

Yoongi wasn’t going to be here. 

“Psst. Y/N,” Jungkook whispered toward the end of the movie. Her eyes left the movie, trailing to him and seeing him gesture to her brother. A genuine smile tugged at her lips at the sight of a knocked out Hoseok, his head lulling on the armrest of the couch. 

She grabbed her phone, wanting to take a picture of the sight. However, the sight of another text made her pause. It was from nearly an hour ago, and she wanted to punch herself for not responding. She could only imagine how worried he must have been from her lack of response.

Yoyo:

I’m really sorry, Y/N. I know you’re upset. I really wanted to spend the dinner with you and your family. I know how much it means to you. I’ll make it up to you.

Shaking it off, she told herself she’d answer him later before she took a picture of her brother. She chose to pretend she didn’t notice Jungkook’s prolonged stare.

Soon enough, the movie ended and she realized it was officially after midnight. It was Christmas Eve. The thought both made her happy and sad. Although she was bummed Yoongi wasn’t going to make it, she was happy that Hoseok was home and that there was a chance she was going to make things a little easier for Taehyung and his sister. 

Yes, this was still going to be a good Christmas.

“What the?” Hoseok startled awake, his bloodshot eyes shooting to the now dark television screen. “I missed the ending?! Come on, it’s the best part! When the boy can hear the bell,” He gave up in his ramble, too tired as he lay back down on the couch. 

“You sleeping there?” She asked, amused.

He hummed, mumbling that Jungkook was taking his bed. She proceeded to go and grab him blankets and a pillow, assuming his last hum was a thank you. This holiday season was making her a little too emotional than usual, but she didn’t fight it as she ruffled his hair and whispered, “Goodnight, Hobi.”

“Night, Teddy.”

Jungkook followed in the walk upstairs. His voice was quiet, nervous to wake up her parents.

“Teddy?”

She sighed. “I’d rather not talk about that embarrassing memory.” 

He proceeded to nod in understanding. That is, until he responded with, “I see. I’m sure Hoseok will tell me the story when I ask.”

She gaped at him while he attempted to muffle a laugh. Leading him to Hoseok’s room, she pushed the door open and flicked on the lights. She paused in the doorway for a moment, taking everything in as she realized that Hoseok’s room was just like it used to be. Nothing really changed since he moved out three years ago, and the same went for her. She remembered the first year of college for him, and how incomplete the house had felt. The puzzle was back together again for the holiday.

“Wow. His room screams Hoseok.” Jungkook’s voice somewhere from behind her. She nodded along in agreement, taking in the one wall cluttered with movie posters, the longest wall with professional shots he took with his own camera, and the furthest wall painted white with black constellations. 

“It really is, huh? Kinda showcases how passionate he truly is.” She spoke fondly before stepping aside and letting him walk into the room. Jungkook moved past her, taking a moment before hesitantly sitting on his bed. 

“I really admire Hoseok. I’ll have to admit, when I first met him, he was a bit much. He’s just so… different from me. Different, but the same. It’s hard to explain.” Jungkook shook his head, his fringe moving in the process. Watching him like this, a boyish young man in the center of her brother’s room, made her feel… almost like younger Hoseok was before her. She did sense that about him, how he was different but similar to him Life was like that sometimes. Maybe that’s why he and Hoseok clicked. 

“I understand what you mean. Hoseok has that effect on everyone. Whenever I try and tell him how great he is, he doesn’t really see it.”

Jungkook stared back at her, confident and assured now. It was vastly different from her first impression of him. “That’s how most great people are.”

She held his gaze for a moment before cracking a smile and plopping down in Hoseok’s desk chair. Albeit, she had to move several articles of clothing to even sit down, but she didn’t mind. Hoseok was an array of color, touching every single surface and every single person. 

“Hoseok talks about you a lot, you know. I felt like I knew you long before I met you,” His eyes were distant, like he was a grandfather retelling stories to his grandchildren. He looked at peace, his smile easy. It was a sight to behold. A slight chuckle bubbled out from his chest, one that she didn’t think he was aware of, before he threw her for another loop. “You know, he sees you the way you see him. It’s pretty sweet.”

She could only blink at him, not really sure what to say. She knew how close she was to Hoseok, she just never really thought about how he viewed her. She thought the world of him, and according to Jungkook he saw her the same way. 

A confused but sincere smile found her lips. Something about Jungkook’s admittance was enough to dismiss anything that was hanging over her head, if only for a moment. And spending time around Jungkook quickly made her understand why Hoseok adored him. 

“Tell me about your family, Jungkook. That is, if you want to.”

Her words surprised him, she could see it in his face. He blinked once before he nervously laughed it off. “Sure. Well, I don’t know if Hoseok told you but I’m going home the day after Christmas. The weather is pretty bad on the way back home. So they thought it was best to hold off a day or two. My mom’s a bit paranoid like that. It’s okay, though, I understand. She’s…” And at the mention of his mom, stars flickered in his eyes. 

He jumped right in, describing this driven and passionate woman, unmoved by hardships and stern in her ways. He spoke so highly of her, and how he wanted to take care of her the moment he got out of university. He described her like she was the greatest woman in the world, and she adored that. She could tell how much he loved his mom. 

Soon, he was talking rapidly and passionately, his eyes glancing at her here and there but mostly in another world as he started retelling memories. His attention shifted to his dad and his brother, how similar the two of them were and how balanced they made him and his mom. Where he took after his mom, his brother took after his dad. Regardless of the differences though, they seemed like a tight knit family.

After awhile, Jungkook lost all of his fire to continue talking about them. But in its wake was a lovely boy with distant eyes and a soft smile. It made her heart squeeze, both out of happiness that she got to know a little more about him and sadness for the fact that he wouldn’t get to spend Christmas day with them.

“I’m sorry you’re not with them right now. But soon you will be. And I’ll make sure you have a good Christmas with us.” Her voice was strong, firm as she tried to reassure him that he wasn’t alone. 

He didn’t seem as down as he was before though, choosing to nod with a smile. He whispered a thank you, the smile still present and reassuring her. It baffled her, because it should’ve been the other way around. She got the feeling that Jungkook wasn’t the type that liked to be worried about. However, in the short time knowing him, she was another person on his side.

Before she bid him goodnight, he left her with a short statement that melted her heart. 

“You know, you remind me of my mom. And if that’s anything to go by, I can tell you are someone I’ll love having around.”

And as she dozed off, a smile flickered on her lips. She held onto that feeling, refusing to let any of her worries creep in. When you’d wake, it would be Christmas Eve.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Nutcracker

She woke up to the sound of Hoseok’s booming voice. 

Any other day and it probably would have irritated her. But it was finally Christmas Eve, and she could bear the sound on this particular day. After she cleaned herself up, she headed downstairs to find an odd but endearing sight. Her dad was sitting at the table with both Hoseok and Jungkook, in the middle of telling them a story.

“Isn’t this an interesting sight?” She uttered at her mom as she walked past with her coffee mug. She shot her a look of agreement, but she could see in her mom’s eyes that she was just as happy as she’s been since Hoseok arrived.

“Sleeping beauty finally decided to join us!” Her dad acknowledged her, his eyes twinkling with his own joy.

“More like Maleficent,” Hoseok attempted to subtly tell Jungkook, but they all know his lack of whispering skills.

She shot him an irritated look, which he tried to soothe with his beaming smile. It worked.

“So. What’s on the list of to dos before dinner tonight? I know Mom has something planned for us all,” She sighed, pulling out the chair across from Jungkook and beside her dad. At the sight of recently cooked croissants, she picked one up with excitement. As she began eating, Hoseok proceeded to answer her question.

“Well first off, I’m taking this kid,” He hooked a thumb toward Jungkook, “To buy an outfit for tonight. He owns nothing festive. That just won’t do. I am not letting him eat an amazing Christmas meal wearing nothing but black sweats.”

Jungkook rubbed his forehead in clear distress. “I guess I understand.”

She chuckled. “Don’t overdo it, Hobi. If he’s comfortable, leave him be-”

“Nuh-uh, nope. I don’t care if he only ends up wearing a simple green sweater. As long as there’s some color, I’ll be satisfied.” She knew that wasn’t what was going to happen.

“Good luck, Jungkook,” She told him seriously, and she watched as he flashed her a look of dismay. He looked toward their dad for help, but he was lost in his own little world as he typed away at his computer.

“Y/N, please,” Jungkook whispered, as if she could help him. Truth is, she was relieved that someone else was Hoseok’s victim for a change. With his focus on Jungkook, she could get away with a semi-decent red sweater and pants if she wanted. He was on his own. 

Before she even got a chance to let him know that, her mother calling her over interrupted the conversation.

She got up quickly, but not before she shot him a thumbs up and said, “You’ll be fine. Hoseok, go easy on him.”

“No promises,” was his hollered response before she found her mom in the living room. She walked in with the intention of asking her a question, but it died on her lips at the sight of an unfamiliar man standing at the front door. The first thing she noticed was how tall he was, broad shouldered and practically taking up the whole foyer. The next thing she noticed was how stunning he was, perhaps the most breath-taking man she ever saw with her own eyes. His hair was dark and swept off his forehead, professional and serious. His eyebrows looked perfectly shaped, pulled in a furrow. His lips were plump, turned downward in a slight frown. The clothes that adorned him made it look like he just came back from an important meeting. He was all business. No pleasure. He was art, a painting of a stunning man frozen in his sorrows.

“Uh…” His gaze turned to her, searing and making her feel flustered.

Her mom was a different picture entirely, bright like a night light. She clapped once in excitement, before she said, “Y/N! I’ve been waiting for this moment, you don’t even know. Do you remember the Kims from across the street? This is their eldest son, Seokjin! I’ve told you about him, how he helps me and your dad out. I thought you’d never get to meet him, but luck is on our side! He made it back for the holiday!”

She suddenly felt severely under-dressed when meeting someone as intimidating as he looked. But as she stepped forward and extended a hand, his lips lifted into a smile that looked like it was meant for someone special. It made her feel warm all over, her lips glued shut as she reached out and shook his hand.

“Your mother has told me a lot about you. She’s really proud of you, and all of her praises made me curious to meet the one and only.” His voice was melodic, less bold than she expected. 

“I,uh, yeah she’s told me about you too,” At least she thought she did, considering she could not remember a thing about the man in front of her. 

“Seokjin was just dropping by to give us these homemade cookies,” She held up a container happily, “Isn’t he so sweet? You really didn’t have to.”

“I know, but it was a small token for all of the times you and your husband have taken me in for a nice dinner. You know my parents are always travelling. That big house can be quite lonely.” She knew her mom too well, watching in mild horror as she recognized the twinkle in her eye.

The question may seem innocent to an outsider, but she knew where it was leading. “What are you plans for the evening? I know your parents are travelling for the holiday.”

He shook his head and did a playful eye roll. “When aren’t they travelling? But anyways, Namjoon is flying in for the holiday. Haven’t seen him in who knows how long, but he’s finally coming home. We were thinking of maybe ordering takeout and watching a movie or something. He doesn’t really do anything for the holidays. Our other brothers are all scattered.”

She watched as if it were a movie unfolding, her mother shooting him her signature smile. “I would hate for the both of you to not have a home cooked meal on today of all days. The two of you should come over tonight.”

Immediately Seokjin shook his head, his hands coming up to politely refuse. “No, it’s fine, really-”

“It just won’t do, son.” Y/N mouthed the word ‘son’ to herself, wondering how exactly this young man snuck his way into her mom’s heart. “We’d love for you to join us. It’s a tradition we uphold every year, to have Christmas Eve dinner with family and friends. My best friend and her family are coming, my kids are home for the holiday, and others are coming. Everyone is welcome. And now I think it would make it absolutely perfect if you and your brother join us.”

Seokjin stared at her mother with a slightly agape mouth, causing her to hold back a laugh. He looked like he was backed into a corner, his face frozen in surprise. Finally he got over his shock, composing himself by smoothing down his dress shirt and clearing his throat.

“A-are you sure? I wouldn’t want to make things worse on you-”

“Seokjin! Is that you?” The three of them turned at the sight of all the men in the house making their way into the room. She felt bad for this man she just met. She watched in confusion as her father stepped forward and embraced him. 

Hoseok looked just as curious as her, looking to her for an answer to his question. She just shrugged. 

“How are you? We haven’t seen you in weeks.”

Seokjin focused all his attention on her parents, explaining to them what he’s been up to and how busy work has made him. She sidled up next to her brother and Jungkook.

“Who is this guy? And why does he look like he just stepped out of a GQ magazine?” Jungkook asked, the three of them watching the interaction happening in front of them.

Y/N uttered, “I guess he’s our neighbor. The Kims’ son. Why haven’t we met him before?”

Hoseok shrugged, humming in thought before he said, “He must be the really successful one. The one never around.”

“Hey Seok? Probably shouldn’t talk about him,” Jungkook uttered.

“Why?”

“Because you can’t whisper and they’re looking at you.”

Hoseok looked at him confusingly before trailing to his parents. His eyes widened comically, their gazes angry and Seokjin’s amused. Nervously laughing it off, he stepped forward and introduced himself. 

She simply observed, watching as Hoseok cracked a few jokes and made Seokjin laugh. Everyone seemed to ease up, and soon enough it felt natural. The topic of tonight came up again, and her mom didn’t hesitate to sink her claws into him once more.

With your dad staring at him, it seemed Seokjin couldn’t refuse anymore.

“Alright. I’ll let Namjoon know the change of plans. We’ll see you tonight.”

Her mom clapped with glee, causing she and her brother to share a look. It seemed like Seokjin was her favorite kid and he wasn’t even her son. Their dad clapped him on the back, shaking his hand and enthusing about seeing him tonight. 

“It was nice meeting you,” Seokjin’s gaze swept past her and Hoseok with a polite nod before he headed out the door. 

Their parents stood at the front door, their mom shouting, “And dress down, Seokjin! We want you to be comfortable!” His yell back was indiscernible, but at the small exchange she witnessed, she was officially curious about this man whom her parents loved.

When their parents turned back to the room, their smiles died down at the sight of their questioning children.

“What?” Their dad grumbled, his eyes narrowing.

Hoseok laughed through his question, “What was that?!”

“What was what?”

“Is he our long lost brother?” She joked,  pretty amused with how smitten her parents had seemed.

“What are you talking about?” Their mom asked, that previous excitement she had displayed long gone now.

“You guys stared at him with heart eyes. I’m a little hurt,” Hoseok wiped away

an imaginary tear.

“Oh relax. He’s just an amazing young man. He’s so thoughtful and responsible. I think you and Y/N will really like him once you get to know him,” Their mom sounded confident, before she walked past and to the kitchen. She called Y/N to follow her. 

Her started washing the breakfast dishes, chatting with her and letting her know the game plan of how the day was going to go, what needed to be done before dinner time. A few minutes passed before the topic of Seokjin came up again. However, this time around she learned more than before.

“You know, I’m really glad he’s coming tonight. I was hoping he would end up agreeing. He is such a good man with a big heart. I know you and Hoseok don’t really know him yet, but trust me when I say you’ll love him just as much as I do. And,” she sighed, piquing her attention as she looked at her mom curiously, “My heart goes out to him. Not everyone is as fortunate to spend time with family during the holidays. Some people aren’t affected by that. The Kims have never been festive like that, and that’s completely fine. But… given what’s recently happened with Seokjin, I didn’t want him to have a gloomy night.”

“What happened?” She found herself asking. At her next words, her heart saddened for the man she just met.

“Recently, his fiancée called off their engagement. To be quite honest, she broke his heart. And he hasn’t really been the same since. I just want him to have a good dinner with us, at the least.”

Thinking back on Seokjin, she never would’ve guessed he was hurting. He was so put together, his smiles effortless. The revelation was unfortunate, but she was impressed by the strength the man so obviously possessed. She was completely on board with the idea of giving him a good Christmas Eve dinner. 

“I’m glad he’s coming.”

Her mom looked over her shoulder at her, reciprocating a smile. “Me too, Y/N. Me too.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The holiday music was soft and playing in the background, but it caressed her skin. The smell of dinner wafted from the kitchen, filling up the entire house with a gentle and mouth-watering sensation.  The air was warm, and she couldn’t decide if it was because of the body heat or the heater. The room carried an almost angelic glow, and she was positive that if she told anyone, they would look at her funny. There was truly nothing quite like Christmas, and it had shown up before she could give it a proper greeting. 

“You look nice.” Hoseok’s voice came from behind, and she turned to greet him with a smile. He was dressed for the part, his hair parted and neat. His ensemble was a bit… much, given his usual style. She didn’t comment, because admittedly he looked handsome in his maroon fitted sweater with a collar and slacks.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” He asked.

“Oh, nothing. I was just expecting you to comment on how I wasn’t following the Christmas color theme.” She hadn’t expected less, considering she was wearing a white sleeved shirt and a skirt. Nothing too fancy, but still a bit considerate.

Hoseok merely shrugged. “Unfortunately, you weren’t my responsibility this year. Kook is a lot more picky than he looks. I practically had to drag him out of the store with one new outfit. One. Speaking of that kid, he should be coming down any moment now,” His head was craned and his eyes were drawn to the hall where the stairs resided. But that wasn’t where her focus laid, no, it was something much more pressing. 

So far, only her aunt and uncle had arrived with her cousins. Currently, they were running around and hollering louder than necessary. But she didn’t mind, not when her mind was split in a few different directions. 

One reason was the fact that the neighbor’s son Seokjin and his brother had arrived about five minutes earlier. They were currently in the corner of the room, conversing with her father and making him laugh at something she couldn’t hear but likely wasn’t that funny. She found it easier to admit as time passed, Kim Seokjin was definitely a sight that she couldn’t exactly pull away from with the snap of a finger. The man should be on magazine covers. 

Another probing thought was whether or not Taehyung was showing up. He had stopped answering her texts around noon, the last topic being about him still unsure if he was attending. She hoped with all her heart he would show. 

The most prominent thought plaguing her, so much that it was the one she had to fight to suppress if she didn’t want to be down all night, was Yoongi. She hadn’t really gotten much opportunity to talk to him since he broke the news to her, but it was true that she couldn’t find the words. Genuinely, she understood where he was coming from and was happy. She would never want someone to not get the opportunity to spend time with her family. That didn’t dismiss her disappointment in not getting to see him tonight, the night she had been dreaming to see him for a while now. 

It was the reason they had held off coming to visit each other at each other’s schools. He was older, about to graduate and she had a while to go. She knew he was busy most of the time, so they figured that the next best thing was to spend time with each other on the holidays. Unfortunately, that didn’t work out when they both had jobs and lived a few hours from each other. 

The two of them hadn’t even figured out what this was, but all she knew was that she wanted to make it work. When she realized her feelings for him, she knew that he was it for her. He was her Christmas in a person. 

To not have her Christmas person not with her on Christmas Eve, well, it was a major disappointment. All she could do was keep her head up. 

“Hey teddy… I was trying to wait for you to approach the subject first, but you know me and my impatience. It’s Christmas Eve after all,” She was confused to see Hoseok acting slightly nervous, but she understood why moments later, “Is Yoongi joining us tonight or not?”

Spluttering, all of her breath that had been currently inhabiting your lungs disappeared. She stared at her brother wide-eyed, wondering how he could possibly know-

“Do you think I’m stupid? Both of you are so smitten, it’s disgusting. I’m the one who introduced the two of you. Not only that, I spend the better half of my weeks with the guy. Lastly, you two are the least sneaky people I have ever met. Did you guys really think I wouldn’t find out? And neither of you are actually hiding it considering he’s always asking me about you and you’re constantly bringing him up and-”

“Okay, okay. I get it. You figured it out.” She sighed, rubbing at her forehead. If anything, it made her heart even heavier. 

Min Yoongi wasn’t just a guest that had been invited on short notice. In fact, he was never meant to be a guest. He was a man that spoke more with his hands, the way that he gripped onto her for a second longer than necessary or when he pressed into her back to lead her. She had to watch him to understand him, specifically his face, to know what was really on his mind. She knew when he was tired, his eyes low and his speech even slower than usual. His happiness was easier to observe, his lips loose and his eyes carrying a subtle excitement.

As luck would have it, she had met him by chance when she had went to surprise visit Hoseok earlier this year. The two of them hadn’t fallen for each other at first, mostly spending time together that one time. She remembered her innocent curiosity, requesting to follow him on social media and how he took a day to accept. He was the first to message, their conversations light and inquisitive. 

It wasn’t long before she started to feel a shift in their conversations, how profound and intimate they became. She was the first to make an excuse to come and visit. She did it a second time. He did it the third. Whenever she looked into his dark eyes, it was like looking into another world.. Dark eyes carried her solace, carried a mirror to the life she wanted to live. Eyes that weren’t actually dark but an array of colors, all brand new and enamoring.

She liked to compare him to home. To anyone else, it might be a house with no distinctive feature. To her, it was walking in and feeling like she could finally and fully be herself. 

In nearly a year, he had become one of the most important people in her entire life. And deep down, she knew he always would be. 

“Y/N? Are you going to answer me? I didn’t get to see him much this last month. Whenever I was working, he wasn’t and vice versa. Last time I talked to him, he told me he was trying his best to come visit you, but he wasn’t positive.”

“How long have you known?” She ignored how sad she actually sounded, attempting to toughen up and tell herself that him not being present didn’t have to sour the night.

Hoseok shrugged, a certain glint in his eye. His eyes found the Christmas tree as he answered. “You’re my baby sis. And he’s a good friend. I was suspicious at first, because he seemed a little lighter after you visited that first time. And you seemed a lot more giddy. It didn’t take a genius to see the signs after you visited two more times in the same month,” She covered her face in embarrassment, wondering if he was angry.

Again, he answered her silent question. “I’m happy for you. I don’t need to know all the details. As long as he treats you well, and the both of you are happy, then I’m happy.”

She couldn’t help but embrace him, her heart soaring as she wondered how she had been blessed to have such a phenomenal brother. Pulling away, she whispered her thanks. At the sound of her mom calling for her, she figured she would answer her brother and use the new guests as her escape.

“He can’t come tonight. I’ll probably see him when next semester starts.” She ignored his exclaim of confusion, pausing in the entrance of the kitchen and composing her erratic feelings. Even if Yoongi wasn’t here, it didn’t mean the night would be any less special. That’s what she kept telling herself. She knew it was true, but it was hard to snap out of her disappointment.

She stepped into the room with a smile, a question on the tip of her tongue before she stopped in her tracks. 

Her mother was sitting at the dining room table, Seokjin sat across from her with an attentive smile adorning his lips. She spotted Y/N, her face lit up as she enthusiastically waved her over. She approached slowly, his smile fading at the sight of her for a moment before he adjusted it into something more friendly.

“I was just telling Seokjin about how you’re still in school, studying and working hard for your major.”

He waved his hand. “Please, call me Jin. Seokjin makes me feel old.”

“Oh hon, you’re not old. Trust me.” It was odd to hear her mother’s unrestrained laugh, to see the same adoration that she held for her and Hoseok shimmer in her eyes as she gazed at Seokjin. Y/N wondered what exactly it was about the man before her that had her mom enamored.

“How did you like your classes this past semester?”His voice was gentle in addressing someone he barely knew. But she had heard him earlier among his banter with her dad. He had a strong personality hidden in the depth of those curious eyes, a loud voice in which he was restraining out of politeness or weariness, she did not know. 

She entertained his questions, a mild conversation about school and work ensuing between the two of them. At one point, her mom spoke about having to leave for a moment. 

She thought she would feel uncomfortable alone with him, but it was quite the opposite. He was a character, animated in his story-telling and thundering in his laughter. Little by little, she opened up and saw why her parents adored him. 

“Truthfully, I’m happy your mother called you in here. I had been meaning to officially meet you. She loves talking about you and Hoseok. So much that, she actually made me excited to meet you two.”

“That so? I never really thought about her doing that,” Her eyes found the fabric on top of the table, her hands tracing the design. For whatever reason, she was shy at the thought. If he noticed, he didn’t comment.

“Believe me, she does. She really loves the two of you. And… I know it meant a lot to her that Hoseok was able to come.” Ah, so he knew about the previous divide in the family. She wondered just how much he happened to know. 

“Well,” She waved her hand, “That’s behind us. I did notice how much she happens to love you. My dad too. You’re like their third kid or something.”

His eyes shone with pride for a moment before it dulled, his smile fading. “Yeah… they’re really great. Without them, I don’t know if I would’ve pulled through some rough moments I had this year.”

What her mother told her earlier rang in her ears. It jostled her, but only for a moment. She shook it off, giving him a gentle smile.

“I’m glad I got to meet you, Jin. It means a lot that you came tonight.”

Without looking at Y/N, a smile grew on his lips. “It means more to me than you’ll ever know, that I’m here tonight. Your parents are something else.”

“And so are you. Otherwise, they wouldn’t love you so much.” She watched as his neck grew flushed.

“Thank you, Y/N.” A whisper.

“No need to thank-”

“No, really. Thank you.” 

And for his sake, she pretended not to notice the actual shine in his eyes, instead returning the smile he directed at her. 

He was a good man, indeed. And she hoped this was the first night of many that built him back up again.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Carolers

She was joking around with Hoseok and Jungkook when the doorbell rang, only to reveal the Parks had finally arrived. They stood poised in the doorway, her mother exclaiming loudly at the sight of her best friend. As they exchanged hugs, Mr. Park maneuvered around them to greet her dad, leaving Jimin hovering in the doorway. 

“There’s Jimin,” Hoseok wiggled his eyebrows, causing Y/N to roll her eyes.

“What’s the scoop on him?” Jungkook asked. 

“Nothing. He’s yet another one of my friends Y/N has had a crush on.”

“Dude!” Y/N exclaimed, walking away from him and slinking into the couch as she ignored his teasing laughter. 

To distract herself from her brother, she watched her little cousins run past, her uncle chasing them. Her aunt joined the other older women, the three of them catching up on whatever it was they needed to talk about. 

It was nice and full, so warm and angelic. It was almost complete. Almost. 

Looking over, she noticed that Jimin had made it inside and was in the middle of unwrapping his scarf from his neck. His face was slimmer now, more mature. Her heart was trained to jump at the sight of him, but he didn’t give her that longing feeling he used to give her. 

That feeling was reserved for someone else, now. 

Checking her phone, she noticed a text had come in from Yoongi around thirty minutes ago. They had been texting on and off all day. She could tell he was feeling awful about not being able to make it, but she reassured him that she understood. It was still sad to not have him around on this wonderful day. 

Yoyo:

How’s everything going? 

Y/N:

Going well so far! Mostly everyone is here. Taehyung hasn’t shown up with his sister yet. And my mom invited the neighbors’ sons. They might show up. 

He responded quickly. He always had since the moment they first talked. 

Yoyo:

I’m sure they will. 

Are you excited for tonight? 

Y/N:

Yes I am! It’s my favorite holiday. Since I was little, I’ve had nothing but golden memories of this day. It’s…. Magical. 

To be completely truthful, the answer to his question was yes and no. It wasn’t perfect without him, but he was with her through the phone. And that had to be enough for her. She hoped he would have the best Christmas ever. If anyone deserved to, it was him. 

In the middle of texting him that, someone sat beside her. Looking up, her face contorted into surprise. Quickly, it morphed into a soft smile to mimic Jimin’s own. 

“Y/N.”

“Jimin.” She looked into the young man’s eyes that used to keep her up at night daydreaming, and now all she felt was a distant fondness. He may have matured in his looks, but he still had the same boyish eyes. 

“How are you? I usually ask Hoseok but now that I’m finally seeing you, I figured I didn’t need the messenger.”

She acknowledged his tone with a bigger smile. “I’ve been really well. The semester was busy but I survived. And I got a new job, which makes the days go by quicker. I’m honestly really happy to be home. What about you? How is it living so far away?”

Jimin tilted his head in thought. She took a moment to study him up close. He was styling his hair different now, more of a mature look. He had it swept to one side of his forehead, but other than that it was a short and neat haircut. It was pretty short now, remembering in high school he would let it grow out and dye it blond. He was back to more of a natural look, and she adored it. 

A part of her was always going to adore him. He was, after all, her first crush. Before Yoongi, she referred to him as her first love. Now that knew what love really was, she knew otherwise. 

“I’ve adjusted. It was pretty hard at first. Being away from everyone. I missed my parents a lot and thought about transferring. Somewhere around November, I found my groove. I’ve met a couple friends who make the days easier. And I really love my major.”

“I could never do Environmental Engineering. Highly impressive.”

“Ah, we all have our different skills.” There he was, the Jimin from her memory. He downplayed everything because he wanted everyone to feel good. He was an angel even in the slightest ways. 

They went on to talk about different things, first catching up and asking about each other and then moving onto reminiscing. It was peaceful, being able to talk with someone who knew her childhood. It was rare to have a connection with someone because they were apart of that, and they understood that part of you. 

Going to college, one meets all kinds of different people. They come in endless different forms, and one forms new and unforgettable bonds that may last for a lifetime. There is no one quite like the people you knew beforehand, the ones that were around when growing up. 

Those people are a different tier, a tier of old memories and different kind of fondness. 

He had just made Y/N laugh when the doorbell rang once more. Hoseok opened it this time, grabbing her attention when he shouted, “Hey! It’s been so long, man!”

She jumped up at the sight of Taehyung, his sister peeking out from behind him. She rushed over to them, and at the acknowledgement of Taehyung’s smile, she hugged him tightly. 

“I’m so glad you decided to come,” She whispered.

“I realized I couldn’t miss spending time with you and your family. You guys were always good to me.”

“And we always will be.” She pulled away and they looked at each other with appreciation, mostly with different reasons but the same sentiment. 

She ushered him inside, both of them pausing at the sight of Taeyeon chatting up a storm with Hoseok. He was knelt to her level, a blinding smile on his lips. She had forgotten how he pulled out a side to her none of them usually saw. 

Hoseok sparked minds, old or young.

Once her brother noticed them, he uttered something to Taeyeon and then pointed at the two of them. Taeyeon turned and widened her eyes, rushing to the both of them. Yanking on their hands, she pulled them forward. 

Y/N and Taehyung shared a look, before going along with it.

“Come on! Hoseok told me you have toys packed away in your closet! Let’s play with them!”

“Hoseok,” She called her brother, who raised his hands in surrender.

“She asked me if I still had my toy train. I do not. But you have your old toys so.”

“You need to come too, Hobi!” Taeyeon instructed, the mention of his name causing his eyes to widen in shock. 

“Me?” He asked, pointing to himself.

“Yes, silly! You’re the only Hobi I know,” She whispered loudly to Y/N, “Kind of a weird name.” 

Hoseok’s mouth dropped, looking offended and causing Taehyung and Y/N to laugh. Thankfully, before Taeyeon could successfully pull them onto the stairs, Y/N and Hoseok’s parents stopped them. 

Her mom stepped in front of them, greeting them with a cherry red smile. “My, my. If it isn’t the daredevil duo. I haven’t seen you since you were six,” She greeted toward Taeyeon, who grew shy at the new amount of attention. She ducked behind her brother again, causing the adults around her to laugh. 

“Sorry, she’s still a little shy whenever someone new talks to her,” Taehyung apologized.

“You don’t have to apologize. Some kids are.” Her mom stepped to Taehyung and gently placed her hands on his shoulders. “Taehyung, you’ve grown so much. We’ve missed having you around.”

“I’ve missed coming around, too. Everything’s changed, huh?” He said, stepping into her hug. 

“Yes, it has. I know it’s for the good, but sometimes you can’t tell if it really is,” She told him. 

Y/N and Hoseok stayed quiet, knowing not to comment on that. They knew how sentimental their mother could be, and they knew it was hard for her to have both of them out of the house for most of the year. It hurt Y/N more than she would ever reveal to her, because she knew it would only make it harder for everyone. 

So she put on a smile and asked Taeyeon if she wanted to meet some new friends as Taehyung caught up with her parents. 

Taeyeon nodded, taking her hand and letting Y/N lead her to where Jimin and Jungkook stood in the kitchen. Hoseok had joined them right before her, noticing they were talking about some Netflix show the three of them loved. She cut them off, but she had a feeling they wouldn’t mind.

“Sorry to interrupt, but a friend of mine here would like to meet you guys! Taeyeon, this is Jimin and Jungkook.”

“We’ve met before. We had lots of fun at your birthday party a couple years ago, remember?” Jimin smiled down at her. His eyes widened in shock at her response.

“I don’t remember you. You were at my party?”

Hoseok nodded. “Yeah! Remember? Your brother invited Y/N and me! We brought Jimin with us. We bought you your own toy train, and then we jumped in your bouncy house with you!”

“I remember that, but I only remember Hobi being there,” She said accusingly, as if Jimin were lying to her. 

He struggled for words, not knowing what to say as everyone else stifled their laughter at the little girl’s probing gaze.

“I-uh, well, I was, uh, I was there. You must not remember! I wouldn’t lie about that. The party was so fun! I loved the cake. I even helped you when you couldn’t find your friends in hide and seek! I pointed out where they hid!”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “So you’re a liar and a cheater!”

“What?!” Jimin exclaimed. 

Hoseok burst out in laughter, causing Y/N to follow. Jungkook was a little better at maintaining his control, deciding to throw Jimin a line.

“Hi, I’m Jungkook. So you’re the sister of…?”

“Taehyung. He’s my brother. He’s in there talking to the adults. He’s pretty cool. Sometimes. You might like him.”

“I’m sure I will,” Jungkook said, a smile tugging at his lips. They were all amused, taken aback by Taeyeon’s sharpness with Jimin. 

It was a pleasant conversation after that, all of them loving Taeyeon’s insight. They even consoled her when she worried about there being no kids there, as if on cue Y/N’s young cousins bolting in. They asked Taeyeon to play with them, and she agreed shyly. 

Once she was gone, they all sat at the kitchen table. It was odd for Y/N, almost as if she were transported back into the past. If it weren’t for Jungkook, she could fool herself into being back in high school on a Friday night, waiting for popcorn to finish in the microwave so her, Hoseok, and Jimin could watch a movie. 

Taehyung soon joined them. Then, her mom and her uncle trailed into the kitchen, continuing whatever they were finishing up for dinner. Y/N introduced Taehyung to Jungkook, but let him do his own thing. It always depended with him. Sometimes, he was quiet with meeting new people, sometimes he was loud with his personality. 

It seemed they were all vibing well, not having any trouble keeping a conversation going. She liked this, having warm faces surrounding her. It made this Christmas special on its own, because the majority of the people sat at the same table as her, she hadn’t known if they would be in attendance at all. 

These were her people. This was her home. 

She realized why people believed in Christmas miracles. Sometimes someone can find themselves wondering if Christmas will work out. And somehow, in some way, all the pieces fall right into place. 

Just then, the doorbell rang for the last time. Hearing her dad’s greeting from the living room, they knew it was the two brothers from the neighborhood. 

“I’m not even lying, the oldest brother looks like a Disney prince,” Hoseok spoke with conviction, upon Jimin and Taehyung’s look of question on who just arrived. 

Taehyung looked to Y/N for agreement, and she nodded. 

“He’s not that good-looking. He’s no Prince Naveen,” Jungkook muttered. When they all looked at him, he added, “What? Am I the only one watching Disney plus or what?”

They all looked at him for even longer before Hoseok ignored him altogether, “Alright. Let’s go greet them.”

Taehyung leaned over to Y/N and uttered, “Looks like Hopeful’s got a man crush.”

“Looks like everyone does. Even my parents are in love with the guy. I don’t blame them. He’s pretty great.”

“That so? Then I got to meet this supposed prince.” His tone was sarcastic, but she knew that because he was joking around. Whenever he joked around, it meant he was comfortable. And it made her chest flutter with love. 

There was nothing more satisfying than seeing the people she loved when they were happy. She wouldn’t trade it for anything. 

“Then let’s go, Prince Tae.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The group made their way into the living room, just as her dad began to introduce the pair to everyone else in the room. 

“Everyone! These are the Kims’ sons from across the street. You all know Seokjin,” Her dad clapped a hand on the man in question, grinning with pride as if it were his own son, “And this is his younger brother, Namjoon.”

The latter seemed to be the complete opposite of his brother, looking more frazzled than put together. Seokjin immediately moved over to Y/N’s mom, looking her over with a warm smile. Namjoon hovered awkwardly, hands in his jeans. His button up blue shirt was wrinkled, and it looked as if he had tried to make his hair neat and failed. His glasses were slipping down his nose, and she watched as he continue to reach up and adjust them. 

For whatever reason, she knew she already liked him. 

“Anyone else noticing how they’re all fawning over that guy?” Jimin nodded his head at Seokjin, who had just made all of the adults he was talking to, laugh.

Hoseok shook his head, huffing playfully. “That guy is stealing my brand.”

“Won’t hurt if you’re knocked down a few tiers,” Y/N joked, ignoring his glare. Shaking him gently, she hoped it was enough to comfort him before announcing, “I’m going to introduce myself to his brother.”

She wasn’t surprised when the group dispersed, Taehyung being the only one to follow her. They walked over to the newcomer, and her heart felt for him as he rocked on his heels, looking as if he didn’t know what to do with himself. Noticing their approach, he pulled his hands out of his pockets and fumbled for a moment before deciding to clasp them together. 

“Hi,” She greeted with a smile, “I’m Y/N. I’m happy you decided to join us.”

“I’m still figuring out if it was a good idea, considering no one has even noticed I’m here with the star that he is,” He rolled his eyes as he motioned to Seokjin, but otherwise was unbothered. 

“We noticed,” Taehyung said seriously.

Namjoon paused at that, before sliding his glasses up his nose. “I’m Namjoon. Pretty different from my social butterfly brother.”

“Different isn’t bad,” Y/N shrugged.

“I agree,” Namjoon gave the room a onceover. “Nice place. It’s a lot more warmer here than at home.”

Y/N and Taehyung glanced at each other, not knowing what to say. Namjoon stifled a laugh at their faces. “I meant that we don’t decorate for Christmas or anything like that. Our family doesn’t really celebrate.”

“Really?” Y/N inquired, mildly surprised. She didn’t come across many people who didn’t celebrate, but she knew there was obviously people that didn’t. She respected and understood that, but it made her sad to think of people not experiencing the joy she experienced at this time of year. 

Namjoon nodded. “Which is why I was surprised Jin insisted on us coming over here.”

“That’s interesting.”

“Why is that?”

“Your brother was hesitant to accept his invitation.”

Namjoon waved the statement off. “That’s just him being humble. He loves your parents, always talks about them. In fact, I’m really glad. I know things haven’t been… smooth for him. So, it was good to hear something had him excited. I’m really here for him, if anything.”

Y/N nodded once. “I’m glad then. Glad he has you.”

Before they could continue further, her mother announced that dinner was ready. And so the night officially began. 

~~~~~~~~~~

The Angel

All of the parents were sitting in the dining room, her mom directing the young adults to sit either at the kitchen’s smaller table or in the living room. Y/N and Hoseok didn’t complain, knowing the routine, so they found themselves huddled around the small kitchen table with their friends. Namjoon had been convinced into sitting with Seokjin and the adults. Y/N wished she could save him, seeing how quiet he was with them, but he decided to leave him be after he shot her a reassuring smile. 

She sat across from her brother, Jimin on one side of her and Taehyung on the other. It was a standard rectangular table, but she always appreciated this time of year when her mom pulled out a white knitted tablecloth. Hoseok disappeared for a moment as everyone settled into their seats, returning with a lighter. 

“What’s a dinner without candles lit in the center?”

“Hobi, we only do it on holidays. So technically, dinner would be just fine.”

“Hush. You’re ruining the sentiment.”

“Actually, you are by leaning over Jungkook’s plate.”

“Seriously,” Jungkook agreed, looking at Hoseok with disgust. Y/N laughed, both at his facial expression as well as Hoseok’s struggle to light them. 

“Dude, what the fu-” He stopped dead in his tracks when he glanced at Taeyeon, who insisted to eat with Taehyung. Clearing his throat, he straightened his back and started over, “What’s wrong with this lighter? Is it a trick lighter?”

“No, you’re just weak. Let me see,” Y/N stood.

“It’s not me! The candles don’t want to light-”

“Excuse me. I got it,” Their mom had suddenly appeared as if she had sensed the topic at hand, bearing one of those longer lighters. The clicking of the lighter went on for three times or so before she caught a flame, easily lighting the centerpiece candles. 

Jimin clapped and cheered for her, their mom patting Hoseok sympathetically before asking, “Any of you need anything? Drinks? Anymore food?”

After everyone expressed their thanks, she departed.  Just like that, Christmas dinner began. 

For every family, it was different. Different cultures mean different dinner traditions. Growing up, it had been one of Y/N’s favorite parts: the food. 

As she ate quietly, she looked around the table at the faces of the friends who had joined them this Christmas. At her brother, who was in the middle of telling the other boys some story about Jungkook that the latter was embarrassed over. 

Her heart hurt with happiness. Just a couple days ago, she was crying in her room at the thought of Hoseok not joining him. Now, he was across from her having a laughing fit. She hadn’t seen Taehyung in so long, and now he was next to her smiling and making sure his little sister was having a great time.

It had been even longer since she saw Jimin, and looking at him gave her this wave of nostalgia. He was like flipping through an old journal, the pages filled up with the memories of her youth. He was a piece of her past, one that she didn’t think she would ever forget.

Jungkook was a new piece to the puzzle, but since he had joined them, she saw a whole other side to Hoseok. He brought out this energy in him that she had only ever seen in secret. Jungkook brought out that same look on Hoseok’s face when he was out photographing the world. She knew Jungkook was special.

It was a special dinner, mostly quiet. Stories would break out here and there, but it felt like they had slipped into a snowglobe of bliss. Nothing could shatter the intimacy and disconnect from every other worry in her life. 

Even when she would pause in her eating and text back Yoongi, everything was alright. His sweetness dripped through the words on her screen, making her miss him but comforting her. 

She was drunk on the love in the air, and no matter how the night ended, she knew then this would be a Christmas for the books. Not because something exciting had happened, but because it was a quiet one. That in itself was beautiful.

A little while later, after some of them had settled into eating dessert and Taeyeon had dragged Taehyung away to play a game with the kids, Jungkook directed a question at Y/N. “So, am I going to get to hear the story behind your nickname?”

“Teddy?” She asked.

“Yes, teddy. What other nickname do you have?”

Hoseok grinned mischievously, and Y/N shot him a look of warning that he ignored. “Oh, she has plenty.”

“And so do you! If I were you, I would keep my mouth closed!”

They had a stare off for a few beats, and Y/N thought she was in the clear- that is, until he rushed out, “We used to call her Walrus because when she was younger, she liked sticking things in her mouth and pretending to be one.”

“Hoseok!”

“You guys want to see pictures?” 

Jungkook had started laughing at the thought, and Y/N felt mortified. Just then, she thought of the perfect revenge. As if Hoseok had sensed the gears of her mind turning, his smile faded.

“My parents used to call him Huggies until he was like eight. You want to know why?”

“Y/N, no!”

“What? You told them about Walrus! You know that story embarrasses me!”

“But Teddy is a cute nickname. And so is Walrus. It’s not even bad! Don’t do this!”

Their debate eventually died down when Taehyung came back, effectively distracting  them from the topic at hand. Jimin asked Jungkook about his major, how he liked his university. 

All of the guys seemed to be getting along well, and it was a sight to behold. They were all incredible, so it wasn’t a surprise that they were getting along.

That was, until the mood shifted without her even noticing. 

Jungkook had just finished summarizing why he loved what he was studying, Jimin listening intently as he sipped on a soda. Letting him finish, Jimin nodded along before asking, “Are you from here?”

He shook his head. “I’m not. I moved here for university. I love it here… but I do miss my family all the time.”

Jimin nodded along in agreement. “I definitely understand that feeling.”

“I love my major, I really do. It was everything I imagined it would be and I can’t wait for more. I love my friends, I mean, if I hadn’t gone there I wouldn’t have met Hoseok. I’m so grateful for the opportunity. But some days, I just miss my hometown. I miss my family so bad sometimes, I feel the urge to buy a plane ticket straight home. Of course, I don’t have the funds for that but it’s nice to dream,” Jungkook’s voice was dreamy and longing, and Y/N knew he was thinking of his family celebrating Christmas. Her heart tugged. 

Hoseok sat quietly, listening. She could see in her brother’s face that he was thinking the same thing. They didn’t have the words to comfort Jungkook, but suddenly his face transformed into something more hopeful.

“Even though I can’t be with my family until after Christmas, I’m really glad I got the opportunity to be here. It reminds me of my own home, and I know not everyone is lucky as I am. I just, I keep thinking of my mom. She’s great. I just know that right now, she’s probably fretting over all of our guests at home, asking who wants more food. That’s who she is, always on her feet and taking care of everyone else. I can’t wait to see her.”

“And you will. In two days. Before you know it, you’re going to be back home,” Hoseok assured him. Jungkook nodded, shooting him a look of appreciation. 

The atmosphere, regardless of the subject, had felt hopeful. Y/N saw how Jungkook was determined to keep a good attitude, and she expected that was the end of it. 

Not everyone has as warm a Christmas as you, is what she would come to realize. 

“If you’ll excuse me,” Jimin muttered, offering all of them a weak smile before scooting his chair back and striding to the backyard door, going outside. 

Y/N’s eyes remained there for a moment, his facial expression replaying in her mind. Had Jungkook said something wrong?

Looking over at Hoseok, they had a silent conversation with their eyes. They both knew something was wrong, and they had no intentions of leaving Jimin alone. They came to a silent agreement, the pair of them rising to their feet.

“We’re going to check up on him,” Y/N told the other boys.

“You guys going to be alright?” Hoseok asked Jungkook and Taehyung.

“Of course. We’ll just go talk to Disney Prince. See if he’s as great as everyone says he is,” Taehyung suggested. Jungkook pointed at him, as if he came up with a brilliant idea. Y/N could only shake her head before she led the way, making sure to quietly open up the back door. 

Hoseok flicked on the back porch light, successfully shrouding Jimin’s back in light. He was sitting at the bottom of the porch steps, his head bowed. 

The siblings paused at the top, and Y/N wondered if it was right to disturb him. Something was telling her to not leave him out here to drown in his thoughts. It was obvious he was upset and who knows if he intended to talk to anyone about it. It was up to them to at least try.

“Hey…” Hoseok began, taking the lead as he walked down a few steps. He remained behind him, waiting for any reaction. Jimin stayed quiet. 

Y/N decided to try, maneuvering around her brother and stopping two steps above Jimin’s. Kneeling down, she paused before gently placing a hand on his shoulder. “Jimin.”

His shoulders started shaking, and her heart dropped as she heard the beginning sounds of suppressed crying. 

He wasn’t okay, and maybe hadn’t been this entire time. 

Looking up at her brother, they shared a look of concern before she sat beside him, keeping a hand on his shoulder. Hoseok joined them, taking a seat on the other side of him. They didn’t look at him, respecting his need to cry. 

They didn’t know what was wrong, and maybe Jimin wouldn’t tell them anything at all, but that wouldn’t stop them for being there for him. So they let him cry. Here and there, Y/N would rub his shoulder affectionately, hoping he didn’t feel alone. It may have been a year since she saw him, but it wouldn’t stop her from being there for him. 

When the crying ceased and the sniffles were few and far between, he raised his head. She still didn’t look at him, and she had a feeling Hoseok didn’t either. They simply waited. 

They listened as he cleared his throat, tipping his head back to look at the stars. 

The beautiful thing about stars is that even when your world is turned upside down, they remain permanent, a constant in the chaos.

“I’m not happy.” From the corner of her eye, she saw the air leave his chest, his shoulders relax. He continued. “I haven’t been since I started college. Everyone says that it’s the homesickness, that eventually you’ll get into the groove of things. When months passed, and nothing has changed, it only got worse. I’m stuck. And I don’t know what to do.” 

He took a moment to collect himself. His voice became stronger as he continued, as if the more he talked, the more weight dissipated from his shoulders.

“I hate school. I hate my life over there. I’m not myself, and I’m putting up a front every single day just so I can pretend it’s not the life I chose. I hate my major, I don’t know when I started hating it but somewhere along the way I realized it’s not what I want anymore. Y/N,” Her name startled her into looking at him. He was already looking at her, his eyes shining and his cheeks damp. “I lied to you earlier. I acted just like I’ve been acting all these months. I’ve always been taught to put up a brave face, that even if I’m crumbling, to never show anyone I need help. It’s not what I should do, simply because my whole life I’ve had everything figured out. When in reality… I want to be home.”

She and Hoseok watched him now, how he slowly began to talk softer, his eyes finding the ground. Although his voice was soft, his conviction was hard and set into his words. “Being home, I feel like myself. I just want to stay. I don’t belong at that school, studying what I’m studying, being someone I’m not. And maybe I’m not meant to be here for good, either. I just know that I belong here, surrounded by the people that care about me and make me feel like myself. That’s all I want and… being here with you guys so strongly reminds me of all of that. I just don’t know what to do.”

They waited until they knew he was completely done before Hoseok jumped in, ducking his head to watch Jimin’s face. “Why don’t you talk to your parents?”

Jimin immediately shook his head. “I just can’t.”

“Why not?”

He raised his voice before it grew soft again. “Because! Because… they insist on me being strong, to following through with whatever I start. I told them how much I loved my major, they expect so much from me. I can’t crumble for them. I have to be strong for them. I have to be strong for my mom! She needs to see me be strong! She can’t see me fail!”

“Jimin…” His voice was urgent, his words fast, but Y/N sensed there was more to his words. She waited until he was looking at her. “Why do you feel like you need to be strong for them?”

“She’s… She’s sick,” Jimin’s face crumbled at his words, Y/N’s own heart shattering at the sight. She wrapped her arms around him, letting him cry into her shoulder. Hoseok looked at her, at a loss for words. He reached over and gripped Jimin’s forearm, letting him know he was there. 

This time around, the silence was thick with weight. Y/N’s mind was wheeling, searching and searching for anything to say. Her mind came up blank, and she wished with her entire being that there was a way for Jimin to come out of this unscathed. 

“I belong here,” He cried quietly, pulling away from her arms, “And she’ll insist that I stay over there, that I pretend she’s okay.”

“So you tell her that you love her. And that you’re going to stay here and be strong for her.” Hoseok spoke sternly.

“But-”

“Jimin, you’re not happy over there. And I’ve known you and your family for a long time. Your mom wouldn’t want you to be miserable. If your dream is to be home, to be yourself, then you gotta tell her that you want to be here. It’s going to be terrifying, and they might not want you to at first, but they love you. They only want what’s best for you.”

“What if they… what if they refuse?”

Hoseok frowned, then nodded once. “Then that’s when you do what’s best for you. And hope that with time, they accept it.”

“I can’t upset her right now. She needs me to be strong.”

“Jimin,” Y/N took the soft approach, “In order for you to be strong for her, you have to let her know the way to do that is to be home. Once you’re home, you can be happy and then figure out all of the other things that are worrying you, like school and your passion. The only way for you to do that is to tell them how you feel. All you can do is try.”

“They love you. And they’ll see it’s taking a toll on you,” Hoseok added. “And you’ll come home.”

Jimin ducked his head again, sniffling and nodding at their words. 

Silence ensued, different from the first two. It was a non-judgmental silence, one that took in its companions and offered them some time. It was just what Jimin needed. 

“Thank you guys. Really.”

“You don’t have to thank us,” Y/N responded.

Jimin looked over at her, gratitude oozing from his gaze. “I really do.” He ran his hands through his hair, sighing deeply before saying, “You know, being out here reminds me of high school.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Hoseok said.

“Yeah. I remember this one time, when I spent the night. Y/N and I had to be like fourteen. We had convinced you to play hide and seek out here.”

“He was so scared! We were trying so hard not to laugh at our hiding spots, because he hadn’t even been looking for two minutes before he threatened to go back inside,” Y/N laughed through her words.

Hoseok narrowed his eyes at them. “Yeah, I remember that. Jimin jumped out of the bushes and scared me so bad, I slipped on the wet grass.”

“That was priceless. Absolute gold,” Jimin exclaimed. “And then you pulled Y/N and me down with you.”

“We laid on the grass so long that night, we got sick and then we got in trouble for it,” Hoseok added, the three of them drawn to look up at the sky in memory.

“But it didn’t matter to us, then,” Y/N said softly, “Because the stars were so beautiful that night.”

“You know, I can almost be certain that they look like they did that night all those years ago,” Hoseok said, moreso directed at Jimin. And she watched as Jimin looked up at the sky, how it looked back at him, and how Hoseok’s words made him smile to himself.

~~~~~~~~~~

Christmas Lights

As the night grew darker and colder, the amount of people in the house started to thin out. Her aunt, uncle, and their children left a little after midnight. The Parks were getting ready to leave, and Y/N could tell Jimin was nervous to face what he had to do. If she got the chance, she would pull him aside to talk to him one last time. 

Taeyeon was dozing off on the couch, so Taehyung was debating whether or not to leave as well. He was looking at her fondly, before he uttered to Y/N, “This might be the best Christmas Eve she’s ever had. I… I’ve tried so hard to give that to her but there was nothing like that joy on her face playing with your little cousins.”

Y/N rested her hand on his upper arm, waiting for him to look at her. “Tae, you’ve always given her the best gift of all. Your love. And because you love her so much, you’ve gone to the lengths of trying your hardest to give her the best Christmas every single year. That’s what matters. Not whether or not she gets to play with kids, or even if it’s not some grand gesture. She’ll see that and appreciate it more than she’ll comprehend when she’s older.”

Taehyung looked at her, fully looked at her with so much emotion in that moment, she felt everything he was feeling. Rubbing his arm, she allowed him to take a breath and regain his composure, before he mouthed, “Thank you.”

She nodded her head, before turning just in time to see the Parks heading for the door. She stepped away, walking over to Jimin and catching him before he walked out the door. “Hey. Can I talk to you for a sec?”

“Yeah, sure. My parents are going to get stuck outside talking to yours anyway. They’ve never understood the concept of goodbye,” Jimin joked, but she saw the unease in his eyes, heard it in his voice.

“Hey,” She lowered her voice, “It’s going to be okay. You have all of us, especially Hoseok and me, rooting for you. This is what’s best for you. I know it’s hard and scary, but your parents need to hear how you feel. You should never feel like you have to pretend.”

He nodded along, rubbing his hands together anxiously and looking over his shoulder at his parents. Just then, his jittery nature calmed down and his hands froze in their movements. He was looking at them for a prolonged moment, before he whispered, “I’m going to be okay.”

“You are.”

He looked at her then, before he said, “I better get going. It was… really nice to see you again.”

The way he looked at her transferred her back to high school, when her heart would flutter like his eyes did at her. His voice was as soft as she remembered, and she could almost fool herself into being young again, except this time around she was aware of the growth they’ve both experienced. That, and she wasn’t a young girl with a crush on him anymore. 

Nonetheless, she found herself shuffling under his gaze, just like she used to. Her hands fiddled with the bottom of her sweater, just like they used to. It was like his gaze was all-knowing, and she needed to look away from him for a moment. Old habits die hard. 

She cleared her throat. “It was nice to see you too. I’m really glad you made it.”

“I am too. I missed you and your crazy brother.”

“He is a little crazy, isn’t he?”

“Who’s crazy?” Hoseok thundered in her ear, making her recoil from the sound. Pushing him away, he laughed like he was Santa, before he rushed forward and bear-hugged Jimin. The latter tried to fight the hold, voice raising in alarm when Hoseok started ruffling his hair, before giving up altogether with a wide smile. 

After they settled down, Hoseok whispered something to him, and Jimin gave him a soft look. He nodded at him and expressed his thanks, before Hoseok walked outside to tell the Parks goodbye. 

“Well, Merry Christmas, Jimin,” Y/N said softly. 

He smiled, before he stepped closer and opened his arms to her. Stepping into the embrace, it was high school all over again. It was strange how some things never changed. She could recognize there was a slight shift though. The embrace wasn’t as tight as another from her memory, wasn’t the same scent. The embrace was different from Yoongi’s. This was a friend’s embrace. 

“Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

“Let’s go, Jimin!” His dad’s voice bellowed. Jimin held up a hand for everyone else in the room, everyone saying their goodbyes before he strode out the door. Y/N waved at his parents, hoping with everything in her heart that they were understanding whenever he decided to talk to him. 

“I think that’s our cue as well. Taeyeon can barely keep her eyes open,” Taehyung announced, holding the little girl’s hand in question. Y/N’s heart ached at the sight, her sleepy eyes blinking slower and her grip on her brother’s hand light. 

“Awww. My favorite girl is leaving?” Hoseok asked, kneeling down in front of her. 

“I’m sorry. It’s Tae. I would stay if I could choose,” She told him seriously. Hoseok laughed while Taehyung simply shook his head. 

“Well, Merry Christmas! I’m really happy you guys joined us this year. You’re more than welcome to join us next year.”

Taeyeon’s eyes lit up like christmas lights, tugging on Taehyung’s hand, “Can we come next year? Can we? Can we, please?”

Taehyung pretended to think about it before he grinned down at her, “Of course we can!” His smile softened at her cheers, before he told the siblings, “I’d really like that.”

Y/N and Hoseok switched off saying goodbye to each of them before they walked them over to the door. She advised them to keep their coats on tight, it was really cold out.

“Text me when you get home, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Merry Christmas, Tae. I’m really happy you decided to come.”

“So am I,” He told her, before hugging her and whispering, “Thank you for everything.” He pulled away from their embrace and turned to the room who housed the last face left in the room: Jungkook. “Merry Christmas, mon ami!”

Jungkook saluted him. “Merry Christmas!”

As Taehyung stopped to say his goodbyes to their parents who still hadn’t finished talking to the Parks, Hoseok uttered, “Glad they hit it off.”

“We definitely all have to get together again.”

The sound of Seokjin’s laugh grabbed their attention, and they turned to see him leaving the kitchen with Namjoon. It seemed like they were in the middle of gathering their things as Seokjin shrugged on his coat.

“We better head out too. It’s getting too late for me.”

Namjoon added, “He may look young, but he’s a grandpa.” 

His brother slugged him at that, and Y/N was amused as Namjoon pretended it didn’t hurt. She told them, “I’m really glad you guys came. My parents love you.”

“They’re the best. If it weren’t for them, this guy and me would be eating takeout tonight.”

“Seriously. Dinner was so good,” Namjoon uttered longingly. 

They walked over, and Hoseok led them to the door. Just then, their parents finally came inside. Their mom was quick to say, “Oh, you guys are leaving already?”

Seokjin paused, as if finding the words. “We know everyone is leaving and we didn’t want to

overstep.” 

“Don’t ever feel like you’re overstepping. You’re always welcome,” Their mom said. Their dad nodded in agreement.

“Thank you for that. We appreciate that.”

“Yes, thank you. It was nice to be surrounded by warm people on a cold day,” Namjoon added. 

Y/N’s mom softened at that, telling him, “And Namjoon. I’m very glad we got to know you tonight. You are as amazing as your brother says.”

He looked shocked at that, his eyes shooting to Seokjin. His brother pretended not to notice, though he did look a bit smug. Namjoon searched for the words, rubbing at his neck shyly before he mustered up, “Ah, thank you. That means a lot.”

Their dad opened the door, angling it so the two of them could walk out. Seokjin walked out last, only to turn around and tell the family, “Thank you for tonight. It was… everything I needed. I’ll always be grateful for what you guys do for me.”

Her mom said, “It’s nothing, Jin. We will always look out for you and your brother.”

“It’s everything,” He told her as his face remained serious, before he looked past her at the pair of siblings and smiled up at them. “It was nice to finally meet you two. Their praise of you was well-deserved.”

Hoseok held back a smile as he called, “And so was yours.”

Seokjin merely shook his head before saying, “Merry Christmas!” It triggered a chorus of the phrase, until they watched them get safely into their house. 

The day was now at its end, with the same five from the beginning. 

“I can’t believe it’s over. It flew by,” Jungkook muttered a few minutes later, the trio of them squished onto the couch together. 

Y/N’s parents had put on a Christmas movie in the background, and the two of them were cuddling on the recliner. 

“That’s how Christmas is. Slow to come, quick to end,” Y/N told him. 

“That’s what makes it so special,” Hoseok threw out there. Y/N and Jungkook hummed in agreement. The three of them were pretty sleepy, but they didn’t want to disturb the atmosphere. 

It was a calm night to end the special day. 

Jungkook was the first to retire to bed, expressing his thanks and announcing a goodnight. They could tell how tired he was, and they also saw in his face that he wanted to be alone for a while. 

Y/N thought about him, about Taehyung, about Jimin. She thought about Jin and how each of them had been having a rough time. She thought about Hoseok, how up until a couple of days ago he felt alone. 

She came to the realization that Christmas didn’t make everything perfect, didn’t suddenly dismiss all of the problems someone has on any given day. Christmas isn’t miraculous, at least in the sense that it makes everything disappear. What Christmas does is quiets those issues, highlights the love and the warmth that already exists. Christmas reminds you of what you have, and what you can give to other people. 

That’s why Christmas feels rare, because it’s one of those days where you’re showered in what you deserve, and people aren’t used to feeling what they deserve. 

“I have an idea.” Hoseok whispered to his sister. She glanced at him, wondering why he was whispering. She noticed that her parents had dozed off in each other’s arms. 

“Hit me,” Y/N whispered back. 

“It’s a surprise gift for Jungkook.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE UP, WALRUS!”

Her eyes flew open as she shot up in bed, her heart racing. Looking around, her eyes fell on her smiley brother standing at the foot of her bed. Giving him an icy stare, she fell back in bed and tried to get comfortable once more. It wasn’t even a moment of bliss before Hoseok grabbed a hold of her comforter and ripped it off of her. 

“Hobi, I promise you that if you don’t stop messing with me, I’m going to tell everyone why we used to call you Huggies.”

“It’s Christmas, Ebenezer! Get up and come downstairs!”

She groaned, hating be woken up early. She couldn’t control the smile that had fallen on her lips at his words, stumbling out of bed. 

Hoseok looked pleased, but it disappeared all too soon when Y/N rushed over to him and blew air in his face. He screamed- a little too high-pitched if someone asked her- as he pushed her away, face contorting in disgust. “That’s so nasty! Go brush your teeth, garbage mouth!”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately. Now hurry up and meet us downstairs!”

She took a few minutes freshening up before she met them downstairs. She found her dad, Jungkook, and Hoseok watching tv. Hoseok had managed to get Jungkook to wear reindeer antlers, and she silently fawned over how adorable he looked. 

“Here!” Hoseok thrust a Christmas tree headband into her hands, before he quickly placed one of those christmas light necklaces over her head. 

“Isn’t this a bit much?”

“You mean, not enough?” He told her seriously, smoothing down his ugly sweater. She shared a look with Jungkook, happy to know that someone else got to see this crazy side of her brother. 

“Merry Christmas, everyone!” Everyone responded, the boys mostly distracted by the television screen. She walked over and leaned down to give her dad a kiss on the cheek, before she asked where her mom was. 

No one had to answer, because she could hear her mom bustling around in the kitchen. She joined her, helping out in any way that she could. 

This was her favorite way to spend Christmas morning: a calm morning after a busy Christmas Eve. 

It was everything she had wished for: to have Hoseok home, and for everyone to be together again. 

“Call the boys. It’s time for breakfast.”

It was after breakfast that she gave Hoseok the signal. She was in the middle of distracting Jungkook with a story, watching as Hoseok not so smoothly took Jungkook’s phone from beside him. He looked panicked after a few moments, showing her that he had guessed the password wrong. 

She stuttered in her story, watching as Jungkook looked at her with mild worry. She waved it off, smoothly continuing on and noticing that Hoseok figured it out. He was quick, disappearing into another room. 

It was a couple minutes later, and Hoseok still wasn’t back. She was starting to get worried because there was a lull in her conversation with Jungkook, and it was at any moment that he was going to notice his phone was-

“Hm. That’s weird.”

Her heart jumped. “What is?”

“I thought I put my phone right here-”

“Jungkook! Come here for a second!” Hoseok called from the living room. Jungkook’s eyebrow lifted in question, but Y/N merely shrugged. She waited for him to lead the way before following closely behind. They walked into the living room, Hoseok standing in the middle with his hands behind his back. 

“What’s up?” Jungkook asked cautiously.

“Well,” Hoseok took a deep breath, “We’re really happy you got to spend Christmas with us. But, we all know it happened because the unfortunate events of you not being able to catch a flight. However, in this day and age, it’s a little easier to see your loved ones. So,” He pulled the phone out from his back, revealing his family on the screen, “Merry Christmas!”

Jungkook’s eyes widened, watching as his family shouted Merry Christmas, his mom as beautiful as he described. He was frozen for a moment, before his face broke into the happiest smile she ever saw on him, him lurching forward to grab onto the phone. 

“Guys! I miss you so much,” His voice faltered, before the smile returned, “I wanted to video call but I felt like I would disturb you.”

“Disturb us? Of course not! It’s Christmas. We’re just so glad you’re well taken care of,” His mom said on the other line. 

His dad said, “Can’t wait for you to join us tomorrow.”

She looked away to give him some privacy, hearing how tender his voice had become as he whispered, “I can’t wait to be with you guys, too.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The following evening, in the middle of watching yet another Christmas movie with the boys, Hoseok began acting strange. He was huddled in the corner on his least favorite chair in the living room, tapping away at his phone. 

After asking him several times what he was doing, Y/N threateningly got up to go to him, and he freaked out. He yelled- again, a little too high-pitched for her ears- before he raced off to his room. 

“What’s up with him?” Y/N asked. “I was only messing with him.”

“I stopped asking myself that a long time ago,” Jungkook responded, unbothered by Hoseok’s antics. 

She decided to ignore it, sitting back down and continuing to watch the movie. About fifteen minutes later, Hoseok re-entered the living room. She didn’t look at him at first, assuming he was going to stop acting weird and finish the movie with him. After he stood in the entryway for too long to be normal, she looked up at him and instantly grew confused. 

He was dressed to go out, his warm clothes a telltale sign that he intended to leave. His next words confirmed that. “I have to head out really quick. I’ll be back soon.”

“Where are you going?” Y/N asked, suspicious. On top of his weird behavior, he was suddenly leaving?

“Yeah. You didn’t mention having to do anything,” Jungkook added.

“Well- Well, I need to go get something from the store,” Hoseok rushed out as he rushed to the front door. This time, she wouldn’t let it slide as she raced to grab him before he made it out the door. 

“Why are you acting so funny? What are you doing?”

“Nothing, Y/N! I have to take care of some business! Just let me be!”

“Why can’t we go with you?” Jungkook asked casually, unmoving from the couch as he stuffed some popcorn into his mouth. Noticing Hoseok’s pointed stare, he said, “What? Just a question.”

“Because.”

“Because why?” She narrowed her eyes, noticing he wouldn’t look at her. He was too nervous, too suspicious. He had always been bad at hiding things. 

“Because I said so! Now leave me alone, you gremlins! I’ll be back!”

Just like that, he disappeared. She was entirely confused, wondering why he had to rush out like that and what he could possibly be hiding that he had to keep from her and Jungkook.

“Maybe he’s getting us a present?” She offered up to Jungkook. 

He looked over at her and shrugged. “Who knows with him. Maybe he just wanted a dessert and didn’t want to have to pay for us.”

“He’s not like that!”

“He’s like that with me,” He scoffed playfully, before the conversation ended. 

She looked down at her phone. 8:03 PM. There was nothing she could do now, so she tried to focus on the movie. 

Around an hour and a half later, she got a text from her brother. Only, it wasn’t a text but he had shared a location with her. Clicking on it, she felt worry build realizing it wasn’t a place, but a road.

Was he in trouble?

“Jungkook.” He looked over at her. “Hoseok’s worrying me. He just sent me a random location. It just looks like a road.”

“You know what this means, right?”

“What?” She asked him. Jungkook sat up quickly.

“He’s sending us on a scavenger hunt!”

“Or to our death.”

“Highly doubt he could. Come on! Let’s go!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! Now come on! Get your coat on!” She had never seen him so pumped up, and now she was really worried. As she got her coat on, she tried to call her brother but to no avail. What was going on?

It didn’t take long to reach the spot, though the drive was completely nerve-wracking. Had he been in an accident? Why hadn’t he answered when she called and why had he still not called her back? 

And Jungkook was acting weird now, too, drumming his fingers on his thigh. When she tried to strike up a conversation, he gave her short and distracted answers. 

It was a twenty minute drive to the road that Hoseok had sent to her. She recognized one of the cars- her parents’ car, parked on the side of the road. Right behind it was a car she didn’t recognize. 

What was going on?

Just as she asked herself that question, she pulled in front of her parents’ car and parked the car, looking into the rearview mirror. Seeing two figures sitting in the car, she watched them for a moment. 

“Who is that?” She asked herself. 

Like magic, her question was answered as both car doors opened. She peeked out the side mirror on the left, seeing her brother shaking his body up and down, likely from the cold. She narrowed her eyes at the right mirror, studying the figure who stood at the front hood of her parents’ car. 

Her eyes looked over his dark curtain of hair, his head tilted to her brother. His hands were buried in his long dark coat, his entire ensemble as dark as Jungkook’s was when she first met him. 

She took in his lanky figure, his familiar stance and his distant but familiar features, and her heart jumped. 

Unclipping her seatbelt, she quickly fumbled for the car door and rushed out into the cold, the air slapping her and trying to discourage her. Nothing could stop her, though, as she raced through the cold, past her brother and right toward her warmth. 

Yoongi barely had time to register she was racing right toward him before he opened his arms and she fell into them. 

It was falling into a warm bath, washing over her body and soul. He was her haven, protecting her from the cold and from all of the hardships she had recently overcame. 

He was here, right in front of her. 

And she couldn’t gather the words to express how happy she was to be with him.

“You’re here,” she whispered into his chest, inhaling his cologne. He chuckled a little, adjusting his grip on her. 

Kissing the side of her head, he said, “I am.”

“How? I thought you were just going to stay with your family today.”

He pulled away, looking at her with smiley eyes. A side of his mouth tugged upward as he declared, “I did stay with my family today. It’s night time now.”

“Yoongi…” Her eyes looked anywhere but him. Shuffling in place, he tightened his grip on her to keep her from being embarrassed, “You didn’t have to. I’m sorry if you felt like you had to leave your family-”

“I’m going to stop you right there. I didn’t have to do anything, that’s true. But I missed you and wanted to see you. That’s why I wanted to surprise you. Except, things didn’t go so well,”He hissed at the last words, his eyes going to the car she didn’t recognize. “I should’ve listened to my mom when she said the car’s been having problems.”

“Ah, so that car is your mom’s.”

“Yeah. She gave me the idea to surprise you.”

“Really?” Her entire body stiffened with nerves. “You told her about us?” 

He gave her a look of disbelief. “I told her the day I met you that you were going to be my future girlfriend.”

“Seriously?” She choked on a laugh, not aware that he had told his family before she even got around to telling her family they were together. Of course, they knew of Yoongi, but she assumed they thought they were friends. She was just so nervous to tell them, especially given that he was Hoseok’s friend. 

He cracked a smile, gently playing with her hair and looking her over. “Yes, seriously. She was nervous about letting me use the car, and now I know why. But using it led me to this moment. So I don’t regret it.”

“You’re amazing,” She said, breathlessly. They stared at each other for a moment, losing themselves in each other’s eyes. He tilted his head a bit, his telltale that he was going to kiss her, until Hoseok cut in.

“Not to ruin the lovely moment, but it is freezing out here and I really don’t want to see my sister kiss anyone. Mind if we get in the car?”

“Sure, Hoseok. Thank you,” Yoongi’s voice was dripped in sarcasm. 

They all gathered in their parents’ car, Hoseok turning on the heater. 

“So,” Y/N pointed at her brother, “He knew about it.”

Yoongi looked unamused. “Yes. And did a real crappy job at not being suspicious.”

Hoseok whirled around from the driver’s seat. “Hey! It’s not my fault she knows me so well! She can tell the moment I start acting different!”

Yoongi shot back, “Then don’t act different.”

Y/N said, “Doesn’t help that he screamed like a baby when I acted like I was going to take his phone.”

“All that matters is she didn’t figure out you were coming,” Hoseok threw his hands up. They all laughed at how offended he was acting. 

“I knew too. Well, after I asked if we could come he texted me and went off on me,” Jungkook told her.

“See? Now, Jungkook knows how to act less suspicious,” Y/N pointed out.

Hoseok shook his head. “You guys suck.”

Yoongi and Y/N shared a smile, him reaching out to intertwine their fingers. It was a moment she engraved in her mind, sitting in that back seat waiting for a tow truck. 

She vaguely listened as Hoseok described his grand idea of calling her out to his location, calling it more “romantic” if she came to see him where he broke down instead of him bringing Yoongi back to the house. 

She hummed along, mostly distracted by Yoongi’s presence. He was breath-taking, absolutely stunning. He was wearing a maroon turtleneck, probably for the occasion. His hair was swept barely above his eyes, which were in the middle of looking her over as well. 

Suddenly, she grew embarrassed considering she was still in her pajamas and the apparel that Hoseok had forced them to wear this morning. At least Jungkook had taken off his antlers. 

Yoongi leaned over, uttering into her ear, “You look so cute.”

She smiled down at their intertwined hands, rubbing her thumb over his. “So do you.”

They tilted their heads together, her heart racing. 

“Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

“Merry Christmas, Yoongi.”

There it was. Somehow, in some way, it always worked out. Even if it was the slightest shift. 

Christmas had already been perfect. But her gift was right here beside her, her Christmas in a person was with her. 

She couldn’t ask for anything better. 

“Now,” Hoseok clapped his hands at the tow truck pulled up behind their line of cars, grinning back at Yoongi, “You ready to meet my parents?”

Yoongi nodded confidently. “Of course.”

The mischief danced in Hoseok’s eyes. “You ready to meet them as Y/N’s boyfriend?”

She watched the fear enter Yoongi’s eyes, reaching forward to shove Hoseok. She ignored his scream, lying her head on Yoongi’s shoulder.

“They’re going to love you.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I love you.”

~~~~~~~~~~

About a week later, the photos that her mom had taken on Christmas were finally developed. She was a sentimental woman, one who liked to buy those old-fashioned ones you had to get developed at a CVS Pharmacy. 

She laid them all out on the table, looking them over one by one. 

There was a photo of Taehyung and Taeyeon, posed near the Christmas Tree. She was on his back, both of them in the midst of laughing. 

A picture of Hoseok and Y/N, backs against each other and finger guns poised. They were standing near the family Stockings, the ones that Hoseok insisted on every year. 

Jungkook in a candid photo of him checking out the Nutcracker she put out on the mantle every single year, studying it. 

A photo of Seokjin with his arm around Namjoon’s shoulders, both of them unsmiling but comfortable. They were posed as if they were two Carolers, awaiting someone to open the door.

A picture of Jimin helping adjust the Angel at the top of the tree, his parents in the background smiling proudly at him.

Other pictures of everyone scattered about. 

The last photo of the disposable camera was at the bottom of the pile, a picture of Yoongi, Y/N, and Hoseok, outside and surrounded by the porch’s Christmas Lights. 

It was a beautiful Christmas. Not perfect to most, but perfect to them.