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#pacing in front of it like a caged tiger (positive)

felice-jaganshi · 2 months

Text

My Fallen Apple

Lucifer X Reader

Chapter 10

It was Extermination day… Lucifer was pacing back and forth, like a tiger in a too small cage.

“Luci…” You wanted to help him, but neither of you could do anything. The nature of the Deal he'd been forced to make, made it so he was magically trapped in his home every extermination day. It was his own magic binding him too, the only way he could be freed today is if someone killed a hellborn demon. And he was terrified that it could be Charlie.

“Not now love… I'm… unsettled.”

“What can I do to help? Surely I can do something?” You tried to reach out to him, and he stopped pacing, taking your hand and kissing the back of it.

“I'm worrying you, aren't I? I'm sorry.”

“Just a little.” You say honestly, and try to pull him in for a hug. He comes along easily, falling into the comfort of your embrace with an aggravated sigh.

Suddenly, he flinched in your hold, “Dazzle. I just felt Dazzle die! Oh fuck, Charlie's in trouble!” He tried to pull away but you held firm.

“Let me go with you! I want to help however I can!” You had this conversation yesterday, and it took all of your will to convince him he'd take you with him if he was able to get out on extermination day.

Now that it was actually happening however, he looked terrified.

“I- I can't! I could lose you!”

“I can distract Adam! If Charlie's in a bad position, one distraction could save her life, or someone else's! I have to try. Please! ”

He couldn't waste anymore time! He needed to get there now!

“Fuck, fine!” He held you tight and opened a portal, finally able to get to the hotel. You saw Adam in front of Charlie, reaching out for her and you threw yourself from Lucifer's arms, wings ejecting to get in front of her.

“Adam! STOP!!” You stand in front of him and he's frozen in shock at the sight of you.

“I- Becky?!”

“That's not my fucking name!!” He could never get it right! Just as you're about to throw a punch at him, he gets a surprise left hook from Lucifer! He went crashing into the hotel skylight.

You turn to Charlie as Lucifer helps her onto her feet.

“Sorry I wasn't here sooner, sweetie.”

Adam came back out of the skylight he'd crashed through, eyes locked on you.

“The fuck are you doing here?” He sounded hurt.

“You pushed me into hell, remember?” You lean into Lucifer's side, opposite of Charlie. Adam looks between the two of you. “I should thank you, actually. I met the kindest, most loving man in all of creation thanks to that fall.”

Charlie looks shocked to realize you're an angel too, but before she can say anything Adam is charging at Lucifer with a scream of rage and pain!

“Again!! A third fucking time! How many of my bitches do you have to take before you're satisfied?!”

Lucifer let him get one hit in, shoving him into the wall before shape-shifting and flying up. It didn't even hurt him a little.

You watch in worry as Adam tries to shoot him, but Charlie puts a hand on your shoulder.

“He'll be fine. Dad's the strongest angel ever!”

When Adam blasts the hotel with his holy light, shrapnel imbeds itself into your wings and body. Lucifer dives to catch Charlie, leaving you to fend for yourself! Just when you think you're done for, Adam catches you.

You try to push away from him but he holds you tight. “Why?! What the fuck did I do wrong?! First Lilith, then Eve, now you?! I just- why won't anyone love me! ?” He's crying, you realize.

“Let me go! Luci!!” You call for help, seeing him holding Charlie, he looks up at you, panicked.

“Becca! Don't worry babe, I'm coming!” He set Charlie on the ground before flying up to get you back!

But Adam was always a sore loser… he held you tight by the neck, out in the air. Your wings flapped sporadically, blood pouring from them. You couldn't breathe! Is… is this how you'd die? You've already died once, why is the universe so awful!?

Lucifer is forced to stop where he is, “Let her go Adam! She's not a toy, she's a person! You wanna know why none of them loved you?! Because you didn't respect them! You didn't treat them like people! She's my best friend Adam, do you even have one of those?! A friend?”

Adam's hands shook, “Fuck you!” He then threw you at Lucifer before shooting a light beam at you both!

Lucifer caught you, but now he couldn't shape-shift, and there wasn't really time to dodge! He barely flanked away and one of his wings had a massive hole blown into it!

Adam charged, and Lucifer kicked him into the ground, not yet registering the pain in his wing. He dropped down himself, setting you down and approaching Adam's crater. “You come at me, and my family! But don't forget, you're in my house now, bitch!” And he began wailing on him! It… was actually kinda hot.

Charlie pulled back her father's rage, and the adrenaline that had kept you standing wore off. Causing you to fall to your knees.

Some tiny girl ended up killing Adam, but you were too tired to summon a reaction of any kind. In fact… Why was everything so… quiet? That was your last thought before darkness consumed your vision and sleep overtook you. Fuck, not again…

#hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #fallen apple #lucifer magne #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel adam #charlie morningstar #fallen angel

52 notes · View notes

kazuhasbunny · 3 years

Note

Giiiirl, imagine you are on Baal's side, you are a general and commanding an army against the rebels' own general, Gorou.

You are all cocky and confident, your years of experience just keeping you aware enough so you won't be consumed by your pride. But oh, your face, when after all of those carefully thought out strategies and intensive training, you end up losing to that mutt.

He is insufferable. Even though his face and body is caked in a mixture only war can give-- blood, sweat and dirt, his smile is the biggest, smuggest thing you have ever seen in your life as a warrior. It does not help that you are on your knees, back stretching forward as the grip he has on your jaw tugs you up with such a force you won't ever believe an archer, a long distance fighter, would posses. The bodies of both sides lay scattered on the defiled land, but the purple spots decorate the most, as his last men stand straight and proud behind him, just as yours do, but the lack the attentiveness. Their tired and bored countenance ticks you in a wrong way. Why they don't look happy by this result?

Does your failure was already predicted? As if this end was something that was already calculated. Taken in account.

The man holding your jaw in a bruising grip let go of you, a mere blink of respite as the next second your left cheek explodes in pain, your vision swaggers for a second as you fall on your right side from the streght of that blow. You shut your eyes and concentrate on your breathing; the fight left you completely drained, as much as your brain screamed at you to stand up and attack that man, your bones and muscles protested as you tensed in hopes of getting up, but ultimately you only made yourself look pitiful.

Gorou turns to were his men are, his gaze lingering for a second on your laughable attempt. His focus switches to the army as he starts to pace from one side to the other, the victory was already decided, but the energy from the feat itself brought a surge of emotions within him.

Another quick glance at you, and something on his mind switched. He was wondering what to do with you; killing you off felt as a meaningless action, as the Shogun won't care for someone as low as yourself. You only were deployed to fight against them to gain time for the real force, to prepare and learn how strong the rebels actually are. With how confident you looked hours ago, it seems that your benevolent Shogun forgot to grace you with such knowledge before sending you off with a bunch of newly trainees.

"First of all, congratulations, my friends, for this well earned victory" Gorou began. The group of men on front of him quickly acknowledge his words, paying attention to what he had to say.

"Even if the outcome resulted as to what we--" He turns around, your eyes opened when he began speaking. You both made eye contact, and Gorou's smirk transformed into a full smile. Was it okay for him to fill such giddiness at the sight of your equally wounded pride and body? After all, he was the one to bring you into that state, he was the one to put you in your rightful place with just one arrow, kneeling on the dirty battlefield as the geo power incased on the arrowhead did its job in petrify you.

The glint of defeat on, dare he say, those gorgeous eyes of yours really made them stand out. Actually, as he approaches your form, he's starting to see some other appealing features he couldn't notice from a longer distance. What was the Shogun thinking, in even allowing you a spot within her number when you clearly weren't made for war?

"--Expected" his pause brought your attention to what he was actually saying. So they had all of this calculated...

"But now, all that is left to do, is tend to the wounded and take care of the dead. Yours and their sacrifice will bring an end to this stupid decree in no time. We need to prepare for tougher, real..." He gives you a glance "...battles from now on. Don't let this win get in your head"

The crowd quietly cheers between them, some of them patting each other on the shoulder for a job well done. All of that camaraderie made your stomach hollow, as you recognise the same speech you have told to your former men after a battle well fought. Those piercing blue eyes of his made you painfully aware of the consecutive part of giving a victory speech, about what is waiting for the losing side, the pit in your stomach grew in size and you really wished that it could swallow you whole before the man in front of you does.

Gorou thrills in your despair. That pretty face of yours plunging into dark dephts, your mind weaving one horrifying destiny after other speaks a lot of your character, as only those who have layed a cruel end to those before them can conceive. He knows what kind of thoughts those are, but as much of a monster as you are viewing him now, he won't do such a thing. He was quite merciful while deciding what your fate will be, even if he didn't pondered a lot in the few minutes after your fall, you are but only a child with a weapon, sent to die by that horrible woman.

And something he prides himself of, is learning from mistakes. He won't throw away something that can fulfill very well other duties than warfare ones.

"Sir! If I may--" a voice spoke between the masses of helms and spears.

"I know, I know. The general" Gorou waves off his hand, his eyes never stranding away from your form for far too long.

A groan escapes your body as his foot steps on your ribcage, not too hard but your weak body sense as if he had nails attached to the sole, your skin felt cold and as if it was being prickled by a ton of needles. He pushes your your body with a gentleness unexpected from an enemy, until you were lying on your back. The new position put pressure in the arrow wound on your right/left shoulder, your dominant arm, and for a second you were grateful of the rigidness granted by the geo element yet covering half of your arm or else you are sure you would have cried in pain, the last thing you want now is to show more weakness that what you are displaying.

"What I am going to do with her... I didn't know myself when we first begun this battle" Gorou continued. He removed his shoe from your chest to your side on the floor, so you'll be cage between his legs while he looks down on you. His arms crossed across his chest and he tilted his head to the side, as in assessing you, taking on your face just as covered in grime as his but not diminish your beauty in the slightest. He really made a good decision in regard of your fate.

The soldiers stood still, the atmosphere felt heavy like the air on a hot summer afternoon that feels stuffy on your lungs as your breath in. Their general had an unseen aura surrounding him, his usual careless actitud makes everyone forget that there's an animal side to him, although they aren't sure they will presence it for the first time, their captain is definitely switching towards that side... they even feel a little bit of pity for the woman under him.

"But as I see her like this, beaten, it makes me remember something of old, that the victorous usually sow. Can you guys guess what it is?" He squats over you, sweetly combing a couple of strands of hair out of your face.

Whispers break among the army after the question. One of them raised his hand, no barely 18 years old as he was one of the shortest in comparison to his bigger and wider shouldered comrades. The young recruit promptly lowered his arm as the general wasn't looking at their direction but that didn't stopped him from answering, eyes shining with excitement:

"They take something as a token of their victory, sir!"

Gorou hummed in affirmation. "Yes, they did. A spoil of war, if you may"

Dread washed over you. He wasn't going to kill you, as a way to demonstrate their superiority? To be taken as a trophy, a possession... He surely won't mean that, right? They are going to torture you and extract every drop of information that you have, until the last thing left in you is blood to shed on their hands as your usefulness is cut short like your troath.

You needed to say something. Anything, as long as it would arise anger within the young male, anything as long as you aren't degrade far from what you have been.

Gorou raised his eyebrows as you coughed. He wasn't expecting a monologue from you but neither silence. Your sudden wish of speaking made the men jump into action, their spears pointing at you with such terrifying speed made you realise furthermore that this battle was destined to end like this, another stripe to the tiger just like a new blow to your pride.

"Just kill me already. I won't say anything, and if given the opportunity, I will end it myself" you spat. You tried to transmit all of your pain, hate and shame in one stare, you won't go happy until you make that man see what you feel, how big your abhorrence is to his being.

All the males stare in silence, until the general himself chuckled. Your cheeks burn with rage, your teeth clenched together as you tried yo surf this flare of emotions. How dare he laugh like that! He already won and you won't speak a thing about the Shogun, why acting like that? Isn't the rebels supposed to act with nobility and fairness?

Gorou took a breath in. He's happy he didn't went for the traditional route and killed you.

"Aw, now you just proved me correct, sweetheart. I'll enjoy making you into a proper wife"

All of that just to say "Imagine being taken as Gorou's prize and he makes you his whore wife" LMAO

(Also? In the part that reader coughs? I wanted to put that Gorou spits on your lips because you looked thirsty AODJFJDC)

THIS 🙏 yes i’d love to be gorou’s housewife he should really take me in and train me to obey him . please i’d do anything for him

AND pleasee omg ... if u actually put that in i’d die on my chair it’s too hot i can’t hjnhnggrh

#eli.replies #anon #AAAA #this is so good i #am at a loss of words

100 notes · View notes

periminkle · 4 years

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blazes of deceit

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

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

+ pairing. jungkook x reader

+ genre. fluff, angst. tangled!au.

+ word count. 26.052

+ rating. 18+

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

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

You are positively ravenous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Our blood will remain on the throne.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“—down your hair!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What once was mine.”

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

This is it, it’s now or never.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Petal—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But your mother is nothing if not resolute.

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

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

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

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

“Of course, Mother.”

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

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

And then you’re alone once again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mother knows best, after all.

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

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

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

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

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

And then that moment ends.

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

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

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

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

He is nothing like that. Not at all.

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

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

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

No reaction.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Petal!”

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

“Let down your hair!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your grip on the handle of the pot tightens.

“Wha—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A scoff escapes your lips, unconvinced at his act.

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

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

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

“Got something in your eye?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then what’re we waiting for?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Looking for me, Princess?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whatever you say, Princess.”

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

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

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

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

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

Is Geum expecting someone?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t tell me to—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just a water for her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not hard to top a baby carrot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Geum is a wanted criminal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You two are standing at the edge of a cliff.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mother always knows best. Right?

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

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

“Geum.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You close your eyes, and then you sing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What once was mine.”

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

“Wha—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Born with magical hair?”

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

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

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

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

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

“My name isn’t actually Geum.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jungkook—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why the name Geum?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You spare him a weak smile and shake your head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds plausible, doesn’t it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Guards?”

He only grins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nation’s flower?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jungkook?”

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

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

This man will truly corrupt all your morals.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A tiger lily.

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

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

“Beautiful.”

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

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

“I have a surprise.”

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

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

“Kook, wait.”

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

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

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

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

“Ready?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A pleasure working with you boys.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kook,” you achingly howl.

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

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

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

“That’s what I like to hear.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s enough,” the King states.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We did it all for you!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They didn’t know Jungkook the way you did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Our family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

+ epilogue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagine #btswritingcafe #heartsforbts #jungkook x reader #jungkook au #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts imagine #bts au #bangtanscenery #btsgoldnet #ficswithluv #goldenclosetnet #cypherwritersnet #bangtanhq

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monsoonblooms12 · 3 years

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Detectives by Chance: Chapter 8- The Final Bow

Series Summary: It was supposed to be a usual weekend for the four. Coffee, fun, friends and love. But an unexpected case changed their lives in a way they had never imagined. A mystery - a murder - many secrets… Will Ethan, Pooja, Alexandra and Mark, be able to survive? Or will the circumstances twist and break their lives forever?

A/N: This is the end. The end of the first ever series, the first ever fanfics I ever wrote. It's melancholic you know? Bidding adieu to Open Heart and Detectives by Chance all at one? Anywho, I hope you enjoy this piece💕

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey X f!MC (Pooja Sharma)

Rating: Teen (to be safe)

Warnings: Blood, Murder, Swear Words, Gun Violence

I would recommend reading the previous parts first, because I am sure this makes little sense without knowing what happened previously.

Read the previous chapters here!

The trail from the crumpled door to the back ground felt likes hours of navigating through the blazing desert, no one in sight.

The scarlet memoirs of the wounds that now covered her skin did not give her much relief either. Blood soaked into her shirt, colouring it red from cream at a steady rate. Lazy tracks formed as solitary drops slipped down to meet the ground.

Papers clutched with a death grip, her resolve did not waver. After all the goose chase she had done in the manor, she was sure she could do this. But then again, there was not much of a choice there.

Ethan's POV:

A hazy screen appeared before his orbs as they slowly, timidly, fluttered open, as if scared to look around. A blackness had spread around him, and his mind could not make out if it was a musty old dungeon or some place else.

Soft scents of the intoxicating vanilla and bluebell perfume gently let him know of their presence, and he sighed in relief.

Wherever he was, he was close to her.

And with that knowledge came a subtle sense of calm, a realization that as long as he was near her, he wouldn't mind even dying.

He just wanted her, his strength, with him.

He tried to get up, and the wince of pain came almost immediately. His legs ached due to the cramped position in the short space of wherever. As he managed to pull himself up from the sleeping position, a very faint jingle of keys could be heard in the background of his groans.

Then with a click, the front door flew open and he unclearly made out a thud of some kind of folder in the front passenger seat. Soon the driver's seat was occupied as well, and the engine was raved to life.

The scent of vanilla and bluebell grew strong and he knew it was her.

"Pooja?" He whispered so lightly that for a second he wondered if he had even spoken it aloud.

"Ethan! Oh thank fucking god you are- Ah!" She was cutoff mid sentence by a horrifying but muted shriek which had escaped as she tried to close the door.

"Are you okay? Please tell me you're okay!" Worry laced his tone as her other hand painfully completed the supposedly easy task.

"You are okay and I've everything we need to save Lex & Mark. That's all that matters, E."

"What about you?"

But her attention had already shifted to the driving the automobile. She had always been like that, too unconcerned about herself. As well as he knew her, he was sure she had been biting her lip a tad bit harder with every moment just to keep painful screams at bay.

"It doesn't matter."

A shrill roar suddenly invaded the eerie, uncomfortable silence of the abandoned area. The voice was human, but the intensity of the sound reminded them more of an enraged tiger trapped in a cage, ready to pounce at the chance of freedom.

Staying here for a second more could be a dangerous idea.

A slow pain spread though his forehead, an after-effect of whatever that was forcefully injected during his investigation of the murky place, too dishevelled to call it even an office, let alone a hospital. The ache became all-too-consuming, his struggle to keep his eyes open turning futile. The blackness grasped him steadily as consciousness bid adieu and the dangers of the world in front of him, at bay.

End of Ethan's POV

Pooja's clutch on the steering wheel was so hard that the fingernails that dug into its material left deep moon shaped indents, as a mark of their visit. The teeth pressed so deep into her lip that it had drawn blood. The gap of the missing tooth felt like an aftermath of the reckless rescue operations she had led at the building.

Why did her mind refused to cooperate with her now, when she had finally made her way out?

Another line of thought began to form, but before it spread it's being, a second horrifying scream broke through the audible silence like a dagger.

Sweat of hardwork was now the cold sweat of fear. A sense of great danger that lingered now completely flooded every chamber of her heart & she refused to stop.

Digging her teeth into her lips, tears streaming as every movement made her want to shriek and wail in agony, she revved the engine, turned the steering & fled out of there.

————————————

A rash drive followed. She sped through the roads, going straight without a turn until she was sure the they were not being followed.

A safe distance away, she stopped. Every moment was precious now, but she was done. She could not do this anymore.

Hell, she could not do anything anymore.

The left portion of her shirt that she wore was now soaked in scarlet, the stench of blood growing on her. She doubted that if she wasn't a doctor, she would have thrown up or passed out by now.

Pooja looked behind, the scarce daylight making it a difficult job to be done. She was quite sure that Ethan had been overcome by another bout of unconsciousness and the feeling of helplessness spread through her chest, forming a hollow through its path.

Her head felt light too. The injuries were starting to show effects, although the overwhelming sense of failure and danger had already numbed their pain.

Taking a deep breath, and another, and another, she tried to centre herself, though not to much avail.

Something she had realized was now, the necessity to keep moving was a need & not a want.

A slow kick on the gas pedal & she carried on her journey to the final destination.

————————————

At the police station, the unfolding of events occurred like a film sequence set on fast forward.

Pooja had barely made it there, an urgency ringing through her mind, a constant worry that she was late, too late. But thankfully, she wasn't.

Dragging her foot (her entire body, at this point) she entered and almost fell face down on the station floor.

Hastily handing over the evidence she had meticulously collected and suffered all the injuries for, she tried to explain what she had found.

Officers repeatedly asked her to calm down, but she refused. The three of them, Ethan, Alex and Mark, They were her family. They always mattered more than her. They always will.

At last, all she managed was to point a finger at her car, before her body gave up on the fight. A small smile of satisfaction decorated her tired, overworked features. It was a win. A well deserved one. A strange sense of pride, overwhelmed her as she slowly faded into unconsciousness.

————————————

It has been 36 hours since the ghastly raid of Miles's manor.

The evidence collected opened a lot of tied knots, the page from Miles's diary, even though muddy, serving priceless for the investigation. Almost everything got crystal clear from it.

Pooja underwent a major surgery, and was still under bedrest. Minor to Major, there were a plethora of injuries that needed to be treated. Recovery was going to take a long time but her response had been up to the mark.

As for Mark and Alex, the court deemed them not guilty for any of the charges made against them & they were released. The very instant they rushed to the hospital, tears streaming down endlessly both in gratitude & in worry.

Miles Danvers, as expected, was not found. The manor was investigated after the release of Mark & Alex, a big mistake, and nothing was left behind except a few beeping machines & broken furniture. The investigators now await Pooja's recovery for interrogation & to close the case as soon as possible because stories of a deranged murderer roaming around the dark streets doesn't exactly spark a rush of serotonin through the citizens.

Meanwhile in a dark, gloomy alleyway:

It had been seconds too long. The man's pace faltered at slightest sounds, fingers fidgeting the two ring that shone under whatever little light reached the area.

Why were they not here yet?

But his wait was cut off soon. Muffled footsteps echoed like, every step closer increasing their intensity. Even though he had been expecting them, his heart leapt up his throat, which tightened in fear.

He turned around, not being able to make out their faces. But at the time, he found it to be a blessing in disguise, because he was sure he would have thrown up from the fright of being the cause of their anger.

A hand extended out, the silver bracelet dangling from it gleaming in moonlight. It gripped the lapel of his coat, and a scared murmur escaped him without caution.

The person on the other side, let out a slow growl of rage, boiling blood coursing through their veins. The man's teeth chattered, the cold pressing against his skin even more as a chill ran down his spine.

Suddenly and unexpectedly, the touch of cold metal against his neck made him shudder.

It was... It was a gun.

"Thi..s, Th..., This w-was not what, w-what we plann-nned upon." He quietly muttered, shocked that sound still escaped through the dryness of his throat.

"What were you supposed to do?" The person, no, the man, That man, growled, the evil of his heart almost visible in the spoken words.

The man stood soundless. It took two hard knocks of the metal to make him speak.

"K-K-Kill"

"And what did you do? Let her escape with a bagful of evidence." The words were being hissed now, with so much intensity that the man was surprised that he hadn't peed his pants yet.

"And since" The gun was displaced and he let out a sigh of relief. "You did such wonderful work, you deserve to be rewarded."

And before the man could even process what just happened, a single shot pierced through the fog settling around, and hit right in the forehead.

Seconds later, his lifeless body met its origin & any sign of life in the alleyway seized to exist.

End Note: Open Heart ended and it feels unreal. I have had a weird, wonderful journey with it. I would have never come to tumblr, make edits or write fanfics if not for it. It is a series which many of us, me included, hold close to our heart.

Firstly, I would like to thank everyone who provided their precious thoughts over the past chapters of this series. I always have & always will hold Detectives by Chance close to my heart, because it has some of my earliest fanfics & it was the beginning of a wonderful journey for me. So if you took your time & have followed this story from the start, I am so very grateful for you. Thank you❤

With OH ending, many have chosen to continue in this fandom & some have decided to move on. Whatever your decision may be, I hope you be happy & have a good time ahead💕

Detectives by Chance gets a Bonus part, with no relation to the storyline, like not an epilogue, but something that will answer the lingering questions. As for if this is really the end of DbC or not, I will let you guys decide that😉

Tags (Please let me know if you want to be added or removed or if I forgot you):

Perma: @gkittylove99 @neotericthemis @udishaman @aestheticartsx @twinkleallnight @schnitzelbutterfingers @sophxwithers @sweatyrysconnoisseur @nikki-2406 @choicesfanaf @trrfanaddict @starrystarrytrouble @gardeningourmet @parkbarks @mvalentine @lovablegranny @mercury84choices @helloayz

Open Heart (All fics and edit): @lucy-268 @maurine07 @bellcat2010

Ethan x Pooja (fics): @aleynareads @stygianflood @choicesaddict5 @mysticaurathings @jamespotterthefirst @ilikemenbutonlyethanramsey

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

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mlmxreader · 3 years

Text

Our Dog | Fox Mulder x Gender Neutral!Reader

request; “Hey wonderful dude, you know who this is over from Archive. Could I get a Mulder/Reader where they get a pet together? I'm a sucker for cute men with animals.” // anon

summary; you talk Fox into adopting a dog.

notes; talk of marriage

After being together for a good long while, Fox had finally moved in with you, and despite his job meaning that you had to be apart for days at a time, you managed to make things work; quite often, he would find you crashed on the sofa wrapped up in one of his blazers after attempting to stay up to see him when he got home. Sometimes, you would come home to find him cuddled up in one of your hoodies, sound asleep and snoring quietly. You took turns to cook when you were both home, but when you cooked together, well… it was a disaster - food fights were incredibly common between you and Fox.

But a lot of the time, when Fox wasn't home, you were lonely… lonely and bored, pacing around the house like a caged up tiger. Nobody to talk to, except sometimes Skinner or Fox's mother, who would swing over from time to time.

But one night, while you and Fox were cuddled up in bed together, enjoying a week off of work, an idea hit you, and you grumbled as you looked at your darling boyfriend.

"We should get a dog."

"A dog?" Fox questioned.

"Yeah," you nodded. "Not a puppy, or a purebred, though, but we should definitely get a dog."

Fox thought about it for a moment, sure, he was hardly ever at home so there was no point in getting a puppy, and he had been told many many times about how awful it was for purebred dogs… but then again, he had called into the local cats and dogs home to see what animals needed a family, needed friends, and it was definitely something he had put some thought into.

"Are you sure we're ready for a dog, (y/n)?"

"Positive," you told him with an unshakable confidence. "But we could always get a lizard or a snake if you don't want a dog, I just thought that-"

Cutting you off with a sweet kiss, Fox smiled. "As long as you're sure, then I'm sure… we can go down to the home tomorrow and pick one out."

𓃥𓃥𓃥𓃥𓃥

The following day, you and Fox drove to the local cats and dogs home to pick out a companion; there were plenty of dogs to choose from, big dogs, small dogs, puppies, old hounds, and as you and Fox looked around, one in particular caught your eye.

A black dog with short fur, floppy but small ears, two white paws - one at the front left and one at the right back, and a greying muzzle. The information pack on the cage told you that the poor old dog had been abandoned by his previous owners because he was too big, and when he stood up to sniff your hand through the chain link, you realised just how big he was; he wasn't a great Dane, nor a mastiff, but he could definitely give the two a run for their money with his height, and although you knew that you would have to consult Fox, you immediately knew that this old hound was the one.

"Baby, over here!" You called, and when Fox came over, he frowned.

"This one?" He asked, letting the dog sniff his hand. The tail wagged harshly and the ears perked up.

"Please?" You begged, looking at Fox with your best pleading gaze.

Fox nodded, smiling at you oh so fondly. "Okay, as long as you're sure."

𓃥𓃥𓃥𓃥𓃥

The paperwork was easy enough, as was getting the dog - whose name you had learned was Butch - home, but what Fox had not expected was for the dog to be so friendly; immediately, Butch had usurped the side of the sofa next to Fox with his head on his lap and a wagging tail as he scratched that spot behind the dog's ear.

"I told you, didn't I?" You chuckled as you sat on the arm of the sofa, draping your arm across Fox's shoulders and planting a sweet kiss to his temple. "Getting a dog was the right choice."

"Yeah, you were right," Fox agreed, looking up at you and smiling. "Maybe I could train him to help with the X Files, too."

"You're not training the dog to sniff out aliens," you laughed softly, rolling your eyes. "Or Cryptids for that matter."

"Fine," he grumbled, playfully sulking.

Gently, you ran your free hand through Fox’s hair, neatening up the strands so softly. “Nevermind, maybe if you’re good, I’ll make your favourite for dinner - as a thank you, for letting me get a dog.”

“He’s our dog, though,” Fox hummed, laying his head against your side and clinging onto your waist. “I’ll take him for a walk once he’s settled so we’re both out of your way when you cook.”

𓃥𓃥𓃥𓃥𓃥

Butch settled in nicely, adjusting to the routine between you and Fox with ease, he quite often slept on the sofa and only bothered to move from it when it was time to be fed, he was a very lazy dog, which wasn’t surprising considering his age; when Scully and her girlfriend brought their dog over - a pomeranian - Butch was as gentle with it as he could be, and when Fox’s mother and Skinner came over for a visit, the dog was just as friendly towards them as he was with you.

More often than not, Fox was the one to take the dog out for a walk, well, a run more often; sometimes, you would nip out to do something, and when you got home, you would find Fox sound asleep on the sofa with the dog snoring right beside him. It never failed to make you smile.

Tonight, though, you and Fox were curled up on the sofa together, cuddled right into one another as closely as possible, while the dog slept on the floor and only ever really reared up his head to beg for scraps from the snacks you and your boyfriend were munching on.

“I’m glad we got a dog,” Fox admitted, gazing at you with the fondest of smiles.

“So am I,” you hummed, wiping some sugar from his lips and nearly grinning. “At least now I have someone to talk to when you’re away, and I can go out for a walk instead of being cooped up at home.”

“Maybe the next step in our relationship will be picking out rings,” he joked, although only half - it was a conversation he had had with Scully before, as well as his mother, thinking about marrying you was definitely something that Fox had given genuine consideration to… but that could wait.

“Maybe one day,” you mused. “But only if Butch can be our ring-bearer.”

#fox mulder x yn #fox mulder x you #fox mulder x reader #fox mulder imagine #fox mulder #txf #the x-files #the x files #x files #x files fanfic #the x files fanfic #fanfiction #mlem writes

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illneverrecover · 5 years

Text

fade into you | kth (m)

➛pairing: Kim Taehyung x Reader ➛genre: CEO!Taehyung, Boss!Taehyung, smut, fluff, pwp. ➛word count: 2084 ➛rating: explicit/mature ➛warnings: cursing, slight exhibition, fingering, very light choking, marking, unprotected sex, sex with feelings because Tae is a big softie. ➛summary: You were already sleeping with your boss (at the office, no less). Why not marry him as well? ➛notes: This is dedicated to the sweet & always lovely @la-vie-en-tae in celebration of her birthday. Happy birthday, Cara! I hope you enjoy <3 Thank you for always being so sweet & supportive! Also, this can be read as a continuation of a previous drabble of mine, Golden, but it’s not necessary to read it first. This is just basically porn with very minimal plot, just like mama likes it. ➛song: What is Love - EXO // Fade Into You - Sam Palladio and Clare Bowen

Meetings were the absolute worst.

They were always so dull, everyone shuffling around the table just to faux interest in whatever the topic may be and sneak glances at their cell phones under the table. The best part of yours was usually staring at your otherworldly attractive boss; the way his large hands would engulf the edge of the dark wood table, the tight strain of white crisp button down against the expanse of his golden chest, his intense amber stare as he scrutinized and took in every word shared.

You would get lost in him for the entirety of the meeting, eyes never leaving his lean form as he prowled around the room in his perfectly cut suit. He was a sight to be seen, and it was one of the best excuses to stare at him for 60 to 90 consecutive minutes without having to worry about any judgement.

However, today, your little game was different.

Because now when you looked at him, all you could think about what happened the day before. The way he had grasped at your thighs before sliding you up onto his desk, dropping to his knees. The way he nipped and bit at your inner thigh until you were muffling moans with your hand, the other tangled deep into midnight tresses. All you could see in your minds eye as you tried to focus on the man before you was the look on his face when he asked you to marry him, when he slid himself into you so hard that his teeth clattered before he lost himself to the pleasure and the crook of your neck.

Groaning, you cross and uncross your legs, trying to give yourself any form of relief - trying, and failing. This man had just fucked you so hard that your vision was still blurry days later, and yet you were still enraptured with all of the ways he could push you up onto this very table, claim you as his own in front of God and everyone.

Taehyung narrows his eyes at the slight movement, gaze dragging from your calves up to your apex slowly, licking his lips when he finally lands on your eyes. Arousal swims low in your belly, and you’re positive that you’re already so fucking wet that he would be able to just slide right inside of you with a single thrust.

Why did he have this power over you? What kind of demon was he?

Well that answer you did know. He was your personal demon. He was yours.

You hadn’t believed him when he first uttered the words, soft and needy against the column of your throat. Why would you? He was the CEO of this company, and you were just some nobody. Sure, a nobody he had been seeing for a few months, but that’s it. Nothing special, no grand titles or lofty aspirations. Just white hot chemistry and a deeper connection than you had anticipated with your boss.

And yet you knew, he wanted you. He only wanted you.

Letting your tongue dart out to wet your lips, you chance a look up at him as he continues his languid pace, a caged tiger in a glass case. His molten stare was on yours, on every single rise of your chest, and you could feel yourself drenching the thin fabric of your panties. Fuck, you wanted him so bad. You’d take him right here, company be damned-

“That’s all for today. Thank you all for coming, you’re dismissed - with the exception of Miss Y/N. Do you mind staying behind?”

You don’t bother answering, instead smiling with a quick bow, scanning the crowd as they filed out of the room.

Once you were alone, you wait for his next move, eyes watching his sultry stroll around the empty room.

“Was there something you needed from me, Mr. Kim?”

His answering growl had you shivering, and soon he was above you, palm cupping your jaw to tilt your gaze to his own. “There’s always something I need from you, love.”

His pupils were lust blown wide, impossibly black as he peered down at you. It had your throat tightening, swallowing difficult as air left your lungs like a summer breeze. “Oh yeah?” you simper, voice delicate and soft. “Like what?”

A tap at your chin had you rising before him, his arms snaking around your waist to press you hard against his chest. He nosed at your neck, breath hot as it ghosted your ear. “Well first, I need you to say yes to my proposal,”

You hum, eyes rolling back in your head as he nips at the lobe. “Then, I need you to marry me, to be my wife. Be by my side.”

A groan leaves your lips as he glides his way down to your chest, a small part of your brain reminding you that you were still in the conference room, surrounded by transparent walls in your place of employment. Even sleeping with the boss wouldn’t keep you safe from the rumors that would spread if you happened to be caught like this, yet somehow Taehyung always made you forget the risks.

“I already said yes to your proposal, you dork.” Head lolling forward, your hands clasp his cheeks and pull his face back in front of your own. “You have me, Taehyung. I’m yours,” you breathe, affection pouring from each word before your lips collide.

Taehyung always kissed you like he was starving, like sanctuary was only found alongside your tongue, soft and pliant and ready for him. Your knees shake at his passion, collapsing against his form and tugging at his collar so you could feel more, taste him deeper.

You whine when he pulls away, resisting the urge to yank him back to your mouth. A mischievous smirk was awaiting you when your eyes open.

“What, why did you stop? Is there something more?”

He chuckles, the sound gravelly and low, eyes dancing with mirth. “It just so happens there is. Are you willing to hear my proposition?”

You roll your eyes, scoffing, but nod anyway. When he still doesn’t continue, you sigh. “Yes, Mr. Kim.”

A cocky grin was the last thing you saw before your back was pressed to the chilled top of the table, legs dangling over the side. You gasp, moving to sit up until he was stepping between your thighs, letting them fall open to accommodate his form. His hands start tracing patterns down your ribs, landing on the border of your skirt.

He leans forward, mouth inches from your own. “I want you to let me take you right here, in this room. Let me claim you where anyone could see or hear,” he drawls, lips skimming the skin of your jaw. “Let me show them all that you are mine.”

Any protests die in your throat when he latches to your collarbone, nipping and biting until the skin bloomed beneath his ministrations. You knew you should tell him no, that this was not the time nor the place, but you were weak. Weak, enraptured, and completely in love with the man who was unraveling you in a conference room on a Wednesday.

“Yes,” you moan, hands digging into the hair at his nape. “Yes, please.”

You feel him smile against your chest, fingers deftly undoing the buttons of your blouse so you were exposed to his greedy mouth. Too impatient to completely undress you, he pushes the cups of your bra down until each pebbled nipple revealed. You squeal when his heated tongue laps at one, fingers expertly rolling the other until your back is arching and your cunt throbbing.

Throwing your head to the side, you notice something through the haze of your lust. “Taehyung,” you whimper, tugging at his hair until he meets your eyes. “Taehyung, what about the glass-”

“Don’t worry, love. At a press of a button, we can make the world disappear.”

Reaching into his suit pocket, he grabs a small remote, clicking it once before tossing it onto a nearby chair, the jacket soon following. The glass quickly fogs into an opaque white, leaving you hidden.

“When were you going to tell me that you could do that?” you pout, pulling yourself up to rest on your elbows. The man before you just gives you a shit eating grin, hands tugging to loosen his belt.

“When the time was right,” he murmurs, undoing his slacks until you could see his length straining against the black of his briefs. Your mouth waters at the sight, legs rising to circle his hips and pull him back towards you.

“You’re insufferable.”

He pushes you flat against the table, large palm pressing against the tender skin of your throat lightly before trailing down your body, leaving heat in his wake before his hands snake up your skirt. “You’re beautiful. And mine,”

He slides off your ruined panties quickly, like it pained him to be away from your center any longer than necessary. Trailing his fingers up your slit, he groans at the slick of your arousal. “I need to be inside you.”

His voice spurs you into action, your hands grasping to free his hardened length, giving the tip a gentle sweep of your thumb. “I need you too, Taehyung.”

You cry out his name when he finally pushes himself inside your heat, nails digging into his golden shoulders as you flush his body to yours. The burn of the stretch has you simpering, his cock splitting you wide as he slid home. He pauses, letting the pain ebb into pleasure, before slamming into you once more, pace feverish. His thrusts were ruthless, hips snapping into yours until the room was filled with the lewd sounds of skin on skin under a cacophony of moans.

Despite the assault, all you could think was that you wanted more, wanted him deeper. He was the sweetest poison, his body the most seductive weapon. His eyes never left your own, reverent and dripping with emotion as he watched your reactions to his touch; drinking them in. He was in your heart, in your arms, inside of you. Taehyung was completely under your skin and you weren’t sure where you end and where he begins - and yet you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Teeth sinking into his lip, you whine into his mouth when he brushes the tender spot inside of you, veins engulfing into flame when he continues to fuck into it until it forces your eyes close.

“Look at me.”

It was an order - or it was meant to be, but the softness of the words contradict the bite. You meet his gaze, all depthless amber, the band low in your gut poised to snap. “Look at me when you come on my cock.”

With a poignant grind of his pelvis, his words have you teetering over the edge, his name spilling out as you reach your peak. He fucks you through it, undulating slowly until your body slows its shivering and your walls stop squeezing against him.

Humming, he leans down to press his lips against yours before picking up his pace, murmuring praise through your over sensitivity. He was close and you could tell, and the idea of him giving into his desires to finish inside of you had you clenching.

“I love you,” you whisper, leaning forward to suckle at the juncture of his shoulder, wanting to leave something of yourself visible on him, too. “Come for me.”

His fingers are bruising when they grasp your hips, steadying so he could slam into you harder. Curses mix with broken sounds of your name as he finally spills inside your aching core, forehead pressed to your own. He stutters through a few more pumps, making sure every drop of his seed remained deep inside before stopping, collapsing against you.

Automatically your hands raise to card through his sweat tinged locks, pulling him until he was nuzzled tightly against you. As the lust wore off, you feel the sharp edges of glass digging into your thighs, the way your ribs ached against the unforgiving wood of the conference table - but with Taehyung, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You never could.

“So,” he pants, tongue wetting his lips. “Does that mean you’ll marry me?”

You laugh then, chest heaving until you could feel the low rumbles of him joining you, plump lips grinning against flushed skin.

“Of course, Mr. Kim.”

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gaiyofanfiction · 5 years

Text

Twisted Karnival - Chapter 5

Stray Kids x Reader

Horror/Thriller/Drama

Twisted Circus!AU

A/N: Thank you all for the amazing reviews! We were so excited, this next part got not only longer, but WAY more insane. Be prepared to be scared hehe. Enjoy. ~Liz

Warnings: Mentions of seduction, blood, soul stealing and kidnapping. Possibly more in the future. We also write for 0t9, so Woojin is going to be in this series.

Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction and in no way represents the idols of Stray kids or JYP.

~~~

[Before Reading, check out the Masterlist and profile boards for each member HERE.]

~~~

“Grab her!” Chan shouted, pointing directly at you. Jisung licked his lips, longing for another taste of you as he and Hyunjin took off running, clearing the metal barricade. “Don’t let her get away! We need her blood to finalize the binding ritual.”

Your eyes widened at Chan’s command, quickly grabbing a hold of your friends arm, only to feel a limp body on the other end. You froze in immediate terror as her eyes were completely rolled back into her head, body as white as snow. You screamed, quickly releasing her arm as you tried to make your way out of the arena. Evil crooked smiles fell over the lips of Hyunjin and Jisung.

“Oh look Hyunjin, looks like our pet wants to play a game of tag.” Jisung chuckled loudly looking towards Hyunjin.

“Well then… it’s a game of tag she won’t be winning.” Hyunjin laughed maniacally as they took off after you.

You rushed past several more people screaming in pain as their souls were being extracted clean from their bodies. Their skin falling to pale shades of blue and sheet white as the life left from their eyes. Your breathing quickened as you cleared a few rows of fallen bodies, trying to quickly find your way out. You paused, looking back as Jisung’s eyes were glowing brightly behind his fallen locks. You let out another scream picking up the pace.

“Hahaha! She’s even cuter when she’s scared!” Hyunjin shrieked running faster. You looked back, panicked by the sight of their glowing eyes as they proceeded after you, evil intentions fallen over their faces. “What do you want with me?!” You screamed, passing through the bright red curtains towards the hall. You screamed in terror as another body fell in front of your feet causing you to trip. You panicked, scooting your body along the floor. Jisung and Hyunjin cockily stood in the curtain, staring at you. “Aww, she’s still trying to get away. I am not sure if I should feel sorry for her or laugh.” Jisung licked his lips once more as him and Hyunjin lunged towards you. Your eyes widened, quickly rolling against the floor, pushing yourself back up to your feet. The men growled lowly as their eyes brightened. “Little- you’re not going to get far!” Hyunjin screamed as he watched you continue to run.

You continued to run, panting heavily as the sounds of screaming fell over your ears. You looked back noticing Jisung and Hyunjin had finally lost you. You took a heavy breathe, trying to shake yourself awake. ‘This is just a dream… it’s just a dream…’ You smacked the side of your face, searing pain to follow. Tears began to well up as you began to realize something. This was no dream, but a hellish nightmare.

You quickly made your way down a darkened hallway, Jisung and Hyunjin still running after you. Your heart sank as Hyunjin let out a loud searing shriek down the halls. You began to panic, looking for a quick way of escape. You look around, shortly finding a hollowed out part in the wall. You crawled through, slowly picking yourself up from the floor as you found yourself standing in another long gated hallway. Your eyes slowly widened as you looked back at the hole in the wall, and back down the empty hall. It was slightly brighter than the previous, but something didn’t feel right. You began to slowly walk forward, looking back every so often to see if Hyunjin and Jisung were still behind you. As the sound of silence took over, you sighed in relief as you proceeded to move forward to freedom. However, all that relief faded as you turned the corner to find yourself standing in a hall of mirrors. You stepped back, turning left and right.

"Shit, what the hell is all this?!"

You freak out and pushed against one of the mirrors, praying one was possibly a hidden exit. It wasn’t. Suddenly, a high pitched chuckle shot through your chest. You squeaked, petrified.

“Here kitty kitty…” Felix’s deep voice bounced against the mirrors. You quickly turned, smacking your face into another mirror behind you. You groaned lowly, rubbing the middle of your face. Another voice echoed through the air as you pushed against another mirror.

“Can’t go that way… try another way…” Jeongin cackled loudly as you rushed in another direction, smacking your face against another mirror. You collapsed upon impact as the voice grew louder.

"Aw, is our little pet hurt?"

Standing up on shaky legs, you turn around to see the figure of Felix standing in one of the mirrors. You let out a shriek and back up into another mirror.

"We will take good care of you, beautiful. Just submit to us..."

You whip around to see Jeongin in the mirror you had just backed into, a wicked grin on his face. A few tears let loose as your terror grows.

'I need to get the hell out of here!' As the laughter from the two terrors grow, you smack every mirror around you, trying to find a way out. Finally, one of the mirrors gives way and behind it you find a hallway. You sigh with relief and book it down the dimly lit hallway. Hearing the echoes of Jisung and Hyunjin's laughs behind you make your legs move faster. 'How the hell did they find me?!'

Suddenly the hallway leads you to a wide open room, one you didn’t expect to see. Wincing, you look around to see cages placed all around the room. Inside those cages were dangerous and exotic animals. That's when you realized you stumbled upon Minho's room. You take a step back but immediately freeze when you hear a low, animalistic growl from behind. You slowly turn to see Minho's tigress, her teeth bared and head low, blocking the hallway you had just exited.

"N-Nice kitty." You raise your hand in defense. You take a few steps back, your body shaking from fear. That's when a voice behind you makes you freeze.

"Well well well, look what we have here. Welcome to my domain, pet."

Your head turns slowly, your body trembling and eyes wide to see Minho. He stands there with his hands in his pockets, a brow raised. A cocky little smirk appears on his face as he looks down on you, eyes flashing yellow.

Your eyes widened, stepping back slowly as your back met with another cage, a loud hissing falling over your ears. You panicked, jumping forward as the boa lunged towards the edge of the cage. Minho chuckled lowly as he moved closer.

"It seems my pets have taken a… liking to you." He smirks, moving closer to you, hair lowered over his eyes. You slowly backed once more, arm flailing behind you. You used your hand to guide behind you as your eyes stayed fixed on Minho. A low growl fell as Minho’s tigress moved slowly, claws extended within each step. Minho chuckled once more.

"Don't kill her, just stop her." Minho threw his arm forward as his eyes glowed brighter. The tigress growled loudly, lunging towards you. Your body moved on it’s own and you ducked, causing the tiger to knock over a few cages, latches breaking as they shatter against the ground.

You quickly turned to see more animals moving from their cages. The tigress growled once more, claws clicking beneath her paws. Your eyes widened as you slid against the floor, trying to find your way to your feet. Minho’s eyes continued to glow as a few more animals rushed after you. “P-please leave me alone!”

He shakes his head. "You might as well give up, pet. There's nowhere you can hide." Minho stepped forward beside his tigress and you stumbled over a fallen cage. You winced as pain shoots through your arm, blood trickling down the backside of your elbow. Minho smirked, head tilted to the side.

"Where are you baby girl?" You suddenly hear Jisung call out. Your head quickly turned towards his voice and back to Minho who's smirk continued to curl against his lips.

"See, you're trapped. Surrender yourself to us, it’s the only way." Minho growled, eyes continuing to shine brightly against the dim lighting. Jisung and Hyunjin’s loud cackling screams grew louder. Your eyes wandered the area. Maybe there was a way to escape from here too.

Your eyes quickly scanned the area. Slowly stepping to your feet, you notice a small part in the large curtain. Your eyes subtly fixed over the opening, waiting for the chance to run. Minho began to bare his teeth as his tigress fell to crouching position.

"So what's it gonna be?" He tilted his head back, sliding his thumbs through the loops of his pants. Your eyes quickly moved about the room, looking towards Minho and back at the curtain. As Minho threw his arm out once more, the tigress lunged, claws spread wide. You screamed, dogging out of the way as Jisung and Hyunjin ran into the room. Hyunjin groaned lowly, eyes locked on you. You winced in pain once more as you took off towards the small opening in the curtain.

“What the hell Minho? She was RIGHT there!” Jisung scoffed as he ran past Minho. Your heart hammered against your chest as you ran through the open curtain. Hyunjin, Minho and Jisung all scowling as you ran out of sight.

“Are you kidding me?! How long do we have to keep this chase up until someone actually grabs her?!” Hyunjin complained, eyes narrowed on Minho. Minho sighed, looking at the closing curtain.

“You really have no meaning of the word, patience. Do you?” Minho rolled his eyes as Jisung continued to scowl. “Besides, the longer you stand here, the further she gets.” Jisung and Hyunjin groaned, taking off after you once more.

You paced quickly, tripping over an unknown object as you crawled into a pitch black tent. You take a deep breathe, pressing your hand to your chest. Tears slowly left your eyes as you curled into a ball. You sniffled softly, raising your head to a small light coming from the other end of the room. Picking yourself up, you slowly moved towards the tiny light. Stepping lightly and keeping as quiet as possible so no one could find you. As the light grew closer, you noticed a small thread hanging from above you. You hesitantly reached up, tugging on the tiny cord.

A sudden burst of light filled the air, lights of red, green and yellow surrounding you. You slowly turned in a circle examining the room. A scream builds up in your chest as the sight of blood splatter set about the area. Your heart began to race, quickly turning towards another table. You backed slowly, placing your hand behind you, something squishing beneath your palm. Your eyes widened, letting out a loud screech, sending the moist object to the floor. You pressed your hand to your chest as you finally noticed the half slaughtered body laying on the table.

Jisung and Hyunjin turned their heads as the glorious sound of your screams filled the air. "Doesn't sound like she made it very far." Hyunjin snickered. Jisung licked his lips and nodded his head in agreement as they moved towards your addictive noises.

Back in the tent of horrors, you began to panic, tangling your fingers into your locks. You shook your head fiercely trying to wake yourself up from this nightmare, wanting nothing more than to see the beautiful light of day shining through your bedroom window. You pressed your hands against the top of your head, silently begging.

You continued to panic, becoming oblivious to your surroundings. Slowly moving away from the table, a shadow hiding off in the darkness was about to make your life ten times worse than you thought it already was. A small clicking sound grabbed your attention and the clanking of gears and metal sounded soon after. You quickly turned, eyes filled with terror as a half human, half mechanic experiment began to twitch and spark in front of you.

"WHAT IN THE FUCK IS THAT?!" You shrieked loudly, looking for something to defend yourself with. The bloody machine slowly rose, arm extended as a loud screech fell from its human lips. Your jaw unhinged, speechless of the horror in front of you, your mind fell blank. You stood, frozen as the machine rolled to its feet, clanking metal together with every movement.

Completely frozen, another small click fell just as the machines eyes began to turn red. Both arms fully extended as blood and oil dripped from different spots of its body. You shook your head in disbelief. ‘This… this isn't real. I'm dreaming. Please. I'm dreaming. Wake up, Y/N. WAKE UP!’

Your breathe quickened, a heavy feeling in your chest as the machine slowly moved towards you. You couldn't move, feet felt glued to the floor as you stood in complete horror of what moved before you. The shadow slowly appeared from behind the desk, goggles covering his eyes. You slowly turned your head as the man slowly moved the glasses to his forehead, a small smirk hinges over his lips.

"Welcome to my workshop beautiful. It's been a long time since someone, well, human has set foot in my territory." Seungmin tossed the small remote up in the air, catching it in his right hand. "Alive, that is." He chuckled slowly, moving towards his experiment.

You continued to stand, shocked to see the sweet, kind snack boy standing in a bloody workshop with the creepiest smirk over his lips.

"Y-you...you're from…" Seungmin turned towards you, eyes glowing purple.

"Oh? You recognize me?!" He squeaked feeling a quick sense of happiness. "You know, you should feel privileged to be standing here. This workshop is only for my experiments." He chuckled lowly, turning his head back towards you. "That is… unless you'd like to be my next one." Your eyes widened, jaw still unhinged in shock.

Seungmin tilted his head as he slowly paced around your frozen state. He snapped his fingers a few times, releasing a softened chuckle.

"Wow, beautiful. Who knew it was this easy to capture you." You gulped, trying to fight your body to move even the slightest inch. ‘Why can't I move?’ Seungmin pressed a small green button on his remote causing the machine to move towards you once again. You let out a whimper and shook your head fiercely. Your body began to tremble as you finally felt your left leg move a soft inch. You looked back, taking a heavy breathe just before turning to run.

"Tsk tsk, not a good idea cutie." Seungmin pressed another button, the machine screaming loudly as its arm extended, grabbing a tightened hold of your ankle. You screamed in terror as Seungmins eyes began to glow brighter. You kicked the machine’s arm with all your might, feeling a numbing sensation running up your leg.

"Let me go!" You screamed loudly, alarming Jisung and Hyunjin to your location. The machine screamed once more, head twitching as sparks flew from its hollow chest. Your eyes widened, noticing a small led pipe on the ground. You grabbed it, swinging as hard as you could. Seungmin laughed watching your attempts. Your brows furrowed, pulling your arm back further, and swinging harder than before. The machine arm sparked brightly, a loud popping sound to follow. The machine screamed as its arm fell from its body, a mixture of blood and oil spilling out.

"What the hell did you do?!" Seungmin screamed watching his experiment twitch and scream in agony. Seungmin turned his head, a dark gaze falling over his expression. "Oh, beautiful girl. I'll make you regret that." He grins wickedly as his eyes gloss over your body. "As your repayment, maybe I should keep you for myself and use you as one of my greatests experiments."

You shake your wrist, ridding yourself of the detached half-human arm. You frantically scramble backwards, tripping over body parts scattered across the floor. Tears fall down your cheeks as you back away from the approaching psychotic mechanic. But you don't get very far as you run into a hard object. An arm suddenly snakes around your waist and a hand grips your throat. The sound of maniacal laughter fills your ears.

"Got you."

238 notes · View notes

woodrokiro · 4 years

Text

Hollowed (fic) Part Five

Fandom: Bleach

Pairing: IchiRuki

Summary: They call her a miracle, but he looks at her as if she’s normal. It scares her. Fantasy/Futuristic/Zombie kinda?AU. Read Parts One, Two, Three, and Four.

It turns out to be a Hollowed… Because of course it is.

Luckily it’s only one, and small from what the messenger describes. Still, from the way the messenger’s eyes widen while describing it, Ichigo assumes it really has been a while since these people saw one, and must’ve given the soldiers quite a drill.

But he could care less if the soldiers panicked. What he wants to know is if it’s dead.

“Y-yes sir! I saw if for myself, its eyes had clouded over, and its mouth--”

“I don’t need to hear about it.” And he really didn’t, as he could already imagine it: its yellowed fangs bared into a nasty snarl, the eight legs curled pathetically into its jet black body, its eyes peering from behind a horrific mask, milky with death.

He’s seen enough of them.

“Were there any casualties?”

“No, not that I’m aware of--”

“Aware of? What does that mean?”

“Well, all soldiers are accounted for…”

“But not civilians here?”

“If you’re worried about your friends,” Rukia calls from behind him, and the messenger straightens as if he’s forgotten she’s there-- “there’s not much to worry about. Very rarely are civilians even let outside the compound. When soldiers go out, they are often flanked and covered by the remaining at the walls. It’s all planned far out in advance. We would know about it.”

That clears a bit of Ichigo’s anxiety, but not enough.

In truth, he’s worried about his sisters. The last time they all encountered those monsters, they were even more horrifying than all the previous times before. Their village was destroyed, people left dead in the streets, their father fighting with all he had left…

Not that he’s not worried for his friends’ mental well being, but his sisters are just twelve years old: too young for any of this bullshit.

And yeah, it’s always been a part of their lives… But he’s their big brother. He’s supposed to be their protector, or at the very least comforting them.

Which is why being cooped up here in the name of a job is driving him insane.

When the bell first started clanging, a soldier ran through to tell him he was to remain here with Lady Rukia at all costs until somebody gave him further instruction. When Ichigo tried to ask when might he be given further instruction--let alone what happened--the soldier sneered.

“This is your job now,” he spat. “And an important one at that. You are never to leave Lady Rukia during your shift. As for what’s going on, you’ll be told when the information needs to be relayed to you. I recommend you stop asking questions.”

Fucking hell, he’s tired of hearing that. The guy is lucky he ran out so quickly, as Ichigo could’ve throttled him. Instead, all he could do is pace around his partitioned space like a tiger in a cage, ignoring the girl on the other side of the room who probably wouldn’t speak to him anyway.

And now, apparently, she feels inclined to butt in, all uppity and knowledgeable. He spins to face her.

“Yes, I’m worried about my friends,” he grits out his teeth. “But I’m also worried about my sisters. I’m all they have, and the last time one of those things were within such a vicinity to us it was a real fucking nightmare. Now,” he turns back to the messenger. “If you have the time, I’d really appreciate if you could go to the kitchens and relay a message to Karin and Yuzu Kuro--”

“Go to them.”

Ichigo turns incredulously back toward her, and is starting to think this twisting back and forth is getting really old. “Huh?”

“I was clear enough, fool. Go find your sisters. Take the rest of the day off.”

He nearly sputters. Is there something he’s missing here? “B-but you heard that other guy--”

“That ‘other guy’ is technically correct, in any other situation you won’t be able to leave me.” She’s got her arms crossed, with a superior look in her eye that Ichigo kind of hates but also he’s feeling hopeful about what she’s saying so he’ll just ignore it for now. “But today is your first day. I believe you’ve received basic training enough--”

“Well, I mean I didn’t really do anything--”

“Don’t be so modest, sir. You’ve done plenty.” She looks at him with raised eyebrows pointedly.

He shuts his mouth.

“Some soldiers will probably be here shortly to relieve you in any case. They always take me when this sort of occurrence happens...” she drifts softly, before her eyes suddenly shine (yes, shine) toward the messenger. “Sir there! Would you be willing to chaperone me in Sir Kurosaki’s absence, until then? I would be most appreciative of it.”

The messenger shifts, but Ichigo can see a blush rise on his cheeks. “Oh, w-well I’d be most honored, milady. But I’m afraid I’m not of military calibre to watch you. You see, I might as well be a grunt--”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter. So long as you’re a soldier, you can protect me. And don’t worry, if any of the higher ranks or even Lord Yamamoto raise questions about it, I’ll be happy to take the blame.” She smiles sweetly before turning back to Ichigo. “Thank you for your services, sir. You are dismissed.”

He blinks. “So, does that cover for me too or…?”

“What, you believe I would cover for one party in a situation and not the other? Yes, Mr. Kurosaki, you as well. Now, goodbye.” She waves him off dismissively.

While that kind of pisses him off--and it’s bizarre how fast she changed gears--he’s grateful.

---

He finds the girls perfectly safe and sound when he rushes into the kitchens. In fact, they hadn’t even heard the news of the Hollowed… Which Ichigo finds quite eery how news like that isn’t relayed to the service as quickly as the bell clangs for the military--but at the very least, he’s glad to find they’re safe and not scared.

He tries to express some sort of a game plan to them: that if he’s not able to go to them in times of danger, find Chad, or even Uryu--well, not Uryu, as he might be on the front lines--

“Relax, Ichigo.” Karin cuts him off with a gentle smirk. “We know how to take care of ourselves for this sort of thing… Or at the very least: how to not get killed. Worst case scenario, I’ve got kitchen knives here I can use.”

“Plus, they’ve got me.” Inoue steps forward from the spot she’s been quietly listening and kneading dough. She claps her floury hands together. “I know that I-I don’t look like much, Ichigo, but you can count on me to protect the girls! All this kneading is giving me some real arm strength! Not to mention when I put in my secret ingredients, that makes it even tougher!!”

She strikes a pose with her biceps flexed, and while Ichigo’s not quite sure if that’ll be enough to tear apart the creatures responsible for the near extinction of humanity, he still smiles and thanks her. He has to remember that the three in front of him are smart and very much capable of taking care of themselves.

He doesn’t really have a choice, otherwise.

---

Later that night when everyone else but the boys are asleep, he asks Uryu whether he saw the Hollowed.

“I did. In fact, one of my arrows got stuck in its putrid ribs.” He pushes his glasses up.

“I saw it as well,” Chad offers. “My boss and I were restocking the weapons on the wall while they burned the body.”

“Chad, you too? So I was the only one to miss out on the action, huh?”

“Not much action, Kurosaki. Truth be told, the military is true to its word. Pretty organized on the killing, once they got past the initial shock. I imagine they’d have a harder time with a horde of them, though.” Uryu opens his mouth to say something, but hesitates.

“What?” Ichigo eyes the look passed between Uryu and Chad. “What was wrong with it?”

“It… Had some… One of its legs was a human arm.” Uryu grinds his teeth. “Recently turned. I think… It might’ve been someone from our village.”

Ichigo prays it wasn’t anybody he knew well, let alone his dad. Trapped in a horrid body like that, slithering miserably up the mountain for fresh blood--it’d be a nightmare he can barely stomach.

But it wouldn’t matter in any case, he guesses.

A loss is a loss is a loss.

---

The next morning, he’s informed that he has to report to Yamamoto before his shift. It must be because of what happened yesterday, he realizes. The old man is pissed.

He drags himself into the office, where Yamamoto is (seemingly) calm, reading a book.

The old man smiles. “Ah, Kurosaki! Do sit. Why, you look quite uncomfortable. Are your concerns with the Hollowed yesterday? I hope your sisters were all right.”

Well, shit.

“Yeah, they were… Thanks.” Ichigo eyes the man across him, waiting for an explosion. “So… Rukia told you…?”

“Lady Rukia told me she dismissed you, yes. Oh dear, you thought I might be upset about that? Well, I suppose on any other occasion I might be quite angry.”

Ichigo shifts uncomfortably. “So… Why not this time?”

“Well, I suppose I never did properly explain Lady Rukia’s position in this place. Certainly, she is technically ranked above you--ranked above many generals, in fact--and so I cannot blame you for following her orders. How did you like her, by the way?”

“Well… I mean she’s… Quiet. But okay, I guess--”

“She can be quite quiet, you’re right. But I hope you’ll find she’s also very kind. Gentle. Clever, too.” Yamamoto raps his knuckles against his desk. “But she’s also rather frail. The soldiers that took her after you left go to her quarters quite often to escort her to the medical facilities. She runs through quite a number of tests and medicines there for her condition. She’s very smart and capable, yes; but also can suffer some… Sufferings in judgement. Sometimes she doesn’t know what’s the best for her, so a select few including myself make certain decisions for her. Does that make sense?”

Ichigo doesn’t think the girl he saw yesterday looked sick at all, let alone capable of being anything but a smartass brat--but he nods.

“So next time it happens that my lady gives an order that you’re not quite sure about, request my presence immediately and I’ll sort it out. I trust your judgement. In fact, I’ll be requesting meetings every few days to ask you about updates on her condition and such.”

“... So you’re asking me to spy on her?”

“Not at all! Just that she gets quite tired sometimes… You’ll see. I just want to know how she’s doing after her treatments, so we can get her the help she deserves.” Suddenly, the old man’s focal point shifts to somewhere past Ichigo. “Ah! Well, speak of some sort of devil. Ichigo, this is Lady Rukia’s older brother, Byakuya. He’s a captain within our military.”

Ichigo turns around to see a man with long black hair standing in the doorway, eyeing him coolly. He clumsily gets up, walking over while reaching out his hand. The guy looks like a complete douchebag, but an older brother deserves to know his sister’s taken care of. “Ichigo Kurosaki, it’s--”

“I know who you are, thank you.” Byakuya drifts past Ichigo’s outstretched hand, toward the seat where Ichigo was previously sitting.

All right. So he really is an asshole.

“Give Rukia my regards. Lord Yamamoto, I have some reports with you I’d like to discuss.”

“Of course. Kurosaki, you may go now.” And just like that (again!) it seems the Yamamoto forgets his existence.

Ichigo is just about to shut the door when the old man’s voice calls out.

“Oh, and Kurosaki?”

He holds the door, waiting.

“I understand some--including Lady Rukia--warned you against being in her quarters with her, past the screen. This is one of the occasions I’d like you to ignore her order.”

Ichigo looks back inside at Yamamoto. “Um… I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that. Not if she isn’t.”

“Of course, completely understandable. But if she ever relays a sense of danger in being there… Worry not. There is none.”

Ichigo shuts the door.

He’s not about to go into some girl’s room without her wanting him there.

#ichiruki #bleach #ichigo kurosaki #rukia kuchiki #my stuff #hollowed

43 notes · View notes

hot-wiings · 4 years

Text

Requested By: Wattpad User

Warning: Sex, Cock-Warming?

Edited: 2-19-20

Tip Jar

Pink toes press against the carpet. Show your face and finish what you started. The record spins down the alley, late night. Be my friend, surround me like a satellite. Tiger on the prowl. East of Eden. Coming for you now. Keep me from the cages under the control. Running in the dark to find East of Eden. Keep me from the cages under the control. Running in the dark to find East of Eden. To find east of Eden (oh-oh-oh-oh-oh). Call me wild, drinking up the sunshine.

You tried to glare at Shouto as he sat on the couch across from you. You tried but it was hard. This wasn't his fault, he was just as innocent as you in this. His father? Oh, it was easy to glare at his father, it as entirely his fault.

“[Y/N] don't glare, it's not ladylike.”

Your glare turned from Enji Todoroki to your mother. Right now you hated her just as much as Enji.

“You've sprung a fucking arranged marriage on me. I have the right to glare.”

Your mother rolls her eyes at you as she stirs her tea, completely unbothered that such a drastic life change upset you. She was annoyed with you for getting upset but she didn't have the right. You were being married off, not her. You were being married off, so yes, you deserved the right to be annoyed, upset, angry, and sad.

“Honestly [Y/N], you should have expected this was coming. We've been business partners for so long, it only makes sense that we would marry off our children with such compatible quirks.”

She wasn't even acting like you were a person with feelings. To your mother, you were just another business deal. You weren't her daughter but rather her pawn on her personal chessboard.

“I don't want to marry Shouto!”

You bite down on your lip, sorry that Shouto had to hear you disagree with marrying him, but you doubted he even wanted to marry you. He had sat quietly during the whole ordeal, to scared to speak up to his father and object.

“What you want doesn't matter! You and Shouto have known each other for a long time and you go to school together, not to mention you have compatible quirks. This deal was set in stone a long time ago. You will go through with it.”

“Shouto has no issue with it.”

Enji wasn't asking Shoto but rather stating he had to do it. That's how it was in strict rich families.

You huff and clench your jaw. You know it’s bad for your teeth, but you were seriously mad at your parents for setting this up, and at Shouto for being too cowardly to stand up to his father like you were to your mother.

You spring to your feet and stomp past your mother, nearly knocking into her. You grab your bag, swing it over your shoulder and make your way to the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Back to my dorm. You’re perfectly capable of smoothing out this business deal without me being here, it’s not like you listen to anything I say. Been that way since I was a kid, why stop now?”

This was why you hated coming home from UA.

Be my man and show me what it feels like. Show me what it feels like. Denim sky. Unbuttoned down the middle. Spilling out little by little. Tiger on the prowl. East of Eden. Coming for you now. Keep me from the cages under the control. Running in the dark to find East of Eden. Keep me from the cages under the control. Running in the dark to find East of Eden. To find east of Eden (oh-oh-oh-oh-oh). If I wanted to stay. You don’t mind, you’re a true believer.

You huffed and paced around your dorm room while your boyfriend, Katsuki watched you with lazy eyes from his spot on your bed.

“I don't get why you're so fucking worked up about this, just don't do it.”

“You don't understand! I have to do it. She's planning the wedding for while I'm under eighteen, I won't have a choice, and she's rich so it's easy to bend the law in her advantage.”

You plopped your butt down on your bed. It probably looked very unattractive, but you didn't care how you looked in front of Katsuki. With Katsuki you could unwind without the worry of being prim and proper like your mother said you had to be.

With Katsuki you didn't have to act as a perfect glass doll. You could be rough, harsh, and say all the volatile words you wanted too. Katsuki was your precious secret. A secret you hid from everyone you knew because if he became public knowledge your mother would rip him away.

“I could kill that dual-colored bastard for you.”

“You can't kill Shouto for me.”

You laid back on your bed and rolled over to face Katsuki. You were stressed and upset, yet his words found a way to make a smile appear on your face.

“I don't think he even wants to marry me.”

Your words were quiet and murmured out. Katsuki, the rough asshole, had somehow managed to make you calm.

“I think I have an idea that will fucking work... But you might not like it.”

“What is it?”

Katsuki was hesitant to say it. You could tell by his pink cheeks and silence that he was embarrassed. You brought your hand up and placed it on Katsuki’s cheek.

“You can tell me Kacchan. Don't be embarrassed-”

“Let me get you pregnant.”

“W-What? We’ve only been dating a few months.”

You withdrew your hand as your cheeks turned a bright red. You moved from your position so you were sitting back on the edge of the bed instead of laying with Katsuki.

“Icy-Hot bastard’s dad is a conceited I’m-Better-Than-Everyone-Else-Asshole, right? So he would call off the marriage if his son's fiance was pregnant with someone else's child.”

“Katsuki, you’re talking about putting a baby inside me. A literal baby. It cries and wears diapers.”

“I know what a fucking baby is. Your parents are rich, mine might not be as liquid, but my parents are designers, we're pretty fucking loaded. Plus we graduate in a few weeks.”

“Okay, so we’re financially okay. But a baby... It has to be raised.”

Katsuki gets off the bed and kneels in front of you from where you sat on the edge of the bed. He grabs your hands and stares into your eyes.

“I’d help you raise them. You could be a great mother, and I would take care of you.”

You let out a shaky breath as you thought it over. You wouldn't let your mother keep you in her cage. Really, if you married Shouto, Enji would force you to get pregnant anyway.

“Okay, Kacchan.”

You move your fingers over the buttons on your school uniform and start to take your top off. You nod your head at Katsuki with a smile.

“Okay, Kacchan. Put a baby inside me.”

Katsuki pushes your back flat against the bed. He pushes your school skirt up and places your right leg on his shoulder. He leaves a trail of kisses up your left thigh to your core.

Katsuki watches your face as he pushes your undies to the side. He watches you for any sign of discomfort or any sign that you no longer want this. A sign you no longer want him. This was your first time together and he wanted you as comfortable as possible.

He dips his finger into your core. He goes slow, careful not to hurt you despite you being moist and wet enough for it to easily go in. His thumb brushes your clit to tease you, making more juice pool by his hand.

“Kacchan!”

“Fuck- Do you know what it does to me when you call me that?”

Katsuki inserts another finger and pumps your core with his hand. The sloshing sound of his fingers mixing with your juice could be heard throughout the room.

“Do you know how many boners I've had to hide?”

Katsuki withdraws his fingers from your core leaving you aching for something to replace them.

“Kacchan... I need you.”

“So pretty and eager.”

Katsuki undoes his belt, then he pulls his pants and boxers down. He grabs his protruding member and pushed it against the entrance of your core. Once again, he looks up at you for approval.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

Katsuki pulls your hips against him, pushing his member further inside you. He went fast, like ripping off a bandaid. He bites his lip in worry as he sees your face contort in pain.

“You can move now.”

Katsuki pulls his hips back and snaps them forward making you moan out for him.

“I can fuck you so much better than Shouto could.”

“Oh- fuck- Kacchan!”

“Ung- I’m gonna fuck a baby in you.”

“Kacchan- Faster!”

Katsuki grabs your hips harder and slams you into him. Every thrust into you sent you both into a wave on wanton.

“I bet I can make you more pregnant than Shouto ever could!”

Your hand comes up and grabs onto Katsuki’s thick shoulders, pulling you closer to each of his thrusts and making him humps into you harder.

“Kacchan. I'm going to-”

“Cum. Cum for me.”

Your legs spaz and tighten around him as you come undone underneath him. You look him in the eyes, breathlessly.

“Baby, I’m going to cum inside you.”

“Do it! Put a baby inside me Kacchan.”

Katsuki shoots his warm load inside you. He pulls your hips tight against his and leaves you like that, sure to get every drop of his cum inside you.

“Was I... Was I good?”

Tired, you smile at Katsuki. You’d never seen him so insecure, and uncertain. You make sure to quash any doubts he might have had.

“Very much, you were very good. Was I though...? I know I scratched your back. It didn't hurt did it?”

“No, I enjoyed it. It was better than I ever imagined it would be.”

“Do you... Do you love me?”

Katsuki pulls out of you and lays on your bed. He pulls your body closer to him and covers you up with the sheet.

“I’m in love with you [Y/N]... Why else would I say I’d get you pregnant, you idiot. Do you feel the same?”

You rest your head against Katsuki’s chest. He was warm, it was why he was such a good cuddler.

“I let you intentionally put a baby inside me... I’m in love with you too, you idiot.”

“Normal couples say I love you for the first time over a date, it took us an arranged marriage.”

You bring Katsuki’s hand to your stomach which hopefully had a baby growing.

“It’ll be a story to tell our kid one day.”

“Not if it’s a girl. I don't want her thinking sex can solve her issues. She won't be allowed to have sex.”

“We’re not even sure I'm pregnant yet and you're already getting protective.”

Maybe it made you a whore, but you didn't care. You were happy and relieved you could escape your mother and this arranged marriage. You were happy you could be with Katsuki.

Take it up with the badlands. Creep on in like a concrete fever. If I wanted to stay. You don’t mind, you’re a true believer (true believer). Take it up with the badlands. Creep on in like a concrete fever. Keep me from the cages under the control. Running in the dark to find East of Eden. Keep me from the cages under the control. Running in the dark to find East of Eden. To find east of Eden (oh-oh-oh-oh-oh).

Shouto smiled at you as you took a seat next to him. Your mother and you were supposed to meet with him and his father to go over details for the wedding. You smiled back at Shouto and he could feel his heart skip a beat.

Over the years you and Shouto had been friends. With your parents being business partners you had known each other through business meetings and social events.

You'd grown to know each other over the years. While you grew to love Shouto as a best friend, he grew to love you in the way a lover would. He loved you the way a lover would but you were too oblivious to see it.

“I solved our little arranged marriage problem.”

The words that you sang out with glee broke his heart. To Shouto, the arranged marriage was never a problem. It wasn't an issue for him. he wanted to marry you, he wanted to love you, he wanted to create a family with you, but you didn't want him.

“Oh. What did you do?”

“Let's just say, I found a loophole and there's no way your father will ever want me to marry you.”

Shouto didn't care what his father wanted. Shouto wanted you regardless.

“There's something I need to tell you.”

Shouto took a deep breath. He was prepared to tell you about his feelings. He was going to tell you that he loved you. He was going to tell you that he wasn't opposed to the idea of this arranged marriage. He was going to tell you, that was until your parents walked in and you broke his heart.

“We're all here, let's go over the details.”

“Actually I have something to say that might affect some wedding details.”

You reached into your purse and pulled out your pregnancy test along with medical papers that stated the legitimacy of your pregnancy and who the father is.

“I’m pregnant, it's not Shouto’s. So, you'll probably need to set the wedding date for at least nine months. Of course, that is if you even want to proceed with a wedding.”

You gave the medical test papers to Enji and your mother then sat back with a coy smile.

“You whore! You’re promised to my son! Did you know about this?”

Your mother looked at you ashamed and horrified.

“No, if I had known I would have forced her to abort. We can still force her.”

“No! she’s already humiliated and made a fool out of my family. I want you and your slut of a daughter out of my home!”

You picked up your bag and left the Todoroki household but Shouto followed you to the door.

“Are you really pregnant?”

“Yeah.”

“Why would you get pregnant! You have a career ahead of you, a life. Is being married to me that bad that you had to whore yourself out to someone?”

“Why are you upset? We both didn't want this and it's not like you were standing up to your father about it.”

“Did it ever occur to you that I didn't stand up to him because I really did want to marry you?”

Shouto looked so sad as he stared at. His eyes looked tearful and glossy.

“No... You can't marry me because you don't love me.”

“I love you! I've always loved you! That should be my baby, you should be mine.”

Your heart ached as you looked at Shouto’s distressed face.

“I’m sorry Shouto... I've been dating Katsuki, and this is his child.”

“No... You can’t love him! You have to love me, please...”

You turn your back on Shouto and his tears. You turn away from Shouto and his heart that you so callously tossed aside.

“I can’t... I can't love you... I don't want you, I don't want this life.”

You slam the door behind you as you exit Shouto's home, leaving him to his own self-pity and heartbreak. He lost to Katsuki once again. This time the prize was better than a sports festival medal, this time he lost your heart. He lost his best friend and the love of his life to his rival.

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latent-thoughts · 4 years

Text

I Will Always Test You (Chapter 2 - The Proposition)

[Co-Authored with @emeraldrosequartz]

Rating : 18+ (there be lots of citrus here; kinks galore).

Warning: Forced Marriage; Dubious Consent; Nonconsent Touching; Use of strong language and terms.

Pairing: Loki/Original Female Character

Summary: Loki and Iona Trygvedottir have never gotten along. She is a headstrong lady-in-waiting to Queen Frigga, and Loki is… well, Loki. The simmering animosity between them begins to boil when Frigga chooses her to make regular visits to Loki in the dungeons, bringing him luxury foods and items of interest. She takes the opportunity to give him a piece of her mind. Meanwhile, he’s set on paying her back for all the insults and slights she insisted on lobbing at him while he was locked up - in the most vindictive way possible.

[Thor: The Dark World AU; No Ragnarok; Enemies to Lovers, Arranged Marriage]

A/N: Loki is now the Allfather, and Iona knows that she's in trouble. But not the kind of trouble she had expected.

[PREVIOUS CHAPTER] Ch-1 [NEXT CHAPTER]

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IMPORTANT NOTES:

Bold Text = Loki’s POV

Normal Text = Iona’s POV

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Iona paced about in her chambers, awaiting a reply from the queen. She had sent her a small missive this morn, asking after her wellbeing. It was really an opening for more interaction that she had sought, but the queen hadn’t bitten.

After the Allfather had fallen during the first Dark Elf attack, the Allmother had been grief stricken and near inconsolable. Hence, she had secluded herself in mourning after King Odin's funeral, refusing to see anyone but her eldest handmaid or her sons.

Now, the kingdom was in a flux. Against all expectations, Thor had abdicated. And that left only one person to ascend to the throne of Asgard--Loki.

Never in her life had Iona expected this to happen. Yes, Loki had been king regent for a short few days, but no one had expected it to last. It didn't last.

Now, he was king by succession, pardoned by Thor before he had renounced the throne. It all reeked of a deep conspiracy, but how could Iona blame Thor in all of this? He was supposed to be noble hearted, he wouldn't put someone ruthless and unkind on the throne, would he?

The answer was uncertain, and hence, Iona was plagued by anxiety. More so for herself than for all of Asgard... for Loki was sure to make her a target of his ire.

She had certainly spent the last one year pulling the tail of a caged tiger, assuming that she was at a safe distance. Now, that tiger was free, prowling all over the throne of Asgard and possibly looking for his vengeance against her.

For a bit, she entertained the thoughts of going back home to her family estate. But there, she was sure to be pressured into marrying some craggy old man of riches. Her mother would not let her live it down that she couldn't secure the hand of prince Thor. It'd be an embarrassment.

No, she couldn't go back home. Not right now. Her only hope was that she'd be able to convince the queen to relieve her from her duties. That would allow her to leave Asgard altogether, and put some distance between her and Loki.

She needed that to happen soon... for she knew that whenever Loki saw her next, he was going to torment her somehow…

Her restless thoughts were interrupted by a respectful knock on the door of her chambers.

“Lady Iona?” a small, rather mousy female voice asked from behind the closed threshold. “His majesty, King Loki, has requested your presence in the throne room. I’ve been sent to escort you.”

Iona stiffened, almost wanting to run to the bifrost instead of heading to the throne room.

The wretch didn't even give her the grace and courtesy to come on her own. No, he had to send someone to make sure that she immediately heeded his command.

Clenching her fists, she opened the door and nodded to the servant.

"I'm ready."

She was most certainly not ready.

Finally, when they reached the entrance to the throne room, the servant took her leave and left her alone. Alone to face Loki…

With her heart in her mouth, Iona stepped inside the throne room, trying her best to keep up her facade of noble sangfroid.

Loki leaned back on the throne.

HIS throne. He leaned back on HIS throne.

He held HIS Gungnir, in HIS throne room. In HIS palace.

And he watched Iona like a predator as she walked through the massive doors into the enormous empty hall, her footsteps echoing throughout the chamber. He didn’t speak until she was at the foot of the golden dais, bowing to him in deference.

“My dear Iona. Please, stand.” His voice dripped with sadistic delight.

The familiarity with which he spoke her name made her shiver with dread. She didn't like the tone of his voice either--so conceited.

He was most definitely mocking her, sarcasm flowing like a brook from his notorious silvertongue.

She rose and stared up at him, clutching her hands together, trying to appear unperturbed. Her heart, however, fluttered against her chest like a hummingbird.

"Your majesty, I was told that you wished to see me. I'm curious as to what purpose I can serve for you."

She tried her best to keep the sarcasm from dripping into her voice. That wouldn't do. She had to tread carefully, for Loki now literally had the power to make her life utterly miserable.

Loki huffed a chuckle and sat upright, leaning his weight on the arm of the throne as his fingers slowly twirled the golden staff in his hand.

“Yes...you’ve always been a curious little thing, haven’t you? I do so love curiosity. It makes life that much more interesting, wouldn’t you agree?”

His words confused her, and hence, she stared at him blankly.

"I... well, yes. There would be no progress without curiosity, sire," she stated in agreement, a bit hesitant as she saw a wicked smirk forming on his lips.

Oh she hated it when he smirked like that. That expression was the harbinger of trouble.

She watched him apprehensively as he lifted the Gungnir slightly, pointing it in her direction. She knew that he could very well kill her in that moment, and it made her knees wobbly with fear.

However, he didn’t use the power of the magical staff against her. He simply placed it right next to the throne. It stood upright on its own, glinting in the bright firelight of the room, looking like a silent observer of their tense interaction as Loki opened his mouth to speak again.

“And would you also agree,” he said as he stood and began walking down the stairs toward her, gaze locked onto hers, “that, given this curious turn of events, you might find yourself in a position to be especially accommodating to the newly crowned Allfather of the Nine Realms? Perhaps a touch remorseful for past slights?”

He stood in front of her, still several steps up, which gave him a significant height advantage. The horns and full formal royal garb added a great deal of gravitas and--he knew--intimidation to his stance.

"What?" she squeaked, embarrassingly high pitched and nearly shrill.

In all honesty, his words terrified her. What sort of accommodation did he want from her? For a moment, her thoughts were filled with the possibilities of turning a noble into a thrall. It wasn’t impossible for the king of the Nine Realms to do so, no matter how shocking or unheard of...

Forcing her composure back somehow, she cleared her throat and tried to speak again.

"I do not understand, your majesty. If it is my apology that you seek, then I will give it to you with the utmost respect and depth of sentiment. I deeply regret causing you any distress with my conduct in the past."

She even clutched her heart in a show of humility and remorse, dearly hoping that he’d buy it.

“Mhm...” he hummed as he closed the distance between them in a few long steps. He reached down and gently lifted her chin with his knuckle, staring down into her amber eyes. “I forgive you, dear Iona. For all the spite you showed me while I was imprisoned. For every unkind word you spoke behind my back. For all the gossip you started and propagated at my expense. I forgive you for all of it.”

He bent down and gently kissed her forehead, holding her chin up firmly with his hand. When he pulled back, his eyes danced with mischief.

“And now that we’ve moved on from that dreadful part of our history, I have a proposition for you. One I’m fairly certain you’ll be unwilling to refuse...”

Iona desperately wanted to take several steps back to escape him. But it would be an insult to the throne and the Allfather, and she couldn't afford to make that kind of a social gaffe. Already, she was in so much trouble...

His lips on her skin... Norns, she did not like how they made her nearly jump out of her skin.

"Sire, I'm in no position to take up another job while I'm serving the queen," she explained hurriedly, hoping that the mention of the queen would stop him in his tracks. "I'm bound by my duties."

Loki just laughed darkly and shook his head. “My dear, I’ve already spoken with the queen. She is delighted to release you from her service for this… unique opportunity. And your parents are positively thrilled...”

With one final grin that made it seem like his dark mirth might bubble over into a genuine evil laugh...he bent down on one knee.

“Iona...” he said, his voice gravel and silk all at once. “Beautiful, faithful, loyal Iona...”

When he looked back up at her, it was decidedly NOT a look of love or affection. His face was lit with nothing more than mischievous glee and long-awaited vengeance.

“Be my wife… my queen.”

Iona stumbled back, eyes wide and disbelieving. Loki despised her. His spite for her was so clear in his eyes right now. What was he trying to achieve by proposing marriage to her?

"Wha-" she croaked, unable to even form a full word in her shock.

This was a nightmare. It couldn't be anything else. Why else would Loki be doing this?

What trick of his was this?

For a moment, she felt light-headed, and she feared that she'd faint. She had to take a few deep breaths to remain stable on her feet. Fainting in front of the cruel king would only add to her woes.

"Is this some kind of..." She broke off mid-sentence, taking another deep, fortifying breath. Her heart was thudding against her chest. "Are you making a jest?"

That last question came out, despite her best efforts, as a shriek.

In mock offense, Loki brought an open hand to his heart in a gesture of wounding.

“Iona! Surely you don’t believe that I, the Allfather, would jest about something as important as selection the next Queen of the Nine Realms? I’ve always admired you - I said as much when you so graciously visited me in secret while I was in the dungeons. And I would love nothing more than to have you by my side. The time I spent locked up gave me such an appreciation for your beauty, your grace, your talents… and your discretion.”

He smirked again as he stood, and took her hands in his. Everything in his body language was genuine. Everything in his expression was malignant.

“And now we can be together… forever.”

Iona stared at his hands gripping hers, certain that they'd soon turn into coiling snakes. They certainly felt like manacles. His grip was a vice, strong and unrelenting, and she couldn't pull out of his hands at all.

"Sire," she gasped, shaking her head. "I..."

Swallowing thickly, she tried to gather her thoughts. They had all been scattered all over the Yggdrasil, it seemed.

And the absolutely menacing look in his eyes wasn't doing anything for her poor, overworked heart. This was most definitely a trick, but she didn't know what exactly he was planning to do here.

She couldn't reject his proposition either; no one rejected a proposition from the king. Not without a great and potent reason. She had no pretext for a refusal.

"I... I need time to think about it, sire," she finally managed to say, her voice trembling with the effort.

Loki looked at her with a closed-lip smile, like an adult watching a child about to throw a tantrum. That was to say, smugly and degradingly.

“There’s nothing to think about, Iona. Your parents have already approved. In fact, they’ll be here tomorrow evening for our betrothal ceremony.”

Loki revelled in the thrill bursting in his chest. Even though he was planning to make her life less than savoury, she was the perfect solution for some of his problems--none of the other kingdoms would try to foist their eligible daughters at him in hopes of garnering some political alliance; no need to go through the tedious social gatherings that preluded royal courtships.

Iona was of… acceptable noble heritage. And the story he had told her parents about how he had fallen in love with her during his imprisonment, with a twinkling tear tracking down his face at the sheer emotion he felt for her… ah, it was a delight to watch them take the bait, leaving her to him with hardly a question. After all, they had always aligned with the royal family in the past, in the hopes of getting close to them. Now was their golden chance...

Loki reached up and ever so gently stroked her cheek, practically daring her to move away from it.

“You will make a most beautiful bride, my dear.”

She closed her eyes as he stroked her cheek, her mind nearly swimming in different, scattered directions in order to escape reality.

"Why?" she whispered, feeling so helpless. "Why are you doing this?"

He waited until she opened her eyes, then brushed away the tears that began to fall down her cheeks. “Because I love you, Iona. Why else would I be doing this?”

With that, he bent down and planted the most gentle kiss on her lips, lifting her face with his hand to meet his.

A shiver ran down her spine as he pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was gentle, sensual even, but she knew that the intent behind it wasn't. Still, his lips were surprisingly soft, and her body reacted to them before she could tell it not to.

Her hand came up to rest against his chest, his armour cold against her skin. Weakly, she clawed against that armour in whatever defiance she could muster. It was all that she could do to protest…

Oh, how easily he could lie. She wondered if he had lied to the queen too--his own mother. Was there any line that he was not willing to cross to get his revenge?

Slowly, she tried to pull away from him, to break the kiss.

He didn’t let her.

Loki deepened their kiss, even moaning in pleasure as he slid his tongue between her lips and began to partake in the sweetness of her mouth. This wasn’t the eagerness of a passionate lover here--it was dominating, controlling, overpowering… and it obviously wasn’t going to stop at mere kissing.

He practically lifted her off the floor as he pulled her close, taking her mouth with all the skill of a great warrior and the ferocity of a predatory animal.

Iona was well and truly afraid now... of what he was doing, or what more he might be planning on doing.

She now had both of her hands against his chest, pushing against it with great effort. Loki, however, was not budging even a bit. His tongue stroked hers repeatedly, making her gasp and squirm at the sensation. It was all very feral and dark, and she wasn't prepared for it at all.

When he lifted her off the floor, she began to panic.

Turning her face away from him, she pried her mouth from his, at last, taking a deep breath to fill her lungs.

"Let me go," she mumbled weakly, her voice unsteady. "What are you doing?"

Loki stopped, but did not let her go. He kept her close to him, feeling her supple little body trembling against his chest. The feel of it was maddening… how long had it been since he had enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh? He allowed himself a moment to indulge in it, taking a long, deep, shuddering breath.

By the time he looked back into her eyes, he was fully in control.

“Iona, I’m giving you everything you’ve ever wanted. A life of royalty. Status. A crown. THE crown, my dear--Queen of Asgard, Allmother of the Nine Realms. You will never be called a mere lady again; you will never lift a finger in service to another… except me, of course.” He grinned at her, feeling her breath on his face. It was intoxicating, this rush of power and triumph. His hands began sliding around her waist then, tickling her skin through the soft fabric of her dress. “And I ask for so little in return...”

"You've never been so benevolent to me," she said in a small voice, wiggling against him as he slid his hands around her waist.

Despite her misgivings, his words were beginning to affect her. All of what he had just mentioned, she had wanted. She had been groomed to want it.

How could she resist such a great temptation?

Norns, because he was most certainly going to do something unsavoury to her…

Yes, she had wanted the crown, the luxuries...all of it, but she hadn't imagined it all with Loki as her king and lord husband.

"I've never been kind to you. You want s-someone who loves you back, don't you?" she asked, looking at him with wide, silently pleading eyes.

With a simpering grin, he put his forehead against hers.

“But my dear… you already do.”

He slowly lowered her to her feet, then took her hand and began leading her up the stairs of the golden dais… towards the throne.

“All that past unkindness was simply your way of trying to process your feelings for me. I understand now, darling. At first, I was greatly insulted--and perhaps I did not react in the most becoming manner. But I see now what your actions truly meant, and with that knowledge I find my own feelings for you are too strong to ignore.”

The words came so easily, like pouring water from a carafe.

They reached the top of the dais, and he pulled her to the throne, seating her on the wide armrest. “Now that we have both realized how much we care for each other, all that is left for us is to marry and lead the Nine Realms. As spouses. As lovers. As everything we need to be… for the people.” He smirked again, his emerald eyes burrowing into her soul, watching her as she struggled to resist his inveigling.

“I love you, Iona. And all you must do is love me in return.”

That was the facade of their bargain. And he knew that she was hungry enough for the title of the Allmother to accept it.

Iona felt so utterly vulnerable, with nothing protecting her from Loki’s clutches now. Her parents had consented, the queen had consented... no doubt moved by his smooth lies.

He was so good with the lies that she herself was getting pulled into his charm, little by little. It was akin to slipping into quicksand.

Oh, but the thought of being with him constantly... of being in his bed as his dutiful wife… was a daunting, intimidating thing. She didn't know if she'd be able to handle him.

But... did she even have a choice?

All she was expected to do was to accept this ‘great honour’ graciously. Not one person had thought to ask her first--or even tell her, for that matter. Her fate had been sealed without her consent or knowledge.

What else could she do but accept it with grace?

It wasn’t even that bad, was it? She’d be the queen of Asgard, after all. The Allmother. She’d get to have her own powers...

Swallowing thickly, she looked up into his brilliant green eyes and nodded slightly, silently begging the Norns to show her some mercy.

"I'll... I'll try my best, sire."

With a victorious grin, he took her in his arms and moved her onto the seat of the throne, insinuating himself between her suddenly spread her legs. He was absolutely sure that she could feel his raging hard manhood pressing against her most intimate parts, their clothes the only barrier between them.

“There’s my good girl...” he purred as he reached down, gathering the fabric of her dress and pulling it upward toward her waist. “Now...show me how grateful you are.”

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#Loki fanfiction #Loki fanfic #IWATY Chapter 2 #IWATY #Loki/OFC #Loki/Original Female Character #Loki x OFC #romance #humor #adventure #enemies to lovers #arranged marriage #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #Loki

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taephorian · 4 years

Text

Lost and Crying

♡ pairings: jimin x reader

彡 genre: angst, fluff

★ word count: 3.2k

⚠ warnings: mentions of cyber bullying and some triggering words

summary: when you return home crying, jimin comforts you

1:35AM, the clock on your phone reads, your watery eyes reflecting the intense and luminous light from the screen. The sky has turned pitch black and the stars have come as if to welcome everyone back to these hours of comfort and relaxation. Fogs form by the cold weather soften the hard lines of buildings and diffuse the orange glow of sodium-vapor street lamps.

Despite the bitterly cold weather, you are still dragging your feet along the deserted streets, trudging home with heavy footsteps with no intention to reach your destination any time soon. You are clad in a t-shirt under a sweater with a thick navy green winter jacket on top of the white material. However, the large amount of layers do not prove effective at all.

Your defined nose has turned blobby red overtime and your lips are parched and swollen from being in the cold for too long. Your constant sniffles break the silence of the night city. Nothing is going your way today.

The "wonderful" friend of yours has posted fabricated rumours along with malicious comments on a number of social media platforms about you. Everything about you sleeping with guys for money is all a sham, but no one chose to believe you. Whatever that has triggered her to do this, you have no idea. Just the thought of losing more friends shatters your heart. Who are you going to gossip and hang out with now?

Multiple notifications cause your phone to vibrate, but you refuse to check them. You solely assume that they are just comments calling you "slut", "bitch", and "ugly". Giving the power button a long press, you power off your mobile, not wanting to get wounded even further. All you want is to make amazing friends, go on amazing shopping sprees and amazing dates with them. But by the looks of it, none of these are possible anymore.

Tears in your eyes are filled to the brim but you are not willing to let it fall. You have to stay strong. You can not let this get to you. The only part you are at fault is when you decided to make friends with the wrong people — people who frames the innocent. Shivering from the chilly atmosphere, you hope that the boys are all asleep by the time you reach home.

1:58AM, the clock hanging on the grey bedroom wall reads. The boys are all in deep slumber, the perfect weather lulling them to dreamland. The day has been incredibly long and exhausting for them — 12 hours of strenuous practice and recording have finally taken a huge toll on them. All the lights in the two-storey apartment are off except for Jimin's room.

The orange glow of the lamp beside his bed illuminates the whole room. Jimin has been tossing and turning for the past hour, unable to let sleep take over him. The softness and coziness of the white silken mattress are usually the hidden solutions for him to be able to fall asleep right away, but none of those are helping his current situation.

He hates that the night is so unusually silent that the sound of him anxiously typing away on the keyboard of his mobile phone is the only noise he is able to hear. The empty feeling in his heart sink heavier and heavier as the minute hand of the clock ticks by. Where the hell are you?

Only a couple of hours ago did you inform the boys by texting them that you were going out for dinner with your friends, and Jimin was almost reluctant to let you go, because who the hell goes for dinner at 9.30PM? But being your good friend for many years, he knew better than anyone to let it slide just this once.

He has seen you overworking yourself for the past couple of weeks and he thought that it was a good idea for you to get some fresh air and have fun with your friends. He should have known better though, when he saw the unwashed dishes in the kitchen basin, signifying that you have had your dinner before going out. He simply shrugged it off, thinking that you lied to him purely because you did not want him to worry.

Regret flashes Jimin's eyes as he rubs his concerned face with sweaty palms. He should have contacted you right away when he knew you are not out for dinner. Now that you are neither replying to his messages nor answering his calls, Jimin is not able to help but think of unpleasant possibilities of what might have happened to you.

It has been more than two hours past midnight, but all the text messages, "Where are you?", "Please answer my call," are all left unread by you. Should he be more worried about the reason you lied to him or about the fact that you are not home yet? You have never come home so late before without making it known to at least one of the boys. You do not like to make them worry.

As much as Jimin desires to wake the boys up to check whether you have contacted them, he is thoughtful enough to consider their feelings. He knows that none of them yearns to be stirred up in the middle of a Friday night after a fatiguing day. They have to make good use of this well -deserved rest time.

He can never just sleep it off like this is nothing, because this — you going missing at two in the morning — is definitely not nothing. Should he go out in the chilly weather just to find you? At two in the morning? He can feel the anxiety that is beginning to spread within him as he gets to his feet before pacing back and forth like a caged tiger.

Lifting up his right hand only to run them along his locks for the umpteenth time, his left hand remains on his hips. The hand originally on his hair is brought down to rest on the closet beside him when he leans towards it. It is quite surprising that none of the boys has woken up yet based on how loud Jimin's thoughts are.

Basically, he craves nothing more than you in his arms, completely safe and sound...

Jimin has never and does not want to doubt his hearing. However, when the sound of someone pressing on the keypad lock can be heard, he cannot help but question if he heard it incorrectly. Are you finally home after another excruciating thirty minutes of him panicking in the living room? Are you actually back?

Rising from his position on the grey leather sofa, Jimin watches the front door being pushed open ever so slowly…

Behind the door reveals the silhouette of a brunette girl, her delicate hands clutching tightly on to her phone. You warily take a step in the house before closing the door behind you gently. The lights in the living room are off so you assume that the boys should all be asleep by now, therefore you have to be quiet. You do not want them to wake up and see your face — pale and dull, with a lack of colour.

The actual reason for the unlit living room is because; one, Jimin does not want to wake the boys up; two, he is lazy and was busy panicking. The sound of clear shuffling of footsteps that are definitely not yours results in you freezing on the spot after putting your phone down on the dining table.

Twirling your head around to find out the source of the noises, you can barely make out a dark figure with your watery eyes. Jimin's figure emerges in front of you as you take in the sight of his grave expression and his silver hair that has been dishevelled by running his hand through it numerous times.

He gives you a complete once-over, scanning your body for any injuries or cuts with his eyes that are laced with worry. Studying from your quivering pink lips to the three layers of clothing that cling to you but still unable to keep your shivering form warm, his eyes met yours — your broken ones.

Your eyes are still the same as Jimin perceived it the previous time — captivatingly beautiful and pretty, hopes and dreams, young and deep…

No, they are a little different this time. You think you can simply get away with the salty tears in your sparkling eyes? Jimin has been your friends for ages, and he can see through you like a piece of paper without any struggling. He notices every time you are either distressed or troubled, and nothing can and will stop him from approaching you to talk about it.

Something about you is off; he can sense it.

A drop of tear and a pathetic sniffle from you is enough to bring Jimin back to his senses. You are weeping with tears spilling down your cheeks uncontrollably, and then you are sobbing as your breath shortens with a sudden expulsion.

No, stop. Stop it. Stop crying.

You are not supposed to cry. On the way back home, you had vowed to yourself not to let a single drop of tear escape, and now you have broken that promise. But what are you supposed to do other than shedding tears now that Jimin is in front of you, staring at you with eyes darting about in concern?

Quit making a fool of yourself and stop crying like a baby.

Maybe you will be able to, if Park Jimin did not just engulf you in a protective and comforting embrace; his left hand on the small of your back, and his right hand on the back of your head to pull you closer to his chest. His palm runs up and down your hair in an attempt to soothe you down, but you only break down even further.

Your arms gradually make its way around Jimin's waist as he let his chin rest on your shoulder that is trembling violently from your irregular draws of breath. It is more than just crying; it is the kind of helpless and uncontrollable sobbing that slips from your lips ceaselessly.

"What's wrong?" Jimin decides to raise the problem despite knowing well that you are not able to answer him at the moment. The pitch of his voice is lower and more hushed than usual, as if he is fearful that if he speaks any louder, you will shatter apart into small pieces.

With you being the only girl who has been living in the same house with the boys for longer than anyone can remember, it is no eye-opener that at least one of them — Jimin — has developed feelings for you. Having you, the girl whom he adores wholeheartedly, breaks down completely in front of him, makes his heart sting immensely. It unconditionally tears his heart to find you returning home in such an unpleasant state.

You cry infrequently in the presence of any of the boys as you usually keep most of your hardship to yourself. Even though Jimin has reminded you multiple times not to keep it to yourself and to look for him or the others whenever you need to rant or to get advice, he knows that this is a habit of yours and is tough to change.

With the sight of you failing to hold your sorrows in, Jimin recognises that the situation is definitely not the most ideal for you. The way you nuzzle your head up against his chest and the way your fingers grip tightly on to the black fabric of his t-shirt only makes him even more curious about the reason to the tears streaming down your face.

However, repentance and bitterness piqued when he grasps that he was not there for you when you needed him. He was too engaged with his over tiring job that he downright forgotten to check up on you to see how you have been doing.

He is incredibly infuriated at whoever disturbed you, and is more than prepared to square up to them. It does not matter if it is a small little girl or the buffest gangster with tattoos and well-developed muscles, Jimin will make sure to confront them so that you will never be hurt again.

The soft whimpers and tiny sniffles you create that escapes your lips only present you more vulnerably. This constantly gives rise to Jimin's will of protecting and taking care of you. He undoubtedly despises the need to see your pregnable condition. He is remarkably disgusted at those who tend to take advantage of your kind-hearted and selfless nature.

Jimin guides you towards the sofa by your hand and sits you down before patiently letting you cry it all out. The comforting and reassuring words that he whispers to you are beginning to alleviate your heavy heart and strong emotions. "It's okay, it's going to be alright", "I'm here, don't worry".

You profoundly value Jimin for being by your side even though he must be filled with fatigue after such a draining day for him. Although you are usually the type who keep their problems to themselves, you wish to let him know about what has happened as soon as possible. However, you are not able to compose yourself that quickly. "T-They… They H-hate me—"

"Shh…" Jimin hushes you as you distinctly have complications vocalising in between snivels. Hopelessly trying to hold back your tears, you focus on your natural breathing pattern as you attempt to inhale and exhale deeply.

He has never let go of you or left you alone from then on, only when he has to leave your side to grab a box of tissues. For the next twenty minutes, the silver-haired man has a tight grip of you and holds you as close as possible until you simmer down eventually.

Taking hold of a piece of tissue from the yellow box, he assists you in drying your salty tears, gently dabbing below your eyes. He changes the tissue every time the previous one is too damp, not minding getting his fingers a little wet if it is for you. Infinite amount of thoughts and possibilities about why you are so down-heartened floods his mind, but he holds his curiosity patiently, careful not to push you too much.

"Jimin…" You call hesitantly, making the concerned male fix his gaze on you. Responding with a soft hum, he waits for you to continue with a small encouraging smile plastered on his lips. He braces himself for what is going to come at him, hoping that nothing genuinely serious happened to you. But the next few words that falls from your mouth tells him otherwise.

"If someone tells you that I sleep with guys for money, would you believe it?" Your voice is hardly a whisper and is barely audible to Jimin, but you know that he has heard you because the movement of him wiping off your tears stops. The man who was so focused on cleaning your tears now has a frown that is quick to replace the smile that has dropped. His arm remains raised, tissue still in hand, but you become the centre of his attention.

"...What?"

That is the only word that Jimin is able to squeeze out from his throat. He is a at a bereft of speech, not able to bring himself to say anything more. He does not know what he is supposed to think or say. Sleeping with guys? For money? You? He ought to burst out laughing at your foolish joke, but with a glance at your firm and genuine face, he understands that this is more than just a jest.

You catch sight of Jimin's unreadable expression, his eyes boring into yours. Not able to hold his powerful gaze, you fix your eyes on your fingers that have been fidgeting from being too nervous. You gulp and bite your lips, hoping that he will not misunderstand and take this the wrong way. "You won't, right? Why do they all think it's true? It's so unfair—"

"Y/N, can you slow down? What's going on?" Jimin places the tissue on the table before settling his hands on your shoulders, rubbing them slowly in order to pacify you. He can tell you are getting particularly agitated and he needs you to regain your composure before getting more ruffled.

"It's just… It's so unfair that my best friend stabbed me on the back after so many years of friendship…" You go on to describe the situation you are in and show Jimin the distasteful comments on social media. Jimin observes the way your eyebrow creases when you get vexed and the way your pink lips form a small pout as you speak.

As much as he wants to aw at your adorable and lovable expressions, he does not have the mood to. He holds a tremendous disgust and abhorrence towards your friend's behaviour. The wet tears in your eyes that he see you hold back carries the misery and despair you have been concealing the past few hours.

Jimin feels like a sharp needle is starting to pierce through his chest and to making its way to his wavering heart. You did absolutely nothing to deserve all this. He scoffs at how ignorant your friend is that she is fully unenlightened about how amazing of a person you are. She is oblivious to the beauty that you contain inside and outside of you.

He incapable of believing how you managed to befriend someone so insensitive and heartless. Being undoubtedly positive about you deserving so much better and more, Jimin presents you a smile that reaches his eyes. It is not a smile that teases you, neither is it one that shows pity; it is a smile that gives genuine love and support.

Even though a tiny part of Jimin's heart pity you for all the complications you have gone through, he is firm about not showing that side of him. He is confident that not in any way do you require pity from anyone; what you ought to have is encouragement and reassurance. In this regard, you can have faith in yourself and trust that you have greater people in your life. This drawback point can also be something you remember your whole being to help you strengthen and enhance your mental resilience.

Tugging you back into his chest for another warm embrace, Jimin wraps his arms around your no longer quivering body. "You'll be fine", "You're worth so much more." Encouraging and motivating words spill from his plump lips once again, knowing that you need them now.

"Thank you… you know… for staying up with me." You speak, a broad smile plastered on your face.

And there it is, the smile that lights up the whole universe — the prettiest thing Jimin has ever seen in a long time. The smile that he misses and adores so much, and caused his heart to melt. It holds just the right amount of genuine sweetness and shyness that makes an unexpected warmth to rush through him.

"Trust me. You're beautiful, and don't you ever dare forget that."

END.

#bts #jimin #jungkook #taehyung #namjoon #hoseok #yoongi #jin #bts fanfiction #bts scenarios #angst #fluff #jimin x reader

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misstinfoilhat · 5 years

Text

Whumptober 2019 #15: Trembling/Adrenaline- Bungou Stray Dogs

I am seriously out of ideas. As I start to write this, I still have no idea what is going to be written on this page once I'm done.

(And now that it's done, I'm still not sure what this is. This was just me writing without any purpose, having no idea where it would go. I think you can see a pretty clear shift in the story- yay Hypomania!) If anybody has any requests, something they want to see, just a small scenario somewhere in some story, please don't hesitate to leave it in a comment/message (depending on where you read this). I really need something to work off of, because I'm empty. Something angsty, fluffy, funny, gory- whatever. I would like to keep writing Dazai-centric things for this, though. Today's prompt was supposed to be 'scars'. I am going to write that- but I'm not able to right now. I'm going to pick it up later. Instead, it's this mix between a prompt from the past and the future! (Even though they’re both technically from the past since I’m behind af.)

Whumpvember! -----

Some days, Dazai was able to take all he had lost with stride. It was in the past, a finished chapter that didn't need revisiting. There was nothing to do with it- what was written, was written.

Other days, days like today... that just wasn't an option.

Because these days, he felt haunted. As if the many ghosts from his past suddenly came up beside him and sucker-punched him in the gut, leaving him on the floor, heaving for air and trying to stagger back to his feet on his own.

Currently sitting on top of the tallest skyscraper in Yokohama, he let his feet dangle over the edge as he watched the city down there, moving on with their life without him.

They couldn't see him- didn't even know he existed up here. And he, he had no idea who they were.

Like ants, he imagined that he crushed them with the soles of his shoes, dipping them playfully in the air far above everyone, squishing them one by one- none ever the wiser.

He didn't care about these people. They didn't care about him. He hadn't even known that they existed until a few minutes ago. And they, wouldn't know that he ever existed at all before he plunged down, smashing onto the sidewalk in front of them like a watermelon.

Well, if he did. He wasn't sure anymore.

Sneaking up here, that had been the plan. But now, he wasn't sure if it would be the painless suicide that didn't inconvenience anyone that he wanted.

He had seen enough skulls crush to know that it was quite difficult to digest the first couple of times.

Filling his lungs with air and breathing it out slowly, he closed his eyes and tried to imagine a world where he wasn't used to seeing heads explode, while simultaneously realizing that he didn't want to be the reason another child woke up in panic, reliving the moment a stranger's body pulverized on the pavement in front of them for the rest of their life.

So, no. He wasn't going to jump. Not right now, at least. Maybe tomorrow, during school hours. There would be less children around to witness it then.

Except, the ADA had a mission tomorrow.

...phew, good thing he didn't die today, or else, his death would really be an inconvenience for everybody.

Especially Atsushi. It was the first mission where he had been given the lead- they were going to execute the tiger boy's game plan.

Dazai hummed humorously, thinking about the worry knitted between the kid's eyebrows, and the small drop of sweat trailing down his face when they got the mission and he was appointed to take the lead.

His strategy was... fine. It was no 'Shame and toad', or 'Footsteps of heat and haze', but it was... fine... totally fine.

...as long as he was there to do some patch-work, of course.

Dazai laid back, resting his head on his arms while looking up at the night sky. The clear, dark blue nothingness, filled with the small, pretty twinkling balls of luminous gas with nuclear fusion reactions in their cores.

...Also called stars.

Ten thousand year old lights shone above him, radiating from orbs that could live up to a billion years... and here, he was lying on the roof of a tall building, wanting to end his life after only twenty-two.

...mourning the life of people who were unable to live past much more than that. People who hadn't been ready to die. Good people. People he wished he could bring back.

He huffed out a bitter scoff, shifting and dragging his hands across his face wearily.

It was late, the wind was picking up and it was getting cold. His mind was going places it wasn't supposed to, so he should probably get back to the dorms.

Listlessly, he hosed himself up to a sitting position, retracting his feet from the edge and started to get up.

As he placed his weight on his heels, his left foot slipped on the ledge.

In a moment of confusion, he tilted slightly to the side, instinctively grabbing urgently for something to hold onto. The slight tilt of the roof didn't help at all. His inside contorted into a tight knot as he felt his back glide off the edge.

The world was moving in slow motion. He knew his only way to save himself from this all too ironic death would be if he somehow was able to grab onto the small edges of the rooftop.

What happened next only lasted for a couple of seconds, all though it felt like much longer.

Twisting his body slightly, he was able to grab onto the edge with his right arm, but the suddenly added burden of his body weight immediately jerked his shoulder out of its socket. A blinding, shooting pain traveled to the tips of his fingers that threatened to give out.

Dazai grit his teeth in agony and shut his eyes closed, forcing the hurt back with pure willpower, determined to get back up.

He kinda wished he had informed Atsushi about some of the holes in his plan- just... in case.

With the very last of his strength, he pushed his feet against the wall, using the momentum to fling his left arm up with no other option than having blind faith in his ability to catch a hold of anything.

A small sigh of relief forced its way through his body as he felt his hand touch the cool steel of the roof tiles. Scrambling his legs, trying his best not to slip, he was able to climb, painstakingly slowly, back up.

His heart was racing and he panted heavily, crawling a safe distance away from the slippery side, settling on his back while gripping his injured shoulder tightly.

His whole body was trembling from the rush of adrenaline, and he knew he had to get down from there and (reluctantly admitting to himself that he also had to) visit Yosano to help him set the shoulder back. Usually when he tried to do it himself, he would screw up so many times that he eventually ended up passing out- Mori had dislocated his shoulder and made him try to set it back so many times (it was a good way of breaking out of hand cuffs or tight ropes), that he was almost used to it by now.

He knew he would be able to do it eventually, but just the thought made him gravitate towards the edge again...

Carefully, he coerced himself up to a seated position, a bit impressed with the arm that was now hanging limply by its side, and that it had been able to hold his weight at all after the initial injury. Right now, he had no contact with it, which was usually how it went.

He had heard about things like this, when your body would go above and beyond to survive in near-death situations... Oh, how his body must have had betrayed him for all these years...

Before he could slip back to old habits, he turned and headed for the fire escape he had come up.

Climbing the caged ladder with only one arm was difficult, but manageable. For a while.

About half-way (why had he picked the tallest building in all of Yokohama?), the adrenaline was starting to wear off, and his shoulder began to throb violently. His left arm and legs were getting tired. But, he wasn't stopping. That would only result in his limbs stiffening, and that would only make it harder.

So, he kept descending the ladder at a steady pace, until finally, he stepped on the last step.

It was a 2,5 meters drop from the ladder to the ground. Dazai moaned in exasperation, and (finally) let himself fall.

He hit the pavement bellow with a small thud. Such an anti-climactic ending to his venture on the skyscraper- but at least there weren't any traumatized children around.

Scowling up at the ladder, he rubbed his back wearily and gathered himself at his feet, limping his way back towards the Agency.

--------

“What in the world...?” Yosano uttered dumbfounded, as Dazai dragged himself into the Agency, only a little late. Her words caused a chain reaction. A mixture of perfectly groomed, or disheveled bed-haired heads peeked towards the entry, where Dazai stood, leaning heavily to the wall.

Honestly, Dazai had no idea that it was going to take that long to get back- or that it had been so late in the first place. He hadn't been able to get home for a shower or a change of clothes, before he had to be at work.

His coat was dirty, the knees of his pants ripped and his hair a mess. He looked suspiciously pale, and his breathing was labored like he was in great discomfort.

“Morning...” he mumbled hoarsely, grimacing at how small his voice sounded. It obviously didn't help with the seven pairs of eyes (eight pairs, if you counted Kunikida's glasses) that looked concerned at him.

Before he was able to try and explain himself, Yosano had a tight grip around his healthy arm, which admittedly was sore and stiff after the long climb, and dragged him off towards the infirmary.

------

An hour later, Dazai reappeared at the office with his arm in a sling. Yosano had taken a look at him as he got up from her table of horrors with a small giggle, telling him it was almost nice to see him back in his signature look.

High as a kite on pain killers, he decided that she was mean and didn't deserve an answer except for a tongue, childishly sticking out and blowing raspberries towards her.

“How are you doing, Dazai-san?” Atsushi asked worriedly. The group were all leaning over the same table, probably going over today's mission a final time.

Dazai set up a wide grin and strode over with featherlike steps, except for the occasional hobble as his backside made reminded him that asphalt didn’t cushion your fall very well.

“I'm great,” he beamed and shook the orange pill bottle he had received from the doctor. “Yosano-sensei is being generous with the funny-pills today.”

“...Right,” Kunikida answered with a frown, while Dazai wormed his way under Ranpo's arm, jiggling the bottle in front of his face and murmuring tauntingly, “And you can't have any of my candy either,” -to which Ranpo pushed him gently away.

“So, what mess did you get yourself into this time?” Kunikida asked gravely, choosing to ignore his partner's foolishness.

The bandaged idiot jerked his head up quickly, watching the bespectacled man intently.

“Oh, I was just going to kill myself, but then, I almost died!” he exclaimed wide-eyed.

Stupified expressions glared at him for a long moment. Atsushi blinked repeatedly until Kunikida cleared his throat to get everyone's attention back to their work.

“So... We'll enter through exit C at the back- where Tanizaki will be waiting to let us in...”

Dazai made his way over to the blonde man and grabbed his shirt tightly, wide orbs glaring deeply into his eyes with a seriousness rarely seen in the slender man.

“Didn't you hear me? I was going to jump, and then I didn't, but then I slipped, and, and...”

Kunikida sighed deeply, calmly placing his hand on Dazai's tight grip, firmly prying his fingers open.

“Yes, we all heard you. You were going to kill yourself, and you almost made it. Now, you should go back to the dorms and sleep this... buzz off, so we can get ready...”

“What? No! I'm coming with you. And I wasn't going to kill myself- I mean, I was, but I wasn't, because I was coming here!” Dazai smiled, nodding vigorously, looking around the room for support.

Atsushi immediately averted his gaze, unable to look into the wide doe-eyes as the light in them eventually would go out, when he realized that they had reworked the whole plan around him not being included.

Apparently, Dazai couldn't find any support from any of the others either. His voice had quieted down considerably when he asked, one final time with just a small glimpse of hope still left in it, “Right?”

“I'm sorry, Dazai-san,” Atsushi said, reluctantly peeking back up at him, as he stood dejectedly in front of Kunikida.

“B-but, no! I was... I was gonna jump, I would have jumped... But I wanted to see my little orphan's debut as team leader!”

“Your little...?” Atsushi uttered, dumbfounded.

“Yeah, like... like Oda said,” Dazai trailed off, lowering his gaze to the floor and shook his head lightly in his haze.

The spectators exchanged bewildered looks.

With a weary rise and fall of his shoulders, Atsushi breathed out tiredly and walked over to Dazai, who was mumbling something about 'footsteps of heat and haze', and placed a light arm across his elder's back and started to walk him towards the exit.

“Come, we should get you home,” he explained and tried for a smile to tell him that it was all okay and nothing to worry about.

“B-but, the mission-” Dazai tried to argue feebly, but kept walking in the direction Atsushi was taking him anyway, trying to look back at the lowered gazes, refusing to look at him.

“Don't worry about it, we'll be fine for a couple of hours-”

“But-”

“-I can make you some food, we can play a game if you're up for it-”

“...What?” Dazai suddenly halted to a stop.

Atsushi stopped too, looking up at his mentor and smiling reassuringly.

“We're going to have to send Yosano if you can't go, and someone needs to look after you... My ability isn't necessary for this, it's fine.”

“No...” Dazai proclaimed, lightly shocked. “No, this... this isn't how it's supposed to be. It's your big day, and... and I'm supposed to look after you, and instead, you're looking after me and it’s all upside down!”

Atsushi chuckled nervously, patting Dazai's uninjured shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting manner. “It's okay.”

“No, it's not. I- I didn't jump last night because I wanted to be there with you on this mission. It's a big day, and... I ruined it... I messed everything up for you by being stupid and broken and...”

He shook his head bitterly, finally looking at the boy. “...and I don't deserve it. You're so pure and...good, and... I'm... not. I'm horrible.”

Dazai's guilt-ridden and genuinely distraught look made the white-haired boy's heart twist painfully in his chest. He had no idea this meant so much to him. Had no idea he did.

Dazai was just this silly, carefree person at the Agency (albeit with a burning death-wish), who could come up with flawless tactics in the blink of an eye and was supposed to be unbreakable.

Somehow, he wondered if this was how normal children felt when they first realized that there was no Santa Claus.

“Stop that,” Atsushi said finally. “Y-you... You already look after me. I wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for you. I would have starved, or the mafia would've sold me on the black market!”

He was getting some stealth to his voice now, and it looked like Dazai was listening, so he continued.

“You gave me a place to stay, a job. Literally the shirt on my back! You gave me a reason to live... A reason to fight... Sitting out one measly mission isn't going to cancel that out... You can't nullify everything,” he closed with a small smirk.

Dazai chuckled a little too, taking in a deep breath and straightened his back, finding some encouragement in those words- that Atsushi wasn't mad at him, but it didn't mean that he hadn't screwed up royalty.

“Fine,” he sighed, letting Atsushi steady him lightly across the parking lot towards the dorms. He threw his working arm lazily over the younger's shoulder and ruffled his hair vigorously.

Atsushi easily leaned into the light-hearted show of affection, feeling a fuzzy warm feeling melting away the heavy ice that had overwhelmed his heart moments before.

Dazai kept his arm around Atsushi as they crossed the large space. It wasn't until they finally passed the small gate that gave them access to the dormitories, that he spoke again.

“So... death by black market, huh?”

#whumptober 2019 #whumptober #day 15 #trembling #adrenaline #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #osamu dazai #Dazai Osamu #atsushi nakajima #protective atsushi #angst

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komorebirei · 5 years

Text

The Water Was Never Afraid - Chapter 9: Promise

(AO3)

“Please, Kagami? You promised.”

Kagami lunged at Adrien; he parried and riposted.

She lifted her mask. “Street festivals are for commoners.”

Adrien lifted his. “That’s the whole point!”

Kagami pursed her lips.

They both closed their masks in tandem and returned to en guarde position, ready for the next bout in their friendly face-off.

“Besides,” Adrien continued, his voice slightly distorted by the mask, “It’s the twenty-first century. There’s no distinction between ‘commoners’ and ‘nobility’ anymore. Why shouldn’t we do something fun?”

“You know that isn’t really true.” Kagami tapped Adrien’s sabre, provoking him to attack.

They clashed again, letting their conversation rest.

Yes, Adrien had to admit that a social hierarchy existed, and he was high on the ladder, but the distinction didn’t have to be so rigid. He didn’t want to consciously hold himself on a higher tier than his friends. Couldn’t he choose to do away with the gap between him and others? He’d managed to befriend fans in the past, like Wayem, and he counted that as a victory.

“You promised we’d go out and do something fun, like normal people,” Adrien pleaded. “Le Goût du Japon only lasts a week and then it’s over until next year. Today is the last day. I’ve always wanted to go!”

Kagami lunged, spearing the tip of her sabre squarely in Adrien’s chest. Her point.

“Your skills have far exceeded mine, Kagami,” Adrien said, accepting defeat. He lifted his mask.

“No, we’re still equal, you’re just unfocused today.”

“I’m at your mercy,” Adrien said with a dramatic flourish and bow.

Kagami lifted her mask and examined his face as she considered. “… Fine.”

“Fine?”

“We can go.”

“Yes! You’re the best!” Adrien cheered and, to her delighted bewilderment, tackled her in a hug.

—

“The yukata looks lovely on you,” Adrien complimented Kagami, leading her down the street that was lined with wooden food and game booths, illuminated with colored paper lanterns.

“Thank you—you don’t look bad, yourself,” she returned.

“Didn’t think I’d ever get a chance to wear this.”

Kagami was wearing a red yukata with an off-white obi, decorated with a colorful floral pattern in fresh greens, pinks, and whites that was simple at the torso and grew increasingly clustered toward the hems. The sleeves flowed gracefully to the level of her knees, and her clipped-up hair was adorned with dangling floral ornaments that echoed the flowers on her garment. Adrien’s yukata was a textured but patternless dark grey-blue with a red obi, a shade darker than the red of Kagami’s.

Her hand was hooked into the crook of Adrien’s elbow, but she hung back, as if embarrassed and loath to be caught participating in the festival.

They hadn’t taken ten paces down the street when Adrien felt a tug at his sleeve. He turned around to see two young girls beaming up at him, clutching twin magazines. They were both opened to the same page which, on closer inspection, was his interview from the previous month’s La Mode magazine. “Adrien Agreste! May we have your autograph?”

He was surprised that these young girls recognized him in such an unlikely setting. Part of him had been thinking optimistically that, ever since he had moved onto managerial pursuits and left the modeling scene, teenage girls had stopped fawning over him. Either these girls were really into fashion, or he was wrong.

Adrien frowned. “I don’t normally give autographs, but…” He looked between the girls, whose faces had begun to fall in disappointment, and his resolve crumbled. “All right.”

Kagami jabbed him subtly in the side.

The girls squealed, and one of them handed him a pen.

Adrien signed his name, finding it vaguely depressing that these girls were so excited to receive his inked name. What was the meaning in it?

He handed the magazines back and smiled at the girls, who ran off shyly, waving over their shoulders.

“Adrien, your lack of a backbone is starting to scare me,” Kagami remarked, only half joking.

“I mean, it’s not like I had any real reason to refuse,” Adrien countered. “It would only be cruel and unnecessary.”

“That is the problem,” Kagami stressed, holding up a finger, “You’re too empathetic. People get to your head, and you agree with whatever they’re asking of you.”

“I thought empathy was a good thing.”

“It is, but when taken to the extreme, it can become Stockholm Syndrome.”

Adrien rolled his eyes. “Let me make people happy! It makes me happy.”

“Fine, fine.” Kagami let it slide. “So, what does one do at a street festival?”

Adrien shrugged, scanning the surroundings for what seemed the most interesting. He spotted a ring toss booth down the street and pulled Kagami toward it. “C’mon, let’s play a game!”

When she saw it, she shook her head. “This is so childish. Why don’t we just buy some taiyaki and go home?”

“Go home? But we just got here!” Adrien pulled out his wallet and paid the young man running the booth, who handed him three rings. “I’m not opposed to taiyaki, though.” He handed her a ring, which she took with the tips of her fingers, as if it were a dead animal.

Adrien tossed his ring first. It knocked over the toy he had been aiming for, but failed to capture it. When Kagami didn’t step up, he threw the second ring, which completely missed the target and rolled away.

“Really, Adrien? You’re embarrassing me,” Kagami teased.

“As if you could do any better, Miss Too-Good-To-Try,” Adrien teased back.

“Okay, you asked for it.” Kagami took her position and tossed the ring, effortlessly snagging a prize.

“You’re inhuman!” Adrien gasped as Kagami accepted her prize with a smug smile.

“Excuse me!”

Adrien spun around at the sound of the unfamiliar voice directed his way, and a camera flashed in his face.

Kagami held up her arms. “No pictures, please,” she pleaded, ducking behind Adrien.

“You heard her,” Adrien asserted, holding a hand in front of his face. “We’re on a date—please, no pictures. We’re on our private time.”

“All right, Monsieur Agreste. Sorry.” The paparazzo hung his head and retreated, but five minutes later Adrien noticed another flash from the bushes. That sneaky little—!

“Let’s go,” Kagami urged. “I can’t get caught out here. Mother will be furious.”

“Hmm… I have a better idea.” Adrien grabbed her hand and dragged her to a booth with a wall of cartoon character masks footed by a gaggle of children jumping and pointing. “Which one do you like?”

“No,” Kagami said, shaking her head emphatically. “Those are for kids, Adrien.”

“C’mon, Tiger, you’re no fun!” Adrien unhooked a Hello Kitty mask and tried it on. It was a little small for his face, being made for toddlers, but it concealed his features well enough. “Perfect,” he declared. “What about you?”

Grimacing, Kagami reluctantly picked a Pikachu mask. “See how much I love you?” she muttered, slipping the elastic band over her head.

“Very cute,” Adrien approved, lifting Kagami’s chin to inspect her masked face. He could barely see her amber irises through the punched-out eye holes. “Suitable character, too. You would be too stubborn to stay in your Pokéball.”

Kagami hit Adrien’s chest playfully with a backhand. “You, on the other hand… Hello Kitty? Seriously?”

Adrien lifted his mask just to grin and wink at her. “You still have a lot to learn about me, Tiger.” He slipped the mask back on and held out his hand. “Now, you mentioned taiyaki? Shall we look for some sweet fish to eat?”

—

The masks afforded Adrien and Kagami a few minutes of anonymity, but the news that Adrien Agreste had been spotted with his girlfriend at the street festival had spread like wildfire, and the masks started to act as more of identifying features than invisibility cloaks. Before long, they ditched the masks.

While Adrien was used to the attention, Kagami was starting to get paranoid.

“Even if they don’t get my face, Mother will recognize the yukata. And you’re too recognizable from any angle,” she murmured, moving to Adrien’s other side when a group of teenagers leveled smartphones at them, squealing. When Adrien snorted in amusement at her skittishness, she protested, “You don’t understand, Adrien, if she saw me at a festival like this—it would be like your father catching you at a club.”

“All right.” Adrien sighed. He did understand, all too well. He wished he could transform into Chat Noir and just whisk Kagami away somewhere they could hang out and have fun in peace. “We can go somewhere else, if you want.”

“Please.”

Suddenly, a realization hit Adrien.

Growing up, he had always felt isolated and trapped in his room, and by extension, his house—being alone or indoors for too long made him feel antsy. Like a caged lion, he always wanted to go out.

But as soon as he was out among people, so often, he found himself wanting to run away to somewhere private.

So, the problem was not being alone, or being in public. He —Adrien Agreste—was the prison.

“Adrien? What’s wrong?”

Adrien realized he had stopped dead in his tracks. Returning to the present, he swallowed and refocused his eyes on Kagami. “Nothing. You wanted to go home? Let’s go.”

“Really?” Kagami leaned closer, her brows scrunched in concern. She could clearly sense that his mood had changed. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Adrien shrugged slightly, his heart heavy, as if it had been filled with stones and was slowly sinking to his feet. “We’ve pretty much seen everything. Let’s just go.”

Kagami put a hand on his cheek, looking heartbroken that he was upset. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring down your mood. We can stay—I’ll just tell Mother it was a one-time thing.”

Adrien shook his head and started walking back up the road, toward where he had parked his car. Kagami, still holding his arm, followed a pace behind him, dragging slightly.

“Oh look! Dango! Have you ever had it?” Kagami exclaimed with affected chipperness, pulling on his arm and pointing at a booth.

“You don’t have to try so hard,” Adrien said in a monotone. “You didn’t even want to come with me.”

“Don’t be sullen, Adrien!” Kagami chided. “It’s not that I didn’t want to come! It’s just—In Japan, our family is well-known, and it would have brought down our image to indulge in festivals like these, so I was never allowed to go.”

“Doesn’t that make you enjoy this even more? We’re in France, not Japan.” Some feeling had returned to Adrien’s countenance, though he still felt depressed.

Kagami guided him to the dango booth. “It’s my Mother. You know she’s been getting stomach-aches lately, and if she saw me doing something she disapproved of…” she frowned.

They heard the sounds of cameras clicking again, and Adrien’s heart sank further when he saw how Kagami tensed involuntarily. This wasn’t fun anymore. This was why he liked visiting other countries, where he wasn’t recognized as easily.

“Dango, then we’re going home,” he sighed, resigned. It wasn’t Kagami’s fault. It was stupid to think they could spend a carefree night out. “Wanna watch Coffee Prince?”

“Sure.” Kagami smiled sadly. “I’m sorry this didn’t go as planned, Adrien.”

Adrien shrugged. This was his life.

He should listen to Kagami’s advice and just accept it.

#MiraculousLadybug #Miraculous Ladybug #MiraculousLadybugFanfiction #Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction #Adrigami #Marichat #The Water Was Never Afraid

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selenecrawford · 5 years

Text

The Odd Pair 5

Warnings: Explicit language, Medical procedures, Drama a lot.

“Just because we kiss and made out in front of the Court of Justice doesn't mean we are going to fuck in bed.” with those words Shingen slam some of the papers he was working on the desk.

It's been two months since Selene told him that and still he can't get them out of his head. After sharing that intense kiss both were too flustered to walk around anyone. They waited a bit to calm down and then went to eat. Selene managed to regain some stability and was less stressed out. For Shingen kissing her was the best thing he felt in a while. Selene from time to time stole glances and he couldn't help but smile. Everything seemed going well until it was time for bed. Selene decided to go early to sleep. He decided sleep a couple of hours later, when he went to bed, he found the bed with two rows of queen size pillows creating a division in the middle of the bed. She even ducked tapped them to the bed just in case also. He waited for the next morning, he walked into the kitchen wearing only his pajama pants. Selene almost choke on her coffee and she saw him. Closing her eyes she counted to ten to regain her composure. Feeling better she opened her eyes only to find him in front of her with a sardonic smile. Selene started to glare at him. That didn't help much and things escalated. The next morning she was wearing a t-shirt that said “Not today Satan.”

Shingen decided to be the less problematic possible. After setting his office at the house he managed to work from long distance. Selene on the other hand was always cleaning or spending her time on an old storage near the house. He was intrigued since he heard music but when tried to ask Selene she evaded the question. So he tried to give her as much space as possible until he made the mistake of asking her about the pillows.

“We can't sleep separate so since I don't want any sneak attacks at night I decided to do this. At least you did a good thing buying that big bed. Thank you.” Selene avoided eye contact at all cost.

“ I didn't agree to that.” reply Shingen complaining.

“Well I didn't agree to marry you, but here we are. Also just because we kiss and made out in front of the Court of Justice means we are going to fuck in bed.” the words kind of hurt his ego and soon he left the room.

After that he tried to have the minimum contact possible until he could regain some composure. Yeah, he was too full of himself thinking that getting married and just a couple of kisses will solve the situation. Frustration was something he hasn't felt in a long time if he had ever had felt it at all. He wished Tomas at least would had told him what he wanted to do. He usually sleeps on shorts but since the house is a bit chiller than his apartment he now wears long pants and a shirt. He got a little revenge on Selene. Her face getting so flustered only for her to get even the next morning with that t-shirt. Hiding his face on his hands Shingen couldn't think of anything else to do. What does he really wants to do? Does he really want her? Did she still wants him?

The sound of a basket falling next to him made him jump. Turning to look to the right Selene was folding her arms with a piss off look. “Takeda we need to talk.”

Shingen sighs resigned to see what now will be the new fight. “What now Princess?”

Selene found Shingen with his face between his hands. He looked troubled. For some reason her first instinct was to caress his hair and hug him. Giving a head shake, she regained her anger and let the basket of Shingen's dirty underwear on the floor. He jumped scared when the basked hit the floor.

“Takeda we need to talk.” the look on his face,his response, managed to hurt her but she took the pain back to the box and close it. Right now, staying all the time at the house was driving her insane. Being with him almost 24 hours without touching him added pure torture. And yet, she felt all this was her fault. Maybe if she had not left her father this might had not happened. If she was paying for any sins, this was how hell will be for her.

(Stop it Selene, you are not like this.)she thought. Sometimes her self- esteem played her tricks, others she felt she was not enough. A sharp pain to the right side under her rib cage was felt. Taking a deep breath she managed to get it under control. Taking a few more seconds she started.

“We need to do something about the chores, I can't do all at home. Also I need a job.”

“OK what you do suggest? I'm all ears.” Shingen stood from his chair.

“Can we take turns or do you have any chores you don't like to do?” Selene sound uncertain, perhaps distracted. Shingen frowned something was not right with her.

“Look can you wash your own underwear?” That will be all. And the trash. As for the job Masam...”

“NO, you are not working at the dinner with him. Look for another job. But working with him is out of the question. I told you before and the answer is still no.” Shingen walk pass by Selene with the basket on his arms.

Once Selene was sure she was alone, she double holding her right side and biting her lip to prevent any sound to be heard. Taking deep breaths Selene managed to let the pain pass. Lately, she had been having pain but since her resources were almost gone. She didn't want to use Shingen's money. For her it was like selling her liberty to the devil. Years, of being self sufficient and independent were on her mind. Hard head, just like him. She will have to convince him fast. The pain was increasing a bit each day. And over the counter pain killers are not doing the trick anymore. She might have to get money to get a visit to Yasu as soon as possible. Another sharp pain shoot thru and this time Selene got on her knees. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. When the pain passed she stood up and started walking slowly to the bathroom.

Shingen put the clothes on the wash machine, and smash a punch on it. He was frustrated, and took it out with Selene again. Ever since she told him politely that she will like to work instead of using his money...

“Dammit why she can't just,...” Shingen thought he had enough. They needed to sit and have a long talk, the situation was getting ridiculous. Defeated he went looking for Selene to have a long conversation.

“Princess, where are you? We need to talk.” Shingen continue looking for her until he found her on fetal position on the floor of the bedroom.

He felt his blood got cold, rapidly he approached her, upon touching her arm he felt it hot. Her face was red with fever and sweating. Her breath was labored, while her pained expression was hard to watch.

“Princess, what is going on? Are you OK? You are burning with fever.”

“My...,my right side hur....” instinctively, Selene bit her lip, tears went down her eyes.

Shingen took her in his arms. And put down on the bed. Taking his cell he dialed Ieyasu's number.

“What?”

“It's Selene, she is in pain and burning with fever. Can you come?”

“Take her to the hospital, I will be waiting.” Ieyasu hung up and Shingen took his wallet, a comforter and then covered Selene with it. Carefully he took her downstairs to his car a red corvette. The trip to the hospital was hell for both. Selene was crying silently meanwhile Shingen wanted to hold her but at the same time had to drive. Once they arrived to the hospital. Ieyasu took charge taking her to the examination room for triage and evaluation.

Shingen had to wait out, minutes went by. He wondered since when she was feeling ill and didn't told him something about it. How he never saw the signs. Selene never complained, she always was evasive if she felt unwell. Shingen started feeling guilty. He was pacing the room like a caged tiger waiting for any news. A Nurse gave him the documents to fill. He was still filling forms when Ieyasu went out to talk with him.

“Shingen.”

“How is she? Can I see her?” Shingen didn't care if Ieyasu notice his agitation, he just wanted to know if she was OK.

“We need to take her for surgery now, it seems is her appendix we need to operate to know if is still good to remove or if already burst.” Ieyasu's face was grim. He didn't dare to tell anymore so he went back to prepare for the operation.

But before that he called Nobunaga and the others. He didn't want Shingen to be alone on a time like this. Shingen didn't like Ieyasu's tone when he told him the news. He felt there was something else Ieyasu failed to tell him. This situation took his frustration up a notch. Pacing with his hands behind his head, he closed his eyes praying Selene will be OK.

The gang started arriving one by one. First were, Nobunaga and Mitsuhide. Shingen called his mother to let her know the situation then Yukimura and Sasuke. Mitsurani and Hideyoshi arrived being Masamune last. Nobunaga did it on purpose, he knew Masamune will be furious. And he was right when he tried to punch Shingen upon arriving.

“Easy Masasmune, he didn't do nothing to Selene. Her appendix is giving trouble. Besides that she as always never told him she was feeling sick.”

“No wonder, what had he done to win her trust? Nothing.” asked Masamune still agitated.

“No one call you, any of you. So why are you here?” Shingen bite back while Mitsihide hold him.

“I called Nobunaga.” Ieyasu spoke wearing his scrubs. “We managed to get Selene on time. We removed her appendix but there is a problem. When we started the operation her appendix was already burst. She was on early stages of Sepsis. The bacteria was spreading so we had to act fast. We managed to cleaned up everything but right now she will have to remain under observation on the ICU until we are sure she is out of danger. We started the protocol with antibiotics and see how it goes.”

Shingen cleared his throat but no words came out of his mouth. Selene might die? No, she can't. Mitsurani dared to ask when no one did.

“So in other words this is a preventive measure?”

“You can call that, but if the antibiotics don't kill the bacteria, it could spread and kill her. I will come back later I need to finish the paper work. For the moment visiting is not allowed. Shingen right now if you can, go get some rest as soon as we allow visits I'll call you.” Ieyasu turned around and left. Shingen started to breathe when he felt his lungs crying for air. Feeling a bit in shock he started breathing, he needed to get himself busy. Instead he felt empty.

“Hey, let me take you home you are in no condition to drive right now.” it was Masamune who made the first offer.

Shingen shakes his head in a negative response. “Staying” was his only word. He turned around sitting on one of the chairs. He called Yuki once again to let him know the news. Shingen was still processing them himself. This morning she was defiant as always. She even glared at him. Now she is on intensive care fighting for her life.

Nobunaga and the others decided to take turns to be with Shingen, and making him eat and rest. Kenshin was the last to arrive since he was on business trip. Once he was there, he took Shingen home and made him sleep. The process was repeated for the following days. At the fifth day Ieyasu let him visit her.

Selene was sleeping peacefully, the only sound on the room were all the machines connected to her, monitoring her vitals and administering the antibiotics by serum at per schedule. Shingen took a sit next to her and touch her hand. It was cold, so he took it in his hands and try to give it some warmth.

“Princess, it's me Takeda. Ieyasu told me you need to rest and get well soon. So please, do that, the house is boring without you. I miss you.” he kissed her hand taking a deep breath he hold it until it was warm. When the time was over he gave her a kiss on the forehead and left.

Shingen went out and found his mother waiting for him. He felt powerless. The amount of emotions running thru his chest and mind were overwhelming. He was the one who found his father when the heart attack took his life. He managed to deal with it, but for some reason this was too much, hugging his mother his breath was shaky.

“Mom, I don't want to loose her.” he buried his face on her shoulder. Breathing slowly trying to calm his emotions.

“And you won't son. She is OK, have faith. Selene is a strong woman, and I know she will come out of this stronger. Come on, let's get you home.”

Both went out and Shingen stayed that night at her mother's house. On his next update with Ieyasu he told Shingen that Selene's treatment was working and soon she will be cleared out of danger and moved to a normal room. Ieyasu saw the glitter on Shingen's eyes. The man looked relieved but also tired. “I told you to go home. Selene doesn't need to get up only to go take care of you. Come on, doctor's orders, go.”

By now it has been two weeks since Selene's surgery, she woke up during one of Shingen's visits. Shingen took her hand and smile shyly. Selene complained about the pain but didn't let go of his hand. When Selene was moved to a normal room he started to stay with her keeping her company.

“How are you feeling Princess?”

For Selene it was a new experience. Shingen was attentive and caring with her. When she woke up, the pain was still there but she felt a warmth that help her managed. Shingen had fallen asleep at that moment holding her hand. Since then, he had always been by her side. Others had visited her but he had kept with her at all times. Ieyasu bit her head off as soon as she was recovered enough.

“I'm feeling better thank you Shingen.” she smiled at him shyly.

“I'm sorry, I might ruined any plans you might had.”

“Hey, you died on me is not ruining my plans. Don't sell yourself short Princess. Everyone had been dead worried about you, including that idiot Masamune.” Shingen made a gesture of disgust while saying his name.

Selene found that amusing and couldn't help but smile. “Masamune, had been a great friend. If I'm not mistaken you sound jealous.”

“I am, if I were less of dick this wouldn't had happen. You almost died Selene. I could not forgive me myself, if something had happened to you.” Shingen looked at her seriously. Selene felt a pang on her heart.

Taking her hand Shingen caress it softly. “You scared me to death Princess, could we stop this nonsense and start over?”

Selene looked at his face, he was sincere, Selene squeezed his hand and smiled. “So you are suggesting start from zero?”

“Yeah you could say that.”

“If that is the case. Hi, I'm Selene Crawford, nice to meet you.”

“Hi, my name is Shingen Takeda, I think you have something there that is mine.”

“Really, what is that?” Selene was amused with his response.

“My heart.” Shingen responded with a big smile.

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Notes: Sorry for the delay, today’s chapter is a bit longer than usual. I have several stuff to do and I crashed last night. LOL. I’m really grateful for all the likes, comments and shares. It means a lot. I hope you like this chapter. Thank you. ^^

@elievalentine @colivara @notsafefortum-blr @datemasamunemaiwaifu @unstoppablelinda @epicdragonlady @yeshasays @masa-little-kitten @mikamiw @kimi00twin @kouei116 @blue-bean-exe @mitsuhidethesnek @la-piperina @pirateprincessyuki @jennacat84 @valfraeyja @little-blue-octopus @sengokuotaku82 @serenity-writes @xathia-89 @shouta-bakugou @cailannuesugi @kitsune-mana

#ikesen #ikesen shingen

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onthemeander · 5 years

Photo

A thousand thanks to Psionicsnow for the prompt. It was fun to write such a soft and subtle story. Very sweet and innocent.

Interested in getting your prompt written? Check me out!

Fresh Cut Grass

Everything hurt. Every organ, muscle, bones, joints, cell, and atom felt like it was smothered in gasoline and set ablaze in a tire fire. Her soul was cracked and broken and shattered and she couldn’t scavenge a single iota of energy to try and collect the shards. Instead, her tears carried them away on a wave of sadness rolling down her cheeks. All of it was let loose, laying across the floors and couch of her apartment as she cried.

Moose laid on her legs, pinning them with his warm wrinkly body while watching her with his watery eyes. She clutched the couch cushion to her chest, curling up as tight as possible without kicking her poor basset hound from his perch. Her eyes were burning and swollen as the tears pooled into a large stain across the cushion. Her sobbing was raw, a baser aching sound from her vocal cords that rang in her ears. The silence of her apartment making every sound amplified.

Suddenly, there was a solid knock at her front door. The sound was paired with a taut but gentle voice calling out her name. Moose sat up, ears perked towards the door, tail wagging and starting to pant in excitement. She heard her neighbor insert his copy of her apartment key into the lock. Tentatively the door opened, just enough for her blonde headed attractive neighbor to pop in. His light blue eyes widened as he slipped in through the threshold. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

“Steve. I’m… sorry. Please-“ She gasped out, trying to wave him away while rolling to her side, Pressing her face into the back for her couch. She pressed in as close as possible to he back cushions to quiet her sobs. Her door lock clicked into place, his sneakers squeaked as he quickly crossed her wood floors in only four steps. Even with her eyes closed, she could tell the light was dimming around her as his shadow came over her.

The scent of fresh cut grass, leather and musk wafted off of him. It changed the air altogether, making the stale stagnant sadness that clung all of them be washed into a soothing balm. The combination was so comforting that she started to breathe deeply for the first time since she started crying. The iron grip around her lungs slightly loosen, the sudden freedom set its muscles on fire requiring more cooling air to ease the ache.

A large calloused hand was soothing placed atop the crown of her head. A large warm wight that grounded her racing mind. Her head was manipulated, picked up just long enough for the sound of shuffling to happen. After several seconds, he had placed a rather warm and firm pillow under her head. The smell of grass was stronger now but the pillow felt weird. It was just a bit too stiff like there was a firm structure deep within its batting. Confused, she opens one of her eyes just long enough to realize that her pillow was his lap.

Even with the surprise, she couldn’t stop the tears, forced to close them again as another fit of hiccups broke out. Steve just sat there, still and calm, silently running his broad fingers through her tresses. Her hands, which had been cushioning her head, now gripped large chunks of his old t-shirt between her fingers. Time was suspended as they sat there.

Slowly she felt just enough energy come back to here where she could actually form words. “I’m… I’m sorry. I just…” her voice made a disgustingly wet gurgling noise, cut off by a full body sob. She was sure there were large tear stains cross his right pant leg. Steve said nothing, just rubbed circles into her scalp and random shapes into her back. Moose wined either upset by everything or simply hungry.

She was slowly coming down from the terrifying height of her crying. It felt like it took an eternity and all it shoved into a single second. Everything that was wavy and faded began to come back into focus as the tears slowed. her breathing haltingly leveled out allowing her own lungs to reach her nose, no longer having to be shoved through her mouth.

His sweatpants-clad thighs were burningly sturdy under her temple, as a set of rolled electric blankets, soothing the pulsing ache that had made its home there. Though he was dressed from the gym he was freshly washed, smelling of citrus, herbs and earthy woods. Like he took his run through a springtime forest, dashing through citrus trees, sage bushes and the fresh waters of some nirvanic stream. “Do you want to talk about it?” She could feel his stomach expands against the back of her head as he spoke. A sturdy constant rhythm she could align her own erratic sobbing gasps too.

She couldn’t, not right now, maybe when things were not as raw. “No. I’m sorry but not really.” Moose whined at their feet, his stubby wrinkly front feet prompting him up against the cushion seat. She sniffed and rubbed her eyes, refusing to look anywhere other than the pattern of the sun streaming through the window panes.

Steve remained quiet, supporting her in so many ways, simply breathing and being there. Stroking random shapes into her scalp with his broad callous fingers, his short nails feeling hypnotically heavenly against her pulsing headache.

Her sleeve was already covered in snot, which made her stomach cramp in embarrassment. Steve either didn’t notice or care as I magically materialized a tissue for her to use. “You must think I am ridiculous.”

“No,” His voice sounding so strong and clear, “we all have our times when we need to let everything go.” He kept handing her tissues not one complaining as her nose loudly honked as she blew it. Finally, the last tears rolled down her check.

Giving one last bone achingly deep sigh she rolled onto her back looking up at his handsome face. His hair was wet, starting to curl in the summer humidity. The light bounced softly off his jawline, freshly shaved and washed. Every bid the perfect all-American man that he was partially famous for. She probably looked a mess next to this Adonis yet the look in his eyes was one of pure reverence.

“Okay, I’m good. I’m sorry but I’m fine,” She said, proud of herself for only sniffing once. He had a soft closed mouth smile for her. “So why did you come over Steve? Did you need something?” Finally getting the energy she sat up, head slightly throbbing at the movement. Moose hopped down, woofing slightly in discontent at being forced to leave his perch. Steve let her sit up but kept close by, constantly keeping contact between them.

“Uhhh… No,” His face became a little ruddy, “actually I heard you from my apartment and was concerned.” She flinched at that, pulling into a tight ball, embarrassed and unable to keep touching him. “Oh god, I am so sorry. I’m sorry you had to come over like that.” He, however, seemed to have other ideas. With a gentle insistence, having her lean against his chest, tucking her head under his jaw. Moose was wagging his tail excitedly looking up at them as she had her head protectively tucked into the neck of the super soldier.

“No, No, it’s okay.” He comforted, voice rumbling so close to her ears. Everything was so close and homey. “I want to make sure you are okay. I want to be there for you when you need someone.” His cologne was centralized right above his collar bone, a buttery warm spiced musk that she could stop from greedily inhaling.

They sat there, simply breathing within each other’s space. The air was heated and electric, sparking all of her nerve endings just being in that place. Closing her eyes, she snuggled into the warmth, which was better than any blanket. She was content, ready to milk the moment and etch the memory into her mind permanently. Just below her palm, she could feel the bold beating of Steve’s heart.

Gently he urged her to turn to look directly at him. His eyes were positively sparkling, the color of a pair of Blue Morpho Butterfly wings with the sun streaming through. Every edge around him was softened, a far cry from the hardened edges sculpted into every soldier and hero’s being. “I care about you, you are special to me.”

“I… I umm… I… same?” Oh god, her heart was shoved so tight in throat she wasn’t able to even phrase a response. I’m sorry just started to pour out of her mouth, her skin burning surely as hot and red as a chili pepper. Steve’s eyebrows rose in an almost comically high pose as he held in a soft laugh. His teeth were white and perfectly aligned, putting Arlington to shame, as he lost out to the urge not to chuckle. His cheeks were red as well, flushed and glowing with so much life.

“May I kiss you?” He asked, his voice husky in it’s whispered tone. Her words were caged like a wild pacing tiger in her throat. She just leaned in, hoping that was yes enough. His hands were enormous, cupping her cheek, and tickling the sensitive skin behind her ear. His aftershave clinging to his freshly shaved face, deep smoky burning that warmed her like the comforting feeling of the first summer campfire with family.

His lips were as bold and gentlemanly as the rest of him. Every touch of their chaste lips was treated like a soft and sacred act. A sentiment left from a bygone era, something to be cherished. He took no advances, treating kissing, not like a lead up to the main event but the main event itself.

The fresh cut grass smell filled every one of her inhales. Sparking memories of rolling down hills as a kid and jumping through sprinklers as they watered lawns. It mixed with the minty taste in her mouth leaving her energized and joyous. She ran her fingers up his arm, tucking them just under the cuff of his t-shirt, feeling the curve of his bulging biceps. He wrapped his large arms around her waist, resting them comfortably just above her hips.

The kisses became shorter, less afraid of them ending all together they simply basked at the moment. They shared soft giggles and gasps between kisses, all the joy, and excitement had to come out in any way possible. There were little moments of teeth clashing together, noses smooshing into each other and complete misses that resulted in lips on chins that made everything even more perfect and real. Movies kisses were so sterile, they didn’t prepare you for the true joy of the little mess ups that made it even more exciting.

Pulling away slowly they relaxed in each other’s space. They were breathing each other’s air and enjoying the look of each other’s flushed face. Steve’s hands stroked along her flanks, tickling ever so slightly. His lips were swollen and pink, becoming even redder as he chewed on it. He seemed almost nervous. All she could do was watch as those perfectly white straight teeth peeked out from his lush lips. Looking up she noticed his cornflower colored eyes pinning her with a determined stare.

“Would you like to go on a date with me tonight?” His voice, usually so bold was reduced to a tender whisper. Her breath caught in her throat, the thudding in her chest increased. He cupped her hands between his own, they almost disappear beneath the wide expanse of his palms. Her cheeks ached with the sudden strain of how wide her smile was. Tears threaten to fall again, but the pain was thankfully not accompanying it this time.

“Yes.”

#marvel #fic commission #captain america #steve rodgers x reader #fanfiction community

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