"Persistence."

"To whittle oneself away, to tear your enemies apart - that is the power of a blade."

...

Over 15 hours (+5 if you count the speedpaint editing time), and 1,000 LAYERS later... "Persistence" is complete!

I was inspired by a frame in Blade's follow-up attack and always thought it was pretty, so I drew it in my own way! I did a lot different with this drawing, I'm actually really proud! I tried to learn from my last few and improve on the face.

The most challenging part was probably the clothing? I had to redo quite a few parts of it. The eyes and expression were quite challenging too... Went back and edited them 5 separate times lol.

Time taken: 15+ hours (+5 if you count the speedpaint editing time)

Layers: 1,000!! I included a gif of the layer setup.

The process gif, progress sheet, speedpaint link, and layer short will be posted in a few minutes!

~tysm for your time~!

Dancing with mha characters

part 1 - part 2 - part 3

kiri would ask you out of the blue, you two would probably be hanging out in his dorm one night and he’d just ask

like “baby, dance with me? 🥺”

he’d have his arms around you’re waist ofc, and he’d lay your head against his chest so you can hear his heart beat

he isn’t a good dancer but it’s all good, as long as you’re happy then he’s happy to dance with you

he wouldn’t do much other than sway, considering his poor skills

but he’d definetly him along to the songs

speaking of the songs, he’d probably play really cheesy love songs because he’s like that

laughs everytime either he or you messes up, he finds it amusing

ends up goofing off more towards the end

rating: 100/10, in conclusion, i love kirishima

you sat on kirishima’s bed, stretched out comfortably. your back against his headboard and his head in your lap, your fingers scratching gently against his scalp. he hummed along to the music playing, some song made a few years ago.

the song changed and he looked up at you, excitement flickering in his eyes, “baby, wanna dance with me?”

you stopped scratching his scalp for a moment, thinking about it. you smiled and nodded.

“yeah, i do, kiri,”

you’d have to ask him, like a lot

be persistent!!

it’s not that he doesn’t want to dance with you

it’s just that he has no fucking clue how to dance and doesn’t want to embarrass himself

he’s just s u c h a great dancer and doesn’t want to make you feel bad about your skills

no but he’s struggling,, he has no idea what he’s doing

“katsuki, just put your hands on-” “tch, i know what i’m doing dumbass”

he figures it out eventually, he had one had on your hip and the other holding yours

he buried his head in your neck so you don’t see his blush

he’s practically silent, only speaking to make a remark when you trip

he actually finds it really endearing

rating: katsuki, marry me

“katsuki, you gotta take a break. it isn’t good for you to keep at it like this,” you said rubbing his shoulder.

“yeah and what else would i do?” he grumbled, pushing his hand further down the pencil.

bakugou had been working non-stop on homework since he’d returned to the dorms that day. he had yet to take a break and he needed it, and you were about to force him into relaxing for a bit if he spent another second writing.

a small sigh left him before reaching up and grabbing your hand on his shoulder. He rubbed small shapes with his thumb and apologized.

“if you dance with me then we’ll be even,”

“alright shitty-(feature),” he paused before looking up at you through his eyelashes, “you and dancing.”

boy oh boy, sero and you dance so often

he loves dancing with you and DAMN is he good at it

he’ll dance with you at any point in time, for any reason

he spins you a lot, he’ll even lift you a little if he’s feeling it

it’s super playful

he dips you all the time

baby has the moves and loves teaching you

he’ll dance to any song, especially if you’re with him

he’s always laughing either you or talking to you while you dance together

rating: 10000/10, dancing king, only seventeen 🎶

“Mi sol, when did you get so good at this?”

sero spun you wildly in the spot, twirling you under his hand. you laughed and tumbled into his chest, still seeing the room spin around you. sero pulled back slightly to see you and your unfocused eyes.

“beginners bad luck finally wore off, i guess!”

he smiled down at you, waiting for you to lose the dizzy feeling of turning like that. he enjoyed your smile while you watched the room. but the second you’re eyes focused again he was moving around the room with you again.

“you’d best not drop me, hanta-”

he’d take you out dancing

endeavour payed for dance lessons when he was a kid - he couldn’t have his prodigy dancing like an idiot

this is an endeavour hate page

he took formal dancing lessons and would 100% take a while to loosen up with you

but he holds you very delicately, with one hand on the small of you’re back and the other holding yours

as he loosens up and relaxes he holds you closer to him

and i mean this is shouto todoroki we’re talking about, he’s quiet the whole time

he just watches you with a small smile on his face, cute as fuck-

would teach you to ballroom dance at some point, if you didn’t know

rating: 15/10, he’s a rich boy, he knows his moves

“sho, this is wonderful,” you grinned at him, “really, i appreciate this.”

he returned the smile, taking your hand in his and pulling you forward on to the dance floor. you straightened your clothes out and took his lead. the two of you began moving around the room together, following the rhythme of the song playing.

“you know how to dance formally?” he asked, watching you move with grace.

“i have no clue what i’m doing, i’m just following you,”

you’d ask and he’d: “y-you want to- i mean i’m not a good dancer- are you sure?? why??”

he’s so nervous, just give him some reassurance and he’ll be fine

he is always making sure he isn’t making you uncomfortable

he’d let you pick the music or chose from your playlist

he’d hold you by the hips after asking a few times if that was okay

he isn’t the best but he picks it up pretty quickly

he probably asked iida for dance lessons after this

n e ways, he’d probably be red the whole time

rating: 12/10, his nervousness is actually really endearing

he put his hands on your hips and pulled you toward him, glancing up to make sure you weren’t uncomfortable. you wrapped your arms around his neck loosely, moving closer to him. you started swaying to the song playing and he followed your lead. the two of you starting to step around.

“are you sure you’re okay with this,” he tapped his fingers against your hip.

you hummed and rested your head on his shoulder, finding dancing with him comforting, “ ‘s okay, izuku. i promise.”

he kissed you on the crown of your head and continued moving to the music. he started relaxing and fully taking in the moment.

tenya iida, my main man,, he also got dance lessons when he was younger

fuckin rich boy

he short circuited when you asked, just give him a moment

he was probably super excited but kept it under control

he almost certainly played some sort of ballroom music (does that make sense??)

mans full on waltzed with you-

but he’d also do a more casual dance if you wanted

he held you small of your back and waist, he’s very careful not to make you uncomfortable

he’d only be goofy if you guys are just fooling around and making jokes while dancing

other than that he’s pretty quiet

rating: 20/10, tenya please wear some goddamn contacts during training

“y/n, i’m so sorry,” iida flushed deeply, stopping his movements.

despite his time practicing dance and his thought out movements, he’s stepped on your foot. he was apologizing profusely while you just stood and laughed lightly, watching his arm chop down.

“i’m sorry, i should have watched my step and- wait are you laughing?”

“iida, it’s okay. you have nothing to worry about.”

he’d probably just randomly start dancing with you

like you could be dancing around while cleaning and he’d just join you

baby can’t dance, he just can’t

but he acts like he can

would twirl you constantly and he’d try to dip you but fail miserably 😭

electric slide lookin ass

probably just starts his playlist and dances to random songs

he’s so goofy omg-

doesnt stop laughing or teasing you

rating: 30/30, sounds like a vibe

“you’ve been hit by, you’ve been struck by, a smooth criminal!”

denki stood on his toes, head tipped downward, and his hand positioned like he was dipping a fedora. at this point he had crashed into the table and knocked a chair over. this man was to never be trusted near anything fragile.

he took your hand and spun you around him, trying to keep you from the chair on the floor. after he spun you he spun himself, this time tripping over the chair and tumbling into the fridge.

“denki are you okay? are you okay, denki?” you sang along with the song playing.

sunshine man, he would 100% dance with you

but you’d have to ask, the thought just wouldn’t come to his mind

and he is worse than denki

but he has so much fun with it that it doesn’t matter

he spins you and lifts you, it’s so fun

he’s so goofy and playful, not a serious moment

he accidentally activated his quirk while dipping you, that hurt

but he loves dancing with you

and he pokes fun at his own dancing, he finds it really amusing

and he hyped you up so much

rating: 1000000/10, overall a perfect experience

a squeal left your mouth as your feet left the ground, mirio’s hands clutching your waist tightly. you grabbed on to his shoulders to keep yourself steady. he put you back on the ground and continued dancing along to the music. he shimmed his shoulders and bopped his head to the beat. or at least tried.

“i know that you can’t help but watch my horrible dancing but you gotta dance with me, can’t be the only bad dancer here!”

you shook your head and took his hands, shimmying along with him. man was mirio was a bad dancer but he made it so much fun

you’d ask him and he would just not get why you’d wanna dance with him

he wouldn’t object to it, it’s just that he’s sure that he’s a bad dancer and that others are so much better and

would hide his face in your neck and hold you really tightly to him

and he’s so nervous

if he stepped on you he’d let go of you and just stand in a corner for hours

but honestly, he’s actually a really good dancer

if you guys dance more he’ll start goofing off and doing stuff like spinning you

probably doesn’t put on music and if he did it would be off of his chill playlist

rating: 80/10, might be my ideal situation

you and amajiki had barely moved from where you guys started, not that it mattered. you two had been swaying more than dancing, but it was peaceful and relaxing. that’s what mattered. he had he’s arms wrapped tightly around your torso and his head was hidden in your neck. you felt his smile and uneven breathes brushing against your skin.

some old slow song played from your phone, one he chose. both of you were happy with the closeness and intimacy of the moment, but tamaki was happy he just hadn’t stepped on you. god that would have killed him. but he had yet to, and he was thankful.

“thank you, tama,” you smiled gently, “this is nice.”

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 19 | S.R.)

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Finale |

Summary: Reader and Spencer share the night together following her doctor’s appointment. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Fingering, penetrative sex, degradation, daddy kink, Adults w/ Age Gap (10yr), spitting kink, unprotected sex (creampie), vague mention of subdrop, aftercare included Word Count: 6.2k

MASTERLIST

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There was something about the BAU bullpen that felt like another world. The open layout and the way it could shift from frantic rushing to bored silence in seconds sometimes made me feel like I was the most normal person contained within its walls. It was a rare sight, to see me there, and for good reason. I didn’t like to be there, considering most of my time there had been spent being questioned about homicide.

But it wasn’t like that, not that morning. I’d finished my doctor’s appointment early enough that I could hopefully locate the elusive Dr. Reid before he took off for lunch. And sure enough, just as I excitedly bounced over to his desk, I heard the ever-excited, yet comforting squeak of my boyfriend as he returned with a freshly poured cup of coffee.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” he practically yelled through a smile, rushing over to drop the mug on his desk. He couldn’t do it fast enough and barely made it. Once the mug was barely safe on the desk, his arms raced to wrap around me.

I giggled at the enthusiasm, considering it’d only been a couple hours since I saw him. But I was ecstatic to be with him and share the news I’d tucked away to keep safe on the way over. It was too much to bear by myself for long, and I knew he would be happy to help carry the load.

“I finished my appointment early and since I was in the neighborhood, I wanted to come see my boyfriend and give him the good news in person.” I explained. Spencer eyed me cautiously, careful not to get too far ahead of himself. I looked back with what I’d hoped was a cheeky grin, but I had a feeling it just turned into a goofy, toothy grin. Just as Spencer figured it out and his eyebrows shot up, another voice joined us.

“Mia stellina!” Rossi boomed, the bass carrying through the room like it always seemed to. It was the kind of joyful exclamation that demanded your attention, no matter how dark the circumstances surrounding you were. I knew that from personal experience.

I laughed again as he enveloped both me and Spencer in a hug that the latter only kind-of-sort-of cringed away from.

“Reid didn’t tell us that you were coming in today! I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

I snorted at the implication, stepping back to buy back my breathing space. “You’re never a bother, Rossi.” And I meant it, even if he had just interrupted mine and Spencer’s very important conversation. I could table it for a moment, though. There hadn’t been many chances for me to talk to Rossi since the hospital. Although he'd visited less frequently than Derek or Hotch, he'd still come by often enough for me to miss him. He was, by far, the most unique member of the team. People always assumed it would be Penelope, but I stuck with my contention that it’s the quieter ones you have to keep an eye on. Not that Rossi didn’t love to talk, and especially when it granted him the ability to name-drop.

“This is why I like you,” he casually reminded, waving off a slightly offended Spencer on his side. “And I trust that Reid already told you about the plans for next weekend.”

As soon as I turned to look at Spencer, he immediately looked away.

Luckily, Rossi wasn’t obtuse and quickly recognized the display of guilt. “I stand corrected.”

“What plans?” I butted in before either of them could speak. Spencer grimaced at the monotone, as he was fully aware of the level of annoyed it signaled.

“I told him to extend you an invite to the next family dinner, but it seems like he’s selfishly planning on keeping you all to himself.” Rossi’s playful tone was his way of requesting I give Spencer a break, but I wasn’t in the mood for forgiveness just yet. After spending months trapped in my bed, I was always looking for an excuse to talk to anyone that wasn’t my roommate. And when it came to the team... I mean, they were like his family. It made sense I wanted their approval, right? Or was I really, honestly just seeking the approval of men like Hotch and Rossi because of my “daddy issues?” And oh, god, I didn’t want to delve into that psychology.

“How rude,” I deadpanned, instead, elbowing Spencer’s side just enough to elicit a pained exhale and an explanation.

“I was going to tell her. I was just waiting until we actually knew when it was going to happen.”

“He’s lying,” I told Rossi, earning a very adamant, denial from Spencer in the process that I brushed off. We both did. The pout that immediately followed was harder to ignore, but I could be strong.

Honestly, it was just funny to see him in this environment. When he was alone with me, he was usually the one in charge, but at work, Spencer was hardly that. It was the only chance I had to tease the ever living shit out of him with little chance of immediate consequences.

“Yeah, he’s lying,” Rossi easily deduced, waving a dismissive hand at Spencer before continuing, “But luckily, you were here. And whenever it happens, I hope that you’ll be there, too. It’s important for you to have a chance to socialize with us outside of the job.”

I smiled, finally looping my arm around Spencer’s to hopefully ease the pain caused by being ignored. Rossi, however, didn’t seem to be on the same wavelength, considering he gave another quick quip. “Hopefully you’ll bring the kid with you,” he teased as he turned away, pointing to the notably older and larger man at my side.

“How am I the kid in this scenario?” Spencer muttered under his breath, the pout still on his face, and still just as cute.

“Will do, Rossi,” I happily chirped.

“Thank you, stellina.” Rossi said with a wink, casually bringing both hands to his lips to blow each of us a kiss.

Once Rossi was fully out of earshot, Spencer sighed in resignation. He had complained before about the fact that the team had immediately felt comfortable with me, contrary to his own experience. But of course, it wasn’t fair to compare. I'd come into their lives piggybacking on their close relationship with him. Spencer didn’t see it that way, though.

“Why do you get a nickname?” he grumbled, dropping his head to the side to rest atop mine.

I didn’t let him rest there long, pushing him back away from me so that I could stand before him again. With my fingers under my chin, I flashed the brightest smile I could while dramatically emphasizing, “Because I’m a little star.”

Spencer looked down at me with a gentle adoration, his hand coming up to brush over my cheek. My face followed after him, desperate for any contact he could offer in the sterile environment. It didn’t really make much sense how touch starved I was; it wasn’t like he hadn’t touched me over the past couple months. Or even that he'd touched me any less-- if anything, it had been more.

But then again, how could I ever get enough? I was certain Spencer would call me spoiled, and in many ways, I was, but I didn’t care. If I could find a way to bottle up the way I felt when he held me, I would. Lord knows there were so many times when I'd needed it and he wasn’t there. I wouldn’t ever admit that to him, though. What would be the point?

He couldn’t always be there. Sometimes he would have to leave. 

Unaware of the dramatic monologue in my head, my boyfriend sighed. His lips pursed again while he watched my eyes soften the longer that he held my face. “You certainly are little,” he concluded. I knew he wanted to say more but feared doing so might lead the conversation down a path less suited for work. Although, what I had planned wasn’t exactly work appropriate, either.

“You know we’re definitely going, right?” I replied, peeking my tongue out from behind my lips.

With a loud groan, he took his hand back like the question had burned him. “Fine,” he conceded before quickly shifting the conversation, “but I’m more interested in what you came here to tell me. How did your appointment go?”

“It went very well. I got wonderful news,” I beamed. There were many idiosyncrasies of Dr. Spencer Reid that I absolutely adored, but one of my favorites happened to be the one where his eyebrows jumped halfway up his forehead, his eyes going wide with a curious glint. Just like they did then.

“Does this news mean you’ll be staying at my place tonight?”

“It can…” As I spoke, I wrapped both of my arms around his arm and pulled him down to whisper in his ear, “unless you want to take a long lunch break and get a head start.”

“Someone’s eager,” he replied with a snort that didn’t sound nearly as promising as I’d hoped.

“Can you blame me?”

Before I could sulk too hard, he poked me on the forehead and chuckled at the resistance I gave to the action. “Lunch, unfortunately, would not give me enough time for what I want to do to you,” he practically purred in a barely-there whisper against my ear. “When I get home, I want to find you on my bed with nothing on. Do you understand me, little girl?”

“Yes.” I had to stop myself from making too much noise, but a pathetic whimper slipped out before I could stop it.

“Good girl,” he whispered with his retreat, “I’ll see you then.”

Suddenly, I couldn’t wait for the hours to pass me by. I couldn’t stay at the BAU for long, recognizing a sudden shift of energy as JJ began rushing them into the office right before I left. At first, I thought it was a case, but Spencer assured me it wasn’t. He promised me that he would be home that night, and that I didn’t need to worry.

But the hours did not fly by; they took their sweet fucking time. I didn’t even bother waiting in the bed for most of them. I honestly spent nearly 8 of them rifling through the shelves in his living room, looking for a book that was both from this century and actually in English.

After I’d rifled through his cupboards and realized that he didn’t have any food, I went to the grocery store and bought food, returned, unloaded the bags, cooked and ate dinner before I came to one simple conclusion:

Spencer Reid was a filthy goddamn liar.

That was my admittedly grumpy thought when I finally crawled into his still empty bed in his even lonelier apartment. His pillow smelled enough like him that I could hug it and pretend that I wasn’t waiting for someone who was probably not going to come back anytime soon. I thought about going home, but I decided being lonely in his bed was better than being alone in my own.

My temper tantrum  kept my face sulkily buried in his pillow, so when my phone started to ring, I didn’t notice it. I didn’t notice much of anything, and before I knew it, I’d drifted off into a world where Spencer could keep his promises because his job didn’t suck.

Of course, even in my sadness my mind drifted to other memories spent there. I’d fallen back into the loop of memories of the last time we were together. I could almost feel his breath against my thighs and his hands raking over my hips. And like it always seemed to, reality and fantasy began to blur. Spencer’s hand on my thigh felt so hot, I was burning beneath it. My whole body tensed, my back arching in the hopes of finding him.

I wasn’t sure which woke me first, the low, gentle chuckle, or the whisper in my ear.

“Maybe I should change your nickname to Aurora.”

I sat up before I even registered the words. Reacting to his voice alone, my arms were already around him and dragging him back down before he could say anything else.

“You’re home!” I shouted, groggy but happy to not be alone. If I’d looked at the clock, I would have seen the hands pointing to the early hours of the next day, but it hardly mattered anymore. All that mattered to me was that he was there, in my arms.

“I guess it’s my fault for not specifying that you should be awake when I got home.”

Answering him with a sloppy, sleepy kiss on the lips, I relished the way he couldn’t stop himself from laughing through it. “I’m awake now,” I answered with a very poorly timed yawn. It luckily didn’t dissuade him, and his hands quickly worked up over my hips and beneath the sheer negligee I’d worn to bed hours earlier. 

“What’s this? I could have sworn my instructions were to not wear anything,” he chastised with a smile.

“I don’t follow instructions. You already knew that,” I mumbled back. It wasn’t until I ran my hands through his hair that I realized that he’d already stripped down to nothing before waking me up.

How considerate.

His curls seemed so much longer than before, and the movements seemed to distract him enough to grant me some mercy. We both knew why I didn’t want to be naked yet. And it really was a ‘yet.’ I truly believed that I’d eventually be able to own my body again, but that point just seemed so far in the future. Spencer didn’t want to push it. Not that night.

“I’ll let it slide this time.” He shared the words with kisses over my jaw and neck, his hands growing hungrier by the second. They skipped straight from my hips to my chest, grabbing hold of my breasts through the thin fabric. He was almost out of breath already when he murmured, “Before we do anything, you have to promise me you’ll stop me if it hurts.”

“I know, Spencer,” I droned, but he kept going.

“I mean it. Any sign of discomfort, you have to tell me.”

“I know!” I shouted with a laugh, struggling to push him away while he continued to cling to me. Finally having managed to do it, I promptly fell back onto the pillow. As I rolled my body over to lay flat, I managed to grab hold well enough that I could pull him over top of me. “Don’t ruin the mood!”

He stopped to admire the sight before him. All I could see, though, was the way he looked at me. The rest of the world seemed to fade away, and I wondered what he saw when he looked at me like that. He looked at me like he loved me so much he wanted to break me. I wished he would.

“How could I ruin anything when you look so fucking perfect laid out in my bed for me?” He growled, his nails dragging over the sensitive skin of my chest.

I couldn’t tell if it was his intention or some kind of Freudian slip, but I was reminded of the day I marred his chest with a necklace-shaped mark in a very similar fashion. The memory made me giggle. “I’m not so innocent.” The understatement of the century.

“Maybe not, but there are still a lot of things I’ve yet to show you.”

I was waiting for the but. I knew it was coming.

“But for now, we’re going to go slow.”

And there it was. I thought to myself how ridiculously unfair it was that having a good boyfriend meant actually being able to rely on them to take care of you. Even armed with the knowledge of my masochistic tendencies, Spencer was too scared to seriously hurt me. Thankfully, though, he wasn’t scared enough to stop him from sliding his hand up my thigh and slipping his finger into my drenched heat.

“The question is how slow?” he teased, recognizing from the rocking of my hips that I was more than prepared to have him then. “How much should I torture you, little girl?”

“Please,” was the only word I could whine at first, but I still saw too much restraint in his eyes. I knew that if I didn’t convince him now, I might be there for hours before he gave me what I wanted. It wasn’t the worst idea, but judging by his already bloodshot eyes, I figured I might as well speed things along.

“Please, daddy,” I whimpered much louder, tilting my hips up to present myself to him. I could feel his erection pressed against me, his palm pressing down as he struggled to decide if he even wanted to keep me in place. I could see that desire to destroy me return to his eye with a vengeance. He knew that I was challenging him, but then again, when did I not?

“Take care of me,” I begged. That was the way I succeeded in breaking Spencer; in turn, he would break me.

He grabbed my legs so quickly and roughly that I was almost dizzy with it. Wrapping them around his own hips, he lined himself up and began dragging the head of his cock over my sex. Low and wildly shaking, Spencer’s words were only barely audible over the sound of the blood rushing in my veins.

“Are you ready?” he asked, like my answer would ever change.

“Yes!” I shouted, nodding like my words wouldn’t be enough.

Spencer had barely waited for the confirmation. Inch by inch, he slowly stretched me open like it was the very first time he touched me. His movements were so precise, so gentle and undoubtedly tender, that I thought I might actually cry.

I had almost forgotten what it felt like when he touched me like that. I would never admit it to him, but with every passing second, I could feel the love rushing back to me. That connection that had felt strained was reinforced and reasserted.

He just felt so fucking good. And apparently, Spencer had similar thoughts in mind.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his head falling forward to knock our foreheads together. There was clearly so much effort going into not hurting me that I just found myself hoping he was still enjoying it. That train of thought made it more difficult when his next question came. “Does it hurt?”

“No, it feels so fucking good,” I sobbed, and it was the truth. My hips, though already growing tired thanks to the months of disuse, struggled to try and take more of him. And even when he was fully inside me, I still cried out to him. “Please, Spencer!”

“Be patient,” he said with a grunt, his hips pulling back just enough for him to slam into me with more force. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

The words made a swarm of butterflies burst through my lower half that already felt so full with him. The statement just sounded so perfectly selfish in a way I’d been dying to feel for months. I wanted him to reap the rewards he’d so obviously earned. I wanted to give them to him, really, but I just couldn’t make it too easy. It wasn’t our style.

“So it’s not about taking care of me anymore, is it?” I pouted, although my lips quickly parted again as Spencer increased his pace in response.

“Are you not satisfied, little girl?” he teased, reaching up with one hand to wrap around my hair, forcing my head back among the pillows while he started to drive into me at a reckless pace. “Do you need me to fuck you harder?”

“Yes!” I yelled, my hands reaching for him, digging into his skin and bringing him closer to me. “I want it. Give it to me.”

Whether he sensed the desperation in my voice or simply couldn’t hold it back any longer, Spencer showed an uncharacteristic level of mercy on me. He barely protested at all before giving into my demands. Holding my head back in that same craned position, he laid sloppy kisses over my throat before whispering, “My little girl gets whatever she wants.”

There were no more words on my mind besides his name, which I recited over and over like a prayer. Each time he filled me, my eyes could barely stay open and my lips were nearly bruised from my constant biting. It was easy to forget that the rest of the world existed— that it was past midnight on a weeknight and everyone in the surrounding apartments would probably fucking hate us.

But Spencer didn’t seem to care either. Well, that’s a misstatement. Spencer definitely cared about my volume, but he didn’t care about other people not being able to hear it. He made that quite clear when he gripped my lower jaw in one hand and pulled it down, forcing my mouth open for him.

He had that look in his eyes again. The one that told me there were entire worlds in his mind that I hadn’t seen. Deeply hidden desires lurking just under the rippling surface. I wondered how far they went and just how much Spencer would hurt me if I could convince him to.

“Tell me what you want,” he ordered through clenched teeth, his jaw tensed and eyes still burning. There was a hurricane happening behind those hazel rings, and I wanted him to let it out.

I didn’t know how to ask him to do that; to convince him to break me even while I lay before him already broken and barely keeping it together. I did the only thing I could think to do with his hand still holding my mouth open to him and presented my tongue to him.

Spencer tried to remain composed and stoic as ever, but his body betrayed in him the same way it always did. His eyes. From the second they flickered down to see what I was asking for, his pupils blew out and swallowed the comforting toffee color of his irises.

With an even darker tone, Spencer chuckled, “You’re a filthy, greedy bitch.”

It’s hard to explain how much the words filled every part of my body. The way goosebumps rippled over my skin and an undeniable, almost unbearable heat burned at my face. It only got worse when Spencer finally did as I asked, gathering the saliva in his mouth just to drop it into my own.

The second it hit my tongue, I felt so irrefutably his that I was high with it. My eyes rolled to the back of my head as I swallowed between hungry gasps for air. And when it was over, I presented my tongue to him again.

I did so good, sir. Please tell me that I’m good, sir.

There were no words, but Spencer praised me in his actions. He lowered his mouth to mine, his tongue sliding against mine until our mouths were connected in the basest manner. For all the destructive power he held, he kissed me so softly. He still kissed me like he loved me.

Neither of us lasted much longer. Spencer’s hand slid from my jaw to rest on my neck, and a moan tore through my chest. Even though he applied no pressure, the casual reminder of what he could do to me was all that I needed. I lost myself in the bliss of him, my hands tangled in his hair and holding his mouth against mine even when I couldn’t kiss him anymore.

His eyes watched me, still covered in the blackness of his pupils and that animalistic desire to claim me however possible. I watched those eyes the entire time I came, wanting to both grant him the submission he deserved while also selfishly wanting to see the control I had over him, too.

Spencer kept his eyes open as he followed after me, unable to resist the calling of my body, begging him to mark, use, and fill it however he pleased. I watched his eyes roll back ever so slightly, his breath hitching as he pulsed inside me in tandem with my walls that held onto him for dear life.

I was his. I'd known that before, but how easily I’d forgotten. How quickly I’d let some stranger and some lead lay claim to me and make me believe that I could be anything but Spencer’s beautiful little girl.

When all semblance of fight left our bodies, Spencer still managed not to collapse on top of me. Apparently not even me letting him spit in my mouth was enough to convince him I was alright. I wrapped my arms around him and tugged him down on top of me, feeling the comfortable weight of him holding my chest down to more manageable breaths.

That was all there was for a while; our heavy breath breezing over sweat-covered skin as we lay tangled together under the sheets. I soaked in the feeling of slightly uncomfortable bliss, enjoying the way that we didn’t care if it wasn’t perfect because it felt close enough to us.

“I missed this,” Spencer said under his breath. It was a rare showing of selfish honesty— the first time he’d admitted to me that he had been having to hold part of himself back for months. He hadn’t been able to love me like he wanted, either. He might have been worried that I would take it the wrong way, but in reality, I had never felt so relieved to hear it.

“Me too.” I returned, trying to assuage his guilt as much as I could. I knew it wouldn’t do much, but I needed him to understand how grateful I was to share the moment with him.

Then again… They do say that laughter is the best medicine. So with a bit of a giggle, I mumbled, “Not so much the next part, but this one, yeah.”

With a small, sleepy chuckle, Spencer slurred against the pillow, “You’re such a romantic.”

“Says the asshole who doesn’t have to get up,” I reminded him. I struggled to move underneath him as he seemed to drop even more dead weight on top of me.

Like I said: Asshole.

“I wish you didn’t have to get up. I don’t want to let you go yet.”

I rolled my eyes, continuing to push at his stubborn shoulders while huffing back, “It’ll only be a few minutes, Spencer. The bathroom is right there.”

Nuzzling his face into my neck, he mumbled back, “Too long.”

“I can never tell if you’re more of an old man or a big baby.”

“I don’t know, let’s stay here and talk about it for a long time,” he answered with a laugh. I hated the fact that I laughed too, my attempts to shove him off finally ceasing. He pulled his head back, looking at me with all the love in the world.

I wasn’t ready for him to look at me like that. I couldn’t explain why, but the idea of him loving me still felt so terrifying. That fear was compounded by the realization that he might see it.

“Get up, idiot,” I replied to hide that emotion. It also helped to distract me from my own thoughts, and I ended up biting on my bottom lip to stop myself from smiling. It didn’t work.

“You’re so mean to me,” Spencer whined as he slowly removed himself with a small grunt.

“Only when you deserve it.”

Normally I would have eagerly gotten up myself, but I realized then just how painful it was to move. Spencer watched me with a massive, overwhelming guilt that formed before I could even think of how to prevent it. I decided it wasn’t worth it to try. It wouldn’t work. I just let him guide my legs off the bed so that I could shakily stand and shuffle off to the bathroom.

The best part about the time alone was being able to pull myself together and massage the angry scar tissue.

It won’t always be like this, I reminded myself, we can be beautiful again without it hurting.

That was the pep talk, anyway. It was the thing that got me back into the room and under the covers. Curling up by his side was like nature’s medicine. All of my muscles relaxed against him... until he turned around and ruined the perfect comfortable position.

Groaning in the least attractive manner, I pouted the entire time we readjusted. But despite my protests, Spencer looked as happy and comfortable as ever. Plopping my head back down on the pillow, I narrowed my eyes at his contemplation.

“What?”

“L’amor che move il sole e l’altre stelle,” he answered, which really only led to my confused face shifting to confused and incredibly turned on again. But one word in particular sounded familiar, as reminded by Rossi earlier in the day. Or rather, the day before.

“I recognize that last word. What are you saying about me, Dr. Reid?”

“It’s the final line in Divina Commedia by Dante Alighieri.” He was doing that cryptic thing again, having apparently not learned his lesson that I would always beat the answer out of him eventually, one way or another

Through a yawn, I mumbled, “What is that, Dante’s Inferno?”

“Well, Inferno is the first section, but I’m quoting Paradiso, which is the third and final installment of the overall work.” And apparently, he was also doing that thing where he taught me really interesting new things when I definitely did not have the brain capacity to understand or retain the information. We both knew I would have to Google it later, so there was no point in lingering.

“Okay, so what does it mean?”

Spencer paused, his gaze sweeping back and forth across my face like he was searching for the proper translation. Like the real answer he sought was something that could only be seen by his eyes. Eventually, he settled on a simpler and equally romantic response.

“It’s the way he describes the piece of Heaven he saw.”

But that still wasn’t good enough for my constantly curious self. It might have been the brat in me, but it was almost like he was avoiding the direct translation. Like I wasn’t smart enough to come to my own conclusion about it. “I’m going to keep asking until you answer me,” I droned, more reminiscent of a nagging two year old rather than a twenty year old. 

“Spoiled,” he remarked, lightly tapping on my nose before he sighed. “It means ‘the love which moves the sun and the other stars.’”

I thought about the words for a minute. Or rather, I thought about trying to think about the words. Unfortunately, my exhaustion and blissed-out brain got the better of me, and the beautiful words whispered, in English this time, went in one ear and out the other. Spencer was giving me a smug little smile, like he could see my cluelessness written on my face.

“I like the Heaven explanation better,” I sneered, trying not to let him win this one just yet. But it was obvious from the way his smile grew that he’d already won. 

“Yeah, I knew you would. You just had to keep asking.”

Snaking my hand around his waist, I pulled myself flush against him. “I’m a very curious kitten, Dr. Reid,” I purred, gently rubbing our noses together in a very successful attempt to distract him from gloating. 

And in a brief flash of self-awareness, I realized how utterly normal I felt. It wasn’t just average; unlike the domestic moments we’d shared over the recovery, this one felt so... natural. There was nothing foreign about his hand on the small of my back, and the rhythm his fingertips tapped felt like a lullaby I’d heard a million times before.

“I wouldn’t want you any other way,” Spencer whispered, breaking me from the brief aside and back into the present. 

“I’m pretty sure you’d have me in any form.” I didn’t laugh yet, but once Spencer joined in, there was no hope left for me.

“Yeah, probably, but you don’t have to point it out!” he whined.

I watched as the color started to form on his face, first starting with his ears and nose before spreading out across his cheeks. That blush, still visible in the dim light, was still one of the most beautiful things in the world to me. I never tired of it. Paired with his embarrassed giggles mingled with my own, I felt the undeniable and overwhelming emotion that could only be described as ‘love.’

When the laughter finally ceased, it was just the two of us in silence again, although now we were so close together that we might as well have been one person. It felt that way sometimes. Not like one might think— it was not the supposedly romantic but strangely depressing idea that we aren’t whole without another. It was more like knowing that I would never be more myself than I was when I was in his arms.

Comfortable. Safe. At home.

“Spencer?” I spoke before he could fully close his eyes that he somehow kept open for me. 

“What’s up?”

“Thank you.”

That seemed to wake him up, which was not at all my intention. In fact, I'd hoped he wouldn’t respond at all and let the words stand. But he must have heard the hidden message behind it, the fear that all good things must come to an end.

“For what?” he asked. His hand on my back started to make soothing strokes under the negligee, reasserting his presence with me.

I considered answering. I thought about word vomiting all of my fears of inadequacy and broken promises and a future of settling for me. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t ruin the moment with such stupid things. The feelings would pass with enough time, right? I didn’t want to bother him with it. I didn’t even know if the problems were problems at all.

“I just wanted you to know that I’m happy and I love you,” I said, instead.

Spencer still saw that I was hiding something, but we were both too tired to push it. We could always talk about it in the morning if we remembered, which I was hoping we wouldn’t.

“I wish I could help you understand how much I love you,” he murmured, removing his hand from my back to trace my jaw. “I can tell you that I want to marry you and raise a family with you but… I don’t think it’s enough.

My stomach immediately dropped. It fell so hard that I actually flinched from his hand, my face twisting into an even more obvious grimace. If my hope was for Spencer to sleep, I’d made a grave error. He immediately shot up onto his arm, cupping my face and inspecting my eyes for any persisting sign of pain.

“What’s wrong?” he pressed, his eyes bouncing back and forth between my stomach and eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Nothing is wrong!” I squeaked, my hands flying to his shoulders to pull him back down. “I’m fine. I’m just tired.”

Our eyes locked in a challenge; a silent back and forth of wills and pleas. And eventually, Spencer started to lower back on the pillow. He’d let me win this one.

“It is past your bedtime,” he said with only a whisper of defeat in his voice.

“It’s past every normal human being’s bedtime, Spencer,” I said before turning away from him in the hope that it would make that concern in his eyes hurt less. It didn’t.

“And you think I’m the old man,” he joked back, snuggling up behind me and sighing into my neck as his hand rested on my hip. “Goodnight, little girl.”

So soon after he spoke, he was already asleep. Unfortunately, it wasn’t so simple for me. Even in his sleep, Spencer’s hands found their way to my stomach. His fingers spread over the expanse of skin like the scars didn’t exist at all. Like it was just as perfect a placement for him to hold onto me as it ever was before. Spencer had a tendency to hold me with so much love that I no longer felt capable of containing it.

It was... suffocating. It took my mind back to images of his blood soaked hands in much of the same position. His hands felt foreign again, and I felt even further away. Like Spencer wasn’t actually there, and neither was I. All that he was holding onto was memory instead of me.

He said he loved me, but he didn’t say why. The only answers my mind would consider were things that had already died months ago. Things that his hands and kisses couldn't fix.

I couldn’t ask him why. I was too afraid of the answer.

 —————————————————

| Part 20 |

Blooming Day, Part 1

You neve imagined that your engagement would fail, that you would move to Korea, or that by a series of coincidences you would meet your long-term celebrity crush, Byun Baekhyun. You most certainly never imagined that someone like him would take an interest in you either, but he did; and now you’re stuck because you don’t trust like you used to and you just aren’t quite sure if you have the courage to take a chance on him. 

Wordcount: 4k

You let out a sigh as you dropped your spoon back into your tea. You wondered how long it would take for the cheap metal to turn the drink as bitter as you felt about the state of your life at the current moment. You flopped back onto the floor, still not having any actual furniture despite having been in Korea for just under a month now.

Who needed a sofa or a nice set of kitchen chairs when you had that homely camping chair you picked up for cheap at the street market? Sure, the arms were flimsy, the cup holder was too small, and it sagged very low when you sat in it, but, it was something and it was yours.

To be fair, you thought, you were never supposed to have been here.

You were supposed to have rejected the opportunity to study for a year in Korea in favor of finally marrying your fiancé in the Spring: transferring to a college just 15 minutes away from the job he was offered at some powerhouse music label. 

That was what you had been planning ever since you got engaged 6 months ago. Even found a nice apartment with the view of a park filled to the brim with tall trees and dickhead geese that you liked to watch chase people. You spent so many Saturday mornings with Ethan on the balcony. Nothing sounded better than finally starting a life together with the man you loved more than yourself.

 Well, at least until you came home early on your anniversary to surprise him with his favorite dessert and found him balls deep in your (former) best friend.

 On the bed you paid for.

 The bitch even had the nerve to be wearing the fancy set of lingerie that you had bought for yourself just a few months prior as a reward for acing a particularly brutal exam.

 You remember dropping the sweets onto the floor, furiously yanking the diamond off your left hand, and throwing it somewhere in his general direction. You tightly clutched the purse that you never even got the chance to set down to your body and ran back out of the apartment. He rushed after you, yelling some bullshit about how it “didn’t mean anything”, “it isn’t what you think”, and “(Y/N), I love you! I’m sorry. Baby, please stop!”

 You didn’t, though. Your brisk walked changed into a full sprint when curious neighbors opened their doors to take a peek at the commotion. They glanced repeatedly between the sobbing girl and the naked man yelling after her. It was by far the most humiliating experience of your life.

 From there the details of that day get a little fuzzy, but you remember taking a taxi to the airport and buying a last-minute flight to Seoul. A child kicked the back of your seat for at least half the time you were in the air out of boredom, but you didn’t have the energy to tell him to stop. After a good five hours of doing nothing but staring blankly in front of you, you managed to drift off.

When you came to, a flight attendant was explaining to everyone that they needed to get ready to disembark. Her warm smile and friendly tone did nothing but annoy you. Who gave her the right to be so happy when your world just crumbled beneath your feet?

 You knew you were being irrational, but still.

 After making it to what appeared to be a small shopping center within the airport, you decided that you needed a drink. Preferably something warm and sugary to get you out of the daze you were in. Luckily, a Starbucks was nestled in between two shops: One being an overpriced gift shop and the other selling fast food that was far too greasy for the average customer. About 20 minutes later you were sitting alone on a barstool, with a half-full venti cup that was most definitely cold by now, but you didn’t mind.

 With one more deep breath, you reached into your purse and slid out your phone. You had turned it off immediately after buying your plane tickets and you were scared of the notifications that you would receive. Part of you was even more scared that you wouldn’t receive any.

 Was it possible for him to just toss five years together away so quickly? Could you? After all, he did say he was sorry. That it was all just a big mistake, and that he loved you and not her.

But how could he do something like that to you when he said he loved you? You loved him, and you most certainly never slept with another man. Especially not in the bed you shared with him and with his closest friend.

  How many times had they done it? Was it truly a mistake? Maybe he had just gotten drunk and it was all one big accident. Your head started to hurt with all the possibilities floating through your mind.

 You had shocked yourself with a quick, but firm smack to the center of your forehead. “You don’t accidentally stick your dick in someone else, idiot. Why would he be drunk at 2 pm? He knew what he was doing.”

 With your thumb pressing into the power button you watched with bated breath as the welcome screen flashed on. You waited for the notifications to flood your phone; the flight to Seoul was long, surely, you’d have received many texts in that time, right? Your finger tapped anxiously on the screen as it refreshed.

 Then, one after another a notification popped up in a bright banner at the top of the phone. There were several voicemails and even more texts. They started out apologetic, parroting the words he yelled after you in the hallway. However, they grew increasingly nasty. Ethan always did have a nasty temper, and it flared up when he was being ignored and when he was drunk.

Judging by how slurred his voice was in the last few messages, and how incoherent his texts became, it was safe to assume that he had downed the bottle of (far too expensive) whiskey he loved to always keep stocked at the house.

 While you weren’t able to make out everything he said to you, the gist was that you were just some dumb little girl that he had settled for because you were safe. That he never loved you and that you needed to apologize to him for the scene you created when you left the apartment.

  “The neighbors were staring.” Because that was your fault, just like the reason he cheated was your fault too, apparently.

 He ended his drunken tirade by saying that you would never find a man like him again and that sooner or later you would come crawling back to him. After all, you were dating up by dating him, he claimed. "What other man would want you?"

 Though, you did not go crawling back to him. Not even after he sobered up and the second round of “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any of it”s started back up again.

 It was clear that he didn’t respect you. The only thing your father ever made you promise about how you would date is that you would not tolerate staying with a person who treated you with less dignity than you deserved. You knew that you would never be happy marrying a man that looked down on you. How would your life be anything but constant paranoia with a person that could run around with other women without even acting guilty about it?

 It definitely was not easy, and there were times where you did consider that maybe you had overreacted. Admittedly, moving across the globe did seem rather dramatic at times, but going to Korea was something that you wanted to do long before you ever met Ethan. When you tried to look at things in a positive light, you saw that: you got to move on in your life, continue your education, and cross an item off of your bucket list all in one go. Despite trying your hardest to stay optimistic, most days you simply did not have the energy to do anything other than wallow in your own self-pity.

 Today was one of those days.

 You brought your hands to your chest and rolled over a few times to get on the sleeping mat you wanted to snuggle up in. While it was no Tempurpedic, it was surprisingly comfortable; especially when you wrapped yourself in the soft and bulky you crocheted the week prior.

 You slipped off your glasses and placed them a few feet above the mat. Light was still pouring in through the window, so you brought your blanket up and over your head. It covered your eyes while the edge curved down around the side of your face and rested under your chin. You loved the darkness and all-around cozy feeling it provided without having your mouth covered by the blanket. You hated having your mouth covered by the blanket. It never felt like you could get enough air when it was.

 Unfortunately for you, the sleep was not as comforting as you assumed it would be. The happy dreams where everything you could have ever wanted and hoped for were nowhere to be found that night, neither were the strange ones that left you with a feeling of confusion that you couldn’t quite shake when you woke up. Instead, you were plagued with watching a replay of your anniversary on loop.

 After a few hours, you managed to pry your eyes open. Your skin felt uncomfortably sticky due to the cold sweat you had broken out in. You felt warm tears welling up in your eyes and threatening to spill over. You blinked them away, angry at yourself for still crying over him. 

You felt pathetic.

You pressed the heels of your hands against your temples in a sad attempt to get the thump, thump, thumping in your head to stop. You raked your fingernails down your face, wincing at the slight burn you felt. You snatched the glasses from the ground and hastily shoved them onto your face.

 You picked up your phone and tapped on it harder than you probably needed to. You didn’t know what you were expecting to find on your phone, but you hoped that there would be something there that stop the lonely feeling you felt in your chest from consuming you entirely.

Your salvation came in the form of a text from Minji. “CALL ME!!!” It read, several emojis following the exclamation points. It brought a smile to your lips. That was something Minji had always been good at.

You had first met her back in high school when she was taking part in her own foreign exchange program. The two of you became fast friends, staying in contact with one another even after she went back home to Korea. Her personality was bright and warm, and she had a knack for making even the most socially awkward people feel comfortable in her presence.

Despite your history, you had to admit that you were a bit shocked to hear from her. Seven months ago she became a trainee for SM entertainment, and your communication with her went from nearly daily to radio silence. It stung, but you understood. Becoming an idol had always been her dream, and you didn’t think it would be fair to try to distract her from that.

You had let her know when you first arrived in Korea, and while she seemed excited over the phone, she hadn’t seen you yet. You pressed the phone icon next to her name, opting to put the call on speaker because your earbuds were nowhere to be found.

“(Y/N)! You got my message.”

“Yeah, what’s up Minji?” You replied, lightly digging your fingers into your thumb. You couldn’t help but feel slightly nervous. You wondered what exactly it was that she needed.

“Look, I know I’ve been a bad friend. I have been distant lately, and this isn’t fair. Especially not to you. I mean, you’re the one who encouraged me to even go to the audition in the first place. If you hadn’t of yelled at me until I got off my ass and went…. Well, I wouldn’t be where I am now.”

She paused for a moment to take a breath.

“So, I want to make it up to you. I don’t exactly have the money to take you out for dinner or anything, but SM is having a party on Friday. All the trainees that are close to debuting will be there, and so will the established artists.  It is supposed to help us build “inter-company relationships”; whatever that means. We are all allowed to bring a plus one, and I want that to be you. There will be expensive catering, and that fancy booze that is so easy to get drunk on since it doesn’t taste like alcohol. The perfect venue for catching up. So, what do you say?”

She sounded slightly awkward, but hopeful as well. Before you could answer she started speaking.

"I know it isn't exactly your scene, but I really want to see you."

"What's the dress code, Min? I wouldn't want to look totally out of place." You replied. You closed your eyes tightly. Minji was right, big parties were not your thing. However, you reasoned, maybe you needed something out of your comfort zone.

Minji squealed so loudly that you recoiled slightly. "Does that mean you're coming? Yes! Nothing too fancy, but not casual either. Remember, simple is sexy, baby."

You snorted and shook your head. "Okay, I'll keep that in mind."

"I'll text you the address.” You heard her name get called in the background. “Sorry, I have to get back to practice now. I’ll see you in a few days. Bye!” The line went dead, and you rolled back over. You felt a contentedness that you hadn’t felt since the breakup wash over you. It was nice to know that you still mattered to someone.

The days leading up to Friday flew by quickly. You had bought yourself a fitted black dress for the party. You wanted to look nice, but you didn’t exactly want to draw any unwanted attention to yourself either. You paired the dress with some flats and kept your makeup minimal as well.

You grinned at yourself and gave a little twirl when you did your final once over in the mirror. You rarely got to wear dresses; Ethan had always gotten upset with you when you tried. He thought they brought on too much male attention, and in the interests of keeping the peace you just gave them up.

You felt pretty.

You felt happy. Truly happy.

A pleasant warmth bloomed in your chest, and you could feel it spread throughout your body. You eyed the perfume you had bought and saved for a special occasion. This occasion, you decided, was special enough.

In 20 minutes time you found yourself in front of the doors to SM Entertainment. They seemed big, and mildly intimidating, but you pushed through them regardless. You sent Minji a text that you had arrived and you moved to stand by some chairs in the lobby.

You dug your fingers into your thumb while you waited.  It stung a bit, but the feeling kept you grounded. You took in the architecture of the building, staring in awe at how sleek the whole place looked.

A hand on your shoulder startled you and you turned to see Minji’s smiling face. You smiled back at her, and you were quickly brought into a hug. It was slightly awkward, as a hug was a greeting she reserved for her foreign friends only. Nevertheless, you appreciated the gesture.

When she pulled away you finally got a good look at her. The first thing you noticed was that she was significantly slimmer. You felt a flash of self-consciousness hit you, but you quickly dismissed it.

“Come on, the party’s this way.”

After a few hallways, and a short elevator ride you found yourself in the reception room. It was loud, and lively. Minji led you closer to one of the walls by the back of the room. It was in close enough proximity to the dancefloor that you two could join in without too much trouble, but just quite enough that you two could talk comfortably. Minji spoke first.

She went on and on about all the funny things that happened in practice, and how she was so excited to have been placed in a group she knew would debut sometime in the near future. She hadn’t been given an exact date yet, but they had started to shoot promotional content. Minji explained that she had done three photoshoots in the past week, and cringed when she talked about how awkward she felt doing her solo shots.

She giggled and grabbed a glass of something pink and pretty from a waiter that was carrying them by. “I felt like I was doing school pictures again. Hopefully these ones turn out a little bit better.”  She took a gulp of her drink and then nodded toward you.

“Enough about me. How have you been? How’s the wedding planning going?”

Ah, right. You hadn’t told her about the breakup yet.

You coughed awkwardly and brought your left hand up to show it off. “It’s…” you hesitated “It isn’t anymore. Ethan and I are over.” You averted your eyes, grabbing your own alcohol and downing it. When you looked back at Minji, her eyes were wide and she sputtered out a quick apology. Her cheeks were stained an embarrassed pink.

“What happened?” She questioned before she could stop herself. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to.”

“I caught him and Rachel in bed together.” You answered simply, not wanting to go into too much detail. You didn’t want to ruin the night that had been so fun so far.

Minji’s face hardened. She had never liked Rachel, or Ethan for that matter. You knew that, and you were hoping to escape an “I told you so”.  Minji scoffed. “What an asshole.” She muttered quietly. “Who needs him anyway?”

You smiled at her. “Not me; but what I do need is some more of this.” You held up your empty glass and shook it slightly.

After a few more drinks and reminisced memories you found yourself on the dancefloor with Minji. You felt the heat radiating off of you, and you weren’t sure if it was from the alcohol or from the dancing, but it was nearly too much for you. You made a mental note to just drink water for the rest of the night, but your head was fuzzy and you weren’t quite sure if you’d be able to resist a pina colada if one became accessible.

You weren’t the best dancer, especially compared to the trainees and idols surrounding you, but you were enjoying yourself. You felt a fresh rush of adrenaline hit you when Exo’s Wolf came on. You were sure you and Minji looked ridiculous when you made wolf ears with your hands at the “awoo” parts, but the two of you were laughing to hard to truly care.

“I haven’t heard this song in so long!” You shouted to her.

She looked at you in surprise. “What? But you love Exo.”

You nodded back to her. “I do, but Ethan didn’t like me listening to them.”

“Why not?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know, he never really gave me a good reason.” Minji rolled her eyes once again.

“Just another reason to be glad he’s out of your life.” You giggled at her statement. She was right. The more you thought back on your relationship the more you realized that maybe he wasn’t really the prince charming you thought he was. You couldn’t just be you when you were with him. You were the you he wanted you to be. The only thing that you left the relationship with was a monthly payment to a landlord for an apartment you weren’t even living in. Ethan had refused to allow you to take your name off of the lease. So, fuck Ethan.

“Have you met them?” You asked. Her eyes brightened, and she nodded her head rapidly.

“Yes, and god. They are so much hotter in person.” You noticed a shift in her expression then. Something mischievous made its way onto her features. “Are you ever going to tell me who your bias is?”

You laughed. “Fuck no, Minji. Definitely not now. You know them! That would be weird.” You whined. You knew that if you admitted to holding a fondness for Baekhyun that you would never hear the end of it. She pouted at you. Her lip stuck out and it wobbled slightly.

You walked backwards a few steps and she followed. “Puppy dog eyes won’t work on me, Minji.”

“Oh, come on. I don’t know Exo that well. Just tell me.”

“Nope, too weird.” You laughed again. The room was spinning, and everything seemed far more funny to you than it should have. However, your laughter was cut short when you backed into the firm chest of someone behind you.

You felt the warm exhale of breath against your face as a voice you only recognized from interviews and fancams whispered in your ear. “What’s so weird about us?”  You froze. A feeling of terror shot down your spine and your face became far hotter than you thought was humanly possible. That voice definitely belonged to a one Byun Baekhyun, and his tone was teasing. “Huh?” He questioned again. After the initial shock wore away, you realized that your body was completely pressed against his.

You shot away from him like you had been scalded. He had a Cheshire-cat grin plastered on his face. “N-nothing.” You stammered. Your eyes were so wide they nearly popped right out of your skull, and you were sure Minji’s were doing the same.

His eyes slowly glanced down the length of your body before his gaze found Minji’s. “Friend of yours?” He asked. She merely nodded in response. He turned his attention back to you and bowed slightly. “I’m Baekhyun, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” You didn’t respond until you felt Minji elbow you in the side.

You bowed back, slightly lower than what he had given to you. “(Y/N).”

He grinned at you once again. He ran a hand through his neatly styled hair, causing a few strands to fall back over his forehead. His cheeks were flushed red, and you wondered if he was as tipsy as you were. “Minji, we are having a bit of an afterparty at the dorms later. Well, technically it’s supposed to be a mentorship meeting, but we want to make it fun, you know? The rest of your members have already been invited. Feel free to bring your friend along.”

He winked at the two of you, and then he was gone.

You stood there for a moment, not quite sure how to process what had just happened. You glanced over at Minji to find that she was already staring at you. “What the fuck was that?” You whispered to her. You felt a sudden need for secrecy, and it seemed she felt the same way.

“I think Baekhyun just hit on you.” You shook your head violently.

“And I think you’re crazy.” You stated, though conviction was nowhere to be found in your voice.

“You are coming with me to that afterparty.”

“I most certainly am not! You heard him. It is supposed to be a mentorship thing.”

“And you heard him when he said he wanted something more fun that that.” She hissed back.

“Minji.” You warned.

“(Y/N).” She shot back as she raised her eyebrows at you. “If nothing else, come for me. Tonight is our night to catch up, remember?”  Your fingers went to your thumb, and you nodded your head. Butterflies bloomed in your stomach and you tried to expel them with a sigh.

“Okay, I’ll go.”

The Rise and Fall of the Shepard Family Part 25: Spring, 1083

Part 1& Part 2

Part 3 & Part 4

Part 5 & Part 6 & Part 7

Part 8 & Part 9 & Part 10

Part 11 & Part 12 & Part 13

Part 14 & Part 15 & Part 16

Part 17 & Part 18 & Part 19

Part 20 & Part 21 & Part 22

Part 23 & Part 24

If Frances had had any doubts about defying his Father before he rode to Gwendolyn, there were none now. With each day that he spent with her, the remnants of doubts that entered his mind had dwindled away into nothing. It was hard to want to continue to honor the wishes of a man that seemed to care nothing for him, even if that man was his father. Harder still after seeing what poor conditions he had caused his betrothed to suffer. 

“When I first got the map from my sister, I had thought I had been riding to an Inn, or perhaps a Boarding House. I actually lead my horse up to the gate to get directions, as I was sure I had been lost. You can imagine my surprise to find you here, all alone, in a place such as this, in the middle of nowhere. Even I did not think he would treat you this badly. I cannot tell you how ashamed I am....”

She stared down at her food and said nothing, so he reached over and held her hand in his. He knew that she would need more time to heal, and he hoped that leaving it all behind would hasten the healing of her wounds. 

But despite his feelings on the subject, he was grateful that the hovel served as a small haven for them where they could be together, free from obligation to anyone but one another. Sometimes it felt to Frances as if the outside world didn’t exist at all, and there was only a world with her. No servants, no children, no family to bother them. Just his horse and a dog, but they never had much to say about anything. 

He found he was impressed at just how well she had learned to survive on her own, and came through every sort of adversity Marcelle had struck her with. Had she been a fine Lady, he did not think that she would have been able to thrive as she had. His sisters had no idea what to do in a kitchen, and although that had always been a source of pride for his parents, they would have faltered in the same situation Gwendolyn had been in. He admired her for her practicality and resourcefulness. She was clever. He also now knew that whatever situation they were in, she would endure. 

It was one thing to not to have to use everyday skills, but it was entirely another to be completely useless. And Frances did not wish to be useless. He knew he needed to figure out what to do with his life, especially now that he had decided to tie his fate to hers. But no matter which way he looked at the situation it was clear that she would make a wonderful partner, no matter what their future may hold.

Frances had patched several holes in the thatched roof, so they were able to get a good night’s sleep without having to worry about rain or snow falling down upon them. After supper they would snuggle up together on the bed and talk.

They told each other everything that had occurred during that year- his dinner with the Merchant family, trapping animals when she had no food left, how he had come to find her, Frédéique’s impending marriage, and the plans she and her sister had made. 

“Only eleven you say?! Well.... if he was going to attempt to replace me, he should have at least presented an alluring alternative. Why did he choose to marry her to you, rather than one of your brothers?”

“From the way he spoke, I believe he wants the money now, and if he betrothed her to one of my brothers, the Merchants may not have agreed. I am still the heir, after all.” Gwendolyn wrinkled her nose and twisted her mouth up in response. She looked adorable even when she was disgusted by something. He found her difficult to resist, as always.

Her beauty was not lost on him. She had always been pretty, but now she had a woman’s shape, and he would gaze at the curve of her back, or the roundness of her beautiful breasts and seem to lose himself. His body had a mind of it’s own, and every bit of him ached with desire each time she touched him, even if it was just a fleeting caress or a gentle hug.

But the real torture for Frances came at night. He and Gwendolyn had never slept in the same bed prior to that, and he found it very difficult to sleep next to the woman he loved without pouncing on her like a cat. This was especially true when one considered all those nights he had spent in her room with his fantasies and memories. She had had a profound affect on him and his budding sexuality from the very beginning. Now, he had the real woman next to him once again, and he could not rest easily.

Yet he was determined to resist all of the urges he had, and tried not to let his hands wander too far, or kiss her too often or for too long. He could sense that she still felt overwhelmed with everything, and he would wait until she trusted him again. He wanted her to really want him.

“I detest this little hovel. But I love being here with you. Shall I stay with you here forever?” He said it half in jest with a smile on his face and immediately regretted it. Still too fresh, still too soon. 

“Please don’t say that.....” Her voice came out breathless. “I hate it here.”

“I sold two of my second best mares last week. If you don’t want to stay here, then come with me when the weather is fair enough to travel again. Let us leave here forever.”

“To where?”

“Where do you wish to go? I have enough coin in my purse which will enable us to go anywhere. We can go wherever you wish.”

“And then what? What will we do when your Father finds out I am not here?”

“There are several charming churches nearby. If you wish it, we can marry in a few days.”

“So you’re prepared to give up everything for me?”

“Yes, if it comes to that. Are you prepared to marry a poor man with only one horse to his name?”

Her mouth curled up and into one of those beautiful smiles that he always had been such a fool for. She nodded. “So, from my understanding.. you’ve come to me after galloping gallantly for miles in the snow, to take me away from here and grant me all my wishes?!” She laughed heartily, and it was the first time he had seen her do so since he had arrived.

He couldn’t help it then, and he grabbed her by the waste and pulled her in tight. This made her laugh even more, until he felt himself grow stiff with longing, and he kissed her up and down on the neck. She grew quiet in his arms and reeled him in like a fish on the line. 

“Did you doubt that I would?” It came out sounding like something between a growl and a whisper, as he continued to run his tongue gently along her neck. She closed her beautiful brown eyes and shivered. Then she opened them again and they were serious.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I did.”

This pained him a little and caused him to stop kissing her neck and look at her directly again. Yet he understood her answer. And if he was being completely honest, he had certainly doubted himself at times as well. But through it all he had never really given up on the idea of her, or the idea that they would somehow be together again. He had clung to mere scraps of hope in his darkest hours, and as soon as he knew where to find her, everything had changed.

“Well...if we are to marry, I hope you will not doubt me again.” In her eyes he could see such sincerity, and then....smoldering passion as she did the unexpected and pulled his hips into her own. Her mouth came down hard upon his and he could feel the desire in her hot, wet kiss.

“I won’t,” she whispered.

Reviews of Christian Allegorical FANTASY

Note: Christianity is a broad, varied thing. I can only write from my perspective, and it’s hard to describe that perspective to an international audience. Words have different meanings in different countries. But this is what I think about the various Christian allegorical fiction I’ve read, measured by writing quality, allegorical quality, and ability to make me happy. Your perspective may vary.

 Chronicles of Narnia, by C.S. Lewis –

Writing: Y’all know this guy is good.

Allegory: Shockingly strong for something with such mass appeal. And deeper than you thought as a kid. Never sidelines the story, because he’s integrated the two so well.

Problems: So, you don’t notice the colonialism, racism, classism, sexism, and mild ableism as a kid. Dude was a white British man during the early and mid 1900s. He does not entirely rise above his culture. Some of the dehumanization of species/cultures that are obvious stand-ins for real world cultures horrified me during my latest reread. And it’s subtle enough that it’s hard to point out to kids.

Story: The story is great. I’ve read ‘The Horse And His Boy’ so many times that my papa’s copy is held together with tape. He wouldn’t let me take them when I moved out. Had to buy my own. It was tragic.

 The Archives of Anthropos, by John White –

Writing: Reminds me of Terry Brooks, a little. In that the writing is servicable, and some of the fantasy is pretty derivative, but it’s definitely not bad. The roots are strong, but he didn’t have enough experience to cut all the weaker bits and ruthlessly rewrite.

Allegory: Solid. Not tacked on, not super deep. Really good for a Narnia imitation.

Problems: Not sure, haven’t reread in a while. Pika didn’t like a battle near the beginning, so we had to stop.

Story: It’s set in Winnipeg!!! Unashamed about being heavily inspired by Narnia, this series is a delight. Not as good as it’s inspiration, of course, but it feels like a heartfelt fan letter. Some of the ideas are REALLY cool. This series is worth reading, you guys! Especially the first 2 books.

 The Circle (Black, Red, and White), by Ted Dekker –

Writing: Readable. Slick. Masculine.

Allegory: Lacked both the desired subtly and the necessary depth. Felt like it was written for fantasy fans that felt guilty about reading secular books, rather than to say something important.

Story: Don’t like Narnia-esque books aimed at adults. Allegories shouldn’t be trying to be cool. Not a fan. (But please note that these opinions were formed 15-20 years ago. I may have been missing something.)

 The Space Trilogy, by C.S. Lewis –

Writing: Again, this is C.S. Lewis. He’s good at writing.

Allegory: A little weird, for me. But I struggle with allegory for adults. One of the books is Adam and Eve on Venus, with original sin working slightly differently? I don’t get it.

Problems: My problem is that I don’t like it! Sometimes it reads like Douglas Adams, but not funny. That makes no sense!

Story: Don’t like Narnia-esque books aimed at adults, even if they’re written by the authour of Narnia. This is Sci-Fi. There is romance. Really not for me.

 The Story of the Other Wise Man, by Henry Van Dyke –

Writing: Good, if I remember correctly. Feels dated and classic, like it should be from Victorian times. (I just checked, it’s from 1895.)

Allegory: Like most morality from more than a century ago, it reads a bit weird. Just, life was a lot harsher then. Nice clear simple message, just taught from a mindset I don’t totally understand.

Story: As a kid, this one made me SAD! He loses everything and feels like a failure! Does have a good message, teaching is sound, good storytelling, but it wasn’t fun enough to make the lesson stick.

 Left Behind, by Tim Lahaye and Jerry B. Jenkins -

Writing: I remember the writing being fine. They read like thrillers, which isn’t a bad thing. I’ve enjoyed some thrillers.

Allegory: Revelations is ALREADY an allegory. This is just an uninspired expansion.

Problems: Everything.

Story: I hate apocalyptic/post-apocalyptic stories. This series wasn’t written by someone who was bothered by the suffering of everyone who made ‘wrong’ choices, and that makes it hollow and awful. ‘We’re so good and smart and better than other people!’ NO. That is not Christianity.

 A Wrinkle In Time, by Madeleine L’Engle –

I still don’t get how this series is Christian?? Really freaked me out as a kid. Had quite a few nightmares.

After a little research, it turns out that she has a very different understanding of Christianity then me. You’ll have to get a review from someone who can see from that perspective.

 Duncton Wood, by William Horwood –

Writing: Extremely good. Heavy and beautiful. Kept me reading as I got more and more weirded out.

Allegory: Not a Christian allegory. And yet Christian enough, in a weird Anglican(??) way, to make it difficult to interpret as non-Christian. There’s a Jesus figure who gets martyred. There are schisms. It’s weird.

Problems: Almost certainly shouldn’t be on this list, yet I spent half an hour searching for it because I was so sure it was supposed to be on this list.

Story: Moles and their experiences with religion. There are similarities to Watership Down and Redwall, Narnia and Lord of the Rings. (The last mostly in language/writing style). If it wasn’t so close to Christian allegory as to be in the uncanny valley, I would have loved it! As it is, I would have prefered LESS Christ.

 Christian ALLEGORICAL Fantasy

The Pilgrim’s Progress, by Paul Bunyan –

Writing: (Note: I’ve only read versions rewritten for kids. At least one was heavily abridged.) This was written in 1678. That is a LONG time ago. The worldview is really different from ours. Also, the versions I read were not inspired updates.

Allegory: This was written only 100 years after the Protestant Reformation. Punishments are incredibly disproportionate. Rich people have completely different rules than the poor, and this is seen as Godly. It’s been over 20 years since I read this book, and I don’t remember much, but it’s a weird read if you’re expecting modern concepts of right and wrong.

Story: Fascinating! Did not enjoy. Might as an adult. Reading an allegory that you can’t relate to at all is a weird experience.

 Hind’s Feet On High Places, by Hannah Hunnard -

Writing: (Note: I’ve only read the version rewritten for kids.) Writing is really good.

Allegory: Names that are just English words have always annoyed me. Other than that pet peeve, this is extremely good. Straight-forward enough to be read to a 7 year old, complex enough for me to reference when I’m trying to describe my experiences to my husband. Solid Christianity, with enough hard stuff to challenge you, while still managing to be fun.

Problems: We’ve got some nasty ableism baked into the setting (disability as metaphor for sin and bondage), and the images are painfully white.

Story: I love this book! This is a Pilgrim’s Progress that actually matches with Christianity as I understand it. If you’re looking for a fun fantasy with a good message, this isn’t it. If you’re looking for a distillation of Christianity, told as a story because that makes it more accessible – this is a good one.

 The Divine Comedy, by Dante Alighieri –

Haven’t read it.

 Tales of the Kingdom, by David and Karen Mains -

Writing: The first collection of stories is really strong. The next 2 get weaker. Short stories read differently than novels, and the writing style works well for that format.

Allegory: TOO strong. Some of the stories still make me mad to think about, because the messages are HARD. (Also, names that are just English words still annoy me, no matter now much I love the series.)

Problems: Ableism – true selves don’t have disabilities and are always beautiful. Art is not 100% white, but all the most beautiful people seem to be. And I love lizards far too much to handle the dragon story.

Story: These stories mean a lot to me. They are very much not something a non-believer is going to enjoy. They tend to focus on the parts of Christianity that are hard, uncomfortable, and/or different from mainstream culture. They also stick with you for decades. Narnia is my favourite series on this list to read, but Tales of the Kingdom might be the best for exploring your faith. Highly, highly recommend.

A Need So Great-Chapter 8

Summary: Eva Moore is assigned to work the last year of her contract with the DEA in Colombia. She just wants to get to the end of her tenure, but she keeps getting drawn further into a string of murders in the city. It isn’t long before she’s forced to face the ghosts of her past.

Word Count: ~7,100

Warnings: Drugs, smut

A/N: For the purposes of this story, Carrillo isn’t married--or, if you like, divorced. A/B/O dynamics are prevalent, and they come with their own warning. The overall rating for this story is Explicit, although not every chapter will contain adult themes.

Taglist: @dirtynerdy98 @1zashreena1 @heresathreebee @deliciouslyclassytrash @maybege @kid-from-new-zealand

Okay, so I know that this isn’t exactly how a contact high works, but I wanted the funny moment. Suspend your disbelief a little further than it already is for me.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.5, 9, 10, 10.5, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21

“No,” she said, jabbing a finger at Javier, “I’m not doing this.”

“C’mon,” he replied, gesturing with both hands, “It’ll be a half hour, max.”

She sneered, occupying her hands with packing her bag instead of punching him like she wanted to. He was smiling in that way he did when he knew that he would get his way.  A self satisfied smirk that made her want to throw something at him.

“A half hour of your time. You’ll walk in, look around, walk out.”

Eva glared at him, “I have plans.”

And, she did. Though his evenings were often spent working into the night, Eva had been out with him several times over the last few weeks. She was looking forward to yet another night checking herself for talking too much and watching him smile wide enough that she could see his dimples.

“Push ‘em back.”

She scoffed, “I’m not pushing back plans to work in the field, which you remember that I’m not supposed to be doing.”

He waved her off, “It’ll be fine.  You’re walking into a bar, looking around, and walking out.”

“I’m not walking into any bar!”

“Well, that’s a shame.”

Eva spun around, letting out a breath as Horacio slowed to a stop, his jacket over one arm.

“Hey,” she said, her voice a hitch pitched wheeze. “I’m just gonna...finish packing up.”

He eyed the others in the room, “What’s going on?”

Steve, who had been silent for nearly the whole argument, pushed from his position against his desk, “We got a lead on a back end shipment of drugs—low level, nothing serious. And, we thought since Eva is so good at sniffing these things out, she could maybe stop by the bar and see if she could pin point where they were stashing them.”

“So basically,” Eva added, sarcasm in her voice, “They want me to do their job for them.”

Javier ran a hand over his face, “That’s not what we’re asking you to do.”

Eva glared at him a second time, one hand on her hip.

“You are good at it,” Horacio offered.

She turned her glare on him, “You’re on their side?”

He held up a hand defensively, “I’m not on sides, just stating facts.”

Steve rolled his eyes, “Okay, listen. Eva, you just go in, look around, leave. You don’t even have to order a drink. Half an hour, tops.”

Her mouth thinned as she looked at all three men, who were apparently agreeing with one another. Although they’d had plenty of arguments, it was the first time they were all on the same side and it was...disconcerting.

Horacio slipped his arms into his jacket, “Half an hour. And, she gets the day off tomorrow.  Javi, you’ll cover for her. Tell them you sent files to her apartment or something.”

Okay, maybe he was a little on her side.

Javier nodded, “Done.”

“Good, what’s the address?”

Eva blinked, wondering what the fuck had just happened. She watched as Horacio listened to the address, grabbed her purse, and guided her out of the office.  It took her until they were on the road for her brain to finally catch up.

“Did you just negotiate a paid day off for me?”

He glanced over at her and smiled, “You need it. They’re working you too hard.”

“You’re one to talk about working too hard.”

This was true.  Even when he was supposed to be relaxed, his mind would still wander away to work periodically. She could by the way his eyes went just a little cold. There was nothing to be done about it. This was the toll the work took on a person, no matter how strong.

“Point taken,” he retorted, pulling into a parking lot.

The bar looked like any other, populated by locals, busy. She squinted at it, wondering how they got shipments in and out.

“Listen,” she said, reaching out to touch his forearm, “I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier. I was frustrated that I keep getting pulled into these things, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

He picked up her hand and kissed the back of it, “You’re fine. And, you should be frustrated because you’re right. You’re doing their leg work.”

Eva turned her gaze back to the bar, “I don’t actually mind doing a little reconnaissance, but I’m supposed to be spending time with someone I like, not warding off advances from drunk assholes while I try to figure out where the drugs are coming in at.”

Horacio’s grip on her hand tightened a fraction, “I think I can help with that.”

She looked at him, intrigued, “Yeah?”

He hummed in assent, turning her hand over and pressing his mouth the inside of her wrist. Eva felt her breath stutter as he kissed it gently, his eyes finding hers and holding. He rolled his tongue over the sensitive skin, tasting. Her breath stopped entirely. He gave her wrist another little kiss, then reached for her other hand. He was marking her and she was letting him. It surprised her how little that bothered her in that moment. She was even excited about the thought of carrying his scent with her into that bar. There wouldn’t be a single man in there, alpha or otherwise, who wouldn’t know she was with someone, despite the fact that she was clearly unmated.  

Eva shivered, her mouth parting on a soft moan. Unable to stand it a moment longer, she leaned over and kissed him. The position was a little awkward, the console digging into her hip, but well worth the discomfort.  She started to pull back and he stopped her.

Against her mouth, he said, “Half an hour.  After that, I’m coming in after you.”

Shaking her head, she teased, “Won’t that be a little suspicious, me coming in, looking around, and leaving with the police. You’re like a minor celebrity here, you know.”

He lifted a brow, “I’ll make it look like an arrest.”

At this she laughed, leaning back into the seat, “You just want to see if I can still get out of the cuffs.  Admit it.”

Releasing her, he regarded her with a curious gaze, “I admit that I really want to know how you learned to do it.”

Eva opened the door, saying over her shoulder, “I’ll never tell.”

She caught him saying ‘we’ll see about that’ as she shut the door and headed for the entrance. The place was pretty standard, as far as bars went.  There was a band playing, so she could count on almost everyone being at least a little distracted by the music.  At least, distracted enough not to notice that she wasn’t drinking and wasn’t dancing.  She made a circuit around the room, trying to think of how she would have hidden an illegal shipment back in the day.

It certainly wouldn’t have been at a bar. Josh had been against establishments like this, thought they were places for degenerates. Fifteen years later and she could finally roll her eyes at the hypocrisy of his entire personality. It felt like a big middle finger to even the memory of him to be frequenting bars—it was one of the first things she did when she was released.

But, where would she hide something she didn’t want to be found in a place like this.  Not behind the bar. Bartenders couldn’t always be trusted, too much turnover, too easy to buy. Not in the store room, too much traffic. Eva made another lap, pretending to be looking at the art on the walls. There had to be an office.

She went to the back and had to dodge one of the staff by stepping into the bathroom. So she had time to think, she went into one of the stalls and sat. The place looked clean, at least from the outside.  She couldn’t even find an entrance that would support a trailer backing up to it to move the goods. Although, it would be smart to access from underground...

Standing, she gave the toilet an unnecessary flush and left the bathroom, moving further down the hall. The office door was open a crack, and she took a moment to check to see if anyone was watching before she touched the door to open it further. Empty. Empty and boring.

With a huff, Eva stood next to the emergency exit and leaned against the wall, staring at a picture of a dog. Just an ordinary dog standing at attention. It looked...bland. Like it had been purchased at a big box store and hung without ceremony. Which, made her think it was odd.  The rest of the art in the place was from local artists, price tags written in neat handwriting beside each one.

The dog was looking at something out of the frame. Eva followed the direction of its snout to...a window. It was covered in a frosty film to obscure the outside. She stood on tip toes to see if she could see where it was pointing, both hands leaning into the sill—which moved.

Did everyone have a thing about hidden doors in this country?

Looking over her shoulder, Eva stepped inside.  She was not alone. The room was small, basically a cupboard, but it led to another room where a pair of men were talking. Talking and toking. The smell of weed was pungent enough that her nose wrinkled. Although Eva had been pretty well inured to pot while she was with Josh, she hadn’t had a moment that she didn’t feel watched by her superiors since she’d signed the contract. Any opportunity she had to partake was overshadowed by the possibility of a drug test. Every breath she took made her want to cough. She held it in before taking deep breaths in an attempt to keep her cover.

She couldn’t understand a word they were saying, but Eva was able to duck down enough that she could see inside the room they were talking in. They were sitting in lawn chairs, passing a blunt between them, the smoke billowing out towards her due to the fans that were running lazily nearby.

Eva squinted, they were...thawing ice.  Gigantic ice cubes sat on a table, little kiddie pools sitting below them to catch the runoff. She stared at them and almost laughed. They’d frozen the weed into ice cubes in an attempt to mask the smell. That was definitely new. She sat for a few minutes, trying to see if she could spot a company name that they were shipping under. She got nothing.

Knowing that she was on borrowed time, Eva backed up and peered out into the hallway to make sure the coast was clear before she stepped out of the little cupboard and closed the door behind her. She exited the bar in the least suspicious way she could manage, finally giving in to the urge to cough as she made it outside.

Across the parking lot, she could see that Carrillo was watching for her. With quick steps, she headed for him, climbing up into the truck.

“You see anything interesting?” he asked as she pulled the seat belt over her torso.

Eva nodded, “Let’s maybe get a few blocks from here before I start explaining.”

He turned the engine over, “Javier and Steve are not too far away.”

“Good,” she said, wondering why her eyes were so damn dry. “They can write up the report.”

Eva rubbed carefully at her eyes, trying not to disturb her mascara. She just felt...dry. Her eyes, her throat.

“You okay?”

She blinked, “Yeah, I’m okay. Allergies.”

He was right, Javier and Steve weren’t far away, a matter of a few blocks and one four way stop. They were sitting at an outdoor cafe, drinking beer. Eva took the one that was offered to her, drinking deep.  It was a moment before she realized that they were waiting for her to talk.

“Oh, right,” she said, setting the bottle down. “I mean, pretty simple operation. They’ve got a false door behind the window in the back by the picture of the dog.  They’re putting the product in ice to conceal the smell, although I don’t know that it would fool a trained dog. Back room is where they melt it down, probably where they weigh it, too.”

Javier stared at her, “That’s it.”

She frowned, “I’m sorry, has it escaped your notice that I’ve now found two caches of illegal substances? I know you were looking for coke and not pot, but ‘That’s it?’ Seriously?”

Even Eva could admit to herself that she was snapping at him, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. This would have been a perfect night for a date. A little balmy, warm enough that she didn’t need a jacket.  She could have gone to that bar to dance with Horacio, but no, she went to sneak around. The whole thing annoyed her.

Javier rolled his eyes, “Thank you.”

“That was really sincere. I appreciate the sincerity,” her tone was biting.

He frowned, “What is with you today?”

Eva breathed deep and dropped her head into her hands. Horacio’s scent was still there, a warm, sweet thing that mellowed her ire. She inhaled it in an attempt to distract herself.

“Nothing,” she said, eventually, “Just, forget about it.”

And, that seemed to satisfy him, if no one else at the table.  Steve was eyeing her with that curious expression he used when he wanted to ask a question, but wouldn’t. Beside her, Horacio laid a hand on her hip with just the slightest pressure. She leaned into it, grateful for the support.

“We could raid it tonight,” Javier said as he lit a cigarette.

Dear God, Eva thought with ire, I might as well go home now. Any hope she might have had of picking up their date was gone. At least she’d get to sleep with his scent wrapped around her, if not his body. He’d make sure she got home, kiss her goodnight, and then go off to raid a bar. She’d be a little lonely, but that stupid hope for a better tomorrow would be there. It would have been sad, except this same situation had happened once before, over and over when she’d been married—different players, same game—and Eva found that karma was certainly one hell of a bitch.

It said something for her state of mind that she didn’t realize she was laughing until her stomach started hurting. She drew in a breath, dropping her hands to the table.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she breathed, “I’ve just had the worst case of déjà vu.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair, “You want to share with the class?”

Eva shook her head, “Nope.”

It was then that Eva knew something wasn’t right. She usually wasn’t this argumentative—stubborn, yes, but not outright argumentative. She had better manners than that—oh, fuck. Eva closed her eyes and tried not to freak out. It was just a tiny contact high. She could manage it—in front of a high ranking police officer and two DEA agents. This was doable. She kept her head down, just in case.

“You want to make the call?” Javier said when she didn’t elaborate.

Horacio shrugged, “I’m off tonight. It’ll be there tomorrow.”

Eva could tell by the way Javier’s eyes narrowed that this was an unusual response. Hell, she was even surprised by it. Her sense of karma evaporated as quickly as it came and she had to keep herself from staring open mouthed at him. Javier threw back the rest of his beer and stood, walking away without saying anything.

Steve rolled his eyes, “We’ll call you in the morning to work it out. Thanks, Eva.”

“No problem,” Eva called out, waving as she watched him walk off. Then, “I think you pissed him off.”

Horacio shrugged, “I’m not wrong. It will be there tomorrow.”

“I didn’t say you were wrong,” Eva replied, “But I am surprised by it.”

He helped her to stand, leading her back to the truck, “Which part?”

“Hmm?” She was distracted by the feeling of his hand guiding her to where he’d parked.

“Which part are you surprised by?”

She leaned against the side of the truck, looking him over, “You’re a get up and go kind of guy. You don’t put things off until tomorrow.”

He quirked an eyebrow, “You’re right, I don’t.” Then, he added, “In the interest of not putting things off, do you want to tell me what that was back there?”

Eva could feel the blush heat her cheeks, and she couldn’t keep her mouth from smiling stupidly. She looked down, trying to cover it.

“No,” he said, stepping forward and grasping her chin. “Don’t start doing that. Is it an inside thought?”

She giggled, “No. Its not an inside thought.”

“Then, what?” He caught her eye, saying her name in a slow, cajoling tone, “Tell me.”

Huffing, Eva bit down on the inside of her cheek, “They had a lot of pot in there. I mean, a metric fuck ton.”

She tried to go on, but found the explanation that formed in her mind to be too stupid, even internally. How was she supposed to verbalize it without it sounding equally stupid?

His pulled back a bit, analyzing her expression with half a smile, “I haven’t seen you this flustered since that meeting in the conference room. Its cute.”

“Oh, don’t call me cute,” Eva bit out, but she couldn’t maintain the facade of anger, devolving into little giggles as he looked at her in wonder. “I’m sorry, I really am.”

She inhaled, letting her head fall to his chest, her hands running down his arms to thread her fingers through his.

“Promise you won’t laugh.”

“I promise.”

“In the bar, while I was scoping out the back, I had to sit there for a few minutes. And… there was a lot of smoke.”

She hated the way her voice pitched upwards at the end of the sentence, as if it were a question. She hated even more that she couldn’t look at him when she said it.

It started with a blown out breath and then he was holding his breath for several beats.  Even with her forehead resting against him, she knew that he was working to hold off a laugh.

“I knew it,” she cried out, looking up at him, “I knew you would laugh. I have a contact high and you’re laughing at me.”

“I’m not laughing,” he said as he definitely laughed.

“You are,” Eva shot back, crossing her arms.

He cupped her cheek, “Don’t pout.”

She tilted her face up when he drew her in for a kiss, arms wrapping around his middle to keep him close. He kissed her softly, and she could feel him trying not to smile into it. Feeling not a little vengeful, she nipped at him, soothing it just a little with a swipe of her tongue.

“Its late,” he said between kisses, “Let me take you home.”

Eva was grateful that she was leaned up against the truck, her balance a little off, which was par for the course whenever they kissed.  It was like as soon as their lips touched, she got a sudden rush of wild vertigo that made her dizzy in the best way. She hoped that feeling never faded. A stupid, unrelenting hope.

As they drove through the streets, she watched the buildings pass by, the wheels of her mind working.

“I can hear you thinking over there,” he said at a stoplight, looking over at her.

Eva ducked her head and blushed, “Yes, I’m thinking.”

“What about?”

The light turned green, but his eyes stayed on her and his foot remained on the brake.  She glanced behind them. The road was empty.

“Um,” she began, “I was thinking that sooner or later we should probably acknowledge the obvious.”

He turned a little, resting his forearm on the console, “What is that?”

“That I am an omega and that you are an alpha. That just about any time I spend with you drives me absolutely crazy.”

He observed her with a curious look in his eye, “Is this good or bad?”

She smiled, “Good, very good. At least I think so.”

He regarded her curiously, “Then, why would we need to acknowledge it.”

Eva leveled a sardonic look at him, “You marked me today, Horacio. You knew what you were doing when you did it.”

“I did.”

It relieved her that he wasn’t going to evade the conversation. She’d never done this before, and his straightforward attitude made her push forward despite the unsteadiness in her voice.

“I was brought up to believe that...meant something.”

She felt herself holding her breath a little. Eva had been out of society on and off since age fourteen, she hadn’t bothered to really learn the ins and outs of these kinds of relationships. She hadn’t thought she would need it.

The light turned yellow, then red.

“Is this the weed talking?”

Eva barked out a laugh, one hand coming up to cover her mouth, “No, no. It just got me thinking, that’s all.”

She’d given him an out, and part of her hoped that he would take it.  Another part of her hoped that he’d at least give her some idea of what this was.

“Eva, do you remember what I said when we met at the church? That I couldn’t breathe when I first met you?”

Nodding, Eva kept quiet, barely managing to quash the feeling bubbling up inside her. She needed a clear head for this, needed to make sure she didn’t allow herself to get carried away.

He licked his lips, his eyes searching her face, “Do you know what I also felt? When you were telling us about your husband? I felt rage. Sitting in front of me is the most delicious omega I’ve ever met and someone thought they could lay hands on her.” His hand flexed on the wheel, his scent sharpening. “And when you said you’d killed him for it, I thought to myself, ‘she doesn’t need protection’.”

The light turned green and he let off the brake, the car picking up acceleration.

“But, I wanted to give it to you, anyways.”

Eva searched for words, finding nothing.  She settled on, “Really?”

He nodded, reaching over to take her hand, “Then, you saved my ass in the bar fight.”

“I think that was more of a gunfight,” she commented, feeling warm all over.

“It was both,” he asserted, giving her hand a little squeeze, “You still kept me from getting shot.”

Eva scoffed, “I also threw a Molotov cocktail and set the place on fire.”

Horacio laughed, releasing her hand to pull into her neighborhood.  He took it back almost immediately, “That was inventive.”

She shrugged, “I wouldn’t have done it if I thought the table would hold.”

He rolled a shoulder, “That table was not going to hold. It was basically plywood.”

“You’re right,” she agreed as her apartment building came into view, “It was shit.”

He parked, got out, and circled to open the door for her. She tried not to smile too wide when he held her hand up to her door. She reached into her purse and pulled out her key, opening the lock.

“Do you,” she started, fortifying her courage, “Want to come in?”

He tilted her chin up, looking at her for a few seconds. Eva’s eyes narrowed in confusion before she scoffed, pulling her chin away.

“I’m fine. I was the smallest bit high for, like, fifteen minutes. I’ve got full control over my faculties.” A moment later, she amended, “Well, as much control as I ever do around you.”

When he didn’t answer, she touched his chest, “Listen, if you don’t want to, I understand.”

His hand came up and gripped her wrist, “I’ve told you before that you shouldn’t mistake restraint for a lack of want.”

“Okay,” she breathed, “So, are you going to follow through on that want?”

Horacio pushed her back into the apartment, closing the door behind him. She went willingly, dropped her bag to the side. She sighed into a welcome kiss, draping her arms over his shoulders.

Pulling away, he held up a finger, “One thing: I need you to let me lead. I’ll make sure you feel good, but let me set the pace.”

Lips parted, Eva felt a kind of fervent gratitude that quickly morphed into affection, “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

He watched her for a second before he leaned down and kissed her again, their tongues tangling together. Eva felt her body go lax, most of her weight leaning into him. She let him lead her backwards, his hands pulling her close. The steps were small and slow, interspersed with deep, lazy kisses.

As they moved down the hall, he pulled her blouse up and out of her skirt, slipping his hands underneath. Eva groaned as he cupped her breasts over her bra, kneading the flesh. He was taking his time with her, his touches patient, thorough. It was driving her crazy.

Maneuvering her into the bedroom, Horacio finally pulled her blouse over her head, tossing it aside. He gripped her hips, eyeing her skirt.

“You’ve worn this skirt before,” he said raggedly, “I’ve had dreams about this skirt.”

Hands moving quickly, he pulled the zipper down and pushed the fabric to the floor. Eva, in an attempt to quell the little bit of nervousness that she was feeling, tugged at the polo he had tucked into his pants. She struggled to get it up and over his shoulders, too preoccupied with the way he was palming her ass. Taking pity on her, he reached behind him and pulled it up and over his head.

Oh, that is not fair, she thought, her mouth suddenly dry. The man dressed like a middle aged dad, halfway to a mid-life crisis—all khakis and variations of a polo shirt—and it was hiding such a strong, sensuous body.  Eva knew he was powerful, had felt the firm press of muscle when he held her, but dear God, he was gorgeous all over.

Helping her down to the bed, he knelt in front of the mattress, kissing up her stomach as his fingers unsnapped her bra. It went the way of her other clothing, followed by her panties.

“Lean back,” he said in a voice not much louder than a whisper.

She slowly let her weight fall to the bed as he parted her thighs. There wasn’t much light in the room, just what was filtered in from the open door to the hall and the streetlights from the window. But, in it, she could see him staring at her, tongue rolling over his bottom lip. More than a little self conscious, she tried to close her legs, eyes diverted.

Fingers tightening on her knees, his eyes flicked up to her, “No.”

A simple directive. An order from an alpha that Eva had no hope of disobeying.  Her hips opened and her legs fell to the side. If she wasn’t anticipating his next move so much, she might have had it in her to figure out a way to wipe the smirk off his face.

It faded soon enough. The first touch of his mouth on her shocked Eva so much that she jerked, her hips pulling back. Making a sound of displeasure, he grabbed her hips and pulled her to the end of the bed, hooking her legs over his shoulders. His hands pressed onto her stomach, holding her still as he laid his tongue flat against her, licking from bottom to top in one long stripe. Eva tried to calm her breathing, her fingers digging into the comforter below her. The heat of his mouth coupled with the confidence in every movement made for a heady combination.

Moaning lowly, he sucked each of her lips in turn, moving back and forth, tongue dipping inside before starting again. Over and over in slow, meticulous succession, until Eva was rolling her hips up, trying to get more friction. His thumb moved to circle her clit, rubbing around it, avoiding the tightest bundle of nerves.

She whined, carding her hand into his curls, trying to wordlessly urge him to give her more. He seemed to hear her—in the next second, he was pushing two fingers into her in one slow, careful thrust. Her breath caught in her throat, releasing on a high pitched moan when he shifted up and gave a firm suck to her clit. And then another. And another. Her eyes closed, losing all control over her body. Her heels dug into his back as she used as much leverage as she could to get closer.

Nose pushing into her pubic bone, Horacio added a third finger, the stretch burning despite how obscenely wet she was. Eva’s eyes rolled back, the orgasm clenching down on him hard. She cried out, a hoarse sound that he echoed as he buried his face deeper between her thighs, tongue rolling over her folds eagerly.

He eased her legs down, lightly massaging her thighs before he rose to lean over her.  Eva was still catching her breath when he kissed up the column of her throat and over to her scent gland, sucking gently on it. She gave a reedy moan, body curling up and around him.

He shushed her, easing her back down onto the bed. More kisses, a gentle massage against her folds that had her already simmering arousal making a slow ascent upwards once more. Needy and wanting more, Eva grabbed the back of his neck, arching her body into his. It was then that she realized he was still wearing the goddamned khakis. She pulled away, pushing her fingers beneath his belt buckle, pulling the leather through the bar and managing to get the it loose before he grabbed both of her hands.

“I told you that you needed to let me lead, Eva,” he grumbled, looking down at her with censure.

She bit her lip, fingers curling into little fists as she waited for...she didn’t know what. Would he stop?

Making a soft tsking sound, he pushed her hair from her face, “I’m going to get you ready, okay?”

Eva laughed softly, “I just came, Horacio. I think I’m ready.”

Shaking his head, he pulled one of her hands down, flattening her palm against the fly of his pants. She let him hold her there, curving her fingers over the shape of him. Her smile faded just a little as the mapped him. Although she might say that he was average in length, in width—well, fuck. Her body clenched as she thought about how tightly he would fill her up, how he might not even fit.

In a rush of determination, Eva slipped the button of his fly loose and pushed her hand down between his pants and underwear. He hissed as she gave him a slow, firm stroke. Her original assessment was correct, he would fill her absolutely to the brim. The thought intimidated her as much as it excited her.

Leaning down next to her ear, he asked, “Do you understand why I need to lead this?” His grip tightened ever so slightly, “I need to make sure you’re ready.”

He pushed her hand away, resting his weight on one arm so that he could open her back up to his touch.  Carefully, Horacio slipped two, then three, fingers inside her, spreading them to stretch her folds open. She groaned at the feeling, eyes closing. The gentle exploration quickly grew in intensity, his thumb giving a firm stroke to her clit with every thrust. Eva writhed in the sheets, unable to stay still. The feeling built upon itself, spiraling up and out of her. It was harder than the first, deeper in a way that had her gritting her teeth.

Sweat had pooled over her chest and hips, her heart hammering in her throat. She felt too wound up and boneless at the same time. His fingers slipped from her sopping folds as he shifted to the side. He placed little kisses over her skin, eyes looking over her body with something akin to pride.

“Good?”

She nodded, not quite able to speak, lips dry. As she gained some feeling back into her body, Eva rolled a little and hooked the fingers of one hand into his pants, tugging at them. He took her meaning and slipped them off leaving him in boxer briefs that were damp with precum. She kissed his chest, tracing the pad of her thumb over the crown of him. He only let her touch him for a short time, the muscles of his body tight with restraint. When she wriggled her hand inside to get at skin, he stopped her.

Holding both wrists down beside her head, Horacio rolled atop her, settling his hips between her thighs. Eva wrapped her legs around his waist, letting him sink as deep as possible to the cradle of her hips, a welcome weight.

He kissed her briefly, “Condom?”

Eva nodded, pointing to the nightstand. He was all perfunctory movements as he opened the drawer, pulled out the condom, shoved off the last of his clothing, and rolled it on. She was glad for it as it gave her an excellent view of him fully naked for the first time.

Wanting to touch him, she sat up and brushed her hands over his strong thighs, filing away the image of sitting atop them for later. He cupped the back of her neck, kissing her as he urged her to lay back, his body covering her.

“Slow,” he said between kisses, “We go slow.”

Eva was absolutely on board for that, still feeling a little timidity about the size of him. She hadn’t been with anyone since coming to her new assignment, so she knew she’d need a little time to adjust. Drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, Eva forced her body to relax.

“Slow,” he reiterated as he lined himself up.

The first push made her rethink her choices that night, and she couldn’t keep from closing her eyes against the burn. Fuck, but she wanted it. She tucked her chin into the curve of his neck, breathing long, slow breaths.

Groaning, Horacio adjusted his weight and pushed a little deeper. Just when Eva thought she couldn’t stretch any further, there was more of him easing inside. Though she tried to stop it, a little sound escaped her throat.

He stopped, lifting just a bit to check her expression, and she could see him working to make a decision, strain behind his eyes. Then, he pulled out and rolled over to his back.

“C’mere.”

Though she was still a little shaky, Eva crawled over him, straddling his hips. He helped her tilt up and then back down again. Using her hands on his chest for balance, she tried to let gravity ease her down. Despite how wet she was, she could only take a few inches before she had to stop and focus on her breathing.

“I don’t think I can,” she admitted after a few shallow thrusts.

He rose and wrapped his arms around her, “You can, you can.”

When she faltered, he buried his nose in her hair, cradling most of her weight and taking the motion from her. Up and down. Nice and easy. Just a little more every time. With every stroke, the burn eased just a little, until she was giving him tiny rolls of her hips, until tingles of sensation overcame the stretch of her body. Needing to, she kissed him, sighing into his mouth when she sank down so smoothly that the little gains that they had been making suddenly became one generous thrust.

Eva gasped, hips swiveling.

His eyes widened as he looked down at where they were joined, “Good?”

She nodded, “I’m good. So good.”

Another rise and fall, and she was gripping the back of his neck, widening her stance to take him all the way to the base where she ground down hard. He hissed, arms tightening so that there was not an inch of space between them. It stunted her movements, and Eva found herself wanting desperately to keep the steady rise of pleasure.

Small, but growing whimpers sounded from her lips, her body’s movements liquid and burning. She wanted more, and she wanted it now. Horacio’s hold on her kept the pace maddeningly slow, but so goddamn steady that it anchored her to him.

“I’m so full,” she bit out, her head dropping to his shoulder in near defeat, “You fill me up.”

Below her, he let out a harsh breath, followed by a sharp inhale and long, agonized groan. His hips pushed up hard, just once grinding into her before beginning that steady pace again, if only a little faster. She was glad he had some control because her mouth had started up and there was no hope that she was going to be able to stop it at this point.

“Fuck, you feel so good inside me,” she said on an exhale, her voice cracking.

He kissed her hard, bracing one hand against the mattress, to get more leverage, hips arching off the bed. The release of his hold gave Eva all she needed to begin meeting him in the middle. With a low whine, she angled her hips and drove down on him, her jaw loosening when he hit every spot inside her that made her squirm.

His forehead pressed against her, nose pressed into her cheek, Horacio swallowed audibly, saying, “Mmph—fuck, slow. Eva, slow.”

The words seemed forced out of him, his voice hoarse. Eva kept going, pulling away to get a good look at his face. His brows were drawn together, mouth open and wet, sweat on his temples.  He looked...fucking wrecked. She could see in that moment how hard he was trying not to come, and it made a shot of determination zing through her. He could have made that directive an order, could have asserted himself as the alpha, but he hadn’t. This gave her an opening that she was all too eager to take.

Kissing him, she pushed at his shoulders, following him down and slowing the drive of her hips.  She gave him sweet, lazy kisses until the tension in his body lessened enough that she felt confident he believed that she was listening to him. Then, she sat up, and called on the last remaining vestiges of her energy.

She started with slow undulations that ended with that little grind that he favored. But, Eva was not a patient woman, and she was soon riding him as she had been before. His hands flew to her hips, but he didn’t stop her. Just the opposite. He pulled her down to meet him, head thrown back to expose the strong column of his neck—a staccato ‘ah, ah, ah’ sounding each time their hips met.

Impossibly, he hardened further, until his grasp tightened to bruising and she felt him pulse inside her. He groaned in the back of his throat, eyes shut. Eva smiled down at him, thinking that he was gorgeous even when he was coming, especially when he was coming.

After a few more shallow thrusts, she eased off him and to the side, watching him catch his breath as hers returned to normal. Reaching down, he slipped off the condom, tying it off and leaning over the bed to toss it in a waste basket she kept nearby.

Eva didn’t touch him when he laid back down, though she wanted to. She wanted to lay her head on his chest and hear his heartbeat, curl up next to him while they dozed. A much stronger part of her kept her hands to herself, not knowing what he wanted.

Horacio leaned his weight on an elbow reached out to tucked her sweaty hair from her face. Charmed by the gesture, she turned and kissed his palm, holding it to her briefly before letting go. He shuffled closer, gathering her to his body, the backs of his fingers tracing one long line down the length of her.

On the upstroke, he slid them between her legs, brushing against her, “Are you hurt? Sore?”

She mentally reached out to her body, feeling for injury, “No, but I’ll probably be a little sore in the morning.”

After a few moments of silence, Horacio helped her stand and took her to the bathroom where he turned on the hot water. They showered a little awkwardly, the space too small for both of them. His hands never really left her, though, lingering over her body in a way that spiked a surprising return of her arousal. He laid kisses all over as he dried her off, haphazardly running the towel over his hair and body before tossing it aside.

When he laid her back down in the bed, he kept her near. Naked, warm, and clean, they laid together, talking about nothing at all. And, all the while, he would lean down and press a kiss here, a lick there, just skirting the edge of what she might consider seduction. And yet, her body began to respond as if he’d just started touching her. The fog of her exhaustion gave her a temporary reprieve, lifting just enough that she felt her thighs clench together—or, they would have, if he hadn’t kept his hand right where it was.

Pushing her to her back, Horacio shifted his arm beneath her neck, the other laying across her body, fingers running up and down her slit, circling at the top.

“You took me so well, Eva. I knew you could,” he murmured in her ear. “Made me come before I was ready.”

He alternated between focusing on her clit and rubbing sensuously over her opening. The touch was light, but focused enough that soon enough her hips were tilting up, searching for more stimulation.

“Are you going to come for me again?” He asked, heat lacing every word, “I think you’ve got another in you.”

Unbelievably, it appeared that she did, in fact, have another in her. Though he hadn’t penetrated her, Eva felt the orgasm build and pulse through her. Thighs jerking, she gasped against his mouth as he worked her through it.

With a low hum, Horacio slowed his touch, kissing down her jaw to her neck where he nuzzled against her. Though she’d been granted a short respite, Eva felt the need for sleep come crashing in. Eyes drooping, she shifted to her side and curled into his body.  She fell asleep to the feeling of him lazily tracing the contours of her shoulders and back.

Literature Department 3

WORD COUNT : 1.4K

GENRE : Fluff

WARNING : There are handwritten Love letters involved - might give heartache

PARTS : 1  2  3  4

NOTE : I tried my best with the letters, i hope they have a slight old-ish vibe to them but please know they are set in the modern world so..

It took her three days to get to the next letter because of Junhee being sick. Moving to a big city, he had no one but her to look for him so she spent the past three days helping him recover. It was fun too since she had not much interest in her course but the guilt of missing the letters made her leave a sleeping Junhee at home the fourth day with a sticky note saying 'will be back in an hour.'

She rushed to the library and after the warning that it's closing soon, she almost ran to the regular book rack to find three letters waiting for her. And with a giddy feeling, she opened them.

 Dear K.Y.,

First of, I apologize for what you had to go through Because of your parents indifference towards your interests (and talents if I may say so myself, these letters proving my point) but If I could, I won't change a thing because who knew if we could have ever found solace in each others presence had you been in the same department. Maybe it’s all for the best? At Least we found each other.

Secondly, I hope you don't develop a too big crush on Professor Han. It hurts me to see you talk about another man like that.

But not more than seeing you with another one.

I know I said romanticism would take a long fair time but my heart didn't pay it no head and all It wanted was to steal a glimpse.

And I'm a man, but weak in front of my heart and so I gave in.

i saw you today. I don't know if it was the way you described yourself that gave you away or the information you gave was the clue. Whatever it was, it wasn't hard finding about you while not being a student.

But it was certainly flattering to see you smiling and writing the response to my letter then being engrossed in a book.

Kim Yoona-ssi, since I already know you now and you were kind enough to tell me your age and description as I asked, I would answer anything you ask of me.

But something tells me you want to keep it a mystery, and if that's true, I shall respect your decision and thank you for it and hope it wasn't because of your disinterest in me.

But I promise I shall not make you wait for years and I don't know if my arms are competent enough to provide you peace but all I hope is that they'll make you feel safe.

And if I may be so bold so as to say, a kiss you shall receive if that's what my lady wants.

Yours,

K.S.

P.S. - I turned 25 this year.

Dear Kim Yoona-ssi,

I was surprised to not see a letter but then again I didn't see you today so that might explain it. I hope whatever kept you away today won't do so again and you can spare a few minutes for me.

I shall confess my heart has attached itself to you, unknowingly to me, and it craves any attention from you whether they be your letters or your leaving silhouette.

All I hope is that your heart may be so open to Atleast consider me as someone.

With that thought in mind, maybe I can be so bold as to ask whether you already have someone in your heart or can I try to woo you?

With this note and a hope that I'll find one from your tomorrow, I end this letter.

Yours,

K.S.

 Dear Yoona-ssi,

I don't know till when shall I refer to you formally but my chivalry doesn't allow me to be informal to you yet.

Again I came here to find my own two letters but my companion told me not to lose hope, to wait a few more days considering you just might be busy.

So wait I shall.

For how long? Who knows. I waited 7 months before. 

But for you I can even wait 7 years.

Yours,

K.S.

P.S. - is it too soon to want to meet you?

 She felt her face was red when she was done reading the letters. There was so much she wanted to say and ask, staring from how he knew her? Who was he? But more importantly, ask herself, did she really want to know who he is?

"Oh? Kim Yoona-ssi?" She heard and turned around to see Professor Han.

"It's time to close." He said simply and she felt dread creeping up. She can't leave the stranger without any letter again!

"Professor can I just have 15 mins? Please?" She asked and he raised an eyebrow at her.

"Why?" 

She debated whether to say the truth or not but decided to go with it.

"I sort of kind of have a pen pal thing going on and I wasn't here for three days and the other person is already worried about me! I swear I won't take more then 15 mins!"

He sighed and signalled her to go in and she thanked him again and quickly pulled out her pen and paper.

20 Minutes later Seungwoo came back to see her packing up and she thanked him again before rushing out. He ran a hand through his hair and wondered how would Seungsik react when he'll find out that the one day he chose not to come to the library could have been the day he might have managed to talk to her.

Seungwoo picked out the letter from between the books and kept it in his pocket. A while later when he opened the door to his room, he saw Seungsik reading a book who looked up at him to say, "You're late. What took you so long?" 

He picked out the letter from his pocket and put it on the table in front of him.

"She was about to write this. She asked me for 15 Minutes. I let her because I have been on the receiving end of your constant worry and assumptions about her for the past 3 days. I was tired."

Seungsik had already tuned him out in between his lecture. He was upset that he missed a chance to see her but was equally eager to read the letter.

 Dear K.S.,

This might be rushed since I just asked Professor Han for 15 Minutes and he actually agreed? I legit can't understand why students are scared of him. I'm pretty sure he's a soft puppy in real life. Don't tell him I said that since you're not a student and everything. You're not that old though so maybe a professor? Would this even work out?

Oh god sorry! 

I got..nervous there for a second and assumed things.

Don't worry I don't have a crush on Professor Han. Or anyone at the moment. But it sounds like someone is possessive and possibly jealous over seeing me with someone. It was probably Junhee, he's my childhood friend.

He was really sick, that's why I wasn't able to come for the past three days. But your worry is very charming.

The way you make things sound so enticing makes my heart flutter, I won't lie. And your arms I shall demand when I see you, and so will a kiss be demanded too and that I shall receive.

I won't say I don't want to know you per se. But can I just say I am scared? Not of you but how you will feel once you meet me as a person and not someone fancying you through paper and ink, what if i’m not what you expected?

Yes, fancying.

Maybe I am.

And I am not disinterested. I am curious.

Are you a professor? What was your first novel you ever read? What made you choose literature? When was the last time you dated someone? 

What did your heart say when you saw me?

Was I pretty?

My heart is too open to you that it might as well just beg you to claim me. And it doesn't even care now that I might be being too forward.

So please, I beg of you, woo me.

Informally I hope you'll call me from now on and especially when you'll meet me. As much as I love your chivalry, I would much prefer sweet nothings from you.

And I promise I won't make you wait for 7 years. 

Yours,

Kim Yoona

P.S. - Even I want to meet. So shall we? 

Last Chance Christmas - Chapter 1 {{December 20}}

In honor of the season, I’m pointing my fic Second Chance Christmas on Ao3, and cross posting here! Summary:  The radio had droned on about an incoming polar vortex. How could the weatherman have known that his ex-husband would be on the plane? - - - Following an acrimonious divorce, Joey and Kaiba have managed to co-parent the kids without seeing each other for three years. After Kaiba is caught in a blizzard, Joey is forced to spend the holiday with his ex-husband, and confront certain feelings that he thought were dead. Tags: Jounouchi Katsuya | Joey Wheeler/Kaiba Seto, Kaiba Seto, Jounouchi Katsuya | Joey Wheeler, Tenjouin Fubuki | Atticus Rhodes, Tenjouin Asuka | Alexis Rhodes, Getting Back Together, Post-Divorce, Reconciliation, Family Fluff, Family Feels, Family Drama, Dysfunctional Family, Christmas Romance, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Domestic, Fluff and Angst, rekindling relaitonship, Christmas Angst, No infidelity!, AU-gust 2020, ygocollablove

Other notes:  Kaiba and Joey were married and have two children – Alexis and Attius (from GX, but you do not need to see GX). This is a get-together-again fic. The divorce was not amicable, but no cheating/infidelity. They’re about 40 in the fic, in honor of them being 40 in 2020 if they were 15 in 1995. Joey is half-American, and his mom and Serenity live in New York, too.

Chapter one under the read more! 

The sleet fell heavily against the car, turning the view through the windshield into an impressionist painting of abstract asphalt and splotchy red break lights.  The drives to the private airport in Westchester were always the worst.  Even though Kaiba rarely accompanied the kids on the flight from Japan, even the haunting proximity to the shiny private jets and the trappings of his ex put Joey on edge.  Not because he longed to be driving the expensive cars parked in the lot or any other petty envy, but because the whole place always reeked of Kaiba’s ghost.  How the man could haunt the freeways and tangled overpasses from thousands of miles away was yet another unsettling superpower of his ex-husband.

The sleet, the traffic, and the eerie nature of the drive allowed frustrated ruminations to wind their way into Joey’s head.  Like the suction cups on the edges of an octopus’s tentacles, little doubts and regrets clung to his mind.

Was it petty to fly the kids back and forth from Japan in the dead of winter for only a week?  Yes, of course it was.  But the custody arrangement hadn’t even demanded that Joey allow that week.  The kids were in school in New York, and it was his year to spend Christmas with them.  They spent the full summer break in Japan every year.  It was Joey’s only time of year—and even then, only every other year—where they all could spend time off together.  He didn’t want to give it up without a fight.  And Joey was still a fighter.

When Mokuba had announced his wedding date for the first week of the kids’ Winter break, Joey was so tempted to force some other concession out of Kaiba.  Joey had been invited as well, but the thought of attending turned his stomach something fierce.  He could see it in his minds’ eye: watching his family, his children, and his closest friends, dressed to the nines, celebrating something so pure.  And him, looking at the ruins of the most significant relationship of his life.  It felt like a mockery, to stand there and watch Mokuba enter a beautiful marriage while he stewed in the wreckage of his own.  Plus, Joey’s self-destructive streak was supposed to have died with his relationship.

So, what remained was that precious promise: every other winter break.  And this one was his.  Sure, his ex-husband was one of the greatest negotiators in the business world, but Joey had thrilled, just a little, and with more than a little guilt, at the thought of bringing him to his knees over this.  The opening was his to take.

He hadn’t quite calculated all the way out—indeed, the long game was Seto’s specialty.  And once Atticus had been informed that he would be both a performer at his uncle’s wedding reception, it was game over for Joey.

Of course, that was so Kaiba, ever on the offensive, always flipping the script.  Stuck negotiating over Christmas and coming to this frustrating solution.  He was a cruel rival and a bitter adversary.  An altogether dreadful ex-husband.

Weaponizing Atticus’s precious enthusiasm was a perfect move.  Which left Joey messing with the logistics and driving in this awful weather.

. . .

The radio had droned on about an incoming polar vortex.  How could the weatherman have known that his ex-husband would be on the plane?

Joey hadn’t noticed him at first—he was too busy catching Atticus’s tackle hug, and patting Alexis gently on the head.  All that warmth and love had blinded him to the frigid bastard standing at the other side of the gate.

But one his heart was full again, the primal part of Joey’s brain was triggered.  Like he could sense the predator lurking, he looked up and saw those stupidly long limbs.  He’d know that silhouette from a mile away.  “What’re you doin’ here?” Joey shouted.  It was so reflexive that he forgot to hide the vitriol from the kids.

Kaiba stalked over slowly, as if he was trying to take too long, waste all of Joey’s time.  “Waiting on my return flight plan,” Kaiba said.  His voice had gotten more gravelly over the years, but his cadence remained  almost robotic.

“Alexis was scared of flying home in the storm!” Atticus laughed, still embracing his father.  “And she said the only way she’d fly back was if Oto-san promised he’d pilot!  It was so cool dad!  Did you know he could fly planes?!”

Joey forced his mouth into a pinched smile.  “I did know that.  That was very nice of him.”

Kaiba looked at him.  “The children anticipated being in New York for Christmas.  I am still a man of my word.”  Joey wondered if he was tired from the 14 hour flight—he certainly didn’t look any worse for wear.  

Frankly, he didn’t look much different than the last time he had seen him, three years before.  He was still unfairly trim and perfectly composed.  The only noticeable changes were the introduction of a few grey hairs, scattered among the deep brown and a pair of wire-frame glasses that looked like he’d always had them.  His black turtleneck was as clean and tight fitting against the prominent muscles of his shoulders and chest as it had been.  His dark jeans were still the same stupid level of tight that looked a little like he hadn’t realized he wasn’t a teenager anymore.  Between the black Armani loafers and black Burberry trench, he looked like he was about to return to a casual Friday in the Financial District and get drinks at the most expensive bar he could find.

Joey had not anticipated seeing anyone other than his kids, and maybe Isono, and felt instantly exposed.  Without the pressure of having to be Kaiba’s arm candy at events, Joey had put on a fair amount of weight, and settled into something of a dad-bod.  He was wearing his comfiest jeans and a puffy winter coat.  The worst part was the recognition in Kaiba’s eyes—it was the same coat he’d had when they were living together, only more faded and a little tattered at the edges and unzipped.  It revealed a shirt that he’d acquired as a volunteer at a concert-fundraiser for Atticus’s youth orchestra.  It was an unnecessarily bright green, mercifully faded by the washing machine.  His white chunky sneakers looked just like ones he had in high school—and only a little less scuffed up.  Overall, the look was one meant for a quick trip to the grocery store, and the last thing he’d wanted be wearing to see his ex-husband for the first time in years.  Joey braced for some comment to that effect.

“Well, I’m glad they’re here.  We should get going, after all—how many days are there until Christmas?” Joey asked Alexis.

“Five!” She announced.

“Yep!  And the tree isn’t even up yet!”  Joey said, in mock shock, and smiled at the kids’ surprised faces.

While Atticus was bemoaning how much crucial Christmas celebrating needed to be done in the next five days, a member of the airport staff approached Kaiba.  Kaiba stepped away to discuss the flight plan, but Joey kept an ear out.  It’s not eavesdropping if it’s your ex-husband, after all.

“Mr. Kaiba, this airport is being closed, effective immediately.  The entire metropolitan area is bracing for a significant blizzard, and you are absolutely not cleared to fly.”

Joey couldn’t make out his husband’s harsh whispers, but relished in how they were tinged with a light panic.  At least the bastard was freaking out a little.  It felt nicer than he would ever admit to know that he made his terrifying ex-husband a little scared.

“Mr. Kaiba, we cannot permit that.  I will personally be turning off all lights on the runway and not approving any plans that you submit.  It could not possibly be worth dying to avoid spending a few days in New York.”

“That is not your determination to make!”  Kaiba’s voice was slightly heated, which was another signal that Joey had gotten to him.

“I’m sorry sir.  You are a valued customer, but it would be deadly for you to depart at this time, and I refuse to be a part of such a flight plan.  As soon as I can permit take-off, I will personally contact you.”

With that terse statement, the administrator marched off.

Kaiba stared at the ground with a combination of fury and focus.  After a few terse breaths, he whipped out his phone and began tapping away.

Joey was about to tell the kids to say Goodbye Oto-san!  But deep down, Joey had done the math too.

“Dad, is Oto-san going to be able to stay with us for Christmas?” Alexis said, looking up with pleading eyes.  “Like we’re a family again?”

Alexis was smart as hell, and even at age six was a master of strategy.  Someday, Joey thought, she’ll be devastatingly skilled at Duel Monsters.  Today, she was inconveniently cunning.

“It depends on what arrangements he wants to make,” Joey deflected, hating that an offer slipped through the cracks.

Kaiba looked up from his phone.  For a second, he did look a bit tired from the flight.  From his life.  It was humanizing, and Joey tried to discard it.

“I could stay in a hotel in Manhattan, and visit,” Kaiba proposed, grip on the phone like a vice.

“That’s not what families do…” Alexis whined.

Kaiba’s jaw clenched.  Joey was familiar with this face—Kaiba was acutely aware of his compromised position.  It felt like they’d never finished the dreaded conversation.  The energy that hung in the air was the same as that trite explanation of divorce.

It still was sickening when Atticus echoed the conversation from three years prior.  “We’re still a family, Lexi.  But Dad and Oto-san can’t stay in the same house anymore because it isn’t—”

It was too much, and Joey couldn’t help himself, “Of course your Oto-san can spend Christmas at the house.  If that’s what he wants.”

“If I’m cleared to fly back to Domino sooner, of course I should return to work,” Kaiba answered the unspoken question, and trailed the group back to the car.  Atticus was already sharing stories of how well his performance at the wedding had gone.

. . .

The house was a nice house—large enough, with a pretty backyard and a pool in a good neighborhood.  It had more expansive grounds when they had been together, but the family didn’t even use the stables or tennis courts, and Joey had sold them off to people who would actually enjoy them.  Kaiba had forced his hand when it came to the mortgage and upkeep, but other than the house and the kids’ schooling expenses, Joey had refused any formal alimony.

At the time, Joey had thought it was a brilliant plan.  If Kaiba really wanted to value his work over all else, then he would have to suffer through watching all of that effort not change a damn thing for his family.  Joey refused to be truly dependent, fifteen years of the golden handcuffs had been more than enough.

Now it was a little embarrassing that the house hadn’t changed a bit more.  Since Kaiba had been gone, more of the children’s artwork graced the ornate walls.  No interior decorators had been hired, so any new pieces of furniture clashed with the pre-existing scheme.  It looked more lived-in, and Joey tried to take some pride in that.

Kaiba was examining a particularly poor crayon representation of the Red Eyes Black Dragon.  The scale was completely off: the face was much too big and the eyes bulged grotesquely.

“Don’t say anything mean,” Joey whispered harshly at Kaiba.  He was shocked when Kaiba obeyed him.  “Now, who wants hot chocolate?” Joey offered, and the kids practically cheered.  Atticus was en route to the kitchen already.  “Seto, could you start a fire in the living room?”

Kaiba nodded, turning towards the room from perfect memory.

The milk was quickly heated, and the cocoa mix dissolved like magic, swirling into a pleasant warm desert within minutes.  Joey had wondered if Kaiba would come into the kitchen to join the family, but he remained in the living room.  The kids ran off to the playroom to mess with whatever new game Yugi had sent them home with.

In the soft lighting of the warm fire, Kaiba looked frustratingly, devastatingly, untouched by time.  In brighter lights the fine webbing under his eyes and frustrated crease between his brows brought attention to forty years of an overburdened life.

But instead the fire burned away the years.  With his glasses stowed away, he looked like the exact same man who he had fought with in the same damn seats three years ago.  Hell, he looked like the same man he’d dueled on the beach of Duelist Kingdom island.

“How much do you want?” Kaiba had asked in that god-awful conversation.  Kaiba spoke coldly, as if it wasn’t his husband standing before him but an uppity secretary demanding a raise.

Joey had the messy manilla folder out.  The old prenup looked fresh other than the creased corner, the bends around the staple proving that someone had read it.

Without a word, he handed it over to his husband.  Kaiba skimmed it, eyes quick and calculating.  Then he tossed it in the fire.

“You’ve always been a terrible negotiator,” Kaiba said, pouring a bit more whiskey in the glass on the coffee table.  The liquor was erasing the bored look in his eye.  For the first time in a long time, Kaiba’s glare looked a little unhinged to Joey.  Like he was as a teenager—barely suppressing his manic energy.  Kaiba took a long, slow sip of his drink before returning to the conversation.  “I’m not trying to hold out on the father of my children.”

“Say what you want, and it’s yours.” Kaiba’s words sounded completely empty of passion, drive.  Everything that Joey had fallen in love with.

The combination of venom and possession in those words made Joey’s blood boil.  How impersonal, as if there was no other important relationship there.  Nothing else that he could recognize.  Just the father of my children, like a job title.  And wasn’t that just like Kaiba?  Generosity as the ultimate weapon.  Proving he cared so little for the entire situation by abdicating any role.  Take whatever you want—none of it matters anyway.

With the paperwork in flames, Joey’s lawyer would have told him that he was entitled to half of everything his husband owned, including those valuable shares of Kaiba Corp.  If Joey had been thinking cruelly and carefully, he might have realized then what he only contemplated years later: that he had been the only person who could have taken Kaiba Corporation away from Seto Kaiba without a fight.  Those shares and the right collaborator… Joey could have taken the whole thing in a matter of months.  Ousted Kaiba, put his ex of the street.  Reminded Kaiba what that felt like.

But of course, Kaiba had played three steps ahead, and even his evaluation of Joey’s demands was insightful.  He had correctly assumed that Joey wanted nothing to do with the company.

“I don’t want any money.  I don’t need it.  I can figure something out on my own.  I don’t need you for that,” Joey said.  Honda had been pissed at him about it when Joey had called the next morning to tell him that terrible bargaining position.  Honda supported any way to make sure that Kaiba got the fullest “Fuck You” that Joey could manage, but he was floored that Joey wanted to have to work, and budget, and live like he hadn’t spent the last fifteen years of his life in a world where money was ethereal, unimportant.  So plentiful that it had lost absolutely all value and meaning.

Kaiba laughed villainously into the whiskey, campfire scent bubbling up.  “Keep the house.  Our children shouldn’t have to move.  This is more instability than they deserve anyway.”

Joey didn’t push the issue.  The instability stung, and the fact that he repeated his parent’s pattern of getting divorced with young children was absolutely searing on his heart.  Instead of mourning, he let the bitterness curdle.  And Joey couldn’t help remarking, “I’d be surprised if they noticed a difference.”

Kaiba said nothing, kept his face schooled in that icy way that sickened the blond.  But it was imperfect to the skilled observer, and his eyes heated up, eyelids becoming just a little wider.

“They should continue to attend their current schools, this cannot interfere with their education,” Kaiba droned, as if it was just another term of a perfectly standard consumer contract.  “And they should spend the summer in Domino.  We can switch off for the winter holidays.”

Part of Joey was waiting for Kaiba to suggest that they split the kids up.  A perfect 50/50 of the children.  It was the worst thing that Joey could think to do, really.  Shove in Joey’s face that he had made the same mistakes as his parents, had learned nothing.  Demonstrate, viscerally, that Joey was going to dissolve their marriage and hurt his kids in the same way that he had been hurt.

But it never came.  In the moment Joey felt so defensive.  So certain that Kaiba would exploit every vulnerability—that was the man he knew.  Ruthless in every sense.

In the years that passed, Joey realized that he wouldn’t have married someone so evil that he’d do that.  That Kaiba’s own pain should have been enough to guarantee he had no interest in splitting the siblings.  But in the battleground that their living room had become, Joey couldn’t trust anything.          

“Fine.  But otherwise, I don’t want to see a cent of your goddamn money.”

This line, which Joey had considered so fucking crystal clear became the core of their most prominent post-break-up arguments.

Joey had always been a crowd favorite at the kids’ daycare, and his transition to part-time employee was seamless.  A quick mention of the divorce was all that it took to silence any lingering questions.  He was good with kids, warm and patient, and he wasn’t far from his own.  The job paid enough, the hours weren’t demanding.

After Kaiba had returned to Domino City full time, the economics of the problem became apparent.

Simply put, the mansion upkeep was entirely unreasonable on Joey’s salary.  Everyone was aware of this, especially Joey.  He was planning on letting the gardens narrow to a level that he could manage on the weekends, drop the security teams, just let everything mellow out.  The household manager was fired on day one.  The maids on day two.  The house was never as spotless, but the traces of dust and dirt were a small price to pay for the lived-in feel that grew.

But the bills never arrived.  No emails, no letters, clearly they were rerouted.  Gardeners that Joey had fired showed up Monday, as if they hadn’t gotten the news.  No house staff returned without a request, and Joey really was going to let it slide.

But the next month Joey received a notice that the utilities had been overpaid.  Not by a terribly extravagant amount, but by about a thousand dollars.  Joey knew better, but he resisted looking the gift horse in the mouth for just one month and accept the refund.

The next month, the refund doubled, and Joey wasn’t going to take it.  When Kaiba answered the phone, Joey didn’t even give him the opportunity to pick a greeting.

“I told you, I don’t want the money.  I’m gonna send it back to you, what’s the address again?” Joey demanded.

“Put it in the children’s trusts.  Put it towards—” Kaiba’s answer was harsh and quick.

“I don’t want the money, Kaiba.  I don’t need it.  They don’t need it.  We’re fine without it.”  Without you, Joey almost shouted.  But Kaiba was smart enough, right?  He should be able to understand that much.

“Fine.”  Kaiba hung up first to spite Joey’s victory, but the refunds on the utilities stopped.  Over the last few years there were a couple more schemes.  Refunds from the school.  Overpaid property taxes.   Every time Joey whined to Honda, his friend told him to give up and just take it.

But Yugi had a different guess.  Yugi pointed out that, well, every time Kaiba came up with a new way to slip money to Joey, Joey called to clear it up.

“I don’t know how many people he talks to, Jounouchi-kun, but maybe… he just wants to call.”

What an entirely too human thing for Joey’s ex-husband to do.  “He has my number, if he wants to talk, he can try, instead of buying it.”

Yugi had shrugged and wisely changed the subject.  The whole thing left an odd taste in Joey’s mouth.  Even though Joey was the one who had asked for the divorce, Kaiba had done his utmost to seem entirely unaffected by the whole thing.  Joey had been prepared for a knock down, drag out fight.  Instead, Kaiba kept such an impartial face, it was as if the dissolution of their union didn’t perturb him in the slightest.  As if it were some sort of contract terminated at inconvenient time, and no more.

Mind returning to the present, Joey scanned Kaiba’s face in the glow of the fire for any sign of humanity.  Any indication that their separation had bothered Kaiba just a fraction of the way it had hurt Joey.

Finding none, Joey handed off the warm mug of hot cocoa.  If Kaiba realized it wasn’t coffee, it didn’t show on his face.

“So, anyone miss me at the wedding?”

Kaiba gulped down some “Your friends were there, of course.  I think they would have preferred to see you than me.” Kaiba took another pensive sip at the cocoa mug.  “Atticus was right.  His piano performance was excellent.”

Kaiba pulled out his phone.  The screensaver of a Blue Eyes White Dragon melted into a sea of icons.  KC must have released a new model in the intervening years.  Joey took a bit of joy in the fact that he hadn’t even noticed.

The screen dissolved into Kaiba’s photo album within a few taps.  The grid was full of almost identical images of their kids at the wedding, and Kaiba had to scroll for a bit before tracking down a video.  It pricked at Joey’s chest, just a touch, to see how many duplicate photos Kaiba had taken of the little subjects.

Finally, Kaiba pressed play and there was nine-year-old Atticus, fluffy brown hair tamed in the back just barely in a tiny low ponytail.  Between the hair and his light blue suit, he looked like a baby Mozart, Joey thought.

The image of him at the white grand piano began to move, and the boy played some classical music that Joey couldn’t identify if his life depended on it.  It sounded pleasant, the notes flowing and smooth—clearly the little guy had been taking his lessons seriously.

“He is good, huh?” Joey smiled, looking at Kaiba.  The radiant satisfaction in Kaiba’s eyes hurt to look at for too long.

Kaiba handed him the phone and stood up.  “I’ll check on them.  They’ve been quiet for too long, I don’t trust it.”  Kaiba rose with his usual dignity.  Even without the trench coat, the man swept out of the room with such presence.  For better or worse, Joey’s house had lost the melodrama without him marching about.

His ex-husband’s phone sat heavy in his hands.  The new release was slim, all flawless and shiny and new.  It was a little hot.  And it was unlocked.  He could search through anything—did Kaiba really still trust him that much?

Joey smirked, and continued to look through the wedding pictures.  The rest of the reception looked very precious.  There were many attempts to capture a decent shot of Mokuba and his new wife Yui smiling with the kids.  From the number of goofy pictures and the relative paucity of serious ones, it had been an uphill battle for Kaiba to get one decent picture that he could put on his desk.

The next series appeared to be taken by Atticus, a legendary phone thief, and was largely shots of Kaiba’s arms and hands grasping for his phone.  Joey’s own phone had more than enough pictures like that, and sometimes he couldn’t bring himself to delete them either.

There were a couple of cute shots of Alexis challenging Yugi to a duel.  She could read the majority of the cards.  Joey didn’t know how she convinced Kaiba to let her bring her duel disk to the wedding, but he was always a sucker for the kids.

There were some pictures what were just Kaiba and Mokuba, and Joey couldn’t help but gaze at his ex-husband.  Standing next to his brother with that small smile that looked so hauntingly like the photo in Mokuba’s locket.

They weren’t teenagers, but the pang in Joey’s chest was not convinced.  

The next few photos hurt even more, just Kaiba and the kids.  Alexis, duel disk still strapped faithfully to her arm, appeared to have requested to be held, and Atticus stood in front making little peace signs and sticking his tongue out.

Kaiba was smiling that tiny, genuine way—still.  Through rows of photos, he didn’t stop, except for a few when Atticus jumped to try and steal his sister’s duel disk.

Joey’s eyes pricked with tears, and all of that curiosity was silenced.  He had meant to do some snooping—follow up on some headlines about a secret lover that Honda had sent him—but any curiosity was stamped out.

Joey decided it was because he was sad to miss their friends, not their life together.  And that everyone had been playing quietly for too long.  He abandoned the phone on the couch to see what had happened in the playroom.

The playroom was a nice, cute space.  Light blue walls, big windows facing the gardens, plush tan carpeting.  Back when they had maids, the room was always tidy, but now Joey had given up.  It was for the kids to play in, anyway, so if the train set and crayons and common Duel Monsters cards littered the floor, who really cared.  Against the wall, there was a fairly large grey couch that had seen better days.

It was almost too much, to see Kaiba, passed out with a book in his lap, and the kids on either side snoring away.  Alexis’ hair dripped over the side of the couch.  Atticus was leaning against his father.  Joey leaned over to collect Alexis first to take her to her bedroom.

The soft vision was hard to face, and Joey couldn’t resist the simple thought that “this is what I wanted.”

At the movement, Kaiba stirred.

Joey resisted smiling at the spacey, sleepy face.  Kaiba blinked tiredly, slowly collecting himself and gathering his bearings.  It took quite a lot of effort.  “I’m putting them to bed,” Joey said.  Kaiba nodded and ruffled Atticus’s hair.

By the time Atticus had been dropped off at his room, Kaiba was missing.  But Joey had a decent guess where to find him.

. . .

“So, who’s the secret lover?” Joey asked, wandering into the room that had once been Seto’s study.  Joey hadn’t changed anything about it.  He hadn’t even removed the decanter of expensive Japanese whiskey or the two crystal glasses that sat next to it.  To be honest, he hadn’t spent time in the room at all, except occasionally dusting when he remembered.  After the kids were asleep, it was Seto’s usual haunt back in the day.  Seto was nothing if not a man of certain preferences.

The decanter was already wide open, and Seto was making significant progress in draining it.  He looked quite at home for a man who had been threatening to stay in a hotel.  His cheeks were just a little flushed and Joey could tell the liquor was affecting him because Seto laughed at Joey’s comment.

“Please.  You don’t have some sort of web alert on my name, do you?” Kaiba said, raising his glass like there was something to celebrate.

“Nah.  But Honda does,” Joey answered, and was rewarded with another one of Kaiba’s signature cackles.  It was close enough to friendly that Joey decided to take the companion chair in the study.  Joey hadn’t sat in that chair even once in the three years since Kaiba’s departure.  Leaning into the plush velvet, he realized he had missed it.

“Of course.  There is no one, naturally, just that endless speculation.  A man continues to take care of his appearance and he can never do it for his professional image and personal health,” Kaiba pulled his phone from his pocket, scrolling absently.  “It must be for a lover.”  The echo of blue light from the phone contrasted the warm yellow light from the study’s art-nouveau inspired banker’s lamps.  It traced Kaiba’s high cheekbones in a flattering manner.  It made Joey instantly more insecure about his own softer face.

Between the baggy sweatpants and charitable flannel bathrobe, he felt like no one would accuse him of taking up a new lover.  If anything, he had spotted a few unflattering headlines in the last couple of years.  The attention died off dramatically after Kaiba was all the way out of the picture.  “Well, I’m sure you’re not worried about me finding anyone else.  Don’t think anyone’s interested these days, I kinda let myself go.”

Kaiba’s eyes snapped away from his phone and back to Joey with a fierceness that Joey hadn’t expected.  “First of all, I do not tolerate anyone talking about the father of my children that way,” Kaiba spat, the liquor making him slur the edges of some of the words.  “And second,” Kaiba huffed a short breath, “you really have no idea what’s going on in my head.”

“Y’know what, Kaiba,” Joey challenged, “I really fucking don’t.”

Kaiba downed the rest of the drink.  “I was thinking that you look just as attractive as the day I met you,” and Joey could spot that hunger in his eyes, seductive as ever.  “Your hair is still always tousled, like you’ve been playing outside all the time.”

Kaiba returned his full attention to the decanter.  “And I can’t look in your eyes without my heart absolutely aching,” Kaiba said as he refilled his glass.  He sounded a bit angry to deliver the compliment.

The heat rose in Joey’s cheeks with the compliments.  Joey released a sad little laugh before commenting.  “Why do you gotta hold back on stuff like that ‘cept when you’re drinkin’ or whatever?”

Kaiba didn’t answer.  He put his drink down and leaned in, so close that the heat of his breath tickled Joey’s cheek.  Kaiba’s hand floated up to Joey’s face, the pad of his thumb running tenderly over the stubble on his jawline.  Those haunted blue eyes saw straight into Joey’s soul.

“Even though you have done nothing but break my heart for the last four years, you are just as irresistible as ever,” Kaiba whispered, before pulling Joey in.  There was no force behind the touch, as if he didn’t quite believe he was allowed to.

Maybe, Joey thought, if he hadn’t had such a dry spell, if he wasn’t so intoxicated by Kaiba’s praise and presence, then Kaiba wouldn’t have been allowed to.  But the combination of loneliness, yearning, and unspoken regret was too heady.  Always, Kaiba had to be too powerful.

And the kiss could have been their first kiss.  It could have been the kiss that sealed their marriage at their wedding.  It could have been the kiss after Joey first saw Kaiba hold Atticus.  The kiss after they brought Alexis home from the hospital.  It was tender and warm and peaceful.  It was so right it felt like nothing had every happened to them, between them.

It was soft, and chaste.  And too loving.

After Kaiba released, he must have noticed the tears that had leaked involuntarily from Joey’s eyes.  The next kiss was not nearly so pure.

For one thing, Kaiba couldn’t seem to resist sticking his hands in Joey’s hair and pulling him in.  If that first kiss was asking for permission, the second was to put Joey on notice that he was going to be devoured whole.  It was hot and the lingering whisky all but burned Joey’s mouth.  The campfire smell was almost too much—a warning that this was a bad idea.  That they were both vulnerable and volatile and misguided.

But that hot mouth once again overpowered good sense.  It always did, after all.  And Joey only broke the make out in order to rise from his seat and straddle Kaiba’s hips in the opulent chair.  It was clumsier than the last time they had done this, and Joey felt a bit insecure and out of shape, too much on display.  But before the could undo his bold move, Kaiba grabbed him by the hips, long fingers artfully playing with the band of his sweatpants, dancing under his shirt and to his back.  Kaiba smoothly scraped his nails down the soft flesh.  Kaiba’s efforts were rewarded with a full body shudder, and he smirked back, as if to say “I’ve still got it.”

Joey moved in for another kiss, just to get that stupid, self-satisfied smirk off of his face.  He was interrupted by his own moan at the sweet sensation of Kaiba grabbing and kneading at his ass.  It was sexy as hell, and he felt so wanted.  Like Kaiba was drinking in every second of his time with him.  Like the last four years had faded away—or maybe never happened.  

Joey knew enough signature moves to reduce his partner to a quivering mess.  He decided to run his own nails over Kaiba’s scalp and was instantly pleased when Kaiba purred into his mouth.  Putty in his hands.

As they proceeded, Kaiba continued to make desperate, needy noises.  After his shifted his hips up and whimpered, Joey determined that something was up.

Well, something else.

After he pulled back and rose shakily to his own feet, he offered a hand to his partner.

Kaiba stumbled.  He caught himself, but only by relying on Joey’s stability.  He looked a little dizzy just to be standing.

“Goddammit.  You’re really drunk Kaiba.  And you probably didn’t even take breaks or shifts on the flight over, so you’re exhausted too,” Joey sighed.

Joey should have caught on faster, should have known better.

“This is so totally you, so fucking classic.  You haven’t changed.  This is why I fucking left, and never looked back.  You’re exhausted and want to pull something and just… I really just get the dregs of you.  Like you give your all to every single thing on earth, anything, so that you’re a mess by the time that you get to me.  I’m the last priority every damn time, below even your desire to fuck off.”

“Jou…” Kaiba said his name on the exhale, and it evaporated in the room.

“You haven’t changed a bit in three years. I’m wasting my breath, you’re too much of a mess to even appreciate this.  But I’ll tell you I feel like you bought me, and our relationship comes last.  I’m your child-rearing assistant, the head nanny, and you don’t even have to try to be my partner.”  Joey could feel his face going read with anger.  “I get the worst of you, every time.”

Kaiba was silent.  One of the most frustrating things about Seto was that no matter what he was going through, the processing power of his mind was rarely genuinely diminished.

“I am a good father.” Kaiba said, more to himself than to Joey.

“Yeah, but you’re a shit husband.”

Joey regretted it the second he said it.  Hearing it out of his mouth felt unpleasant, like he was possessed by someone else.  Someone a lot crueler, more dismissive.

Kaiba had no comment, no stinging rejoinder.  He leaned onto Joey’s shoulder, long brown strands falling against the flannel bathrobe.

“C’mon, you can sleep in the guestroom.” Joey’s arm wound around Kaiba’s waist as he dragged him through the hallway.

The Virtuoso: Chapter 1

Masterlist

Previous / Next

Despite my better judgement, I decided to let the woman who attacked me live. She told me her name was Zara. I thought that was a stupid name.

I told her that, too.

She wasn't pleased, but what could she do about it? I had already made it pretty clear that the only reason she was alive was because of...I don't know, some sense of whimsy. Regardless, I was sure that I wouldn't see much of her in the future. It wasn't like I seemed like the type to run a gang, so she had no reason to bother me in the future with some strange desire to suck up to me.

Or at least I hoped not. The concept seemed like a lot of effort.

Now I was regretting not killing her. Those thoughts weighing heavily on me, I set about figuring out exactly how Meteor City worked in the first place.

It didn't take long for me to make a name for myself. Zara helped, actually. Immediately after I let her go she started spreading rumors about some "demon child."

I took a great deal of offense to that nickname.

I was 15 years old. I wasn't a child.

Meteor City was awful. Practically lawless. Dangerous. And yet...aside from a few big names I had to avoid, I found myself flourishing there.

Old habits died hard. Soon after my arrival people started coming to me to 'take care of' their problems. It seemed I was an assassin wherever I went. I had almost the finest amenities that Meteor City had to offer, which was admittedly not much.

We had no plumbing. Disease ran rampant. I threw an excrement bucket on someone's head for fun. There were some water sources, of course. But...well. They weren't exactly filtered.

I set myself up a decent base by one such water source. I threw the previous occupants out back.

I was starting to get settled into my new life of misery when I woke up one morning to find my violin missing.

My violin.

The only gift my grandfather ever gave me.

The only thing that brought me an ounce of comfort.

My most cherished possession.

The only thing that was keeping me sane in this hellhole.

I had to find it.

-

-

-

I had left a trail of blood behind me. Finally I stood in front of one of the only places I had actively avoided in Meteor City. It was a large building by Meteor City standards, but it was still pretty small.

HQ of the so called Spiders. They were an up and coming gang that was already gaining some sway in the City due to their strength. The trail of bodies led me here. I hesitated for only a moment before barging into their HQ. I needed my violin.

Desperately.

"Where is it." I called out in a monotonous tone.

"Where's what?" Some guy in a dark outfit responded. He was currently lounging on a beat up couch, reading a book. He barely spared me a second glance.

"My violin." I deadpanned. Now he looked at me. Both of us seemed to have the same dead-eyed expression.

"I don't have it."

"Bullshit."

"Tch." He then turned his attention back to his book. I narrowed my eyes at him, my mind running a million miles a minute. He wasn't the only one here, that much I knew. It would be stupid for me to attack him, even if I could beat him in a one on one fight, which I wasn't even certain I could do.

"Where's your boss?" I asked.

"Upstairs." He responded, turning a page.

I pursed my lips at him before turning away and quickly finding a stairwell.

'I can tell we'll never get along. I hate that boy.'

I remained alert as I trekked up the stairs. Who knew what they would try to throw at me-

I dodged out of the way of what I could only assume was a giant. "What the hell?!" I exclaimed before quickly reschooling my expression.

"Ha!!! You're fast" Some insane man with an afro exclaimed, grinning at me. It looked like he was wearing fur? For pants?

"Um-" I started, furrowing my eyebrows at him.

"Less talking!" And with that, he ran at me again. I managed to move out of his way again, despite being in a stairwell.

"Why are we fighting?!" I exclaimed, frantically dodging.

"Why aren't you fighting!?!" The man exclaimed. He looked fucking feral!

"I'm not in the habit of fighting animals!" I retorted before narrowing my eyes. 'I'm not in the habit of dying, either.' With that thought in mind, I reached over my shoulder and pulled a ridiculously decorated dagger out of thin air.

'Killua's dagger.' I thought, unable to stop the flash of bitterness, or the shame that came immediately after.

Somehow his grin became even more feral as he charged at me again. I would really prefer to come at him from a distance, but I was in close quarters. I didn't have much of a choice.

This time I met his swing with my dagger, which extended in length a bit. I managed to deflect his blow so that my dagger was now pushing into his forearm. Strangely enough, it didn't cut him. It didn't take long to realize that I wouldn't be able to meet him blow for blow. His own brute strength far outweighed my own.

I pushed myself off of him and pivoted to the side, leaving him to crash into the wall as I took off up the rest of the stairs.

"Hey, get back here!" He shouted.

"No! You're like 40 years old, I'm not fighting you!" I shouted back. He actually only looked about 19, 20 at the most. I didn't know why I said that.

My eyes were wide as I kept running. Somewhere in the back of my mind I registered that my father would be ashamed of me for showing fear, so I schooled my expression.

"HEY YOU BRAT!" I heard him shout. I entered a hall and kept running straight ahead before crashing through the door. In hindsight I could have just opened it, but it looked like I could just break it, so why not. There was a man with dark hair and dark eyes sitting at a desk calmly.

He had a disarming smile on his face as he regarded me. His hair was straight and free of fly aways, but he had shaggy bangs. It led me to believe that he put a bit of care into his appearance, despite the fact that we lived somewhere that modern amenities were practically non-existent. I quickly drew my eyes away from his face to the top of his desk. Sitting there, in plain sight, was my violin case.

My mouth twitched towards a scowl before stilling as I marched up to the desk. "That belongs to me."

His expression didn't change from the very vision of tranquility that it was. "It didn't take you long to get here."

I snatched the case and narrowed my eyes at him. "Never take my things."

"I gave it back." He replied. It was pissing me off that he looked so nonplussed about all of this.

I closed my eyes for a second, my eyebrows twitching. "I took it back."

"If I wanted to keep it, I could have."

I kept my eyes closed. I was well aware of the fact that I was in danger. I couldn't take on all of these people.

I couldn't see them all, sure, but I was well aware of their presence. Yet another reason for me to keep my expression as still as possible.

"I believe that." I opened my eyes and met his gaze. "So what do you want?"

"Just to say hello." He responded.

I inhaled sharply. "Hello."

I hate him.

-

-

-

That wasn't the last time I saw Chrollo Lucilfer, as I later learned was his name. It wasn't the last time I saw any of the three members I had seen that day.

Chrollo I found lounging by one of the cleanest water sources we had, reading a book that I recognized from a glance. It was one of my absolute favorites. Before I realized was I was doing, I was approaching him and taking a seat next to him.

"Hello Ivela." He greeted, turning a page.

"Do you like that book?" I asked, not bothering to return his greeting.

"I wouldn't be reading it if I didn't."

I bristled, but calmed myself. It was a fair answer.

I kept sitting there in silence for a moment, trying to think of what to say. On one hand, I wasn't here to make friends. On the other, I had never seen anybody else reading that book, and my family certainly never discussed literature with me.

Chrollo, to his credit, didn't push me to either carry on the conversation or leave him alone. He just kept reading his book, either unbothered by my presence or patiently waiting for me to say something else.

"It's one of my favorites." I finally spoke, breaking the silence. The water was suddenly extremely interesting to me as I ran my hands through the dirt. "Have you finished it yet?"

"Yes. I'm rereading it." He replied. I felt his gaze finally land on me. "I'm curious, what did you think of-"

We talked about that book for hours that day. The two of us had, apparently, lost track of time. I stared after his retreating form with narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows for a moment, before deciding that he wasn't bad company to keep after all.

I found the bad mannered guy when I followed the sound of blood curdling screams coming from somewhere nearby. Normally I wouldn't care about screams, but this one seemed somehow worse than usual.

When I found the source of the screams, it turned out to be the bad mannered guy from the Phantom Troupe building torturing someone who I didn't recognize.

I turned to walk away, deciding it was none of my business, when I noticed where he was cutting.

"It'll hurt more if you cut about an inch to the right." I stated. My expression remained neutral.

He said nothing, but, out of curiosity perhaps, did as I recommended. He was rewarded with louder screams.

The dead-eyed guy turned to look at me. Years of reading the members of my own family's expressions made it child's play to understand his unspoken question.

"You were just shy of hitting a group of nerve endings." I explained.

He regarded me for a moment. "I'm Feitan."

I nodded in response. "Ivela."

As it turned out, he knew some things about torture that I was unfamiliar with. We spent the day swapping techniques.

The barbarian actually found me. I was walking, scavenging for food when he chucked a beer can at my head. I caught it, of course. It took a second to register that he wasn't attacking me.

"Ivela! Have a drink with us!" The barbarian offered. He was accompanied by a tall man with a sword at his side.

I blinked. "I'm underage."

They laughed. "There's no laws here! Come on!" It was the tall one who spoke.

"Didn't you try to kill me?" I asked, still staring at the can.

"Pfffft. I wasn't tryna kill you!" The barbarian defended.

"Whatever." I said with a sigh. After a moment's debate, I popped open the can and chugged it down.

"Yeah! She's not a wuss!" One of them cheered.

The side of my mouth twitched. "It would take a lot more than that to get me drunk." Or even buzzed.

"Oh, I like this one. Come on, let's go drink some more!"

I found out the barbarian's name was Uvogin, and the tall one's name was Nobunaga. They were both incredibly irresponsible....but kind of fun to be around. I didn't mind drinking with them.

Apparently I was destined to keep running into members of the phantom troupe. The next one to approach me was a blonde woman with an odd nose in smart business attire. Something about her put me at ease. For a second.

I berated myself and raised my guard back up. Anyone who immediately makes you feel safe is probably out to kill you.

"Do you want something?" I asked her.

"I'm Pakunoda." She introduced. "I'm a member of the Phantom Troupe."

"Another one of you?" I muttered. "Are you all following me around for any particular reason?"

"We all have our own reasons." She deflected. "Mine is that I'm a fan of classical music."

I narrowed my eyes at her. I couldn't tell if she was lying or not.

"I'm not lying. Would you play something for me?" She requested.

I opened my mouth to tell her to get lost before I shut it. Had anyone ever asked me to play for them before?

I wasn't sure. I didn't think so. Why would she be interested in my music. Was she plotting something?

She had to be.

"Not today." I muttered, before walking away.

Pakunoda was persistent. She seemed to really want to hear me play. Or she was determined to kill me. I honestly wasn't sure which. Eventually, I caved and played for her. She didn't try anything, but I still didn't trust her.

It wasn't the last time she asked me to play for her. She seemed oddly fond of my music. I found myself looking forward to her asking me to play. It felt right to perform.

The last member I met was a girl about my age. Machi. She approached me out of the blue one day and started talking to me about random nonsense. I wasn't sure about her. But, I did find her easy to talk to. We seemed to have a lot in common. Probably because of our age. And our less than orthodox upbringings, respectively.

I stared at her one day. "Do you think I should dye my hair pink?" I wasn't sure what had made me want to do it, but I was tempted.

"What? Why?" She asked incredulously. She had been mid sentence when I interrupted her.

I shrugged in response.

"Also were you even listening to me?!"

I smirked sardonically at her in response.

-

-

-

Some time passes with me spending more and more time with the Troupe members. I didn't like them, of course, and they weren't my friends. I was just passing the time. Using them for entertainment. And because they were strong, it helped to be known as a friend of theirs's.

As I pondered on the fact that none of them were my friends and I wasn't fond of any of them, it occurred to me that I hadn't talked to Nobunaga in a while. That wouldn't do.

So I set off to go find him.

I was a pretty good tracker, so it didn't take me much time to find him. He seemed to be practicing his swordplay by himself.

"I could spar with you." I heard myself offer.

He stilled and regarded me with a hardened expression. "Do you even know anything about swords?"

"I know plenty." I responded. I was at least proficient with most weapons due to my upbringing. An assassin needs to know how to use any weapon available to them.

"Well then. Here!" And just like that, he tossed an unsheathed blade at me. I had no idea where he got it from, but I didn't have time to question it. No sooner had I caught it then he charged at me.

I blocked his swing, and we spent some time dancing around each other, steel clashing against steel. It was surprisingly fun.

I was holding my own just fine, but it was clear he was more talented with a blade than I was. I was constantly on the defensive. I managed to attack a few times, sure, but goddamn he was on a different level with his sword. It was honestly quite impressive.

I wondered how we would fare against each other in a nen battle. I almost wanted to try.

When the fight ended, it was because I was on my ass.

He was laughing. He was laughing at me.

I felt my face redden as my hands clenched into fists.

"Hey, don't be angry! You're great! Who taught you?" He asked as I stood up.

I was stunned. "You were laughing...because you were impressed?" That didn't make any sense.

"Yeah!" He replied.

"Uh." I was at a loss. "My...father and grandfather mostly handled my training." None of this made any sense. He was praising me for losing?

"They must be good." Nobunaga said. "I'd love to fight them."

I shifted my weight back and forth between my feet. "I think you'd die?" I told him. "They're, uh, assassins."

"You're an assassin?!" He exclaimed. I nodded at him, my hands fidgeting. He calmed down and paused. "Hm. That explains a lot."

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I had been holding. I wasn't sure why I felt relieved. "Yeah. That's why I've had so much training."

"You and I should fight again sometime. Go ahead and keep that sword!" He offered with a disarming smile.

I tilted my head to the side slightly. "It's...a gift?"

"Yeah! Make sure to use it!"

I looked down at the sword in my hands, unable to comprehend him giving me a gift. I didn't expect to ever get any more gifts after being banished. I would make good use of it.

I always made good use of gifts.

A/N

Buckle up guys, we're gonna be in Meteor City for a while.

It’s Nice to Have a Friend

Kozume Kenma x Reader

Summary: Based on It’s Nice to Have a Friend by Taylor Swift. You and Kenma are childhood friends, but something else has been blooming for a long time. Word Count: 2113 A/N: I was gonna put this song on the songfic list, but I already knew I wanted to write it for Kenma so I didn’t. Finally got round to that. Also can y’all tell he’s my favourite character to write dksdg Warnings: Alcohol and drinking.

It's been like this for as long as you can remember, even after he started playing volleyball Kenma always walks you home. In middle school you'd sit in on practice, walking home with him afterwards, and he'd often stay for dinner at your parents behest. Now you're in high school there's no need since you only live 5 minutes from Nekoma's campus. He walks you home anyway. There are many things Kenma will never admit to you, the first being that he doesn't actually have an extra ten minutes before practice, he just doesn't mind rushing if it means he knows you're safe. You'd spent the first year of high school insisting that you'd get home fine on your own, or that you didn't mind waiting, but he never listened to you. He had time, he said, and nothing about his tone suggested that it was a lie. It was, but Kuroo never teased him too much for his sacrifice (or at least if he did, Kenma just tuned him out.) Tonight though, there's no practice, and the setter waits at his desk for you to pack up once class ends. He knows you always take a moment, the array of coloured pens you use (because notes should be colour coded to make studying easier, you’d insisted in your second year of middle school) take time to put away. You tuck the note he'd passed you earlier into your pocket. You always keep them. He doesn't know that. The smile he gives you as he holds a hand out to carry your bag is barely visible, but it's certainly there, and warmth spreads through your chest at the sight. 

Snow swirls around you, settling in your hair and on your lashes as your rummage through your bag for your hat and gloves. Kenma can't stop himself from staring at you, the light reflecting off the half melted flakes giving you an ethereal glow. If you weren't half freezing to death, he'd want to stay like this forever. Your cheeks are rosy from the cold as you triumphantly wave your hat around, but your grin soon fades as you realise your gloves are nowhere to be found. Kenma doesn't say a word as he removes one of his, placing it in your hand. He's refusing to make eye contact, and given the weather it's hard to tell whether the red on his cheeks is a blush or not. You know better than to argue, slipping the glove onto your right hand and thanking him quietly. 

As the two of you reach your street, you notice a pair of colourful cat ears on a patch of ground untouched by snow. Your neighbours 6 year old had been drawing on the sidewalk this morning when you left for school, the weather having changed unexpectedly, and you pouted a little knowing her lovely drawing would be ruined. Kenma's features turned puzzled as you ran to the spot, kicking the snow away and grinning when you realised the drawing hadn't been too affected by the snow. He watched in confused amusement as you snapped a few pictures of it and emailed them to your printer. "Why?" "I thought it would be a nice thing to give to her. She's only little, she must've been devastated when she realised it would be washed away." There are many things Kenma will never admit to you, and the second is that moments like this- where you do things just for the sake of being kind, where you smile at him and explain your kindness like it's the most obvious thing in the world- are the moments he lives for. He'd give up video games to see you like this one more time. The snow is coming down heavier as you reach your front door, and you pull him under the portico to protect him. "Wanna hang out?" "Yeah, sounds like fun." Your smile is as radiant as ever as you insert the key into the lock, calling out for your parents once the door is shut behind the two of you. One day he hopes he'll walk through the front door of your own shared house, or that it will be your kids calling for you as you prepare dinner together, but at the moment it seems like nothing more than a pipe dream. For now, he's content with what you have, building things in Minecraft, kicking his ass at Mariokart, logging into Elder Scrolls Online together after practice. In the summer you could occasionally coax him outdoors, although the closest you'd gotten him to indulging in your love of camping was a tent in your back garden. (He hadn't liked it, but you were so happy he couldn't complain, and waking up in that close proximity to you had made his heart swell.) He stays the night, the snow far too heavy for him to make it home, and around 3am you roll over to face him. "Hey Kenma?" "Yeah?" "Its nice to have a friend." "Yeah, it is." The glow of your alarm clock illuminates your faces enough to make the smile you share visible. It’s the last thing you see before you fall asleep. 

When college rolls around, it surprises nobody that you'd picked the same one. Even if you hadn't made a conscious decision to go together, you've always been synchronised. Two sides of the same coin, your parents had commented more than once. Your smile had been contagious when you announced that you got in, and he'd seemed genuinely energetic for once as he announced that he had too. 

Neither of you are much for parties, too many people and definitely too much noise, but that doesn’t mean you can't have your own fun. He'd been confused and a little apprehensive when you'd pulled him up the stairs and onto the roof, but it soon became clear what you'd planned out. Several bottles of alcohol sit in the centre of the large picnic blanket that's stretched over the concrete surface of the rooftop, both of your Switches, a few board games and, of course, Uno neatly arranged next to them. A bluetooth speaker softly plays a mix of both your favourite songs, and a grin spreads across his oft emotionless face as he takes it all in. It's his idea of the ideal party- one with nobody but you- and the look on your face tells him you knew that. "What d'you want to drink?" "Whatever you're having..." You hand him a bottle of something blue, and he's surprised at the sweetness when he takes a sip. "So, 20 questions or Uno?" "Why not both?" "I knew you were secretly a genius." 

He admits, once the alcohol has made its way into his system a little more, that the stress has been piling up recently, that he really needed this to unwind, that you always seem to know exactly how to fix things even just for a moment. He attempts to retracts the statement once you kick his ass at Uno, but the way you giggle makes his heart beat and the way your lips glisten with the stray drop of vodka that lingers after you take a sip brings back the years of daydreams he's had about kissing you. The sky is turning pink, but the late hour doesn't matter anymore, not when you're in your twenties and you don't have class tomorrow. "Its pretty like this." "Yeah, you are." "Hm?" "Uh- nothing. The sky is nice." You decide to let it slide.  "Yeah, it's a really good colour. I think it might be one of my favourites..." There are many things Kenma will never admit- the third being what he’s thinking right now- that his favourite colour is the blush on your cheeks, the way your eyes shine in the light, the colour of your lips between your teeth when you're nervous. That if he had to pick a favourite colour it would simply be you. He doesn't know when he got the courage to put his hand on yours, but you haven't moved it away, and the smile on your face as you take in the sunset tells him you don't have an issue.  "Hey, Y/N?" "Yeah?" "Its nice to have a friend." He mirrors your words from a few years ago, the meaning behind it deeper than before. You grin, pink and purple illuminating your beauty, and after 15 years of knowing you he's found no evidence that you aren't an angel. He doubts there is any. "Yeah, it is."

It's always been like this, you smiling at Kenma and him smiling back- a smile that nobody else gets to see. Today, everyone sees it, though it's meant only for you. He leans in to whisper to you as you reach him, tears in both your eyes, and though the wedding is small the love and joy you feel from everyone in the room is overwhelming. When you were 10 and he invited you over for the first time to play Zelda on his gamecube, neither of you could imagine a future where you got married at all, let alone to each other. In high school, when you showed up to his games with a red number five on a sign and his spare jacket tied round your waist (when did you steal that?) he could only dream of a day like this. There are many things Kenma had thought he’d never admit, and now he wanted to tell you all of them. Starting with the fact that your first kiss, the first time he told you he loved you, the night you fell asleep with your head in his lap- none of them could compare to how he felt right now, looking at you on your wedding day.

Bells ring behind you as white confetti gathers on the ground, and from a distance it would almost look like it was snowing. You pose for photos for what feels like hours, every possible combination and location exhausted. The reception is as beautiful as the ceremony, though far less refined, and you've just sat down next to Kenma to take a break when Kuroo pulls you to your feet, insisting it's tradition to dance with the best man. You both know it's a lie, but you've been putting up with his antics for long enough to know that your better off just rolling with it. "I've never seen Kenma smile this much, you know." "Me neither, actually." "Its because of you." "I'm glad I make him happy." "Does he make you happy?" "D'you think I'd have married him if he didn't?" "Thats the right answer."

Kenma insists on carrying you into your apartment, despite the exhaustion visible on his face, and you kiss his cheek gently as he closes the door. You make your way to the kitchen to make tea, and you don't notice him behind you until he's tickling your sides, grinning at your giggles. "You're sleeping on the couch if you don't stop!" "You don't mean that." "I do!" "Prove it." He keeps going, and you eventually concede. You'd never kick him out of bed, even if he was being a little shit right now. This playful side of Kenma didn't come out too often- but you adored when it did. You reach up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. It's mostly black now, and tied back as usual. It suits him, you think, as you cup his cheek and kiss him with all the tenderness in the world. 

The next morning starts with light flooding through your curtains and your husbands arms around you. You can feel him gently kissing your shoulder as you reach down to take his hand in your own. "Morning babe..." "Morning love." You turn around to face him, eerily reminiscent of a night all those years ago. The smile on his face is the same as it had been then. Being this close to him feels like home. "Let's stay in bed today." "I like the sound of that." You know that when it comes down to it, you'll always have him. You wouldn't want it any other way. There are many things Kenma thought he would never admit, many secrets he now wants to spill to you and nobody else, but the one thing he wants to tell anybody who’ll listen- is just how much he loves you. "Hey Kenma?" "Yeah?" "Its nice to have a friend." "Yeah." He brings your hand up to his mouth, placing a gentle kiss on each of your fingers, pausing with his lips on your wedding ring. "Yeah, it is." 

taglist: @tremendousglitterthing​ @svtbitch​ @the-fandom-ness​ @atsumumu​ (I ACTUALLY REMEMBERED THIS TIME)

This Isn’t A Ghost Story - Chapter 3

Whouffaldi non-canon AU. 8 chapters, will be about 32,000 words when complete. Rated Mature for heavier themes starting in this chapter, please contact me privately if you’re worried about triggering topics. Clara Oswald/Twelfth Doctor. Mystery, pining and angst with a happy ending. Available on AO3 under the same username and title. Updates every Friday.

This Isn’t A Ghost Story

Chapter 3: The Journal

Clara couldn’t sleep that night. Alone in her flat, she tossed and turned in bed, the day’s events replaying on a loop in her mind. The revelation of the identity of her ghost, the family secret he had spent almost a century protecting, her uncanny resemblance to her great-grandmother, it all felt like a complicated knot she needed to untangle. Beyond everything she’d learned, there was still more her ghost refused to tell her, and the thought nagged at her, keeping her awake.

Shortly after midnight she gave up on sleep, getting up and padding down the hall to her small sitting room. Given that it was early Sunday morning, she wouldn’t have to be up for work in a scant few hours, so if she was awake anyway she might as well do something useful. She flicked on the lamp closest to the sofa and pulled over the ancient box she’d brought from her Gran’s house, positioning it at the near end of the coffee table.

Before she left, she’d managed to extract a promise from her ghost that he wouldn’t burn down the house while she was away. But she still hadn’t completely trusted him alone with the box that had caused so much upset, so she’d loaded it into her car and brought it home with her, uncertain of exactly what she intended to do with it. 

It’d been obvious that he was no more comfortable with the idea of her in sole possession of the box than she was with the thought of leaving it with him. You won’t stop digging until you’ve uncovered all the gory details, he had said to her, and she knew herself well enough to admit that he was probably right. Now that she knew of the existence of this box, she could hardly just let it be. 

But it was more than simply feeling entitled to her family history. There was something there, some hidden edge of the mystery that called to her, something she felt like she should know. It wasn’t just her resemblance to her great-grandmother, or her attachment to her ghost, or his unwillingness to explain the situation to her. It’s more than that, and you know it, he’d told her. Deep down, you know it. And now it’s only a matter of time until you realise...

Clara shivered a little, remembering his words, more unnerved in the silence of her flat than she’d been when he’d first said them. Whatever this was, wherever this led, she had to know.

Glancing into the box, she picked up the wedding photograph from the top of the pile of papers and leaned towards the lamplight to examine it again. It was less disconcerting than it had been earlier, now that she knew some of the context behind it, but it was still odd to see her own face in a photo taken more than ninety years ago, in the spring of 1923. Staring at it, she was struck again by the feeling of what should have been, of how fiercely she wished it was her in that photo, marrying the man she loved.

But it wasn’t her in the photo. It couldn’t possibly be her, no matter how much it looked like her and no matter how much she wished it was. Perhaps getting to know the woman depicted there, her great-grandmother and namesake, would help her shake the feeling that somewhere along the line, fate had gone horribly awry. With that thought firmly in mind, she reached into the box and began pulling items from it.

There was no sense of order to the box, but as she dug through it, Clara began to suspect that it was the contents of her great-grandmother’s writing desk, quickly and haphazardly transferred to the box, however long ago. It was a mix of correspondence and shopping lists, photographs and small pieces of memorabilia, all jumbled together, fragile with age. She took each item out one by one, sorting them into piles as she went — a stack for photos, another for letters, a third for keepsakes, and a smaller pile for the ephemera of everyday life, things she probably didn’t need to keep. She could spend tomorrow going through them in more detail, reading the letters and looking at the photos in the light of day.

At the bottom of the box she found what appeared to be a well-loved brown leather travel journal, thick with envelopes and postcards and loose leafs of paper fitted between the pages. The front was emblazoned with a globe and the words 101 Places To See. She smiled softly, running her fingertips over its dips and ridges, and thought of her own brief travels after university. When her Dad had balked at the idea of her travelling on her own, her Gran had declared it a family tradition for the women in their family to travel. Apparently it was one that went back further than Clara realised.

Curious about the sorts of travels her namesake had chosen, she leaned closer to the lamp and opened the journal to the first entry, written in the same small, looping handwriting as on the back of the wedding photo:

1 March 1921, London

I purchased this journal for my upcoming holiday, but I fear the title may be more aspirational than factual. Mother and Father have agreed to allow me a solo European tour, perhaps under the mistaken belief that giving me that much freedom will quench my thirst for more far-flung adventures. If they knew of my ambitions, they would certainly forbid me from leaving home at all. We shall see how far I can get on the stipend they have gifted me, before their disapproval catches up with me.

A family tradition indeed, Clara thought, smiling wider, and flipped ahead a few pages.

16 March 1921, Paris

Paris is lovely, if not so very different from London. It is, however, an excellent hub from which to book further travel...

The next several pages were devoted to cataloguing life in Paris in the early ‘20s, an era that had fascinated Clara during her literature studies at university. She scanned through the entries on the off-chance that her great-grandmother might have crossed paths with a famous name during her time there. Seeing none, she ran her thumb along the outer edge of the pages to jump further ahead and get an idea of where she had gone after Paris.

Of its own accord, the journal opened to a place where a small sepia photograph had been wedged between the pages, and Clara carefully prised it free to examine it closer. Though it wasn’t nearly as crisp as the wedding photo, the two figures in it were instantly identifiable as her ghost and her great-grandmother. They stood side by side, her arm slung around his back and his draped over her shoulders, smiling at the camera and squinting in bright sunlight, a desert landscape rolling away behind them. Surprised, she turned it over to find her great-grandmother’s handwriting on the back had labeled it Doctor John Smith, Thebes Egypt, 19 May 1921.

Egypt? Her curiosity piqued, Clara backtracked a few pages to try to find the context of the photo, and when exactly her ghost had first entered her great-grandmother’s life. 

2 May 1921, Cairo

Egypt is enthralling, everything I had dreamed it would be. Thankfully I find I am able to stretch my budget further here than I could on the continent. I sent my last letter home from Athens, and carefully did not mention my future plans — my hope is that I can spend a few weeks here before returning to Europe via Malta and then on to Italy, and Mother and Father will never be the wiser. To that end (and to ensure I don’t run out of funds and thus be forced to resort to begging parental assistance), I have already booked passage aboard a ship departing in three weeks. 

The next few days detailed her sightseeing in and around Cairo, and Clara scanned ahead until her eyes caught on an entry almost two weeks later:

14 May 1921, Cairo

I met the most fantastic and intriguing man at the museum party last night! We spoke like old friends for near an hour and a half before he was pulled away by his compatriots, and it was only after he was gone that I realised we did not so much as exchange names. At the time, names felt superfluous, secondary to my desire to know him, but this morning I find myself wishing I could put a name to the face that hasn’t left my mind these last twelve hours.

He is Scottish, an academic of some description, though his interests and expertise seem so wide ranging, I can hardly guess at what his specialty might be. His has the nose of a Roman emperor, more regal than the bust of Marcus Aurelius that lives on the shelf in my bedroom back home, but recently burnt to peeling by the hot desert sun in a way I found entirely too endearing. There is no question that he is significantly older than myself, but he carries none of the condescension I typically associate with such an age difference. He showed more than polite interest in hearing of my travels and my thoughts on all that I have seen, and in exchange told me stories of his many adventures.

He is exactly the sort of kindred spirit I have for so long dreamed of knowing, and yet I know no hard facts about him at all. I don’t suppose we will ever meet again — and isn’t that sad? To have met someone as singular as him, spent an hour and a half in one another’s company, only to be forever lost to each other in the shuffle of humanity. At least he will be a fond memory of my time in Cairo.

Gripped by this introduction to the ghost she had known all her life and the man she had never had the chance to meet, Clara turned the page and read on.

15 May 1921, Cairo

I wrote yesterday that I know no hard facts about the man I met at the museum party, but on reflection I find that isn’t entirely true. His friends called him only ‘Doctor’, though that hardly narrows down his identity, with so many educated men roaming about the country. He has lived in Egypt for several years, can read ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics, and mentioned he was in Cairo on a brief respite from some activity in Thebes, on which he did not go into detail.

But a ‘brief respite’, by definition, should mean that he will return to Thebes, shouldn’t it? And then there is the matter of his sunburnt nose...

The on-going archaeological work at Thebes is widely known in Cairo, especially amongst those who frequent the museum. Could it be that this ‘Doctor’, this man who has not left my thoughts since Friday evening, could now be found in Thebes? I so wish to see him again, even if only to exchange our names and other such information, so that I might send him a postcard from time to time. And perhaps more, if he is agreeable.

And if he is not to be found in Thebes, at least I will have tried. I will be able to board the ship to Malta knowing that at least I tried to find him.

Despite knowing that her great-grandmother would, inevitably, cross paths again with the man who would become her husband, Clara read on without pause, enthralled by the unfolding drama.

17 May 1921, en route

I have left Cairo for Thebes, though it may well mean I will miss my ship to Malta. He has not been out of my thoughts, and I find I cannot wait any longer. I cannot talk myself out of this. And if there were anyone in a position in my life to talk me out of it, I would not let them, either. My mind is made up.

An adventure, then. To see the archaeological work at Thebes, and perhaps recognise a friendly face. I do hope his sunburn has not got any worse.

The next entry, adjacent to where the photograph had been tucked away, read simply:

19 May 1921, Thebes

His name is John, and I am besotted. I fear I may never recover.

Clara set the journal down in her lap and picked up the photo, looking again at their smiling faces. She tried to imagine it, meeting an interesting stranger and then striking out into the unknown, alone, on the hope of finding him again. Studying the picture, she could almost feel the desert sun on her face, and the giddy joy of new love. In just under two years, they would be married, but it had begun there, with a conversation in the Cairo museum and her great-grandmother’s bold decision to follow him to Thebes. 

In the spring of 1921, she would have been just barely twenty-two years old, and Clara couldn’t help but wonder about the age of her ghost. He looked so unchanged in the photographs she had seen, the length of his salt and pepper hair the only thing that indicated any passage of time. He had always been ageless to her, but her namesake had commented on the age difference, and as she neared twenty-eight herself, Clara had to admit that he still looked significantly older than her. In his forties, easily, perhaps fifties. He’d told her that if she dug into the paperwork she would find him there, and she decided to look into it in the morning, see what information could be gleaned from genealogical websites and the like, since he’d always shown such unwillingness to answer any sort of personal question.

She turned back to the journal, curious where their story had gone in the two years between meeting and marrying. The next section was filled to bulging with postcards and envelopes tucked between the pages — a period of extensive correspondence, clearly. Clara hesitated. Reading her great-grandmother’s travel journal was one thing, but in the current moment, alone in the post-midnight silence of her flat, she wasn’t sure she could bear to read the letters her ghost had written to his future wife as they fell in love. Instead, she flipped through quickly until she reached the last of the postcards, and then read the first journal entry that followed it.

4 March 1923, London

He is in Glasgow! After all these months of correspondence, of knowing my true feelings but being unwilling to divulge them via the impersonal medium of paper, the Doctor is no more than a train ride away. And yet after the fiasco of my extended stay in Egypt in ‘21, I cannot imagine that Mother and Father will react well to my desire to go to Scotland to see him. 

His postcard did not say how long he plans to be in Glasgow, only that letters sent to the university there might reach him faster than if sent via the normal address. I worry that he will be this close by for only a short time. With all the news out of the Valley of the Kings these last few months, I don’t expect he will stay in dreary old Scotland for long. 

I’m afraid that if I don’t seize this opportunity, I will never get another chance to tell him of my feelings for him in person. I worry that if I ask to go, Mother and Father will not permit it, and that if I take the initiative and go without asking, they will never forgive me.

And I am afraid that the Doctor does not love me as I love him, that he won’t be able to see past the differences in our ages to all that we could be, the life that we could build together. I worry that in running off to see him, I will destroy not only my relationship with my parents, but also my friendship with him.

What fear should I let rule me? Which worry is the most likely to be true?

No. 

Instead, better questions: How will I live with myself if I let myself be ruled by fear? If I do not live by the truth of my heart, how can I live at all?

I will follow him to Glasgow, as I followed him to Thebes. Let me be brave. Let the fates do as they will.

The next entry was written a few days later, detailing her clandestine departure from home and the long train journey from London to Glasgow, peppered with her simmering fears at how her unannounced arrival would be greeted by the Doctor. Her worry and her longing were palpable, and Clara felt an odd sort of kinship with this woman, her great-grandmother and namesake, as she abandoned everything in her life on the chance to be with the man she loved. She had never done anything like it herself — she had never felt that strongly about anyone, besides her ghost — but somehow it felt like something she would do.

She turned the page, looking for their reunion, but found that the next entry was dated weeks later.

28 March 1923, Glasgow

The days have been too full and too happy to find a scrap of time to add my thoughts here, so in short: one of my fears was unfounded, the other not.

The Doctor loves me as I love him. It is the truth that will chart the course of our lives together, from now until the stars all burn from the sky.

And Mother and Father will never forgive me.

The pages that followed were filled with hastily jotted down notes, interspersed with little keepsakes: a visitor’s guide to the Kelvingrove art museum, a program from an orchestral performance, a short love letter scrawled on university stationary in handwriting Clara had to assume belonged to her ghost. She folded that one back up without reading it, then skipped ahead to the date on the back of the wedding photo and found that her great-grandmother had written:

12 May 1923, Glasgow

Tomorrow we will make our farewells to Scotland and start the long journey south to Egypt, but today marks the beginning of a different and far greater adventure: marriage! 

It will be a very small wedding, with only a few of the Doctor’s friends and cousins in attendance, but I find I do not care. I get to keep him, and any other concerns fade out of existence in the blinding light of that fact.

Tomorrow will also be two years since our first meeting in Cairo, and I am looking forward to revisiting the scene of that fateful interaction, this time as a married woman. How wonderful it is to have not lost that intriguing stranger to the shuffle of humanity, after all.

The journal shifted in tone after that, chronicling their journey from Glasgow to Cairo and the beginnings of their life together in Egypt, as the Doctor returned to his archaeological work in the field. In the summer of ‘23, her great-grandmother decided to take up drawing, and many of the pages that followed were filled with pencil sketches of the monuments of Egypt, the series of small homes they lived in, and the familiar face of her ghost, growing ever more accurate as her skill improved. 

Clara thought of her own childhood habit of sketching his face on any blank corner of paper she could find, and wondered how they might compare. Her great-grandmother’s drawings were occasionally dated, and by the spring of 1925, the journal shifted back to being more of a travelogue again, though the entries were more sparse than they had been before, and sketches continued to fill the margins.

15 June 1925, London

Even in the height of summer, London feels grim and drab after two years in Egypt. When I said as much, the Doctor merely laughed and pointed out that it could be worse: it could be Glasgow. He has spent so many years now, off and on, living in Egypt, moving from dig site to dig site as the work demands, and I think he is ready for a more settled existence for a while. The position at the British Museum suits him well, and will provide us with a more stable foundation on which to build our life — and as much as I enjoyed our transient circumstances in Egypt, there is a certain allure to building something lasting together. A new sort of adventure.

I had hoped that with our return to London, and after two years of marriage, Mother and Father might have found a way to forgive me, but it seems that door is forever closed. I am determined to focus on the future instead, and on the family the Doctor and I mean to create together. 

Reading that, Clara felt a pang of heartsickness for this woman she had never known. She had been close with both of her parents before their deaths, and was grateful to have had that time with them. She couldn’t imagine her parents being so angry with her that they would shut her out of their lives, but scanning ahead, she didn’t see any indication that her namesake’s parents had ever relented. Instead, the journal dealt with the process of settling back into life in London, and her great-grandmother’s dreams for the future, with small sketches peppering the edges of each page.

As she turned the pages, Clara’s eyes caught on the rare use of colour in one of her drawings, and with a surprised blink she realised she recognised it as the stained glass window over the front door of her Gran’s house. The journal entry beside the drawing read: 

1 August 1925, London

The House, as I have determined it must always be called, is a ridiculous rambling Victorian thing, all gabled roofs and ornate woodwork and stained glass windows, such as the one I have drawn here. It is entirely too large for the two of us, but it was love at first sight for both the Doctor and myself, and no house we have considered since has compared. At least there will be enough room for our ever-growing legion of books. And there are several bedrooms — perhaps it is too ambitious of me to imagine them someday filled, but despite all our failed efforts, I remain hopeful.

Having dealt so closely with her Gran’s personal details the last few weeks, Clara knew that she would be born barely three years later, in late August of 1928. Her great-grandmother died only a few months after that, and it felt strange to read of her hopes for a large family, knowing it didn’t happen in the end. Through reading her journal, it had become clear to Clara that they were alike in many ways, but on that one point they couldn’t be more different. She enjoyed children, she wouldn’t have become a teacher if she didn’t, but she’d never felt drawn to motherhood. She was almost the same age as her namesake had been when her Gran was born, and she couldn’t imagine having a baby now, much less hoping for multiple children.

Of course, she wondered if she might feel differently if she’d had the sort of fairy tale romance her great-grandmother had had. Starting a family with someone she loved felt a lot less abstract than the vague idea of having a baby. Maybe that was the difference. She could certainly understand her great-grandmother wanting children with the Doctor—

At that thought, it all came back to her in a rush, everything her ghost had revealed that afternoon, the truth of her Gran’s parentage — and with it, one of the few facts about him that she’d managed to wring out of him as a child. With dread turning her stomach, Clara quickly flipped ahead to the autumn of 1927, scanning the journal entries for any indication, any clue. There was a brief note in early November about plans for Christmas, but then nothing until:

1 December 1927

He is gone. He is gone, and I will never, ever recover.

The bruises may heal, but I will not.

Tears sprung to Clara’s eyes, but she blinked them away, reading on.

8 December 1927

Is it the House that is haunted, or me?

She stared at the words, knowing that almost eighty-seven years later, the house was very much haunted. She turned the page, feeling the tears begin to roll down her face.

12 December 1927

Perhaps it is only my mind playing tricks on me, but perhaps it is something more. Perhaps there is some magic that ties us together even now. I live in hope — for what other way is there to live, now?

The following pages were full of nothing but undated sketches of the Doctor, looking exactly as Clara knew him. I made that promise to the only person I’ve spoken to since my death. The only one who could ever see me, her ghost had told her, not twelve hours earlier. Gripped with the need to know, she turned the journal pages quickly, looking for her great-grandmother’s familiar handwriting amongst all the drawings of her ghost, until finally:

3 February 1928

I have counted out the days and counted them again. My memory of last November is far from clear, but there is no mistake in this: I am with child. And this is no parting gift, no consolation prize from the universe, only one more tragedy to heap onto the pile. This baby will not have the Doctor’s eyes or his smile or his laugh. This baby—

How am I to endure this? Alone in the House we had hoped to fill, how can I possibly find the strength to face what is to come?

I continue to dream of him, to have visions, even. Some days I fear I have gone mad with the grief, but other days, those visions are my only comfort, those dreams my only reprieve from the nightmares that plague me. Something in my heart refuses to believe that the Doctor is truly gone. Something compels me to speak to him, and hope that he will, somehow, impossible though it may be, hear me and respond.

And then:

8 February 1928

They are not visions, and I am not mad. 

But more importantly — I am no longer alone.

Clara set down the journal, taking a moment to swipe at the tears on her face. She had known, deep down she had known that she would find only pain at the end of this story, and yet she hadn’t been able to stop herself. I know you won’t stop digging until you’ve uncovered all the gory details, he’d said to her, and he’d been right, of course he’d been right. Her ghost had tried to protect her from this, but she had charged ahead anyway, disregarding his warnings.

And that edge of the mystery still called to her, the unanswered questions still nagged at her. However much it hurt, she had to know. Picking up the journal again, she skipped ahead, flipping pages until she reached her Gran’s birthday.

21 August 1928

It is a girl. I have named her Margaret Eleanor, as we so long discussed. Our little Margot. None of this is her fault, and I do not love her less for it. I only wish I could love her more. I wish my heart were still capable of it. I wish I could have greeted her arrival with the joy she deserves. I wish I didn’t have to welcome her into the world alone.

The more days pass, the more I am convinced the Doctor meant what he said as a final goodbye. The last six months with him have revived me in a way I didn’t think possible, and to have that ripped away, to once again be facing the prospect of a future without him— 

‘You are stronger than you know,’ he told me, and I wish I could believe it.

Even more, I wish he was still here. In whatever form, I wish he was here. Perhaps in time I will see him again. I must hold to that hope, for it is the last one I have.

The journal entries stopped after that, and again the pages were filled with sketches: a round-faced newborn with wispy hair, bits of the house that Clara recognised easily, and the Doctor, always the Doctor.

Turning the pages quickly, she came across one last entry in the journal, the following pages all blank. Her great-grandmother’s familiar handwriting was no longer small, neat loops, but instead scrawled wide with anguish, and Clara felt her heart skip a beat at the date at the top of the page.

23 November 1928

Where have you gone, my love? Why have you left me?

I suppose I cannot fault the dead for not keeping their promises. You did not choose this fate for us, and I do not blame you for it. I only wish it could have been different. I wish that we had a second chance at life, a second chance to build for ourselves everything we dreamed our life together could be.

I cannot live like this. I will not.

I will follow you, my love, wherever it is that you have gone. Wherever you are now, I will find you. As I followed you to Thebes and to Glasgow, I will follow you now.

I will see you again. 

Wait for me.

Clara stared in horror at the final words on the page. Seized with a sudden nauseous dread, she dropped the journal on the coffee table and bolted up from the sofa, lurching towards her laptop on the desk across the room. Her hands trembled as she pulled up a search page, pouring out every scrap of relevant family information she could think of, ending with 23 November 1928 suicide. 

The internet, that modern wonder, took only moments to confirm her fears. Tears filled her eyes again, blurring the screen in front of her, but she fumbled her way through printing the eighty-six year old coroner's report. She snatched up the paper still warm, jammed her feet into her trainers and pulled on a coat, grabbed her keys and her purse, and was out the door before she could change her mind.

--

Chapter 4: The Past

Interview with Topper Headon, February 1980.

Turn off your mind, lie back on the couch and relax. We're going to have an association test. What do you think of when I say the Clash? Running battles with the grey forces of government? Three cord supercharged thrashes vilifying unemployment and public housing vegetation? Seething hordes of punks dancing themselves into a frenzy? Wrong. Times have changed. Punk is now locked as firmly into the past as hippies were in the sixties. Safety pins and bondage trousers are as passe as headbands and peace signs. The bands that characterized an era have disappeared. The Sex Pistols destroyed themselves, the Damned are a self-parody, which leaves the Clash. After an impressive first album and a fair second effort, their third a double recaptures the drive and energy of the first. The Clash have esestablished them-selves as the most talented band to emerge from the much vaunted new wave.

Their lastest album, London Calling, displays considerable evolution since early days of the band. The songs are more reflective and melodic. Songwriters Joe Strummer and Mick Jones contribute heavily but to a large extent the dexterity and adaptbility of drummer Topper Headon has enabled the Clash to develop their musicality. Topper is, perhaps, the most accomplished musician of the four-man band. His early training with a variety of different music forms from traditional jazz to soul, has provided a firm foundation for Strummer and Jones. Topper provides the matrix from which the rest of the band work. Topper believes the Clash have survived because they have staying power, because they haven't been afraid of changing and because they weren't hesitant to branch out when they grew tired of playing frenetic chords. "We've remained true to what we originally believed in," declares Topper. " We still enjoy playing our own songs. We're not going through any set patterns. The basic idea has been to remain true to what we believe in and not allow ourselves to be dictated to by the industry and become CBS puppets." They've done a deft job of staying ahead of big business machines. "We refuse to do Top of the Pops for example, even when the single came in at 29. CBS started to put pressure on us to do it. They tell us we won't have a hit single, and we say, so what? Who needs it? We wanted our double album to go out for £5 when everybody else's albums go out for a lot more. We had to fight battles to get a cheap record out. Obviously that's not in record company interests. They told us it was impossible. Maybe that's why we've stayed together; we keep setting ourselves impossible tasks. It gives us drive. Even on tour, the Clash are determined to keep prices down which certainly affects the bands take home pay. But money isn't what they want most. "What we want is for the kids to be able to see us," Topper says. Their attitude to irrates businessmen. "If anybody does something like sneak a video of us on television, we'd split up. And CBS know we mean business. We owe them so much money they can't afford for that to happen." The Clash are a refreshing contrast to the kind of bands that do anything to get their name on the dotted line. From the beginning it's been a complete turnaround from the usual state of affairs that exist between band and record company. The companies have been chasing the Clash. Topper joined the Clash between their first and second albums. Previously he was playing with a soul band that regularly toured Germany and British airforce bases. Regularly earning £50 weekly, Headon took a cut in pay to work with the Clash. "I knew at once that it was the gig I'd been looking for. Everything came quite naturally. By the time Topper joined the Clash, he was beginning to think he'd never pass an audition. Not many bands were signed before the British punk explosion. "They'd form a band for somebody from out-of-work musicians who had been thrown out of other bands. They knew the ropes, so they wouldn't kick up a fuss because they knew they were dispensable. Every time I went along for an audition, I was constantly beaten by drummers who had played for name bands and had 'experience'. It just went on and on like that." Topper had been playing drums since he was 13. Drumming was a habit he picked up when he had a broken leg which halted a promising football career. His dad spotted a second-hand kit in the local paper and bought it. By 14 Headon was regularly playing with a traditional jazz band. "For some reason bands were always short of drummers..." As far as tutoring, Topper never got past the introduction in the books. Paradiddles and triple paradiddles were as far as he got. Eventually Headon bought a Premier kit: "At that time it was the cheapest pro kit you could get. You could go into any music store and get one. Everyone stocked spares and fittings. That was one of the reasons why I bought a Premier. I'm still sold on silver kits because they look great under the lights." A few days before his first tour with the Clash he took possession of a silver Pearl kit, which he still uses. After a bit of chopping and changing of toms, he's wound up with a 24" x 17" bass drum, 14" x 10" top tom tom, 16" x 10" and 18" x 10" floor toms, and a Ludwig Black Beauty snare drum. All the cymbals are Zildjian - two pairs of 15" Heavy Rock hi hats, a 16" crash, an 18" crash, a 21" Rock ride, a 19" Rock crash, and a 20" Rock crash, plus a little Zildjian splash cymbal attachted to the top of the bass drum which he claims is driving the rest of the band mad. All the stands are Premier Lokfast Trilok stands. "I go for a real solid kit," claims Topper, "that's why I chose Pearl and Premier. They're really solid and serviceable, no frills on them. You get a good feeling when you sit behind them because they're so workmanlike. You think, 'Great, I ain't gonna knock these over.' I use rubber mats to secure the kit on the riser." "Although I have the kit basically the same most of the time, I do like to change it around occasionally. If I started to use wooden blocks on the riser then I'd be stuck with one position, and that can be limiting." When it became evident that the Clash were here to stay, Topper got the chance of a new kit, which he tried but didn't rate as much. However, he did take Pearl up on the offer of a recover and recon. He expects to have his present kit for at least another five or six years, providing it dosen't get dropped or broken. Another complaint from Topper is lack of service and spares outside London: "We've got a flight case which is like a miniature drum shop, it carries everything down to cymbal felts and spare lugs for the bass drum. We always take it with us on the road and keep it stocked up. "I begin a tour with everything I conceivably need, and gradually I get rid of things I don't need, so the kit gets smaller as the tour goes on. Once the hi hat busted, the spring went right inside, and it was impossible to fix up. It was a Saturday night when we discovered it, and we had a show on Sunday. Luckily, we were able to borrow a high hat stand from the support band." Topper is a man dedicated to acoustic drums. He regards synthisized drums as irrelevant: "They were alright for two weeks, then the novelty wore off. Personally I'm exploring different areas, like percussion. I even use finger cymbals on one track of London Calling. But thats the way to go - into acoustic percussion. There's so much scope there that I don't know why synthisized drums were invented in the first place." Miking up for a gig is a lot similar to miking up for the studio. Topper uses two overhead cymbal mikes, and two mikes for the double hi hat set up he uses. The toms are all miked from the top, and the snare drum is miked from beneath. He keeps both heads on and never keeps anything inside the shells. Topper uses very little damping live. What damping there is, is usually on the bass drum, and always external. All damping is with gaffer tape. Topper prefers AKG mikes, but on tour they vary depending on which PA hire company is being used. "I can go into the studio and get a good drum sound in an hour," continues Topper. Listen to the latest LP London Calling and you'll hear what he means. "The first time I went into the studio I was pretty green but I learnt from it. For London Calling I went straight in and knew exactly what to do. Everybody goes into the studio much more relaxed now. I use AKG mikes and everything is miked from the top except for the snare. Again I use double heads to get the boom sound, and I use room mikes to pick up the spillage, to make it sound more live without going over the top. The set up is exactly the same as I have live, really, except I don't use a bit of damping." The biggest problem with putting out the new album were recording costs. The Clash figure that the longer they spent in the studio, the more it would cost, the more money CBS would have to put up, and consequently they'd have a greater hold over the band. The Clash even put up some of the money themselves. Eventually they had the tape and told CBS: "You can have it if you meet our conditions." Topper admits that there are some mistakes on the album, and more than a few drum errors. That's the price to pay for the energy captured on the vinyl. London Calling was recorded in a month, with Guy Stevens producing. That's how it's going to be in the future, Topper maintains. The second album, Give Em Enough Rope, was not as successful as either the first or the third records, and Topper blames producer Sandy Pearlman for this. "He made it quite dull," Topper says. "He was a dull person to work with. We wanted a producer, CBS gave us a list of producers and his name was on the top. We listened to stuff he'd done with heavy metal bands, and we thought it was rubbish, but it was the production we were interested in. We wanted to get a good sound, and one complaint against the first album was that it sounded too thin. So we wanted some production that would stand up to time. So we got Pearlman. But he took so long to do it, with his perfectionism, that the prevalent feeling in the studio by the time he'd finished was boredom. When I think about recording that album I cringe." Problems don't end in the recording studio for the Clash. For a good few years now they've had constant trouble with local councils who insist on banning their gigs for fear of trouble. The whole surge of reaction against punk bands from "The Establishment" began with the infamous Sex Pistols. The daily newspapers portrayed the Clash as wreckers of society. "We're still getting that sort of prejudice," explains Topper. "We've had 16 gigs booked at various Mecca places, and then about 12 pulled out. You have to completely re-route the tour." The Hammersmith Palais cancelled a concert there because they said there were too many mirrors in the place to safely allow Clash fans in. "But our fans don't smash things anymore. They do if they're told what to do, like sit down in this seat and be a good boy. That's why out of all the gigs on our British tour only have two seats in them." Harassment from local villages takes other forms. The obligatory visit from the fire inspector often results in strict demands being laid down: "He says take that backdrop down, so we take the backdrop down, and he says erect more crash barriers, so we put up more crash barriers, he says this stage has to be rebuilt here, and you need more security. We just laugh at him and do anything he wants. Nothing can stop us playing. But they make life difficult." As time progresses, however, the Clash are becoming more acceptable, though not more respectable, Topper hopes. He makes the point that the Clash have to pay for all the damage that's caused, so why should they promote vandalism? Surprisingly, Topper found that the audiences in America weren't so much different to the British fans. The punk thing is really only just beginning to happen across the pond: "They're still into safety pins," declares Topper. "It's the same as the White Riot tour here, when there were about 300 or 400 fans dancing down the front with the rest there out of curiosity. But we sold out 25 of our 28 gigs there, and that was in 3,000 and 4,000 seater auditoriums. The States is so big. LA was just a load of old hippies lazing around getting stoned in the sun. I liked Chicago best, with all the blues clubs. But we should do well over there because the USA has all the same problems as Britain except they're magnified. They have all the slums and the poverty and more of a racial problem too." Highlighting social problems is one of the bands strong points. They should have plenty to write about in America. The Clash are political, and very definitely anti-National Front. Topper's favourite drummers come from America, such as Harvey Mason and Steve Gadd. His favourite British drummer is Terry Williams, who plays for Rockpile. Musically, his tastes are strictly black; James Brown, Otis Redding and lots of reggae, particularly the Mighty Diamonds. America looks tripe for the Clash. They've toured there twice and soon they should start to take off now that punk has spread. The Americans have been fairly slow catching on to what the 76' British New Wave was all about - perhaps they've been too wealthy for too long. With a new recession biting home, maybe the Clash will take on new relevance to downtrodden, unemployed kids in America. Topper himself represents a new establishment of musicians in Britain that once would have been unthinkable. Two years ago the Clash were vilified as not being "real" musicians. Their drive, talent and staying power has proved the cynics wrong. In general, the Clash have proved themselves to be dedicated professonials with firm ideals at heart. In particular, Topper Headon spearheads the drumming new wave with a forceful and accomplished style that can't be dismissed.

King chap 19&20

Your life changed completely when from a slave, you became a spy for the king. Will you be able to help him in his fight against slavery before it’s too late and the threat hanging over him comes true?

In this society where love comes after fortune, will your mutual affection be able to flourish?  

Royal au fic pairing female reader and Kwon JiYong

Feat: YoungBae, TaeHyung, MinHo and SeoJoon (just because  I had their face in mind when I pictured their characters)

W.C: 4966

Warnings: A little smutty, nothing graphic. There is an execution so, a little violence at the end. Bad words. 

Disclaimer: Everything in this story is fictional. There is no research to be politically  accurate or to fit a certain period of time or place. In one word, it’s all invented.

Note:  Aaaaaw! I’m overwhelmed. It’s the last part before epilogue. I loved writing it so much, you have no idea. Thank you to the readers who read it all. Your comments always melted my heart. I’ve received kind words about the characters and it melted my heart! :) The prince was the little star of the serie, you loved him! Epilogue is almost done. Will upload it soon.

Chapter 19

The comfortable heat of the day has vanished, giving way to a freshness that you had always found comforting. The sunshine has lost its brightness and the colours of the backyard softened. Both you and JiYong were having dinner together in your little garden. The lanterns were lit, drawing softs shadows of the new vegetation you had planted on the ground. It was probably the last meal you will be able to take outside this season, the temperature had been dropping. Autumn was finally here, coloring everything in yellow and orange shades. Your favorite season if any.  

The last 2 days or so, JiYong was working at least 15 hours a day with his counselors. The change of law brought a lot of questions among the people, therefore JiYong had to make everything clear for the ex-slaves' safety. He was also supervising the military operations regarding MinHo’s capture and requested your help to send a message to the emperor of Japan. He asked for Japan to deport his brother and Kyo. He wishes they will be sent back to Korea if they catch them, so they can be judged here as well. 

TaeHyung was now in charge of that part of JiYong’s royal guard. If Seo was a master in combat, Tae for his part showed his intelligence in military strategy. Therefore, both of them had become important in the royal guard, JiYong wanting new blood that he can completely trust by his side.  You were really proud of your friends, your brothers of heart.

For your part, you have spent the last 2 days helping YoungBae’s wife he was working. EunMin didn’t have any other family member left so you offered your help. HyunSa and the Queen too, helped her as much as they could. The four of you had taken care of her brother’s belongings and everything related to the funeral ceremony.  It was something really sad to do.  Tonight, you were exhausted. 

No longer hungry, you pushed your plate aside and put your feet on JiYong's thighs, running your toes on him. You knew, he has something on his mind. He was less talkative than usual and his smile not as bright. But you let him the time to open up and respected his silence. You knew, he would speak eventually. 

“Yah!  take your stinky feet away from me” he pretended to be upset but was smiling brightly for the first time tonight “Plus, don’t take your shoes off, it’s cold outside. I don’t want you to be sick”

“JiiiYoong?” you said with your sweetest voice, ignoring his comment. “Can you massage my feet? Please pretty please?” 

“Hum, let me think.  What do I have in exchange, huh?” he asked, lifting one eyebrow.

“My eternal love and consideration” you said, fluttering your eyelashes

“Is that so? The thing is… I already have that.” He giggled.

He had already started to knead your right foot. His thumbs pressing along the nerves under the arch, it was delightful.

“Aaaaah, Yes! Like that! It feels so good!” you close your eyes in contentement.

“You like it that much?”

“Oh, more than that! You have magical hands, my king” you said. Normally, when you called him like that, he flustered. But not now, it was almost like the words didn’t reach him.

“Love, I have something to tell you” he said as he kept his warm hands in movement. ‘Here we are’, you thought for yourself.

“Tell me”

“It’s important… I don’t really know how to approach the subject with you because I know exactly how you will react. And I don’t want you to feel that way.” 

“Just tell me. If you still love me, it cannot be THAT bad” Concerned, you took your feet back. You knew he was serious, frowning and avoiding your gaze.

“Of course I love you, pabo”

“See? Not that bad then… tell me please, before I imagine the worse”

“We have captured MinHo. He was wandering around the palace borders”

“That’s a good thing. Why were you scared to tell me this?”

“The thing is… He was stating that he was here to have you back. He only had your name on his mouth… He was on a hunt to capture you.”

“Oooh… don’t tell me he killed that guard because he wanted to have access to me… please…” you were doing the math in your head. You didn’t like the conclusion you came to, at all.

“Love, it was not your fault. No one, I really mean not a single person in this kingdom, will take you responsible for that. I don’t want you to feel guilty either”.

“It’s too late for that. He wanted to get me, he was coming here for me and he killed a young man because of that. Of course I feel guilty”. You were fighting your tears from falling. You’ve been crying a lot lately. More than in your entire life. You didn’t want JiYong to think you were a crybaby. You fight as much as you could.

“I knew you would feel guilty. But you were not the one who cut his throat? Were you holding the knife?”

“Of course not”

“Then why are you responsible for a decision MinHo took by himself? How is this your fault?”

“I’ll give it a thought Ji… I know that you’re right but at the same time, he was here for me. If he wasn’t that obsessed with ME, he wouldn’t have come. Therefore, I feel responsible”.

“I knew you would. But I also know that you would have sacrificed yourself instead of letting that guard die. And you don’t even know him. So please, love, don’t feel guilty”.

“I’ll think about it. I will need time, I guess. Deep down, I know that you are right. It’s almost like if my heart and my brain were not synchronised”.

“I’m here to remind you every single day. You are not responsible for any of that monster’s actions. Not a single one”.

He had something to add. You knew it. You simply gesture for him to continue. He smiled at you, of course you knew he was not done. You were always able to interpret his non verbal. It’s part of why he was  so at ease with you, sometimes there is no need for words and you understand each other.

“I’ll be hearing his trial tomorrow in the afternoon. I would like to give you a voice, if you want to testify against him. Also, I think it could be useful for you to see him like that, when he’ll receive his sentence. It will give you some power over your own story, you know what I mean?”

“I’ll be there”

“Woah! Really?”

“Yes, really. I’ll be there”.

“It will be crowded, I want you to know that it’s always in front of the people”.

“Ji, I will be there. Thank you for including me”.

He stood up and knelt down in front of you. He placed his hands flat on the side of your thighs and buried his nose in your stomach, leaning against you. Your fingers automatically ran across his locks, you were never able to resist their softness. You kissed the top of his head and breathed in his smell. There were no actual words to describe the love you have for this man. The only negative thing you could think about was his little temper and his impatience but that being said, it made you smile and you had tamed this side of him, finding it charming. His heart was so full of love and respect for human beings, you will certainly let his short temper slip. After all, he was never mean or irrespectful. 

When he felt you shiver with cold, he got up and lifted you in his arms. Your arms encircled his neck and you buried your nose against his cheek, breathing in his comforting smell. You were always taking a big sniff of him. 

“Nooo! Don’t bring me away from our garden. I want to stay here a little longer”

“You’ll get a cold, it’s freezing, now.”

“Aaaaw! The voice of reason! Why are you so rational?” you pout “Where are we going?”

“In bed. Your feet hurt, I’ll massage them. Do your legs hurt as well? Your back?”

“Woah! Are you offering me a complete body massage?” you asked, smirking.

“Yes! I want to pamper my woman!”

“Woah! The king, massaging me!”

“You should know by now that between us, there is no such thing as cast and titles. I’m only a human in flesh and bones and I want to serve the woman I love”.

“Aaaaw! I love you too”

“I know!” he said, curving one side of his lips. 

He seemed serious for a moment. Almost sad. He was smiling but there was something in his eyes that was off. The thought of the trial tomorrow had come to his and your mind. You didn’t want to feel nervous, but you couldn’t help it. How to think of something else, something positive that would allow you both to sleep well. To be happy and at peace while waiting for the fateful moment. Above all, you didn’t want Jiyong to notice your state of mind, if he felt you were agitated, he wouldn’t sleep well. You wanted to avoid this at all costs, he had to keep his strength to be able to focus tomorrow. For him too, it will be a meaningful moment. 

“Want that massage, love?” He interrupted your thoughts. “I want you to relax as much as you can, considering what’s coming tomorrow.” Of course, he knew. And again, he had a solution. But you might have a better idea. After all, the best way to take your revenge on the past was to live happily in the present. Both of you needed to relieve some tension.

“Hum… What else do you have to offer?” you seductively asked him getting closer. Still too far to his liking, he lured you to him until you bumped against his chest and your legs interlaced.  

“Let me think, I might have a few new tricks to try as well, if you’ll let me, of course. Wait, I’ll tell you” he said as his lips came close to your ear, his soft breath caressing your sensitive skin. His dirty words and low voice sent a shiver down your spine. His hand slowly untied the ribbon of your hanbok as he continued to tell you everything he wished you will let him experiment tonight. His imagination was on fire.

“Is that position even possible?” you asked, surprised.

“Oh, we’ll have to give it a try, if not, we’ll make it work. But the beautiful part of it is” and he told you everything his fingers will do to you sex as he will be pounding into you from behind.

“Did you even work or did you spend days thinking of it?” You teased as you grabbed his face and dragged him closer to your lips. 

“I had a dream love, since then, I can’t keep this out of my head. You’re in? You want to try this?”

“Yes! Please! But massage first?”

“Oh, that was part of the plan. I’ll worship you tonight. It will be all about your pleasure”

“Go ahead my king. I’m all yours. But don’t think I’ll let you do all the work and that it will be only about me” you smirked.

“Why are you so perfect?” his eyes were glistening with lust and love at the same time.

“Shhhh! Don’t you have a massage to start?”

“Yes ma'am” he laughed and kissed you amorously. 

Chapter 20

In order for the people to be able to attend the trials in large numbers, they were held in the public square of the palace, just outside the doors of the executive hall. As expected, the word had spread among the people that an important trial was held and the place was filled with a record number of peasants.  JiYong will be sitting on a throne, installed in front of the doors on the porch. The counselors were already taking place in lines in front of the gallery, framing the place where the accused would be installed and where witnesses could testify. The crowd was behind them and on the back of the place.

“You’ll be okay, noona?” TaeHyung asked as he took your hand in his.

“I hope so” you answered “He cannot harm me here, can he?” 

“Absolutely not. It will be over soon. I trust our king. He’s not corrupted”.

“He’s not. My man has a great sense of justice and he has integrity”.

“Our little Y/n, calling the king her man, is still something I cannot totally process” he flashed his beautiful boxy smile.

“Yah! I’m older, use the polite language” you teased, pretending to be upset.

Suddenly, the door of the executive room opened and JiYong appeared in all his greatness.  He was having his official expression, the one he never has when you two are alone. He was serious and concentrated, he almost seemed arrogant. His mouth was closed in a thin line. He had previously told you where to sit, so he could know exactly where to look when he wanted to look at you.

“Let the prisoner in” he ordered as soon as he sat on his throne.

You felt his gaze on you, as you heard the doors on the back opened. You know the next few hours will be painful. Grabbing Tae’s arm to feel stronger, you looked over your shoulder. Chained to the hands and feet, in a dirty garment and hirsute hair, MinHo went forward. He seemed pitiful, having lost all his power. You couldn't look at him longer and needed to see your man, to feel appease. He nodded towards you, a small, almost imperceptible movement to comfort you as best he could. You understood his silent message: “everything will be fine because you are together”. It’s on these words that he kissed you before the trial. It’s what he wanted you to tell yourself, each time you would flinch today. Yes. You were together.

“Today we’ll be hearing Jang MinHo against the king for the murder of a guard. I also added a charge to the agenda. He will be accused of mistreatment on a former slave”. 

“oooh”, “woah” the peasants said.

“I want to give a voice to the woman he assaulted. I’m asking you, people to stay quiet and silent during this trial. I can tell you already that it will be sad to hear. Therefore, if you think you cannot listen to that kind of testimony, I’d like you to leave the assembly right now.”

“Are you this woman, noona?” Tae murmured over your shoulder.

“Yes!” he held you closer to him and you felt comforted by his contact. Seo and HyunSa were standing in the row behind you. EunMin was with them.

“Counsellors, do you have any objection so far?”

“No, Cheon Ha”.

“Good, let’s proceed with the first charges”

The trial opened with HaeChoo’s testimony. He told how he had found the guard that was murdered. He reported the dying man’s words, pointing to who his killer was. Then, a few guards testified about his arrest. 

“He kept saying he was here to take her back, he seemed possessed. He was yelling ‘I want her back, she is mine, only mine”.

“Did he mention who he was talking about?” JiYong wanted this to be specified.

“Yes CheonHa. He said he was here for Y/n. When he heard that name, YoungBae didn’t like it so he knocked him down with his fist to make him stop talking”.

JiYong smiled, coldly.

“I only said the truth! I’m here to have her back! She’s mine and no one else than me should have my bitch” MinHo exploded from his chair.

“Please take note of those words,” JiYong said to his counselors without giving a look at MinHo. 

“Next witness.”

It was like that for a moment. The guards were testifying one by one of how they have captured him. They told the assembly how MinHo seems obsessed, in his cell. While waiting for his trial for the murder of the guard, he was constantly saying your name and yelling ‘bring her back to me’. He apparently confessed to one that he was unable to think straight now that he had seen you in ‘lady’s’ clothes. They mentioned that when he was captured, he was wearing a soldier’s uniform. It took a moment for the soldiers to make their depositions. Then, the king solely called your name.

“Y/n, please come and stand in front of me”.

You nervously did as he said. You could taste saliva thickening in your throat and beads of sweat trickling down your back. JiYong knew you were anxious and wanted to let you the possibility to change your mind.

“I’ve heard enough to give a judgement on that case. However, I want to give you the chance to talk and confront your assaillant. It’s your decision to take, love” he didn’t want to call you like that in front of the whole assembly. He didn’t want his people to get to know it this way. But the word slipped his mouth when you stood tall in front of him. You could have refused. You could have changed your mind. But there you were, facing adversity, fierce and brave.

“I would like to testify, majesty. I want to do it so that my experience can help other people who have no voice and who would also like to be heard. I want them to know that justice can be done under our majesty’s reign. I will therefore answer all the questions you will ask me”.

“I want the assembly to acknowledge that I know this woman on a personal level. But I can assure you that it won’t be my guide. After this testimony, you’ll understand what I mean. Now Y/n. Tell us…”

You answered his questions one by one. You told the assembly how you were treated in the plantation. You told them how he forced himself, how he liked to humiliate you. You mentioned how he was treating the other slaves as well, violently beating them for no apparent reasons, just because he felt angry. The assembly was silent despite a few sniffs from time to time. MinHo couldn’t talk because the first time he tried to object, YoungBae had stuffed something in his mouth and attached it there. The only person that you looked at during your testimony was JiYong. You couldn’t look at your friends, at the queen or anybody present in the assembly. JiYong was giving you the strength to tell your story without flinching. You always wanted to keep that side of you private, you didn’t want people to pity you or change their attitude after they knew. But deep down, you knew that it was not the good attitude to have. You knew that things needed to be said loud in order to make things change. 

When you were done, JiYong thanked you for your courage and asked you to go back to your place. The king and his advisers discussed jurisdiction for a moment. Then JiYong came on and sat back on the throne. Tae was holding your arm and you could feel him tremble, overwhelmed. 

“Jang MinHo, before I give you my verdict, do you have something to tell me”

YoungBae took the fabric off his mouth and stayed there. His gentle side was nowhere to be seen.

“I have nothing to say except that I was here to reclame what’s mine…”

“Enough!” JiYong instructed. Stop that dog from barking!”

When MinHo was silent again, JiYong stood up and talked loud and clear for everybody present.

“For the murder of our young guard, you’re guilty. For the rapes and multiples mistreatments you have made on Y/n, you’re guilty. For using your authority for sadistic purposes, guilty. I want to hear your victims about the punishment they reclame.

He let EunMin plead that she wanted MinHo to be killed. She explained that he coldly took the life of the last person she can call, family. She wanted his life to be taken in exchange. Then, he called your name.

“For my part, majesty, I don’t wish for him to die. The decision will be yours ultimately and I respect EunMin's opinion. But, I don’t want to be responsible for the life or death of someone, even if the said person is a monster and deserves it. I’d say let him go errand, without a title or anything. Let’s chase him from the kingdom. I don’t ask for more”.

“No, no no” you heard SeoJoon said as he jumped in the middle of the place followed by Tae and YoungBae.

“Majesty, I would like you to listen to me, please” Seo said.

“Me too, CheonHa” Tae and YoungBae added. JiYong smiled at them.

“Fair enough, say what you have to say”

“I believe that he should die. He took a life, he should pay with his own, this would be justice for EunMin.  Also, I want my friend to be living in peace from now on. If he goes errand, he can always be wandering around the palace or in the villages by changing his appearance. I don’t want my friend to risk her security like that. He’s obviously obsessed with her and he won’t let her live in peace. Now, she has found a man that she likes and I want her to focus only on that. On her happiness. Please, CheonHa, consider my opinion”. 

It was Tae that talked. Tae with a concerned face was not something you were used to. Even back in the plantation, he was always seeing the positive side of every situation. Always smiling, even when he had worked like crazy and that his body was aching. What he said right now was true, now that you think about it. MinHo could be chasing you down. He could be trying to have you back. It was true and you never want to face him by surprise.

“I want to add something Cheon Ha” YoungBae said. “What he did to my brother in law was unacceptable. He took his life, without any consideration and he disrespected him, leaving him naked and dying in the woods. But what he did to that woman was absolutely inhuman. I have no actual words for it. We have to consider that he could have done it to another person as well, on the plantation”. 

“Oh! Lord!” you exclaimed, putting your both hands on your heart. You would have flinched if Seo wouldn’t have caught you.

“What is it, Y/N? JiYong asked. 

“Holy hell! If he goes errand, he could do it again… he could agress them… To preserve them from him, yes. I agree, he should be executed”

You took a big breath in and continued.

“Also, I’m so thankful to have friends that take my defense. Thank you for showing me that my security is important. That my peace of mind is important and that I deserve happiness. It’s something I forget, sometimes”.

“Bitch, fucking whore, you liked every single thrust, you were asking for more you fucking liar” 

MinHo had been able to liberate his mouth from the fabric shoved in his mouth. JiYong went down his throne, grabbed one of his guard swords and came to face you, ignoring MinHo. He spoke in a low voice so only you could hear.

“You sure about it? You agree with his execution? As his main victim, the one who suffered the most, I want you to have the last word”

“Yes, I’m sure JiYong.  My friends are right, I see it now. I deserve happiness,  I would be living in fear if he stays alive, it’s true. Also… mostly, I want to make sure no one will suffer what I’ve been through. I believe he will never stop his sadistic behavior.” 

MinHo continued to talk shit about you, he was fighting, giving a hard time to the guards but their force was superior so they controlled him fast.

“I’m so proud of you” is the only thing that he said before his left hand gently cupped your face in a tender gesture. At this point, wiping the lonely tear running on your cheek was more important than keeping your relationship secret. He’ll deal with the consequence later. He smiled at you with in his eyes, all the tenderness that the world contained. Every single person in the audience who saw him look at you and the way you were both staring at each other, understood that you were more than a single acquaintance for him. 

“Love, don’t look… I might have some problem controlling my hatred” he told you before he  walked towards the accused. People in the audience were chanting “kill him, kill him, kill him” lifting their fists up in the air. He stood tall in front of MinHo who was sitting on the ground.

“I have a question for you, bastard.” He shovels his sword into MinHo’s mouth. Not far enough to kill him but enough to hurt. “How do you like it, to have something you don’t want, forced into your throat? You don’t seem to appreciate it, am I right?” he asked with a voice you didn’t recognise.

He took the sword out of his mouth to let MinHo talk. He started to scream like if he was possessed “Your brother should have really killed you, he’s not stupid like you, he has balls. If it had been me, I wouldn’t have missed my target” 

“Interesting, so you’re telling me that it was SoYoung that tried to kill me twice? Really interesting. Don’t believe that I didn’t know but, it’s still nice to have more proof, right?”

“You bastard, you are….”

You wanted to help your man. For some reason, you knew that all his anger was directed to Ji because he didn’t have you. He was just a crazy man that had lost his toy and didn’t accept it. Also, you wanted to add a little on his agony and you had an idea.

“Yo! MinHo” you called out, approaching so only him, the king and his guards would hear. “You know what? My king is not gutless at all, I’d say it’s the contrary. And at the end, he’s the one who get the girl. You will die and he will have me every single night. How’s that sounds?”

YoungBae laughed, happy belly laughters.

“Yes, now you talk” he told you proudly.

JiYong put the sword into MinHo’s mouth again and told you “don’t look, please” you did as he said.  You didn’t like to see the blood slowly poured out of his mouth, if in slow motion.

“I’ll let my woman have the last word. I think it was punchy enough”

He told MinHo before you heard the sounds of flesh pierced by JiYong’s sword.  You heard MinHo gasp for his air and you had a thought for all the times you were the one, imploring his pity, searching for your own oxygen. You heard JiYong stabbed him again before he threw the sword on the floor, in a metallic sound. The people were applauding, happy and relieved with this uncommon finale. 

Fate and justice has aligned and Jang MinHo had the death he deserved

“The trial is over. I gave the verdict and I executed the sentence. But before you leave the assembly” he said to the people “If anyone of you suffered from that kind of treatment, please let the tribunal know. I declare the former slaves have the right to complain if they received any kind of mistreatment. If you were not treated like a human, come to us and we’ll listen to your story”  JiYong said, proudly. 

Some counselors started to mumble in disapprobation, a few dissidents who had not lined up behind the new law. Some that didn’t agree and wanted the slave system to continue. Lately, he had taken a decision without considering their opinion. Without obtaining unanimity, or even a majority of the votes. He had to fight very hard for what he believed was fair.

“This is my final word. I’m the king and I’m using my power for my people. I will go against you, counsellors if you don't speak and act on their behalf. I want equality for all humans in my kingdom. I want everybody to declare their conditions if they suffer, not stay silent about it. I want my people to be living in a place they feel safe. I have your back, people. Ask for an audience if you feel the need to be defended. I’ll create a minister that will have that purpose only.”

People applauded and some of them even shed tears. Even you, were touched by his kind words for his people. He was magnificent, when he was talking to them. He seems to be driven by an independent will. His authority emanated from every pores of his body, but in a positive way. 

“That’s it, you can leave”

Overwhelmed, you left with him by your side and your friends following you. Back in the executive room with him, Seo, Tae, HyunSa, the queen, YoungBae and EunMin, you thought you were finally really tracing a line on that traumatic past. 

It was really behind. Finally.

The people present being all aware of your relationship, he lured you to him, engulfing your petite frame in his strong arms.

“Thank you, my king”

“Your welcome, my love”

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 | Smut

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 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38

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

Word Count: 2,105

Tag List: @prisczero​, @pinkpjmin​, @btsaudge​, @flowerwrites06​, @unoriginal-username15432, @halussali​

Chapter 38: Lie

“Take me out of this hell. I can't free myself from this pain.”

© 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.

Taehyung wasn’t normally a morning person. He worked late nights, especially with running the Indie record label alongside Jungkook, which meant hours upon hours spent at the recording studio. There were nights when his insomnia would take hold of him, keeping him from being able to rest properly. Waking hours lulled on with worries that he often kept to himself. When he didfinally sleep, it was restless and sometimes plagued with nightmares. He tried sleep aids that Jimin suggested, but they only worked so long as he didn’t grow dependent on taking them every day.

This particular morning, Taehyung was up just as the morning haze began to lift. Cradling a steaming paper cup of coffee, he approached the quiet amusement park. They wouldn’t be opening for a couple of months, what with it being the off-season. Being a former Golden Jackal had its perks and he was able to unlock the large padlock connected to the links of chains outside of the gate. The metal hinges creaked loudly and he winced, wondering if this resembled how the gates of Hell would open when entreating new residents.

I’ll find out one day, I guess, he thought, smirking against the brim of the cup as he entered the park while stuffing the padlock into his coat pocket. He always believed he was damned. May as well make the most of his life while he was still up and kicking.

Spring was around the corner. He could feel it. The air was less frigid and held a distinct warmth to it, even through the overcast sky.

Taehyung glanced around casually, peering at the different rides. The park looked like a ghost town since no one was there to enjoy the festivities. Vendor booths were empty of prizes and food, but he knew if he imagined hard enough, he could hear the ambient noise that came with the scenery.

A stab of nostalgia poked at his chest as he recalled the small-town festivals that were held in his hometown. Farmers gathered to drink, barter goods, and traveling performers visited to entertain the townsfolk. Taehyung was amused with it until he became a teenager, wondering if the country life was all he was going to ever surround himself with. He’d had his own ambitions to leave and head to the big city, but he never imagined he would have done it with his childhood friends.

Everyone seemed so set in their ways back then. Even Namjoon.

He halted his steps, lifting his face to the sky. I wonder when things started to change…

“It’s creepy when no one is here,” said a voice behind him.

Taehyung lolled his head lazily to the side, pivoting slightly until he was face to face with the person he agreed to meet with that morning. He pulled the hood back on his hoodie, sneakers shuffling on the concrete as a better dressed Chae Hyungwon approached. His bubblegum pink hair looked faded, mostly from the overcast skies, but his piercing eyes seemed even brighter than normal. The silver earrings dangling from his lobes jingled softly as he walked, a soft smirk pulling at the corners of his full lips. While Hyungwon was dressed in what most would consider business casual, Taehyung felt severely under dressed in comparison.

And he didn’t give a damn.

Hyungwon stopped just a few feet in front of Taehyung, the two men facing each other. Instead of greeting him (or even acknowledging his earlier comment), the younger man took another drink of coffee. He made a point to slurp in an obnoxious fashion, unbothered by the simple lift of a brow from Hyungwon.

When he pulled the cup from his lips, Hyungwon scoffed as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his slacks. ���You didn’t even bother to bring me a cup of coffee?”

Taehyung shrugged a shoulder. “I didn’t know I was supposed to.” And to be a brat, he took another long sip.

“So disrespectful to your Hyung,” Hyungwon replied casually.

“Now that,” he said, the hand holding the cup pointing at him, “you most certainly are not.”

Hyungwon made a dramatic show of being insulted, placing a hand on his chest as if he’d been physically struck. When he noticed that Taehyung wasn’t going to humor him, he returned to his normal posture and expression.

“You’re no fun.”

“Why did you want to meet me at such a stupid time of day?”

He watched the older man take a few steps forward, closing the gap between them, before side-stepping Taehyung and walking past him. He turned his body in time with his movements, not wanting to have his back to the Snapping Turtle. However, Hyungwon seemed focused on whatever he was processing in his head as he continued walking, not bothering to see if Taehyung would follow. He didn’t care to be left alone, but he wasn’t comfortable with Hyungwon running around and being left to his own devices in a place only he had been allowed access to.

“Hey!” he belted out, but the older man continued walking with no signs of slowing down his pace at all. “You gonna answer me or what?!”

Again, he was ignored.

Annoyed, Taehyung jogged forward and grasped onto Hyungwon’s shoulder, whirling him around so they were face to face. When he did, he was suddenly aware of something sharp pressed against his neck. Taehyung rocked back on the balls of his feet, surprised he still had a hold of his coffee. Hyungwon’s eyes, which were playful and light earlier, were now dark and threatening. A lump formed in Taehyung’s throat and as he swallowed, he was even more aware of the cold bite of the item still against his skin.

“Taehyung-ah,” came Hyungwon’s even tone, his hold on the knife steady, “I know it isn’t your style, but you should really mind your manners.”

Taehyung smirked, slowly setting his feet back evenly on the ground, and shrugged. “Oh, right,” he said, as if he was remembering something, “I forgot how you hate being touched.”

Hyungwon quickly removed the knife’s edge from his throat, folding the blade back into its confines and slipping it into his pocket. Taehyung absentmindedly rubbed at his neck, checking if the skin was broken. When he saw no blood, he looked up at Hyungwon who was now brushing his hands through his hair in irritation.

He wasn’t going to be the only one who got riled up at this asinine hour of the day.

For a while, the two men just stood in companionable silence. It was like this before; in the past. When the Golden Jackals didn’t exist. Back then, the Jade Fangs were the young gang climbing up in ranks on the streets. Their reputation wasn’t as profound as it was today, but, in time, they were able to gain notoriety where it counted.

And it happened because of them; the Golden Jackals.

“If I call you ‘Hyung’, just for today, will you tell me why you dragged me out of my bed?”

Hyungwon’s irritated expression was immediately replaced with a mischievous grin. “I’ll think about it.”

Taehyung rolled his eyes. “That’s the only offer you’re getting. If you don’t have anything to tell me, I’m going back to sleep.”

Without waiting for an answer to his ultimatum, he turned on his heels and began walking back towards the entrance of the park.

“Icarus died because he flew too close to the sun.”

His sneakers made a loud scraping noise as he halted abruptly. Slowly, he turned his head to look over his shoulder at Hyungwon. The older man stayed where he was, hands once more in his pockets.

Taehyung quipped a brow at him. “Yeah, so what?”

“His hubris is what killed him.”

This time, he narrowed his eyes. “Again, so what?” he asked through clenched teeth.

Hyungon’s lips pressed together in a thin line. He looked like he was about to say something, then stopped. Taehyung did his best not to squeeze the paper cup in his hand. He visibly looked like he was piecing something together, formulating the words in his head. Taehyung smothered his anger down into his gut to keep from exploding in outrage at Hyungwon.

After what felt like a small eternity, the older man met Taehyung’s eyes. “You all need to leave Seoul.”

Though he hadn’t meant to, Taehyung burst into a small fit of laughter. “I’m sorry, what was that?” Hyungwon clearly wasn’t joking, but he couldn’t stop laughing. “You want us to leave where now?”

“Seoul.” Hyungwon’s tone was clipped. “You need to leave Seoul as soon as you can.”

“Fuck that.”

“I’m serious, Taehyung-ah. Leave Seoul.” Hyungwon sighed, averting his gaze. “At least for a little while. Until things settle down.”

Taehyung’s laughter died off. “And why the hell should we do that, huh?” He was smiling, but he could feel the precursor of an eruption bubbling in his chest. “After all the hard work we’ve put in through the years, after everything we’ve fucking accomplished, you think we’re just gonna turn tail and run? Huh?”

Hyungwon said nothing, which only made him angrier. Why wasn’t he giving him more of an explanation than that? What the hell was so goddamn pressing that he felt the need to tell him and his brothers to fucking scram? As far as he was concerned, they’d paid their dues and done their time. They had no reason to flee the scene because they weren’t in the shadows anymore.

A sliver of light peeled in through the clouds, followed by several more rays that beamed down around them. The concrete took on an ethereal glow, shadowing their forms even more than they had been under the cloud cover. Even the steam rising from his coffee was lost in the darkness.

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way.”

“And why the hell not?”

“Because it doesn’t.”

“No,” snapped Taehyung, pointing to Hyungwon angrily, “you need to make it work that way. I don’t know what your boss has planned, and I don’t fucking care. We’re not playing the game anymore. We’re out!”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“What?!”

“I said that it doesn’t matter.” Hyungwon’s brows furrowed slightly. “You think the game is over just because you’ve folded your hand? Don’t be so naïve.”

Taehyung scoffed, rolling both his neck and his eyes, before giving him an incredulous look. “Wow, Chae Hyungwon, you—”

“The game is still being played, Kim Taehyung. So, while I’m telling you nicely, you need to take whatever you can and get the hell out of Seoul.”

Taehyung’s anger was boiling and on the verge of overflowing. Yet he couldn’t say anything. In all the years he’d known Hyungwon, he’d only ever seen him this serious once. And that was on the night war broke out in Gangnam five years ago.

The night when the Golden Jackals solidified their place in the criminal underworld.

Something else dawned on Taehyung at that exact moment. Why it had taken him so long was something he’d have to battle with later, when his mind was a little quieter. But now? Now he had a better understanding of the situation. Now he had a better grasp on the danger they were about to be in.

Or already were in.

Those bastards are about to make a move, he thought, almost horrified by the idea of it, and he doesn’t care that we’ve pulled out from the competition.

“Leave the table.” Hyungwon approached Taehyung, walking around him and heading toward the exit. “Before you’re forced to see just how much you’re about to lose.”

He watched Hyungwon exit the amusement park, leaving Taehyung alone as the sun continued breaking through the clouds. His hands shook violently and hot coffee spilled out onto the ground, burning the back of his hand. But he couldn’t feel any of it. He was completely numb. If his entire body wasn’t trembling with the force of his rage, he might have cared.

Reaching into his back pocket, he fished out his cell and quickly dialed a number. It rang twice before they picked up. Swallowing the lump in his throat once more, Taehyung wet his lips as he tried to regain his voice. As he tried to tether some semblance of sanity back to his brain - to keep his mind from running amok without reason.

But he had a reason. They all had one.

Because the game wasn’t over yet.

“Hoseok Hyung,” he said gently, his fingers curling into a literal death grip around the phone, “I think we’re about to have some problems…”

Chapter 8: In which books are read and curses are pondered over

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 Epilogue Ao3 Wattpad

Harriet cautiously stepped into the big ballroom, bracing herself for the barrage of noise. There was always a lot of noise whenever her parents decided to hold a ball, hundreds and thousands of people talking, shoes clacking against the Marble floor, glasses tapping against each other, she could go on. 

She reached a hand up to scratch at the itchy lace around her neck, but stopped at the glare from her mother. 

“You have been absent for two hours now, that’s one hour more than we agreed on,” her mother whispered harshly, as she took a tight hold of Harriet’s hand and dragged her away. 

Harriet could not hear exactly what her mother was saying as they walked through the room, her sharp whispers simply joining and becoming indistinguishable with the rest of the noise surrounding both of them, but her body language made it very clear that she was upset. 

Harriet felt a bit guilty about the whole thing, she hadn’t really meant to be away from the ball for so long, but she just lost track of time. 

She fidgeted with the lace around one of her arms this time, she realised that there was a lot of lace on the dress she had been put in, it was not very comfortable.

Finally, her mother let go of her hand to gesture towards a man who looked very impatient, probably with her. Judging by the way he was dressed he was probably a prince or at least a lord.

He said something she wasn’t able to catch, and then her mother pushed her towards him, he held out his hand. It seemed like he wanted to dance.

Oh no, there was lace on her socks as well.

She took his hand, and he harshly pulled her out into the crowds of people, who immediately moved away to create a perfect circle around her and him. Effectively trapping her. 

He bowed, she curtseyed and then they danced. He was a pretty good dancer, and Harriet did her best to hang along, there were thousand people watching after all so she had to. His hands felt cold and uncomfortable on her body, not quite holding on as much as they should be, like he was ready to let her go flying into the crowd at any seconds notice. 

She stumbled a bit and tightened her grip on him in fear, he simply smiled a smug condescending grin back at her as he picked up the pace.

The lace inched. 

The noise in the room seemed to increase.

She tried her best to keep up with his now faster steps, but found herself stumbling more and more. Her head started to feel dizzy and she wanted to stop, but she could feel the glare of her mother in the back of her neck and so she pushed on.

He picked up the pace more and more, seemingly taking delight in seeing her fumble and stumble as she tried to keep up, his smile growing more and more at each failure she displayed. 

She gritted her teeth, determined not to mess up again. And then he loosened his grip on her. 

And let go of her.

And she fell, the room breaking out in roaring laughter, almost destroying her eardrums. She tried to drag herself up from the floor, but her head was spinning, and the lace was inching, and the room was so loud, and everyone was looking at her. 

She looked up at the man, who was grinning ear to ear, having grown a completely second mouth that was laughing a horrible condescending laughter.

Harriet felt embarrassed, humiliated, but most of all, she felt rage. 

Biting back her anger she looked around her at the blob of eyes open wide, staring at her, and mouth laughing uproariously. It surrounded her on all sides, but behind it she could still make out the silhouette of her mother.

She tried to reach out a hand to her, but her mothers eyes opened and glared at her, and then her silhouette disappeared.

~

Edda spent a few minutes just staring at the ceiling after she woke up, taking in the silence, the sweet sweet silence, as her eyes traced the wood pattern of the planks above her. Seeing those nobelmen and princes yesterday must have awoken a dormant memory in her brain or something. 

Fucking pricks.

She took a deep sigh, clenched and unclenched her muscles a bit, and then she rose up from the bed. She didn’t have time or energy to dwell on the past, she had things to do today.

She tried to do her morning routine relatively quietly, since Arthur was still sleeping pretty soundly, she was up pretty early after all. As she brushed her hair she hoped he didn’t have to deal with any weird dreams brought on from yesterday, the encounter did seem to stick to him a bit.

She shook her head a bit, those assholes were certainly going to make being in Hävelösa way more tense than she was hoping for. Part of her wondered if she even had the guts to sleep in the same inn as them one more night, but another part of her were keenly aware that there was no way she would be able to do what she needed to do at the library and then immediately start traveling to Endeslättaren, she would prefer not having to sleep outside more than she needed to.

She put up her hair in a bun, and pulled out an old book from her bag, she needed to get her mind of everything, just for a little while.

Arthur woke up about an hour later than her, and soon enough they where out of the door of the inn and making their way to the library. Thankfully they somehow managed to avoid any run ins with the princess search party on their way there.

She managed to locate the books she searched for in the library pretty quick, well, not all the books she had been hoping to find, but maybe she didn’t need those to break the curse. And if she did need them, then she just had to look for them in the next town. 

As she started flipped through the books, she took a notice of Arthur shuffling in his seat, seemingly already a bit restless. It wasn’t like he could take a nap like last time, probably having had a pretty good night sleep. 

“If you want, you can help me look through these books for anything helpful?” She tried, holding out the book she found on what she suspected to be the type of fairy that cursed him.

He eyed the book, and smiled a bit awkwardly at her.

“I don’t think I would be able to find anything helpful, Miss Edda, I wouldn’t even know what to look for.” He rubbed the back of his neck a bit.

“Just look for things like weaknesses, or curses and such,” Edda said, holding a scrap of paper and a pen “And then note the page number where it’s mentioned down on this, and then I can take a look at it later.”

Arthur hesitantly took the book, the paper scrap and pen. 

“And this will help you?” He said, a bit unsure. 

“It will certainly streamline the process of finding anything from the books.” She said with a smile.

He gave her a soft and slightly shaky smile in return as he put the book on the desk and opened it. 

They had worked for about twenty minutes, before a curious thought entered Eddas brain, and then wouldn’t, despite her attempts, leave.

“Hey Arthur,” she finally said, putting down the book she was holding. “You said you knew someone who did magic, did they ever try to help with the curse?”

He looked up from the book, and let out a slightly nervous laugh. 

“Well yeah, he was also under the curse, until recently. I don’t really know what it was he tried, but he sure did try a whole bunch of things.” He slumped a bit in the chair. “None of them worked, obviously.”

“Obviously,” she said, a bit bummed out over not getting to know exactly what has already been attempted when it came to breaking the curse, but oh well. “So I guess that left you to try to find this mythical, most beautiful woman?”

“Yes,” He said holding his hand up dramatically, “We went from kingdom to kingdom, finding beautiful princesses after princesses.” His hand flopped down. “Not a single one of them were willing to kiss us.”

“Wait, your problem was that you didn’t find anyone willing to kiss you?” She wasn’t sure why she was so surprised, she knew very well that princesses could be absolute judgemental assholes, but part of her could still not quite fathom what he had said.

He looked at her, a bit bewildered. “Yes? Is that, surprising, to you?”

“You really think that? Even as a dwarf?” There was a pinch of pure wonder in his voice, and it was killing her.

“Well, I guess not? Princesses were probably, no definitely, not the best people to ask for those types of favours, but...” she put her head in one of her hands and started observing the books on bookshelves to the right of her as she continued talking. “You look, at least to me, like someone who could get a kiss pretty easily.” Shit, why did she have to continue talking? She already regretted ever bringing the topic up. Why was her face so warm, what the fuck?

“Yea.” Was the only thing she could manage to get out as she wished for the floor to open up and swallow her. "Also you're really sweet." Why was she doing this to herself???!!!

Then she felt two warm hands take a hold of one of hers. She looked over a bit only to get smacked in her face by his warm smile and shining eyes.

“You’re too kind, M’lady.” He said as he lifted her hand up and pressed his soft and warm lips against the back of it. Kissing it.

Edda felt as if a jolt of lightning had shot down her spine, leaving her frozen in shock. One part of her brain screaming at her to remove herself from the situation, only to be shot down by a way bigger part of her brain that wanted to memorise the moment forever. Oh crap, what was going on???!!!

She did her best not to start hyperventilating right in front of him. This was probably something he did to everyone, maybe some sort of weird custom from where he was from! Why else would he kiss her hand???

“Miss Edda?” He asked, sounding concerned, letting go of her hand.

Edda shot up from her seat, trying to laugh casually.

“Oh wow, I think I need to use the restroom, right now, can you watch the books while I’m gone, please and thank you!” And then she walked away the fastest she could, collapsing to the ground the moment she got away from his eyesight. 

She held up the hand that he had kissed. She could still feel the heat of his hands and the softness of his lips, and she couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

It wasn’t like she had disliked it or anything, she had liked it, but she had liked it too much. It had been too nice, so nice that it had scared her. Why was her mind reacting like this? Why now?

She tugged at her hair in frustration, she just didn’t get it. Was she sick or something? A weird fewer maybe? What else could explain why she was feeling like this, why her heart was beating faster than it ever had before, why her mind filled with thoughts that she knew it never did her any good to entertain.

If his lips had felt so nice on her hand what would it feel like if he…

She had to stop this now.

Nothing good could ever or would ever come from it. 

She looked up from her little huddle of misery, and was assaulted by the image of two people kissing, pretty much the last thing she needed to see at the moment. She let out a quiet, but sharp swear as she fumbled back from the image. 

It was the cover of a book, put on special display in the bookshelf by the side of a sign saying ‘Recommended by the staff’. Besides it stood a few other recommendations, with titles such as ‘What the heart wants the most’, ‘The sweetest kiss’ and ‘Everlasting touch’.

Edda realised that she had collapsed in the middle of the romance section of the library. The world was playing a foul trick on her today it seemed.

Grimacing, she got up from the floor, throwing a long glare at the books that surrounded her. It wasn't that she hated romance books. They were perfectly fine pieces of literature, that she would read from time to time, but at the moment they inspired only negative feelings in her. The smiling, beautiful people on the covers only serving as a stark reminder of something she would never get to experience, while at the same time giving her false promises to the contrary. Like someone like her ever could really get to feel love.

She shook her head, there was no reason to dwell on things that will never be, she had accepted that she would never get to experience the feeling of love or being loved ages ago. That's just how it was and still is. It wasn't like she needed it anyway, she had gone through life just fine so far without it.

She turned to leave the isle and return to Arthur, the romance books having somehow served as effective dampers on whatever it was that she was experiencing just a few moments prior, but then her eyes caught a book that layd haphazardly on one of the shelves.

'Britta Vitorms runespell collection' the book said.

Edda picked it up from the shelf.

"Well you're not supposed to be here are you?" She said to it as she turned it around in her hand to examine it. Someone had clearly misplaced it.

With a spark of curiosity she opened the book as she started to make her way back to her table. It had been a while since she did some runemagic, maybe there were some neat spells in the book she hadn't heard of before. She took a look over the books table of contents, there were the usual fare, a wide arrangement protection spells, enchantment spells, cosmetic spells. Her eyes widened a bit in interest as she got to what the book called 'everyday practical spells' which for some reason contained 'explosive spells'. The amount of sheer, unadulterated, glee she experienced when reading those words were unimaginable.

"Oh, you're back Miss Edda!"

Edda almost jumped out of her skin, having become completely lost in the book and forgotten about Arthur. She lowered the book to look at him and tried to smile as casually as she could muster.

"Uh, yeah. Let's get back to work." She sat back down on the chair, the memories of what happened a few minutes prior threatening to resurface. She shook her head and forced them back down.

As she put the book she had been holding down on the table Arthur spoke up again.

"Miss Edda? Did me kissing your hand make you uncomfortable?" He sounded so concerned, but it took Edda a few seconds to register the words following 'Kissing' for some reason. She soon snapped out of her daze and laughed awkwardly.

"No it's fine," she said oddly unsure of whether she was lying or not, "You just kinda caught me a bit off guard." She let out a small snort. "People here don't tend to just kiss people on the hand like that out of nowhere."

He laughed a bit with her.

"I'll remember to give you a heads up next time then?" His eyes shifted a bit, "If you're okay with me kissing your hand again of course." He added with a careful smile.

"Yeah that's cool." She said a bit before she was able to fully collect her thoughts. She guessed she was fine with him, doing that, as long as he warned her beforehand. It was probably, just as she said to him, just that she was caught off guard before. Yes, that was why she reacted like that.

Either way they soon returned to looking through the books at the table. Hours passed with minimal progress, the books she had found mostly just talking about how to avoid getting cursed over how to break it. The most she could get in regards of curse breaking was trying to find some sort of loophole in the conditions of the curse, which while interesting, and something she jotted down on her notebook for later, was not the breakthrough she had hoped for. 

What she had found in regards to the nature of the curse itself was, a bit more fruitful, but hardly encouraging, as it mostly pointed to being hard magic to break with brute force methods, hence the previous notes on finding loopholes. Edda had at this point put the loophole method in her mental plan B folder, still determined to find a way to overpower the spell. Maybe throwing caution to the wind and trying whatever came to mind to break the curse wasn't that bad of an idea after all…

She shook her head, she had yet to find all she could on the nature of the spell, maybe if she looked hard enough she'll find some known weakness she could exploit, that wasn't about trying to oversmart the curse conditions.

Nevertheless in her frustration her attention was brought back to the rune spell book and soon she found herself flipping through it aimlessly. Maybe it had something on breaking curses? Her eyes were however once again brought to the explosion spells, and a related much more general channelling spell. Due to the nature of the explosion spells it was sort of a necessity to have some way to activate the spell without being in physical contact with it (or the object the spell was on), and that was just what channeling spells were for.

She absentmindedly jotted down the spells in her notebook on a separate page, it wasn't something she immediately needed, probably, but she was also too interested in the spells to just leave them by the wayside.

Returning to the issue at hand, most of the things regarding breaking curses was about cursed artefacts or specifically about dealing with curses done with rune magic. Her eyes lit up a bit as she found a spell 'for those unfortunate to be personally bewitched', the spell itself did not specify any limitations besides not working for curses passed down through generations, which did not seem to be the case when it came to Arthur's curse.

She added it to her newly created list for possible things to try through trial and error, if it had to come to it.

Arthur had left the table to get them something to drink, and as he was away Edda started flipping through the books she had had him go through, just in case he had missed something. She felt kinda bad for doing so, but she reasoned with herself that it was for the greater good. At first she didn't find anything new, which did not help the pit in her stomach, but then her eyes caught something he had missed.

"Transformation curses are often given to those that have given the fairy a high degree of offense? Treat the fairy with their deserved respect and no such curse will come to you. (For any notes on how to show respect for a fairy please refer to p. 34)" It read.

The text made complete sense to Edda, one would be an idiot to not treat magical creatures with respect, and Arthur, sweet as he was, had shown himself to be quite the idiot. He may have been even more of a dumbass than she had thought tough judging by how the text specified it being a 'high degree of offense'. What on earth had he done?

She noted down what she had found in her notebook and kept looking for other things Arthur might have missed, she found a few other snippets, but none of them was really anything helpful.

She leaned back a bit in her chair, stretched her arms and tried to be a bit optimistic. Sure she hadn't quite cracked the code to the curse just yet, but she had learned something new, and this was only the first library out of three. 

Yeah, she was probably going to get somewhere with the curse in the next library. At least that's what she tried to tell herself, she had told Arthur that she would be able to break it after all…

She rose up from the chair with a sigh, today really wasn't her day. Nevertheless she started to collect all her notes and clean up the table she and Arthur had been working at.

"Oh! Are we done here, Miss Edda?" Arthur had just come back with two drinks in his hands, looking curiously at what she was doing.

She looked at him and smiled apologetically.

"Yeah, didn't really figure out how to break the curse yet tough." She said, scratching at some imperfections on her arm.

"Oh," he said, clearly a bit disappointed, but then his face brightened up again. "Well there's still two more towns to go, and there's no real hurry." He put the two drinks on the table. "Do you need help cleaning up?"

"Yeah sure, but," she let out a short laugh "It seemed, at least to me, like you wanted to become human pretty soon."

"Of course I want to become human again," he said letting out his own short laugh. "But I figured, you know, that it wasn't something you needed to rush." His eyes shifted a bit all over the place as he spoke, but as he finished he looked up at her with a sweet little smile.

She felt a bit fuzzy, probably just grateful for his kind words, and she smiled back. "Thank you Arthur, I promise that I will do my best to break your curse." She curtseyed at him, with a pinch of both playfulness and seriousness.

"I'm sure you will, M'lady." He said in such a soft voice that Edda almost didn't hear it. As she looked at him she saw the sweetest smile she had ever seen on another person, and she could not help to return it to the best of her abilities.

They just stood and smiled at eachother for a few seconds, before Edda managed to snap out of it.

"So, uh, should we clear the table before or after we drink?" She adverted her eyes from his, hoping she hadn't looked at him too intensely.

"Oh, right!" Arthur said, taking a short pause before he continued. "Let's clear the table first."

And so they did, putting the books back in their shelves, her notes back in her bag and then just enjoying the warm drinks in a comfortable silence. And for the first time that day Edda felt, simply, content.