#casually slides u this across the dash

[animosus-blog1]

@strikecdr:  ( cont from x )

❝ Afraid not, Newton; I can patch you through to someone who can,   though, if it’s urgent. ❞

Came his voice, relayed at real time over the communications system directly into to the   watchpoint the lone scientist    had been assigned. With communications active, data flooded the screen before the strike commander’s desk;   Jack briefly eying the remote base’s most recent activity reports– another thing he’ll later be tasked with reading.   Until then, however, he proceeded to continue;      the slightest inflection of humor lacing his tone.

❝ If you need long term help with translations, I believe we might be   able to find  s o m e o n e  fluent enough who also  won’t put in a   request for transfer within the first six months– IF you’re willing to   wait, of course.   —What’s prompted you to ask, though? ❞

     “ ah, no, that won’t be necessary--- ”

  quite CONTENT in having the watchpoint to himself, the offer of long term assistance was turned down hastily, newt shaking his head despite the call being audio only. it wasn’t as though this was a reoccurring instance anyway, the need for translation from chinese, so there really was NO NEED --- a fact he was about to elaborate on when suddenly prompted by the strike commander with a question of his own. a question that earned a NOTABLE PAUSE before being given an answer.

     “ it’s really--- it isn’t all that important. there’s been a report, you see, a possible new sighting of sinomicrurus hatori -- hatori’s coral snake, a rare species, although the VALIDITY of it being a separate species from sinomicrurus sauteri is still rather up for debate as there are no records of differing morphological data between the two. not as of YET, at least. ”  a beat. ...where was he going with this?  “ ---ah, but the report, it’s written in chinese and i’ve not been able to find a translation. it’s a matter of SCIENTIFIC INTEREST, but hardly urgent. ”

none of that was REMOTELY true. though the real situation started out similarly, with data written in chinese that was worth his curiosity as a zoologist, and it was in fact about a rare snake, the stories separated DRASTICALLY from there. the truth was that he’d rescued a critically endangered lazell’s blind snake from being SOLD on the black market. ...by purchasing it himself. it had arrived this morning, and come with papers full of information newt was unable to read for himself.

probably nothing CRITICAL though.

     “ and certainly not requiring a long term translator. ---though i appreciate the offer. ”

[ri-ahhh]

can u just give me mushy gushy shit with grayson like ethan has a girl over so the two of you decide to go out for a burger date and a walk at night? idk something like that pls 👉🏻👈🏻

A/N: I couldn’t even tell you how long this has been sitting in my drafts but I was looking through trying to find something to finish bc I was in the mood to write but not from scratch and found this lol. It was about halfway done and I have no idea where I was going with it but this is what it turned into as of today. Idek if there’s even anyone around here anymore to read this but whatever haha here it is.

You don’t usually mind being single. Even when your best friend/roommate Stella started seeing her boyfriend Charlie seriously, it didn’t give you any longing for a relationship of your own.

But there are some nights where you feel down and you just can’t handle it. The scenes of casual intimacy as soon as you get home and see them together — the vase of flowers on the kitchen island he must have brought over; the playful bickering across the room.

The incessant, unrelenting sound of a marathon session going on through the shared wall of your and Stella’s bedrooms.

You groan and turn the volume up on your AirPods, going straight to your messages next.

Wyd?

{G} 👀

Don’t be weird.

Pretty sure Stella and Charlie are trying to put a hole in the wall w her headboard and I can’t take it anymore.

Your roommate chooses that moment to let out a particularly enthusiastic “fuck!” If she weren’t your best friend, you might have given in to the urge to bang on the wall, but your phone lights up with Grayson’s reply anyway.

{G} E too.

{G} I mean like I can’t hear him but ik what’s going down in there

{G} I’d offer to pick u up but sounds like u need to get outta there lol. Meet me here?

You like the message and slip on some shoes, making sure to slam your bedroom door closed on your way out, as if it would make them pause even one thrust.

In the year that you’ve known him, Grayson Dolan has become one of your closest friends. The kind where you met as acquaintances, never talked much, but then you reconnected randomly and the conversation never stopped from there on. You talk about anything and everything, but recently you’ve bonded even more about being a perpetual third wheel. You knew he’d understand and not pass judgement on you in times like this, so it had been a no-brainer to text him as an escape from tonight.

He buzzes you into the gate when you get to his house, and he tells you over another text to go ahead and hop in the Porsche before he even gets outside. It makes you smile; night drives are your favorite, and while the Tesla is a vibe in its own right, there’s just something calming about someone (your attractive friend, no less) tangibly driving you around. It’s exactly what you need right now, no matter what destination he has in mind.

When he slides into the driver’s side not even a minute later, you’re almost overwhelmed by him. Looking far too good in your eyes for how casual he’s dressed in a well-fitting T-shirt and some grey sweats. Hair slightly damp from a recent shower.

He greets you with a grin and leans over the console to kiss your cheek, and you can smell the combination of his shampoo and a bit of cologne. You always appreciated that he doesn’t overdo the fragrance, and if possible it makes him even more intoxicating at times.

“Hey,” he says simply, sitting back in his seat and fastening the seatbelt.

“Hey.” You smile and watch him with a silent but fairly obvious appreciation as he reaches a hand to rest on the back of your seat, twisting the bit he needs to look out the back windshield. The Porsche has a backup camera, obviously, but he’s a cautious driver to a fault and insists he doesn’t fully trust them.

Grayson gets the car facing enough of the right direction to throw it in drive and exit down the long driveway. You shake your head and settle back, kicking off your shoes with a sigh and tucking your feet onto the seat beneath you.

“One day, we’ll be the ones making them leave the house,” he jokes, stopping for the gate to open.

You know it’s implied that he’s referring to the two of you with separate people, but you can’t help but consider the option that the two of you could make that happen together.

“I know for a fact you have a booty call list a mile long, Dolan,” you say with a raised brow. Despite the fleeting thought, keeping things lighthearted and platonic is much easier to deal with in reality. “You could have called one of them and done just that.”

He scoffs and pretends like you’ve just hurt him deeply, slapping a hand to his burly chest to clutch at his heart. “Excuse me, it is not a mile long.” He glances over at you with a held-back smirk. “A couple hundred yards, tops.”

You throw your head back with a loud cackle, looking out the window now as he turns onto the main road. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Damn, that’s a big word.” He likes to tease you about your extended vocabulary.

“Hopeless,” you elaborate, crossing your arms and rolling your eyes.

“Is that what that word means, or are you making fun of my high school dropout vocab?”

“Both.”

You let your head roll back against the headrest, turning to watch him, knees swayed to the side a bit. His form isn’t hidden in the dark at all, features lit up by the dash in front of him and the streetlights you’re passing by outside.

“Why didn’t you, then? Call one of them?”

Grayson shrugs. “Just didn’t really feel like spending time with people tonight.”

You’re silent for a moment and consider his answer. “Why did you agree to hang out, then? You didn’t have to.”

His eyes never leave the road, but you see the veins in his hand gripping the steering wheel bulge out for a moment as he squeezes it tightly.

“I guess I meant I didn’t want to spend time with people I don’t really care about.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you play it off with a sarcastic tone. “Aw, you care about me?”

“Of course I do,” he replies easily. “I’m not sure why, though. You’re so fuckin sassy sometimes.”

“You love it.”

The car rolls to a stop at a red light. Grayson’s hand slides from where it’s lightly gripping the gear shift, to yours, which is picking at a loose string on your leggings.

Your easy smile at the comfortable banter between you and Grayson falters some in surprise, but you let him turn your palm over and trace the lines of your hand softly. Both of your gazes are fixated on the way he tickles your skin when he says, “Yeah. I do.”

Your eyes shoot up, just in time to meet his. He looks at you with a weird mixture heat and vulnerability, and there’s a thick moment of silence, no longer than the single beat of your heart that you can hear thudding loud and clear in your ears, when suddenly the car behind you lays on the horn.

Both of you startle, and Grayson’s attention returns to the road ahead. He steps on the gas and takes his hand away, carding it through his hair roughly as you sink back into your seat with a disbelieving scoff.

“Oh my God, dude, you can’t just do that to me,” you blurt out, your heart in your stomach and your brain even lower. A helpless giggle escapes you, and you tug on your own locks. “Shit...”

“What?” he asks defensively, but you hear the tiny bit of the grin he’s wearing in his voice.

You turn your head to deadpan him, eyes wide. “You can’t just... imply something like that and give me sex eyes and not think you did something to me! Are you crazy?”

He gives a one-shouldered shrug with the arm resting on top of the steering wheel again. “Maybe. You’re proving my ‘sassy’ point all over again.”

“Oh my — don’t fuck with my head, Gray.”

“Hey.” His voice is deeper, more serious as the car comes to another stop. You’re only just now realizing you’ve reached the burger joint, and that the late hour made finding parking a nonexistent problem. He puts the car in park and unbuckles his seatbelt before doing the same to yours. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to fuck with your head, I promise. I just... didn’t want it to seem like I was coming on too strong too suddenly. I, uh, have a history of doing that.”

You stare at him, processing everything. “I know.”

He chuckles dryly. “Yeah, I know you do.”

There’s more silence. That heavy kind that happened right after his little impromptu confession.

“You know,” you finally speak up, finding your voice after mulling over your words, “I kinda love that you’re a douche.”

He looks a little taken aback, until understanding dawns on him, and his eyes light up in a way that has you smiling instantly with him. “Really?”

You nod. “Call me crazy.”

Grayson shifts closer in his seat, his pink tongue darting out to lick those plump lips. You mirror him, and this time you take the initiative to reach out for his hand. It’s warm and strong, just like the rest of him.

Like earlier, you watch your hands lightly caressing each other as you speak. “And I love that you come on strong. And that you put your heart out there.” You interlace your fingers, immediately in love with the contrast of his huge ones between your slim ones. “Makes things way easier for me.”

He grins wide. “There’s that sass again.”

You bite your lip through your smirk and tug him close to you with your clasped hands, your free one reaching behind his neck to drag his lips to yours. “Mm. Better shut me up, then.”

[periminkle]

blazes of deceit

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

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

+ pairing. jungkook x reader

+ genre. fluff, angst. tangled!au.

+ word count. 26.052

+ rating. 18+

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

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

You are positively ravenous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Our blood will remain on the throne.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“—down your hair!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What once was mine.”

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

This is it, it’s now or never.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Petal—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But your mother is nothing if not resolute.

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

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

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

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

“Of course, Mother.”

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

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

And then you’re alone once again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mother knows best, after all.

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

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

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

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

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

And then that moment ends.

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

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

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

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

He is nothing like that. Not at all.

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

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

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

No reaction.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Petal!”

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

“Let down your hair!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your grip on the handle of the pot tightens.

“Wha—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A scoff escapes your lips, unconvinced at his act.

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

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

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

“Got something in your eye?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then what’re we waiting for?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Looking for me, Princess?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whatever you say, Princess.”

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

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

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

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

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

Is Geum expecting someone?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t tell me to—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just a water for her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not hard to top a baby carrot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Geum is a wanted criminal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You two are standing at the edge of a cliff.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mother always knows best. Right?

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

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

“Geum.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You close your eyes, and then you sing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What once was mine.”

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

“Wha—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Born with magical hair?”

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

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

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

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

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

“My name isn’t actually Geum.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jungkook—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why the name Geum?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You spare him a weak smile and shake your head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds plausible, doesn’t it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Guards?”

He only grins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nation’s flower?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jungkook?”

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

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

This man will truly corrupt all your morals.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A tiger lily.

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

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

“Beautiful.”

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

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

“I have a surprise.”

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

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

“Kook, wait.”

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

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

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

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

“Ready?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A pleasure working with you boys.”

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

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

“Her tiny skull should have been rolling through these halls eighteen years ago.” The woman’s wretched tone fills your ears, words full of deadly poison.

You remain chained, kneeling against the ground with your head lowered. A numbing sensation lingers no matter how much you fidget in place, bearing down your limbs with the weight of your useless nerves that refuse to fire off.

Another, deeper, voice responds, “Tone it down. Her magic is powerful, the advantage we hold over the other kingdoms is colossal with this kind of sorcery on our side. If she falls, the whole empire will fall with her.”

Sorcery? Although you can count the number of people you met on one hand, you’ve studied heaps of books and drilled your mother with enough questions to know that your magic is unique and rare—a product of alchemy that occurs merely once every millennium.

“I see no point in keeping her around when we cannot access her magic at our will, she is as good as worthless to us. That halfwit of a sister was incapable of locking this churl in a tower for long enough, and look at her now, running around, wreaking havoc with a criminal.”

Your mind swirls with the sudden barrage of information, unsure as to why these two strangers hold deep insights into your life, as well as the knowledge about your unusual hair.

“There is nothing to worry about, Jimin is on the throne. We will simply send her away once again,” the gruff voice states, exasperation clear in his tone.

A deafening thud reverberates throughout the spacious room. Helpless to the dreadful fear swimming in your veins, your body shudders in response to the noise.

The woman shrieks, clearly at her wits’ end, “I want her dead! Guillotine, hang, drown, burn, I could care less. She poses a threat to Jimin’s throne with her existence, and we have gone through too much to have our plans foiled by this knave. We were merciful enough in having my imbecilic sister continue to meet with Jimin throughout the years.”

There’s a long, drawn-out sigh before the man answers, “Have some heart, darling, that is her son you speak of.”

“In the eyes of the people, he is my son and the King,” she seethes. Her enmity is strangely familiar, yet you fail to identify the woman through her voice. “Quit acting as if I am the only sinner here and remember how much we both sacrificed for our blood to inherit the King’s throne.”

“It is not your blood though, is it, dear wife?”

The tension within the room is thick, palpable in the dense air in the way that makes breathing difficult. “You must have enjoyed sleeping with my sister more than I believed. Do you want to call her back here? Play a good husband and wife for the counterfeit King?”

You couldn’t keep the tremours from breaking out over your body as your breaths quicken and an abundance of liquid races to your eyes. It was all beginning to come together, but you wait for the two to confirm your suspicions.

The man chuckles with hollow intent. “Do you fail to recall your own words, pleading with me to follow this foolish scheme of yours? I would have much rather preferred a foreigner rule the kingdom alongside our daughter.”

“Funny, that’s not what you said eighteen years ago.”

You let out a choked sob, unable to repress the sounds of anguish that tears at your skin to brutal shreds. Enraged rivulets stream down your cheeks, and you lift your torso to stare at your legitimate parents. They turn to you, the man distraught and the woman with pure disgust.

“How—” you stammer through your heavy wails, “how could you?”

“So the Princess found out.” Your biological mother raises from her royal seat, storming over the short distance to your trembling form. “Fine, we can strike an agreement.”

She reaches behind your head to grab a handful of your hair, yanking your head up to peer up at the exquisitely decorated ceiling. When you yelp in pain, she crouches down to your level, baring her pearly white teeth as she threatens, “Leave. Be a good little girl and go hole yourself back up in that tower. Don’t worry, Mommy will come get you if we ever need that magic of yours, hm?”

You desperately wriggle around to loosen her hold, but she only grips your strands tighter, pulling downwards to introduce more pain to your scalp. “That thief will stay right here to ensure you keep up your end of the deal, alright?”

At the mention of Jungkook, your heart stutters and your expression morphs to that of despair, momentarily forgetting about the strain to the sensitive skin of your head. “Where is he?”

She smirks and snaps her fingers. The door to the throne room is pulled open with a loud clack, and Jungkook’s weak, bloody form stumbles through the grand entrance, hanging upright with the help of two sturdy guards.

“Kook,” you achingly howl.

“Mopping all his blood off the floor would be terribly tiresome for the maids.” She jerks your head down to bear witness to the sneer stretching across her lips. “It’s all up to you, really.”

“Let me heal him!” you agonize, sobs ripping through your chest, burning through every tissue to the outermost layer of your skin. “Pl-please, please let me heal him. I’ll leave, I won’t say a word, I’ll do anything you want—I’m b-begging you, please.”

The wicked smirk playing on her lips grows wider at your pleading. She shoves your head away, the momentum of the push throwing your whole torso over to the side, bringing about a harsh meeting with the floor. With Jungkook occupying every crevice of your mind, there’s no space to register the pain pulsing through your groggy body.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

You scramble to your hands and knees, disregarding the scrapes and bruises littering your limbs. Despite your tunnel vision directed towards reaching Jungkook, your movements are sluggish from the extended period of time spent kneeling in one position.

The guards supporting him release their hold on his arms, and you scramble to catch his limp frame in your arms, but your depleted muscles can only manage to soften his fall with your body. You detangle yourself from him and hurriedly begin wrapping your hair around his torso.

Your jaw trembles at his damp locks, sodden with sweat and stuck to the side of his head dripping in crimson. The vicious colour oozes out of the deep gashes you locate across his back, peeking through the tears in his shirt and stains the bloody spit drooling from the corners of his cracked lips. Great purple welts fill the rest of his exposed skin, completing the heart-wrenching picture before you.

You pick up the weak croak of your name, and you hiccup from your fierce laments at his red-rimmed eyes. “Guess I was right all along, Princess.”

Your mother’s cruel words follow the nasty glower she shoots his way. “Shut up or we’ll end your pitiful life now, you filthy criminal.”

“Jungkook, I’m here,” you reassure him, beginning to wrap your excess strands around his arms before he stops you with a stained hand. “Jungkook let me—”

“Stop,” he mutters, gripping his side in pain.  

“No! I can’t—I can’t let you die.” You grit your teeth, disobeying his words and going to wrap your tresses around his broken body once more.

“If you go back there,” he coughs, an alarming amount of blood spurting out, “then you’ll—”

“It’s fine, everything will be alright, okay?” You press your palm over his hand and the icy bite that greets you hardens your resolve. “We’ll figure it out.”

You take a deep breath, readying yourself to sing the incantation engraved into the back of your mind when Jungkook’s fingers graze your cheek. You unconsciously lean into his touch, examining every crimson stain marring his delicate features.

His doe eyes soften at your orbs roaming his face and when your gaze settles on his thin lips, he snatches the chance to land a peck against your mouth. The fleeting kiss fills you with greed, and your eyes flutter shut despite your rationale as you dip towards him for another.

You halt, gasping at the gut-wrenching sound of your tresses being severed from the base of your neck, the noise snapping you back to reality. Your eyes widen at Jungkook’s relieved countenance as his torso reclines to the ground, the sharp dagger in his hand rattling onto the tiles beside him. When you reach back to assess the damage, your hand grips onto the short strands that reach no further than your shoulder.

You glance back at the heaps of dead, brown hair sprawled across the palace floor and your mind wipes clean of any coherent thought. Instead, your chest caves in on itself, breathing made impossible because of your collapsed airways and you choke out, “Jungkook, what did you—”

“What an absolute halfwit, does he think he did anyone a favour with that little stunt of his? Without your hair, we have no need for either of you.” Your biological mother laughs, the notes turning ominously maniacal towards the end. “Kill them.”

Guards immediately surround you two, and in a weak attempt to protect him from their pointed swords, you cradle Jungkook’s powerless form to your chest. You prepare yourself to bear the end of their piercing blades.

“What do you roaches think you’re doing?” she seethes, blazing orbs flashing with white-hot fury. “I said, kill them!”

The gigantic doors burst open again, but this time, a lean man strides forward. His blond strands are neatly styled away from his forehead and the regal red robe hanging upon his shoulders elegantly sway after him. The soldiers part ways to make room for the intimidating man and one of his retainers at the door announces, “The King is here!”

You struggle to even out your frantic breaths, thankful for the distraction that grants you a break to rack your brain for a method to escape the dreadful situation you two have found yourselves in. Debating whether you should fight back, sneak away or plead for forgiveness, your eyes dart wildly around the room. A woman donned in a black cloak lingers slightly behind the King, gazing at you with a murderous glare that sends pin needles into the thin lining of your stomach.

“That’s enough,” the King states.

“Jimin.” The former Queen races up to him but is stopped by the retainers that encircle the King.  “What business do you have here? There are more important matters for you to attend to.” Her eyes narrow at the sight of the woman behind him.

“No, I think this has gone on long enough.” He sweeps his gaze over to the two of you, Jungkook barely clinging onto life, nestled within your protective embrace. The woman latches onto his bicep, her head vigorously shaking back and forth, yet you’re uncertain whether her disagreement will relieve your anguish or worsen it.

Despite her insistence, his head nods in your direction and the woman that raised you begrudgingly marches up to you, barely acknowledging your presence in favour of pressing her palms against Jungkook’s open lacerations. He winces at the pressure and just as you’re about to tell her off, you discern the thick gauze that rests between her hand and Jungkook’s side, the sterile white shade expeditiously being replaced by a bloody crimson.

“What are you talking about, dear?” the former Queen asks, a hard edge to her tone. “These two are hedge-born lowlives, simply not worth your time.”

He crinkles his nose in disgust, flicking his hand towards the former King and Queen. “Lock them up in the dungeons.”

Both their eyes widen comically, jaws dropping to the floor. However, you can’t find joy within their despair when Jungkook’s survival is still up in the air.

The woman sputters, recklessly thrashing her body to escape the soldiers’ grip. The man simply lowers his head, seemingly having accepted his fate as he follows the guards without another word.

“Did you forget who put you in that throne, Park Jimin?” the woman screeches, the blood vessels lining her neck about to implode. “How dare you disrespect your pare—”

“How could I ever forget your treacherous actions?” he spits out, disgust lacing his voice, “How could I ever forget how many lives you’ve ruined, dear aunt.”

“We did it all for you!”

“You did it for yourselves,” he hisses. Relief trickles through the tips of your fingers, spreading across your body like wildfire from the King’s aid. “Get them out of my sight.”

“You worthless—” Her shrieks echo throughout the halls, though you’ve long lost focus in their conversation after watching the two wretched souls being punished and put in their rightful place.

Your aunt passes some thick bandages from inside the bell sleeve of her cloak. You gratefully accept the offering, pressing it against his lower back—wishing that it’s not too late, that Jungkook has not lost too much blood yet. The passive stare that your aunt fixes you with crams your head with doubt and you begin to panic, bringing one of your hands up to cradle his face.

Although you’re convinced that you wailed through an entire year’s worth of sobs, the tears sliding down your face refuse to stop, dripping down and landing onto the dirtied skin of Jungkook’s cheek. You press your forehead against his, hoping against hope that some magic remains within your body, that the tiniest bit will reveal itself like a bag trick and heal his wounds.

But your magical hair was extraordinary enough, and this is no fairytale.

“Get those two to the physician’s,” the King orders.

Guards scramble to action, ripping you apart from Jungkook as you unsuccessfully attempt to resist being separated again. You’re absolutely spent from the tiring events of the past couple of days and your weary legs give out as the soldiers lift your drained form into a standing position.

Jungkook is moved onto a sturdy sheet, then carried away past the double doors and out of sight. Your flimsy arms wrap around the shoulders of two guards as they assist you in following Jungkook to the physician, passing the King on your way.

His plush lips stretch into a sympathetic, tight-lipped smile, but the adrenaline from earlier wears off and the sting of your own wounds drains you of your manners, uncaring that you’re facing the King. Thankfully, he dismisses your discourtesy instead of beheading you, and you’re hauled away from the gracious man.

On the way, you’re close enough to overhear what he mutters under his breath. A garbled scream rips through your throat in protest, and you shoot the King the deadliest glare you can muster. He releases a deep sigh at your childish antics, waving as you turn the corner.

“Poor guy doesn’t look like he’s going to make it.”

You spend the next few, rather tedious, days in a luxurious bed, being fretted over by everyone from the maids to the chefs. It was difficult to indulge in the extravagance that the castle had to offer when you were anxiously awaiting news regarding Jungkook, which they refused to disclose until your own condition improved.

After all the pampering, you were permitted access past the confines of the expansive room you were forced to recover in. Your injuries were minor in comparison to Jungkook, thus you were granted freedom much earlier than him.

Not like he was capable of stepping outside of his room anyway.

Although his body is repairing his torn flesh incrementally, he shows no signs of consciousness—not the twitch of a finger, the flutter of an eyelash, nothing. Doubt claws a bit higher up your torso each day, waiting for the moment that the disquiet slithers up your esophagus and suffocates you.

Despite the crushing news of his coma-like state, you work diligently to ensure that neither you nor Jungkook becomes a burden to the castle by picking up various duties. Jimin continuously waves off your attempts to help, but you’re restless and desperate for a distraction from wondering about Jungkook’s condition all the time.

Jimin banned you from performing some of the maid’s tasks once, then sorely regretted it when he had to tend to your nervous breakdown in the afternoon. Since then he has kept his comments on your excessive working habits to himself.

Today you’re in Jungkook’s room, dusting off the spotless shelves that house the many herbs being grounded into powders and rubbed as a salve onto his injuries daily. You organize the rolled bandages for the second time in the past hour and mop every inch of the floor.

You can’t devote yourself to lingering by the unconscious man’s side for too long, otherwise your mind gradually begins to spiral into every possible worst-case scenario and you simply can’t handle the reality of a future without him. It sounds overly dramatic—many of the maids you have grown close to over the months claimed as much when you brought up your journey together.

But they didn’t hear his melodic laughter that followed his teasing smirks when he said something flirtatious, effectively making your heart skip a beat. They didn’t feel his hand always reaching out to make contact with you in some way, craving your touch to ground him to reality. They didn’t see his eyes softening when he gazed at you as though you were holding his entire world in your eyes.

They didn’t know Jungkook the way you did.

You strain the mop of its excess dirtied water before stowing the tool away in the storage room. When you return, a draft filters in through the open window and you race over to close it, worried that Jungkook may catch a bothersome cold that will delay his healing process.

You take a seat on the lavish mattress adjacent from his thighs as you stare out the window in front of you. The air remains stale in spite of the fresh breeze that blew into the room seconds prior, and the dull atmosphere persists due to the lifeless man inhabiting its space.

You’re uncertain how many more times you can handle walking into this room with his weak body lying motionless on these pristine sheets, but you will endure it all without complaint for him. A knock at the door catches your attention, and you twist around to meet Jimin’s friendly beam. “How is he?”

“Same as he always is,” you state, allowing yourself to take in Jungkook’s sunken cheeks and pale face. “Unresponsive.”

“You wanna join me in the gardens for some fresh air?” At your unsure raise of a brow, he convinces you with, “You’ve been cooped up in the castle the whole day.”

The both of you head out to view the lush scenery outside, seated amongst the blooming tulips, although your eyes are drawn to the lilies that border the lilac cosmos. You trace the familiar shape of the orange flower with your pupils, reminiscing on the doodles decorating your room’s walls back at the tower. That seems like forever ago now.

Other than his lack of consciousness, Jungkook’s condition remains relatively stable and yet you still find it burdensome to stray too far from his side. The staff is under orders to instantly notify you should he arise while you’re away, but that doesn’t ease the disquiet that rouses whenever you leave the castle walls.

You’re convinced that the second you wander off, he will wake up without you there; a thought too unbearable to consider. You crave to lose yourself within his molten ember orbs once more, exploring the undiscovered galaxies in his gaze.

“These past few months must seem unfathomable,” he starts, pressing his lips together to ponder over his next words before continuing. “I don’t know how my mom treated you in the tower but, knowing her, I’m guessing it wasn’t too great.”

His casual mention of the affectionate term you pleaded to call your mother for ages—the topic she despised almost as much as you begging to venture outside the tower—stung the slightest bit. From her actions, it was evident that she never cared for you as much as her own, biological son, but it was difficult to dismiss the joyful memories you shared with her, no matter how few and far between they were.

“She started visiting me a few years back, explaining all their horrendous crimes and insisting that she was the only one I could trust. She told me about you, too. Your mother ordered her to lock you away in that tower and ensure that nobody ever found out the truth in exchange for my seat on the throne. ”

Your head lowers at the information, brows furrowing as you contemplate your true relationship with the woman that raised you from birth.

“When my mom caught word of you travelling with the thief, she returned the crown in hopes that Jungkook would run for the hills, and you would be left to come back with her. Her goal was to overtake the kingdom from your mother.” His eyes gloss over with a distant sheen and you sympathize with him; the boy was used as a tool, just like you.

“It’s reassuring in a way.” His strange admittance prompts you to glance up at him, confusion swirling within your orbs. “At least we’re both suffering from our family’s despicable actions.”

Our family.

His optimistic viewpoint hits you like a wave crashing against the shore, sharing his vast fortitude and washing away a fraction of the sombre agony tormenting your heart. Although Jimin’s life was no doubt disparate from your own, you two are connected through the blood running through your veins. Even if those same bonds brought you to a tragic meeting with your own wicked parents, at least you could rely on one person within your family.

The edges of your lips curl into a tiny smile aimed at the blond man across from you, your own short, chestnut coloured hair providing a stark contrast. “I’m glad I can rely on you, Jimin.”

He readjusts his weight on the green, iron chair and leans forward to rest his elbows on the metal table between the two of you. “I think this is the first time you’ve called me by my name without me having to remind you.”

You quietly giggle at the memories flooding your mind, from the hostile attitude you first approached him with, then the days he comforted you over Jungkook’s motionless form, to Jimin demanding that you call him by his first name. You consider yourself extremely lucky to have someone as gracious and compassionate as Jimin to be your half-brother.

“I know we’ve already gone over this,” he starts with a serious edge to his tone, “but this is your last chance.”

You rip your gaze away from the plants to lay a couple of light pats to his hand. Despite the lack of context, the topic is familiar to you, as he has gone over this with you many times. “No, I don’t want the throne. You trained for this position your whole life, so I’m entrusting the kingdom to your capable hands. All I ask is for you to fulfill my request.”

Jimin releases a heavy sigh. “If you really want him free of all his crimes, there’s no way you two can live within the capital.”

“That’s fine with me.” You shrug your shoulders, unconcerned about the prospect of having to leave the busy city. “I don’t think I could live somewhere like this anyway.”

You don’t expand on your reasoning, and he doesn’t question you further, simply sparing you a solemn, understanding gaze. Supposedly, you aren’t supposed to pick favourites within your family, but Jimin is definitely golden in your eyes.

“Deeply sorry to intrude, Your Royal Majesty, but your betrothed is at the door and wishes to meet with you.” A guard inches his way towards your table with his head bowed, hands respectfully gathered behind his back.

Jimin looks to you with an apology on his tongue, but you wave him off before any explanations can spill from his plump lips. “Go get your girl.”

A bright smile enlightens his features as he springs up from his seat, dusting off his uniform before bounding after the guard. When he quirks his head back, you demonstrate your encouragement through a thumbs-up that you wave from side to side until he is satisfied, facing forward with a gleeful snicker.

You inhale the outdoor air, about to head inside yourself to rearrange Jungkook’s bandages again when your eyes wander back to the tiger lilies that caught your eye earlier. Within a few strides, you reach the vibrant buds, stretching your hand out to pluck a few stems. The sweet smell invades your senses.

With a tiny bouquet in hand, you make your way back inside, the metaphorical load on your shoulders a bit lighter than it was before. You expertly maneuver your way through the halls towards Jungkook’s room with the dwindling hope that today will be the day that his honey orbs reflect the sun’s light filtering in the window, filled with the mischief and tenderness that you remember.

When you’re met with his unmoving form instead, another sliver of that faith shatters into tiny shards.

You shake it off and head back to the windowsill, where an empty flower vase rests. The lilies within your grasp are carefully inserted inside and you place the bouquet back onto the tiny platform. Their floral scent wafts throughout the space as you take your place beside his legs.

As part of your usual routine, you use this time to relax. Just for a moment, you give yourself the room to breathe, giving your brain free rein to feel the emotions raging within you and fantasize about your future with Jungkook. You imagine yourself in a tiny cottage, craving a quaint place to live after the immense tower you were raised in.

The two of you would settle down there, adopting a pet to keep you company before you inevitably brought a few children into the world. Their genders didn’t matter, as long as you could raise them with Jungkook, forming a tight-knit family that shared all the love the both of you lacked growing up.

A warm hand wraps around your wrist. Your head snaps to follow the direction of his arm, curving into his broad shoulders, and past his sharp jaw with your heart in your throat. Tears gather at your waterline, spilling over onto your cheeks as you hiccup from the sudden sobs that overtake your body.

The doe eyes that stare back at you carry your whole world in their weight.

+ epilogue.

Tiny footsteps scuttle around the wooden floors, screaming in delight from being chased by a much larger, yet still very childlike, man. “Betchya can’t catch me, daddy!”

Your husband playfully roars at the taunt, speeding up his strides to snatch the little girl up into his arms. She shrieks at the hand that comes up to tickle her little torso.

“Okay, okay, enough playing you two,” you command, calming the baby boy in your arms that becomes far too excited from the chaotic energy erupting within your cottage. “It’s dinnertime!”

“Dinnertime!” your oldest repeats, violently wriggling around in her father’s grip to force him in lowering her back to the ground so that she can run to her spot at the table. She looks from side to side, doe eyes flitting back to you with a pout on her lips. “But where’s Pascal, Mommy?”

You pass the baby to Jungkook, freeing your hands in order to bring the steaming hot food from the stove to the table. The beige chameleon fades back into his natural emerald colour once you grab him by his scaly torso, dropping him into your daughter’s awaiting hands.

Her squeaky voice chides, “You can’t hide from Mommy.”

A boisterous, yet melodic neigh notifies you of Max’s presence in your backyard, and you shamble past the wooden door to hand the carrots you prepared for him. He snorts in delight as he lowers his head to the floor and begins chomping away. At the sight of his dirtied mane, you take a mental note to give him a thorough wash and brush later on.

Before you head inside, you catch sight of a blond man making his way towards you. “Jimin!”

His eyes reduce to two crescents from the wide grin that occupies his face. He swapped out his imposing robe for a commoner’s shirt and slacks, and they strangely suit his lithe form better than his bulky uniform.

“And where’s our lovely Queen?” You tease, elbowing him when he reaches out to ruffle the top of your head.

“Taking care of things that I don’t want to do.” You two snicker, ecstatic to see one another, and you step aside to let him coddle your children. The slight breeze in the air gingerly kisses your face, rustling the leaves on the trees surrounding your tiny house, and you close your lids to relish in the tranquillity of nature.

A pair of familiar arms curl around the shape of your waist and a smile creeps onto your lips as you open your eyes to examine Jungkook’s face, inches away from your own. He brushes your brown strands over your shoulder, leaning in for a quick peck as a loud chorus of disgust is vocalized behind you.

Both of you break out into giggles at your daughter’s behaviour and turn to face your family waiting for you inside. With your hand tangled with his, you walk to a brighter future together.

[ccatskies]

sciflash | chemistry class

rasa’s request

★━━━━━━━━

"Chemistry is the study of matter and energy and the interactions between them. This is also the definition for physics, by the way. Chemistry and physics are specializations of physical science."

There goes that voice. Flash resisted the urge to let a groan slip out and annoy the teacher who had just commenced the said class. He knew Chemistry, but today was awfully boring. No matter how much he despised a few subjects, it just wasn't his thing to barge in like a despicable roach and get on a teacher's nerves.

That would be his complimentary rascal of friend's field of expertise.

His eyes darted towards one of the tables in the third row, snorting as he suppressed a laugh. There's the adorable rascal.

Dash was, as usual, being a brat about things and getting her hand slapped from time to time by Shimmer, who had mentally declared that life was quite meaningless at this point, especially if you had to deal with Rainbow touching random potions for entertainment to bust everyone's asses six feet into the sky and out of the Chemistry Lab.

"Chemistry tends to focus on the properties of substances and the interactions between different types of matter, particularly reactions that involve electrons - ah, wait a second." Mr. Cranky interpolated, holding up a finger prior to walking off to the teacher who had been waiting for him at the door to deliver a message on the urgent change of routines.

Sentry suppressed a yawn, shyly glancing at his partner from the corner of his eye. In an instant, blood rushed up to his cheeks, coating it with adorable pink tints scattered across them like a pretty bunch of full bloomed roses. He brought his hands closer to his chest and leaned back on the chair, while the latter stood straight, fiddling with the bottle of a potion and going through her notes once again.

Sparkle's hair was in a messy bun, tied up with a rubber band while a big gold star laid on top of it. Few strands of her indigo hair gave her side profile astounding visuals for him just stare at. Her rosy cheeks had a special warmth, radiating a glow over her honey bronze skin. Her white laboratory coat only added onto her daunting look, as she maneuvered her finger tip through the pages of the Chemistry book.

She looked to the side once again, her alluring side profile snatching his view once again.

Fuck, he mused, one hand flying up to his face, as he cupped his right cheek to feel the warmth that generated from the abrupt blood rush.

Sure, it wasn't his first time looking at her, and definitely not the last.

More importantly, he wasn't sure how she did that to him like it was simply nothing, whereas it took him ages to have her blush in front of him. Of course, he knew she might've been hiding those blushes which burst out like balloons only when he took special measures but when it came down to him, she didn't need to even life a finger.

"Hey."

She was honestly so breathtaking - did no one tell her that?

"Huh, Flash?"

Breathtaking was an understatement too, he figured. She was just drop dead gorgeous, as if she was a beauty hailing from the heavens above - and Flash definitely didn't exaggerate that. He's seen Shimmer casually flirt with her, while Sparkle would laugh and playfully slap her shoulder.

Sunset's teeny tiny crush on the adorable bookworm justified the class Twi fell under. She's dated Timber, prior to ending the relationship on a good note. And all they had to say about his best friend was that she was so worth it.

"Flash!"

He broke out of the trance, blinking twice as he found his stinging eyes water, before squeezing them shut, a small drop traveling down his lashes, "h-huh. . .?"

"Your eyes!" Sparkle gasped, drawing herself closer to the teen boy, resting one of her warm hands on the surface of the table and the other on his left shoulder. She subconsciously brought herself to examine those pretty cornflowers, bearings her face towards his. Her breath fanned over the tip of his red nose, as she tilted her head, worry evident in her tone, "do they sting?"

"Wha-" he opened his eyes at the sound of her honey voice, a little taken aback as he registered the proximity, "ohh, fuuck."

She only made it worse for him, furrowing her brows at his words, as she dragged her lower lip under the edge of her teeth, "what? Does it sting too bad? You're tearing up, so - "

"N-not that!" He sputtered, biting his lip as soon as he stared up at her violet globes, "umm, I. . ."

"You what?"

"Your eyes." He immediately blurted, his cheeks betraying him once again, as he gazed into the most beautiful pair of eyes ever, astounded by the way they carried themselves. He swore that he could see the entire galaxy and at least a thousand constellations imprinted on those small captivating sultry orbs, reflecting back on his like the sun's rays.

She suppressed a giggle, breaking into a small smile, before she brought up her index up to his visage, cutely booping his nose, "my eyes? Ooh, are you flirting with me?"

His cheeks flushed into the shade of red - almost as red as the color of a scarlet Dahlia. Damn it, Century! Not now!

"Uh, no?"

Twilight snickered, not taking his response seriously, "is this the time to make jokes? I thought that's our thing only when classes are off."

"Wow," he scoffed, warm air purging through his nose, as he tilted his head to the side opposite to hers, "I'm mad that you don't take hints."

She raised a brow in amusement, letting a lighthearted laugh break through her system, "hint? What hint?"

"That I'm genuinely trying to compliment you for a reason."

She leaned back and flopped down onto the sit next to him, propping an elbow on the armrest as she cupped her cheek, "oh really?"

"You're pretty, am I not allowed to say that?" Flash rolled his eyes, groaning in exasperation, "fuck that, you're beautiful."

That had her blush. No matter how experienced she was at hiding those, she could not get do so for long.

Twilight smiled and bit her lip, vanquishing her urge to press him further but rather have him blurt out things (so that she could put them to use the next time she felt like embarrassing him). He had immediately caught onto the look on her face, growing a little shy at the indication.

"Why are you giving me that look?" Sentry huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, "am I not allowed to call my best friend pretty?"

"U-uh. . ." she laughed a little nervously, her thin silver glasses sliding down a little down the bridge of her nose, as she concealed her cheeks from his view with her hands over them, "noooo."

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, curving into an attractive grin as he reached out his arm to pull down her hands from her face, leaning in closer to catch a sight of her turn to be red, "awww, did I finally get you?"

She caught both of his wrists as they neared her, looking down on her lap, as she felt the burning sensation course through her. The boy only smiled, his insanely attractive dimples glowing from the corners of his wide smile, as he trailed his bigger hands down, smoothly intertwining his fingers with that of the Teacher's Pet.

She looked up at him holding back a few giggles, as she snorted, her honey cheeks tinted pink like cotton candy, "are you playing with me, Flash Century?"

His smile instantly dropped as he scoffed in disbelief, "did you really just say that, Twinkle Sprinkle?"

"Twinkle Sprinkle?" Twi's jaw hung low, as she maintained her posture, still having her fingers locked with his tan ones. Her face was a mess right now, red with embarrassment as well as flattery, showcasing the cute freckles splattered across the area surrounding her nose. "Oof, you're gonna get it. That's the childish nickname you gave years back. I thought we settled that you won't use it anymore!"

"I - " he laughs silently, as she frees her hands from him, standing back up and maneuvering her hands through several potions, desperately wanting to free herself from the situation.

Flash stood right next to her, his seraphic smile as heartwarming as ever, as he whispered next to her ear, warm breath hitting her skin like a steam and making her freeze on the spot, "cute little Twinkle Sprinkle."

She turned to face him, but was rather met with his chest - curse her shortness. She blushed profusely once again, prior to staring up at him, as she scoffed, "you're certainly hitting on me."

He moistened his lower lip, the same warmth radiating from his presence, as one hand slipped down to her waist, "of course, you pretty little thing."

"You are pretty," she immediately snapped back nonchalantly, her face as straight forward and genuine as ever.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The boy bit his lip, the shyness slipping out again. It took him a while to get her flustered but how the hell did she do it within a second?

Was this the Sparkle effect?

That made him feel magical and helpless? That made his heart beat like the thunderous sound of drums?

"You're staring again, Flash," Twi coughed, masking her flustered front, and replacing it with a terrible poker face.

"I again do that for hours actually." He removed his hand from her waist, dragging his lower lip under his teeth, as he shyly looked down on the table.

"Wow," She playfully punched his chest, letting out a laugh which rang through his ears like a serene and paradisiacal euphony, "you're. . . unbelievable, Sentry."

She pursed her lips into a thin line, prior to gazing at his features with a goofy grin, "unbelievably gorgeous, that is."

"Stop," he bit his lip, letting out a sigh in disbelief, "how can you just do that?"

"Do what?"

"Fluster me easily."

"I do that?"

"Yes."

She scrunched up her nose, smiling adorably, "well, then. Guess I found my new hobby!"

"What? No."

"Definitely."

"You're not - "

"You're the cutest."

"I - "

"Softest - "

"A little marshmallow. That's what I think of when I look at you. A sweet and cute little marshmallow." She snickered, "I can poke and kiss your squishy cheeks all day - "

"H-huh?" He had the cutest face on - with utter disbelief was etched on his features, while the pink blush never seemed to go away. If Flash could recall all of his shit talk with the tiny bookworm, he would swore that she never played the flirty card. It was either getting flustered or masking it.

Did he hear that right? From Twilight?

Twilight stepped back, a triumphant smile playing on her lips. She held back a boisterous laugh from breaking out and destroying her system as soon as she spotted her so-called friend's lips quiver, with the biggest flustered look on his face, screaming what just happened?

"Guess I won this time, Habibi."

━━━━━━━━━★

[nokomiss]

U and the whole BatFam. Thanx!

The battle finished, Bruce led the way to the plane.  They’d all arrived separately -- with the Justice League, Titans, Young Justice, and others -- but without a word they all knew they were leaving together.  Cass trailed along after Bruce, muscles still thrumming from exertion.  

She settled in next to Steph on the plane, Tim on her other side.  Steph was practically buzzing with excitement; she’d fought well and she knew it. Cass pulled off her mask and high fived her.  Tim leaned his head back and relaxed, the tension that had been radiating off him throughout the battle -- worry for everyone’s safety, concern about leading his friends, fretting about the ankle he’d twinged early in the fight -- melting away as the jet took off. 

They were safe -- the threat was gone, the earth safe from destruction, and they were together. One of Cass’s favorite things was seeing how much softer everyone looked when they were together. Sometimes wary, sometimes-- prickly, filled with ragged emotions -- but always safe. 

Damian was beside Dick across from them, pulling away as Dick checked him for injuries, loudly narrating his actions to the rest of the plane. That was for Bruce’s benefit -- Cass knew how much they worried for Damian.  

“Just bruises and scrapes,” Dick proclaimed proudly, digging into a med kit for bandages to put on the aforementioned scrapes, cheerfully offering Damian the choice between Superman or Wonder Woman bandaids. 

Damian scowled, refusing to choose, so Cass chose for him, reaching into a pouch on her utility belt and handing Dick two Batgirl bandaids.  Steph had stocked it for her, and it had made Babs smile when she saw Cass decorate her scraped knees and busted knuckles with them.  

Jason laughed and snagged the Wonder Woman bandaid to stick on a cut over his eyebrow, using his phone’s selfie mode to apply the bandaid properly. Duke leaned into the frame for a pic, and Steph, unable to resist, threw her arms over both their shoulders, flashing a peace sign as Jason took another pic.  No one wore masks; Bruce would call it a security risk, but Cass knew that Babs kept a special folder full of images of them all being silly in costume.  Good memories, to counteract the bad.

Damian accepted the Batgirl bandages with minimal grumbling, and Cass patted his head lightly. 

“Good fight,” she said, and watched him light up.  

Damian flourished under praise, especially from those he knew could better him -- he’d once told her he’d grown up hearing about her, sometimes even being compared to her.  The thought settled oddly within her -- pride in her abilities, that everything she’d gone through had been respected by those who had inflicted it upon her, warring with the knowledge that it hadn’t been worth it, that she deserved more, that Damian had deserved more.

The exhausted silence in the jet was comfortable as everyone cataloged minor wounds. Tim was pulling off his boot to put a wrap around his ankle, Steph casually picking bits of gravel out of her elbow, where a hard hit had sent her sliding and had ripped through her costume.  Dick had stopped fussing over Damian long enough to notice that his leg was bleeding, and Jason -- having already bandaged his only visible wound -- was crouched beside him, squirting antiseptic into the wound with no small amount of glee as Dick winced.  

Damian, noticing this, immediately struck, giving Jason a sharp jab in the side intended to make him lose his balance, which he did, leaving him on his ass while Damian snickered.  Jason made a face at him, but Cass could tell that he was proud that Damian was acting like a real boy, as they tended to say.

Cass wondered if she acted like a real girl enough. 

Duke was rubbing his shoulder, and Cass went to him. “I’ll help?”

Duke nodded, and Cass lifted his arm, moved it, watching for both his reaction and the feel of the muscle and bone under her touch. It wasn’t a bad injury, likely a strain, and she pressed a few likely spots that would ease the pain until he could tend to it. Relief and gratitude radiated from him, and Cass smiled.  

Her own injuries were insignificant, a few twinges and pulls that reminded her that she was alive.  

She moved to the front of the plane, checking on Bruce -- piloting with seeming full attention, though she could see that his attention truly was on his family. It was rare that they were together without true tension.  She laid a hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m fine,” Bruce told her, his voice a soft, comforting rumble. He was telling the truth -- he was sore, and would favor his right side for a few days, but nothing was causing him true pain.  Cass squeezed his shoulder, pressed a kiss to the top of one of the bat ears of his cowl, which he still wore.  He couldn’t feel it, but the action made him smile, which brought a fizzly sort of happiness to her.  

Babs was in the copilot’s seat, feet propped up on the dash and a tablet clutched in her hands.  Cass could see that she was sorting through the information from the fight, trying to figure out how to stop a battle like that from happening again.  She was always thinking five steps ahead, Babs and Bruce were far more similar than either were willing to admit. Cass could read the lines of Babs’ shoulders and knew that she was fine but worried about something she’d discovered, but Cass thought that it could wait until after everyone had slept and eaten.

That was a lesson she’d learned early: there was always another battle looming in the future, and you had to take moments of peace where you could find them.

She returned back to her seat, dropping lightly beside Steph, who offered her half of the candy bar she was eating. Cass took it happily, especially when Tim protested that Steph hadn’t been willing to share with him.  Both their eyes held an undercurrent of teasing-happy-affection.

Steph shrugged, cheerfully unapologetic, while Cass smugly took an extra large bite.  Damian, never one to miss an opportunity to mess with Tim, held a hand out and asked Steph for some of her toothrot, please.

Steph broke off another piece and handed it to him, and Damian looked Tim straight in the eye as he shoved the whole thing in his mouth.  Jason cackled at Tim’s expression -- Cass loved seeing joy on him, it seemed to lift an invisible weight off his shoulders -- while Dick opened a compartment on the back of his seat and unearthed gummy worms, which he immediately shared with Tim.

“How long have these been in there?” Tim said doubtfully, though he took them anyway.

“I mean, does it matter?” Dick replied with the tone of someone who had no idea how old the candy actually was, taking a handful and tossing the bag to Jason, clearly had no intentions of sharing the rest with anyone.  Duke leaned over his shoulder and snagged a few, earning a swat from Jason and a small smile and shake of the head from Bruce when he tried to give him a gummy worm. Babs took it instead, saluting Dick with it before eating.

“Dibs on the aux!” Steph called out as the candy ran out, pulling out her phone and scrolling through her music.

“There is no aux,” Jason pointed out. “I’ve tried so many times to get Bruce to--”

He cut himself off abruptly as music began piping through the speakers cheerfully.  Steph stuck her tongue out at Jason and said, “You’re just cranky because I called dibs.”

“That is totally unfair. Bruce, tell her she can’t hijack the speakers with this garbage.”

“She didn’t, I did,” Babs called out from the front. 

Jason grumbled, while Cass giggled.  In the pilot’s seat, Bruce’s body language showed the rest of the family annoyance and exasperation, but she could see that it was carefully choreographed.  Really, he was happy -- happy to be surrounded by his family, relieved that they were unharmed, joyous to hear laughter and bickering.

Content.

Around her, her family continued to throw jabs and jokes at each other, giddy with being alive and well as the adrenaline wore off.  Cass ignored the words in favor of what they were actually saying with their bodies -- they were safe, they were happy, they were at home with each other.

She curled up in her seat, knees pressed gently into Steph’s side, letting the moment wash over her.  When they arrived in Gotham they would go their separate ways, but right now-- right now, things were perfect.

[lorddiiavolo]

-slides url across the table nervous-

i made the meme up.  you don’t tell me what you always wanted to say, i do.   send your url. 

if it isn’t one of the most familiar faces on the dash for me -- Abra, I can’t find the words with my half-toasted brain to tell you how happy and even a little surprised I am to have you pop up again. I feel like there was a brief disconnection but we BOUNCED BACK? I don’t say this to call out or anything asdfg but it is true, I would always just watch ur interactions on the dash but I’d have nothing IC to throw your way so I’d just appreciate u from a distance. that is my bad akjfash  bUT LISTEN seeing you come around again makes me relieved and happy and appreciative since you’ve??? been around my himbo son and I since the day he was made, it seems. you, as a person, and even your lovely Maggie have grown over the span of 10 months. THAT’S INSANE, TOO, IT’S GONNA BE A YEAR ALREADY FOR US.  I still remember the shenanigans we had in the one discord group a long time ago but I’m glad we got to transfer what interactions we had from there and continue to hang out now. EVEN IF IT GOT A LITTLE BUMPY, I always see you and not seeing you feels kind of odd?  but I have a good feeling for us - especially as we get more comfortable again kfjsha thank you for sticking around, even when things got sparse. I hope you don’t take that brief moment of silence personally, and you can at least somewhat understand what I mean when I say I am so happy to have you around again - close enough for interactions to happen and to be able to casually talk in IMs kasjfa you came around just at the right time. and it means so much to me, especially with the things 2020 hit me with lmao. you’re wonderful, passionate, and remarkable, Abra.  I hope u can tolerate my bullshittery more FKASJHA or better yet match me in bullshittery. starting with the shenanigans Maggie and Diavolo can get into rifp

[thebiasrekkers]

Make It Right [BTS Mafia!AU]

Plot: “It’s always darkest before the dawn…” It’s a dog-eat-dog world in Seoul, South Korea. One has to dwell in the shadows in order to reach for the light. What are you willing to sacrifice in order to feel the sunlight on your face? What will it take to drag you back into darkness? How long will the journey be to make it right?

Rating: NC-17 // NSFW

Genre: Series | Mafia!AU | Crime!AU | Angst | Romance/Fluff

Pairings: Jin x OC | Taehyung/Hoseok x OC | Yoongi/Jungkook x OC

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Heavy Language, Angst, Slow Burn, Smut

Previous Chapters: Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || Admin E’s WP || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 2,631

Chapter 29: I Need U

“All of the things you said are like a mask. It hides the truth and rips me apart.”

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

The doctor didn’t have to tell her that it was going to hurt. Eden knew full well what this shit was going to feel like. But that wasn’t to say she was any more prepared for it. Raelyn offered to give her something to bite on, or to inject her with some pain killers to help with the process. Eden wanted none of it. The last thing she wanted to be was numb for this. Every sting of discomfort would serve as an imprint across her entire body.

“Are you ready?” asked the doctor as he braced his palm on her shoulder, the other gripping firmly to her wrist.

Eden glared at the wall, a bead of sweat sliding from her temple to her chin. “…do it, Doc.”

She saw Raelyn out of the corner of her eye, standing just to the right of her bed. The doctor looked at the other nurses, receiving swift nods, before he yanked her arm straight up. There was a distinct crack as joints popped and he pushed hard onto her shoulder, another snap issuing soon after.

Her scream ripped through the entire hospital; positive that she just woke the dead.

Tears leaked out of her eyes, streaming down her cheeks. The tips of her fingers buzzed and itched with life, the circulation correcting itself in her arm. Nerves and muscles pulsed and cried; her arm feeling like gelatin. Her other hand went to clasp at her shoulder as the doctor urged her to cradle the limb in her lap. Nurses were already prepped to place her arm into a sling once she was wrapped and a splint was put into place.

She would have been more outraged had it been her right arm.

After making sure that she was okay, the doctor left a nurse with her, as well as Raelyn. Eden felt a cloth touching her brow – presumably the nurse since her friend was glowering down at her. She had to resist the urge to spit onto the ground, reminding herself that she was, in fact, in a hospital. The nurse murmured a few things to Raelyn before handing her the cloth.

Raelyn was less affectionate with tending to her needs.

Eden’s head made a full tilt as Raelyn pressed the cloth to her temple. Her lip curled upward in a half snarl, giving her a side-eye. “Your bedside manner fucking blows,” she said through clenched teeth, feeling her friend half cuff her with the cloth.

“You’re not the first person to say it and you won’t be the last.”

“I’ll be the last if you don’t stop poking my damn head!” Eden snatched the cloth from her with her good arm. “Gimme that!” She wiped the sweat off herself.

Raelyn folded her arms across her chest, scrutinizing her. “How in the hell did you get mixed up with those assholes?”

“Don’t ask me!” she snapped, glaring up at her, “They just fuckin’ followed me, alright? Not like I was startin’ shit!”

As she continued to dab at her nose and forehead, Eden saw her friend mulling over something in her own head. This was the second time they’d both encountered a member of the Jade Fangs while they were together. It was no surprise that they would be curious about Raelyn. She was Hoseok’s ex-girlfriend; the former Hyungsoo-nim. Word would have gotten out that she was seeing Taehyung now, a little lower on the totem pole, but still a prominent member of the Golden Jackals. Or rather, former Golden Jackals.

But it was clear they had their sights on Eden, not her friend. As far as she was concerned, she wasn’t a blip on their radar. It wasn’t like the Jade Fangs weren’t as prominent as the Golden Jackals. Anyone who traveled through Myeongdong or the Mapo District knew whose territory that belonged to. They’d set their sights on Gangnam until it was wrested from their grasp by the Jackals. People who brushed with the underground were aware of all of this.

So why me? Eden couldn’t help thinking, her eyes narrowing, why now?

Her phone buzzed on the table beside her bed and she saw it was a message from Jungkook, saying he was on his way. Eden sighed, casting a sidelong glance to Raelyn as she took a seat beside her. “Did you have to tell Jungkook what happened?”

“Yeah, I did,” she said, her tone matter of fact, “better it be your ass and not mine.”

“Wow,” came Eden’s bland response as she rolled her eyes, “you’re the best friend a girl could ever ask for.”

Raelyn flashed her a shit-eating grin and Eden had to resist the urge to pinch and pull the woman’s cheek. “I know, aren’t I the greatest?”

“I hate you.”

“I love you too,” she said, looking at the EKG monitor with a slightly critical eye, “forreal though? Your blood pressure is elevated. Take a few deep breaths for me?”

Obliging without a fuss, Eden took a deep breath and then exhaled. She did it three more times before her friend was satisfied. Suddenly, Raelyn’s phone rang with life and she answered.

“Oh, Taehyung-ah,” she said, rising from her seat, “…yeah, I’m still at the hospital. But how did you know I’m with Eden? …you’re lying.”

Eden quirked a brow as Raelyn turned to look at her.

“You’re all coming here right now?” She watched her face screw up into a look that she couldn’t quite place. “Look, I know you’re all worried but there’s no need for…wait, what?!”

This time it was Eden’s turn to frown.

“What the hell is going on?”

Raelyn held a finger up at her, signaling to give her a minute, before she turned and dashed out of the room suddenly. Eden stared at the door before scoffing, rolling her head and eyes in sync as she reached for her phone angrily.

“That woman, swear to fuckin’ God,” she muttered, swiping her thumb over her pin number to unlock her phone.

The distinct click of her phone unlocking brought up the apps on her phone. It echoed in time with the door unlatching, but she didn’t bother looking up – thinking it was Raelyn returning from her phone call.

“So, who’s coming to bother me and about what?” she asked, pulling up her work emails.

“You just can’t keep yourself out of trouble, can you?”

Her whole body froze, eyes still locked onto the phone screen. Eden tried to pretend that hearing his voice wouldn’t shake her to the core. Not anymore. But as she lifted her face to look at the door, she mentally cursed the EKG monitor taking note of her heartbeat increasing its tempo.

Yoongi stood in front of the door, dressed in a casual suit with his dark hair slicked back off his forehead. His face betrayed nothing. It never did. But it was his eyes that always gave him away. Eden saw the anger there, but she also knew that it wasn’t directed at her. Not this time. Her lips parted to say something but she found her mouth closing, not sure what she wanted to say.

Eden cleared her throat loudly, shrugging one shoulder before looking back down at her phone. “I can’t help that trouble likes to find me,” she said, her tone light, “it just can’t leave me alone. Like some clingy fuckin’ ex…”

A shadow loomed over her, but before she could shift away or even figure out what was happening, she felt Yoongi’s hand encircling her wrist as she gripped even tighter to her phone. His other hand rested at her hip on the bed while he pulled her hand up and out of her lap – forcing her to lift her head to face him; to lock eyes with him. She struggled against his hold, their faces just inches apart, and she could tell he was holding himself back while she also held back from headbutting him straight on.

“Goddammit, Eden,” he snapped, pulling her arm closer to him, “this isn’t a game!”

She grinned at him, feeling an angry vein pulsing around her neck. “I didn’t realize we were playing a game, Yoongi-ah.” Her tone was sickeningly sweet, her bicep growing taut as she tried to pull from his grasp. “Am I winning yet?”

“You talk about truth and lies,” Yoongi began, his voice shaking slightly as he tried to keep her arm in place, “and what good has the truth been for you, huh? Fucking look at you, Eden!”

“What about it?”

“I may have lied, but I don’t remember you ever getting hurt because of it!”

Eden felt her eyes narrow sharply. “…what’d you say?”

“I kept you away from this shit for a reason and now you see why.”

“You guys are supposed to be legit now,” she said while rolling her eyes, “so I don’t see what the problem is.”

He scoffed. “Don’t play stupid, Eden. We’re barely able to walk after having crawled on the ground. It wasn’t going to be that easy. It isn’t going to be that easy. You know how this shit works better than most people.”

Yoongi released her hand and she yanked it upward, causing her phone to fly from her grasp. It landed on the ground with a loud clatter but neither of them moved to retrieve it. All they could do was stare at each other, the anger dancing around their eyes and sparking between them. Her heart monitor was beeping like a time bomb, but she didn’t care. She wanted to take the chords pressed to her chest and wring his damn neck with them.

Because he was right, and she fucking hated him for it.

The door flew open just as Yoongi got off the bed, making his way to where her phone had been discarded. Raelyn’s eyes were wide as she saw Yoongi. Looking between him and Eden, she frowned and snapped her fingers at him.

“You must have been a goddamn ninja in your past life, Min Yoongi,” she said as he dropped the phone into Eden’s lap, “or I’m going even more fuckin’ blind these days.”

“It might be a little of both, Raelyn,” Yoongi replied casually, brushing past her and heading for the door. He paused, glancing over his shoulder to look at Eden, the sound of hurried footsteps echoing from the hall. “…I’m glad it wasn’t anything major, Eden.”

She sighed, averting her gaze from his as she crossed her legs on the bed. “…whatever, Yoongi-ah.”

Within seconds, she heard three sets of panting breaths and she looked up to see Jungkook, Jimin and Taehyung attempting to squeeze into the doorway at the same time. Yoongi was already gone and she bit her lower lip, her brows knitting together as Jungkook forced his way ahead of the others. Raelyn must have sensed that she didn’t want to be bombarded with twenty questions. The older woman wasted no time ushering out everyone except Jungkook from her room. Jimin and Taehyung protested, but with a quick intake of breath and smack to their heads, they relented and allowed themselves to be shoved out.

Jungkook was immediately at her side, sliding into the chair that Raelyn previously occupied. He grasped her hand in his, his eyes darting over her entire form before resting on her arm that was draped in the sling. He frowned, his other hand moving to sweep some of her hair from her forehead. Eden unconsciously leaned her cheek into his palm.

“Jesus, Noona,” he said, his voice shaking slightly, “are you sure you’re okay?”

She chuckled. “I’m fine,” she said with a shrug, “you should have seen the other guys.”

“...did you really hide razor blades in your hair?”

“Damn straight I did!”

“I’m not sure if I should be afraid or impressed right now.”

Despite her attempt at making the situation light-hearted, she could see the heavy weight falling on Jungkook’s shoulders. Like he’d just realized something and wasn’t willing to speak it out loud. Eden felt her smirk fall, reaching out to flick him on the forehead. He reared back, rubbing at the sore spot with one hand as he groaned in protest.

“H-Hey! What was that for?!”

“For trying to feel guilty about something that is out of your control,” she fired back, “it’s not anyone’s job to protect me around the clock and I can take care of my own damn self. So, don’t go trying to blame yourself for the shit that happened today.”

“Eden Noona…”

“I mean it.” Her eyes narrowed sharply at him. “Do it again and we’re done, got it?”

He didn’t look like he was satisfied with being given an ultimatum, but he had no real reason to go against her. It wasn’t like she was trying to be a bitch. She just didn’t want him worrying about unnecessary things. They were taking the necessary steps to do things the right way. And if what Minhyuk said was true, then the Jade Fangs were going to do everything in their power to drag them down from greatness.

Like fuckin’ crabs in a barrel, she thought bitterly.

Shifting over in the bed, she leaned over to one side of the bed to set her phone back down on the small nightstand. Eden patted the empty space beside her and Jungkook looked at her curiously. She gave him an annoyed expression, tucking some of her hair behind her ear.

“These hospital pillows suck ass.”

The look of realization spread over Jungkook’s features and he shook his head, moving from the chair to climb into the bed beside her. Motioning for her to sit up, she did so and waited for him to settle back onto the pillows. When she felt his hand touching her opposite shoulder did she fall back gently onto his arm, nestling into the crook of his shoulder. His cheek rested on top of her head and he held her other hand against his chest. She took comfort in the feel of his heartbeat, but there was something gnawing at the back of her mind. For once, she was thankful for Jungkook wanting to remain silent for a little while longer – leaving her to her thoughts.

Eden tried to keep the frown from forming at the corners of her mouth, but it was proving fruitless. Because she couldn’t stop thinking about what Yoongi said. Because he wasn’t wrong.

In the years she’d known him, nothing had actually ever happened to her. Because he’d kept her away from all of that. If she chose to walk in the dark, it was only for a short while; never prolonging her stay than what was necessary.

But what was more disturbing was that the boys were now walking in the light. Someone in the Jade Fangs didn’t like that. They didn’t like it at all. And now they were letting them all know that they weren’t just going to sit idly by and watch them bask in the sunshine, leaving them to rot in the shadows alone.

No, she thought, trying to chase away the morbidity of what that suggested, I’m just reading too much into this. Those guys are just a bunch of assholes.

Craning her neck to look up at Jungkook, she smiled when she saw him starting to drift off to sleep.

…they’re not so weak to fall for their stupid little games.

[complicatedandstained]

The Other Day at Hot Topic: Play with Fire

Roxas unconsciously draws the screen closer as Demyx’s finger taps at the volume.

At first there is only a quick, hypnotic synth beat, the screen filled with empty black as if someone has forgotten to take the lens off the camera. Roxas is reminded of a clouded, starless void of sky.

The music keeps its quick, insistent pace and a phantom voice takes command of it:

Insane, inside, the danger gets me high.

Shifting the phone and focusing on making shapes from shadows, Roxas gradually makes out Axel’s outline, accentuated by a pure white ribbed tank top, which offers the foggiest glimmer of color and movement.

Can't help myself. Got secrets I can't tell.

Facing away from the camera, he rises slowly from a crouch, and rolls his shoulders. Painstakingly slowly, he stretches one lean, muscled arm and then another.

I love the smell of gasoline.

Axel cocks his head as if he can smell it as he slides rings the size of dinner plates down an arm and into one bare hand.  

I light the match to taste the heat.

Roxas can hear a faint scratch and hiss as Axel somehow manages to instantly strike a match in the pitch dark. Roxas can see the glint of it over Axel’s shoulder before Axel puts the flame to the rings and they ignite, immediately eaten up by orange and yellow tongues of flame which illuminate intricately designed red and black metal and outline Axel’s skin against the night in shades of gold, twined with black tattoos like his shadow’s clinging to him, half stitched on like Peter Pan.

I've always liked to play with fire.

The music blares louder as Axel gives one ring a slow rotation in his left hand and one in his right and then picks up the pace, spinning them in sync. Axel turns to face the camera and in the strange orange light his euphoric grin seems unseemly. Axel opens his mouth and with a sharp sensation in his own throat, Roxas realizes who’s been singing.

Play with fire.

I’ve always liked to play with fire.

Axel begins slicing patterns in the air. Strong arms strike out against invisible foes which leave beautiful echoes of sparks in their midst, as he vanquishes them.

I ride the edge.

My speed goes in the red.

Axel’s smooth, precise, arcing choreography, with the spiked, blazing hoops remind Roxas of the ancient chakram he’d seen in Master Eraqus’ display case back at the dojo he’d worked in near Twilight U. After years of martial arts, Roxas can’t help but admire the discipline and strength reflected in the speed and exactness of every movement.

Hot blood, these veins...

Axel shifts from tracing shapes with sparks in the air to outlining his own silhouette, drawing one sharp, glinting, spinning chakram, up the length of his arm, too close to his skin to be safe. He pauses just below his own neck, and for a moment urges the chakram to spin faster. His grin glints in the light, impossibly brighter, so that Roxas feels like he’s witnessing something forbidden, his own skin feeling like it’s burning with Axel’s exertion. He’s sure Axel would be hot as an ember to the touch.

My pleasure is their pain.

Abruptly, casually, Axel flips a chakram into the air, arching backward, and it arcs dangerously above him, until he catches it, just as effortlessly in his other hand, which has only just released the other chakram.  

I love to watch the castles burn.

Both rings caught, Axel sends them up again, both arcing gorgeously in the darkness.

These golden ashes turn to dirt.

Just when it appears Axel’s about to catch the rings, the distant smack of a door sends his eyes darting sideways. Axel steps back and watches the burning chakram bury themselves in the dirt just in front of him, fizzling out beside flower blossoms of exotic violet and deep blue.

“What the fuck do you think that you’re doing?” a voice that can only be Saïx’s demands from off camera.  

A bright white light flickers on from the upper left, a porch maybe, and Axel can be seen much more clearly, his black sweatpants and tank top charred in places and studded with faint pink cuts, his skin and hair more sweaty than sexy and glossy with firelight.  

Axel sheepishly kicks one of the chakram, so that a still burning prong is buried in the dirt and fizzles out.

“Hey, baby.”

Saïx slips into the camera view, wearing a soft-looking, slate gray bathrobe and seemingly not much else. His hair is tied in a loose knot at the base of his neck. The scar across his nose stands out in the new, unwelcome, overbright light Axel’s blinking away. There’s a glass of water in Saïx’s hand and, with a wince, he dumps some of it on the smoldering metal and dirt.

“You’re going to catch fire and kill yourself and my hibiscus blossoms.”  

Axel grins at Saïx’s glare, his words a little light and breathless, “Not if my dashing boyfriend comes to my rescue.”

Saïx’s lip twitches, and then he’s dumping the rest of his glass of water over Axel’s face. “Consider yourself rescued.”

Axel’s lashes flutter and he sputters first in surprise and then laughter, before flinging himself at Saïx, wrapping damp arms around his neck and attempting to kiss his cheeks while he pulls away, mouth full of objections. Their staggering steps draw closer to the camera, and Saïx arches his brows at it, before reaching toward it, and then the video cuts off.

[skiller0dani]

S O U R | Chapter 2

Street Racer!Luke AU. ENJOY. Masterlist

WORD/PHRASE FOR THE CHAPTER:

Secret adjective | english /information one person withholds from another person(s)/

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | 

HAZEL DIDN’T KNOW what to say, “you’re a what?” She gasped at last, feeling her throat close. She felt her palms shake, imagining Luke out in the streets late at night going over 100 mph- jerking his car around those dangerous corners...“Haze it’s not as bad as it sounds.” Luke sighs, noticing her fallen expression. But she didn’t want to hear any of it, this was not only very dangerous- but extremely illegal. “Luke you could be arrested for this, do you not get that?” Hazel said, her voice strained. He ran a hand through his hair, something he does when he’s nervous or stressed. “Did you get in an accident?” Hazel asked, her eyes gliding over his bruises and cuts again. He shook his head, wincing as he stands from the toilet. Luke brushes past her and to the living room- his arm still wrapped around his abdomen. “Not exactly,” Luke says dismissively, avoiding eye contact with Hazel. She follows him, her arms firmly crossed over her chest. “Then where the fuck did all that come from?” She snapped, waving her hand to gesture to his bruised and bloodied body. Luke hissed as he gently lowered himself to the couch, “sore losers.” He grumbled, wanting nothing more than for this conversation to be over. Hazel rubbed a hand over her face, feeling both worried and frustrated. 

When the sun came up the next morning, Hazel was pleasantly surprised to see Luke awake already at 8 in the morning. How much about him has changed since she’s seen him last? In high school Luke was late nearly every single day because he always slept in, and now here he is at 8 in the morning- showered and ready for the day. “Since when did you start getting up early?” Hazel grumbled as she pulled her hair back into a messy bun. Luke cracked a small smile as he sipped at his coffee, sliding a cup over to Hazel. “Since I needed to start getting up for work.” He answered, absentmindedly playing with his lip ring. Dark bruises were still littered across his cheeks and Hazel can see them peeking out from under the collar of his t-shirt. He wouldn’t tell her exactly what happened and it worried her to no end. “Work today?” Luke asks, scrolling through his phone and Hazel shakes her head. “Ashton said to go in on Monday.” She said and Luke nodded- checking the time before standing from the table. He headed towards the front door, reaching to grab the keys from the counter before pressing a quick kiss to her head. “Be back later, love you!” He called as the door shut. That’s something he’s been doing since they were children- giving her kisses on the top of her head. A thought donned on her as soon as Luke left the apartment, if he wasn’t a mechanic then what was his job? 

***

“Hemmings, the fuck happened to your face?” Alex asked, a shit eating grin on his face. Luke scowled, “fuck off Alex.” He snapped, moving over to the clipboard on the desk. He read over the list of cars that they need and grimaced at one of them, “the hell do we need with a Volkswagen?”  He asked incrediously, raising a brow. Alex rolled his eyes before popping a chip into his mouth, “gonna make it a sleeper.” He explained with an easy smile on his face. Luke groaned before reaching to grab his keys, it’s not going to be a hard car to get but all the work they have to do after they get it is gonna be the annoying part. “Luke seriously, I didn’t know those guys would fuck you up so bad-” Alex started and for a moment Luke could have sworn he saw guilt flash through his eyes. Luke waved him off, “it’s whatever.” He says dismissively, still feeling the ache all over his body. Luke slid easily into his car- his street legal car, before looking back at his phone for the location of the car. The most illegal part of what Luke does is the car jacking. They need more cars for the races and meets, so Luke goes out to steal them. Simple. If Hazel ever knew the extent of what Luke does to race then he knows she’d never forgive him. He got into this a few years ago, when he was low on rent and drinking himself blind in the back corner of some sleazy pub. Alex had seen Luke’s racing car outside and decided to bring him in, and Luke had always loved cars and racing but this brought his addition for adrenaline rushes to an all time high. 

Luke cruises for a bit before he sees the Volkswagen sitting in the pick up location. Technically Luke doesn’t steal the car, he picks up the car that someone else stole- and Luke doubts the police will notice the difference if he’s pulled over in a stolen car. He parks his car a few lots away before his phone starts ringing, “hey Cal I’m going to get it now- you got me covered?” Luke asks as he begins to make his way towards the Volkswagen with his bag. “Yeah I got you, also disabled the alarm.” Calum explains on the other end and Luke doesn't bother to answer as he hangs up and pulls out a long silver tool from his bag. Approaching the car, Luke glances over his shoulders and when he’s determined that he’s alone- he presses the silver tool against the window and slides it down into the door. There’s a hook on the other end of the silver tool, so that when Luke feels the locking mechanism on the inside of the door, he can yank it open with the hook. Normally Luke would then have to pop the hood and cut the wires to shut off the alarm but Calum already did that part for him. Feeling around Luke feels the hook finally catch, “bout time.” He grumbles to himself as he unlocks the door and slides into the car- happy the loud and annoying alarm didn’t go off. Sitting in the driver side Luke pulls out a screwdriver and pries open the dash- revealing the ignition wiring. Cutting the wires and causing a spark- Luke starts the engine and smiles triumphantly to himself. 

On my way. Luke hits send, making sure Calum reads the text before he takes off towards the Warehouse. Glancing over his shoulder he sees Calum climb into Luke’s car before following him to the Warehouse at a safe distance. His phone starts ringing and when Luke looks at the caller ID, his heart begins to race. “Hey Haze what’s up?” Luke says casually, trying not to sound nervous. He hears shifting around on the other end, “hey sorry I’m...just-” Hazel grunts, and Luke hears more rustling. “Sorry. Just wondering when you’d be home...figured we could go have dinner somewhere tonight.” Hazel asks, sounding nervous but she hopes Luke doesn’t notice. The corners of Luke’s mouth twitch upwards at the anxiousness in her voice, “Hazel if you wanted to ask me on a date-” He starts when Hazel interrupts him, “it’s not like that!” She squeaks, grateful Luke can’t see her burning cheeks. He laughs, silently wishing it was a date, “I’ll be home in a few hours. Don’t miss me too much cause you’ll see me soon baby.” He teases, loving the surprised gasp that falls past her lips. Hazel’s heart pounds rapidly in her chest, baby. “O-Okay!” She stammers, wanting to punch herself in the face for not thinking of anything better to say. Luke hangs up, annoyed that he can’t wipe the shit eating grin off his face. 

Hazel lays back on her bed, feeling both giddy and extremely nervous at the same time. A smile stretches onto her face, he said yes! She can’t fight the urge to celebrate until reality comes crashing down on her again- they’re best friends. Best friends go out to dinner all the time, it probably means nothing to him. The urge to tell Luke how she feels becomes stronger and stronger every single second he’s not with her, but would that really be a good idea? What if he doesn’t feel the same way? That could totally ruin their entire friendship and no matter how badly she wants Luke, she can’t risk losing him all together. Hazel groans, feeling a dampness building between her legs every time she thinks about him. Biting her lip Hazel remembers how Luke didn’t shave this morning- the stubble lining his jaw makes her thighs ache for the burn of him between them. Reaching into her nightstand she feels around until she grabs what she was searching for- her ribbed vibrator. Carefully sliding her shorts down her legs she remembers when Luke took his short off, his muscular chest on full display. Hazel imagines what it would be like if Luke was here, hovering above her- pressing hard kisses to her neck and shoulders. She imagines his hands slowly and teasingly sliding up her shirt- a mischievous glint in his eyes as he lifts the fabric over her head. Hazel whines as she presses the buzzing vibrator to her closed core, imagining Luke pressing teasing kisses to the insides of her thighs. “Oh Luke,” She moans softly as she slides her underwear to the side, pressing the vibrator to her clit. 

Hazel throws her head back when she slides the vibrator through her wet folds, imagining Luke easing himself into her, stretching her open. She can practically feel the burning sensation spread through her entire body as she lets out a strangled whine as she presses the vibrator inside her. Hazel’s free hand grips at her sheets as she pictures herself clawing at Luke’s back as he pounds into her, “fuck Luke.” She moans louder- her body writhing against the sheets. She’s so lost in her own pleasure that she doesn’t notice the door open. Luke creeps into the apartment, shutting the door quietly when he hears Hazel’s soft whines. Luke feels his jeans getting tighter as he takes slow and careful steps towards her closed bedroom door. He hears her muttering to herself and he leans in to listen and what he hears makes him stumble against the door- causing it to creak open. Luke can’t get it out of his head, he can’t stop hearing her moan his name. Hazel’s eyes pop open and she’s frantically yanking the vibrator out of her wet core and throwing the blanket over her body. Luke stands frozen in her doorway, his eyes wide open and his chest heaving. Hazel feels her cheeks turn to blood red as tears of embarrassment build in her eyes. She doesn’t miss the tent in Luke’s pants as he gapes at her in disbelief. 

Blinking as Luke comes out of some kind of trance he closes the door and Hazel can hear his footsteps as he heads to his bedroom and shuts his own door. She feels tears sliding down her cheeks as she thinks what did I just do? Luke just caught her masturbating while thinking of him. There is no way they can come back from this, Hazel just ruined their entire friendship. Standing on shaky feet, she quickly pulls her shorts back on before reaching for the door handle. She hesitates as her hand trembles, feeling absolute panic at the thought of having to face Luke right now, how will she look at him the same? How will he look at her after this? What if he completely hates her? He’s probably so disgusted, he thinks of her as his sister- there’s no way he doesn’t. Hazel digs her fingers into her hair, her heart beginning to race out of control. She almost pinches herself, just to make sure this is real and not some sort of twisted nightmare. Luke leans against his bedroom door, trying to will his heartbeat to slow down. Did that really just happen? Was she, fucking herself with a vibrator, thinking about him? Luke can’t stop the sly smile as it crosses onto his face, there’s no way she sees him as only a best friend. Not after that. If anything now he knows that she’s sexually attracted to him- and Luke also knows for certain that she’s a virgin. How does he approach her now? What is he even supposed to say? Luke thinks for a moment before an idea pops in his mind, and he smiles before turning out of his bedroom. 

[vannahfanfics]

Dawn and Dusk

Category: Mild Romantic Fluff, Friendship Fluff

Fandom: Yona of the Dawn

Characters: Yona, Lily, Soo-Won

Requested By: YonaWon (Ao3)

Lily awoke with a frightened start as the shriek of a snapping twig pierced the forest air, her heart pounding frantically in her chest. Fear was all she knew these days, since she and Yona had been captured and imprisoned in Sei, and since she had escaped with the red-haired princess into the wilderness. Her sea-blue eyes frantically searched the dank forest for the source of the disturbance. She huddled further amongst the sturdy roots of the tree she had been resting against, meagerly hoping it would swallow her up and hide her from what were likely prison guards coming to retrieve her renegade self. Yona was nowhere to be seen, either; where was her friend? Had she already been taken, leaving Lily defenseless? She tried to control her shallow, rapid breathing as she trembled against the forest floor, a rabbit caught in a hunter’s trap.

“Lily, relax; it’s just me.” At the sound of Yona’s faint whisper, Lily instantly melted into a puddle of relief against the tree. The princess emerged from the greenery with a mildly serious expression. She then scurried quickly over to her to kneel beside her. She must have run off to retrieve water while Lily slipped into unconsciousness. The thought made her eyes water, and she dropped her gaze to the loamy earth; Yona was so strong and capable, while she was just dead weight. It was frustrating.

“Lily, we have to go. There are Sei soldiers nearby. They may already know we’re here,” Yona told her and grabbed her by the wrist, already pulling her to her feet. Lily gasped, probably much too loudly, as she was pulled up and dragged further into the forest by the rushed princess. In some fragile, cowardly part of her, Lily wanted just to collapse right there and have Yone run off by herself. Though she had been asleep for at least an hour, her feet and calves were already screaming in protest each time they slapped against the cold, thick layer of forest debris, and the numerous cuts across her legs and arms stung horribly as the air whipped over them. Lily’s mouth and throat burned like fire as she breathed, parched from thirst, and within minutes that burning flame spread to her lungs, which were begging for relief. As much as she wanted to give up though, she didn’t; she couldn’t, not with Yona there.

I have to be strong like Yona. I can’t be dead weight! She told herself as she squeezed her eyes shut, pouring all of her strength into continuing the feverish pace. It wasn’t to be, though; the Sei soldiers were indeed aware of their presence.

Lily looked over her shoulder with a fearful gasp as the forest behind them exploded with energy; the birds were startled from their nests, calling out to the night in warning as the bushes violently shook as the armored soldiers tromped and hacked through them. Their angry shouts echoed behind the two girls, and Lily could see the flash of their blades in the moonlight. The thwang! of bowstrings soon joined them, and Lily shrieked in alarm as an arrowhead nicked the soft flesh of her ear and embedded itself into the thick bark of a tree as she dashed past. Yona tried to throw them off, weaving through the trees as the arrows whistled by around them. To Lily’s amazement and relief, however, the sounds were rapidly retreating as the comparably lighter and smaller girls placed increasing distance between them. A strange euphoria, probably from the mixture of terror and adrenaline, filled Lily’s blood as she considered that they might actually escape.

Then Yona screamed in agony as blood exploded from the back of her heel. Her hand was ripped from Lily’s when she lost her footing and landed roughly on the ground. Lily’s feet slipped in the loose dead leaves as she scrambled to a halt and scrambled back to Yona. The redhead was whining loudly and tenderly holding her foot, which had an arrow sticking out of the back of it.  The arrowhead pierced deep into her flesh. Lily fell on her hands and knees beside her injured friend, looking wildly into the dark woods. She could not hear their shouts anymore, or maybe they weren’t shouting at all; like beasts, they were surrounding and enclosing their prey.

The air all around Lily and Yona echoed with trembling leaves and resounding footsteps; in her panic, she wasn’t even sure where they were coming from. It was like they were everywhere. Gulping, Lily looked back to Yona and grabbed her by the arm to drag her across the ground into a bushy thicket. The girl did not protest even as the pokey branches pricked her skin. The copse was not as sure a shield as Lily would like; Yona’s bright red hair stuck out brightly against the muted smudges of brown and green, and a trail of equally red blood glowed ethereally in the patches of moonlight, leading right to their location. “Lily,” Yona groaned and looked up at her with eyes scrunched up in pain. “Go on without me. You can still get away.”

“No! I won’t leave you!” she insisted hotly before looking down at the arrow, her eyebrows knit as she struggled with what to do. It was bleeding profusely, puddling around Yona’s foot, and there was no way she would able to walk with such an injury, let alone run. Lily’s hands fluttered about the shaft of the arrow, but never gripped it because she was afraid of hurting the already distraught girl.

“Lily-“

“No!” she snapped again and glared down at Yona. “I won’t leave you, Yona. Either way, we are going together!” Really, there was no “either”; their outcome was inevitable. Lily’s breath hitched in her throat as the air rang with snapping twigs again, frighteningly close. Speaking would undoubtedly alert the enemy to their location, so neither of them said anymore. Desperate to protect the girl who had done so much to protect her, Lily did her best to cover Yona’s body with her own, hoping her dark hair and clothes wound blend in better with the earthy tones of the forest thicket. Below her, she could feel Yona shuddering in pain, and so she tried not to place too much weight on her to avoid causing her more discomfort.

Lily’s eyes trained on the thin spaces between the interwoven branches of the thicket, and for a while, all she could see was the moonlight splashing across the empty ground. The forest air was now alive with the sound of leaves and twigs crunching underfoot. Then, to her acute alarm, a pair of dark boots appeared in her line of sight. Lily held her breath, but her heart did not obey despite how much she willed it to; it pounded thunderously against her ribcage, and she thought for sure that the perpetrator could hear its constant drumming. Lily watched with eyes as wide as saucers as the boots milled about only a few feet away, sliding in the leaves as their owner searched for signs of the girls. Lily prayed with everything she had that they would escape unnoticed, but they seemed unfounded.

It took everything within her not to jump violently when the stranger knelt, and she watched as his hands ruffled through the strewn leaves, picking one up. Lily saw with dismay Yona’s blood glittering on its dull surface. A second passed as the man no doubt traced the path of the blood droplets with his eyes, and a sickening feeling grew in her stomach as he stood up and came marching up to the thicket. Trembling, Lily threw herself over Yona, thinking that maybe she would just be killed on sight and her body left there, and Yona could go unnoticed hidden beneath her. Large hands ripped apart the branches of the thicket and allowed the harsh light of the moon to spill over her.

“Finally, I found you. Are you hurt, Miss Lily?” Lily’s eyes snapped open in shock at the voice who greeted her, and her head whipped upwards.

“General Geun-Tae?” Her voice was like a parrot’s squawk, high-pitched and squeaky with the sheer amount of disbelief in it. The long-haired man smirked down at her before standing up straight and cupping a hand to his mouth to shout into the dark of the forest.

“Hey! I found her!”

Lily exhaled deeply, momentarily relieved, but then just as quickly, a fresh wave of horror crashed over her. If the general was here, then surely King Soo-Won was with him, and Lily absolutely could not allow Yona to be discovered. That was just as much of a death sentence as being caught by the Sei soldiers. Resolutely, Lily remained hunkered down over the princess and warily looked up at the general. “What’s the ma- wait, who are you hiding?” he accused, and though Lily tried her best to resist, his brute strength was too much for her; with frustrating ease, he grabbed her by the shoulder and firmly but delicately straightened her up into a sitting position, and Yona came into plain view. To the princess’ credit, though her face was smudged with dirt and her hair tangled with leaves and her skin shining with a thin sheen of sweat, her expression was as fiery as her hair as she glared up at the startled general. “What-? But you’re-“

“Good job, General. We should get Miss Lily out of here as soon as possible.” The dreadful pit that had formed in Lily’s stomach grew three times bigger as Soo-Won’s voice came fluttering into the clearing. She peered nervously around Geun-Tae as he came casually strolling onto the scene with General Joo-Doh walking stiffly behind him. Geun-Tae whipped around with a complicated expression, his eyes flicking from the injured Yona to the king and back. Soo-Won’s face morphed from a small smile to a bewildered one. “What is it?”

“Er-“ Before the general could explain, Soo-Won came walking over to the destroyed thicket to investigate himself. As he did so, Yona was just dragging herself into a sitting position with one slim hand curled around her still-bleeding ankle. She tossed her sunset hair to glance blankly up at him the king’s eyes grew incredibly wide. A tense moment of silence passed. Before any of the men could decide to put Yona to an untimely end, Lily threw herself between them, throwing out her arms on either side as if it would make herself a wider shield.

“Don’t hurt Yona! She helped me escape from the Sei prison, and is my friend. If you do anything to her, I won’t forgive you!” She tried to pour malice and intensity into her voice like Yona would, but to her irritation, her throat would not obey. Her voice cracked and trembled, her arms matching the tremor, and her glare was as unsteady as the branches trembling in the wind above. Despite that, her voice seemed to rouse something inside of Soo-Won. He nodded before looking at Geun-Tae.

“General, look after Miss Lily here. Yona is hurt and needs medical attention,” he ordered. Lily could not read the expression on his face, and that frightened her.

“No! I’m staying with Yona!” she snapped hotly as the general shrugged and promptly leaned down to very rudely grab Lily by the waist and haul her out of the thicket to throw her over his shoulder like a mere sack of potatoes. “Hey! Do you hear me? Unhand me now! This is no way to treat a lady!” she screeched in anger as she beat on his broad back to no effect. As the general whirled around to begin walking towards his horse, it gave Lily a clear view of Soo-Won kneeling in the remains of the thicket behind the bedraggled, regal exiled princess. Lily’s heart jumped in her throat as she began more panicked for her friend’s welfare than irritated at her own treatment. “Let me go! I’m not going anywhere without Yona! Yona! Yoooooonaaaaaaa!” she wailed as she continuously struggled in the general’s grip with frightened tears streaming down her cheeks, washing the dirt away with them before falling into the air, glittering like diamonds in the streaming moonlight.

~~~~~~~~~~

Yona kept her expression as rigid as stone as the man who killed her father knelt in the crumpled branches and crushed leaves to bring his face down to the level of hers. As the moonlight shone down from the breaks in the canopy above, it washed over his golden hair to turn it a shining silver. His pale skin seemed to glow, making him look like an angel sent from above to deliver Yona from this fresh Hell. Yona knew much better than that, though; pretty-faced and elegant as he was, Soo-Won was no angel, but a devil to the core. His expression was as unreadable as hers as he lifted a hand to hold it out to her in offering.

“Yona, you must trust me. I will take both you and Lily to a safe place.” Lily had stopped screaming and was just sniffling miserably on the other side of the clearing, perched in front of the broad general on his destrier. The stoic Joo-Doh was watching with apparent interest from beside his own, and Yona was quite aware that his hand was resting on the hilt of his sword. Her mouth twitched as she straightened herself up, though it sent pain shooting through every nerve in her body, and made a show of resting her hands primly in her lap rather than taking the one held out in front of her.

“Trust you? I think not. For all I know, this is all a show for Lily’s sake. You’ve never cared about me, Soo-Won,” she said bitterly. Hearing the words spit like acid out of her mouth made her sad. Even now, after all, that had happened, she desperately wanted for them to be untrue. She wanted the man that she loved once to feel something for her so she could fall into his arms and be safe and wanted. That would never be, though; if Soo-Won had cared, he wouldn’t have murdered her father in cold blood. But what about that time? chimed the annoying voice in her head. He had shielded her from prying eyes once, and had allowed her to escape back to her party unharried. If he had truly wanted to be rid of her, he surely would have done so by now. Already, Yona’s resolve and stubbornness was waning, but she still refused to allow the quiver to come to her bottom lip or the tears to flood into her eyes. Her eyes burned like the dawn as she waited for his response.

“Yona,” he exhaled deeply, and with the way he tilted his head and closed his eyes, she could tell that his patience with her was already wearing thin. “I haven’t the time to explain it all to you right now. Please, if not for your own sake, then for Lily’s. You both direly need medical attention.” At the mention of her friend, another piece of Yona’s shield went splintering off. Lily was of much weaker constitution than Yona, having been sheltered in a palace and not subject to the hardships Yona had of late. Yona knew that the girl had reached her limit already. Still, she had too much pride to rise to the king’s bait.

“Don’t try to use her as leverage, Soo-Won. That still doesn’t change anything. Face it- you can’t give me a legitimate reason for me to-“

“Fine!” he barked at her suddenly, cutting her off. Despite herself, she jumped slightly at the ferocity in his voice and the intensity of his gaze when he snapped his eyes open to gaze ferociously at her. With a flushing rising into his cheeks, he spat, “How about because I love you, Yona? Is that good enough for you?” Yona was immensely struck, having expected any other reason but that. Her knee-jerk reaction was to claim it as a lie immediately. However, Soo-Won anticipated such a response and thus acted appropriately to quell her continuous rebellion.  

With his face now as red as Yona’s fiery hair, he stiffly wrapped a hand around the back of her head to jerk her forward. Every cell in her body pulsed as his lips crashed against hers, fiercely but passionately. One part of her was screaming to pull back and slap him. The other part of her strongly overpowered it, the part of her that she had tried to quash ever since that night at the castle watching Soo-Won draw the bloody blade out of the corpse of her beloved father- the part that loved Soo-Won deeply, wholly, with everything she had. Enslaved by her emotions, Yona slumped against Soo-Won, her slightly shaking hands curling into the fabric of his high-quality, kingly robes as her eyes drifted shut. “I care about you, Yona… Really, I do,” he whispered against her lips, and that sent a trembling shudder throughout her entire body unlike anything she had ever felt. No, I can’t let him get to me! she thought with gritted teeth and jerked back stiffly for a second.

“You’re a liar! You don’t care about me!” she insisted, and she hated how weak and feeble her voice sounded. That part of her tugged fiercely, drawing her body further against him though her mind tried to resist. He doesn’t… He can’t love me…

“You’re like a stubborn child,” he grunted. At once, he swept her up in his kiss again, even more fiercely than before. Her senses became dominated by the feeling of his lips moving against her own, hungry and full of desire, and his slim fingers sliding through the tangled strands of her dawn-colored hair. As he kissed her intensely, Yona could not deny it this time; there was no lie. Soo-Won loved her, despite all the twisted things that he had done. That made her sadder than anything yet. The tears began to stream silently down her cheeks.

Though she loved him, though she trusted him, she could not forgive him. Thus they could never be no matter how much either of them wanted it.

“Lord Soo-Won, the Sei soldiers will be here soon,” Joo-Doh coughed awkwardly from his spot across the clearing, and Soo-Won jerked slightly. Yona’s let out a small sigh as he pulled back from her, very hesitantly, and her eyelashes fluttered open to look up at him with faintly peek cheeks. He sniffed as he tried to resume some kind of kingly manner, sitting stiffly upright as he uncomfortably teased his fingers through his long, blonde hair. His eyes twitched slightly as he muttered, “Will you come with me now?” Yona silently nodded, wiping at her eyes with backs of her hands while she stared mutely down at her lap.

Her mind was still descended in fog. She struggled with the realization that her feelings were reciprocated and the uncertainty of her future. How was she going to keep moving forward, knowing this? She couldn’t abandon Hak, Yoon, and the others, and she just simply couldn’t forget the fact that Soo-Won killed her father. Yet, he had softened something inside of her. Now she just didn’t know what she was going to do anymore. Slightly frustrated with it, she decided that she didn’t have to conclude that now, and she was just going to face the moment.

She rested her head against Soo-Won’s shoulder as he slipped his arms around her, effortlessly lifting her from the thicket and turning around with her nestled in his arms like a groom would his bride. It was not preferred of Yona, but she was severely dehydrated and unable to walk with her injury, so she just obediently remained in his gentle hold. Both of them flushed simultaneously when they realized that Geun-Tae and Lily were gawking shamelessly, their mouths wide open. Joo-Doh, he was too serious for that, but he definitely looked floored and uncomfortable.

“But- I thought- Lily?” General Geun-Tae stammered and looked in bewilderment at the other princess. “You-? I’m so confused,” he exhaled deeply and slumped his shoulders with a tired expression. Lily had gone pale and was looking at her in deep concern, and so the princess just smiled wearily and waved a hand to indicate that she was just fine (well, fine enough) with the development. Lily frowned deeply but nodded in understanding, probably just content with knowing that Yona would be okay in the hands of the king. Yona looked up at Soo-Won, who twitched his nose with an expression halfway between a glare and a smile as he regarded Geun-Tae.

“I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s go,” Soo-Won huffed as he promptly carried Yona over to his horse and set her into the saddle before climbing up himself. She swallowed slightly as he put one arm around her middle and held him securely against him, her head pressed right in the middle of his chest. As he turned the horse around with a whip of the reins, she resigned herself and flopped wearily back against him.

“This doesn’t change anything, you know,” she murmured to him while keeping her gaze on the shifting landscape of the forest.

“You sure have gotten stubborn, Yona,” he sniffed at her, doing the same. He knew it didn’t change anything, either. They were going to be at odds, for the foreseeable future, at least; their paths definitely intertwined, but would they ever be joined?

Yona didn’t know, and it hurt her wearied mind to contemplate it. Instead, she pondered fantasies that had been lost to her- the dawn of a romance between herself and the king. She closed her eyes, savoring the way he held her tightly, securely, like he never wanted to let her go, and for the briefest of moments pretended that he wouldn’t have to.

If Yona was the dawn, Soo-Won was the dusk, two very similar things that could never meet, and were destined to oppose each other for the rest of time…

Enjoy this story? Here’s Part II, Part III, Part IV, and Part V! Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents! 

[jiyel]

happy holidays to @mer-birdman​! what’s up ira i’m your secret santa for the @7kppsecretsanta thing! hope u enjoy even though I’m posting barely in time for christmas! prompt: delegates & april fool’s day (this doesn’t fit into the canon timeline i have no idea what’s happening) (this doesn’t even have a bunch of the delegates i’m so sorry)

The Day of Fools, the Day of Tricksters

1.

Lyon checks the calendar, a fluttering sense of panic and a sour tang rising up in the back of his throat. He runs a finger across the numbers as he counts the days, muttering under his breath, and—

“Oh no,” he says softly, horrified. Oh no. He has even less time than he thought he did. Today’s the last day he has before every bit of order within this castle breaks down, before chaos and anarchy deck the halls and shrieking peals of laughter echo through the air.

He gathers up his things, shoving books and scrolls and notes in his bag with a brisk, hurried pace, rushing past the table where he’d spent most of his time at the Summit, rushing towards his one refuge, the one place he knows will remain untouched in the coming day of madness that he has neither the energy nor the desire to brave.

Lyon makes his way into the very heart of the library to the fort that he’d been carefully constructing for the past few days. Here, no one will find him.

No one will drag him out to socialize and converse with people whose minds are always a few steps behind, with people whose thoughts are always caught up in gossip and intrigue and secrets. No one will play tricks on him and turn him into the fool that he feels like he is at court. No one will dump glitter in his hair or salt in his tea or, or do anything to him.

Lyon nestles into the space he’d carved out for himself and closes his eyes, glad to be away from it all. He has enough to hold out here for a week, definitely enough to outlast the twenty-four hours of pranks and suffering that he knows is coming.

He’s certain that some among the delegates will enjoy the Day of Fools. And he’s okay with that, mostly. They can have their fun. They can have all the fun they want, just as long it’s far away from him, his books, and the quiet of the library.

2.

Avalie drops a pair of sugar cubes into her already sickly sweet tea, a delicate smile tilting up the corners of her mouth, and she thinks: Oh, I am going to have fun with this.

She had thought the Summit would be amusing, a diversion, something that would keep her on her toes, but no. What she had been expecting was drama, politics, the best of the best of the best competing against each other for love and reputation and alliances. What she got, for the most part, were sweaty-handed, fumbling men who couldn’t take their eyes off her mouth, her neck, her hands and waist.

But the next day promises much more: opportunities to toy with her fellow delegates, an evershifting landscape of chaos, and chances to observe the true creativity and cleverness of those at the Summit, all with a minimal risk of permanent maiming or death!

“Lady Avalie?” Gisette asks as she butters a muffin with a small, sharp blade and surgical precision.

“Yes, Princess Gisette?” Avalie says, her mind a million miles away and whirling with plans and ideas. She could, oh she could move all the furniture just a bit to the left— she’s done that before, it’s fairly effective. Or… something else?

“I was just wondering if you were feeling alright,” says Gisette, perfectly pleasant and perfectly nasty. “You look a little out of sorts. Is the stress and the pressures of the Summit getting to you, Lady Avalie?”

“I’m perfectly alright, thank you for asking,” Avalie responds, smiling sweetly. She could always resort to something basic like the classic salt and sugar switch, but that required no finesse at all. No grace! No elegance! She sips her tea, and says, “I’m just thinking. It’s quite a common look on most people, although considering the company you tend to keep, I’d understand if you didn’t recognize it immediately.”

Gisette raises her eyebrows at that and takes a sip of her tea. “Then I suppose I’ll have to remedy that. I wouldn’t suppose you would be available tomorrow, Lady Avalie?”

Avalie dips her head apologetically. “I’m afraid I’ll be rather occupied all day. A shame, since your company is always such a pleasure, Princess. Although my schedule is a little less busy for the rest of the week, so perhaps then?”

She could fake a murder! The planning and coordination it would take… the materials and the knowledge�� And in such a tight timeframe as well. What a challenge! Avalie hides a catlike smile behind her cup of tea.

“I can’t wait.”

3.

Hamin hums as he surveys the rings and necklaces he’s got all laid out on the vanity. It’s a big day, a Big Day, and he’s got to be all appropriately dolled up for it.

He holds up a shiny gold ring embedded with dozens of tiny rubies. Or maybe it was paste? He shrugs and throws it over his shoulder. “Boring.”

It’s the Day of Tricksters, which is objectively the funnest and funniest day out of the whole year, and as the Prince of Pirates, Hamin has to live it up and be just as flashy. No, flashier. More’s always better.

But fashion aside, Hamin’s been looking forward to today for ages. Well, more like a couple of weeks, but with all the damn etiquette lessons his stuffy butler’d been hammering into his head, it had felt like years.

He’s honestly so excited he can’t see straight, not that he ever could, in the first place, really, but yeah. It’ll all be like a breath of fresh air, like that first gasping gulp of good, beautiful air you get just when you think you’re going to drown to death under an unforgiving sea of uptight nobles and salad forks, and what a poor death that would be.

Hamin slips on his rings and necklaces, admiring his tacky jewelry and flashy, colorful scarves in the mirror before sliding out the door with his supplies and into the hall. He whistles as he walks, and he’s whistling up until he crashes into someone else.

“Oh, oof,” the person mutters, sounding just a bit like a kicked puppy. He looks up and Hamin recognizes him. It’s the Arlish earl, Emmet or something. Emmet or something blinks wide blue eyes up at Hamin and says, stumbling over his words a bit, “I’m so sorry! Are you alright, Prince Hamin? Or, uh, Hamin? If that’s what you prefer?”

“Hamin is fine.” He grins and rocks back on his heels, subtly kicking his bag of glitter, gunpowder, and various other things behind him. “I’m not much of a prince by your countries standards anyway, Sunshine.” Ah, yes, the tried-and-true tactic of giving someone a nickname to avoid admitting that you have no idea what they’re called. Classic.

“Well then, Hamin, I’m glad!” Sunshine smiles at him before glancing downwards in confusion. “What’s that behind your back, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Hamin feels his casual smirk tighten in panic. “It’s, uh, it’s nothing. Just some stuff I’m bringing to my cousin, who I should be seeing now, so I’m going to get going.”

He’s preparing to dash away, one foot already sliding out with exaggerated slowness when Sunshine stops and says, “Oh! Are you planning a prank?”

Hamin turns back and says, slow, “That depends.” He can see a glint of mischief, of interest in those pretty, blue eyes, and he’s bored. Hamin’s willing to let someone in on his game if Sunshine is interested. He’s got nothing to lose and a partner-in-crime to gain, and he’s played worse odds before.

“Depends on whether I would be interested in helping out?” Sunshine says hopefully, cocking his head. “Because I, uh, would. I really would be interesting in lending you a hand.” He gives Hamin a thumbs up and beams.

“Okay, yeah, sure.” Hamin shrugs, beckoning the other guy to come closer.

“Wait, really?” Sunshine’s eyes widen.

“Yeah, really,” Hamin says, “So come closer so I can tell you what I’m planning.”

Sunshine nods and leans in as Hamin, in a low, conspiratorial voice, whispers, “So I’ve been messing around in the days leading up to this. Little things. Glitter in hair, salt in tea, little firecrackers in corners you wouldn’t expect, you know, the basics. But that was all just preparing for my grand finale, which is like, a combination of all those, but more.”

“The more the merrier!” Sunshine chimes in.

“Exactly.” Hamin nods approvingly and slings an arm around the other man’s shoulders. “C’mon. Walk with me.”

7.

Penelope watches Cordelia knot the rope with strong, sure fingers, and feels her heart flutter in her chest.

Cordelia was always so strong and capable, so smart and polite. Penelope wishes so much that her heart aches that she could be like her, or something like that. Probably. Maybe?

“-And you pull it through this loop here and tighten it to finish,” finishes Cordelia, her hands following through with a smooth kind of grace that Penelope can’t take her eyes away from.

“Um, yeah!” Penelope says as she tries to pretend that she was totally paying attention to Cordelia’s lesson on ‘How to Set Up a Snare Trap Prank for Dummies,’ and not, well, you know, Cordelia herself. “It’s very impressive how you know all this, Cordelia! How did you learn how to do this?” She beams nervously at her friend.

Thankfully, Cordelia smiles back. “I learned back… back home, in Hise. We all learn how to tie knots as children, for the nets and the rigging. And the traps,” she pauses and her eyes flit downwards, avoiding Penelope’s. “I learned how to rig traps when I took up embroidery.”

Embroidery…? Snares…? Penelope’s confusion must’ve shown on her face since Cordelia winces and carries on her explanation.

“In Hise, sewing is a common skill. But for a family so tied up in piracy rather than trading or craftsmanship, using that skill for something other than repairing clothes or sails is, well it’s a bit embarrassing and shameful. So when I took up an interest in embroidery, there were quite a few people around my age who took offense to that. They followed me around, pestering me about it, until I decided enough was enough and caught them all in traps and left them hanging to teach them a lesson.”

Penelope feels her jaw drop a little. Cordelia really was an amazing person. Penelope never knew that she had such a side to her, but instead of scaring off Penelope, it just made Cordelia all the more interesting and clever. “Cordelia, that was very brave of you!” Penelope says, her cheeks flushing as she babbles. “I could never have done something like that.”

Cordelia flushes and says with faltering composure, “Thanks. I mean, thank you, Penelope, but it really wasn’t much.”

“Oh, but it seems like quite a lot to me,” says Penelope. “What happened to those people afterwards? You let them down right after, right?”

Cordelia stops and nods slowly. She smiles, her eyes flicking away. “Yes. I definitely did.”

Penelope beams, and pauses. She and Cordelia whip their heads around in unison to the distant sound of an explosion.

Penelope gasps, pressing a hand to her chest. “Oh my God! What was that?” She turns to see Cordelia groan and press a hand to her forehead.

“Don’t let it worry you, Penelope,” Cordelia says, her hand still pressed to her face. “It’s just my cousin.”

[megwritesfanfiction]

The Lies We Told (Beast Boy/Raven , Chapter 2/??)

Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Titans. This is a work of fiction that I am not making a profit off of.

Author’s Note: Seeeee, I am doing things! 

Past Chapters: Prologue Chapter 1

Chapter Two: If You Could Only See

Gentle, loving kisses traced soothing patterns on Rachel’s throat as she shook in the aftermath. Eyes shut, she panted tilting her head back against the pillows. He kissed his way up her neck and found her lips, kissing her slowly.

“That was unexpected.” He murmured against her lips

Slowly, her eyes opened to meet deep blue.

Not green at all.

“Yea.” Rachel answered, letting out a heavy exhale.

“You okay?” Garth asked, his hand cupping the side of her face. His eyes concerned.

“Yea.” She confirmed with a little nod, giving a little push to his chest. She slid from underneath him. Wrapping a blanket around her body, she darted across the room picking u her clothes. “I should probably go.” Avoiding his eyes, Rachel ran, clothes in hand, into the bathroom, slamming the door shut.

Garth sat up. He blinked once, twice. Slipping his pants back on, Garth walked to the bathroom door. “Rachel?” He called out, tapping his fingers against the door. “Is everything alright?”

“Yea.” Rachel answered. A moment later, she stepped out of the bathroom pulling her shirt over her head. She ran over to where her boots were haphazardly tossed, smoothing her hair back. Sitting on the bed, she put her socks on and then her boots.

“You don’t have to go.” Garth offered, sliding in between her legs. He placed a hand on the side of her face, lifting her chin so their eyes would meet.

She cleared her throat, eyes shifting to the side. “Aren’t you meeting the boys soon?”  

“They can wait.” Garth whispered, tenderly kissing her.

Rachel sighed, moaning. “I should go.” She panted softly.

“Don’t.” He breathed, taking her bottom lip between his teeth.

She whimpered, eyes fluttering closed. She felt the flames of lust clouding her judgment and numbing her senses.

He pressed their foreheads together. “I love you.” He murmured against her lips.

“I,” Her eyes opened meeting not green eyes, smile smothering the disappointment. “Love you, too.”

“So,” He whispered, laying her back against the bed. “Stay a little.” His fingers gathered at the hem of her leggings, pulling the fabric down her thighs.

“Wait, wait,” His eyes traveled down. “You know the rules.”

“Come on man, seriously?”

Richard nodded, motioning at his shoes.

Victor sighed, taking his shoes off at the door. “I swear you are whipped.”

“Do you want an angry Tamaranean Warrior Princess after you for leaving sneaker tracks on her white carpet?”

Victor considered the thought for a moment. “Nope.”

“Neither do I.”

“That’s why you need a man cave.”

“I decided long ago not to follow in Bruce’s footsteps, thank you very much”

“Whatever.” Victor dismissed, giving the short man a little shove. “The other guys here?”

“Minus one.” Richard nodded, leading him into the living.

“Well,” Wally smirked, looking away from the TV for a moment. His hands tucked behind his head as he raised his feet to the coffee table. “If it isn’t Mr. Punctuality.”

“Shut up.” Victor smirked. He walked by the redhead knocking his legs off the coffee table and taking a seat on the other side of the cream couch.

“Now, now, now.” Gar jumped in from one of the armchairs. “We have to be fair. He did beat Garth here.”

“Where is he?”

“Tell him to bring more beer.” Wally chimed in, setting his half empty bottle on the coffee table.

Richard reached over, setting the bottle on a coaster. “For the last time, use a coaster.”

“Okay Martha Stewart.” Wally snickered. “Geez, what has married life done to you?”

“Leave him alone, dude.” Gar defended, taking a swig of him own drink. “He’s trying to keep the table nice.”

“Does signing off your dick really do that to you?” Wally asked, looking at Richard. “I’m never getting married.”

“What if Jinx wants to tie the knot?”

“She won’t.” Wally dismissed, sinking deeper into the couch. “Married people don’t even have sex.”

Richard’s eyebrows raised. “I beg to differ.”

“Married couples have kids, so they have sex.” Gar reasoned. “Basic biology, dude.”

“Yea, but that isn’t real sex. It’s procreation scheduled sex.”

“How would you know? You trying to be a daddy and didn’t tell us?”

“Hell no. No thank you.” Wally frowned. “Back to my original point, I bet the sex I’m having is better.” Wally challenged with a grin.

“Oh there’s nothing like living in sin to get the old libido going.” Victor chuckled, reaching for a beer.

“God, you sound like my mother.”

“That would be the pizzas.” Richard announced as the doorbell finished its chime. He hopped from his chair making a dash for the door.

“Marriage doesn’t make a relationship sexless.” Gar reasoned.

“It’s something you do in your thirties or higher, if you do it.” Wally stated. “We’re too young for coasters, white carpet, dust ruffles, and shit.”

“What’s up?” Garth spoke entering the room, holding several pizza boxes. Dropping them to the coffee table, he took a seat in the center seat of the couch.

Wally reached for a slice of pizza. “Where the hell were you?”

Garth shrugged his shoulders, leaning back into the chair with a slice of pineapple pizza. “Rae stopped by this afternoon to talk.”

“Yea cause deep conversation involves leaving bite marks on your chest.” Wally commented plainly, pointing to the bite mark peeking out from under his shirt.

Victor spit his beer out, coughing in disgust.

“Wally!” Richard yelled, running to the kitchen for paper towels.

“What?” Wally asked proudly picking up a slice of pepperoni. “Simple observation.” He shrugged.

Victor shook his head, covering his eyes. “Come on guys, she’s like a sister to me. I don’t need to hear this.”

“Yea, well your sister apparently likes to leave marks. What did she do to you, man?”

“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.” Garth responded calmly.

“Amen.” Victor sighed relieved.

“Bullshit! We’ve traded stories before. Nothing this juicy though!” Wally burst out laughing. He reached over pulling up Garth’s shirt. “Damn, what the hell did she do to you? You never mentioned this before. Yo, Dick,” Wally called out. “This is the kinda sex I’m talking about.”

“Jesus, he looks like he was mauled.” Richard commented with a grimace.

Garth pulled his shirt down, shooting a dirty glare at Wally.

“That’s the point.” The redhead grinned.

“Is sex all you think about?” Garth questioned reaching for a beer.

Wally paused, tapping his fingers against his chin thoughtfully. “Probably.”

“You’re twisted.”

“I’m just trying to prove a point.” Wally shrugged. “Marriage is what you do when you’ve been with someone for like ten years.”

“Kori and I were together for that long, a little longer actually.” Richard chuckled. “And Garth and Rachel have been together for what? It has to be getting close to that mark. You guys got together a couple years after Kori and me.”

“Eight years next year.” Garth answered.

“And Gar and Terra have been together for…” Richard trailed off trying to think.

“In total eight years.” Gar nodded. “Terra and I got together right before Garth and Rae.”

“And Jinx and I are in the same range, but hell no.” Wally explained, picking up another slice of pizza. “I mean like when you’re an adult not teenagers. The teenage relationship years don’t count.” He reasoned, taking a bite into his slice. “Especially for us.”

“What is your gripe against marriage?” Garth wondered.

Wally shook his head. “I have nothing against marriage. I just feel like it’s something you do when you’re in your thirties. You’re twenties are supposed to be fun and wild, marriage is for old people.”

“Hey!” Richard frowned. “I’m not old.”

“Dude, you use coasters and have throw pillows.”

“I love Kori, and I just wanted to make it official so I did.”

“Here, here.” Victor and Garth raised their beer bottles to toast that sentiment.

“I proposed to Terra the other day.” Gar casually announced, picking up another slice of cheese pizza.

The men paused looking at their blonde friend.

“Are you being serious?” Victor asked slowly.

“Yea.” Gar nodded, taking a bite of pizza as he sat back.

“Well show some friggin’ enthusiasm, would you?” Victor cheered. He stood, reaching over to pat the green eyed blonde on the back. “Congrats man!”

“Welcome to the club.” Richard nodded, raising his bottle to Gar.

“Congrats, dude.” Garth added.

“It was time.” Gar shrugged enjoying his pizza.

“This is a big deal.” Wally smirked. “I call best man.”

Garth shook his head. “You are the last person who should be best man. You’re the one who is anti-marriage, and yet you want to be the best man?”

“What can I say?” Wally shrugged. “I’m complicated,” He smiled cheekily. “And I throw the best parties.”

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inha-

“Fuck it.” Rachel cursed, as she took shot to tequila. The melody of her cellular phone chimed, pulling her focus as she poured another shot. Shot glass in hand, she stood and walked into her kitchen, picking up the device and answering the call. “Rachel speaking.” Her voice droned, downing the drink.

“Christ all mighty, you’ve taken the piss already.”

She couldn’t fool Toni. “Nope.” That didn’t mean she wouldn’t try to fool herself as she poured another shot. “But I’m working it. I’m sure you spoke to Kori already.”

“No,” Toni admiited. “Terra did. She texted me and probably every other Titan and former Titan.” Toni spoke on the other end of the phone. “Jesus, are you alright?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Okay I understand you don’t want to talk about it.”

Rachel took another shot, cringing. “There is nothing to talk about.”

“Okay, that’s fine, mate. I just want you to know that if you wanna talk about it, I’m here for you. You don’t have to bottle up your feelings and suffer in silence, love.”

The violet haired woman sighed, hanging her head. “I slept with Garth.” She mumbled.

“Beg your pardon?”

“I slept with Garth.” Rachel confessed, plopping down to the floor. She poured herself another shot. “After Terra came and flashed her shiny ring, I fucked Garth.”

Silence.

“Toni?”

Silence.

“Argent?”

“I thought you broke up with him.” Toni sighed confused.

“It’s a work in progress.”

“Bloody hell,” The redhead muttered. “You seriously thought that was a good idea?”

Rachel briefly reflected on her choices. “Well,” She started. “I figured it was better than expressing my displeasure to Terra about her engagement because, you know,” She needed another shot, her vocabulary was still intact. “I’m in love with her fiancé, and the thought of him marrying her hurts me. I could’ve also mentioned how I am just not able to let it go and let the two of them be happy.”

“Touché.” Toni surrendered. “But, you’re leading Garth on and using him as an emotional binkie which isn’t fair.”

“He’s a good guy. He’s handsome, sexy, hardworking, and he’s in love with me.”  The violet haired woman reasoned with a sigh. “I feel like’s he’s someone I could learn to love.”

“Love, it’s been all most ten years. If you haven’t learned now, I don’t think you will.”

“Fuck you it’s been about eight, that’s two away from ten so I have time.” Thank goddess the tequila was kicking in. “Might be easier once Gar is actually married and officially out of reach.”

“Is that what you tell yourself?” Toni snickered. “I have to give it to you. Your denial is quite strong.”

“I can’t take all the credit.” Rachel admitted contemplating another shot as she stared at the bottle. “Tequila helps. I hope they have an open bar at the reception.”

“Jesus Rachel,” Toni huffed. “What the hell am I going to do with you?”

“Hurry up and come back to Jump, so we can do shots,” Rachel smiled. “I can complain. You can take my side because you’re my best friend. We can make horribly snide comments about the ceremony and the decorations.”

“I’ll be back in a few months. Just don’t do anything stupid.”

Rachel scoffed, unscrewing the cap. Screw pouring a shot, she was just gonna drink from the bottle.

She toasted to her stupidity.

Too fucking late for that.  

[beyondforks]

Book Reviews! Absolute Surrender and Echo, Mine by Georgia Lyn Hunter

Absolute Surrender (Fallen Guardians #1) by Georgia Lyn Hunter Genre: Adult Fiction (Paranormal Romance) First Published: March 19, 2013 Publisher: GL Hunter

Born in the flames of Heaven’s wrath, he’s all things sinful and too dangerous to love. 

An immortal Guardian of the mortal realm, Aethan has walked alone for millennia, trapped in a hell of his own. Until a feisty mortal crosses his path. A female he shouldn’t even look at, one who shakes the precarious foundations of all that he is, and one who’s determined to walk the edge of danger.

All her life, Echo Carter wanted “normal”, an impossible feat given that she can see demons. Drawn back to the alleys of New York, she’s determined to hunt down the one responsible for the death of her friend. And no man, no matter how sexy, will stop her. Until she discovers a horrifying truth about herself, forcing her to turn to the one man she should avoid. Aethan. 

But when two stubborn wills collide, a dangerous passion ignites…

As evil closes in, Aethan has to overcome his darkest fears and claim Echo as his. If he doesn't, he just could lose her to a far more sinister fate…

Absolute Surrender is the first book in the Fallen Guardians series by Georgia Lyn Hunter. There were many point of views given through this story. We definitely needed some. Others? Not so much, and I got characters confused with one another, especially in the beginning. Some had similar names, some had more than one name, some changed into the appearance of others, and there were so many of them thrown at you at once. So, it took me several chapters to get everyone straight. The story itself was pretty darn good though. Situations and places were described vividly, making it so easy to visualize, and it did this without being wordy, which I loved.

 I'm not too sold on Echo. She can kick some major butt, but at the same time, she has absolutely no sense of self preservation and kept putting herself in danger whenever she had a hissy fit, which was often. 

Aethan was a fantastic character. He had strength and brains. I loved how he cared for Echo no matter what.  I'm still not sure what he is supposed to be. Angel? Demon? Something entirely different? Alien? I'm interested in knowing more about some of his friends too. 

This was one of those books that is drenched in tension and anticipation. There was so much heat between Echo and  Aethan ... my goodness! Be ready to take many cold showers or keep your significant other close by. You'll need them, and they'll thank you for it.

Echo Carter wrapped her arms around her waist and paced along the top step in front of the well-lit cathedral, trying to keep warm while she waited for Kira. The chilly sea breeze stung her nostrils as she debated going back to her car and cranking up the heater to full blast. But being trapped in the vehicle for a half hour? Ugh. She far preferred the cold. It helped ease the dull ache in her temples. Her head still felt heavy and fuzzy from her restless night. Dreams she didn’t want to remember throbbed in her mind, so she concentrated on a tugboat gliding over the ominous waters of the East River. A streak of lightning raced across the dark skies, briefly enveloping everything in a portentous silver light. The night wind stole under her denim jacket and beneath her sweater like an icy caress. She buttoned up the front and slid her hands into her pockets. Her fingers wrapped around the two stones she carried around like talismans, their warmth seeping into her. But it wasn’t enough. She seriously needed a distraction to clear her head and rid her body of the chill. Her cell beeped. Eagerly, she retrieved the phone from her pocket and sat on her backpack, avoiding the cold cement step, only to find it was a text from Damon. Away on business. Get Kira to stay with you. You know why. Call if you need me. P.S. Don’t do anything stupid. She rolled her eyes. Everyone had bad dreams. It didn’t mean she needed a babysitter. Damon’s postscripts, however, never changed, even if his messages did. The way her guardian hovered, you’d think she was thirteen instead of twenty-three and living on her own. But she couldn’t blame him. All that mattered to her was finding Tamsyn’s killer and ending the son of a bitch. That had to be the stupid thing Damon worried about. A man, rushing past her, snagged her attention. Echo watched him skid to a halt. Above average height, this one embodied the perfect male, with bronzed skin, dark, wavy hair, and a sculptured jaw. Black shades covered his eyes. He made a U-turn, giving her a closed mouthed smile. Well now, she had asked for a distraction. Sliding the phone back into her pocket, she rose to her feet. She’d deal with this before Kira got back, and she knew the perfect spot for this little rendezvous. With a casual, seductive sway of her hips, she tossed him a sultry look over her shoulder and glided toward the back of the cathedral. He followed. Of course he’d follow. They always did. She popped her jacket buttons free as she rounded the rear of the building and headed for the alcove where the statue of an angel with massive wings stood. When he grabbed her from behind and slammed her against the cathedral wall, she sucked in a breath, pain jarring up her arm to her shoulder. She twisted around. The acrid stink of sulfur flooded her nostrils. Bile rushed to her throat, telling her exactly what this thing was. “Ah, little mortal. So good of you to choose this place—” He stopped, confusion flickering across his face, frowned, and leaned in to sniff her. Oh yeah, her cursed pheromones always worked in her favor. They threw them off track and gave her the crucial edge she needed. But the black sludge that coated her hands as she held him off warned her this one had been wounded. “You smell different. Must taste.” His tone slurred. Something wet and rough slithered along her neck. Crap! The slimy saliva on her skin sent a shudder of revulsion through her. But she didn’t let that distract her. Once his foul-breathed mouth claimed hers, life as she knew it would be over. Nope, not happening. She had no plans to die at the hands of this fiend. “Pity I have to cut our fun short.” His face cracked into a menacing smile to reveal pointy canines. “Your light’s mine.” That’s what he thought. “If you want it, come and claim it.” The familiar words rolled out of her mouth. Darn, she had to stop watching The Lord of the Rings. But Aragon was so— Argh, kill first, then think about the sexy Aragon—she kneed the demonii hard in the crotch, breaking his hold. Spinning around, she kicked out her leg in a fast sweep, knocking his feet out from under him. He stumbled to the ground. About to go in for what would have been a routine kill, the demonii sprang up. He flung his shades aside. Eerily red eyes flamed with fury. “I’ll drain every drop of your blood before I rip out your soul!” “Promises—promises,” she taunted. He came at her. Echo palmed her dagger and met him head-on. She went in low and rammed the blade into his sternum. The demonii fell to his knees, eyes widening in surprise. “Didn’t see that one coming, did ya?” Vengeance burned in her as she grabbed him by the hair and slashed his exposed throat, severing the carotid artery. Blood, black and thick, gushed out. Her breathing harsh, she let the body fall to the ground. Disappointment burned through her. This fiend hadn’t killed Tamsyn. The stink of the sulfur now coating her skin lacked the coppery, sweet odor of vanilla she was after. No matter. It meant one less evil fiend roaming the streets and robbing the innocents of their souls. The body decomposed and vanished within seconds. No sign remained that the demonii had ever existed. The oily ooze on her dagger had disappeared, too, when a frisson shot through her. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck rose in warning. Oh, hell. More of them. Survival mode on high alert, Echo whipped around in a defensive strike and met steel with steel. The metallic sound reverberated through the cathedral’s garden. The sheer power of the blow vibrated up her hand to her injured shoulder. Pain streaked through her but didn’t slow her down. She attacked. He countered. This one was too strong, too canny. She lunged at him, but he grabbed her in a move that made her head spin and imprisoned her in an ironclad grip against a wall of muscle. It took her a second to realize the stranger had no intention of disarming or hurting her. He merely shielded himself from her attack. Irritated, she glared up. The impact of the man facing her over their crossed daggers hit her like a blow to the stomach. She stumbled back, dragging in lungfuls of air. Wild as rainstorms and earthy as sin, his scent crowded her. She blinked, sure the vision before her was a fantasy induced by her sleep-starved brain. He was so tall, he had to be at least six-seven. His long, leather duster parted to reveal muscular, leather-covered legs. All that black he wore was the perfect backdrop for a wickedly handsome face. The hard, sensual curve of his lips and that focused way he studied her told her he would know every carnal pleasure there was. A tiny shiver of awareness darted up her spine, but she brutally clamped it down. The chilly breeze tossed back strands of his long hair to reveal the glitter of small silver hoops in his ears. But his hair—she’d never seen anything like it. It was as if nature had stroked it with every shade of the blue spectrum then laid a careless dash of ebony between those strands. The air around him shifted. Power rolled off him in aggressive waves. But his eyes held her spellbound—gunmetal gray irises took on streaks of white—a caveat, a warning not to attack him again. Oh, Mr. Goth-man could send out all the signals he liked. She wasn’t easy to intimidate. “Who the hell are you?” she snapped.

Echo Mine (Fallen Guardians #1.5) by Georgia Lyn Hunter Genre: Adult Fiction (Paranormal Romance) First Published:  August 4, 2015 Publisher: GL Hunter

A Fallen Guardian Novella--companion book to Absolute Surrender

After a horrifying incident that left her in a coma for several long months, Echo now has to get used to a different life. As a descendant of a powerful angel, her days waver between training as the new Healer and convincing her mate she’s strong enough to match him in life and in bed. 

A surprise date night gives her the perfect opportunity to do both. But plans have a way of coming unraveled. One disaster leads to another, and Echo accepts that nothing in their lives will ever be normal.

But the biggest revelation of the night comes after she kills a dangerous demonii. Sparks fly between her and her mate, proving that normal is most definitely overrated...

Echo, Mine is a novella companion to Absolute Surrender in the Fallen Guardians series by Georgia Lyn Hunter. This is giving us a peek at how Aethan and Echo's life is going since her coma. I don't feel like I got much more information from this story than I already knew from Absolute Surrender. It was almost like a shortened version of Absolute Surrender with them fighting Demonaii and Aethan trying not to touch Echo, but I missed steaminess they had in the first book. I didn't feel it as much. Where'd it go? You'll need to read Absolute Surrender first, otherwise you won't know who's who or what's what. 

Absolute Surrender and Echo, Mine by Georgia Lyn Hunter was kindly provided to me by the author for review. The opinions are my own.

Dim lights cast a sickly, pale glow over the dingy alley, adding to the portentous sensation crawling through Aethan. As if some disaster loomed, one he couldn’t quite get a grip on. He glanced at Blaéz, strolling at his side. The warrior’s calm demeanor revealed nothing. He rolled his shoulders, trying to shrug off his unease. “Something feels off.” “Indeed…” Blaéz murmured as they bypassed several dumpsters lined against the grimy brick wall. The things reeked as if a pack of rats had died there. “You made a decision yet?” “About what?” Blaéz cut him a cool, detached stare. A purple bruise marred his jaw. With his penchant for brutal underground fighting, Aethan wasn’t surprised. “Is it that you really don’t know, or that you haven’t decided?” Aethan frowned. His disquiet hiking in leaps now. “Celt, you talk in riddles. How the hell am I supposed to know what you’re talking about? Did you have a vision or what?” The male’s precog ability was unparalleled. Hell, everything he’d told Aethan several months ago when he’d first met his mate had transpired—shit. Fear twisted his gut. “Is it Echo?” “No.” Blaéz turned back to stare into the night. “No precog needed for this one. But it does indeed concern your mate.” Aethan stopped and pinned his fellow Guardian an annoyed glare. “Just spit it out, man. What the hell is it?” Blaéz slowly faced him. He was as tall as Aethan, a little on the leaner side, and deadlier than a detonating bazooka jammed into one’s mouth with his ability to kill with a thought. But dammit, any slower on the response, and Aethan would probably die of old age! “Heard the females talking. Your mate and her friend, Kira…” “Yeah?” Aethan prompted, clamping down on his teeth to stop from shaking the words out of the warrior. “It’s Echo’s big day next week. Her birthday. Females, from what I’ve seen on TV, get excited about the day. And presents.” Fuuccck! Suddenly feeling faint, Aethan inhaled a lungful of reeking air. This was worse than a damn demonii bolt striking him in the chest. What the hell did he do now? Echo had told him her birthdate some time ago when she’d asked him his, but he hadn’t put much stock into remembering it. Hell, when you live forever, birthdays no longer mattered. He slid his hands into his pants pockets and continued up the alley, trying to think of something amazing for his mate…and came up blank. He really didn’t want to screw this up. “Would you know—” “Google.” “Right—” Aethan broke off. A familiar insidious prickle slithered over his psyche. Demoniis. The turned brethren of demons were on the hunt again, trawling for prey, for mortal souls to replace the dying ones they’d already harvested from humans. Eyes narrowed, he scanned the night air for the source… His heightened hearing caught the faint, pained cry of a female. Trouble. Aethan dematerialized in a scattering of molecules and followed the distressed cry. He took form moments later in The Bowery and tore down the dimly lit alley, tracking the sensation, and skidded to a halt. Blaéz appeared beside him. The abandoned warehouse across the street sat too still, too dark. The icy, malevolent sensation abrading his psyche grew stronger. Beneath it, the darker, coppery odor of blood stung his nose…no, not humans. “What the hell are they up to now?”

Georgia Lyn Hunter loves to create characters who’ll take you to the far and beyond to unforgettable adventures, steamy encounters and heart-stopping love stories… She grew up in the tropical climate of South Africa and currently lives abroad with her family. An avid reader from a young age, she devoured every book she got her hands on. When she's not writing or plotting her next novel, she loves trolling flea markets, buying things because they're so pretty, travelling, and being with her supportive family. To learn more about Georgia Lyn Hunter and her books, visit her website.You can also find her on Goodreads, Facebook, and Twitter.