#Twisted Black Heart (dark AU verse)

[the-chipped-cup-awards]

2024 Chipped Cup Awards - Masterlist

Here, once again, are the winners of the 2024 Chipped Cup Awards

FLUFF:

Family: Tea and Roses by @thatravenclawbitch

Comfort: Struck By a Golden Arrow by @avatoh

Fix-it: Ritual by @peacehopeandrats

Reunion: A Dream is a Wish by @rowofstars

SMUT:

Kink/BDSM: On The House by @kelyon

Romance: Brandy, Apples, and Spice by @rufeepeach

Comedy: Accidents by @peacehopeandrats

Threesome: Fulfilling a Fantasy by @thescholarlystrumpet

First Time: Queen Takes Knight by @emospritelet

PWP: In the Dark and Wicked Hours by @rowofstars

ANGST:

Death: Strong for Belle by @desperatemurph

Hurts So Good: To Have and To Hold by @thatravenclawbitch

Misunderstanding: Unexpected But Not Unwelcome by @tickletorso

ROMANCE:

Date (overall) Lost and Found by @peacehopeandrats

Courtship: The Sweetest Dream by @threepwoodmarley

First Meeting: Portrait of the Heart by @chippedcupwrites

GENERAL:

One Shot: Pages of Reverie by @chippedcupwrites

Series: Lover’s Leap by @eirian-houpe

Novel Length: Mountains, Streams, and Magical Things by @peacehopeandrats

Short Fic: Babysitting by @timelordthirteen

Holiday Centric: Brandy, Apples, and Spice by @rufeepeach

Remix: Our Masks by @lotus0kid

Crossover: A Blade for Belfrey by @eirian-houpe

Dark Castle: Marble by @peacehopeandrats

Storybrooke: Leaving Storybrooke by @peacehopeandrats

"Missing Years": The Tent of Infinite Adventure by @peacehopeandrats

Wish!Verse: Deception by @eirian-houpe

SPECIAL CATEGORIES:

Golden Lace: The Storybrooke Whisky Appreciation Society by @threepwoodmarley

Woven Beauty: Undefined Desires by @worryinglyinnocent

Background Swanfire: To Have and to Hold by @thatravenclawbitch

Afterlife: Granted by @peacehopeandrats

Drama: Love Me Before the Last Petal Falls by @deliriumsdelight7

Supernatural/Sci-fi/Horror: The Cunning by @mareyshelley

Comedy: Lacey and the Tramp by @chippedcupwrites

AU-Original: Wretched Beginnings by @poorobscureplainandlittle

AU- OUAT: Tales of Gold by @JurisLadyAnna

AU-Other Media: The Black Swan by @deliriumsdelight7

Creature: The Finfolk’s Bride by @chippedcupwrites

Unexpected Twist: Contract by @kelyon

Bobby Squared: A Blade for Belfrey by @eirian-houpe

Trope: Love Me Before the Last Petal Falls by @deliriumsdelight7

English Language: To Nurse by @charon53

EVENTS

RSS: If You Will Be My Queen by @eirian-houpe

Fluffapalooza (Fic): The Tea Shop by @peacehopeandrats

Fluffapalooza (Art): Kiss Me Again, It’s Working by @milaeryn

Monthly Rumbelling: The Landlord and the Princess by @Rumplerose (AO3)

CHARACTER AWARDS

Belle: The Not So Dark One by @charlotteashmore13

Dark One!Belle: Rags to Riches by @alphashley14

Lacey: Sore Hearted Souls by @nerdrumple

Spinner!Rumple: Witch and Spinner by @Strummer_Pinks

Dark One!Rumple: Gilded by @eirian-houpe

Wish!Rumple: Once There Was a Wish by @peacehopeandrats

Mr. Gold: The Caretaker by @thestraggletag

Detective Weaver: Forgery by @peacehopeandrats

Baelfire/Neal: A House Built With Love by @of-princes-and-savages

Gideon: Finding You by @clarahue

OC Rumbelle Child: The Zoo by @peacehopeandrats

Villain: Cora in On the House by @kelyon

BFF/Wingman: Mountains, Streams, and Magical Things by @peacehopeandrats

ART

Fan Art: Kiss Me Again, It’s Working by @milaeryn

Graphic Art: And Love is When Someone Who Even KNows Your Scars Stays To Kiss You by @chippedcupwrites

AU In Art: Belle Isn’t Fascinated by the Idea of Marrying Gaston by @notonlymice

Fluff Art: Belle French and the Dork One by @chippedcupwrites

Angsty Art: In My Memory It Doesn’t End by @ace-cf-cups

Comic/Graphic Novel: Wearing Each Other’s Clothes by @angelqueen13art

Use of Color: Kiss Me Again, It’s Working by @milaeryn

Video: Your Beauty Never Ever Scared Me by @chippedcupwrites

SUPERLATIVES:

Best Artist: @chippedcupwrites

Best Author: @kelyon

Best New Author: @ace-cf-cups

Best Rumbelle Fic: The Language of Flowers by @deliriumsdelight7

Best Anyelle Fic: Let’s Spend the Night Together by @ifishouldvanish

Best Anyem Fic: Tyger Tyger by @shakespeareanhoneybadgers

Rumbelle Lifetime Achievement: @jackabelle73

#the chipped cup awards #cca 2024 #award ceremony

[ikkaku-of-heart]

Anonymous asked: (For twisted!Ikkaku) - What was it like after your night with Doflamingo? Can't imagine it having been too comfortable awhile afterwards.

Twisted Black Heart Day

“‘Uncomfortable’ is a horrible understatement,” she said, entire body clenching at the awful memory. Joker had not been especially gentle, and given the size of him, internal bruising at minimum would have been unavoidable even if he’d been the most delicate, loving partner who had ever bedded her. Doflamingo might have prepped her with his tongue and fingers, but the smile on his face as he’d rammed his massive cock inside her had made it obvious he delighted in her screams of agony with every hard thrust.

Ikkaku had had many rough lovers and had quickly built up a high pain tolerance. It was necessary, given the things Law often asked her to do, but at least he had been kind enough to teach her to find the pleasure in it. That way she couldn’t be so easily broken. Doflamingo’s brutal fucking had pushed even her limits, and it was only due to her will and training that she’d been able to even stumble out of his quarters the next morning. Blood and cum stained the bedsheets, bruises painted her body, and worst of all, a weight in her heart that came from the knowledge that Law had allowed this.

But at least Baby 5 had been the one to stumble across her in the palace’s halls and not one of the other Family members. The maid had been easily convinced of both the need to keep quiet about her state and of getting her to Law. And while her Corazon had clicked his tongue and shaken his head at her pathetic state, he’d treated her injuries, including the internal tearing, and told her she’d done admirably to have survived the night with Doflamingo. That had lifted Ikkaku’s spirits, though there had still be cruel whispers in the back of her mind reminding her that Law had handed her over to Joker in the first place.

She definitely needed a few days to recover in the infirmary, but the Corazon always does an exceptional job fixing his toys, so it didn’t take long for Ikkaku to get back to work.

#Ask the Heart Engineer #Twisted Black Heart (dark AU verse) #Enemy Sighted - Doflamingo #Not Safe for Working (smut) #non-con cw #(Doffy was definitely not a nice lover and Ikkaku did not have a good night) #(at least Law fixed her up the next morning)

[tsxndxre]

AU added to Kaoruko, Claudine, Junna, and Hikari! 

Based off the costumes that Revue Starlight Re:Live had provided for us, is an au of dark war period. Dark Versus Light. The Northern Black Lion Nation has had enough of the so called “peace” that the Sun Nation of the South has been spouting, draining them of their resources and land. Along with a dark past that only Kaoruko and Maya’s families know of, she demands for blood from the young lady of the Sun. Filled with a vengefulness to reclaim what rightfully belongs to her, Kaoruko has launched a full out war against Lady Tendou Maya of the South. Her loyal knights stand by her side to make sure her lady gets her bloodlust satisfied but perhaps are separated from people they are loved by.

All designs are listed above where their names are listed.

Individual roles are as followed.

Kaoruko: Dark Queen and Lady of the Black Lion nation. A Cruel and Wicked Queen are the rumors that fly in the wind. The personage she puts on in order to scare her subjects into submission, she’s certainly not underneath torment and cunning schemes to get what she wants. However, she’s also a girl tainted by the sin of Sloth, being lazy sometimes to push her servants to do some things for her. 

Claudine: Black Lion Nation’s highest knight. She’s a skillful girl in the ways of the sword, using a Broadsword as her weapon. She earned her title from demonstration of her skills and climbing the ranks to prove herself to Kaoruko. A proud and ambitious girl who will always fight her hardest against any opponent until she wins. 

Junna: Black Lion Nation’s Sniper and Tactician. An intelligent girl who wields the bow and talents is based on her arrows of flame and light. She also helps play as one of Kaoruko’s high advisers during times of peace. While she keeps a perfect honor student personage, she’s actually quite cruel and sadistic as her master, often suggesting the most cruel methods of torture among her peers. 

Hikari: A skilled assassin in Kaoruko’s ranks. Her usage of the swing dagger is used more of an advantage than a hindrance as she is fast and stealthy enough to get close to enemies before they could realize what’s happening. Some rumors carry that she can use the shadows to hide her from her enemies and that’s how she is able to carry her dirty work from Kaoruko. Despite her skill, she finds that she’s very emotionally vulnerable when fulfilling her mission to take out Maya with the appearance of a small light night who wants to be her friend. But she will take her out no matter what the cost.

#{ AU: Black Lion Nation #Also lmao all of my girls are the dark kingdom #Oops I didn't ask for this but here I am #I know that Ollie is in on this with Futaba hence that weird starter I put out #But lmao I love messy royal war aus and it lets me be sadistic with Kaoruko so here I am #btw the sun nation girls are the ones not listed here #So that's Maya (lord) Karen Mahiru Nana Futaba (knights) #btw these threads might get a little dark so all of that will be tagged with their verse names #a general AU tag and their character tags #{ Kaoruko | AU: Twisted Queen #{ Junna | AU: Cruel Tactician #{ Hikari | AU: Night Assassin #{ Claudine | AU: Lion Hearted Knight

[coalitiongirl]

Fic Recs (under 300 edition)

So I wanted to get back to reading Swan Queen fic regularly, and I asked people to rec longfic that they'd read (not written) and loved that had fewer than 300 kudos! I haven’t read most of these, but I’ve collected them here so y’all can go through the list and discover some new fics with me! Please try to kudos and review every fic that you read! It means the world to the writers and will keep em writing, and then we all win. 😁

Atonement by SgtMac (M): With Regina's magical heart failing thanks to years of previous evil, Emma and Regina and Henry (and Granny!) set out to save her life by traveling to the Enchanted Forest and requesting help from ancient magical beings known as the Guardians. Given a mission as simple as it is impossible - to achieve atonement by creating peace - the ladies find themselves joining a rebellion and fighting for the very soul of the Enchanted Forest all while trying to help Regina to understand that the self-loathing and guilt which have driven most of her actions don't have to doom her chance for a new beginning or even, a chance to live and love again. A S4(ish) SQ love story set against the turmoil of war and the chaotic savagery of the old world.

Blood and Sand by cheshire6845 (E): A/U The Savior is a slave forced into the role of fighting as a gladiator for the House of Hearts. The odds are against her survival as she will have to win in the arena, navigate Cora's schemes, outlast a general's vengeance, and not be killed out of spite by the current House of Hearts Champion - Regina the Undefeated. This story follows the major plot points of Starz Spartacus with some twists along the way.

But what if there was no time by KizuRai (M): When she wakes up, it's dark. She can't move, she can't see, she can't feel and she can't hear. Where am I? She feels a forceful oppression, pressing her down, draining her of her energy and she's powerless to stop it. How did I get here? The question of here is relative, she's not even sure where here is. What happened? There must be some reason for being stuck here but her memory is fuzzy, like all her thoughts are being sifted through a filter. Who am I? She's not sure if she actually exists or she suddenly became sentient in the darkness.She hears a voice reverberating in the distance, it's distorted and quiet but she hears it all the same. It breaks the monotony of the silence. Someone's coming for her, they will get her out. She's just not sure she wants them to as the price might be too great.

Finding Home by evl_rgl (T): “I wanted to remember you so badly that I pulled back your cursed town just so that the memories would make sense. I needed you so badly that even when I had no memory of you, I still tried to find you.” Regina gave Emma and Henry memories of a happy life together before they fled Pan’s curse, leaving them with no memories of their lives in Storybrooke. However, when the memory spell shows signs of failing, threatening to rip apart the minds of both Emma and Henry, Regina makes a drastic choice to go back and fix it, understanding that it will mean living alone in a world where her son doesn’t know her. Was the spell really faulty, though? (swanqueen)

Five Flames by MariaComet (U): In the past, Emma Nolan disconnected from her peers in high school, preferring to keep to herself. In her sophomore year of high school, she decided to try and join the boy’s wrestling team because she was bored. She didn’t expect herself to become the champion of the most bullied kid in school or the secret best friend of the school queen. She also didn’t expect to join a club that would change her life. In the present, Emma is trying to cope with a humiliating loss in her martial arts career. She claims to be “training” but is stuck in limbo between wanting to retire and try again. She is isolated from her former best friend, Regina Mills, a local celebrity chef and the rest of her old friends. When one of them calls her with an idea to honor their deceased teacher, she is confronted with unresolved feelings and questions about how powerful love truly is.

A Glamour of Truth by PrincessCharming (T): After 2x10, Regina uses magic to show Emma the obvious truth. A tentative trust forms between them amid hilarious bickering. With Emma's help, Regina struggles to regain a place in her son's life... until Cora arrives, wanting her daughter back. Pieces of Regina's past emerge showing that the board was set long before the game started. The final battle begins soon.

His Dark Materials 'verse by MoonlitMidnight (M): A modern Alternate Universe in which Dæmons (the external physical manifestation of a person's 'inner self' that takes the form of an animal) are present. In which Emma and Regina have led slightly different lives and they make slightly different choices.

How Many Miles to Avalon? (WIP) by RavenOutlander (E): Regina would do anything to save Emma from the darkness and bring her back home safe and sound. Even put up with the two idiots, Captain Guyliner and a bunch of dwarves she decidedly wanted to drop off at the nearest exit. But in their search for Emma, they find that she might not need that much saving after all. Caught up in a search for the infamous Philosopher Stone, an all out war between DunBroch and Camelot, and ghosts from the past to haunt her every waking moment, Regina finds herself scrambling to keep her and her family's happy endings from falling apart.

The Hyperion by FrankenSpine (M): After wishing upon what she believes is a shooting star, Emma Swan finds herself aboard the Hyperion, the royal starship of an alien Queen from a faraway galaxy. She quickly learns of the tensions between the Queen's people and her own, but the Queen takes an interest in her and agrees to take her away from Earth forever. Adventure awaits. *(Loosely based on Guardians of the Galaxy with just a hint of Farscape)*

If Wishes Came True (It Would've Been You) by Angeii_K (M): After Regina films a guest appearance on her friend Neal’s popular show, he invites her to spend the weekend with him and his girlfriend. What she never expected was to actually like the woman. Sparks fly between the two, which results in them questioning everything and making choices they will later regret. 4 years later, they meet again in the most unexpected of ways. Now co-stars on the same show, they are forced to work through the emotions from their last encounter. What will happen next? Only time will tell.

The King Doesn’t Have To Know (WIP) by highheelsandchocolate (M): The White Knight had never seen anyone like her before: the Queen was nothing short of mesmerizing. Her possessive yet neglectful husband, however, was another thing entirely.

The Lich by Dangereaux (M): Gay disaster Emma, exasperated Regina, and a monster. A Halloween special.

Maybe if We Close Our Eyes we Can Reach the Stars by wellthizizdeprezzing (T): Emma is a lonely astronaut. Regina is an adventuring alien. Their paths cross leading them onto a journey of new discovery. Between galaxies and many miles of cold black space, despite not speaking the same language, they manage to fall for each other. An out of this world love story.

A prisoner long forgotten by sugarsweet_19 (M): ‘I wish I had a child as white as snow, as red as blood and as black as the wood of the window-frame. Soon after she had a little girl, who was as white as snow, with lips as red as blood and with her hair as black as the ebony of the window-frame. She was therefore called Snow-white.” This is how our story starts but how will it end?The evil queen as been locked up in a tower and forgotten that is until princess Emma looks for a place to hid from her parents after they tell her she has to marry Neal the son of the dark one.

Revenge of the Three Little Pigs by mskyo (M): Regina and Emma find themselves alone and looking for the rest of their party. The Evil Queen must face the consequences of her past actions. Will Emma come to her aid, or understand that justice must be served... *Some chapters have fairly graphic sex, and violence*

Things I Almost Remember by cheshire6845 (T): A/U Despite an oncoming war between the Dark and the Light, Emma and Regina are best friends growing up in the Enchanted Forest. When war does come, they find themselves on opposite sides. Regina will have to defy her mother to save Emma. Will Emma be able to save Regina when Cora curses her daughter to live in the Land without Magic?

What We Make (WIP) by DiazTuna (M): “My mother.” He says calmly. He’d known all along, she’s aware. But he’d known that today would be the day that would get this going. She wants to ask what it was like, to have woken up this morning, laced up his boots and walked into hell just knowing. “It’s programmed the cyborg to kill her. Before I have a chance to be born.” -In which the leader of the future sends his best soldier back to the past to save his mother from a killer cyborg. Terminator AU.

The Wrong Way by pcworth (M): Takes place right after Zelena steals Regina's heart. Zelena offers Regina a chance to go back in time with her and change both of their lives for the better. But what will be the price of that decision. Slow-burn to SwanQueen

zombie trash by 13pens (T): Zelena could have her brain and eat it, too. Fic operates on three premises 1. this takes place in any universe where zelena is a reformed asshole 2. zombies are a thing and exist iZombie style 3. i have NO chill

#swan queen #fic rec #ouat

[ecto-stone]

So I don’t really know that much about that my blood au you created could you tell me a bit about it?

Ha hah I Hope this is Edible

So My Blood Au is just Me dumping all the cool stuff i can think of into a DP what if Vlad is Good ^For Starter MB Vlad or Vladimir Jude Masters is a Paranormal investigater/ hunter/exocist in a sense. He seemingly Perfect in People eye, Not Really on the inside as he have many problem stem from living so long and going though alots of thing that he prefer not to talk about that he hide from People , go so far as to adjust his own emotion to what he find fit to the situration making him really hard to read. (Not Jack and Danielle, those are close enough 2 peel him like an onion if they sense something off). -Vlad And Danny are not same kind of Halfa in this AU, Vlad is Two soul (Half Blue Demon Vampire Ghost, Half Human twisted together and blend into one) and Danny is Soul within soul (Going though the accident give him two identical soul that over lapped each other) -Ghost are nerf and ecto beam and ecto Base attack can harm ghost but they can't harm Physical thing in living world Unless they are infuse with Core element same with Human entering Purgatory. -The world have 5 Realm: LivingWorld, Purgatory (GhostZone), Elsewhereness, Fairy Land and Unworld. +Going with the idea that originaly Vlad is supposed to be a vampire and many ghost in the series feel like they are more supernature creature then Ghost. Living world now have many Human and other Creature living among each other , hidden in plain sight +Purgatory: Where Ghost go and heal before they move onto Elsewhereness (Heaven in this verse) or Rebirth back to the living cycle. There are many area in Purgatory that fit human decription of after life look like , this is due to collective faith and ideal of many Ghost focus with each other to created these Resting stop. Incidentally like the living world these area are also watch over by being call King and Queen of the Death (Caretaker and protector of the Death soul, a being with incredible power capable of bending reality). Most well known one are the King Dark, Prince Argon and Princess Dora of the Dark Age Zone. Queen Desire of the thousand and one night. ect.. newest King of the death is Ghost Writer (library of the forgotten) but he prefer not be refer to as king, just Ghost writer. +Elsewhereness: The final resting Places of enternal Bliss. Once the Soul is ready to let go of all earthly desire, they are send here. Not much is known about this realm or it location. When a Soul reach enlightment it will automatically know where to find it. The realm also House many god. +Fairy Land: Home to care taker of the childhood inocent and many god that work to keep the universe running. Most common creature that live here is Fairy with two side one silly colorful side that appear to children to granted what ever their heart desire. The other is the Blue fortune side that Weaved the fabric of Luck and fate. +Unworld: A Dark realm with one way in no way out. It house many dangerous creature, ancient outer god and unspeakable Evil that have been banish to through age by god and human. >the Origin Story: +Vlad and Jack are Friend from Childhood (Their Bond are really tight kinda like Sworn Brother ) unlike their canon counter part meet in college. They Hunt Ghost but in more of a Release soul from their earthly bound kind of way via the info they get from the Masters Family Grilmore. (There is one major inconvience is that You need to wait for the correct day and time to perform ritual sending ghost back to purgatory so they can Move on to Elsewhereness/heaven of this verse ) +They Meet Maddie in college (Maddie and Vlad almost alway in a total clash with each other with Maddie tech almost Hunter like way in dealing with ghost and Vlad more traditional Way of Handling them) Which end with Three of them forming the Original Ghost Trio. With Maddie accept Vlad and Jack Respect the Death ideal. And Vlad and Jack incorperate More Technology into their Asset. +Maddie point out the inconvinient of having to wait for the correct day for each ghost to send them back to Purgatory (Their room are fill with

Container for ghost), Which lead to them comming up with the idea of Making a Ghost Portal. <Note: MB Vlad is not into Romantic relationship, Platonic one Matter to him more> >The Accident: No diet soda the Accident is purely due to one miscalculation that cost Vlad life (his Head got Blash Clean off infront of Jack and Maddie) In that Split Second of His face getting disintigrating, Vlad get a Glim into UnWorld (the Realm where are Demon and evil of the four realm are banish to) and Got Latched on and Pushed Back to the living world by a Demon Vampire Ghost Both Soul are now inhabited Vlad headless lifeless body, in Which about 3 day after Vlad burial that Vlad Body got completely decontructed inside the coffin and recontructed into a body that is more fitting to host both . Vlad have a hard time remembering Who he is after kinda get rebirth and Wander the world until he Get Suck into a Natural Ghost Portal and got Flunk Back in time. >Journey of an Immortal Being: -Vlad Stuck in the Past, He recovered his memories, Going through existenal crisis, Evil phase, Evil make me feel bad, Not Evil anymore, Found out that he is immortal now, Existenal crisis part2, Acceptance, Travel the World and Start doing the what ever he like, learning old way of magic still helping ghost and other supernatural being. -Caused several Major Change to the past that Mythical Creature got un extinct. (Due to the Law of life and death this does not affect who get born or not, it just that the world got alots more races now and those used to be born human in the original timeline might get born as another races entirely) -Get Mistaken for Messiah.( Look You can't kill Vlad, He would just be gone for like 3 day then comeback) -Caused the legend of Dracula. -Vampire cult have a horrible obession with Vlad as a Whole. Look like vampire act like one, can walk in plain day light and more importantly the ability to Open a Portal to Unworld . ( Vlad don't use this ability much and can only open small one as it is very energy consuming) -Meet his own ancestor Which is the Fentonightingale that Later Splited into Fenton and Nightingale (later change to Masters) leading to revealation that Jack and Him might be very distant Related. -Bickering With Time God (Do not trust the Clock Man that work for the Eyes) -Get Caught in War far too many time. -Meet Phantom (an odd entity that is oddly clingy to him) in the Great War. -Meet Other Some of the DP ghost when they still alive -The Horrible Bar incident that reveal Phantom true nature, an evil being that wish to turn the world back to it original nature of nothiness and try to turn vlad to the his side, Kill, Seal in Rock Case covered with Sigil to prevent Phantom from escape, Chuck it into the ocean. - The Contruction of the Coffin Ghost Portal. (Havent actually went into the Purgatory caused the CCP is one Way Portal. -Forming of many Hidden town that home supernatural being. Amity Park is one of them. - And many more unseen story >Daddy Stolen Ribbone saga (MB Vlad is sterile, he want to have kid but can't.) -The Vampire cult that he have grudge with attemp to Clone or at least created a child that have Vlad Power through ritual and cult like method. Imagine Danny Clone but even more mess up . -Vlad end the life of most of them by his own hand (they are suffering, it is best to let them go) -Birth of Danielle: +Danielle Evelyn Masters or just Dani/Dee for short is the only Stable child come out of this whole odeal. She is Created From Vlad Ribone like a Twisted Eve. And like in the book it caused both of them to be very attached to each other in a Fatherly Daughterly Way. +Dee Have Vlad Ghost power and Demonic Power but No ghost form (Her default funtion as both and whether she is in ghost mode or Human mode is all Up to energy control) and no connection to Unworld there for she can't open portal to Unworld. Dual Soul nature Wind/Fire.

+She like Frog and is interested in Marine biology (which Vlad have full support over, she have a room fill with Vlad hand made frog plusie that she all named. +He raise her teach her everything he know about how to deal with supernatural being and how to Snipe Vampire from a long distant with pin point accuracy.

+An kidnapped incident with the Vampire cult latter resulted in Dee Death at the age of 12 (1999), and Vlad becoming fully Merged into one Being with Plasmius. and wipe out the entire vampire cult in a horrible Vlad the impaler way). +After wiping out the remainder of the cult, vlad go into retirement and work as a wall Painter < he work supper fast on celling painting and no one know why> >The Boy Who Fly (2 year before the start of actual MB story) -Danny Gain his power at the age of 10, his parent know. The event of Portal acivation caused the whole town to have a black out. -They move House alots for 2 year. And Jack try his best to make his family as normal as they can be after accidenly k his friend all those year ago and now half eff his own son. -They finding out amity park their new home is on accident when the RV engine die mid way through the middle of no Where (The town shown it self to those in need) -Danny hide his abiltiy. But after a gym incident. and getting Praise by his peer for it instead of scold like with the adult Danny start getting bolder using Floating power around his new friend when no adult is watching. <Vlad who is Working on the Giant Raven paiting for the School Saw this and know imediately What Danny is> -They offically meet each other on the the roof top, when Danny mom ask him to go down the store and by some bread and he decided to try to Air Frog Swim to it. They become friend and Vlad even teach Danny how to fly properly before having to leave (they visit each other alots after the revealation, and vlad is a good adult friend that Danny can talk to) (Danno forgot about the bread and return home breadless) -Jack may stop with the whole Paranormal hunter/ghost scientist job but not Maddie. She keep doing it behind his back due to danny special need in ecto base consumtion (he havent grow abit since the accident and keep getting smaller and it concerning) -Jack found out and they have a Fight. which lead to Maddie go to his Sister house. -Danny Found out about why his dad was so stressed out about ghost thing now. When looking through his parent old stuff with his new friend tucker. (Dude why does your parent have a Picture of the wall painter in thier old junk). He show the image to Vlad. -Danny Get jack to tell the story about the inccident. Dad what if i tell you that Your friend who die 18 year ago survived and is on our front door right now. Reunion, Jack feeling guilty about making them both like this. Go Get Maddie. Happy reunion of the trio. -Fenton Parent become accepting to Danny condition, Danny have a good mentor that can teach him ho to control his power And they live happy ever after for now

#Q/A #good god how do you add read more on a QA #my blood AU #Danny Phantom #danny phantom au #god this is long #hachi text

[blossom-hwa]

inspired by a song from ‘the ballad of songbirds and snakes’ (I highly recommend the book!!)

(lyrics modified slightly to fit the story, and no copyright infringement intended!!)

wc: 2.4k ~ haknyeon x gender neutral!reader ~ nobility!au (ish) ~ triggers: blood, death (nothing graphic) ~ the boyz masterlist

prequels: don’t be silly | shattered

for @thepixelelf​​​ :)

[ birds in the heavens ] Lying on a field filled with smoke and ash, you drag in a long breath.

So this is what it’s come to.

You cough, pain shooting through your chest as the metallic tang of blood fills your mouth. Just a few years ago, you never would have imagined this – a battlefield death, so far from home, a fall from grace…

No, not grace. Not you. He was grace. He was everything beautiful in this war-torn world, sunlight on the grass, stars in the sky, flowers in the meadow beyond the village, blue and red and pink and white woven in a wreath that you placed on his head with trembling fingers and a smile only he could put on your face.

Where was grace but in the curve of his lips and the scrunch of his eyes as he laughed? Where was grace but in the rough brush of his fingers to your smooth skin, worlds apart united for brief, beautiful moments in the touch of your hands together? There was a time when you thought you were grace, fine clothes and elegant dances and lilted words, but he was grace, truly, sunbeams personified, tanned hands rough from work deftly twisting grass together into a makeshift ring that fit perfectly on your fourth finger, a crude proposal in the eyes of anyone in your circle but so beautiful in your eyes, accompanied by a voice of sugar and honey, birdsong whispering between the blades of shifting grass, promises of a future where the warmth of his touch would never leave your skin.

What was the song he sang? Something about valleys and trains, roses and violets and red and blue…

A memory of his voice washes through your mind, a taste of honey sweet against the bitter ash coating your tongue.

Down in the valley, valley so low,

Late in the evening, hear the train blow.

The train, love, hear the train blow,

Late in the evening, hear the train blow.

He used to say that he’d wait to hear the train whistle during the months he knew you’d be there. He said it took everything in him not to run to the station and blow both of your covers, he wanted to see you so much.

What wouldn’t you give to see him now?

Go build me a mansion, build it so high,

So I can see my true love go by.

See him go by, love, see him go by,

So I can see my true love go by.

A smile stains your trembling lips. Where the first verse was his, this one was yours. Only you could speak of mansions and true love and not be entirely joking – you used to promise him you’d build yourselves a house someday, a house where you could live together in secret peace, away from the prying eyes of your family and their spies.

Go write me a letter, send it by mail,

Bake it and stamp it to the capital jail.

Capital jail, love, to the capital jail,

Bake it and stamp it to the capital jail.

A sob racks your body, ash settling in your throat and mixing with the blood bubbling on your tongue. How were you two to know that the third verse he sang so teasingly, eyes squinting with laughter as he swore to you with honey-sweet seriousness that he’d love you to the end, would become truth? That he’d be imprisoned in that very jail and later killed, with you sent to the battlefield to die? You couldn’t even send letters, like in the song.

There’s a fourth verse to the song, a verse you’d sing together, but the sun burns overhead and seals your lips shut. Its rays sear into your eyes, scorching your heart with the guilt, the knowledge that you have no right to sing or even remember the verse, and it hurts, but you can’t look away. Won’t look away. It’s the sun, what he was, pure warmth and light made whole into one human being whom you were lucky enough to love – how could you let that go?

How could you let him go?

Tears spring into your eyes. They fall slowly, cutting tracks through the grime on your face. One hand struggles to rise, to wipe them away, but you can’t. You can’t. The tears… they’re him. What you have left of him. Tears, tears only, and the dried grass tied around your finger…

Your face burns under the sun. It’s bright, so bright, just like him.

You were so bright, love. The hand that tried to wipe the tears now aches to reach up to the sky, fingers enclosing around a ray of light in a futile effort to bring it to your lips, to kiss him one last time before the darkness blurring your vision takes you completely. Bright as the sun. I could never close my eyes to you.

Even if it burned.

An image appears in the sun, his face contorted in pain and agony as they dragged him to the center of the square. Two guards held you back as you screamed. Four more stood in front of him, guns raised.

The sun blazed that day, just like his eyes as they stared into yours with all the conviction of a man who knew he had done nothing wrong, the bravery of a boy who had been taught to love and only love.

Even when the one he loved could do nothing to save him.

The same sun flares overhead, witness to your love, witness to his death, and now, soon, a witness to yours. It shines unflinchingly, fierce, unforgiving – you couldn’t save him. You couldn’t.

I couldn’t. A sob rips through your bleeding body. Pain tears into every wound in your skin, but it can’t compare to the ache in your chest, the knowledge of a death you couldn’t prevent. I’m sorry. I couldn’t.

I failed.

The sun feels colder now, warm rays chilled under your confession of failure. It hurts to stare, to keep your eyes open even as cold fire sears anger into your wounds, but it’s penance. Punishment. Just like when they stripped your title and shoved you into war, a nameless foot soldier to be buried under a heap of other nameless bodies, retribution for loving a boy they believed to be beneath your station.

Beneath my station. If you could, you’d snort. If only they could see that the farmer boy they scorned to death was so much more than all of them. Than all of you.

Sunlight personified, sparkling in a blue sky without a cloud.

You blink. There are clouds now, of gray smoke from firing guns stained red from the screaming bodies falling all around you. But the sun cuts through it all to shine on you, cold, unforgiving in the knowledge that you failed to protect the boy who loved you to the end, even as bullets ripped into his body the way they now have ripped into yours.

I failed.

I’m sorry.

I failed.

Blood trickles down your face. Your eyes remain open, focused on the sun. They burn, but it’s nothing compared to the punishment you deserve for not keeping him alive the way you promised yourself you would.

I couldn’t. Another sob wracks your bloodied chest. Everything hurts. I couldn’t.

But then –

A face you never thought you’d see again leans over your ruined body, bright, visible, even as darkness further coats your eyes.

The sunlight grows a little warmer.

Haknyeon?

You couldn’t, love. A hand reaches out, caresses your bloody cheek with a softness of touch that almost makes you close your eyes. You couldn’t. And that’s okay.

Tears fill your eyes afresh. No, it isn’t, you try to argue with the vision that can’t be real but that feels so real, so frighteningly warm in this one moment. I couldn’t save you. You should’ve lived.

You couldn’t, Haknyeon repeats, eyes sparkling. He looks so healthy, so whole – no bullets in his chest, no blood running down his face. Your heart aches. It’s okay. Please believe me, love. It’s okay.

The softness in his voice makes you want to believe it, makes you want to fall into his honeyed words that flow, smooth, through your ears, soothing the pain throbbing all over your body. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, you try to argue through cracked and bloody lips that cannot speak. Don’t give it to me. I don’t deserve it.

His touch feels so real against your skin. It’s a good thing I’m not here to forgive you, then, he laughs, for there was never anything to forgive.

Blood bursts from your lips as ash tickles your nose and you cough again, this time curling into his phantom touch. Then why are you here, if not to condemn me?

A question remains in the air, unsung, unsaid, but heavy as the clouds of smoke settling on the field.

Surely you can’t still love me?

He shines, warm, light, brighter than the sun overhead. You hear the answer to your question in his next words even if he doesn’t say it and it hurts, hurts so much – you don’t deserve it, you don’t deserve any of the love he still holds for you –

Close your eyes, love, Haknyeon whispers. Close your eyes. I’ll take the pain away.

Panic rises in your chest. You can’t. You can’t close your eyes, can’t lose sight of him or the burning sun, penance for your crime, the last sight of your lover that you will take as your soul slips away – you can’t let this gift go, this last vision – it’s all you have left of him besides the tears and the grass ring wrapped around your finger –

Close your eyes, love. His smile trembles, but his palm remains steady against your cheek. Close your eyes, and I promise you will still see me.

You blink unsteadily against the black spots dotting his face and the sunlight. Truly?

Truly.

The sun dances between the spots in your vision. To close your eyes and lose sight of the sky and of him, or to keep them open and take the image of him, smiling to your grave?

But it hurts so much to keep them open. Burns. And he said he’d still be there even if you closed your eyes against the burn, against the sun…

Maybe you will still feel his warmth, even if you give in to the darkness.

Slowly, slowly, your eyes flutter shut. Black washes across your vision and you almost panic – you can’t see him, he said you’d see him but you can’t and now you don’t have the energy to open your eyes once more – but then warmth settles on your forehead and, oh –

It’s him. His lips, kissing your grimy, bloody skin. And you can still see him, see his smile as he comes closer to cup your cheek with his hand once more, his palm warmer than the sun ever was.

It’s okay, Haknyeon whispers, words ghosting across your skin. I’ll take the pain away. Remember our song?

It hurts so much to breathe a few words from your lips, but for him, you manage. Yes, I do.

Sing with me.

And somehow, you know that if he were granted a last request at the end of his life, it would have been this. For you to sing with him one more time.

Who are you to deny him the last wish he never had?

Your lips begin to move, ever so slightly.

Down in the valley, valley so low,

Late in the evening, hear the train blow.

The train, love, hear the train blow,

Late in the evening, hear the train blow.

His song buoys you on, lifting words from your throat even as the pain begins to blur, to fade, taking your voice with it.

Go build me a mansion, build it so high,

So I can see my true love go by.

See him go by, love, see him go by,

So I can see my true love go by.

You falter at the next verse, unshed tears choking your words, but he continues, fingers still stroking your cheek as his song filters through your ears, soft, sweet.

Go write me a letter, send it by mail,

Bake it and stamp it to the capital jail.

Capital jail, love, to the capital jail,

Bake it and stamp it to the capital jail.

Bitter grief wells in your throat, mixing with the blood. If you couldn’t sing the last verse, there’s no way you can do the fourth. You can’t. You don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve to sing the verse that you always sang together, soft under the sun in a meadow of flowers, holding each other close as you whispered the words into each other’s ears. You don’t deserve to say those words to him, I love you, because even when he loved you to the end, your love wasn’t enough to keep him alive.

Come, love. A hand takes yours, toys with the dried grass tied around your finger. Sing with me. Please.

I don’t deserve it.

Yes, you do. He kisses your forehead again, soft as a flower petal against your skin. You still love me, and I still love you. Nothing has changed.

But –

Nothing has changed, he murmurs. Nothing has changed.

Tears no longer spill from your eyes, but if you had the energy, you’d let them fall. Okay, you whisper. Okay.

Thank you.

You struggle to move your lips as the pain fades, disappearing into the touch of his skin against yours. But his voice stays strong, warm, golden as the sunlight still washing over your skin.

Roses are red, love, he sings. Violets are blue. Birds in the heavens know I love you.

A last trembling smile spreads small across your face, lyrics lingering on your lips.

Know I love you, oh, know I love you…

His arms wrap warm around your shoulders, warmer than sunlight, and the last words whisper soft into your ear as the world finally slips away.

Birds in the heavens know I love you.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 well wish for the couple they deserve it)

#tbznetwork #destinyversenet #kpopscape #the boyz #tbz #haknyeon #ju hakneyon #juhaknyeon #the boyz haknyeon #the boyz juhaknyeon #the boyz scenarios #tbz scenarios #the boyz imagines #the boyz oneshots #the boyz haknyeon scenarios #the boyz x reader #tbz x reader #the boyz hakneyon x reader #haknyeon x reader #ju haknyeon x reader #angst #nobility!au #birds in the heavens #scriptura-delirus

[periminkle]

blazes of deceit

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

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

+ pairing. jungkook x reader

+ genre. fluff, angst. tangled!au.

+ word count. 26.052

+ rating. 18+

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

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

You are positively ravenous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Our blood will remain on the throne.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“—down your hair!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What once was mine.”

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

This is it, it’s now or never.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Petal—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But your mother is nothing if not resolute.

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

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

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

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

“Of course, Mother.”

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

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

And then you’re alone once again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mother knows best, after all.

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

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

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

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

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

And then that moment ends.

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

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

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

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

He is nothing like that. Not at all.

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

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

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

No reaction.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Petal!”

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

“Let down your hair!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your grip on the handle of the pot tightens.

“Wha—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A scoff escapes your lips, unconvinced at his act.

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

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

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

“Got something in your eye?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then what’re we waiting for?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Looking for me, Princess?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whatever you say, Princess.”

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

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

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

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

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

Is Geum expecting someone?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t tell me to—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just a water for her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not hard to top a baby carrot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Geum is a wanted criminal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You two are standing at the edge of a cliff.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mother always knows best. Right?

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

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

“Geum.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You close your eyes, and then you sing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What once was mine.”

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

“Wha—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Born with magical hair?”

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

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

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

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

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

“My name isn’t actually Geum.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jungkook—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why the name Geum?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You spare him a weak smile and shake your head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds plausible, doesn’t it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Guards?”

He only grins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nation’s flower?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jungkook?”

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

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

This man will truly corrupt all your morals.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A tiger lily.

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

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

“Beautiful.”

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

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

“I have a surprise.”

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

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

“Kook, wait.”

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

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

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

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

“Ready?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A pleasure working with you boys.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kook,” you achingly howl.

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

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

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

“That’s what I like to hear.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s enough,” the King states.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We did it all for you!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They didn’t know Jungkook the way you did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Our family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

+ epilogue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#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

[doeilovr]

Turn Back Time

-> Pairing: Lee Taeyong x femReader, special guest Kim Doyoung

-> Genre: Angst, Idol Taeyong au, Cheating au, break up au, a bit of smut (like 1 paragraph)

-> Warnings: cheating, cursing, suggestive themes, mention of sex, physical violence, self doubt

-> Summary: And it was moments like this you wished you could turn back time, to make him stop hurting you. Taeyong was your world and all you ever wished for was to be his too.

-> Words: 2.6 k

Disclaimer: this is not how Lee Taeyong is at all! This is merely fiction! Cheating is also not okay, just be kind, people and love truthfully!

You knew something had changed, when you heard Taeyong walk into your shared bedroom.

He was out late again, working on choreography and writing lyrics at the studio.

A month ago he would have cuddled up to you in bed, pecking you on the cheek, before he would fall asleep with his arms wrapped around your body.

But he had stopped doing that and just got into bed as silently as possible, trying not to wake you up. You were awake though. Thinking about what had changed between you two.

In the morning you would get up before him, staring at him sleeping peacefully in your bed, regretting whatever you did wrong.

You were making breakfast for the both of you when Taeyong joined you in the kitchen, his blonde hair messy and his eyes sleepy.

“Good morning”, you smiled at him, tempted to stroke his hair. Taeyong’s cold expression brought you back to reality. “Morning”, he mumbled, grabbing an apple from the counter.

You wanted to tell him you made breakfast for him, but he was faster. “I’m going to the studio. It’ll be late, no need to wait for me”, he announced, not waiting for an answer and disappearing back into the bedroom.

Your stomach twisted, you just couldn’t understand what you did wrong. You weren’t even hungry anymore, putting the freshly cooked food in the fridge for another time.

You were determined to win Taeyong back, even if you didn’t know why you had lost him on the first place. Maybe he got tired of you because you never surprised him. Maybe he wanted you to be more spontaneous. With these thoughts in mind you bought coffee and made your way to the studio.

You entered the recording studio, knowing Taeyong was alone, as it was late already. He stood in the recording booth, practicing some random verses. He looked good, wearing a white tee and ripped black jeans. His blonde hair was messy, as he was constantly running his fingers through it.

To be honest, he just looked tired.

Your breath hitched in your throat, when he locked eyes with you. Taeyong put down the headphones and stepped out of the booth.

“What are you doing here?” He walked past you, pressing some buttons on the computer.

“I brought you coffee”, you smiled, placing the Americano down next to him. Taeyong side eyed you, noticing your black coat. You felt his hot gaze on your body, making your cheeks flush.

“Yeah, actually I’m not just here for that.” Carefully you pushed Taeyong down on the leather chair behind him. He let you guide him, intently watching your every move.

You placed a kiss to his soft lips, before you grabbed his hand, guiding it to open up your coat. It had been a while since you last kissed and you had missed him. The feeling of his lips against yours. Taeyong watched you with intense eyes, opening the coat to reveal a set of white lingerie.

You had bought it just for him and felt nervous to show yourself like this, since it had been a while you two last had sex. Or just any other intimate interaction.

You sat down on his lap, your eyes never leaving his face. Taeyong gulped visibly, before you placed another kiss on his lips, this time using your tongue. His hands roamed around your body and his member twitched beneath you. Fuck, he felt so good.

Your hand traveled down his chest, all the way to the button of his jeans. You stroked him through the fabric, making him inhale sharply. “I want you, Taeyong”, you whispered, a sudden desperation in your voice.

There was a flicker in Taeyong’s dark eyes, his hand moving to yours and grabbing it quickly. Just when you thought you got through to him, he removed your hand from his crotch, pushing you off his lap.

You stepped back, watching him with sad eyes. Did he really not love you anymore?

Taeyong got up, cursing under his breath. “Don’t fucking do that”, he mumbled, his eyes moving quickly.

“Taeyong-“, you tried to reach out to him, but he moved past you and got back into the recording booth. You felt so vulnerable, closing the jacket and hugging yourself.

Was that it? Was that how you broke up with him? Why couldn’t he just explain himself or at least talk to you? You wiped away a tear that threatend to run down your cheek and left the room.

In a quick pace you moved down the long corridor, making your way to the exit, while trying to calm down. On your way around a corner you bumped into someone’s chest.

“Y/n?” Doyoung smiled down at you. You greeted him quickly and hoped he wouldn’t notice your glistening eyes.

“Are you here for Taeyong?” You started shaking your head vigorously, trying to smile back at him, but you looked rather awkward.

“I’m on my way out, actually.” Doyoung’s smile faded a bit. He just knew you too well, sensing that there was something wrong.

“Everything alright?” He furrowed his brows. “Yeah, don’t worry. I’m just tired”, you waved your hand around. “I’ll get going now, see you around.” Doyoung nodded, waving goodbye to you and watching you walk away.

Something for sure wasn’t right. You didn’t look happy at all. And Doyoung wondered why?

Back home you cried yourself to sleep. You loved Taeyong too much, how could he so easily turn away from you? That night he didn’t come home at all.

You just got out of the shower the next evening, when Taeyong texted you. You hadn’t heard from him the whole day and felt beyond disappointed. He could have so easily talked to you, but he chose to ignore you. “I’m out with the boys”, the text read. You didn’t reply and went on with getting ready for bed.

You were lying awake for way too long now, taking a glance at the clock to see it was not even midnight yet. Your phone suddenly rang, it was Doyoung.

“Hey y/n”, he greeted.

“Doyoung.” You often talked over the phone like this, but it had become less and less after Taeyong distanced himself from you. You felt weird being around his friends without him, which was stupid to be honest, as they all seemed to like you a lot.

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?” He gasped a little, probably just now realizing how late it was.

You chuckled. “No, don’t worry.” It felt good to talk to him again. “Are you also at the club?” You were curious. Honestly you just wanted to know if Taeyong had maybe talked to them about you. Who knows, maybe he was more talkative with them than with you.

“What do you mean? Who’s at the club”, he asked confused.

You chuckled nervously. “Taeyong told me he was out with you guys.”

Doyoung was quiet for a moment. “No. Taeyong did go out, but not with any of us. He went out with Jia, she’s collaborating with him, I don’t know.”

Your heart sank and you sat up in your bed, turning on the lamp. “What”, you mumbled. “Which club?”

“Pretty sure they went to Octagon. Is everything okay, y/n? You know you can tell me”, Doyoung reminded you softly.

You bit down on your lips, emotions washing over you. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m going back to sleep now”, you lied. Doyoung didn’t ask any further questions and said his goodbye before hanging up.

You sighed, dropping the phone on the bed. Taeyong lied to you. He had lied. But why? Did he cheat on you? Was he cheating on you right now?

He was. In the past week, while you were waiting at home, doubting yourself and everything you ever did wrong, he was with Jia. So he was now. In the club, dancing and making out with her, trying to get you out of his head.

That’s how you found yourself standing in front of the club the same hour. Dressed in a pair of jeans and a sweater. To your luck, Doyoung showed up too, knowing damn well something wasn’t right. He got you in the club and searched for Taeyong with you.

When you finally spotted him you didn’t feel shocked or mad. No. You were sad. Sad, disappointed and broken-hearted. You still loved this man after all, even if you saw him cheating right here and in front of your eyes.

“Y/n”, Doyoung mumbled, following your gaze to Taeyong. Despite the loud music you could hear him clearly. Doyoung couldn’t believe his eyes either. Taeyong was cheating with Jia. His best friend was cheating on his other best friend.

Fuck.

“You knew?” Doyoung stared at you wide eyed, feeling nothing but empathy.

You nodded, tears prickling in your eyes. Seeing him make out with her so easily made you feel sick. You never thought Taeyong was able to hurt you like this.

You always thought the best of him. He was so caring. You didn’t know where it went wrong, but suddenly he treated you like you were the worst person ever. He replaced you and seemed to not even feel bad about it.

Walking towards Taeyong your steps felt heavy. You couldn’t lie to yourself any longer, he didn’t love you anymore. He hurt you and you wanted him to know that.

Stopping in front of him you waited until Taeyong caught your figure next to him, immediately staring at you with wide eyes. He almost pushed Jia back, startling her, before she also noticed you standing there.

Unlike him, she didn’t look fazed at all. You wondered if she even knew you were his girlfriend. You barely held back your tears and your voice was shaky.

“Whatever I did to you, I’m honestly sorry. I hope you’re fucking happy now.” You stopped for a second, taking in Taeyong’s face one more time, his shocked expression.

Quickly you disappeared in the crowd, making your way to the exit, Doyoung running behind you. As you got out of the club, the fresh air hit your face. Hot tears fell down your cheeks, as you slowly walked down the alley.

Doyoung came up next to you. “Are you okay”, he mumbled, putting a hand on your shoulder. You didn’t look okay. And he hated seeing you this broken.

Another voice called your name and you both turned around to find Taeyong angrily walking up to you. “Y/n”, he shouted.

He looked so angry and for what reason. Doyoung quickly stepped between the two of you. “Taeyong, fucking leave her alone”, he shouted, but Taeyong only pushed him to the side.

“You fucking knew”, he shouted at you and you stepped back, scared. “What sick game are you playing”, he added.

Now you got angry too, poking his chest with your index finger angrily. “I defended you all this time. I made up stupid excuses for you and your behavior, when you didn’t even have the guts to talk to me. This is so fucking low Taeyong, even for you”, you shouted back.

“Please, you’re obsessed with me. You even show up in the same fucking club, knowing I’m with someone else. You’re a pathetic bitch.” You saw the change of expression in his eyes as soon as he said the last words.

“Y/n-“ his face softened and he tried to reach out for you, but you quickly interrupted him, slapping him across his face.

Out of reflex, Taeyong shoved you to the ground and you landed on your butt. You gasped, finding yourself sitting on the cold asphalt. Taeyong realized what he just did and wanted to help you up, but Doyoung had already rushed to you side.

“Y/n are you okay?” Doyoung grabbed your hand. You couldn’t help but burst out in tears, letting Doyoung help you up. “Please take me home”, you whispered and he quickly nodded.

Taeyong watched you two walk away, Doyoung sending him a death glare as you both turned around.

He couldn’t believe how far he had went. He hated himself so much for hurting you. He had hurt you with cheating and now he had even hurt you physically. Taeyong never wanted this to happen either. He had been tired for a long time, stopped giving you attention and touching you. But you did the same.

When Jia came to the studio, flirting non stop, he just let her. He would mindlessly fuck her until you would give him attention again. But when the time came around and you did, he had grown tired of you, too.

He hated himself and he had projected it onto you until he hated you too.

You thanked Doyoung at the entrance to your apartment, watching him drive off with the taxi, before you entered the building. Unlocking the door, you walked inside, immediately aiming for the bedroom, just wanting to go to sleep.

You were shocked seeing Taeyong in your room, examining a picture of you two together. He turned around, looking at you. For the first time in weeks he looked as sad as you. As hurt as you.

“Y/n can we talk, please”, he asked gently, moving towards you.

“It’s too late, Taeyong.”

“I love you so much”, a tear rolled down his cheek.

“No, you don’t. If you love someone you don’t ignore them, or hurt them or cheat on them. You hate me Taeyong. And I don’t even know why”, your voice cracked before you could finish your sentence.

“No, y/n. I don’t hate you.” He stepped closer again, taking a hold of your hand. “I hated myself so much. I was so sick and tired of everything. I let it all out on you. And I’m honestly so sorry. I love you so much, please.”

You cried more, your heart hurting in your chest. His fingers stroked over the back of your hand, a feeling you had been longing for for such a long time.

“You cheated on me, Taeyong”, you whispered.

He nodded, pressing his lips together, to hold back tears. “I don’t have any feelings for her. Please, y/n. Believe me, please.”

“It hurts, Taeyong. I gave you my heart and you threw it away just like that.”

Taeyong’s other hand moved to cup your face, wiping away the tear that had left your eye. “I didn’t. My heart belongs to you, you’re the love of my life.” He paused, breath shaky. “I have no excuse. Cheating on you was wrong in so many ways. I started because I thought I would find my love for you again. But fuck, I realized it was never gone in the first place. I never want to hurt you again, y/n.”

You cried out one more time, before stepping forward and hugging Taeyong tightly. He immediately pulled you closer, rubbing your back and kissing your head.

“I love you so much”, he whispered over and over again.

After a while, you pulled away from him again, sniffling and wiping your tears away.

Taeyong was all you had and wanted, but his actions scarred you deeply. You looked up at him, pecking his lips softly. It was lovely moments like this you wanted to last forever.

And it was moments like this you wished you could turn back time, to make him stop hurting you. Taeyong was your world and all you ever wished for was to be his too.

But sometimes it’s not meant to be. You would find someone else, someone that would love and appreciate you, even if times were tough.

And maybe one day you’d be someone’s world. And maybe Taeyong would be someone else’s.

a/n: I rewrote this so many times lol I hope you enjoy it. It was my first attempt on smut so please bear with me. I’d also appreciate any feedback <3

#nct #nct fake texts #nct scenarios #nct u #nct imagines #nct 127 #nct haechan #nct jaehyun #nct ten #nct taeyong #lee taeyong #lee donghyuck #lee haechan #jung jaehyun #ten lee #taeyong au #taeyong imagines #taeyong angst #taeyong smut #taeyong fluff #nct au #nct angst #taeyong oneshot

[ddullahan]

hadestown au 1

HI SO My anxiety has been through the fuckin roof for the past few weeks and in a fit of stress I deleted the first look of the bees hadestown au that I posted a few weeks ago. I’m feeling much better now and I wanted to repost it because I really am super excited about it >< Anyway, second verse, maybe same as the first, here we go! ---------------- it’s an old song As all tales begin, there comes a moment of question. The precipice we all stand at, toes hanging over the edge, eager to take the plunge. The question, different for every eye and ear turned to the story, starts as a feeling. It buoys us through the long swathes of paragraphs ahead. It seeps into our minds, and pushes us off the edge. We have that moment of freefall. Of realisation. We have to trust in something to catch us. Like most fairy tales, it begins with once upon a time. There laid a railroad track.   If you've ever heard the rails sing on a good, windy day, you'd know the sound sticks to the back of your mind. There to stay until the dark of night, when it creeps up to whisper wanderlust into your bones. The song of the rails is a low and resonant thing, humming into the willows scattered along the railroad sides. They used to say the rails were the Fates groaning in your ears. Urging you along. Waiting in anticipation for the train to come to call. Waiting for the story to start its freefall. The metal likes to wail beneath blackened wheels on hot, summer days. Days much like the one in which our story begins. Once upon a time - Metal chatters under the weight of an ancient, scorch-marked train. Decorated with blacked out windows. Panes of glass soot-stained, like they’d been brushed with fire one too many times. Coal smoke bursts from its chimney with a grudge, flooding the gray skies in the type of black smog that you can taste in the back of your mouth, long after the train’s disappeared. It was painted white once, a long, long time ago. A gift from the boss man down below for his flowering wife; but it’s one of those gifts you shove in the back of your drawer. One of those things that you spend your nights lying awake in bed, thinking in guilty chords. The train still runs, but the old white sides are now black and cold. Like the panting of dogs on the skin of your heels, the wind still blows hot behind it. The only thing it tows are souls to their final destination, but it won't take you if you ain't got the gold to board. It’s a fact almost everyone knows. ‘Cause the old legends say the road to hell could lead you out of poverty, but you gotta pay the toll to get that good money. The wind cracks and snaps after the train; sends the short ribbons of inky black hair whipping. Snapping into the brown-skinned face of a hungry young woman.   Blake Belladonna’s eyes glint like knives with a debt to pay, and her steps are sure footed against the rolling rocks under her boots. She wears a weathered bag slung over her shoulder, and a once-warm leather duster now worn to shit and hole-y. She seems small among the billowing willows and smoggy skies. She doesn't know where she's going or how she got to the railroad at all - but she knows how to turn her collar against the wind. And she knows how to run.   Metal shrieks, pulling her eyes up like a hand to the chin. She’s left to watch as the ruined, black omen of a train screams past a small, dilapidated station. It’s the only structure for miles. The cicadas are screaming along to the wailing of the tracks in a symphony, until the locomotive vanishes over the curve of a distant hill. The station's dry, mud-caked windows send silt drifting to cracked, rotting floorboards. The coke-bottle thick panes rattle angrily in their fragile frames, and then come to find their peace once more. Damn this is a dump, the young woman thinks, approaching the station. But it'll have to do. The sun's rays sink into her skull and turn her warm brown skin hot to the touch. It's far too hot for April. Stepping into the shade is an immediate relief, until the hot wind kicks up again. It blasts in her face as if to remind her it's there. As if she could ever forget. She's used to the way it whispers starvation in her ears. She throws the door open and escapes from the wind; stumbles her way into the empty station. Small and dusty like it’d been forgotten, filled with only two benches facing each other and a single door hiding behind them in the gloom. There's a sign on the door that reads "End o  th  line Caf ". Faintly, she can hear music behind it. Blake doesn't hesitate, and heads for the door. The knob breaks off in her hand, but it feels familiar and solid so she pockets it and heads inside. Follows the hallway and the pull of her feet to the music. The walls grow darker and thicker with polished wood. Her steps don't seem to echo and the music has since paused. The quiet starts to make her anxious. She doesn't like dark hallways. She's dreamt of them enough for a lifetime. The further she goes, the more her unease starts to grow and the more she starts to wonder if she's been here before. It's ridiculous, really. This is the farthest south she'd ever gone. Or was she in the east? Her anxious heart speeds up for a reason she can't see, and it's like her feet already know where to go. The hallway turns suddenly and she finds herself standing at the rim of an amphitheater of sorts. The music fades back in. There's a band jamming to soft jazz in the stands, people crowded and conversing at tiny tables scattered about the flat floor at the bottom. There's a man at a piano playing a diddy, there's a flicker of gold in the kitchen beyond. It's alive in a way that she hadn't seen in a long time, and she finds her feet eager to join the dancing 'round the tables below. She takes a step and nearly runs into another woman, decked out in a crisp white and red suit. She’s older, maybe late thirties or mid forties - has this eternally kind, yet melancholy smile. Her features are fair, but tired. Her black hair is pulled back like Blake’s, but tipped with red like the ends had been dipped in paint. Blake apologises immediately - "E-excuse me, sorry," and starts picking her way down to the tables. "No worries dear," She hears faintly behind her, the older woman's face already blurred from her memory. She blinks and suddenly she’s on the bottom floor, with the movers and shakers rattling cups with their stomping jive. She wants to move with them, but she's already reaching for an empty chair, like her hand was following its own storyline. The flash of gold catches her attention again. Her feet slip into a shallow groove in the floor, and she is rooted. Something crashes, and her eyes follow the clattering sharp shards of porcelain. One piece with purple trim bounces off a brown boot. She notices a hole near the big toe. Blake looks up, and her heart decides to freefall.   All the way across the floor stands a young woman in an apron. A bucket of newly broken dishes lay at her feet.   Her eyes are so pale and pretty they have their own orbit amidst the aging lights above. Her blonde hair ripples into liquid gold, twisted messily into a bun. Broad shoulders are cinched into position with suspenders and there's an off-white shirt rolled up to her elbows, the hem tucked into a pair of trousers. The skin of her strong forearms are tanned and riddled with freckles, spreading constellations all the way up her neck and across the gradual slope of her nose.   Oh, there's something familiar about all of this. Blake feels it in her bones. There’s something familiar in the ‘o’ of her startled mouth. Something about the empty hands she hovers, still holding an imaginary bucket of plates. She's got those sharp lilac eyes pinned on something in front of her.   It's a jolt to realise she's staring right at Blake. Though suddenly, that older woman in the white and red suit sweeps by that freckled face, and it's with a smile and a wave that their staring contest ends. No one claims the victory as the spell breaks. The older woman asks something that Blake can't hear, but she knows her voice is soft and sweet. Her feet move like she’s skating on air, and Blake decides to focus on that. She focuses on that instead of the heartbeat in her chest. She doesn’t think about how her pulse no longer feels like it belongs to herself. The golden woman nods stiffly and turns. Follows the gliding woman to the back of the house, and Blake is left with a heart migrating into her throat. The hungry young woman quickly tears her gaze away, uproots her feet from the grooves in the floor, and sits at the table she'd claimed. Her skin feels clammy. Her body is buzzing. She shrugs off her bag and coat, then pulls her bag into her lap. As if there was anything in there worth protecting. It could be minutes, it could be hours. She's really not sure, when a shadow falls over her table, and the sight aches like an old friend. A bottle of some fizzy drink is set gently before her, the bottle cap rattling towards her side of the table. Sunflower Pop, it reads. She looks up. The poor young woman, with her liquid gold locks wrapped in a messy topknot, stares right back. They're both struck speechless.   If there was ever a moment where destiny fills the lungs, it was then. Anticipation strings itself between their ribs, the cords like telephone wires humming their universal tune. I found you. I found you. I found you. But neither of them say a word to each other. The anticipation feels closer to a noose than a cup-and-string, the longer they spend breathing in the other's presence. The hungry young woman with hair black as night, just couldn't look away. Couldn't make her voice work right. The gold haired woman's jaw seems to work, but there was still no sound to be heard. Eventually the woman just turns around and walks away, toddling and tripping like her knees were unsteady. Blake sits where she left her, feeling much more than sympathy. She feels like her chair would collapse with her if she tried to follow. And again, there are voices whispering in the back of her mind. The wind already found her inside this place, its voices groaning and hollow. It always finds her, and she knows. She knows it always will. But as her slender fingers wrap around the neck of the bottle left on her table, Blake tastes the fizz and hums. Feels the crackle of carbonation all across her skin as she tracks the tall blonde with her eyes. The wind doesn’t feel like a whip in this vibrant, lively place. That has to count for something. Maybe she should stick around, just for one day. Maybe she would stick around and wait for the band to play.

#rwby hadestown au #rwby fanfiction #bumbleby #bumbleby hadestown au #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #i'm still waiting to finish the whole thing before posting it on ao3 #but the more i reread it #the more excited i am #i fucking love this au #thank y'all for your patience T.T #and thank you yangsbandana #for encouraging me to post it again i appreciate you v much T.T #rwby

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Beside The Dying Fire (part one)

[DnD AU with the tour!verse]

I got big plans for this AU! Hopefully you all enjoy it!

Featuring @spooner7308‘s Sixtended OC, EB!

Word count: 2722

---------------------

Mud slopped around her ankles as the late afternoon rain pattered off waxed robes and soaked into the churned forest soil. The woods around this area were shrouded in thick mist, too dense to see through, so Katherine scrambled up a nearby tree, moving slowly but carefully, swinging higher until she could see clearly around her. Something about being high up relaxed her, even as she surveyed the land. 

War had ravaged the territory outside her province. Straight ahead, thick, billowing tendrils of dark grey smoke twisted high into the air, evidence of another battle fought. She wondered how many died this time. 

To the right, the distant city, Orkpool. The people there were heavily influenced by the celestial gods, too much so for Katherine’s personal taste. 

And to the left, a wall of dark clouds bearing heavy rainfall. The soft grey sky was already being consumed in its mass. The forest would be replenished with its water.

Katherine paced over the stretch of winding tree branches, watching the surrounding perimeter closely. Her village was much too soft to be on guard duty, as they didn’t really believe in violence, so she decided to step up and make sure no threats were trying to come in. With the war going on, they could never be too safe. Her father didn’t seem to understand that no matter how many times she spelled it out for him.

Sighing, Katherine ran her fingertips over the length of the bow strapped to her back. It was made of soft birch wood and carved with small knobs and pointy bits, perfect for her hands. When she first got it when she was just a teenager, she had fantasized about defending the entire village with just the weapon alone, sending down a barrage of arrows down on the enemies and wiping them out with a single attack. 

But now she’s almost thirty and she doesn’t really feel like much of a hero.

She had spent her entire life cooped up in the forest. And it wasn’t that she didn’t like Ghent, she did, she just wished for more freedom to explore. But after the death of her mother, her father tightened the security of the village. Nobody leaves and nobody comes in without an intense security check. Well, at least they moved past killing anyone on sight- now THAT would have caused a war just by itself.

Rustling came to Katherine’s left and she turned, spotting a squirrel munching away on some berries a few feet away. She crouched down, slipping her bow off of her back. She knocked an arrow and aimed for the animal’s heart, hoping to take it out with one shot. It would make an excellent snack for her friend.

Arms muscles tingling with the strength of drawing back the string, Katherine exhaled a breath and--

  “KATHERINE!!!!”

The arrow flew into the tree trunk, and the squirrel shrieked in fright and took off into the underbrush. Katherine growled in frustration and swung her head down to the young man standing below the tree she was in.

It was Elan, an Wood Elf like her, but several years younger. He had chords of ivy woven in his oak brown hair, and his dumb hazel deer eyes were blinking in confusion.

  “Oh. Were you hunting?” He said obliviously. “Sorry!”

Katherine rolled her eyes and hopped across the branches to retrieve her arrow. When she hopped down from the tree, Elan looked nervous.

  “You shouldn’t jump from that height,” He said, as worried as always. “What if you break your ankles? Or your leg? Then what shall we do?”

  “Not leave me out here to die, I hope,” Katherine said, gliding past him. He jumped and hurried after her, skittering like a baby deer that lagged behind its herd. “And this wouldn’t be such a problem if we set up an actual guard post. Then we can have proper ladders AND security.”

Elan actually wrinkled his nose at that prospect. “I prefer having everyone in the village. It’s safer that way. Especially for you, princess.”

Katherine struggled to suppress a groan. She hated that she was considered a “princess”, when their village couldn’t even rank to a real kingdom. Just because she was the chief’s daughter didn’t mean she was anything special.

  “I told you to not call me that, Elan.” Katherine chided.

Elan fumbled. “I-I know, but--”

  “No buts. Don’t call me princess. It’s just weird.”

Katherine whisked past him quickly, breaking through a threshold of braided willow curtains to enter into her village.

Ghent was a marvelous forest city made of hunts and tents and tree houses. A winding river wove through the territory, burbling several spring deposits near the many shops and apothecaries. Colorful flowers bloomed like starbursts from house to house, making the place seem more like home and less like a prison that you weren’t really allowed to leave. Elves and fauns and satyrs and a few cat-folk mulled around, shopping or eating or selling their wares. A certain faun with speckled brown fur like an axis deer, bounded up to her and happily strummed a lute.

  “There she is!” The faun chirped in a singsong voice. “The princess has returned! The city is saved!”

Katherine shoved the faun playfully. “Oh, shut up, Anne. And don’t call me princess!”

  “Uh oh, princess is getting feisty!” Said another voice from behind.

Katherine whirled around to see a smirking satyr standing there. Her fur was a deep russet brown color, contrasting her lighter brown hair, and her body was held with great strength. This particular satyr always had an abundance of smugness, which she didn’t care to hide. Like right now.

  “There’s my partner in crime!” Anne trotted over to the satyr. 

  “Ran off again?” Maggie asked Katherine. “You disobeyed your father. I like it.” She smirked even wider.

Katherine shook her head. “Someone has to. We need to stay safe.”

  “We are safe,” Anne said. “Don’t worry so much.” And then, to completely contradict her words, “Oh, by the way, that orc lady is back.”

Katherine groaned. Of course.

After just a brief moment of scanning the area, she spotted the half-orc sitting by a small campfire and chewing on some dried deer strips, sticking out like a sore thumb in the village.

EB was a mountain of a woman thanks to her orc blood. She had dull, greyish-green skin, matted dark brown hair, and a terrible under and overbite, with the sharp canines almost overlapping each other. Her upper body was scrawled with inky black tattoos of things Katherine didn’t understand, and her face, neck, and chest were marred with several scars in various stages of healing. The most recent seemed to be a stab wound in her shoulder, dressed in a dirty bandage that looked like it needed to be changed. When Katherine walked over, she stood up, towering over the usually very tall wood elf.

  “Elizabeth,” Katherine said.

  “It’s EB,” The half-orc rumbled, and her voice was deep and biting. Up close, her face looked like it was set in an expression of permanent rage. “I’ve told you that many times before.”

  “My apologies,” Katherine said. “EB. Why have you returned to my village?”

  “I am once again asking your people to join us in our fight,” EB said. She slipped a scroll out of her crumpled satchel and thrust it into Katherine hand’s. The paper was stained by rainwater, mud, and droplets of dried blood that had seeped through the leather of her bag. “Henry will not be asking again.”

  “It’s about time,” Katherine said, nothing bothering to open up the declaration. “I’ve given him the same answer three times now. I’m glad he finally took the hint.” 

She tried to hand the scroll back, but EB didn’t take it. She just glared. Her fingers twitched like she wanted to grab the massive ax on her back and slice Katherine’s head in two.

  “You don’t have a choice.” EB said.

  “This is not our fight.” Katherine deflected. “I’m not putting my village in danger just because of some petty war. And for what? What exactly are you people fighting for?”

EB faltered for a moment, letting her guard down for just a second. She blinked her flashing flash eyes, then gathered herself up again, gruffly saying, “You would know if you joined.”

Katherine barked a laugh. “Nice try.”

Once again, EB’s expression twitched, but this time it actually stayed slightly more fearful. She reached out and grabbed Katherine’s forearm with a huge hand, squeezing it tightly.

  “Listen,” She hissed softly, urgency in her usually-rude voice. “You all seem like good people. I don’t want you to die. You have better chances surviving in the war than defying what Henry wants. Trust me, I’ve seen what he can do. I’ve had to do horrible things. I don’t want the same thing happening to you.” She gripped tighter until Katherine thought her bone may snap in two pieces. “Please, Just agree. Fight with us.”

Katherine looked up at the huge half-orc and said, “No.”

EB was taken aback. She released Katherine’s arm and stepped away, quickly settling her facial features back into rudeness so as to not break the obvious mask she was having to wear. Then, she snorted.

  “You’ve got guts,” The half-orc said. “It’s a shame that they’ll soon be sprawled out all over your village.”

Katherine raised her nose haughtily. “We aren’t as weak as we seem.”

EB eyed her up and down, then said, “I sure hope so.”

Then, she gathered her belongings and stalked out of the village, earning wary looks from civilians as she went. The moment she was out of the willow curtains, Katherine exhaled a shaky breath and rubbed her forehead tiredly. She looked down at the scroll in her hand and worried about what she just got herself into.

  “What was that all about?” Maggie asked as she and Anne trotted over.

  “Another alignment pact,” Katherine said, showing them the rolled up piece of paper. “I didn’t agree, of course. I don’t want anyone fighting in a war.” Then, softly, “I don’t think half of us would even know how to properly fight.”

Anne tilted her head at the scroll. “Oh dear. Well, at least you saved us! No war for Ghent!” She strummed happily on her lute.

Katherine chuckled lightly, hoping to look on the bright side of things like her distant cousin. She turned to go to her tree house, hopefully to rest up before dinner and--

  “OW!!”

That’s right. She had more company. Though, this one she was actually looking forward to seeing.

Katherine walked over to the apothecary hut where the cry originated from and peeked inside. Past the shimmering vials and bubbling cauldrons and various ingredients hanging up, was a straw bed where a young woman laid.

She was an Aasimar of around twenty-three, with glowing golden skin, pupil-less silver eyes, and long, luscious dark brown hair that had glistening yellow feathers growing out from the scalp. She was bold-faced and well-muscled on her arms and neck, and there were patches of golden-white feathers fluffed on her shoulders, where wings would sprout if she commanded them. Despite her nun’s robes, her belly was thick and swollen with pregnancy of around five months. Her frustrated expression brightened when Katherine knelt beside the bed.

  “Kat,” She said in relief. “Finally.”

  “Sorry, I was out scouting,” Katherine said. She watched as the village’s physician, an old Wood Elf named Faedi, ran her hands over the Aasimar’s stomach. “How are you, Catalina?”

  “In hell,” Catalina groaned, slumping her head back on the pillow. “I HATE being pregnant. Faedi says there’s no way to speed this along with ‘hurting the baby.’ What about ME? You know how hard it is to wear armor AND be as fat as a beached whale?”

Katherine chuckled and ran her fingers through Catalina’s hair to soothe her. “You aren’t fat, dear,” She said. “And maybe you shouldn’t wear armor, then?”

Catalina eyed Katherine’s thin frame and rock-hard muscles incredulously. “I am NOT giving up my armor. I already gave up booze. That’s ALL you’re taking from me!”

Katherine laughed, smoothing down some unruly gold feathers on Catalina’s head. “I do hope your baby does not inherit your stubbornness.” She looked at Faedi. “How is the baby?”

  “Healthy, Faedi said. “Very active, too, which is good.”

  “Keeps kicking me in the fuckin’ ribs,” Catalina grumbled. “Why couldn’t I have slept with, like, a mermaid? I rather lay eggs then deal with this.” She lifted her head to yell at her stomach. “Like, hey, bitch! You aren’t even paying rent! The least you can do is not beat me up!”

Katherine couldn’t help but laugh again. Catalina always knew how to cheer her up, even if she did so without really realizing it. Even now, with risking her life every day for having to hide her pregnancy from the church, she still remained fierce, brave, and courageous. 

  “I don’t think laying eggs would be very fun,” Katherine said. “There would be a lot to lay.”

  “At least eggs don’t have legs.” Catalina said, then laughed. “Ha. Eggs. Legs. That rhymes. I am hilarious.”

Katherine remembered the first time Catalina showed up in her current state. They had been friends for years, but never before had she seen the young woman look so worried. She had clutched at her middle and begged for an examination, where Faedi had then announced she was with child. Catalina explained to Katherine that she had slept with a sweet man named Arthur, desperately needing to get her mind off of things, but found that he was gone when she woke up the next morning, leaving only his sperm fertilizing her eggs to remember him by. Since then she’s been hiding her pregnancy from the church she worked at, making excuses for morning sickness and mood swings and cravings. But now she looked too far along to hide the bump under several layers of robes.

  “It may be best for you to stay in the village until you deliver,” Faedi said. “I’m worried about you getting discovered.”

  “I agree,” Katherine said.

  “I don’t want to intrude,” Catalina said, but Katherine shook her head.

  “Please. I insist.”

Catalina smiled. “Thank you, Kat.”

Faedi excused herself from the hut a few minutes later to go check on some other patients, leaving Katherine and Catalina alone. Beside the bed was a shiny silver sword and polished steel shoulder pads, since Catalina insisted on wearing protection and fighting when necessary, even with her pregnancy. She didn’t like being hindered, but Katherine knew she would have to stand down eventually, especially when she got further into her trimester.

  “Oh no,” Catalina said. “Not that look.”

Katherine raised an eyebrow at her. “What look?”

  “The ‘I’m worried over Catalina’s pregnancy’ look,” Catalina stated. “You always get it when you look at my sword.”

  “I just want you and the baby to be safe,” Katherine said, earning her a loud groan that made her smile.

  “I AM safe, though. Now that I’m here, I don’t have to worry about being discovered and crucified.” Catalina said. “I’m safe.” And then she yelped loudly. “Ow! You spineless, pig-fucking bastard! Stop kicking me!” Katherine laughed and set a hand on Catalina’s belly, rubbing soothing circles around it. She felt light kicks underneath her palm, but Catalina didn’t cry out at those.

  “I think they like you,” Catalina said. “Thank god for that. Now I know to come to you when they won’t let me sleep!”

  “Oh, so then I won’t get sleep?” Katherine said.

  “Yup!” Catalina beamed, and Katherine laughed.

The good mood was abruptly cut short, however, but shouting from outside the hut. Katherine shot to her feet instantly, with Catalina right behind her, but she ushered the young woman back down.

  “But--” Catalina tried to argue.

  “No buts. Stay here.” Katherine ordered, then ran out, taking her bow from its straps. Was EB back? Was Henry really going to attack the village for not siding with him?

A crowd was gathered by one of the ponds. Katherine could see Maggie pointing a flint-tipped wooden spear at something as she rushed over. She knocked an arrow as she pushed through the group and--

--and aimed for a tiny Tiefling child with pure white skin.

#dnd au #maybe rb and comment if you liked it? please? #it boosts my moral #six the musical #six the musical au #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fanfiction #six fanfiction #six fanfic #tour katherine howard #katherine howard #tour catherine of aragon #catherine of aragon #tour anne boleyn #anne boleyn #tour maggie on the guitar #eb #elizabeth barton #sixtended verse #uk tour six #beside the dying fire

[lunetheaveragefan]

‘one day...’

Hey y’all! This chapter was supposed to be posted last Monday but last week was so busy for me and I forgot. So finally, here is chapter 7! Chapter 8 was supposed to be posted next week, but I’m going to continue with my typical two week schedule so I don’t forget again! Hope you enjoy!

A Sander Sides high school AU

Pairing: Prinxiety and some background Logicality

Summary: Virgil is used to being alone. He only has one friend, Logan. But when Logan makes a new friend, things begin to change as two more join their group. Roman, a boisterous theater kid, seems determined to destroy Virgil’s lonely, average life. How much will Virgil’s life change?

Warnings: swearing; brief mention of a panic attack; eating; if you notice anything else, let me know!

Word Count: 2557 words

-------------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER SEVEN

Virgil exits the auditorium with Patton and Logan, grinning.

“He did so good!” Patton exclaims. Before either of the others have a chance to respond, Patton continues, “It was like he was a completely different person! Here, let’s go congratulate him!” Virgil and Logan follow Patton down a few crowded hallways, weaving in and out of people talking to other members of the cast. 

“Roman!” Patton yells, waving his arms. Virgil catches sight of Roman, stepping out of a set of heavy doors. Behind him, it’s dark, but Virgil can make out a folding table and the edges of black curtains. Backstage. Then, a group of people walk in front of them, and Virgil loses sight of Roman.

Without hesitation, Patton grabs Logan’s hand and begins to shove people aside, muttering a few cheerful ‘Excuse me’s and ‘Sorry’s. Before Virgil has a chance to get a hold of Logan, they’re lost in the crowd. 

Well, what the heck do I do now? Virgil wonders, chuckling softly. A hand brushes his arm at the same time a voice says, “Hey. Where are the others?”

After seeing who it is, Virgil laughs and answers, “They went to look for you.” Roman slaps his forehead with his palm, uttering a sound that’s half-sigh, half-laugh. He rises up to his toes, straining to look over people’s heads.

“This same goddamn thing happens every year. You would think we’d learn by now.” Roman looks back down at Virgil, and at the very second he does, Virgil sees Patton pop up above the rest of the crowd. Pointing so Roman will see, Virgil waves his other hand to catch Patton’s attention. It works, and Roman grabs Virgil’s hand, causing his heart to skip a beat. 

After a lot of pushing and shoving, the two of them reach Patton and Logan, standing pressed up against the wall next to a chair. So that’s how Patton got so tall all of a sudden. The second Patton sees them, he starts to gush about the performance.

“That was so good, Roman!” Patton exclaims clapping his hands in glee. He bounces on the balls of his feet, a wide smile spread across his face. “We all loved it and we’re so proud of you and it sounded so good and I think Virgil might’ve even been crying—” Virgil blushes when Roman looks at him with a shocked expression—“I’m not sure I couldn’t see through my own tears. But for real it was so good, like, I can’t even believe it was put on by high schoolers—” Logan places a hand on Patton’s shoulder. The action confirms to Virgil that Logan definitely has some sort of crush on Patton; Logan never really touches anyone in any way, with the occasional exception of Virgil. 

“Sorry,” Patton says, grinning sheepishly. Roman chuckles and looks at Patton, appreciation covering his face.

“It’s okay. I’m glad you came. All of you.” Roman’s smile at him, although no more than a few seconds, makes butterflies erupt in Virgil’s stomach. He smiles back hesitantly, an intense debate going on in his head.

C’mon, tell him how much you liked it! one side says. 

No! He won’t think it’s sincere. He’ll just figure you’re copying Patton, the other says back. 

Maybe he will take it seriously! Maybe then you’ll have a better chance with him!

Better chance? You don’t actually like him, do you?

Of course he does! The butterflies, dreams, that’s the only logical conclusion!

Shut up, Virgil interrupts. I’ll tell him good job, but as a friend. Because I don’t like him. He’s still Roman Princeford. Have you all forgotten what happened freshman year? That ends the argument in its tracks. He gathers his courage, a rolling knot of apprehension twisting in his stomach.

“Yeah, it was really good, Roman,” Virgil compliments. “Although, Patton, you didn’t need to freaking snitch on me and how I was crying.” Patton shrugs, like ‘What can you do?’ Virgil chuckles, shaking his head. 

“Wait, you were actually crying?” Roman asks. When Virgil turns back to look at Roman, he bursts out laughing at his face. It’s filled with complete and utter shock, eyes wide, mouth in a small, disbelieving ‘o’ shape. It seems so much like a face a cartoon character would make that Virgil can’t control his laughter. “What?”

“Your—Your face—” Virgil manages between wheezes. Roman punches Virgil in the arm.

“Stop. That’s not nice.” His words sound angry, but he’s smiling and his tone — and punch — are light. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Virgil says, taking deep breaths to hold the laughter in. “It was just so comically shocked. But yes. I did actually cry. And don’t seem so surprised this time.” 

“Honestly, your laugh was more surprising. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh like that. It’s a nice sound,” Roman admits, his face filled with something that seems awfully close to adoration. But then he blinks, and his smile is just an ordinary, million-dollar, Roman Princeford smile. It wouldn’t matter if he said it with contempt, because the compliment would’ve still sent a flood of warmth through Virgil. His heart is racing, but this time, not out of panic. 

Tearing his eyes away from Roman and trying to inconspicuously grit his teeth, which is no easy feat, Virgil thinks, What is going on? It’s just a compliment. It’s not like you have a crush on him or anything. 

“Anyway,” Roman starts, addressing the whole group, “I better go find my parents so they can fawn over me like I’m next Lin-Manuel Miranda or Leslie Odom Jr.” Upon seeing everyone’s blank looks, his eyes widen and he says, “Hamilton stars? Only some of the best singers to ever step foot on Broadway? Voices like goddamn angels who can, for some reason, also rap?” When everyone shakes their head, he sighs. “I swear, you guys must be living under a rock. But anyway, Imma head out. We’ll meet by door 10 at, say, 9:00, for the sleepover?” 

Patton and Logan nod their heads and immediately start talking to each other, Patton’s hands moving animatedly.

“Sleepover?” Virgil asks. 

“Yeah, Patton and I have a tradition where after every show or any big event with one of our activities, we have a sleepover. Even if it went terribly. He didn’t tell you?” Virgil shakes his head. Roman smiles and continues, “Well, you won’t want to miss it. Door 10 at 9, got it?” Once Virgil gives him confirmation, Roman turns and disappears into the crowd.

Virgil stares after him, a strange feeling welling up inside him. And this time, when the possibility of a crush comes up in his thoughts, he doesn’t dismiss it immediately. 

------------------

Virgil sits against Roman’s wall, an excessive amount of pillows behind his back, wrapped in a blanket like a burrito, a comparison that Patton has already, unfortunately, made.

“I still cannot comprehend how you possibly require this immense amount of pillows,” Logan persists. He can’t stop marveling over how many pillows Roman has on his bed. It’s about the 4th time he’s mentioned it.

“Logan, dude, just let it go,” Virgil chuckles, throwing the stuffed bear next to him. It hits Logan, who’s sitting on the floor, square in the side of his head. He opens his mouth to protest, but Roman interrupts him.

“Hey, don’t throw King Snuffles. He doesn’t deserve this abuse.” Roman leans over to pick the bear off the floor. Cradling it in his arms, he glares at Virgil. 

“You named your bear King Snuffles?” Virgil questions, not all that surprised. Roman gasps and fakes being offended.

“Yes,” he replies, his voice scandalized. “And what the hell of it?” Virgil puts his hands up in surrender.

“Woah. Nothing, I guess, if you’re going to get so defensive about it.” He pulls the blanket, which fell down when he put up his hands, back around him. There’s too much on his head, so it falls in front of his face. Before he can reach up to push it up, a hand does it for him. Roman smiles at him, patting his head after setting the blanket there. Virgil rolls his eyes.

He hopes the yellow-orange LED lights and the shadows from the blanket hide the blush creeping across his cheeks. 

“I’m hungry so I’m gonna head and get snacks,” Roman announces, turning and sling his legs over the edge of the bed to stand. Patton bolts to his feet. 

“No, no, I’ll do it,” he says, clearly up to something. “And Logan will come with me.” 

“Well, actually—” Logan begins. Patton elbows him, and he changes course. “I guess I’m going with.” On their way out, Patton gives Roman an exaggerated wink. Roman, in lieu of a response, gives him an exasperated, I’m-so-done kind of look. Virgil can’t say for sure, but when Roman looks back at him, he thinks Roman’s blushing.

“So…” Roman starts, biting his lip and fidgeting with his fingers. Virgil’s never seen him look this unsure. He’s used to a confident, brash, slightly egotistical Roman. To his surprise, he almost prefers this side of Roman. 

Virgil must lose his mind for a little, because he’s definitely not acting like himself when he suggests, “Pillow fight?” and right after, grabs a pillow and flings it at Roman, whacking him in the face. 

A borderline-evil smile appears on Romans face as he says, “Oh, you’re on.” Virgil’s senses pick that exact moment to come back, but he can’t take it back now. So he does the only thing he can do: slings the pillow again. Chaos erupts, and a Virgil verse Roman pillow fight begins. 

As he throws and gets hit by pillows, Virgil laughs and yells, heart pounding, breathing in quick bursts, but this feels better than panic attacks. Happiness. It’s something Virgil doesn’t feel a whole lot since he spends most of his life stuck in a state of anxiety. It’s nice to be happy again.

He’s so lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t notice the pillow coming towards him until it slaps him in the face. Virgil falls backwards, head landing, conveniently, on a pillow. He sits up and hits Roman with it, and they’re at it again. 

When Roman starts to fall off the bed, Virgil starts to laugh. But then he realizes that somehow, they’d gotten tangled in a blanket, and if Roman is going down, Virgil will too. Shrieking in surprise, Virgil instinctively closes his eyes as he’s yanked off the bed. A pillow hits the back of his head once he’s landed. He laughs and opens his eyes to see Roman directly under him. There’s no doubt about it now; Roman is definitely blushing. For that matter, so is Virgil. 

There’s also no way Virgil can deny his crush anymore. But that doesn’t mean he has to deal with it, right? ...Right...

Desperate to put an end to the awkwardness, Virgil stands and offers his hand to Roman. He takes it and pulls himself to his feet. They make eye contact for a second before Virgil looks down at his hands. I wonder what would’ve happened if I’d kissed him. 

Nope, nope, nope. Not gonna think about that. Don’t have to deal with that, remember?

“I, uh, wonder what’s taking Patton and Logan so long with the snacks,” Roman finally says, breaking the tense silence. Virgil wants to sigh in relief. 

Instead, he simply responds, “I’m not sure. Let’s go see.” They walk to the landing of the stairs. Strangely, there isn’t any sound coming from the kitchen. After walking down the first few steps, Virgil can see into the room. What he sees should come as a surprise, but it really doesn’t.

Apparently, trying to set up Roman and Virgil wasn’t the only reason why Patton wanted Logan to come with. Logan is pressed up against the counter, hand wrapped around Patton’s waist as they kiss. Patton’s palms hold Logan’s face, tilting it down to account for the inches Logan has on him. 

Roman, standing right behind Virgil, mutters, “Okay. Okay then.” Virgil starts to laugh but forces himself to stop so Logan or Patton don’t hear. Carefully, they creep back to the bedroom, letting them have their moment.

“So how long do you think that’s been going on for?” Roman asks once they’re back sitting on his bed, Virgil back to being wrapped up in his blanket cocoon again.

“Honestly, I have no idea,” Virgil admits. “I kinda figured Logan had a crush on Patton, but I didn’t think they would actually get together, at least not this soon.”

“Yeah ever since their chemistry project, Patton's been crushing on Logan hard. He doesn’t shut up about it. Apparently,” Roman says, leaning in conspiratorially, “they’ve been talking a lot. Patton’s been so tired lately cuz they’re up til, like, 1 AM, video chatting.”  

“That is news to me.” Virgil pauses, staring at the door. The two of them sit in silence for a while — comfortable silence — just waiting for Patton and Logan to reappear with the snacks they were supposed to be bringing. After about 10 more minutes, Virgil turns to Roman and asks, “Do you think I should call them up? They’ve been down there for an awful long time.”

“Yeah. The last thing I want is for them to have sex on my kitchen counter.” Virgil winces at the image that appears in his head at the words.

After Roman yells down to Logan and Patton, Virgil says, “Oh, god. Please never say anything like that again. I do not need that image in my head.” Roman laughs. 

“An image of what?” Patton asks, walking in the room with Logan not far behind. Thankfully, they had the decency to pretend like they weren’t just making out. But Patton didn’t have so much decency to pretend like he hadn’t been eavesdropping on their conversation. They drop a few Halloween-size, assorted candy bulk bags and two big bowls of popcorn on the bed. 

“Nothing,” Virgil answers, grabbing a handful of popcorn and shoving it in his mouth. “Ooh, Sour Patch Kids.” He grabs four individual bags of them and drops them in his lap. 

“Jeez, hungry much?” Roman teases. Virgil flips him off and takes another handful of popcorn. Roman tries to sneakily grab a handful of mini bars from the bag of chocolate-based candy, but Virgil notices.

“Jeez, hypocritical much?” he quips, smirking. 

“Oh, fuck off,” Roman responds, sticking his tongue out like a little kid. Virgil sticks his out right back. Patton, who, unsurprisingly, hates swearing, quickly attempts to change the subject.

“Hey, I have an idea! Let’s play Two Truths, One Lie! Then we can get to know each other better!” he suggests. The rest of them agree, and Patton goes first. They take turns, occasionally sharing stories and facts about themselves. And when they get bored of Two Truths, One Lie, they switch to Truth or Dare, and Virgil has to eat a spoonful of mayo.

Patton’s the first to fall asleep. Not long after, around 2 AM, Roman and Logan follow. Virgil sits wrapped in his blanket cocoon in the darkened bedroom. He stares out the window at the dim stars, thinking about how lucky he is. He has three great friends who he can make memories and laugh with.

He turns to look at Roman, asleep on the bed beside him. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, “for surprising me.”

#virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #thomas sanders #prinxiety #logicality #sanders sides #high school au #fanfiction #fanfic #one day...

[the-chipped-cup-awards]

2024 Nominees Part 2

Here we continue to celebrate our wonderful writers and artist and share the next list of nominees under the cut

Best Dark Castle

Spy by @peacehopeandrats

Tea by @peacehopeandrats

Marble by @peacehopeandrats

Pages of Reverie by @chippedcupwrites

Shades of Blue by @ReyloAreHairGoals

His Little Wife by @Lady_Janes_Fics

The Weakness Inside Him by @Tickletorso

Best Storybrooke

Golden Thread by @enchantedflower

Symmetrical Simulations by @peacehopeandrats

War In Pieces by @peacehopeandrats

The Meeting by @peacehopeandrats

Leaving Storybrooke by @peacehopeandrats

Best Missing Years

Leaving Storybrooke by @peacehopeandrats

The Tent Of Infinite Adventure by @peacehopeandrats

Balloon by @peacehopeandrats

Unconventional by @Peacehopeandrats

Sacred Promise by @ace_cf_cups

The Storybrooke Whisky Appreciation Society by @threepwoodmarley

Best Wish!Verse

Once There Was A Wish by @peacehopeandrats

Deception by @eirian_houpe

Special Categories

Best Golden Lace

One Lover, Many Dreams by @peacehopeandrats

War In Pieces by @peacehopeandrats

Wax by @peacehopeandrats

The Storybrooke Whisky Appreciation Society by @ThreepwoodMarley

Weakness by @ThreepwoodMarley

Best Woven Beauty

Gift by Peacehopeandrats

Undefined Desires, by @worryinglyinnocent

Best Background Swanfire

To Have and to Hold - @ThatRavenclawBitch

Fragments of the Past, Glimpses of Tomorrow, by @wierdogal

Best Afterlife fic

Granted by @peacehopeandrats

Belle's Promise by @bellerina98

Awakening by @eirian_houpe

Best Drama

Time’s Curse by @eirian_houpe

Love Me Before The Last Petal Falls by deliriumsdelight7

Ad Luceum by @reolf

Best Supernatural/Sci-fi/horror

No Light Over London by @lotus0kid

The Cunning by @mareyshelley

Mortuus Loqueris Ad by @Jackabelle73

Best Comedy

The Third Wheel by @tickletorso

Lacey and the Tramp by @chippedcupwrites

Best AU (Original)

Wretched Beginnings by @poorobscureplainandlittle

Wild by @Peacehopeandrats

Two Could by @eirian_houpe

Secret of the Seas by @eirian_houpe

Scattered by @eirian_houpe

Best AU (Based on Once Upon a Time)

Tales of Gold by @JurisLadyAnna

A Knack for Losing Everything by @AntiKryptonite

Best AU (Based on Other Media)

Rumbelle’s ‘The Princess Bride’ by @Trash_000

Modern Wonders by @eirian_houpe

The Black Swan by @DeliriumsDelight7

Time’s Curse by @eirian_houpe

Best Creature

The Finfolk’s Bride by @chippedcupwrites

The Cunning by @mareyshelley

Fallen by @eirian_houpe

Before the Storm by @reolf

Best Unexpected Twist

Contract by @Kelyon

His Little Wife by @Lady_Janes_Fics

The Price by eirian_houpe

Best Bobby Squared

The Gold Motel by mrgoldsdearie

A Blade For Belfrey by eirian_houpe

Best Trope

Love Me Before The Last Petal Falls by @DeliriumsDelight7

Wounds and Scars by @Peacehopeandrats

Beauty Compelled by @eirian_houpe

Premonition by @ace_cf_cups

Before the Storm by @reolf

Best English Language

To Nurse by @Charon53

His Ray of Light by @ace_cf_cups

Events

Best Rumbelle Secret Santa

Wrapping Up Her Christmas Gift by @Kelyon

Gluttony, a RSS Fic by @thestraggletag

The Sweetest Dream by @threepwoodmarley

Christmas Secrets by @peacehopeandrats

If You Will Be My Queen by @eirian_houpe

Make Me Feel Alive Again by @cartoonjessie

Finding the Fun by @tickletorso

They Said it Was a Party by @of-princes-and-savages

There Can Only Ever Be by @notalwayslate

Mysterious by @reolf

Portrait of the Heart by @chippedcupwrites

Rumbelle Secret Santa by @99goosebumps

Already There by @Jackabelle73

Best Fluffapalooza Fic

The Tea Shop by @peacehopeandrats

Dragon Day by @importantgalaxyrimaway

Content Rumbelle #1 through #8 by @Jackabelle73

Best Fluffapalooza Art

Kiss Me Again, It's Working by @milaeryn 

Rumbelle (Something There) by @personinthepalace

Best Monthly Rumbelling

Encounter - Rumplerose (AO3)

The Landlord and the Princess - Rumplerose (AO3)

Honorable - Rumplerose (AO3)

Character Awards

Best Belle

The Not So Dark One by @CharlotteAshmore

Lady of the Lake by @rumplestiltskinsbulge

Beauty Enlightened by @eirian_houpe

Ingredients by @peacehopeandrats

Delivery by @peacehopeandratsThe Oldest Door by @peacehopeandrats

Best Dark One!Belle

Rags to Riches by @alphashley14

Fallen by @eirian_houpe

And onward to part 3!

#cca 2024 #the chipped cup awards #get your votes in!

[ikkaku-of-heart]

// @afailedkingsheart For the Black Heart/Heart of the Joker verse //

There was an insistent tapping that panged on his mind while teal hues followed every which way the woman before him paced. Clear annoyance on her mind as he sat on the little fold out chair before his throne of suit seats. All which remained empty at the moment as his officers were out perusing the streets and glory of his kingdom. Their kingdom.

Trouble raced in his mind and her steps, clearly distressed but trying to think of a way to address her young master, or so he assumed. He always enjoyed the loyalty of his Corazón's subordinates. An extension of their own family growing as their power swelled.

Lavender tinted glasses hid his obvious gaze, otherwise, his face was the stone wall, emotionless mask he always wore. A light tap against the metal of the folding chair was his draw to attention regarding her to speak what was on her mind.

Ikkaku generally wasn’t the sort to bring her problems or concerns to others - especially Joker himself. Doing so might make her seem weak to her fellow Hearts, or worse, her Corazon, yet she felt she had no choice this time.

The heels of her boots clicked on the tile floor while she paced back and forth. Her teeth gnawed on her thumbnail as she considered the best way to address Law’s superior. Technically hers, too, though in her mind no one was above Law. Sure, Donquixote Rosinante might have been King of Dressrosa, but she was certain he was secretly a puppet. After all, Law was the one who spoke for him, who gave the commands and came up with the brilliant plans. There was no question that he was basically heir to the throne and Joker’s empire, much as she knew the other executives loathed that thought. They could all act like a big, happy family, but Ikkaku knew those fools secretly resented the Corazon.

It was part of why she was so worried. Those opportunistic bastards would be watching him closely, ready to pounce upon the slightest show of weakness. Especially that disgusting wretch Trebol.

“You’re of course more than aware that Law will always faithfully serve you and your empire,” she began, doing her best to remain diplomatic despite her irritation. Puppet king or not, Joker was still powerful, and more than that, Law would be displeased with her if she disrespected his Young Master. “However, I’m worried you’re putting too much on him. He's been sleeping even less than normal. Barely eating, too, because he’s constantly running around fulfilling your orders. And now you’ve sent him off on another mission. A solo mission.”

Yes, that was certainly a concern. Law was immensely capable and powerful, but a lack of sleep and proper meals could even make him ever-so-slightly vulnerable. And yet Joker had sent him away without his Hearts to protect him.

Unable to help herself, Ikkaku glared at Rosinante out of the corner of her eye as she continued to pace. Even if he didn’t suspect his executives would be willing to backstab and send assassins, what about their other enemies? Other pirates, Marines who held no stock in the Shichibukai title, hell even the Revolutionary Army might be looking to take out the Surgeon of Death!

“I...attempted to talk to him about getting more rest. About letting us take on some of the work, but he said it’s his responsibility. Except it’s not!” Fury flashing in her dark eyes, she spun on her heel to face Joker, brow furrowed with concern and barely-repressed anger. “I know he’s the most capable executive, but that is not excuse for the others to slack off and leave him to clean up their messes! Especially not at the expense of his health!”

#afailedkingsheart #Twisted Black Heart (dark AU verse) #Heart Dad #Join the Hearts: We Have Uniforms #(Ikkaku probably shouldn't be talking to Rosi like that but she's concerned about Law so you know that takes over common sense)

[gwoongi]

dancer in the dark (pt. 1)

jeon jeongguk / reader genre: rockstar/pop-punk au, smut, angst & fluff rating: explicit words: 33k warnings: slowburn, explicit sexual themes, alcohol use, recreational rockstar drug use, smoking, adult language, dark themes including negative side-effects of drug use and drinking including intoxication & irrational behaviour, dry humping, mental health struggle, koo has an australian accent, unprotected sex, slight exhibitionism, if things feel good in this fic then wait 4 part two to ruin everything a/n: ok.....hear me out......guk as a lead singer of an alternative-punk-rock band....and he looks like this......and this….. AND THIS………and his band r basically chase atlantic......Ok ur welcome & pls give this fic a chance!!!!!!!!!! i luv it a lot and its probs my fav so far ˭̡̞(◞⁎˃ᆺ˂)◞*✰ def a long one so get ur tea and blankets and buckle up! notes: have it. this has been in my drafts since like july. just take it and smile.

dedicated to @httpjeon, who force fed me pictures of rocker jeongguk and repeatedly kept me sane + motivated. thank u sm 

Money can’t buy you happiness. Jeongguk, for the longest time, thinks he’s happy. Truthfully, Jeongguk doesn’t know what happiness is until you find him.

BIRTH OF DEVILS. (LONDON)

“That was August Blue in the Live Lounge, covering Thanks For The Memories by Fall Out Boy. These guys have some right talent, don’t they? Yeah...well, you can keep up to date with them by watching their interview with us on IPlayer right now, and they’re also going to be on tour in London and various other American venues within the next few months. I’m proper excited for that...”

No matter how many interview schedules and radio plays, Jeongguk doesn’t feel as though he is ever going to get used to this feeling. 

For now, it is an endless series of chaos, radio stations and newspapers wanting to talk to the newest music craze- because that’s what August Blue were, whether Jeongguk liked that or not. 

August Blue were a band who nobody thought could make it. From early fans of the band, when they were barely filling up Korean venues and getting more than a thousand views on original songs, to big-name celebrities like Axel Choi who had waltzed into Jeongguk’s part-time job when he was seventeen. The man, one of Jeongguk’s idols, had looked him in the eye, considered his band and his dream and said he didn’t have the talent to do anything good with his band, and told him, if you want to be big, you have to be American.

It wasn’t quite the same, or what Axel had intended for it to mean, but four years later Jeongguk now sits number one on the Billboard Charts with his ‘band with no potential’, making a name for themselves, bringing pride to their culture, love with their music, and money to Korea’s economy. The amount of fans that August Blue had collected over the four years of Jeongguk’s band being formally considered a band were unimaginable, many flocking to landmarks to photograph lampposts he stood next to on Instagram, others going to his home-country to enjoy the country that had birthed icons. 

If only Jeongguk had the same love and pride for his country; they had turned their backs on them simply because of their popularity overseas. 

Well, fuck them- Jeongguk and his band are going somewhere no other Korean band or artist can even touch, and while we’re on the subject- Axel Choi can eat a dick! Jeongguk’s not doing so bad for a Busan boy working at 7-Eleven, and while Jeongguk’s drinking champagne like a King on the top of the charts, it’s hard to see everybody else at the bottom.

August Blue leave the BBC Broadcasting House, on their way to the hotel for their last two nights in London before heading back to America. It doesn’t quite feel real yet, for Jeongguk to say that his band have sold out two nights at the O2 Academy Brixton. Admittedly, it’s not as big as their shows in America, which similarly happens to be where most of their fans are located, but for a first time in the UK, it’s a dream to see it sold out with his band's name and faces on billboards nearby.

Beside him in the black van, August Blue’s bassist Hoseok sighs deeply and fastens his seatbelt, his hands immediately rummaging into his coat pocket to pull out his phone. Nevertheless, a smile does dance on his lips; a few fans had gathered outside the building to see them off, as well as welcome them when they arrived for their Live Lounge recording and interview. It still feels surreal for Jeongguk to see his face on shirts, and to hear people call his name. As the car begins to pull out of the car park, Jeongguk squints through the darkened glass at the fans, a bright smile on his face as they cheer, right until the car is out of the building vicinity.

“Should arrive at the hotel in thirty.” From the passenger seat, August Blue’s manager twists to face the band in the back seats. Jeongguk barely lifts his face to see him, his eyes glancing over and then moving back out the window, watching London pass by in a blur. “Try and get some shut-eye. Good job today, guys.”

“Thanks, coach,” Seokjin replies. It’s always Seokjin who does the talking, taking the role of Big Bro whenever August Blue’s lead vocal and, let’s face it, the reason why they have fans, Jeongguk, isn’t feeling particularly chatty, which is more often than not. “Let’s keep working hard, yeah?”

The question is directed out to everybody in the van, and Jeongguk finally looks over. He nods, gently and smiles as if it hurts him to be genuine, and then his attention is back out the window, his mind back with the fans who had screamed for him, his heart filled with the warmth of the memory.

It’s good to be loved, to be accepted. It’s good to be successful when people doubted you could do it.

THE DEVILS ARE DANCING. (VENICE)

“It sounds really good, Jeongguk. Want me to run it one more time?”

Jeongguk shrugs the weight of his jacket off his shoulders, twisting the cable attaching to his headphones so they unravel around his body and raises his thumb through the glass to the rest of the studio. On cue, the familiar sound of the opening melody to August Blue’s updated track, Hold Your Breath, floods through the speakers, slightly tinny but nonetheless clear for all to hear. While Sejin, August Blue’s manager, aids the producer by pointing out minor audio flaws, Jeongguk joins the rest of his band in the studio to gather around. The last to join the group is Seokjin, the drummer who rubs at his wrists pathetically, his duet of drumsticks poking out of his back pocket.

Sejin’s right- it does sound good.

The strums from Hoseok, Taehyung and Namjoon’s instruments sounds incredible, and it’s probably their strongest non-punk track of the year. Retrospectively, it sounds nostalgic, reminding Jeongguk of those summer evenings in Busan after a tiring day of school and garage-band practise with the guys. When the chorus moulds together, Jeongguk’s lips lift to a satisfied and exuberant smile, the harmonies from everybody’s vocals blending together before the chorus comes to a finale, and Namjoon’s deeper vocals come for the second round of verses.

As he listens, Jeongguk recalls the moment he sat down and wrote this song, back when he was eighteen and feeling like the world was against him. In that respect, this song means a lot to him and the band, reminiscent of a time where it felt impossible to get out of the garage and into venues. Then, when Friends brought them out of small Korean venues into charts abroad and giving them radio play, Jeongguk had stored Hold Your Breath on a memory stick and his worn out lyric book, until the right moment came for him to present it to a studio. It just so happened that ADORA, a respected and famous Korean producer based in the US-of-A, had loved the track, bringing it back to square one where Jeongguk stands still, unaware that the single has finished playing.

“It’s one of our best,” Namjoon admits bashfully, his hand brushing the back of his neck, a habit. He extends his gaze out to the rest of the band, “am I right?”

“Better than Friends?” Seokjin asks, surprised. He tilts his head as if he disagrees. “Nothing can beat Friends.” After that statement, something about another song comes up in conversation but it dies out over the sound of Hold Your Breath being rolled back and played again.

On the other side of Jeongguk, Hoseok hums and claps the younger on the shoulder, the sound of Jeongguk’s hiss ignored and silenced by the excited discussion over the track by the producers, lunch menus between Seokjin and Namjoon. With a slight wince, Jeongguk looks over at the bassist.

“It’s all thanks to you!” Hoseok says, a tight but honest smile on his face. “Without you, there’d be no songs. I’m telling you, we knew you were special!”

“Thanks, Hobi,” Jeongguk replies quietly. “Let’s hope people like it and it sells.”

“Why wouldn’t it?” Hoseok muses, frowning. “Just because it has a story doesn’t mean it won’t sell. Honestly, Guk, this one’s great. It’s gonna be amazing.”

Like always, Jeongguk finds that difficult to believe, despite records and albums selling luxuriously every time. It’s mandatory to doubt, especially when you’ve got a lot to lose; August Blue are just another band, another group of guys trying to make a name for themselves across the pond. Right now, they’re not huge, not as big as Jeongguk wants them to be- they can sell out a couple arenas, top charts and headline shows, but they’ve still got a long way to go, still got the prejudice of being foreign. If anything, that only motivates them more. Nothing feels better than proving the white man wrong.

“When it’s finished, we’ll have a promising B-side for the album,” starts Adora, the producer looking over her shoulder with satisfaction at the five guys. “I’d like to run through Dancer in the Dark, though? Adjust the drums, maybe add more to the sax?”

Jeongguk nods, taking a quick sip of water from a bottle on top of the small cabinet pushed to the wall of the studio. “Might work better as the A, actually. Guys, what’dya think?”

“Yeah, sure,” Namjoon replies. “It’s a good song- will probably look better with a music video too. Want us back in the booth for it?”

Adora shakes her head, rolling the song back up. “Nah. Just gonna listen for now. Good job, guys.”

With that, and the familiar opening melody of Dancer in the Dark filtering through the speakers, Sejin claps his hands and gives a thumb to the rest of the band, sending them off for an hour or two until they’re needed again. In ADORABLE TRAP Records, singers were more often than not props, voices for her to play with. Jeongguk provides a demo, a rough idea of what the song should sound like and Adora works her magic, changing tones and amplifying the bass, creating something magical and sensational for when August Blue regroup in the studio at a later time. The band trust Adora and her team, considering she’s half the reason why they’re big worldwide in the first place.

THREE AM is August Blue’s anticipated first full length album, after many months of EP’s and mini albums, alongside the handful of covers accumulated over the years. ATR expects it to be completed by the end of the week, with only minor final touches needed on a select few of the tracks, eleven seamless and sensually exciting songs ready to release to the budding and hungry public. Like always, the pressure of perfection hangs over the studio, intoxicating and infuriating, and as soon as he can escape the room, Jeongguk inhales the clean and purified air of the outer studio, where a leather sofa sits beside a flickering vending machine that’s surely seen better days.

Hoseok groans, massaging the cramp out of his shoulder with his leather jacket still in his hand, spinning wildly with the arms extended out, hugging the air. “God, I’m so fucking hungry. Shall we go out?”

“Mm,” Namjoon agrees, “sounds good. Guk, Jin, you in for some food?”

Somewhere behind Jeongguk, Seokjin sighs loudly- a noise that has the nerve to sound like a whine, childish and ungrateful. “I need to find new drumsticks. Look at the state of these things.” Over his shoulder, Jeongguk spies the blunt ends of Seokjin’s sticks, the smooth and rounded ends frayed and close to splintering.

“How did that even happen?” Hoseok asks incredulously, while Seokjin’s distinct laughter rises in volume.

“Don’t ask,” Seokjin shakes his head in reply. “Anyway, won’t take long. Isn’t that one store nearby? The one owned by the Daegu guy?”

Namjoon confirms this. Not too far away from ATR, located in a renovated storage house in Venice, there is a comfortably successful and trustworthy store that August Blue aren’t strangers to; DBOY is one of the best, expensive and well respected amongst musicians who frequent LA. Jeongguk recognises the name, as if on command picturing the small guy who runs it in his head. 

Of course, it’s not owned by him- DBOY is known for being established and owned by Min Dowoon, a retired music producer whose name is legendary amongst artists and most certainly intimidating to the likes of Busan boys like Jeongguk. Regardless, it is his son, Yoongi, who pretty much runs the place. From what Jeongguk can vaguely remember from the last time he met with Yoongi, he recalled the aforementioned to have a fine and grand collection of ostentatious instruments and equipment. As for the seller himself- well, Yoongi can be a little bit of a nouveau-riche, perhaps even unapproachable, but it’s not as if people go to DBOY looking for a conversation.

Jeongguk might be the lead vocalist of the band, but he most certainly does not regard himself the leader. Due to this fact, he stares back at the other members of the band, waiting for a decision to be made for him. While on stage, Jeongguk enjoys playing pretend and acting as if the world was his for the taking, his for his pleasure, off-stage he enjoyed living quietly and comfortably, some might say obediently, shying under the authority of his elder band-members.

“What? Yeah, of course,” Namjoon replies almost immediately. “It’s on the way to that Korean place we went to last time we came here.”

Taehyung sounds zealous at the mentioning of the Korean restaurant, which pretty much means everybody’s mind has been made up. When Seokjin catches up with Jeongguk and wraps his longer arms around him playfully, Jeongguk finally lets himself loosen the tension carved into his skin from the studio, being pulled and pulling Seokjin out of the studio and into the sunny street.

The drive to DBOY is neither long or difficult, considering the traffic has decided to fall on their side of luck today. Hoseok, who enjoys being the designated driver for the band whenever he can help it, turns right and pulls the car into the staff-only car park, uncaring for the signs that turn him away and parks awkwardly near the shrubs behind the store. 

Without being affected in the face of Seokjin’s disbelieving protests against Hoseok’s parking preferences, Jeongguk undoes his seatbelt in a grouchy silence and hops out, feeling the underneath of his knees aching due to the tightness of his jeans. The front face of his knees are torn, the tan skin poking out and slightly red from where, out of unhealthy habit, he scratches his skin, the only source of colour aside from his skin being the mustard of his shoes, comfy and worn out of love.

He always forgets just how warm America is- not that it’s not welcomed, of course. Only, now he half wishes he hadn’t worn an all-black ensemble, the sun hot on his neck and underarms. The rest of August Blue take their gentle time getting out of the hired vehicle, a cacophony on the right side where Seokjin and Hoseok have stepped out, arguing over the angle of the tyres as if it genuinely makes any difference considering the car is out of sight from the public, meaning it’s bothering nobody at all besides Seokjin, who appears to be the only person complaining. 

Jeongguk just rolls his eyes, over it, and brushes his untamed parting out of his eyes carefully, avoiding catching the curled strands on the bar of his eyebrow piercing.

DBOY, like always, is quiet and glorious, rising high against the bungalow-sized stores surrounding the lot. Its architecture is refined, boxy and brown and all-in-all American, a copy of every brown bricked building you’d see in the movies. And yet, it still stands out, with bright yellow accents like the colour of Jeongguk’s shoes, similarly promoted within the interior if Jeongguk remembers correctly. 

The first time Jeongguk had come here it had been with acquiesce, mostly just to shut Seokjin up after he read a few five star reviews online. That was around about the time Taehyung had joined the band, with little rockstar aura and a gift for the keyboard and saxophone, which incredibly added an accent to August Blue’s music that helped them chart worldwide, a Korean The 1975 as a headline which didn’t seem all that bad, given the leader of the latter seemed down to Earth about it. 

Jeongguk now cannot deny that DBOY offers something to a piece of music that quite literally no other can, hence why he sets off first towards the oversized yellow door and pushes it open with all its weight. Like Yoongi and his brusque facade, Jeongguk’s not shocked to find the door is a heavy metal, requiring attention to push it open, but yet it always catches him off guard, as if he’s expecting it to get easier each time.

Once inside, the all too familiar sound of I Want To Break Free greets his ears, the sound echoey and tinny, like you’d expect for a building with a high ceiling decorated with pipes drenched in the signature yellow. It is bright, and chilly as he enters due to the air-conditioning, yet the warmth engulfing him as all of the band enter and the door closes. On a good day, DBOY is virtually empty; majority of their orders are online and dealt with by another customs manager that is not the staff on duty, which coincidentally is how Yoongi likes it, considering he’s a bit of a black sheep, not exactly enthusiastic about talking when he can help it.

While Hoseok and Taehyung make a b-line towards the vinyls and collection of photographs that Yoongi displays in order to show off how many celebrities he’s had the delight of selling to, Jeongguk follows behind Seokjin and Namjoon as they head towards the desk, pushed towards the back of the store behind endless stacks of records, the left side of the store displaying a rare and gorgeous collection of instruments that Jeongguk ogles at as he passes. 

Yoongi is a personal collector of vintages, including exact pieces and similarly replicas, the newer models closer to the desk where the cameras can keep an extra eye on their condition. Jeongguk has half an idea to make a directional change and head right, but the opening to the operative desk appears before him, or over the shoulder of Namjoon as he walks behind him.

DBOY feels abnormally silent today, not even the distinct humming of Yoongi detectable in the stacks. Namjoon purses his lips, looking around half-heartedly before moving towards the desk, raising his hand to drum his fingers upon the varnished dark wood. The dull sound of his fingertips brings Jeongguk’s head away from the instruments, and similarly, a head from a book.

At first, Jeongguk’s only half-looking. In blunt honesty, he’s not too interested in whoever is behind the desk, a sigh leaving between his lips as he buries his hands into the pockets of his jeans with great difficulty due to the tightness, something which attracts the eyes of the little dove behind the desk, her eyes darting to the refined bulge of his biceps and veins crawling on his forearms.

“Oh,” comes a gentle voice that, with reluctance, pulls Jeongguk’s eyes back over. “Sorry. I didn’t even hear you come in! I didn’t even hear the bell…”

Namjoon’s eyebrows pull upwards. “You have a bell?”

“Yeah...I think?” Questionable. “Well, I thought we did...I bet Yoongi took it out again. Fucker, he doesn’t tell me anything.”

Seokjin leans backwards on one foot, taking a peek back towards the doors where, hoorah, there is a bell on the wall above the entrance. “Oh, look at that. Guess you do have a bell.”

“Well,” finishes the voice, and Jeongguk takes the chance to look at the little display on top of the desk, a complementary addition that spells out the cashiers name in a disgustingly ordinary font. Y/N is what it reads today, which Jeongguk makes a note of and looks away from at the same time. “That bell is definitely broken. Huh. Anyway, sorry. Can I help you?”

“Yoongi here?” Namjoon asks, his weight now entirely reliant on the weight of the desk. By this point, Jeongguk has led himself over to the instruments, the only sight of him being his back marked and outlined by the clinginess of his tee.

You nod once, smiling and slamming the book from your lap on the top of the desk. Never did Namjoon expect for the title to read The Encyclopedia of Sharks, and as you spin in your chair to heckle in the back office, Namjoon glances at Seokjin over his shoulder with an amused smile, his eyes gesturing back to the book earning Seokjin a snigger.

“...and you didn’t tell me the bell was broken at the door.”

Your voice enters the store once more from the back office, accompanied by the smaller frame of Yoongi as he discards a tinfoil ball into the trash underneath the desk.

“Sorry. Y/N, the bell at the door is broken,” Yoongi deadpans, and you sneer in reply, tugging away from his childish and playful smile to be seated. When he’s decided he’s finished fondly looking at you, Yoongi addresses the band in the room, a secondary smile lifts the corners of his lips. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah. Yeah, sorry, tour,” Namjoon offers as an explanation.

“Don’t sweat it,” Yoongi shrugs in reply. “You recording?”

“As we speak,” Seokjin pipes in. “And, look- went to some stores in Vancouver for sticks last year and got given this!” His tone is elevated with genuine aghast, holding up his drumsticks and Yoongi pulls a face.

“That’s what you get for going somewhere other than here,” Yoongi frowns. “Come with me. The newest collection actually just came in. You all in here? Keep sticky fingers away from my signed records.”

The remainder of their conversation is muted for you, as you watch the group of guys shuffle away from the desk and towards the display of instruments. Whereas Yoongi holds an extensive knowledge on music and instruments, you can happily and readily admit that it is not within your comfort zone.

Truth be told, the only reason you work at DBOY is for money, and because Yoongi happens to be a relative willing to pay you more than you deserve. Family history is the reasoning for Yoongi’s undying devotion to music, alongside a half-completed degree in sound engineering that he tells people he’s got, because the two years he braved University sure as hell didn’t happen for no reason. 

As for you, you prefer the less audible arts, the ones starting and stopping with paintbrushes and splashes of colour. If someone were to ask, your job at DBOY offers a daily observation of the various album covers dotted around the store, ready to be fingered and thumbed when you’re changing the display shelves, or cleaning the trays.

In simpler terms, Yoongi is the expert. You’re just the person who sits behind the desk and pretends to be a professional.

“Newer Hickory over here,” says Yoongi, as he leads the three ducklings through the store towards the lined stacks of drumsticks. In awe, like a child in a candy store, Seokjin surges forward and gapes at the selection, his eyes glued to a signature collection, signed and overwhelmingly expensive. “Oh, yeah. Queen. Signed by Roger Taylor himself, wanna feel ‘em?”

Seokjin does want; his eyes light up like tiny lamps and they widen in size, followed by the rise and fall of his feet as he hops with literal overflowing excitement. Namjoon laughs at the sight of it, the sound eventually calling Hoseok and Sticky-Fingers-Taehyung away from the pride of Yoongi’s photo collection and towards the rest of the band. Something deep within Jeongguk claws, a smile on his face as he watches Seokjin get visibly excited over the drumsticks formerly belonging to Roger Taylor. Even Jeongguk himself, despite the sudden appearance of his angst, oohs and aahs at the stick set, being directed by Yoongi to the line of new guitars and boxes on show.

“New face?”

By the time Hoseok has settled with the group, Yoongi looks up from the set of Les Paul that Namjoon is admiring for its matte polish and notices Hoseok’s gaze pointed in your direction. Yoongi follows, his chin lifting with satisfactory pride when he sees you’re reading, as always, unfocused on the group and submerged in your own world.

When you wanted, you could be excited about celebrities when they came into DBOY, but there was honestly the high chance that you didn’t even know August Blue. Considering Yoongi knew them through connections and through a year exchange programme in Australia where he had met Jeongguk and gave him advice for the band, he of course felt familiar, close enough to actually consider the members to be friends.

“Sorta,” he admits in reply. “She’s been here a while now. Y/N.”

“She’s pretty,” Namjoon comments, which, to no surprise, irritates Yoongi. He glares in the direction of the guitarist and scowls, his face pulled up with disgust.

That’s when Jeongguk looks over, drinking in the sight of you for the first time ever. Usually, Jeongguk takes great pride in the fact that he fears attachment, therefore closing himself off emotionally to everybody outside of August Blue. Due to this fact, he almost never finds himself interested in anybody, his limitations at sex which, even then, he doesn’t engage in often. 

He spies on you from where he is standing, next to the electric guitar displays, watching carefully at the way you carry yourself, what you choose to show people. What you are doing now is boondoggle, skimming through pages you’ve read before to present the image of you being busy. By luck, you had dressed more nicer than usual for this date- your hair pulled half up and half down, the lilac scrunchy keeping the curls together and a black and white striped dress wrapping around your body to where Jeongguk predicts could be your knee.

Without being modest, there’s really nothing world-stopping about you. Jeongguk knows this as he stares at you; he’s had better, and definitely had worse. God forbid it, but you have the audacity to look normal, mistakenly placed in the store, sticking out like a thumb that is sore.

“She doesn’t look like she should be working here,” Jeongguk throws in, offers almost, and Yoongi regards him with the raise of his brows, an amused smile on his face.

A deep groan rises out of Namjoon’s chest. “Here we go. He always does this- every time there’s a pretty girl, he gets like this.”

“Gets like what?” Jeongguk asks, scoffing.

“Jerky,” Hoseok agrees, laughing and pointing a finger at Jeongguk accusingly. When he silences with small gasps of amusement, he smiles and says, “did you know it’s a turn off for girls?”

“Then tell me why I have more game than you?” Jeongguk quips.

Hoseok just laughs, and both of them know it’s false, considering Hoseok and his unofficial girlfriend have been hooking up for the last five months, whereas Jeongguk has remained single and sexless; which he doesn’t care about, especially when there’s a million other things he could be doing and worrying over. Comfort previously found in pillowcases and sexual endauvers can now be found in white powders and green liquids, either- either warm enough to keep him happy, at least until Seokjin tells him he should stop and put it to rest.

Yoongi quietly twists the key in the display lock after confirming that Seokjin wants the sticks in his hand. “She’s good. She does her job, and in return, I let her do what she wants when nobody’s in the store. Give it a break, yeah?”

Jeongguk scoffs with surrender, raising his shoulders as he lets it drop at Yoongi’s request. Meanwhile Yoongi answers questions about the instruments for sale, lined up for the band to gawk at with ungraciousness, Jeongguk actually turns back around. Another elongated sigh leaves his mouth, the sound of creeping boredom, and finally, his gaze once again settles on yourself. 

You’ve moved since he last looked over; the book on sharks is set on top of the desk again, and now you’re risen. From where he is standing, the desk curves, revealing that his predictions on dress length were fruitless considering the stretch of your dress rises above the knee, bunching around your thigh comfortably. He has to respect it- it’s hot in Venice.

Without particularly wanting to, Jeongguk’s legs wander from his original spot towards the desk, his eyes elsewhere to feign disinterest. The truth of the matter is that he isn’t really interested, unless you counted the dull rise of arousal in the pit of his stomach. That being said, Jeongguk glances up at your face once more and sucks air into his cheeks, hollowing the skin as he knocks on his heels and turns away from you before you can notice. Namjoon was right, to some extent. You were pretty.

“You like The Clash?”

A sweet voice hauls Jeongguk’s attention up and over towards the corner of the desk, where on the other side you stand with both hands flat on the surface, your entire body lifting your weight cutely. Jeongguk’s heart leaps and he glares down at his hands, finding London Calling in his hands, indicating that whilst on his solo mission of pretending to be preoccupied near you, he had just picked up the first thing in front of him.

Jeongguk clears his throat gruffly and shakes his head once. “No.”

For a few seconds, nothing is said. “Oh.” And Jeongguk hopes you’ll leave it there, let him pretend he’s invisible until he’s thought of something to say, but as always, his prayers are ignored. “Do you need help finding something?”

“No,” Jeongguk grits out. He speaks with acrimony, the tone at first catching you off-guard until he looks up, and his eyes tell a quiet story that makes your mouth close tightly. “I’m browsing. Am I not allowed to browse?”

Whether he likes or expects it, the way Jeongguk speaks makes a grin spread across your face, covering your original expression of surprise. He’s not quite sure how to feel about this, or what to make of how his chest feels when it happens.

“Sorry,” you reply, not exactly sounding apologetic. “It’s my job to ask, I guess. Well...enjoy your browsing. If you need me…” Repeatedly, his gaze lifts from the stack of CDs back towards you and it is only when you look away that he allows himself to slip, the smallest of frowns tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Although he knows better, Jeongguk sighs and pushes himself away from his end of the desk. It slides, semi-circular with the front in the store and behind it in its own secluded room, decorated with posters and old lockers that are used for storage. It doesn’t take looking up to register the fact that Jeongguk has moved next to you, parallel; something about Jeongguk feels particularly distinct, heavy and intimidating with the smell of hazelnut that enriches woody elements, a signature male smell that fills your nose.

“So.” Jeongguk starts over, his voice clipped but also clear, as though encouraging a conversation. To you, it feels unpredictable, almost as if talking to him was absurd; to Jeongguk, it is a bravado. “You like sharks.”

Out of surprise, your attention snaps towards him. His expression gives nothing away, and it is only when he raises his eyebrows expectantly that you remember the book, that stupid book you found under the desk when you clocked in this morning after your nine-am seminar. The Encyclopedia of Sharks, smiling razor blades face up at you and an embarrassed heat rises in your body.

“Um, not really?” you confess, avoiding the scrutiny of his stare. Jeongguk’s face is levelled into unamusement, challenging the fact you don’t like sharks in the same way you questioned his interest in The Clash. A bewildered smirk dawns on his face and you smile, tightly and revealing a dimple near your jaw that Jeongguk’s attention is pulled to. “I like Sharknado, though.”

“Right,” Jeongguk replies, finishing with a laugh that is mostly air through his teeth, a snigger of sorts, and he shakes his head downwards, fluffing his hair all within the same movement. It shocks you, genuinely, to hear a laugh come out from his mouth.

While he is busy sniggering to himself, because apparently what you said tickled his remaining sense of humour, you seize the opportunity to dance your eyes across his body. “Your tattoos are pretty.” It leaves your mouth carelessly, but Jeongguk looks up with a smile on his face, a gorgeous set of pearly whites on show.

“Yeah?” he asks, and then he flexes his arms unintentionally, peering at the black ink decorating his skin. Your mouth waters inside, soaking in the sight of him before it’s snatched away, like all the good things in your life. “Thanks.”

“Mhm,” you offer, feeling mortified.

“I saw you’re close with Yoongi,” Jeongguk mentions, after a short pause. “Boyfriend? Best friend? Super close colleagues?”

“What? Ew, no. Yoongi’s my cousin. Well. You know, when someone just becomes a cousin ‘cos you’re close,” you reply, and Jeongguk nods casually, pursing his lips, and it ends there. “Also...none of your business.” He smirks.

On cue, an eruption of laughter simmers from across the store where Yoongi and the rest of Jeongguk’s friends are gathered, and you swallow the lump in your throat and glance at him, finding he hasn’t looked away. “Are you guys, like...in a band, or something?”

Jeongguk doesn’t know what to say. Should he be offended or relieved that you don’t know who he is?

“Something like that,” he nods.

“Can’t be that popular then, if I don’t know you,” you tease, fighting the urge to laugh when Jeongguk’s face falls dramatically. “I’m kidding. What did you say your name was again?”

“We’re called August Blue.”

“No, I meant your name,” you laugh.

Jeongguk splutters, coughing nothing out of his throat. “Oh. Jeongguk.”

There is no reasonable explanation behind why Jeongguk’s stomach feels weird when you smile- it is an unspoken rule that Jeongguk doesn’t do feelings. Jeongguk doesn’t do romance period, only hooks up on the rare occasion that he’s high enough to feel something for someone other than himself. Yet something is unsettling inside, bubbling like the top layer of boiling water in a cauldron, threatening to spill out in waves.

“Well, Jeongguk from August Blue- who I shall be indulging in very soon, as in, when you leave the store and I can do it without you watching me-,” you pause when he laughs again. You wonder if he laughs often, or if you’re one of the lucky ones. “-, it’s a pleasure meeting you.”

“Is it?” he questions disbelievingly.

You tilt your head curiously. “Why wouldn’t it be? I mean, aside from you coming for me doing my job.”

Jeongguk rolls his eyes. “Whatever. And, I’m just saying.”

A playfulness grabs at your shirt. “Why? Are you dangerous, Jeongguk?” Your eyes narrow into slits, challenging, and Jeongguk just smirks, exhaling softly. There is something charismatic about him, that’s for sure.

“All I’m saying, is that guys like me aren’t good for girls like you,” Jeongguk settles, unprepared for the unexpected laughter that bursts from your chest, bouncing around the room until Jeongguk actually feels somewhat uncomfortable. “What?”

But the laughter is uncontrollable, loud enough to bring Yoongi back to the desk questioningly, followed by the rest of August Blue as they shadow Yoongi like lost puppies. Yoongi pushes the small gate open and his eyes widen at you hunched over on the desk, secondly acknowledging Jeongguk as he stares deadpan at you, wondering what it was he said that was so comedic.

“You make it sound so simple,” you tell him, once the laughter has subsided. “It’s cute that you think you know what kind of girl I am.”

Hoseok side-eyes the situation as Seokjin fishes out his credit card, feeling as though they’ve all interrupted something they shouldn’t have. What is more shocking is the fact that Jeongguk accepts the challenge- he’s normally isolative with his voice when around new people, only comfortable at home or on the stage surrounded by people screaming lyrics he died to dream up and write down.

“Aren’t I right though?” Jeongguk asks, smiling like he’s got it figured out. “The pretty innocent girls like you...I’m the kind of guy your family warned you about.” While Namjoon snorts, Taehyung nods, supporting Jeongguk’s statement as you look over his shoulder at him.

Before you can even speak, Yoongi barks out a laugh, shaking his head as he returns Seokjin’s card. “Guk, you have no clue.”

If there’s one thing Jeongguk dislikes, it’s feeling as though he’s missing out on something. Back and forth, he looks at both yourself and Yoongi, waiting for an explanation. Yoongi prolongs it, finding sadistic enjoyment in the gradual irritation solidifying on his face, his tongue prodding his inner cheek with a bored expression to match.

“Dude, her daddy’s Axel Choi,” Yoongi snorts, and he laughs loudly when Jeongguk’s whole face drops to the floor, the butterflies in his stomach replaced with an instant sourness, like the bitter burn of alcohol after one too many glasses.

Bewildered, Jeongguk is rendered speechless, and while Yoongi burps laughter and makes a note of the stock now that Seokjin has purchased something, the respective remaining four members of August Blue share cautious glances, apprehensively watching what Jeongguk does or says. Saying Axel Choi feels stupid and minute, but within Jeongguk’s world, it has the same consequence as saying Lord Voldemort in Harry Potter. Whatever attempts Jeongguk has made to forgive or forget what Axel Choi once said to him in that 7-Eleven in Busan is fruitless, the judging and patronising tone clear in his ears, flooding back like a PTSD.

“Wait, what the fuck?”

“Ooh,” you start, lifting up with excitement, “what did he dooo?”, at the same time that Namjoon warningly mutters Jeongguk’s name.

“You look nothing like him,” Jeongguk says dumbly.

“That’s kinda where the step comes in. Stepdad, no blood relation, thank fuck!”

“Come on, Guk, it’s not like she was even there when he shat on all your hopes and dreams,” Yoongi frowns, raising his hand slightly in an effort to diffuse the tension. Purposefully, he ignores the way you look at Yoongi with question, realising instantly that Jeongguk’s behaviour isn’t a matter of personality but instead pride, a desperation to prove himself. “Lay off.”

“He’s family.”

“Is he fuck,” you snort, the sound and language together making Jeongguk even more confused, his head pounding with a mixture of nausea and relief, the upset of his seventeen year old self something he can’t quite shrug off, like the memory of a bad dream. “And, come on. Isn’t that unfair? Put it this way- your dad kills someone, should we go to jail too just because we’re family?” Jeongguk says nothing. “Besides, he’s been married to my Mom for like, six years? And I still don’t like him or get along with him!”

“We just have...bad experiences with him,” Namjoon admits, not forgetting to throw a glare in Jeongguk’s temperamental direction, and he reacts with a jerk, an annoyed scoff leaving his mouth.

Jeongguk crosses his arms. “He told us we’d never succeed. The fucker basically said we didn’t have the talent to be big.”

“And yet, here you are,” you point out thoughtfully, and Jeongguk pauses, acknowledging you fully. “People always succeed when others are negative. I guess we’ll just have to prove him wrong, hm?”

The funny part is that Jeongguk absolutely knows that you are right. In spite of the jarring fact that Axel Choi’s memory is now back in his life with the news of your connections to him, Jeongguk is fully aware of how none of this is your fault. Jeongguk knows better than anybody that baseless judgements were more often unhelpful and toxic than not, and instantly, an apology is brewing in his mouth, words connected by thin strings in his brain, formulating two simple words that feel impossible to mouth. 

Alas, rockstars and their inflated egos; Jeongguk swallows the words back down, battling the urge to say what’s truly on his mind because he’s afraid of what might come out in its place.

So he walks.

Dejected and confused, Jeongguk spares a look at everybody in the room before shaking his head, as if trying to get something out of his head. The worry that slightly pools in your stomach at the sight of it worsens when he storms back down the length of the stacks, closely followed by Hoseok who is a foot away from calling his name. For the rest of the band, it seems, this is instrinctic of Jeongguk, and they quietly but speedily finish up and follow suit. Before he exits, Namjoon smiles over at you, something hidden in the movement that assures you it’s not your fault, even when your agape mouth and stuttering starts suggest you feel otherwise.

Jeongguk makes it out of DBOY before his lungs cave inwards, the hot smell of air pumping into his body as he steps outside to catch his breath. Hoseok’s hand comfortingly presses between his shoulder blades as he finally catches back up with the younger, and Jeongguk refrains from snatching himself away. The demon in his head cackles and the desperate angel pets his hair, tells him that if he pushes more people away, he’ll have nobody. Jeongguk’s not sure if he’s heard that angel speak before.

Hoseok guides Jeongguk back towards the car, silently accepting that Jeongguk didn’t mean it. He never does. He quietly accepts it, patting his leg when Jeongguk sits down once the car is unlocked. Jeongguk doesn’t say a word, not even when the rest of August Blue pile in the car, animatedly talking about the Korean restaurant they’re planning to eat at next. Clockwork routine, they never bring it up afterwards.

The car pulls away and Jeongguk winds the window down with a frown. He’d like a cigarette.

Not that Jeongguk has been counting, but it has been four days since August Blue had visited DBOY. 

Against his tight schedules consisting of long hauls in Adora’s studio, revising songs and making minor changes to each track in preparation for the album release in a few days time, the mere memory of DBOY has been the last thing and least important thing on his mind. In sooth, he doesn’t think about it until he’s alone, vulnerable in his own personal comforts surrounded by white and red. The memory haunts him, keeps him awake for no reason. Jeongguk wishes he could go back, wipe the slate clean, listen to the angel and not be such a prick. He can do this- he does do this.

On the following day, Jeongguk wakes up with a free schedule, waking in bed with the dark grey sheets belted around his lower waist. Casting a glance to his phone that lights up distractedly with notifications, he sees that the time reads eleven am and he yawns. Knowing the rest of the band, they’ve probably scattered already; Hoseok had mentioned something off-handedly last night about spending the day with Roseanne, and Namjoon would most likely be reading alone or exploring with Taehyung, the final man of the hour, Seokjin, sleeping in until it hurts to sleep.

He could do the same, but he doesn’t. Instead, Jeongguk gets himself up and ready, finding his body lead itself back in the direction of DBOY, only realising that he’s come back when he’s outside the front blinking up at the sign.

Somewhere down the street, the sound of screaming reaches his ears- sometimes it’s hard to escape the fans who long for a glimpse at their idols, and to avoid them catching on as to where he’s fled to, Jeongguk hurls himself through the heavy metal door and into the store. It comes as no surprise that it’s empty inside, cool again and this time bursting the lyrics to a Fleetwood Mac record he can’t quite remember the name of but recognises.

The long walk down the length of the aisle is intimidating, daunting as Jeongguk walks and sees nobody behind the desk. Aside from the echoed sound of Fleetwood Mac, the store is virtually silent- admittedly, there is a small group of teenagers at the other end talking quietly, but they are so muted that Jeongguk at first doesn’t realise they are there. Instead he continues forward, slowing significantly when he reaches the desk and finds absolutely nobody in attendance.

For a second, Jeongguk considers leaving. However, the herd of fans he had stalking him outside are no doubt still outside somewhere, and as soon as he considers it, the sound of your voice makes his head snap up attentively. The door that joins the desk space to the back office rattles slowly and then pulls open, and Jeongguk inhales a breath when you step out, as charming as you were five days prior.

Jeongguk is all you see when you pick your chin up, staring at his face closely as he hovers lumpishly, looking out of place. Before he can speak, you regard his appearance, a flattering mixture of tonal blacks; the tight leather jacket covering a black roll neck and tight skinny jeans, even the trademark face-mask that has been pulled below his face, hanging by his neck.

“Oh,” you breathe softly, stunned. “Jeongguk, right?…”

“Hi,” he replies, and you take pleasure in noticing the dulled volume of his voice. “You’re here.”

He considers it a win when you smile. “Well, I do work here.”

“Yeah, I know, I don’t know why I said that,” Jeongguk mutters. “I just...Are you free?”

You make your way towards the desk, gently kicking an empty storage box with your feet. “Sadly, I am always free. You know, considering Yoongi is so popular, this shop is always empty. What’s up with that?” It’s rhetorical, and Jeongguk laughs gently. “What’s up? Left something here? I didn’t think you’d come back...well, after…”

Jeongguk frowns immediately, the unmissable darkened gaze of regret on his face. “That’s actually why I came back. Look.” He sighs, deeply and loudly. “I know it’s not your fault. With Axel.” As he speaks, your gaze is glued on him, your eyes occasionally scanning various parts of his face. “And it’s so fucking unfair for me to hold you against things he said before you even knew him, or whatever, yknow? I guess it just caught me off guard.”

You nod genuinely. “It happens.”

“And, look, I know I don’t even really know you that well, but I can tell you’re just nothing like him,” Jeongguk continues, his temper rising slowly. “You’re kind, and funny, and he’s just an asshole and-” But he stops. And, what? And, he’s still family.

“You’re right,” you agree, laughter spilling from your tongue. “No, he’s the biggest asshole. And his music sucks, let’s be honest.” Jeongguk’s mouth opens, like he wants to speak. “No wonder it took him fourteen years to make a hit…” And he laughs, loudly and in agreement. 

It must be a rarity to see him smile, to hear him laugh; with your heart in the sky, staring at Jeongguk laugh makes you feel warm, your hands quivering with satisfaction at the way his eyes curve into horizontal brackets, like moons, his teeth free with the comfort of knowing he’s safe being happy.

So, explicitly, he doesn’t say sorry like he wanted to. He tries- the words are right there, it would be easy, it is easy. As always, you are understanding, sympathetic to Jeongguk as he struggles to get his words out coherently. You know what he means. You like that he cared enough to try, anyway.

Realistically, he could have left it there, and maintained that stereotypical air of mystery and unavailability he’s used to showing people. On the contrary, Jeongguk finds more reasons to slink back towards DBOY, until he’s entirely familiar with your work schedule, having accidentally turned up when you were at a lecture, and had to suffer the pressing curiosity of your cousin. Yoongi had been so over Jeongguk pretending he was here out of personal pleasure of being surrounded by music that he had eventually just told him your work times, prompting Jeongguk into working harder in the studio to ensure more free time.

Like always, nobody in the band minded. If it meant Jeongguk was investing his spare time in something other than his own loneliness, they were happy to let it be. As for yourself, the reoccuring showing of Jeongguk in DBOY was at first, something you anticipated until the third showing where he had turned up in what you think might be his best look yet. Finally, he wears splashes of colour, his aura breathing with life as he turns up to the store wearing blue denim jeans, with maroon boots and a red beanie over his hair which has been flattened.

Each visit from the man is memorable in its own way, for either parties; you gradually learn that Jeongguk was the lead singer of August Blue, his accent distinctly Australian no thanks to his mother’s dual citizenship that resulted in many family holidays out there, and the year abroad that had chanced him to meet Yoongi. In return, Jeongguk learns that you haven’t even turned twenty yet, your birthday approaching soon, and that your a dilettante, knowing virtually nothing technical about music and instead comfortable in the field of physical art, a first year studying visual art and media.

Jeongguk learns all of this on the third visit. On the fourth, he finds out that you’ve finally listened to his bands music in time for their album release the following day, now in love with the truth of their lyrics, a direct quote from your mouth that Jeongguk remembers perfectly. And on the day of THREE AM’s release, on one of his final days before tour preparations are due to start, Jeongguk finds himself in DBOY with the sound of his own voice on the speakers, and the breathtaking sight of you dancing while stacking the shelves.

It’s a new track, one off the album that dropped this morning. Dancer In The Dark plays all around him, his mind reeling when he reaches you, your back to him and hips twirling as you work. You don’t even need to turn around for Jeongguk to know that you look gorgeous- that’s something that has changed over the past few weeks of Jeongguk returning to DBOY to see you, and annoy Yoongi, respectively. 

Something inside of Jeongguk now craves you, beyond the simple lust he would have imagined. Perhaps it’s the way you didn’t know who he was, treated him like a human being rather than a God; maybe it was the way you’re so ordinary, a taste of normality Jeongguk misses, or the way you’re a relation to someone he’s been working for the past four years to prove wrong. It could well be all three.

The baby blue teddy coat over your body covers your skirt, a display of smooth and tanned legs for him to leer at, your hair once again twirled into loose curls, half up and half down, a signature style like Ariana’s high pony. 

Evidently, you’re unaware of his entry. Yoongi still hasn’t changed the bell above the door and the speakers playing his record are right above your head; this gives Jeongguk the perfect opportunity to quietly approach you from behind, waiting until the chorus fades to an end for him to carefully press his hands into your waist with a soft “boo” pushing between his lips. 

In turn, you jump, his hands momentarily cupping your waist as you move out of his grasp, turning around defensively to see who in the right mind would dare to put a hand on you, only for the guard to be dropped with reassurance once you see Jeongguk behind you, a grin on his face.

“Hi, you,” you say to him, wincing when you realise how loud the music is. “Congrats on the album release!”

Jeongguk laughs boyishly. “Yeah? You like it?”

“Mhm!” you assure, nodding with emphasis. Jeongguk follows the hint of moving away from the loud music as his voice transitions into the opening chords of a David Bowie track. “Do you even have a bad song? Like, the difference between Vibes, Dancer in the Dark and Keep it Up...gorgeous.” He laughs again, feeling over the moon at your authentic excitement. “I really love your voice.”

If humans could melt, Jeongguk would be gloop. “Thanks, Y/N. I mean it, I’m glad you like it.” His brows quirk playfully, “Clearly.” He means your dancing, circular swirls to his voice, and you conceal a smile and look away quickly.

“I recognise Hold Your Breath, too,” you continue, choosing to deliberately ignore his playful comment. One might even assume it to have been flirting. “Isn’t that one of your earlier songs?”

By this point, you’ve hopped over the desk, slid over the wood as Jeongguk watched your coat and skirt hike up with the lift of your leg. “Mmm. I see you’ve done your homework,” he comments.

“I got...curious,” you defend weakly. “I like that song. I’m so glad you decided to do a studio version, it is what she deserved!”

Today might be a new record broken for How Many Times Can Jeon Jeongguk Laugh In Your Company.

“Well, there you have it. You can listen to all of it in HD to make up for me not being here for a while.” Your smile falters and Jeongguk smiles in an attempt to ease your disappointment. “We start our promotions next weekend, actually. Just a couple shows in the States, nothing huge.”

“Oh,” you nod, your voice oddly lost and spacious. “Ugh, I’d love to see you live. I bet it’s gonna sound amazing.”

A breath hitches in Jeongguk’s throat. Come on, idiot, jeers the demon inside of him. The angel slaps him on the back of the head but his words do not cease. You haven’t got all day to do it.

“Then come,” he blurts.

Mirroring him, your mouth falls round, open. “...O-M-G, I’d love to...but I’m like...broke,” you tell him, jokingly but around the truth you both know is there.

“Y/N, you can come for free, I’m inviting you,” Jeongguk explains slowly, the grin widening on his face. Awestruck, you’re lost in the beauty of it. “I want you to come. See us play, see me. You won’t have to pay for a single thing- everything’s on me.” He breathes, “Please,” added as an afterthought.

Admittedly, he hadn’t anticipated the following silence. “When?” you ask, breathily.

“Next Saturday,” Jeongguk offers, having thought about it since before the album came out. “At the Hollywood Palladium. It’s our opening show, and I’d just really, really like for you to be there.” You think about the date for a moment, smiling when you realise what day the date falls on.

“Hollywood? That’s...amazing, Jeongguk, really,” you tell him, your voice quiet still. “...Can I bring a friend? When I listened to August Blue, they were there and we both got really invested.”

A weight is lifted off Jeongguk’s shoulders knowing that his offer has been considered. He smiles brightly, the moons back out. “Depends. Is your friend male?”

Now it is your turn to grin, your weight held up by your elbows as you lean on top of the desk towards him, slotted between his hands. His familiar hazelnut scent is strong here. “Yes. He’s male, gay, and incredibly in love with my cousin.”

What Jeongguk feels is not relief, or irritation; an elevated feeling of happiness stirs in his chest. You are so unlike anybody he’s met, from the way you see the humour in everything he says, not taking him seriously enough to treat him like he’s better than everything else, and the way you make him feel like there’s something about him worth liking; to the way you’re probably the only person he’s ever met who genuinely likes the Sharknado franchise. It without a doubt goes without saying that good things pop up where you least expect them to, in people you didn’t anticipate meeting. Feeling like his head is in the clouds, Jeongguk’s lips press together into a smile, bashful in appearance and nods, satisfied.

“Okay then,” he nods, taking a second to grasp the situation before he laughs to himself, scratching his ear absentmindedly. “Here’s my number for then, then. You can call me when you arrive, and then I’ll come out and get you, or I’ll have our manager sort some things out, so you can skip the lines and get in before everyone else.”

“Alright,” you agree softly. “Thank you, Jeongguk.”

Although he shakes his head nonchalantly, feigning only a moderate amount of happiness, on the inside, Jeongguk’s body is screaming, his heart vibrating rapidly in his chest. On the other side, even when he bounces into a following conversation about your hair and the new book placed on the desk that you’ll probably read when you’re bored later today, you feel like you can’t breathe, can’t quite comprehend the fact Jeongguk is standing before you, his number in your phone, the sun unmatching his smile.

Some things don’t feel right, but being with Jeongguk isn’t one of them. Maybe luck is on your side for once.

(LOS ANGELES)

“So. You’ve decided to be late.”

Adjacent to where you’re standing, Park Jimin lies like a starfish on your bedsheets, his chin tilted up to the ceiling in agonising boredom as you fuss over your hair for the literal fifth time in the last four minutes.

Meeting Jimin was both the joy and the bane of your life, the boy being an unstable balance of chaotic and neutral, his sole purpose in life being to annoy the shit out of you. It had been a lovely sunny morning the day you first met him- only it had begun to thunderstorm the second he entered the arts classroom, pathetic fallacy. Being the quiet black sheep clearly did not always work in your favour considering the only spare seat left was the one next to you, meaning fate had decided to bring you both together to sketch still-life pears and grapes. Either that or a case of big, bad luck- the opinion differed depending on who you asked.

Regardless, here you both are; by cordial invite from Jeon Jeongguk himself, you have around twenty minutes to get to a venue that is thirty five away, and Jimin huffs for the fifth consecutive time, pointedly glancing over as you finish applying a generous amount of lipstick that no doubt will fade during the show. Your face is an art-piece, your body modestly covered in a silk buttoned shirt patterned with red flowers, tucked into some comfortable black jeans that Jimin turns his nose up at.

“They’re comfortable,” you argue weakly, finally following him to the car and deciding to do your shoes in the backseat. As half promised over text, Jeongguk sent a vehicle, the driver impatient and displeased by your tardiness but he says nothing, because it’s his job to drive, not to speak.

“Skinny jeans are the most impractical outfit for getting dicked down,” Jimin says with a clipped tone. “And isn’t it obvious that Jeongguk wants to do that?”

You shrug, biting the inside of your cheek. “It might not be like that.”

Jimin genuinely laughs. “Oh, come on- it totally is. Why else would he invite you backstage, send a car, and stop by at your work almost daily?”

“Maybe he wants to be friends?” you suggest, but both you and Jimin know that’s so far from the truth that you can’t even see it- you just don’t want to admit it just yet. When Jimin’s tongue darts out of his mouth with a smirk, you roll your eyes and lean down to your feet as the driver cruises down the street on the clock.

[17:39PM] Jeongguk 🎼: hey are you on your way?? [17:39PM] Jeongguk 🎼: havent heard from u [17:40PM] Jeongguk 🎼: u ok?

About ten minutes into the drive, almost peaceful save Jimin’s random questions about Jeongguk, or the venue, neither particularly answerable at this stage, a series of notifications flood your phone. Taking the chance to answer while Jimin finds time to bully the driver into talking to him to cure his driving boredom, you glance down at the messages, your body reacting with a flush when you see Jeongguk’s name light up in bold.

[17:41PM] You: yes !!!! in the car rn

His reply is instantaneous.

[17:41PM] Jeongguk 🎼: ok cool 😋 as long as ur safe [17:42PM] Jeongguk 🎼: got worried lol

“Five minutes,” the driver calls, to nobody in particular as he pulls up to a set of traffic lights. Oblivious to speed limits, he seems to have got you there in the designated twenty, before the gates opened for the crowds outside.

[17:44PM] You: we will be there in five minutes ☺️ [17:44PM] You: : i’ll text you when we’re here [17:45PM] Jeongguk 🎼: ok cutie, see you then 😛

You are grown, and too old to be crushing over a boy like you’re in high school, but the way Jeongguk interacts makes your toes curl with a whole new alien type of fondness, the need to giggle paramount. You refrain from doing so, because if Jimin hears he will never let you live it down. In an effort to ignore the excitement and nervousness coursing through your veins, your leg bounces erratically as the driver, who is apparently named Joe after the chauffeur bodyguard in The Princess Diaries (no thanks to Jimin and his “boredom” which borders insensitivity), pulls up in the barricaded staff car park. The fans outside have no idea: they just see a car and start screaming, their cheers making goosebumps ripple up your arms like romantic kisses.

“That makes me feel really important,” Jimin mutters, perhaps glum about the fact that he hasn’t had this much attention since he was chubby and innocent in third grade. “Ready to go?”

“Yep,” you breathe, unsure as to whether or not you mean it. Nevertheless, Jimin opens the car door and steps out, instantly making a crowd gathered by the barricade scream. They scream for anything, just wanting to be heard, but being Jimin, he soaks it up as you clamber out on the other side.

Jeongguk seems particularly popular, and it probably wouldn’t look good if fans saw an unknown girl get out the car to go backstage. You know how fans are, how it’s easy to jump to conclusions without the facts. While Jimin raises his hand to teasingly wave at the girls who scream in response, you follow Bodyguard Joe to the backstage door guarded by two oversized muscular men, bowing your head as you enter and feel the heat of the backstage rooms hit you in the face.

At some point, Jimin joins you inside, shuffling around your body when he spots Yoongi appear at the end of the opening corridor. Yoongi is always invited to August Blue shows, by personal invitation of the band-members who are mostly Namjoon. Remembering that Jeongguk technically has no idea you’re here, you quickly shoot him a text message before a female staff member touches your shoulder gently, offering a lanyard with VVIP written in black ink, likely a band members handwriting. She smiles, quickly running over the safety regulations because, give her a break, it’s her damn job. You’re nodding, acknowledging her words blindly until she’s done, sending you on your way towards Taehyung who pops his head around the corner and smiles brightly when he sees you.

“Hey, you!”

Quite honestly, you don’t think you’ve ever said a word to Taehyung before. He doesn’t seem particularly awkward to speak to you despite this fact, and beckons you closer with a wave of his hand. As you draw nearer, you smell the faint aroma of vodka crossed with raspberry, clinging to his clothes and mouth as he comes close to speak so you can hear him over the heavy bass filling the speakers.

“What?” you ask him loudly, seeing his mouth move with nothing coming out. All you can hear is the recording of Obsessive on the speakers, pounding, reverberating the floor beneath your Dr Martens.

“I said,” Taehyung shouts, his lips on your ear, “Jeongguk’s waiting for you. I need a wee really badly, but he’s in the artists lounge, that way.” He points vaguely in a direction, but the sight of Jimin stepping in and out of a room indicates the general direction regardless. “Enjoy the show, yeah?”

“Course!” you nod to him, and he wastes zero seconds staring at you and legs it in the opposite direction, towards where you assume the toilets are. Your eyes follow him as he leaves in endearment; he’s cute, constantly looking bewildered and confused. It’s his almond eyes, like puppy dogs’.

But the thought of seeing Jeongguk outweighs watching Taehyung leave; you hurry down the corridor and enter the room you expect to be the artists lounge, and your breath is taken away immediately when Jeongguk is the first thing you see.

As if anticipating your entry, he stands the second you enter, and while he moves, you freeze. Jeongguk looks absolutely breathtaking: his hair is curly, falling over his face with a slight parting not directly centered, hooped earrings hanging from his earlobes, adding a sparkle secondary to the way his eyes are shining in the backstage lights. His skin is gorgeously tanned, shaded and accentuated by the slipping material of his shirt that reveals the expanse of his collarbones, the black complementing the tightness of his jeans. You don’t get to look at his shoes- he stops at your toes and you peer back up at his face, rendered speechless by the smile on his face.

“Hi,” Jeongguk says, laughing as if it’s so crazy that you’re here, actually here. Before you can even think of speaking, Jeongguk inhales a breath and brings it back in with one movement; he reaches for you, encircling his arms around you for a quick hug that you’re not going to let go to waste. As soon as he feels your hands on his back, he pulls you closer, tighter almost, one hand on your lower spine and the other on the back of your head.

The hug is genuinely short, but it feels eternal.

“You made it,” he comments, his voice so bewildered that for a moment, you’re actually confused. Jeongguk speaks insecurely and it makes your heart wrench- you wonder who hurt him before, what made him think that he wasn’t deserving of things as simple as somebody coming to a show when he asked them to.

“Of course. I wouldn’t have missed it for anything,” you tell him truthfully, your arms slipping to his forearms. “I’m excited!”

Jeongguk grins happily. “Me too! Ah, I’m happy you’re here. You look gorgeous.” And without shame, he drags his gaze up and down your body.

“That’s good, then,” comes Jimin’s thrown in comment from across the room, where he occupies one of the leather seats next to Yoongi and across from Hoseok, who fidgets skittishly and fiddles his fingers at a Rubix cube. “Do you know how close we were to being late because she was busy deciding a lip colour? Jimin should I go red or nude? Jimin does this shirt go with my shoes? Jimin should I paint my nails red or black to match?”

A laugh ripples out of Jeongguk’s chest and he looks back at you adoringly.

“That’s not how it happened,” you protest weakly, pouting when Jimin cackles and smirks. “And we made it didn’t we? Shut up before I revoke the plus one card.”

“I’m already here, though,” Jimin reasons.

“I’ll force you outside,” you reply.

Yoongi pulls a face, then, finally joining the conversation. “Y/N, you can’t even open the front door to the shop when you enter, let alone drag Jimin outside. Nice try, though.”

An offended gasp leaves your mouth and Jeongguk turns around, petting the top of your head. “It’s okay. Sometimes, even I can’t open it. Anyway- drink?”

You decline this offer, not really wanting to drink anything heavy in fear of vomiting it up when the show starts. Based on your history, throwing up when you’re overly excited seems to be a dirty habit, something Jimin is very happy sharing when you opt for a glass of water while Jeongguk carefully pours himself a glass of whiskey. He doesn’t tease or poke fun. Jeongguk simply smiles, like the story is a memory he’s fond of remembering, and nods you in the direction of the couch where he wants you to sit. It stays this way right up until the show starts, and then the chaos begins and the nerves settle.

Now, you’ve never been backstage before, never seen how crazy it gets as the show’s about to start. While the rest of the band hurry around collecting outfit pieces, taking a drink or tuning their instruments to perfection, Jeongguk quietly tugs at your arm and brings you to the side, a gentle and reassuring smile on his face, a frequently used expression when it concerns yourself.

“Rachel is our main backstage manager and she’s gonna take you and Jimin down to where I’ve put you for the show, yeah?” he explains, his gaze intent. Rachel is the woman from earlier, smiling patiently near the door. You spare her a glance and then look back at Jeongguk. “I’ve put you down by the stage so I can see you, okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s okay.”

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re not in the crowd, you’re right by the stage in front of the barricade with the staff,” Jeongguk says. “Safe and sound, comfy and cosy. Can you come back after the show? There’s a party. I’ll- I’ll take you?” His tone is expectant, hopeful, and you’d be absolutely insane to let him down.

“I’ll come,” you promise. “Good luck!”

Again with the boyish charms; Jeongguk’s following smile is relaxed and lopsided, his head similarly quirked.

“Thanks, baby,” he calls, his smile widening when he notices the surprise flood your cheeks. “Cheer loud for me?”

“Always,” you tell him, gauging the scrunch of his eyes before Rachel directs both Jimin and yourself out of the backstage vicinity and towards the VVIP standing just next to the barrier. Whether or not Jimin overheard the entire ordeal is unclear; he doesn’t comment even if he did happen to overhear, remaining uncharacteristically silent until you reach your spot and he loosens up, gazing up at the stage in wonder.

When the venue feels packed to the brim and the reverberating bass of guitars literally vibrates the room, Jimin screams something about his excitement over the noise, catching your widened smile in his direction and laughing, throwing his arms around you.

Hollywood Palladium is genuinely packed to the brim, the fans by the barricade stamping excitedly as the VCR rolls to an end, the lights fade to a crimson red and silhouettes of August Blue appear on the stage. They are sensational, eliciting a chorus from the crowd that is deafening. Jimin laughs again, looking back and forth at the crowd and back at the stage, two girls from the barricade recognising him as the guy from outside and taking a photo, likely anticipating that he is of importance.

Like all concerts, the first five minutes are mind-blowing, epic and fantastical and slightly nerve-racking for all parties. At the sound of the opening chords of Meddle About, another wave of screams pierce the crowd and you wince, not expecting it but a smile still wide on your face. The cymbals crash and the lights flash brightly, revealing Jeongguk on the stage at the front, both his hands on the microphone as he speaks the first words of the night, lyrics dripped in smooth vocals that make your body swirl like on drugs. It’s mesmerising, sexy and sounding perfectly like the studio recording.

Hearing them live is a whole different experience- the way that August Blue perform is otherworldly, feeling like you’re in a subspace of slow-motion, every movement on stage emphasised. Not wanting to waste all of the show gawking at the lead vocalist, you glance at all of the other members, in awe of their talents and presence on the stage, even spotting the golden gleam of a saxophone in your peripheral vision. It is only then that you register the fact that Taehyung plays the saxophone live, and excitement and anticipation replaces birthed nerves from the opening song.

When Meddle About fades to a finale, Jeongguk smiles to himself widely as the melody to Obsessive plays almost immediately after, Namjoon’s riff introducing Jeongguk’s welcoming, “Hollywood Palladium, are you ready?” before he dives into the song. Here, Taehyung fiddles for his sax and beams down at both you and Jimin, returning to his spot to play as the song continues.

Like all songs from August Blue, you wish it would never end, your heels grinding the floor as you bop in Jimin’s arms, his chin buried in your neck as he rocks you from side to side affectionately. For the entirety of the song, and even after then, you refuse to take your eyes off Jeongguk; he moves with calculation and care, the world his bitch beneath his feet as he smirks, fucking the crowd, swirling in figure eight motions as he sings. Jeongguk is the eighth wonder of the world.

Obsessive ends, your torso rising and falling after their performance. It was a show of elan, your body buzzing with small vibrations like a bumblebee; Jeongguk’s hair is disheveled, and he exchanges caring looks with the other members, giving them the opportunity to catch their breath as he once again addresses the crowd.

“Hollywood…” he starts, smiling wolfishly when the crowd erupts into piercing screams, the fans at the barrier pounding against the metal bars impatiently and Jimin eyes them cautiously, wrapping his arms tighter around you and considerately shuffling further away. Jeongguk glances down, then, making sure everything is okay, and his eyes fall on you. The first thing he sees is your smile, enamoured and bright and wide, like golden light at the end of a dark tunnel he can’t get out of. You notice now that he speaks how strong the accent is, months and years of Australian visits clearly paying off. It’s nice, new and different, completely unlike how he speaks in Korean. “We feelin’ good tonight?”

The crowd respond gleefully, and Jeongguk chuckles into the microphone.

“Thank you all for coming out here tonight,” Jeongguk begins, swaying slightly on his feet. The movement is endearing. “Being here, on this stage, is something we have dreamed about, and now that we’re here...Wow. We couldn’t be here without you guys. Everyone who’s here- friends, family, lovers-” the crowd scream because they’re used to being mentioned this way, but when Jeongguk’s gaze briefly flickers down to you, you immediately burn up, curling into Jimin as your best friend laughs knowingly, squeezing you tighter when Jeongguk finishes his speech to the crowd, “-you guys are fucking awesome. You like the album?”

Of course, Jeongguk is not alone on the stage. Reminded of this fact, you pay attention to each members introduction, occasionally finding your eyes wandering back to the lead vocalist who seems to always be staring back. In a sea of screaming fans and waving banners, Jeongguk’s eyes land on you each time, as if reminding himself that you are here, you are here for him.

When the band finish their introductions and Jeongguk says his piece, and the opening hum from the guitars around him announce Dancer in the Dark, Jeongguk glances at you one final time and sees the way your body reacts to the song familiar to your ears, a curve extending the corner of his mouth. Jeongguk brings his attention back to the crowd where it will stay for the rest of the concert, his mind wandering between each lyric and break. Maybe- just maybe, things would work out for him in the end.

DEVIL IN THE DARK. (HOLLYWOOD)

There is a constant hum in your ears, your fingertips vibrating as you force yourself out of the car.

Judging by the sky draped in an ebony black, it’s either extremely late or extremely early, the loud music from the large estate already audible and you haven’t even entered the party yet. Even though Jeongguk had expected to take you in his personal vehicle to the party that would celebrate their first American show of the year, things hadn’t exactly gone to plan; his eyes met yours as soon as you hurried backstage to find him, pleading and frantic and your name on the tip of his tongue, unspoken when Rachel ushers the band out of the venue after an already overstayed welcome. Still, the frequent vibration of your phone under your thigh when you settled travelling with Yoongi and Jimin instead kept your thoughts preoccupied, Jeongguk’s contact practically permanent on your lock screen.

[23:40PM] Jeongguk 🎼: shit !!!!! [23:40PM] Jeongguk 🎼: i wanted to wait but they kept pushing me outside [23:41PM] Jeongguk 🎼: did u get out safe? [23:43PM] You: yep don’t worry !!! [23:43PM] You: we’ll be on our way soon [23:44PM] You: im hungry so we’re getting food first oops [23:45PM] Jeongguk 🎼: ok baby see u soon [23:45PM] Jeongguk 🎼 is typing…

The triple dots are constant.

Bodyguard Joe is the driver who drops you off, muttering under his breath when all three of you pile out the back and he’s free to leave. Before Yoongi can even shut the door properly he is speeding away, desperate to get out of there. Yoongi can’t say he blames him- he’s only staying for a little bit, at least until Jeongguk starts being Jeongguk. He deliberately doesn’t mention it to you. He wants you to see it for yourself.

Inside, it’s hard to see through the smoke. There had only been about fourty minutes difference between Jeongguk arriving there and the three of you, and evidently, they waste no time bringing the party into motion. Already, guests either by invite or chance are drunk, intoxicated with dark beer bottles and shot glasses, a wreckage of splintery glass by the door surrounded by a pair of shoes, like a warning. The lights are dimmed, each room dark save a lamp with a dying bulb or LED lights, flashing rainbow colours to the beats of songs, the smell of alcohol and weed lifting in the air. It’s rancid, strong and pungent but typical of parties you’d expect celebrities within the realm of Jeongguk to do, people who held the world at arms length.

Along the wall, the coat pegs are covered in a bundle of mismatched coats and jackets, a single Converse hanging by its laces as some sort of practical joke. In light of this, you decide to just keep your coat thrown over your shoulders, the black suede comfortable and moreover protective as faces you’ve never even seen before regard you with high interest as you pass. Jimin scowls and drags you closer to him, Yoongi leading the way with a gaze that could kill, parting the sea of dancers like Moses. The vibe, however, remains undisturbed, the bodies continuing to dance and drink as they were before Min Yoongi stepped through the mix, with two virtual nobodies behind him. He knows where he’s going- he’s done this before.

This mansion is a maze, with corridors leading everywhere, filled with bodies you didn’t know. You deduce that the main parlour where you’re headed to is the hub of the party, judging by the way the small groups of people outside become multiplied, the sound of laughter and music louder when you enter through a doorway. The room is soaked in an indigo neon light, the long haul of strip lights attached to the moulding by the ceiling by silver pins; almost all of August Blue accommodate one of the recliner sofas, one particular male suspiciously absent.

“Yoongi!” Faintly over the sound of the music, Namjoon’s voice carries its way to your trio, Yoongi’s attention moving to the band and he moves in that direction, with both Jimin and yourself close on his heels. Namjoon already looks affected by the alcohol stirring in a whiskey glass, the colour clear and making no difference when it sloshes over the side onto the bare skin of his forearms. Exchanging a tight lipped smile with Hoseok, who seats a beautiful girl on his lap who sips her drink quietly, you glance around the room for Jeongguk, your heart sinking when you don’t spot him anywhere.

“Great show,” Yoongi says, now that the music has been turned down somewhat, no thanks to Taehyung who has just stepped out of the bathroom and winced at the volume, now sitting back in his original spot beside Seokjin and his widened legs. As an afterthought, he adds, “as always. This is Jimin, by the way- and you know Y/N.”

Seokjin looks up from his glass: “Hi honey. Good night?”

“Yes, it was amazing,” you reply, your eyes wandering again. A few strangers are seated on the couch alongside the members, including three girls you aren’t familiar with. Two look out of this world, mentally vacant and the third watches you carefully, her lips pouted sourly. “Hello,” you call to her, uncomfortable.

“This is one of Rosanne’s friends, Cassandra,” Seokjin introduces, although he doesn’t sound particularly enthusiastic.

“Cassie,” she throws in.

“Oh, like the song,” you judge, looking back at Seokjin and catching the roll of his eyes before he can hide it away. Concealing a smile you look back at Cassandra.

“Yeah. Isn’t that funny?” she asks, giggling sweetly. “I like to tease Guk about it. It gets him shy. Did you see him on the way in, by the way? I’ve been looking for him.”

Oh. So she’s one of them- it’s evident in the way August Blue glance over at her with annoyance, glancing back at you with a blank stare. You know better. “No, actually. I just got here.”

“Well,” Cassandra-Cassie continues, smiling tightly, the look so ingenuine that it looks as though it hurts her to fake politeness, “if you see him, let him know that I’m looking for him.”

“Does he even know who you are?” Jimin asks before he can stop himself. Cassandra narrows her eyes.

“We met in passing.”

A snort exits Jimin’s nose. “If he remembers you, I’ll genuinely be surprised.”

Whatever is or isn’t said by the rest of the couch is unheard by you; once Jimin has finished his slander of Cassandra-Cassie whilst perched on Yoongi’s knees, you decide you’ve heard enough and pick yourself back up off the couch despite having only just sat down.

Whoever remains at the couch pays you no mind, aside from Yoongi who nods gently as you gesture to the connecting hallway, an arch in the cream smooth wall that no doubt leads to either the outside, the kitchen or a bathroom, perhaps all three at once. His eyes do not leave you until you’ve wormed your way out of the room, quietly and meekly weaving through bodies on the walls and declining at least three drinks offered in your direction. After peering into several rooms, including the kitchen that was far too crowded and scorching to even enter, and glanced out through the french doors to the scattered party outside, looking on the patio glowing in blues and pinks, the pool splashing with laughter.

Even the end bathroom that is larger than the kitchen is practically empty save the guy passed out in the bathtub with a glass of sparkling champagne in a slender glass on the sink, and you suddenly feel very dejected, closing the door behind you as you exit back to the long hallway. Maybe everything was too good to be true- maybe girls like Cassandra were girls Jeongguk had invited, like he had you, suddenly ghosting when they all appeared in the same room. It feels rude to assume that, but with no text messages or indication as to where he might be and with whom, disappointment begins to simmer in your stomach.

It nearly settles, confusing dejection with nausea and the thought of Jeongguk having played you is a thought you ruminate, until you’re halfway down the hall and a door to a connecting room that has now opened welcomes a body cloaked in the bedroom darkness, an arm leaning out to grasp your sleeve and pull you inside.

A strange sense of deja-vu hangs over this situation, familiarity striking with the hand that unwraps from around your arm and meets the second around your waist. Before you have even finished twirling to face the body in ownership of said arms, the sound of quiet chuckling makes you relax instantly, a smile growing when you fall with a soft thud against the torso of Jeongguk, his mouth in level with your eyes.

“Hi, stranger,” you laugh softly, looking up at him with wide eyes. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Jeongguk hums, and you catch a whiff of alcohol practically pouring off him. “Been hidin’. You found me, you win.” Jeongguk does a poor job of attempting to be sober, his speech slurred and his smile cheesy and smirkish. “I was tryna ride with you, but Joon shut the car door and we just drove off, you know?” You honestly don’t, but you nod anyway. “Tried to call you but dunno where my phone’s gone. Think Joon’s got it.”

“That explains why you weren’t replying,” you say, mostly to yourself. Jeongguk inhales the air through his nose quickly, one sniff, and relaxes his arms around your middle; his forearms are resting on your hip bones with his fingers gently stroking and drumming against your lower back, and it is here, with him so close, that you notice the glow of sweat on his hairline, the fringes slightly matted down and smudged black under his eye, glitter shines of his eyebrow piercing. “Got worried about you.”

“You were worried about me?” he repeats, that same smile on his face. Jeongguk sounds so amazed by this fact, so bewildered that you’d care.

Anticipation whirls in the pit of your stomach as his voice drops in volume and hardness, and the school-girl crush swims back to bite when Jeongguk’s forehead bends to press against your own, the taste of alcohol on your tongue before he’s even leaning in to kiss you. Jeongguk’s hands immediately fly to cradle your face, accidentally bringing a fistful of hair to your cheek as he holds you, practically picking your face up to warm to his mouth. It is just one kiss, long and deep and soft, leaving behind the taste of a bitter liquor.

Jeongguk’s eyes open through slits when he pulls away, analysing how you still haven’t come back to reality from it, and so he moves in again, in a body roll motion stealing a second kiss, his lips pressed up against you in full. He doesn’t know if it’s the booze in his veins or the electrifying feeling of your hands over him that has him buzzing all over- it could be both, for all he knew.

Beginning to doubt his own self control when you mumble and sigh into his mouth, Jeongguk gently brings himself away, out of the kiss and sending your eyes open in a daze. Cracking his own eyes open, Jeongguk restrains himself from going right back in- the orange glow from the outdoor lights shine on the left side of your face and his heart leaps, drumming in his ears. He frowns loudly, feeling your thumbs rub against his wrists. “Sorry.”

You pause, “Why?”

“For making you worry,” Jeongguk explains, his voice murmured through pouted lips. “I made the baby worry.”

“The baby?” you repeat, chuckling. He grins. “We’re almost the same age, y’know.”

“The baby,” Jeongguk coos, his giggles indicative of his level of soberness, which seems to be unlikely. “Little nineteen year old baby-”

“Twenty,” you add, and Jeongguk stops with a quiet “huh” that sounds like a baby, ironic. Jeongguk remembers you telling him your age, and that you’d be twenty soon. Had he missed your birthday? As if hearing his internal struggle, you smile softly: “Today is my birthday, actually.”

Truly, Jeongguk doesn’t know what to say. His mouth hangs agape, like the information was sacred. “What…? You didn’t say anything- I could have got you something, done something-”

“This whole day has been a gift,” you stress, cutting him short and calming him down. “Truly. My Mom and Asshole are in the Maldives because that’s more important than me, and so I went out for breakfast with Jimin, skipped my yoga session because treat-yourself-vibes only on my birthday, and then I had the best time at your show and now we’re here. So, honestly-” as you talk, you finger his shirt, wrapping the material around your nail, “-everything has been amazing. This is my gift- you are my gift.”

Jeongguk pouts. “You’re way more important than the Maldives...you wanna go to the Maldives? Shall we go?” Based off the state of things, Jeongguk is a playful, chatty and overall excited drunk, his eyes blown wide with what you hope it just alcohol buzz. “I’ll take you.”

You laugh, gently stroking his jaw and very briefly, before he can get too addicted, kiss him. Before Jeongguk can pucker his lips back for you, you’re back on the ground with your feet flat, shyly smiling at the way he still tries anyway- because you can’t blame a man for trying.

“You like the party?” Jeongguk asks, unconcerned. His hands are back on your back, now, his arms wrapped around you tightly.

“Mm, it’s fun,” you agree. “Will you come out and join all of us? We’re all in the lounge-” you smirk up at him and he raises his brows, “Cassandra is there.”

“Who the fuck’s Cassandra?” questions his voice, and you laugh loudly, surprisingly gleeful.

“Someone else who was looking for you like me,” you tell him, frowning. He hums, interested in this fact and your expression. “Think she likes you.”

Outside the door, someone rattles at the handle, the noise falling short as though they’ve been stopped from entering. Jeongguk seizes the last word with a triumphant smile.

“Don’t worry,” he assures, and your gaze drops to his lips as his teeth drag on the bottom, pulling teasingly. “I’ve got my eye on someone special.”

There had been reasoning behind Yoongi’s decision to not mention Jeongguk’s habits.

For one, it’s none of his business to talk about what Jeongguk does and doesn’t do when under the influence. Secondly, he feels as though he’s not supposed to say, like it’s a secret he’s sworn to keep. Truthfully, Yoongi doesn’t want to give the wrong idea- he doesn’t want the truth to be misunderstood or misinterpreted, and so he stays quiet. Like all other members of August Blue when Jeongguk touches alcohol, he’s quiet. At this stage, there’s nothing he can do but wait for Jeongguk to stop, patient and helpful.

It has to be early hours, now, and if Yoongi’s phone wasn’t dead, he’d check. By this point, the party is on its last legs, the volume of people decreasing dramatically as songs become more slow and sultry, all the lights blood red. It’s about time he and Jimin leave, actually; like always, Seokjin and Taehyung have disappeared into one of their bedrooms on the second floor, and Namjoon is asleep on the couch with his mouth ajar, Hoseok and Roseanne planning to remain present in the hub until the party goes to sleep, because someone needs to clean up, and it sure as hell won’t be anybody else.

Yoongi bids his farewells individually, with Jimin needily clinging to the sleeve of his shirt with the vodka oozing out of his body, his head on a whole other planet. By the time Yoongi makes it to the other side of the room where you are with Jeongguk, he’s worried Jimin might actually fall asleep before they get to the car.

Something interesting has happened. Yoongi slowly moves towards the leftover crowd around Jeongguk and sees your face immediately, worry crossed with affection etched into the look on your face as Jeongguk tightly holds you on his lap, his legs twitching and smile on display. It’s around about this time Yoongi begins to overthink it, letting his gaze drop to your hands holding one of his while his other reaches out to the coffee table, littered with bottles and shot glasses, and most importantly, the puddles of white. He gulps, looking back at you. Surprisingly, you don’t look put off, or disgusted- more so you look sad, as if filled with intense guilt as Jeongguk hugs you, his heart in one place and head in another.

When one of the girls next to Jeongguk pats his arm and Jeongguk looks over, you spare the chance to look back in the direction of Jimin, overwhelmed with relief when you see him losing balance over the shoulder of your cousin. Jeongguk struggles for a second to let you free but he does, and you move towards Yoongi, already expecting his departure.

“You should leave too,” Yoongi says seriously. “Before he gets worse.”

He- you look over your shoulder at Jeongguk. Now, he’s on his knees, his chin on the coffee table as he inches towards a fresh line on the surface. Someone’s credit card sits decorated in the powder and Jeongguk, whilst pressing his finger to one nose, snorts the line without question and with a smile. You look away, facing Yoongi with a dark expression.

“You knew?”

“We all knew,” Yoongi sighs. “This...is moderate.”

Processing what he’s saying, you shake your head stubbornly. “If I leave, then it will get worse. I don’t want to leave him on his own. I wanna be here for him, before it gets worse than what it already is.”

“It will get worse, always does.”

“I don’t care, I’m not leaving him here,” you reason. “Before you tell me I’m not special and I can’t change him, I’m not here to change him. I’m here to support him. I’m gonna stay, make sure he’s okay.”

Yoongi really wants to intervene, warn you against it. People before you have tried, he wants to say. But he doesn’t; he smiles weakly, thinking about how you’re too good for the world and people around you and he brings you in for a hug, kissing the crown of your head.

“Alright. Happy birthday, by the way. Twenty...Hag,” Yoongi mutters before he pulls away. Jimin mirrors the movement, drunkenly giggling in your ear as he pulls away and thuds against Yoongi’s side. Yoongi doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t complain; secretly he likes the clinginess.

“Thanks, Yoongs,” you laugh, standing still until he steers himself and Jimin away from the scene and you’re left with no other option but to retreat back towards Jeongguk, who must be on his third line. The distinct and slightly jarring sound of snorting makes you hurry quicker towards him, until you can reach out and pet his hair, making him look up before he’s even finished the line.

The boyish grin that Jeongguk gives you when he looks up and sees your face is beyond beautiful, and he’s so distracted from the lines that he doesn’t notice or care when the girl next to him, displeased with his lack of attention, finishes it off for him. Doing everything in your power to not cry about how Jeongguk looks, fucked and wrecked with white powder under his nose, you shoot him a smile and smooth your hands down the side of his face.

“‘m pretty,” he mutters. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty.”

Laughter tugs at your throat, little puffs of air through your nose as you bend your head to meet his wandering gaze, wiping the powder from his nose before it kills you to keep looking at it. He sniffs, finding that it tickles, and plops his chin in your lap, hands on your thighs.

“Sleepy?” you ask, petting his curly hair.

“Mm.”

“Mm yes, or…?”

“Mm...comfy,” mutters Jeongguk. Through his hair, he looks up at you. “Can we make-out?”

You snort out a laugh, massaging his scalp. “Oh my God, you are so drunk. Come on, big guy.”

“Wanna stay with you,” Jeongguk says. “Don’t leave.”

“I’m not gonna leave you,” you tell him. “I promise. Look, everyone’s getting ready to leave now, too, I think the party’s pretty much over.”

Jeongguk eyes the room with a half-lidded gaze, furrowing his brows like he doesn’t quite know where he is. “Huh. Everyone left.”

“Mhm.” He starts to reach for the cocaine on the table again and your heart beats with panic. “Hey, I think that’s enough now.”

“Lemme finish,” Jeongguk requests.

“You’ve had enough,” you stress, taking hold of his hand. “Let’s leave it there for tonight, okay, baby?”

Jeongguk’s head snaps towards you. “Baby?”

You nod, affirming. “Yes. Look, oh, I’m so tired-” you pretend to yawn, keeping one eye open to observe his expressions as he smiles childishly.

“You’re faking,” he accuses.

“Nope. I’m so tired, let’s go sleep,” you continue.

Jeongguk continues to smile, occasionally laughing when the sound can get out of his throat. You’re half expecting it to be a waste of time, for him to insist on taking more lines and drinking more booze, but he does neither of these things. Jeongguk nods once and runs his hands across your thighs, taking them in his palms and roughly squeezing, getting to his feet when you tug him up.

Across the box shaped recliner pattern, Cassandra-fucking-Cassie glares up from her seat, alongside several others who stare at you as if you’ve grown another head. Truth be told, and unbeknownst to yourself, Jeongguk has never listened to anybody like he does for you. You have no idea how insane it is to see Jeon Jeongguk following the orders of a girl nobody knows, and honestly, you don’t care. Feeling Jeongguk’s hand slide into yours and the other occasionally reaching to fondle the back of your leg as he searches for you in dark is enough, it’s the only thing you care about.

You don’t really know where you’re going; behind you, Jeongguk is mumbling the way to his bedroom, which appears to be up the grand staircase and on the top floor, where he can pretend he’s above the world. Even with his directions, the path seems unpredictable, his torso occasionally bumping into you when you pause at corners. Eventually, Jeongguk notices where he is and conceals a yawn, his face contorted into sleepiness as he gently pulls you in the direction of his room, unsurprisingly at the end of the corridor, a master. Before he can open the door, Jeongguk yawns loudly, slumping against the doorframe and laughing slowly when you curve around him, reaching for the handle and forcing your way into the room.

Inside, it’s cold, the window propped open and a midnight colour hanging on the walls, silence. Jeongguk doesn’t turn on a light, and he doesn’t want you to either. He still holds onto your hand, or rather your fingers, and leads the way inside. His bedroom is like a hotel suite, a small lobby area of sorts when you walk in with three doors North, East and West, all leading to separate rooms including the main bedroom, bathroom and closet, all his for his own liking. He, of course, heads to the East, in the direction of his bed. It’s equally as cold in there but Jeongguk doesn’t care.

Under his breath, Jeongguk hums something unintelligent, waiting until he’s right by the side of his bed to twirl around. His arms find themselves back around you, lifting you off the ground which elicits a squeal of surprise and falls with a soft pat on top of the bed. Your pelvis is on his abdomen, your face on the bed next to his neck and he holds you tighter, engulfing your smell and warmth. Amongst the drugs and the childlike excitement, Jeongguk is an affectionate drunk around those who matter to him. His exhale of breath akin to a sigh tickles a breeze on your ear, and you struggle to pick your head up and look at his face; he meets you with a titter and puckers his lips, kissing you before you can decline. He grins triumphantly.

“Got it.”

“Mm, you did.”

He laughs again, the kind of laugh that sounds gravelly. He’s so drunk. “Got you.”

Humming, you entertain that thought, reaching your head to peck his jawline. Jeongguk sighs contently, about to move his hands from your waist to your thighs when you shuffle up and away, his brows furrowing with perplexion. “You’ve got me.”

Jeongguk’s head tilts. “Where are you going? Don’t leave.”

“I’m going to use the bathroom, and then I’ll be right back,” you promise him. Jeongguk pouts, emotionally clingy which is unusual, but flops back down onto the bed without vocal protect.

In the time it takes for you to rush to the bathroom, pee out of nervousness and nervously pet your hair and make it look absolutely no different, Jeongguk is knocked out asleep when you re-enter the room. His breaths are quiet, and heavy, his legs hanging off the side with his heels on the floor. The urge to sigh is unreal, but you know he must be tired, more tired than you are. Standing just before him on the bed, you’re uncertain of what to do first, but then you move to pull his feet out of his shoes, quietly tossing them to the side and then hauling his legs up onto the mattress. At some point during the night, he might shuffle- he does, slightly, when his body is on one level, and he sleepily worms his way to the side of the bed closest to the window, the right side, his side.

Half of your heart wants to leave. Maybe the way Jeongguk acted tonight was purely because of things he drank, things he lets into his body. But, subconsciously, you know better; the other half of you begs for you to stay. If Jeongguk changed his mind, it would be one walk out of the door and out of his life, easy and simple.

Instead of thinking about that, you gently toss your jacket to the floor and kick off your own shoes, laying flat next to Jeongguk as he falls deeper into sleep. Even if he wakes up with cold feet tomorrow morning, at least he won’t be alone.

The next morning, it is raining. It doesn’t often rain, and so you can’t help but hear the heavy sound of rain outside the window, no thanks to yourself for forgetting to close it before climbing next to Jeongguk. Speaking of the man, he remains asleep, his head twisted on the pillow facing you with his body flat on his back, one leg up and the other spread out. He looks so peaceful, hopefully at peace with his dreams.

Without waking him up, you roll over off the bed and sink your feet to the floor, silently retreating to the bathroom with your phone in your hand. Surprised by the time, it reads eight fifty am, and you scroll down your notifications which seem to have multiplied unusually. Few are from Instagram but majority are texts, from Yoongi and Jimin, one from your Mom that reads a simple “happy bday” and nothing more.

[03:32AM]: Yoongi 👹: hope ur safe and ok [03:41AM] Yoongi 👹: did u go home?

He sent those at three.

[08:50AM] You: shit sorry [08:50AM] You: was sleeping [08:51AM] You: im still with jeongguk, he passed out and i stayed so he wouldn’t wake up on his own

There is a short silence.

[08:53AM] Yoongi 👹: ok, be safe [08:53AM] Yoongi 👹: jimin says good morning lol

Sitting on top of the closed toilet, you hurriedly reply to the flurry of messages and by the time you’ve finished, ten minutes have passed and it is now nine. Checking over yourself in the mirror and deciding that you could ultimately look a lot worse, you move back into the bedroom, overhearing loudness from the remaining people in the house who had an early start to the day.

Jeongguk stirs slightly, showing signs of being awake. Under his breath he groans, reluctant to confirm his consciousness by keeping his eyes closed, and you slowly reach to put your phone back on the bedside table and clamber on all fours onto the bed. With the weight dipped, Jeongguk huffs, peering open one eye and watching you crawl up to him, knees near his body and hands brushing the long hair out of his eyes.

“Morning, sleepy-head,” you coo, voice quiet because nine is still early.

Jeongguk groans, saying nothing. He shifts, ironing out the cramps in his limbs and sitting up, reaching a hand out for you, grabbing air like a child. Your gaze drops to the way his fingers roll expectantly and you slip your hand into his, taken aback when he tugs you over onto him, your legs over his hips as his arms steady around your waist.

Suddenly he’s very awake, moving your hair back and then kissing you, like he’s been starved of it. It begins gentle, timid, with his hands barely touching you as if he’s expecting you to move away and reject it. You don’t, however; when he pulls back you immediately move back in, twisting your arms around his neck, prompting him to follow by tightening his arms around your body, bringing you flush up against him, hips touching, sex throbbing. Jeongguk groans into your mouth, his hands guiding your body as you make shy movements, barely rolling up against him creating friction he wasn’t aware he needed so badly.

Jeongguk isn’t sure if what he’s doing is okay, and you don’t care. All that seems to matter is having you near him, as close as you can possibly be. Under your shirt, Jeongguk slides his hand up your back until it’s at the back of your neck, his left tight on your hip bone as the guider. He welcomes, no, encourages, your hips rocking against his slowly, teasingly, perfect momentum for the morning with the rain. It is both unnerving and exciting in how Jeongguk remains silent, save his occasional groans into your mouth. 

Once Jeongguk has grown bored of kissing your mouth, satisfied with all he’s done, his mouth departs and moves to your jaw, peppering a line of wet kisses from the underside to your neck. His hands spring away and move to hastily unbutton your shirt, unpopping one at a time as you whimper, feeling the hardness buried in Jeongguk’s jeans begging to be free.

Jeongguk breathes heavily, desperately pulling the buttons undone and undressing your shirt from your body. At first, he barely notices the fact that your bra is missing until the shirt is down to your elbows, sexily like a shawl, and his eyes land on your hardened nipples. Jeongguk half laughs, touching his thumbs on the underside of your breasts.

“Just like that,” he mutters, and you pout through a whimper that brings his eyes up to your own.

“Shut up, there was no way I was sleeping with it on,” you reply, and he hums, it makes sense. Jeongguk doesn’t blame you- why would he? He’s a guy, he likes tits; he likes your tits, smallish and round, big enough for him to hold and fit in his mouth, which he does.

Raising his eyebrows, Jeongguk smirks and brings his mouth to your right tit, his mouth around your nipple and you moan sweetly, your hand raking through his messy bed-curls. Like taking a toothless bite out of a whip of ice cream, Jeongguk’s lips pull around it, his eyes flickering up to observe your expressions- one glance and he immediately feels overwhelmed, a pressure on his crotch, discomfort, the need to be free. His hips stutter and he ruts up against you, two clothed crotches rubbing together, stolen gasps in the morning ambience. Finished with his hands on your tits, Jeongguk fully removes your shirt, balling it up and throwing it across the room, where it lands pathetically on one of the knobs of his drawers.

In one movement, Jeongguk secures his arms around you and hikes himself up onto his feet, squatting and turning so you should fall on your back. Following, he pushes you down into the mattress, your head half on the pillow and this time, his legs on your hips, not an overpowering weight but enough to keep you pinned down. You writhe, your back arching up off the mattress as Jeongguk’s mouth trails down from your face, where he leaves a starting kiss on your lips, down your neck and between your breasts, encouraging the roll of your hips with his hands. Muttered incoherence is all he can hear as he shimmies down, his tongue on your skin, teasingly licking a stripe up across your crotch covered by uncomfortable jeans.

Jimin, that fucker, he’d been right. Skinny jeans truly were the least practical outfit.

Jeongguk straddles himself up, planting his body over you like one would during sex. Humming against your lips, Jeongguk’s teeth pull at your bottom lip, his left hand gripping your leg and positioning it around his waist, your legs parted and his crotch directly hitting yours with every grind. Jeongguk gives nothing away- he stares, unwaveringly and deadpan directly into your eyes, grunting at the faces you pull, the whimpers leaving your lips, your rutting underneath him.

He buckles unexpectedly, pounding you deep into the mattress with a high pitched moan, captured by his mouth as he squeezes your flesh around his hand, holding you to him like letting you go would result in him losing you entirely. Jeongguk’s torn between wanting to cry and scream; in his short, sad, twenty one years of living, he’s not sure he’s ever felt as desperate for another person before. Never craved somebody the way he craves you, never needed somebody the way he needs you. Jeongguk stares into your eyes, opia. For fucks sake- he likes you so much, needs you so much-

“Jeongguk, you up?”

Freeze frame. Namjoon steps into the room, his eyes widening with surprise when he comes through the East and spots your shoes and bra by the door, shirt hanging off the cupboard, and Jeongguk on top of you with his lips on your neck, hands on your waist, leg around his middle and crotch up against his. Over Jeongguk’s bicep, you stare at him, your eyes blown open, but Jeongguk doesn’t seem to stop, or even care. Even when you grip on his bicep to let him know you’re not alone, Jeongguk looks up from your neck and spots Namjoon. A soft exhale leaves his lips and he grunts, unbothered.

“Yeah,” he replies bluntly, biting down on your neck and revelling in the tug he receives in his hair when he does so. Still, Namjoon stands by the door in awe, unsure of what to do or say. Jeongguk pulls away, his face still stuffed in your neck, “you need something, Namjoon?”

“I,” Namjoon says, gathering his thoughts. He clears his throat. “Sejin called...He said he’s going to be round at about eleven ish, so I was, um, coming to see if you wanted breakfast, or…” As he speaks, Jeongguk is selfish, still grinding against you like Namjoon’s not even there. He’s listening though, his ear free to hear as he sucks his mouth on your skin, practising sex against your jeans.

Naturally, Namjoon’s gaze wanders to your breasts when Jeongguk picks himself up slightly, grabbing one with his palm and kissing patterns across your sternum. He gulps, uncomfortable.

“Be down in a minute,” Jeongguk says, shrugs, not really a promise. Namjoon nods, flushing as you moan unexpectedly, your traitor pussy having a mind of its own, controlling the way you think. Namjoon about makes out an arch on the grey comforter and catches your gaze, half-lidded, and he turns away, he’s seen enough.

“Take your time,” Namjoon squeaks out, unsure of whether the flush is for his head or his dick but he’s not sticking around to find out, and hurries out the door and back into the house. Jeongguk’s facade doesn’t fall until he knows for certain that Namjoon has left, which means he waits until the sound of laughter resonates downstairs, meaning Namjoon’s said his piece to the rest of the band likely gathered somewhere, waiting for him.

Planting one final kiss to your breast, Jeongguk groans and picks himself up onto his hands, his torso still over the lower half of your body and his gaze on your chest. It doesn’t move for a moment, staring in silence until he suddenly starts laughing to himself. The tangled mess of hair bounces with his shoulders and his head drops for a few moments, and then he peers up at you with a smile and you can’t contain your own bubbling laughter, scandalised.

“I know I’m a day late,” he breathes, “but.” Jeongguk smiles softly, “Happy birthday, gorgeous.”

“Mmm. Thank you,” you preen. “Best birthday ever.”

This causes Jeongguk to guffaw, laughing under his breath. “Joon enjoyed it too.”

“You’re such a prick, you could have stopped,” you laugh to him, slamming his shoulders gently. Jeongguk grins, shuffling until his ass is on your stomach, straddling with his hands intertwined with yours.

“Yeah,” he agrees, because he could have. “Didn’t feel like it though. Plus, he said you were pretty once. ‘Mnot taking any chances with you.”

You gasp, astounded. “And what if I had thought he was pretty, too?”

“Then I’d cry,” Jeongguk replies simply, considering it a successful quip when you laugh sweetly, your cheek on your shoulder looking up at him like he was God’s angel. He blinks, like he’s processing the information, “thank you for staying. Look, if last night I was fucked up, it’s okay if you’re not cool with that. It can be a lot and I-”

“Jeongguk, I’ll always stay. If you need me, I’ll stay,” you tell him seriously. “I’m here for you, even when it’s difficult. I-” you pause, “I care about you.” It won’t be the last time Jeongguk feels like he has nothing to say to you, and honestly, it’s not the first time either.

Jeongguk looks down at you, his face devoid of a smile now that your words have settled in. When he realises what you’re saying, what that means for him.

“I’m sorry. I’m...a fucking shit show,” Jeongguk says quietly, and he barely moves when you instantly sit up, rising with your palms cupping his face, holding him gently and closely.

“Please don’t say sorry. I’m here, if you need me,” you say to him. “If you want me.”

“I do,” replies Jeongguk. He licks his lips, “of course I do.”

Warmth blossoms in your chest, and it would be easy to kick back, let him keep kissing, stay in the warmth of his bed covers. So suddenly, life feels like it can get better. So suddenly, it feels like everything is going to be okay.

(LOS ANGELES)

Things begin to change quite suddenly.

In the moment, you hardly realise how fast paced life is moving for you, too caught up in the moment, in the thrill of what has become of your life after the show at the Hollywood Palladium. For some reason, you didn’t expect to be an addition to Jeongguk’s life after the party, especially considering August Blue still had several other shows and cities to perform in, meaning the likelihood of seeing him decreased.

He had surprised you, though, by making a considerable effort to frequent DBOY whenever he could before he left for Jersey, alongside the rather spontaneous decision to take you for dinner after your shift, ending with a bang and a kiss and your mother peeking from behind a curtain inside the house when Jeongguk pulled up to drop you home instead of your own flat afterwards. 

As far as you knew, nothing with Jeongguk had especially changed; judging off the lingering smell of nicotine and alcohol when he turned up to get you, and pictures of dark lights and white tables on his private accounts, which only made it harder to say goodbye to him.

There had been a change in pace between Jeongguk and yourself, an establishment of feelings discussed over that afternoon dinner looking out at the ocean. It had been unexpected and impulsive, you still dressed in your lackluster University outfit and Jeongguk in attire that he put on when he woke up in the morning, but everything seemed to feel right.

It hadn’t been much, nothing but him setting the record straight that he wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he wanted to do it- if you would have it, he’d like to be in your life. There was the bump in the road that was his status, his tours and his unspoken struggle with white lines and drunken nights that could be troublesome. Could turn you off, could make you not want him. You laughed at that like it was the funniest and simultaneously the stupidest thing he’d ever said, and maybe it was.

Across the room, Jimin kicks his feet up onto the coffee table despite countless efforts to get him to stop. Now that the late birthday weekend spent with your family had come to a happy end, you were once again welcomed in your shared flat with Jimin; it’s a measly apartment close to campus with an expensive empty third room that you both use as art storage. Next to him on the couch is the greasy pizza box, his fingers pulling a slice off the cardboard. You stand behind the couch, looking at the back of his head, and then look back at your phone. As always, there’s nothing, no notifications besides an Icloud storage backup failure. You sigh, having expected it.

Jimin looks up when the couch dips in weight as you sit next to him, moving the pizza box to his lap rather than your spot. He has the nerve to appear offended, still shoving a slice in his mouth.

“I’ve picked the movie,” he starts.

“Swear on God, if you’ve picked Orphan again, I’m going to beat your ass.”

“It’s the best horror movie to date, come on!” Jimin argues, making zero effort to change the movie once it’s already started. People who didn’t know Jimin would take a look at him and anticipate him to be an angel, questioning why you would ever be annoyed by such a cute face. This- this is why. 

Regardless, all you give Jimin is an eye-roll and decide to quietly accept the fact that your movie night has, once again, become an ode to Orphan. It’s not a problem- if a movie could define and represent a friendship, Orphan could summarize your relationship with Jimin.

The movie plays as far as Esther pushing her sister into the road when disturbance arises. Jimin is the first to stir, hearing the front door to your apartment crack open and a sheepish Yoongi steps inside, a bag of takeout in his left hand and keys in the right. He is, of course, late as always, and you expect he won’t hear the end of it by the time he’s wedged himself into the room; rightly so, Jimin interrogates him on being late as the front door closes, and right as the sound of arguing fills the room a blaring ring from your phone picks up.

It’s sad to admit that you pick up your phone in lightning speed, peering in the light as Jeongguk’s contact fills the screen. The way seeing his name light up on the screen feels like an urgent release, like finding treasure after searching for so long- you haul yourself up off the couch and head back towards the kitchen as the couple shuffle in. Glancing at them as they collapse in laughter to the couch, you smile and answer the call from Jeongguk that never stops ringing.

“Jeongguk,” you say, once you’ve picked up and heard nothing but murmured party ambience over the line. Something crackles, like the movement of clothes, and Jeongguk hums like he’s in a trance. “Can you hear me?”

“Hi baby,” his voice calls. He laughs, lucid, “Y/N, baby. Hi baby.”

“Hi,” you coo in reply. “Where are you, I can barely hear you…?”

“Party!” laughs Jeongguk. “Wrap up party. ‘so funny, you should come.”

A smile ignites. “I can’t, I’m not in that state. Are you having fun? What are you doing?”

For a moment, Jeongguk doesn’t reply. From the sounds of it, he seems otherwise occupied, for in the background the quiet sound of party laughter and glass clinking reminds you of where he is, what he’s doing, what he’ll end up doing. You swallow thickly.

“It’s okay,” Jeongguk says after some time. “Kinda fun.” He waits one second and then says, “can’t hear you. I’m gonna go outside, don’t hang up.”

“I won’t. I’m not going anywhere.”

Jeongguk moves outside, the party tucked behind as he leans against the brickwork of the rented bar used for the party. There’s a payphone on the wall, dripped in neon lights and he stands next to it, his body chilled by the night, leather on his skin.

“What are you doing?” Jeongguk asks, sniffing. That’s the indicator. Something inside of you sinks thinking about what he’s done, how sad it is that he does it to himself and nobody bats an eye.

You throw a glance back across the room; Jimin is settled in Yoongi’s lap, bringing soft laughter out of your cousin as the still frame of Orphan burns the television screen. “It’s movie night, so Jimin and Yoongi came over.”

“Mm yeah?” Jeongguk says. “Fun, sounds so fun, Yoongi said you lived with Jimin.”

“I do,” you reply gently. “When do you come home?”

“Saturday, maybe,” Jeongguk estimates. “Then I’m gonna come see you. Wanna take you out again, can we go out somewhere, I wanna go out.”

You laugh, tucking yourself into the kitchen when Yoongi and Jimin start laughing too loudly. “Course. Just let me know when, I’ll make room for you.”

For a while, Jeongguk doesn’t say anything interesting. In fact, it’s mostly a string of incoherent and confusing sentences, his pout audible as he speaks and at least he’s not making bad decisions, half the reason you haven’t told him to go back to the party. Maybe you’re in it too deep, maybe you have no right being worried about him like that. If his band members didn’t seem to be too worried, and they’ve clearly known him longer, then why should you be so concerned?

“Called you for a reason, you know,” Jeongguk says, after a short breath of silence.

You raise your eyebrows and lean against the doorframe, pulling at your bottom lip with your teeth after asking him why.

Jeongguk sniffs and then drops a deep exhale of breath. “Missed you.” Your heart thuds painfully. “Miss you, miss your voice. You should have come.”

“Maybe next time,” you offer. You’re unsure if telling him that you didn’t come because you don’t know what you are to him is wise at this exact moment, and so you decline to offer him a reason. Not that he asks. “I miss you too. I miss you coming to see me at work, made my day.”

Jeongguk laughs to himself. “I miss it. Coming home on Saturday, can I see you then?”

You pause to think. “Ah...it’s Yoojung’s birthday.” Yoojung is Yoongi’s sister, which Jeongguk remarkably remembers. He frowns, questioning. “There’s a party at her house, I’m obviously going because I’m family.”

“Yoo is a fan of the band, I think,” Jeongguk says. “Maybe I’ll ask Yoonie if I can come, surprise her or something. Wanna see you.”

“You can’t wait an extra day? I think I’m free all day on Sunday,” you offer, but Jeongguk declines.

“Nah. Greedy.”

He sniffs once, curtly and quickly, like inhaling sandpaper. You repress a sigh, not wanting to give away anything that might upset him, and you tuck further into the kitchen to escape the noise of the couple on the couch. It rises in volume, Jimin’s tone calling for you which Jeongguk can surely hear, but clearly cares little for.

“Fair enough,” you reply, smiling. “Are you going to go back in and party?”

For a second, Jeongguk says nothing. Unbeknownst to you, Jeongguk leans against the damp bricks with his chin tucked to his collarbones, gaze hazy and a smile on his lips. The air is cool enough to straighten his head, at least clear his vision from speckles to something clean.

“Just like talking to you,” he mumbles. “I don’t know, I don’t know if I wanna party anymore.”

“Then don’t, baby, it’s okay,” you tell him, trying to avoid eavesdroppers in the living room. “Find Seokjin and leave for the night, hm? Have some rest and then we can see each other when you get back for Saturday, m’kay?”

Jeongguk says nothing, listening in the background to Yoongi and Jimin as they heckle you into living room to finish the movie. He wants to say something, more than anything he has words on his mind, sentences on the tip of his tongue; he doesn’t. His head isn’t clear enough for him to trust himself to speak. So, instead, he takes an inhale of the outside air and glances around at his surroundings, observing the moonlight on the lake nearby and the dark green ferns around the car park.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m gonna go to bed,” he decides to say.

“That’s good. Just let me know when you’re home safe, okay?” you tell him, silencing the duo with a finger to your lips and the couple on the couch suppress giggles of amusement. To them it’s funny. “Okay?”

“Yep. I’ll text,” Jeongguk promises. From behind him, the door to the club opens and you can faintly hear a voice calling him. It’s out of your hands but you hope that it’s Seokjin, or another member of the band. “Miss you.”

You smile, “I miss you too. Get some rest, okay? I’ll see you on Saturday.”

Jeongguk hums. His voice is gone in the wind, too small to speak out.

(HIDDEN HILLS)

“And, you know, don’t get me wrong- I love parties as much as the next person, believe me, but if you can’t have an Iron Man balloon just because your parents are too damn lazy to go across town to Party City to get me one, then is it really a good party?”

Min Yoojung takes a sip from her glass and practically shrivels with distaste. For some or known reason, she had assumed that when you turned eighteen, life would dramatically change and you’d suddenly enjoy the taste of alcohol. Or, at least, that’s what UK TV shows had told her- mind you, she now knows that’s entirely inaccurate.

“I mean, think about it,” she continues with a huff. “Yoongi gets his own private club hired out for his birthday with the members of KISS playing on stage, and I can’t even get a balloon?”

Yoongi sits directly across from her on the patio sofas, a cigarette between his two fingers and a glass of red wine on the small table. He hides a smirk, feigning absolute disinterest as his sister speaks, waiting until she’s finished and looking between yourself and Jimin for some sort of explanation before he speaks.

“It’s because you’re adopted,” he replies smoothly, which only sets her off more.  

To some extent, what she is saying is not flawed. For Yoongi’s eighteenth birthday, he had gotten everything he wanted, things he brought up in passing wrapped up and gifted to him on the morn of March 9th. And, Yoojung is walking proof that the myth of the baby sibling being the favourite is simply not true. Granted, Yoongi’s only the favourite because he’s semi-famous, whereas Yoojung still attends public school and dines in three star restaurants with allowance money she may as well not have. That’s not to say that her birthday sucks; it doesn’t, because the Min’s have money and standards and this party in the backyard might make a headline in some Indie magazine online. Who knows.

It’s leisurely and small, with only few celebrities in attendance not including the Min’s and their relatives. You’re not entirely unfamiliar with the life of stardom- unfortunately, being the step-daughter of Axel Choi therefore meant having a camera in your face once or twice. Even though Axel was no relative of yours, and by no means did he ever have the audacity to assume he could fill the role of your Dad: Axel was an okay guy, protective of his family and by extension, protective of you. You didn’t mind, just one less camera to hide from, one less ugly photograph uploaded online for a bit of money. 

That being said, Axel pulled a few strings and got a few A-Listers to show up, including a KPOP group that Yoojung had liked when she felt like an alien in her own country. Amongst those are some of Yoojung’s friends, who fear sitting near Yoongi because he’s the hot older brother type, and fearful of you who they don’t know, which isn’t any less scary from them knowing you.

“You haven’t done the cake yet, right?”

From behind Yoongi, out comes Wheein, one of his old friends from University. She carefully climbs over the seat to sit next to Jimin, mindful of her glass that sloshes and Yoojung sighs, pressing her chin into the heel of her hand.

“Nope. Yoongi says people haven’t turned up yet, so I don’t know what’s up with that,” Yoojung shrugs. “Honestly-” now she rises slightly, her back straight and finger pointed accusingly, “you fucking planned my whole party. Is this the Yoongi and Co show, or what?”

“Yes,” Yoongi replies, as though it were obvious. He drinks. “Stop complaining and wait, it’ll be worth it.”

Yoojung scoffs, “Yeah right. If Tony Stark doesn’t come to this house dressed in his suit making that suity noise, then consider this birthday over.”

Yoongi pauses. “Okay then, I guess I’ll start sending people back home, because you can’t even get an Iron Man balloon, what makes you think he’s gonna pop round in person?”

Yoojung shrugs, “Poetic cinema?”

“Keep dreaming, cabbage patch baby.”

“Cabbage patch baby?” Jimin laughs. That’s when Yoongi ignores Yoojung’s frustrated groans and launches into an explanation behind the name, which involves Yoongi telling Yoojung when she was little that their Mom found her in a cabbage patch. You’ve heard it before, so you’re not listening when it’s explained. Your gaze instead lifts across the patio, awkwardly catching your mother’s as she looks around for you. 

Her eyes light up when she spots you and immediately she waves you over, not taking no for an answer as those round holes turn into slits faster than you can even mouth the syllable “n”. While Yoongi dives deeper into Yoojung’s misery, you pick yourself up with a sigh and head on over towards your mother.

She stands next to Axel, as well as Yoongi’s parents, and two celebrities you vaguely remember for being present at Yoongi’s birthday many moons ago. You fake a smile, wanting to be polite, wanting it to be over. It seems your arrival had been pre-planned and expected, for your aunt turns to you with wide eyes and brings you by the elbow.

“Y/N. We were just talking about you- you know Maxine, don’t you?”

No. You regard the stranger, subtly looking them up and down and smiling tightly. “Of course! It’s so nice to see you.”

“We were just talking about the arts- classical, of course, because we all know how you turn up your nose at the modern artists of today,” your Aunt says.

“Well, I do like modern art, I just find classicals more interesting to study. More composition, colour, texture...more empathy.”

“Whatever,” your Aunt interrupts. “Maxine has a son who works in the Louvre. He’s looking for junior guides, people to talk arty to visitors and make everything sound nice.”

Maxine smiles to intervene. “Actually, he’s not high enough in the business to request people, but I do know that he’s got an eye for women who like the arts. Miyoung told me that you study it at University level.”

You nod, bored. “Yes, I do. I’m not sure I want to move to Paris for a job, though...so…”

“Oh, no,” Maxine laughs. As she does this, one of Yoongi’s other friends, Jaehyung, creeps up behind you and quietly says hello to your mother and to Axel, half listening when Maxine says, “Duke is actually on pursuit for somebody who can match his artistic background.”

This, of course, makes Jaehyung laugh suddenly. He takes a slice of cake off a nearby tray and takes a bite, moving to walk away as he says, “Y/N doesn’t need help in the dating department, I don’t think.”

You glare at him.

“What does that mean?” your mother asks. “Do you have somebody?”

“No, Mom. Nobody.”

“Sure she does,” Jaehyung winks. “Was all over Instagram.”

“That’s a lie,” you gape.

“Is it?” he shrugs. Is it?

Aunt Miyoung gasps like she’s heard an offensive secret, touching her collarbone as she looks between Jaehyung and yourself. Jaehyung grins, saying nothing and running back to Yoongi before you can slander him. You’re in for it now.

“The boy that dropped you home?” your mother presses.

“You knew about this?” Miyoung asks. “Maxine, I am deeply sorry- I feel foolish.”

“I-Yes,” you tell her finally. Jeongguk, the man in question, might not be what everybody now thinks he is, might not even be what you think he is. “It hasn’t been long, so I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

“And he’s famous?” Axel asks.

You look at him. “Yeah. I guess. You wouldn’t believe he was, but he is.”

Axel raises his eyebrows, by now not in the least surprised by the bitterness in your tone that has been there since your mother first introduced him. He’d probably be more surprised if you didn’t talk to him like that. Regardless, Axel takes it with acquiesce, glancing at your mother for some sort of guidance that she can’t and won’t give to him. It is in this moment that the back gate that leads to a leaky trail next to the spacious garage and past Holly’s doghouse opens, like arms inviting a hug.

The gate needs oiling, screeching to gain attention as it opens and in steps pairs of booted feet. The selection of pauses, gasps and an excited murmur from Yoojung’s friendship group out over by the poolside paints the picture for you, and you don’t feel the need to turn around. Noise alone confirms that the person who opened the gate is the same man in topic of conversation, his eyes dancing around the yard until they land on Yoongi’s father, acknowledgingly and then finally onto Yoojung, who he happens to notice quickly than he does the back of your head.

“Speak of the devil,” your mother starts, recognising him.

Axel hesitates visibly and audibly. “That man. That’s him?”

You purse your lips, taking a peek over your shoulder at Jeongguk. He speaks for himself; his muscles cling underneath a white tee and leather jacket that feels overdressed, paired with faded black jeans decorated with gashes and two zips. Axel only frowns because he’s not dressed like a prep, or a future Doctor like he would have liked for you, hypocrisy. Not even dressed ‘normal’ like boys he sees on the covers of magazines belonging to your step-sister, his own blood, his actual daughter. Jeongguk is dressed for attention, his gaze high over his glasses that you’re unaware he owned.

“It might be,” you reply quietly, and it’s telling enough that Axel sighs, folding his arms.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Miyoung says quickly. “You should have just told us it was Jeongguk.”

“You know him?” asks Axel.

Miyoung nods, sipping her wine. “Sure. He’s been friends with Yoongi for a few years now- we actually cleared him to visit for Yoo’s birthday.” Finally she acknowledges you: “Handsome boy, Y/N. How did you find him? Yoongi?”

“More like he found me,” you muse. “I tried to remain professional, but he kept coming back to visit me at work.”

“Romantic,” your mother sighs honestly.

Yoongi’s father laughs. “Jeongguk has a type.”

You stare at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs. “The last time he had a girl on his arm he bed her and got rid of her. Funny, actually, you two had the same hair.”

“Hair isn’t a type,�� Miyoung snaps.

“I’m just saying,” he continues, shrugging again. “Don’t get your hopes up, honey.”

“So, he’s a player?” Axel grunts.

“No,” you defend quickly. “No. Well- yes, he was. People change when they’ve found the right person to change for.”

Axel chuckles wryly. “And you think you’re the one to change him?”

“Not change him, but I’ll be there for him whenever he needs me,” you nod. “I trust him.”

“I can feel my ears burning.”

Jeongguk’s voice creeps over your shoulder before you can even notice that he has made his way over towards you; the feeling of his chin rested just above your ear makes your body pause and he wraps one arm around you, observing everybody in the huddle. The Min’s consider Jeongguk secondary family, welcoming him with a smile that Axel doesn’t reciprocate, not that Jeongguk gives a shit. For Jeongguk, this is monumentous, the time for him to prove himself to the guy who didn’t believe in him.

Actually, he’s surprised to find that the feeling of worship he felt for Axel as a teenager is still there, now that he’s standing right in front of him. It’s strange, subdued and numbing, but still there and pressing. Jeongguk tries to look anywhere but at Axel, but he can’t help it. Axel doesn’t even remember him, and has the audacity to stare at Jeongguk like it’s his first time, first impression of the guy dating one of his daughters.

Jeongguk pauses his thoughts and thinks back to you- are you dating? Wouldn’t hurt to lie, just to piss of Axel even more. Jeongguk wasn’t an exceptionally smart guy but he wasn’t stupid; it was evident that Axel didn’t like him, obvious from the ugly grimace on his face. He doesn’t care- Jeongguk relishes in his dislike. That gives him power, now.

“Jeongguk,” says Miyoung, smiling wide.

Beside her, your Uncle sips his drink, silent and occasionally glancing between Jeongguk and Axel. Maybe everybody disliked Axel, Jeongguk thinks to himself, as he stares at the pulled crease between your Uncle’s eyebrows. He knows vaguely that you’re related to the Min’s through your mother, and that they, unlike your mother, never got over the death of your Dad. Maybe they too can’t stand the sight of Axel, bragging and sour-faced, acting like a member of the family when in reality, all he is is an imposter, a wolf in sheeps’ clothing, awkward and looking misplaced.

Jeongguk smiles back at Miyoung. “Hi, it’s good to see you. Thanks for having me.”

“Our pleasure,” Miyoung replies. “You’re a punk, y’know- dating our Y/N. None of us had any clue! Why hide such a beauty?”

Jeongguk grins. His arm wrapped around you tightens gently. “Sorry. We didn’t want to rush into making anything public…” He trails off, looking at you. “Get nervous and tell people?”

“Actually, you have Jaehyung to thank for that,” your mother pipes up with a sigh. For the first time, Jeongguk looks at her entirely. She looks nothing like you, too done up with surgery and makeup for him to see a resemblance. Maybe you looked like her before, maybe you favoured your Dad. “I’m Jennifer, Jenny, by the way. It’s lovely to meet you.”

Jeongguk smiles constantly, accepting her tight hug as she welcomes him. “Jeongguk.”

“Y/N doesn’t talk about you,” she says.

“In fairness, I don’t talk about anything,” you add, but she’s not listening. Jeongguk is, though, and his heart tugs. He’s got the situation kind of figured out.

“I don’t blame her,” Jeongguk replies smoothly. “We weren’t sure it was time to make things official- it’s new.”

“And it’s serious?” Axel asks, speaking for the first time.

Jeongguk watches him. “Yes, sir.”

Axel bristles. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m Axel, I’m Y/N’s father.”

“Step father,” you cut in.

“Father,” he repeats. Axel extends a hand outwards for Jeongguk to shake. Even though he hesitates, Jeongguk accepts, firmly shaking it. It’s a good handshake, Axel ought to be impressed. What doesn’t sit right is Axel calling himself your father- something he’s never been given the right to say.

“We actually have met before,” Jeongguk says, and around his arm he feels you tighten, briefly glancing up at him.

All eyes in the huddle are on Axel, including the long forgotten Maxine who watches quietly. “Did we? I don’t remember you.”

“Well, it was a long time ago,” Jeongguk explains with a flat tone. “We were in Busan. You came into my work and bought some cigarettes, I had your opinion on some of my work.”

While Axel thinks about it, your mother gasps happily, clueless and embracing her hands. “Oh, that’s wonderful. Honey, it’s great that you helped this young man.”

Unknowingly, the Min’s writhe on their spots. They know this story. They know the truth- maybe that’s why they dislike Axel the way everybody else does.

“Did I?”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk continues, with the same flat tone that makes you shudder. “Yeah. You told me our music was shit and that I’d never make it in the business because I was a Korean boy from Busan with dreams I couldn’t reach. You told me we’d never succeed and that we’d be stuck in Busan flipping burgers and working night shifts at 7-11, and that the only way I’d succeed was if I was American. Dunno if you remember that, but I did.”

Nobody says anything. Not even Axel, who stares coldly.

“Well, we made it,” Jeongguk laughs quietly. “I took your advice and it really helped motivate me to prove you wrong. We’re number one on Billboard and we’re making history as the first all Korean band to top the charts and headline The Governors Ball next year. Not bad for a basement boy from Busan, right?”

Your mother gulps. “That’s really wonderful, Jeongguk, you should be really proud.”

Jeongguk pities her. “Thank-you. We worked hard for it. Now we’re here.”

“And I suppose it will do Y/N some good, being with somebody so successful.” For the first time since Jeongguk’s arrival, Maxine speaks up. She cradles her champagne glass tenderly and examines Jeongguk with her slinted fox-like eyes, as if nursing a different agenda.

“Thank you,” repeats Jeongguk. He tightens his arm around you, obviously enough to create a statement. While it’s mostly to prove to everybody- and himself- that you and him are an item, it’s also to rub extra salt into Axel’s wounds, his face like he’s sucking on a lemon. “Y/N helps keep me driven a lot. I owe her so much already, I’ll make her happy and do her proud. Thanks to Y/N, I don’t think I could be here. I’m here because she suggested it, actually, for Yoojungie.”

“And a good job, too,” Miyoung finally says, trying to avert the tensions. “Else Yoojung would be miserable at her own birthday party.” And everyone laughs, apart from Axel, not that anybody cares. “Jeongguk, shall we start the music up?”

Jeongguk nods. “I’d love to. Thanks, Mom.”

She smiles, walking away to prep. Feeling Axel’s stare cold on your skin, you gently push yourself into Jeongguk, until he’s walking backwards towards the selection of trees where you turn in his arms, looking up at him. Jeongguk smiles honestly for the first time, his heart thumping.

“Hi,” he says gently.

“Well, you know how to make an entrance,” you note thoughtfully. Jeongguk’s eyes rake your own, wordless. “Be careful how you act around Axel. He’s strangely protective.”

“I thought he wasn’t family.”

You frown. “He’s not. But he’s still… you know. Part of the family.”

Jeongguk says nothing at first. “I get it. I do,” he assures with a nod. The next moment, he has his hands on your upper-arms, smoothing. “It’s good to see you, by the way. You look beautiful.”

A smile crosses your face. “It’s good to see you, too. Missed you.”

“I missed you too, we just got off the plane this morning,” Jeongguk explains. Took a nap on the way home and then got dressed and we came straight here.” He pauses playfully: “Do I look okay?”

You laugh girlishly, catching his elbows with your fingers. “You look great. Who knew you wore glasses?”

Jeongguk grins. “They’re fake, I’m a fraud.”

“Of course,” you joke. “Like all rockstars.”

“Hey, don’t bring in my fellow rockers!” Jeongguk laughs too, an unusual sound. “As much as I wanna stand around and stare at you, I need to go and say hi to Yoojung and perform and stuff. It’s kinda why I’m here…”

“LOL,” you say. “You don’t have to explain yourself, Guk. Go, I’ll survive.”

“Okay,” he resists. “But I’ll come back later, yeah? Can’t ignore my girlfriend.” Jeongguk raises his eyebrows mischievously and then, rustles in his pocket whilst speaking, “Oh, wait. Happy-” he checks the time and shows his phone screen to you as he steps backwards, “-ten minute anniversary, babe.”

As Jeongguk steps away, dragging his fingertips along your palms as he steps backwards towards the curved pathway around the pool, a warm feeling simmers in your stomach. Maybe it’s the sunlight shining gold across his skin or the way his smile finally reaches his nostrils, extending wide, his eyes folded into moons- but something about the whole ordeal seems safe, seems gorgeous and heavenly, at the same time domestic. He winks, turns and heads towards the rest of August Blue sheltered around Yoojung and Yoongi, and you’re left with the imprinted image of Jeongguk’s smile on the spot of grass he just stood on, burning, refusing to leave.

[23:39PM] Jeongguk❣️: so i don’t think ur family like me…. [23:39PM] Jeongguk❣️: am i out of the picture now?

The sound of your phone fills the room and pulls you out of the bathroom, which connects to your family bedroom back in the house your family live at currently. Yoojung’s party had ended hours earlier, the grand finale with Jeongguk helping bring out her cake, fireworks on the evening, a hand on your waist.

Rubbing at your wet hair, you sit on the bed and reach for your phone, glossing over the messages, smiling.

[23:40PM] You: hey now [23:40PM] You: i don’t think my family like me either [23:41PM] Jeongguk❣️: wanna run away and be my family? [23:42PM] Y/N: where are we running to? [23:42PM] Jeongguk❣️: idk yet [23:42PM] Jeongguk❣️: somewhere nice [23:43PM] Jeongguk❣️: far away [23:43] You: omg yes [23:44PM] You: kinda wanting to go to hawaii...what are your thoughts on hawaii, gukkie? [23:45PM] Jeongguk❣️: hawaii on a first date? imagine that….. [23:45PM] Jeongguk❣️: u DO dream big [23:45PM] You: i tried [23:46PM] Jeongguk❣️: it’s not exactly hawaii [23:47PM] Jeongguk❣️: but how about a late night rendezvous at olive garden

(At the same time…)

[23:47PM] Jeongguk❣️: omg … as if i just spelt that word right [23:47PM] You: autocorrect, u cant fool me [23:47PM] You: and omg sure…..,,,,,, [23:48PM] You: something tells me ur already here and thats why you’re asking

(A honk outside your window.)

[23:49PM] Jeongguk❣️: 🤪 [23:49PM] You: my hairs wet 🥺 [23:50PM] Jeongguk❣️: i’ll roll down the windows?

(A sigh.)

[23:50PM] You: pls give me five minutes

Jeongguk had been parked up outside, his car hidden half in the shadows by a flickering streetlight, inconspicuous and with the inside lights on. It had taken all but three minutes to find his car, and another three for you to warm up to talking to him inside the car. Slipping into the passenger seat with the sound of Magnetic Moon on the AUX and the shining smile from Jeongguk had been nerve-wracking, perhaps nerve-wracking is even an understatement. Nonetheless, the song had rolled to an end and just before Tiffany could transition into the smooth vocals of Lana, Jeongguk said his first few words beyond “hi”.

Olive Garden was a few miles away from your neighbourhood- small and pushed to the side with a selection of palm trees scattered outside, like a postcard for Malibu. Like most, if not all American’s, you’ve been here before, already have a go-to on the menu. Jeongguk drives into a parking bay near the shrubs and opens the doors for you, pulls out chairs, goes the extra mile ordering wine in advance in a private section of the restaurant that you didn’t know existed. You’ve only ever been here with Yoongi and Yoojung, two celebrities who sometimes have the luxury of leaving the house and not getting immediately noticed.

“What do you wanna do after?”

Jeongguk, halfway through cutting his sirloin steak, glances up with an honestly surprised expression. “You still want to hang out after?”

You shrug, taking a sip of the wine. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because our first date since I got back from tour is at fucking Olive Garden,” Jeongguk states.

“I like Olive Garden…” you mumble, which he hears.

After swallowing a large mouthful, he sends it down with a gulp of wine. “Well, I’m not gonna complain. Shall we go for a drive? You ever been to the beach at night?”

“I live in LA, who hasn’t been to the beach at night?”

“Okay, true,” he replies. “I used to do it all the time in Busan, too. Lived right across the road, could see the sands from my front porch.”

Once dinner is over, and once Jeongguk has quite finished coercing you into sharing an ice-cream sundae with him, Jeongguk takes you up on the invitation to drive to the beach, the night sky like looking into the eyeball of a stuffed animal, the stars like specks of dust on an Afterlight edit. The boulevard is lit up by circular bulbs, tiny attractions for moths, bright like close up stars. Jeongguk drives smoothly, the window slightly down and occasionally his eyes glanced over at you; your hair is messed in the wind, the sound of Kim Petra on the AUX sending your body into little bops, something Jeongguk wants to remember for the rest of his life.

“So much for letting my hair dry.”

Jeongguk laughs from the back of the car, closing the boot and bringing out some spare towels to hand over to you. They’re yellow, like fresh little buttercups, and slightly wrinkled, smelling like faint juice and sea-salt. Regardless, you take the towel off him and begin to quickly rub it against your hair, once again trying to even out the wetness, less than the shower back home, enough to still drip on your arms and legs.

“You splashed me first,” Jeongguk replies, standing outside the door whereas you sit with your legs hanging out, sideways on the backseat. Behind him is the beach, dark and the sound of the ocean lapping like television static, the faint sound of the amusement arcade down the prom. His body is wet too, the ankles of his jeans clinging to his skin with ocean water.

You turn your head to him, smiling. “Guilty.” When he laughs, you continue to speak and bring the towel back down to your lap, “Okay, it’s what they all do in the movies. What else are you supposed to do on a beach at like...midnight. Wait, what time is it?”

“I dunno, like, three?” he guesses.

“No way.”

“Feels like three. Check the front.”

You lean over to check. “It’s definitely not three.”

Jeongguk shrugs boyishly, that same grin creating dimples near his chin. “Not far off. It was a guess.”

“Good for a guess,” you assure. Jeongguk wrangles the towel from your hands politely, wringing it out and throwing it back into the boot. Your hair can dry again in the wind when Jeongguk drives away, the same way it did when he picked you up. He has this theory on his mind as he walks back around to the open door, although the words leave him when he returns, having found that he has nothing at all to say now it’s come down to it.

Jeongguk moves back in, his body shoved between your legs slightly as he moves closer. You gaze up at him, the light behind him making his body glow dark, sighs like whispers in the quiet ambience.

“I really had a lot of fun tonight,” Jeongguk says, like it’s a secret. “Even though this morning your family almost had a heart attack discovering that we were, well, whatever we are...I still had fun.”

You hum in agreement, watching his face as it moves into the light. “Yoojung had the best time. I haven’t seen her that happy since she met Paul Rudd at Disneyland, and that’s seriously impressive.”

Jeongguk laughs quietly. “Paul Rudd.” He almost can’t believe that.

“As for us,” you continue, stress on the ‘us’ which brings Jeongguk’s attention full circle and back entirely onto you in the backseat of his ride, “well...what are we?”

For a few moments, Jeongguk doesn’t say anything. “I have the fantasy and the reality.”

You nod, encouraging, and so he continues. “The fantasy is that we give it a go. We try it, really try. Y/N, with every small inch of my delicate, precious body-” (giggles are delivered by you as he speaks)- “I absolutely adore you. And I never knew I could feel like how I feel with you. I only ever wanted the sex, and even then, I didn’t want it that badly, and then you wandered into my life and everything feels so...so...I don’t even know a word. I just know it feels amazing when I’m with you- I feel amazing. And, of course, the reality is that we’re two sad early twenties rich kids who are pining and don’t know what to do about it.”

And it’s true, it’s so true. The sad reality of it all was that unless either one of you stepped up first, this dynamic of uncertainty would continue on as the norm. Where you were too shy to be bold and make a move, Jeongguk felt too insecure to step up.

“Well, then…” you start, chewing the inside of your cheek, thinking. “How about we try making the fantasy our reality?”

Nothing.

Jeongguk blinks and cocks his head in bewilderment. “Really?” You nod. “You want to?”

“If I didn’t want to, why the hell would I leave my house with wet hair to go eat at Olive Garden and lovingly stroll on a beach at midnight?”

Jeongguk’s eyebrows raise in amusement. “Oh, so it was loving?”

“I was definitely feeling some kind of way,” you confirm.

At long last, Jeongguk smiles wide, shuffling closer. His hands wrap around your face gently, like holding a delicate bird in two palms, and his fingers brush against your ears, tickling the skin, nails fingering your hair.

“That’s good to hear,” he replies, “Great, actually.”

“Yeah?”

Now, Jeongguk hums, his trademark reply for when his eyes are too lost for words to be conjured up to describe how he feels about what he sees. He is, what one might recall to be as “lost for words”. His teeth clip at his bottom lip as he questions what he’ll do next, and for a brief moment you catch his tongue darting out in nervousness as he leans closer, smell of mint on his breath as his lips touch yours, and the heavens open.

Metaphorically and literally, so. As Jeongguk brings you closer to him, his lips still pressed on yours, his heart elevates into subspace, his body light and euphoric. At the same time, the sky grumbles, hungry, and it begins to pour, tiny droplets on the roof of the car and on Jeongguk’s back. He winces, doesn’t pull away, and quickly separates himself from you to squint at the sky.

He sees nothing, because it’s way too dark, but he feels it. Sighing briefly, Jeongguk turns back to you and nods his head upwards, miming for you to shuffle backwards into the car. A rush of something hot creeps down the middle of your body as you do so, feeling Jeongguk’s hand on your calf as he climbs in after you, his ankle caught on the door bringing it to a close, but not fully. The red alarm light is bright and begging for attention but Jeongguk pays it no mind.

Instead, he crawls back to you, eager to pick up what he left. It’s welcomed, warm and inviting, as Jeongguk holds you back closer to him and returns the kiss, hot and open mouthed. Something clicks inside of you, a moment of realisation as Jeongguk sets himself over you, his thighs like a cage and his hair tickling your eyebrows. When this feeling simmers, you grin, something Jeongguk is only mildly surprised about. He doesn’t ask questions, he doesn’t really need to.

In fact, Jeongguk doesn’t really say anything at all; he doesn’t need to, and he actually can’t, given the volume of the rain now it comes down heavier. It’s so loud, almost deafening, which you almost thank out loud for. The rain at least covers up your breathy moans as Jeongguk’s hands wander, pulling at the bottom of your dress and fisting it into a ball, the fabric rising higher.

When Jeongguk finally pulls himself away, it is selfish. He pulls back and sits down, in the middle seat so there’s a window view from every angle, his feet in either footwell. Jeongguk shakes his head and hair out of the way, his hands making their way back to you to bring you up and over into his lap. This time, Jeongguk accepts a kiss from you, his cheeks cupped almost by your hands which gives his hands free reign to smooth across your body, swiftly lifting the bottom half of your dress up, wrapping it like a belt across your hips. If the rain were silent, he’d like to have heard you, heard the way you whimper as the bulk in Jeongguk’s jogging bottoms brushes against your pussy, the fabric of your underwear making it hypersensitive and ten times more exciting.

Jeongguk’s lips widen, his mouth open and inviting for you, accepting tongue when you bring your lips back to his after a short break. His eyes flutter and roll backwards, the tickle of your breath through your nose on his skin as he holds you closer, as if you can get any closer than what you already are. Then, when you quite suddenly bite down onto Jeongguk’s tongue and lips, he groans, pleasured, his hands moving beneath your skirt to grab your ass, lifting you up and down on his very attentive boner.

If Jeongguk or yourself ever thought that the first time you’d have sex would be near the public beach in the back of his car in the middle of a very thunderous rainstorm, you might have laughed, or said there would be more to it. In actual fact, it’s just how it is- Jeongguk shimmies himself out of his bottoms soon enough, reaching into the back side of the car to pull out a condom, since he always has some in case of emergencies, like most guys do. He’d like to not use one, but he knows it’s not safe- he doesn’t know if he’s got something, or if you’ve got something. Either way, he rolls it onto his dick in a record speed and sinks you down onto him all within the same ten seconds, and, yeah- it’s not what he expected to happen, it’s not what anybody expects to happen, but it feels right, feels great. When he’s fucking somebody as good and as lovely as you, he’s not allowed to be picky on the location.

He can’t allow himself to be picky- he knows that he’s wanted you ever since he saw you swirling to Dancer in the Dark, he knows that things are meant to be how they play out. Actually, he doesn’t mind it. He likes the risk of someone seeing, likes the way the windows fog up and how the car rocks slightly, obvious to people outside. Jeongguk relishes in that excitement, crossed with the pleasure and arousal coursing through his body when his attention is pulled out of hit thoughts and back onto you. The rain quietens down and he hears you, feels his hands grip tighter around you and his guided pace quicken, all with a breathy high tone in his ear, occasional breaches of rain and roars of thunder, an orchestral accompanying each of you through the sex, until gushing sounds of rain are what he hears when he sees white in his eyes and over his dick, a melting handprint in the condensation on the window.

[02:34AM] You: def just heard something on my balcony so if i die, pls tell yoongi that it was ME who lost his left airpod and it was also me who stole his signed Nirvana album it’s on my shelf im sorry [02:35AM] Jimin 🦶🏽: um  [02:35AM] Jimin 🦶🏽: wtf….. [02:35AM] Jimin 🦶🏽: u really just gonna die and not leave anything for me???? [02:36AM] You: SSKSSKKSKSKSK [02:36AM] You: u can have my bank account details + contents [02:36AM] Jimin 🦶🏽: !!!!!!!! [02:37AM] Jimin 🦶🏽: omg rip y/n <3 u will be missed omg…..omg cant believe ur dead

All jokes aside, you stare for a long time at your balcony doors, going insane at the sight of nothing at all through the glass and your curtains, slightly see-through to allow the sun in the mornings.

The night burns on your eyes, flashing swirls of colour taking over as you stare for too long at seemingly nothing at all. Quite possibly, it is the wind, or an animal that has climbed onto the balcony from out of one of the trees. It’s happened before- one time, a family of raccoons migrated onto your balcony during the September months of last year, and stayed there for so long that you forgot your balcony had doors. Those same doors are locked, like they always are on a nighttime, but the bedroom window remains open, slightly pushed out to allow in a breeze to circulate the room.

Knowing that it’s probably nothing, you settle back down into bed, drifting back into sleep remarkably fast for somebody previously quite concerned with being killed. This fact is startling- not just to you, but also to Jeongguk, who cocks a leg over your balcony rail and then through your window. What also shocks him was how easy it was to do all of this, now that he’s standing in your bedroom with nothing to say given the fact that you’ve fallen back to sleep.

Jeongguk sighs softly. It’s been about a week and a half since the beach, and the car, and the rain and the first time, but it feels like it’s been months. Jeongguk had to leave for a few days, three at the most, to film some puppy interview for Buzzfeed and continue other solo interviews while the rest of the band settled for a break in their LA residence. Every moment away felt like agony, so painful that Jeongguk found himself back outside your house, surprises stored in emails on his phone.

He steps quietly over towards your bed, wincing when his weight on top of the comforter causes a loud rustle and squeak. Still, you don’t wake, not until Jeongguk lays himself over you with his hands near your shoulders, his voice quiet and murmuring your name, hair tickling your face, lips on skin.

“Wha-Jeongguk?” you ask quietly, your voice groggy. “How’d you get in here…?”

“I think you need security, urgently,” Jeongguk replies quietly. When you roll over onto your back, he smiles gently and wraps hair from out of your face around your ear. “And you need to start locking your windows. You make a robbery look very easy.”

You sigh. “Oh. I thought it was okay.”

“Just be glad your intruder is me and not somebody else,” he says caringly. “Sorry I woke you.”

“No,” you say, rubbing your eyes. “I was awake...and then I closed my eyes for a bit. Hey, was that you out on the balcony?”

Jeongguk grins. “Knew you saw me.”

“I didn’t. Well, I did, but I thought I was being overly paranoid,” you tell him. You yawn away from him, “What time is it, babe?”

Jeongguk purposefully ignores the feeling in his chest. “It’s two fourty.”

You groan. “Are you stopping the night? Get in, I’m tired.”

Jeongguk brings himself down to kiss you once. “No. No, no, you can’t sleep right now. I wanna go out.”

“Now?” you ask, aghast.

“Yeah. Let’s go somewhere.”

“At like three-am?”

“Yeah, sorry, it was the only time I could get it. I wanna take you somewhere special.”

Once Jeongguk is finished speaking, you open your eyes wider and observe him. It’s only then that you notice his clothing; over his upper body, he wears a large oversized grey hoodie, slightly worn out and wrinkled with the drawstring missing, and as always, dark jeans that blend in with the night. A frown worms its way onto your face, your expression unreadable to Jeongguk’s eyes.

“Get it? Get what, babe?” you mutter.

Jeongguk hums, like shrugging.

“Where are we going?” you ask, starting to sit up which forces Jeongguk to roll over on the bed, until his feet swing over the side and hit the floor. He wants to stay quiet for the sake of yourself, considering he’s not looking forward to accidentally waking up your family. You’ve been staying at your parents' place for the entire week, abusing reading week for sleeping in, going out for something to eat, and returning home to watch Glee rather than finish your art assignments. Naturally, Jeongguk doesn’t want the whole family to reject him just because he woke them up at three in the morning to collect you from your room.

“Hm,” Jeongguk starts, straining to hear if anything outside your bedroom catches his ear. He faintly hears the sound of claws across the wood, remembering you once mentioning that your family had a dog. “How about we go to Paris?”

You whip around to look at him, making out his silhouette in the dark. “Paris? Are you fucking with me?”

“Why, what’s wrong with Paris?”

“There is nothing wrong with Paris,” you affirm, gasping. “I just...really? Paris?”

“Yeah. Thought we could stop by The Louvre to see that dude Maxine tried to set you up with.”

You snort quietly, moving to turn on a lamp which brightens the room into shades of orange. “How did you even know about that?”

“I hear things,” he says, shrugging. Jeongguk then shakes his head and looks back at you, making his way to the bottom of the bed. “No. I just really wanna take you out somewhere special.”

“The beach was special to me,” you tell him.

Jeongguk smiles, “Me, too. But...Paris.”

Laughter bubbles at the back of your throat. “Okay. Let’s go to Paris. Why not?”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk agrees, laughing also, “why not? Need help packing anything? You won’t need a lot, I can take you out when we get there.”

You pull a face, looking back at Jeongguk. “Wow...our first vacation together and you’re already going to spoil me?”

Jeongguk grins widely, “Well, on our first date I humped you, so I guess we’re pretty unconventional.”

You have nothing to say in reply to that.

(PARIS)

One thing you never thought you’d get the chance to do is take a trip on a private jet, holding up the scheduled flight times of other aircraft at the airport. That changes the second that Jeongguk pulls up outside of LAX, his hand carefully and tightly clamped around your own as he escorts you whilst also being escorted by his own small handful of security right into the large building. Thankfully for him, the airport is empty, occupied by sleeping flyers who wait on hard, metal chairs, the tinny sound of music playing at volume three.

His jet is small, yet luxurious; it’s everything out of a movie set, decorated in mocha creams and whites, clinking glasses of champagne waiting to be swallowed. His pilot knows him by name, and there’s a handpicked air hostess who looks bored and old, her lock screen a picture of her children. Jeongguk smiles at her, even addresses her by name and introduces you with a chirpy tone. The lady looks surprised, covering it up with a tight smile of nervousness. Maybe you’re the only girl Jeongguk’s ever brought on the plane before. Maybe you’re another girl he’s brought on the plane, you don’t know for sure.

After take off, Jeongguk spins in his recliner seat and drums his fingers in his lap. You sit opposite, looking meek, your gaze out the window at the dark clouds and sky. As you continue to fly, the sky opens up, into ombre colours that fascinate. One is looking at the beauty of nature and the other is looking at the beauty of a woman. Neither says a word.

When the plane reaches touch down, the airport is quite bustling and energetic, thankfully again no fans who caught an air of mystery from Jeongguk’s suspicious tweets at one in the morning, when he spontaneously booked tickets without even getting the green flag. Money to waste, risks to take, is what he’d say. Jeongguk helps you carry your small bag to the hired vehicle, an inconspicuous black car with black-out windows. He’s half expecting the vehicle to give him away, but nobody present actually gives a fuck about who is in the car and who isn’t. So, he climbs in without being noticed, his hand in yours, right up until the doors close and you’re hotel bound.

“Fuck, jet-lag.”

Jeongguk dives onto the bed, his back on the duvet and nose tipped up to the ceiling. Presently, you’ve been in Paris for a few hours, staring at the roads below with tired and sleepy eyes, heavy shoulders, a day indoors. Jeongguk’s been to Paris before, quite a few times actually - you haven’t, seeing the city in glimpses outside your balcony. To his right, the bathroom light clicks off and you shuffle out, a towel wrapped around your body as you cross the width of the room.

“Right?” you agree with a small frown. You crouch to pick up a fallen jacket off the back of the chair, tucked underneath the white vanity. “I almost fell asleep in the shower.”

“Yeah? You tired?”

“Exhausted,” you say honestly. “Once I’m dry, I think I might head to bed.”

Jeongguk hums in reply, maybe agreement. He lets you do what you need to do; of course, he takes a peek, because he’s a boy and he can’t help himself. You’re dressing by the window, staring out at the pretty Eiffel Tower who shines, lit up for the evening. The room is dark, dressed in midnight tones, the only light outside and the glow of one of the lamps upon the table top. Jeongguk is so wordlessly in awe that he doesn’t care about not being able to see. He sees your silhouette against the light of the city, curved and beautiful, hidden away by a long button up that you picked out of the wrong suitcase, not that he cares. His cheek is pressed against the pillow and he feels his body lifting up off the bed like he’s levitating. God, his chest is so light, it hurts, he wants to scream, he wants to cry, laugh, smile, leap up and yell. You finish buttoning and turn and he returns to the mattress.

The bed dips as you crawl up onto it, your knees by Jeongguk as you sit next to him on the bed. Instantly, Jeongguk’s hands move to your hair to move it away from your face as you look down at him, one hand on your knee also. On command, the smile on his lips widens softly when you brush away his fringes off his face, humming and then reaching down for a kiss, stealing one from his lips without warning and another off the slope of his chin.

“Paris is pretty,” you tell him. Jeongguk hums. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

He shrugs awkwardly. “Sorry it’s not the Maldives, baby.”

“Whatever. Paris is better,” you say. “Our view is gorgeous.”

You look back at the window. Jeongguk does not. “Yeah, it’s beautiful.”

“Must have been expensive as fuck,” you exhale, turning back to him. His hand that was once on your face drops to your back, wandering until it’s found on your ass. It feels nice, you can’t complain.

“Rich kids of LA come to Paris to make noise and take tourist photos by the Eiffel Tower,” Jeongguk replies, joking but sounding serious, which is a talent of his. You laugh, so he knows it’s something you recognise. He laughs too. “It’s actually in Yoongi’s name. Just asked him if I could use it for a weekend away.”

Your brows curve upwards in amusement. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m a fraud, it’s not my apartment,” he sighs, “but, at least we’re here. Like it enough, and I’ll buy us a house here.”

“Are we really there yet?”

“Might be,” Jeongguk theorises. “Wanna try it for a bit longer?”

Nothing is said. Outside, a car honks and you sigh at the same time, through your nose, playing with your fingers with Jeongguk’s locks of hair that grow longer over his face. His head hasn’t moved, still squashed against the pillows, his earrings tangled and most likely stuck to strands of his hair, a difficulty for when he decides to move. He feels your hand on his face again, comforting, and he inhales your familiar scent and knows you’ve come closer by the time you’re there, pressing your lips to his.

It’s fleeting, fast. You pull away right as Jeongguk comes to terms with what you’re doing, and so he follows you up as you move away. He’s sitting up, his hands on your elbows as he moves to kiss you again, finish what you started.

A bar door outside opens and music spills out, just as Jeongguk’s hands move from your elbows to your ribcage, his heart in his throat when you reach up to tenderly hold his face, fingers near his ears on his neck. This is euphoria; your hands drop, Jeongguk moving once more to prod and palm. As he kisses you, his thumbs gently massage around your breasts, in circular motions, soft and cradling and exploring. Into his mouth you groan, quietly, like a vocal moan that lasts for a few seconds before being captured by his lips again. Jeongguk’s left hand claws at your boob, grabbing, reaching up to your neck. Now he’s holding you, his hair in his eyes tickling as he guides you. On your cheek, you feel his thumb grazing, holding you close to him even when you pull apart for a modicum of a second to capture your breath. Quite possibly, he could be sick out of nerves - your hands fall limply to his wrists, then down as his hands hold the damp back of your head. After a little longer, Jeongguk pulls himself away, his eyes half-lidded and yours closed entirely.

He admires what he’s done and what he sees. Once more, he kisses you, dragging it out until he’s moved away again, simply admiring. You’re far from done, though; you pull him back after catching your breath, your eyes now open and slightly fuzzy. Jeongguk smiles, warmly, gently. You might cry. As his hands drop from your head to the top of your shirt, fiddling with his fingers around the buttons, your lip gets caught between your bottom teeth and Jeongguk’s eyes are drawn to the sight. He might make a comment, might not. He decides not to. Instead, he moves back in and bides his hands time to undo your buttons.

The cool silk of your shirt drops as he undos the buttons, sliding like rainwater down your shoulders and arms, until it pools around your elbows. Thankfully for him, Jeongguk’s only in joggers and a button down, something he can easily slip himself out of. You’re wearing next to nothing, now that the shirt’s out of the question; all that decorates underneath is underwear, which Jeongguk doesn’t care for anyway. His hands paw at the shirt, trying to undo the last button without pulling away but it feels impossible. Frustrated, he huffs and moves away, his gaze locked on the final button above your pantline and he flushes when a laugh leaves your lips, something small and delicate and girly. He twitches.

“You, too,” you say, once the shirt is removed and you’re only in underwear, which is next on Jeongguk’s list of things to remove. He looks up with mild surprise, having the audacity to be confused by what you’re talking about. It is only when your fingers curl around the waist of his joggers that he smiles, like an idiot, and hums charmingly.

“Shuffle back for a minute?” Jeongguk asks, and you do, excited and buzzing when Jeongguk quickly pushes the joggers down his thighs. When they bunch around his ankles he kicks furiously, like a child, grunting - and you’re laughing, giggling like a school-girl, drunk on the residue of his lips. Of course, he smiles too, because happiness is a goddamn drug. He inhales with exasperation, muttering “아이씨” under his breath. He finishes it up with a chuckle, a voiceless laugh out of his throat, and then he kisses you again.

Jeongguk eventually ends up lifting you, one arm flush against your waist and his other hand graciously ripping down your underwear, careless and selfish when he hears the fabric tear. Your eyes widen, having heard it too, but you’re too dazed to mention it. The undies are tossed towards the balcony door and Jeongguk settles you back on his lap, for a brief moment. He kisses you again, pulling himself snug against you and then, he lays you down.

“So pretty,” Jeongguk comments, his hands sliding down your sides.

“You can’t even see me,” you say.

Jeongguk shrugs, shuffling down the bed. His elbows pinch into your thighs, locking his arms over them and his chin is on top of your groin. “Don’t need to. I just know.”

You slightly laugh, finding it endearing. Jeongguk chuckles too, pressing a kiss to your stomach and then his hands push up at your calves. With your legs up into arrow shapes, knees to the sky, Jeongguk kindly peels them apart, planting himself right in between.

“Jeongguk,” you breathe his name. He grins, you can feel his mouth extending against your skin. He doesn’t reply.

Situated between two smooth legs, Jeongguk’s head dips and dives. A groan is rasped out of you, followed by a string of moany exhales as Jeongguk’s tongue lays flat, covering every inch of your pussy further with sucks and nips that make your toes curl. Jeongguk’s not done this to you before. He feels slightly anxious, because he wants it to be good for you. He wraps his arms around your thighs, burrowing his head in.

“Mpmf- Jeongguk,” you gasp, your head hiding in the comforter. Jeongguk’s on his stomach, nonchalant. Jeongguk licks everywhere he can, kitten licks that stretch out into long ones, exploring. Your mouth drops. Jeongguk moves one hand away from your leg, his fingers curling up to your pussy to stretch out your labia, one finger lazily brushing against your clit. Each brush is exciting, teasing, sensitive. He hums. He’s heard you. He wants to hear more.

He doesn’t do more, because Jeongguk doesn’t want you to cum yet. He has his fun, feeling your thighs lock around his head and quiver when his fingers swipe on your nub, his tongue inching into your cunt, driving out sounds from your lips. Jeongguk entertains that for a few more minutes, hard and throbbing by the time you’re begging for him to stop, rather than keep going.

When he pulls away, your legs shake, quivering like being left out in the cold for too long. He lays down flat instead, tapping your body for you to make a move when you’re ready, which doesn’t take long. Soon after, he feels the brush of your wetness against his leg as you haul yourself up and onto him, hovering over his middle, your hands on his chest.

Jeongguk cocks his head thoughtfully. “Want to?”

You bite your lip. “Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Hair falls over your shoulder. “Do you have a condom on you?”

“In my bag, somewhere,” Jeongguk suggests. He glances to the pile of bags near the door, “But it’s so far away. Are you on the pill?”

“No,” you frown. There’s nothing for a minute. “Want to anyway?”

Jeongguk hesitates, “Yeah. Do you?”

“Yeah. I do,” you tell him. Just as you’re about to take his dick in your hand, Jeongguk reaches out to stop you. You look up at him, finding the glimmer in his eyes in the dull light, “what?”

“What if I cum?” Jeongguk asks.

“I’d like you to.”

“What if I cum inside of you?”

A short silence. Jeongguk drums his fingers impatiently against your thigh. “Whatever,” you settle with. His heart trembles when your hand wraps around him. “I’d be a good Mom.”

Jeongguk laughs, then, his other hand joining the other on your waist. “If it happens, I’ll look after both of you. You can be unemployed and pampered if that’s what you want.”

“God, that’s fucking sexy,” you sigh.

He’s kidding, so are you, but the risk is still great. Jeongguk swallows a thick lump down his throat and settles his hands on your hips, embarrassed to be nervous with the build up of you rising up on your knees, planted either side of his waist. A tremor of coldness makes him shudder as your hand touches the base of his dick, hypersensitive without the rubber. For a brief moment, he catches your gaze, slightly hidden away behind fringes of hair that cast over your eyes.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, nervous and rubbing his hands against your skin.

You dip your head. “Yeah. Are you?”

“Mhm. I just - just want it to be good for you,” he confesses. “Don’t want it to hurt you. Don’t want you to regret it.”

“Well, are you clean? I got tested not too long ago, did it before my last pill. I’m clean.”

Jeongguk shifts. “Did it on tour with Hoseok. He was going because of Rosie and I was going because he suggested it for us. I’m good. That sound alright for you?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “It sounds perfect for me.”

And so it’s perfect for him, too. Jeongguk questions whether this is right, whether he should stop, but right now he can’t think properly. Not when he can feel himself growing rigid in your grasp, the bristle in his body when you slowly rub your clit across the head of his cock, vibrations. He grunts under his breath, his fingers shaking against your hips. Looking up at Jeongguk once more between your hair, catching the pull of his bottom lip in the scarce light and feeling his body rising beneath you, you shake your head over your shoulders and position yourself. And then you sink.

Paris is a gorgeous city, bustling with life. Across the narrow road, where another small apartment sits with a bay window and a balcony decorated with plants, the lights flicker in strobe patterns, neons bleeding into dulls seeping into pastels. A party, a parade, an applause when the size of Jeongguk adjusts inside of you. He can’t hear you, not over the noise of the party that has suddenly birthed in the moonlight hours. Perhaps Jeongguk is thankful for this, and the way it covers up his noises also.

Jeongguk groans inwards when you clench around him, familiar with the way it feels, remembering the unaccustomed sting and burn. After some time to adjust, you relax, making your first movements up and down, testing the waters, building a rhythm. Jeongguk can’t breathe, his mind paused, his breathing lodged in his throat, his lungs singing. You keep it up, the momentum, finding a pattern in the beat of the music in the background; the bass is your routine, each bump a drop onto Jeongguk’s hips, the brush of his head against your inner walls, euphoric.

“Oh my - fuck,” Jeongguk hisses, his voice barely heard. You catch it though, like a faint whisper, the sound burning your face with embarrassment. His grip tightens, nails digging into your skin as his palms slide from your hips to your ass. He holds like handles of a motorbike, guidance.

You’re slouching, hunched over with your hands on Jeongguk’s chest. He feels a pressure, not sure if it’s your hands pushing down or if it’s his own body, forcing down an orgasm he doesn’t want to have too soon. He sees purple behind you, your dark silhouette cast over him like an angel. With every slap against his body made by your ass, Jeongguk groans, grunts, borderline moans. When he strains to hear your gasps of air something in the background masks them, a sabotage.

“Feel good?” Jeongguk asks. His hands move to your wrists.

You whimper, thoughtless.

“Babe, does it feel good?”

“Mhm.” Your head falls to the side, cheek on your shoulder: “Mhm, feels good.” Something moany comes out of your lips, something muffled and whined. Imploring, spoiled. “Fuck, Jeongguk, that feels so good - keep….keep it like that.”

Jeongguk thinks it over, familiarising himself with his own movements. His grip squeezes around your wrist.

“Like that?” He follows with his body slowly thrusting up, like he would move if he were grinding the air, like inching his hips up under the covers to feel his dick on the duvet.

“Yeah,” you breathe. Even though he can’t see that well, you glance down at him: “can you - can you hold my hands?”

Jeongguk feels his stomach sink and rise, flipping, the butterflies. “Sure, baby.”

When you feel Jeongguk’s hands in your own, you hum to yourself, rising with your fingers interlocked. Jeongguk lets you do what you want with them, obliging when you slightly part his arms, hands locked on either side in the air. You sink, and rise, and sink, and rise, and Jeongguk is lost in the stars. Red, orange, blue, magenta- the rainbow appears as your wings, Jeongguk’s eyes trying to adjust in the dark on your face, on your tits, on the bits that are grainy in his vision. He imagines instead, based off memory of the beach, and the rain. When he feels your cunt clench around him again and your hands slip away to fall back behind you, Jeongguk curses into the air and lifts himself up, his arms wrapped around your middle.

“You feel so good,” Jeongguk says, his lips ghosted over yours now that he’s sitting upright. “Mhm? Hear me? Fuck, you feel so fucking good right now-”

You whimper. Jeongguk seals it up, steals it, captures it with his mouth as he kisses you. His hands are all twisted and searching, one between your shoulder blades and the other on your ass, his mind reeling when you put your palms on his cheeks, absolute bliss. It’s loud, or it would be if he could hear over the sound of the music in the apartment over, and Jeongguk picks up pieces in between the basslines, vocals and harmonies stripped apart so he can find your voice underneath. He pulls his mouth away, latching it to your neck, where your mouth is near his ear, right where he wants it. A hot flush runs up his body when he feels your breath on his ear, hears your needy moans and groans, feels your hands clawing at his back.

“Ugh- umf, Guk, I’m - I’m close,” you pant, his reply a bite to your neck. He sinks his teeth in, like a vampire with dull teeth, and you cry out into his ear. His cock twitches inside of you, the ridges of his cock smearing against your walls. He hums, not sure if you’ll hear it. You don’t. He pulls away and mouths the bite.

“Cum when you want to,” he says sweetly, moving his mouth to your ear briefly before moving back away. His hair is soft against your neck, his head angled to kiss at your skin, covered in a glow.

“What about you?” you ask.

Jeongguk smiles, his teeth present on your skin. “Don’t worry about me. I’m right behind you.”

He nuzzles his face into your neck, his eyes closed serenely as he holds you tight, holds you as you bounce up and down for the finale. Above him, your body trembles.

“Tired,” you laugh breathlessly, and Jeongguk makes a confused noise, like he hasn’t quite heard you correctly. After no reply, he sniffs, collecting you in his arms to hold you tighter than before, using his energy to move you. You may as well be paralysed, a fucktoy for him as he bounces you up and down, basking in the moans in his ear, pornographic and nasty and lewd and heard over the music that has changed tempo.

“Ah!” Jeongguk grunts into your ear with every slam onto his dick, feeling his body seize up in warning. “Gonna - I might…” He doesn’t finish the sentence. You’re not listening to it. All you can focus on is the feeling in your stomach, pressing your nails into Jeongguk’s skin.

Jeongguk saves his own release for later. He focuses, instead, on you and making you feel good, slowing himself down in the race so that you can come first. His lips press back to yours, tongue hot, and he stops bouncing you. One arm is tight around your waist and the other snakes to the front of your body, between your legs where around your thighs he finds your clit, rubbing with his thumb. He can feel your body tense and dither over him, a tightness clenching around him as you squirm, Jeongguk’s hips tiredly thrusting upwards in a slow and steady rhythm.

“Ah - Jeongguk,” you cry, words sinking into his mouth. “Baby-”

With one final flick upwards, Jeongguk lets out a throat-forced grunt into your mouth right as the pot spills, and down the length of Jeongguk’s dick trickles white. You can’t see, it’s dark and blurry, and everything feels numb. It’s nothing like the beach, which was sweet and tender and a rainy haze. This time, it’s a burning that feels dull until it races up your body, like hot goosebumps, until it washes over your body like the drop from the tallest roller coaster. Jeongguk milks it up, his own hands shaking as he grunts wordlessly, until he stutters, his toes curling.

“Umf- babe,” he pants. He moves his hands, you’re attempting to move for him but you feel stuck. Instead you clench, hard and soft, Jeongguk squirms. “Gonna- I’m-” He’s silent. One moment, you hear the laughter and a cork pop outside, and the next moment, Jeongguk’s moans are in your ear, his hands rubbing up your thighs as he moves twice upwards, as if storing his cum in safe spots inside. And then, as if on cue, he pulls out, stuffing his hand where his dick was to feel the cum drip out, like a melting ice-cream.

On his forehead he feels your lips parted and breathing and he fiddles his fingers around, non-sexually, curious. The cum stains his fingers, dressing them, and he laughs from his chest, lost of breath.

Jeongguk sighs, slotting his fingers into your mouth quite suddenly. He can barely see you, the light is still dim behind you but it’s enough for him to make it out, the grain obtrusive. He feels your lips close around his fingers and your tongue on his fingertips, a dazed smile across his face.

He sighs again. “Shit. You’re incredible.”

With a wet sound, he moves his fingers out. Despite cumming, his dick is still semi-hard, on it’s way out. Jeongguk preens when your arms wrap around his neck, his mouth needily on yours for a brief kiss. “So good.”

“Yeah?” you ask quietly.

“The best,” he confirms. “Where’ve you been all my life, hm?”

You laugh through your nose, quiet. “Wasting money at Uni and working for my cousin.” He laughs too, a small one that makes him sound small. You play with the hair at the back of his head, “Sorry for making you wait so long.”

He shrugs. “Was worth it. You’re worth the wait.”

You hum in reply, too tired to move.

“Sticky,” you say with a frown.

Jeongguk’s arms tighten around you, acknowledging your words. “And you just got clean.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll shower in the morning.”

After a short while of sitting there, you slowly untangle your arms from around him. Jeongguk has the nerve to be confused, a small hum in question as you climb off him.

“Where you going?” he asks.

“I’m going to pee,” you reply. “To be safe.”

“Oh. Okay, pee on.”

“Sorry,” you say. Leaning up to kiss his lips, Jeongguk smiles into it and all the while as you move to hurry towards the bathroom. The sound of the toilet seat being lifted, and a slight squeak from the toilet that Yoongi desperately needs to consider replacing, and then Jeongguk settles down onto the bed with a happy sigh. His chest rises and falls as the party goes on outside, fireworks behind the Eiffel Tower.

He could get used to this.

Something wakes you up with the sunrise, twisting into soft orange colours that stretch across the agriculture of Paris. It barely lights up the city, enough for shadows to still be drawn across the mocha coloured buildings, the stone still cold in the shade. You wriggle inside the sheets slightly, discomfort between your legs and very slowly, your eyes adjust to the slight light brewing in the bedroom.

The patio doors leading out onto the small balcony are drawn open, the see-through curtains swaying like slow hips in the wind. Beside you, the bed is cold, untucked and open where Jeongguk has climbed out. Mentioning Jeongguk, you notice that he sits on the end of the bed, facing the sunrise and the Eiffel Tower with a notebook in his hand. The pages are folded over the spine, bulking it up, and he taps a pen against his ear quietly. The sound is all you can hear alongside the early-rising birds, a car honk outside and the next door neighbours hanging out of their window with chocolate bread and strong coffee.

“Mmm. Guk?”

Your voice is slightly hoarse, bedirdden, and Jeongguk manages to hear it as he turns his head over his shoulder. A smile dawns on his face and he shifts, one hand on the bed and the book closing shut on its own. “Hey, baby. Sorry, did I wake you up?”

You yawn, rubbing your eyes. Some mascara rubs off onto your hand. “No, you’re okay.” He doesn’t say anything at first, there’s no competition for the next word. When your vision finally settles onto a visible image, you see Jeongguk’s face and the book in his lap. “What are you doing…? Wait, what time is it…”

“It’s about five thirty,” Jeongguk estimates, although he’s not sure. He’s actually not far off, it’s five fourty one. “And, um...not much.” For a moment, Jeongguk sounds bashful. He shrugs, hiding the book and smiling at you. “You can go back to sleep if you want. I’ll be quiet.”

“Kinda hungry,” you admit. You inhale the air, “Oh my God, those fuckers next door have coffee.”

“Chocolate bread, too. Caught a glimpse when I opened the doors.”

You groan. “What the fuck…”

Jeongguk laughs, genuinely. His head turns back towards the Eiffel Tower, in awe, and after a few minutes of nothing but morning silence, you sigh and clamber over the sheets. They’re cold, crisp and wrinkled, and Jeongguk looks up at the noise. He frowns, only because you’re wearing barely anything.

“You’re gonna get cold,” Jeongguk points out, his hands reaching for the bed throw that had been kicked onto the floor during the night. “Want me to close the window?”

“No, it’s pretty.”

“It’s cold, though.”

You push your face onto Jeongguk’s shoulder blade. “Whatever.”

He chuckles, resigning from the conversation. You’ll win anyway. A tiny bird lands on the patio rails, and you inhale the morning air, planting a kiss on Jeongguk’s shoulder.

“You sure you’re okay?”

This makes Jeongguk look up. His eyes wear confusion and adoration, round and searching as he looks over his shoulder. “Yeah. Why, why wouldn’t they be?”

“I worry about you, ‘s all,” you reply quietly. “All the time.”

Jeongguk’s heart breaks.

“I’m...I’m good,” he replies honestly. “Really good. I haven’t been doing this great in...well...I don’t know, forever? Call it cringey, or whatever, but having you in my life...Fuck, it’s changed everything.”

You gaze up at him. “You’ve made a pretty big difference in my life, too, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“And I’m here for you. Always.”

Jeongguk doesn’t miss a beat- his hand wraps to stroke your hair, curled from the shower earlier, pressing a little kiss to your nose. He nods, and his hair brushes against your face. “Yeah.” He nods, confident, “Yeah. Actually- LOL,” he laughs, “I. Um, I wrote something.”

“Oh? Yeah, what did you write?”

He reopens the book. The pages are littered with lines of writing, alongside small doodles in the margins, words like arrows shooting across the lines. His hands flip to a page that has the corner marked down, the numbers “23” in bold outline at the top of the page. You inhale, nervous, your eyes lazily looking at the lines.

“Just a song,” Jeongguk explains. “Woke up, looked over at you, just got the idea. I had to write it down as soon as I thought about it. Got the melody and stuff worked out, just need to make a note and tell the guys when I get back.”

You hum, genuinely enthralled. You quickly look at him, “Can I hear some?”

If it were light enough, you might have caught a blush across his face. He clears his throat, shy.

“I’m fadin’ away off some kind of drug, maybe it’s lust, maybe it’s love,” his voice is quiet, almost as if speaking the words is something wrong, “I know I said I’d straighten a week ago, I feelin’ though, bout to reach my peak, you know. This city’s got me fallin, now, I’m fading away, I’m losing my head…” He mutters the lyrics, singing quietly. As he skims over what he’s got scribbled down, you can feel your heart thudding, soaring, feeling numb and soft and warm and everything else.

“It’s about you, called 23,” Jeongguk says. At some point, you’ve missed the rest of the lyrics, intent on gazing at Jeongguk like he is God’s angel sent down from Heaven. He is so beautiful, so kind and pure. “Sound okay?”

You nod, and maybe Jeongguk sees tears pearling in your eyes. “Yeah. Fuck- it sounds beautiful, Guk.”

A smile immediately reaches across Jeongguk’s face. It lights up the room better than the sun, now reaching higher into the sky. “You’re beautiful. I wanna make you so happy.”

“You do make me happy.”

“Yeah?” he asks, laughing, his eyes turned into moons. “Well...Look. I’ve never had to ask anyone, so it’s awkward as fuck right now, but...like…” He laughs, and you do too, because you know it’s coming, “Do you, like...wanna be my girl?”

“Your girl?”

He laughs louder. “Fine - my girlfriend! Y/N L/N, the light of my small and sad life, will you please be my girlfriend?”

Once your laughter has calmed down, and Jeongguk’s hand tiredly slips from your hair down to the bed next to your own, you really, honestly look at Jeongguk. Above everything else, you can’t quite believe that you are here with him; with somebody you never thought you had a chance with, with somebody who you would do absolutely anything for. The way you presently feel about Jeongguk is overwhelming and dangerous, so strong that sometimes you feel afraid by it. You bite your bottom lip, amusing the idea of actually thinking about it, and then you nod.

“Sure. Of course,” you agree, kissing his shoulder. His head follows you, his breath on the bare skin of your shoulders as he ducks his head to kiss the side of yours. “You’ve got me.”

Jeongguk feels like he could quite honestly burst into tears. “I’ve got you.”

(“I’m not 23 though,” you say to him once the love has died down. He cracks a smile and pushes you back onto the bed, returning to look at the Eiffel Tower.)

part two (final)

#pHEW #yoonkooknetwork #ggukienet #jeon jungkook #bts #bangtan #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook imagine #jjk #jeon jeongguk #jeongguk smut #jeongguk x reader #bts smut #bts imagine #bangtan imagine #bts scenario #jeongguk scenario #jungkook scenario #jungkook series #bts series #rockstar bts #jungkook #jeongguk #bighit #bts au #rockstar jeongguk #rockstar jungkook #gwoongi #tw: alcohol

[fanficflaneuse]

One Day - Part 2

A/N: I was so happy with this I couldn’t wait to post it! I have a few things to say before we start: 

First, thanks for your love and support <3 Every little heart makes me happy. 

Second, and this one is very important, in this series (like Emma, in the movie), the reader is a writer. Now, I can’t write poetry for my life, so I decided to use my writing as a platform for other female poets. Today, my writing features “Hope Is The Thing With Feathers” by Emily Dickinson and “Still I Rise” by Maya Angelou. 

Third, not so fun...for some reason my writing has been disappearing from the tags. Anyone has any idea why does it happen? It makes me very sad :(

But enough of me. Let’s do this! 

Details: 

Draco x reader (she/her pronouns) 

Word count: 1548 

Summary: One day AU. Post-war. Since The Battle of Hogwarts, Draco and y/n meet one day a year.

Masterlist 

3 May, 1999 

After a tortuous year of legal ventures, media scrutiny, tears and more than one headache, the Malfoy family had finally been cleared for good. At first, everyone in charge had intended to use the Malfoy case to set a precedent and appease the grieving wizarding community. They thought it wouldn’t be hard, given that the Malfoys had a lot to be held accountable for. (Y/N) had worked hard all year long. She convinced her friends – namely Harry – to testify. She swayed the jury in their favour and campaigned for a fair trial. She would always volunteer to gather evidence so she was completely sure that nobody was trying to temper with it. It had paid off spectacularly.

By the time Draco had to walk into the ministry for the final verdict, he had already given up. He knew from the get go that they were set up to lose; most people wanted to see him behind bars. Draco only feared for his parents, especially his beautiful mother. This last year he had been haunted by the image of Narcissa Malfoy in Azkaban: hair grey and unruly, teeth yellow, cheekbones sunken, gaze unfocused. He imagined her driven to insanity, a maniacal laugh erupting from her throat. That vision alone was enough to break him.

As he sat in the middle of the room, flanked by his parents, he thought about (Y/N)’s letters. He had spent most of the year under house arrest and she had gone back to retake her Seventh year at Hogwarts, so they could only glance at each other during his court hearings. Their correspondence, however, was a source of comfort for both of them. It had been a bit awkward at first, but (Y/N) would send him masterfully written poems and short stories that took his mind off of the mess his life had turned into. Soon enough, they started confiding in each other. Through letters, they became the best of friends. Her words were his solace, so it didn’t come as a surprise when his mind lingered on the first few verses of the last poem she had written to him:

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister of Magic himself, made his way to the judge’s desk. As he sat down, regal and solemn, the chitchat that surrounded them stopped completely. Draco tried to act calm and collected; he was, after all, a condemned man. To everyone, though, it was evident that something was consuming the blond Slytherin.

That perches in the soul –

The Minister unrolled the parchment that would dictate the Malfoys’ fate. Draco’s gaze frantically searched for (Y/N). She was sitting on the right, sandwiched in between Hermione and Harry. Her hand was grabbing onto Harry’s arm for reassurance. When their eyes met, (Y/N) offered him an encouraging smile. He returned a half smile that was unable to conceal his nerves.

And sings the tune without the words –

Draco tried really hard to concentrate on what Kingsley said, but his mind was jumbled with so many things he couldn’t process all at once. Every bit of sound around him was tuned out, only to be replaced with a deafening noise inside his head. Something dark was pressing his chest, crawling up his throat, filling his head with smoke. He wanted to scream. Draco felt dizzy all of a sudden. He was trying really hard not to make a scene, to keep his breathing steady. It was as if he was pushed all the way back to his Sixth year.

And never stops - at all –

The courtroom blew up in an uproar. He was engulfed in a hug by his mother. As she cried on his shoulder, the smoke in his brain dissipated. He heard the clicking of cameras, the insults and dissatisfied remarks. He heard the applauses, the sighs of relief. It took him a minute to understand what was going on. Still in the embrace, his eyes met with (Y/N)’s. She was staring at him almost adoringly, her head slightly tilted to the side and a pleased smile on her face.

“I told you”, she mouthed.

Draco was still too bewildered to even think of a response, but he smiled back to her. This time it was a whole and genuine smile that took her back to their encounter last year.

                                                           ....

The original plan was to go out and celebrate in muggle London. (Y/N) would go back to Hogwarts the next day, but she wanted to be with Draco tonight. She spent a while deciding what to wear. The rustling of fabrics took her back to the night of the Yule Ball. She smiled softly, thinking how she was ten times more excited now. (Y/N) finally settled on a black fitted dress, a leather jacket and ankle boots. She was about to sit in front of her vanity to put her make up on when Draco appeared in the middle of her room.

It surprised her so much she almost fell from her seat. Draco didn’t look like he was ready to go anywhere. He looked unkempt and tired. He gave her a sorrowful look, which forced her to bolt up from her seat and take him in her arms. Draco collapsed immediately. Sobs ripped off his chest one after the other.

“I-I just…I can’t…”

“It’s okay, Draco,” she offered softly.

“I need your company,” he managed to say.

Draco felt pathetic, but he couldn’t deny being in her arms made things a million times better. He had been cleared by the law, she had saved him. But not even his wondrous cuddle partner could save him from himself, from his self-hatred and the guilt and shame. She couldn’t save him from staring at his left forearm until he felt it burned.

Draco let the tears roll freely, wash away the horrible things inside him. (Y/N) felt her own eyes stinging, but only until their limbs were once again tangled (this time in a sofa by the fireplace) did she let herself weep ever so slightly. Their bodies fit together like two puzzle pieces. Draco’s head rested just above (Y/N)’s breast. He could hear the beating of her heart, which comforted him in more ways than he thought possible. Their legs stretched together and her arms enveloped him. She brought one of her hands to his hair and let her fingertips massage his scalp. Draco bawled until he felt he had no tears left. (Y/N) was so soft and gentle with him that he basked in her caresses.

As she pressed a kiss to his forehead, Draco was invaded with the sense that he didn’t deserve her. He blurted it out loud; with her he had no need to restrain his thoughts. (Y/N) hugged him tighter. She took his left arm and uncovered the mark that marred his milky skin. Draco lifted himself up just enough to search her face. He was expecting to see fear and disgust, but there was none of that. All he saw was the same understanding, same warmth she always seemed to have for him.

As she saw the mark, (Y/N) was, of course, pained. Everything the mark represented had taken away her childhood and adolescence. It was the reason why she had scars and she cried herself to sleep. It was why she was mourning some of her friends and family. She didn’t blame it on Draco, though. He had no choice and he was possibly as broken and scared as she was. She wanted to give him love and support. And so, she surprised even herself when she brought his forearm to her lips and kissed the mark of doom. Draco’s vision got blurry again. He pressed his ear to her heart and hugged (Y/N) as tightly as he could. She returned his embrace fiercely.

“I don’t deserve you, (Y/N/N)” he repeated, his voice muffled.

“It’s not a matter of deserving or not, Dray. And even if it was, you deserve as much love and care as anyone else,” she reminded him.

He sniffled. “Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

“Merlin, I’m so lucky to have you,” he answered.

“As I am to have you,” he could hear the smile in her voice.

They remained silent, an air of contentment engulfing them both.

“Is this how it’s going to work?” he asked, adopting a playful tone.

“What is?”

“Are we going to like…meet once a year to cuddle and cry?”

Draco felt pleased with himself as her chest vibrated with laughter.

“I hope not,” she answered sincerely.

“Me neither, (Y/N/N).”

They went back to their pleasant silence. The crackling of the fire in front of them soothed them both.

“(Y/N)?” he asked, his voice small.

“Hmh?”

“Could…could you read one of your poems to me?”

She smiled softly, her hand still buried in his hair. (Y/N) thought for a second before speaking.

“You may write me down in history,” her voice was soft and tender and to Draco it had a lulling effect.

“With your bitter, twisted lies,”

“You may trod me in the very dirt”

Draco started dozing off. He couldn’t recall the last time he welcomed sleep. He closed his eyes. Somewhere in his dreams, (Y/N)’s last few words resounded:

“But still, like dust, I'll rise”.

Tags: @fandomscombine @okaydraco @naomi02hook

#Draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy reader inserts #draco malfoy #draco x you #draco malfoy x you #draco x y/n #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy inserts #draco malfoy reader imagines #reader inserts #draco malfoy cuddles #harry potter reader inserts #harry potter series #post war harry potter #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy fanfics

[writesindread]

thousand muted suns

by: writesindread

-- a sakuatsu AU

grains of stars scattered along the navy nights, drifting clouds like puffs from e-cigarette smokes and there we see, a boy in rustic yellow-tinted hair waltzing towards his home — in sweats, toneless emotions and no one can tell why he’s dull like thousand muted suns. well, he has several severe bruises on his back, tattered and peeled skin.

he twists the doorknob with enough force and there, we hear midway, from the slight peaks of the door, a solemn-jazzy sound engulfed atsumu’s attention.

unlit... romantically unlit, enough to see the silverwares, his television, and his aching plant and there, as he compasses his eyes towards the left, in subtle silhouette we see the boy he loved across the 7 seas — standing still behind a table, wrapped in black and bestrewn with accents of red. one area from the table is wrinkled, he looks at it back and forth — the guy, the cloth, the guy, the cloth — and uncomfortably smiles. he sillily unfolded the disarray in nanosecond.

the tinted boy giggles in the dark. he loves it when he rattles.

there, we see a boy without his mask, a boy pooled with joy, smirking, he’s smirking and made his way to the left solely to assist the boy in sweats to his chair.

“omi-omi what are yo—“

“just seat, love, take a deep breath and watch”

sakusa clothed in a fancy black tuxedo, polished boots, leather gloves and there, his ring embracing his middle finger and there, his fairly curly hair combed neatly to the side enough to sting a gaze with one eye.

he grabbed his violin beside his respective chair and there, the bow with imprints of his name “miya” and there, we see sakusa grasping it delicately — one by one fingers from pinky to thumb crumbled and meet.

“yer lookin fanc—“ eyes swollen.

“this is the song i wrote for you when we had our first date, tsumu.” sakusa interrupts midway. “when i laid my eyes on you like a table napkin on my thighs and i was vibrating with pages of emotions, just like how you annoyingly scratch your plate and watch me buzz in agony. you are those annoying little things that ironically love tsumu and i can’t live without them”

sakusa bites his lower lip like a nightfall and there, atsumu dramatically gasped from within, registering a face, outwardly — astonished, dazed, enchanted. he’s not used to his omi-omi giving him all the fluffs and fervor he deserves at this very hour.

he watched sakusa from his seat and there, he witnessed the bow strums the thinnest of strings from his instrument and there, he heard the little symphonies — resonating and meandering, crawling and tickling his insides.

atsumu is on the brink of combusting.

before the notes roam in the room, he watches atsumu from his perspective quivering and melting like molten rocks and there, his eyes gingerly shuts to close and released every emotion as he syncopates the the tunes, up and down, enough for his lover to swoon and now, his heart is daubed in cinammon and exploding memories. now, he sings to him like a nightingale as if owns the rests and notes. and now, he’s watching him alike from how he reads his letters, his gazes that he does not understand, and the perfect strokes coiling, clashing from the differing swatches of color in his paintings.

as he continues to swing his bow, tsumu is fazed by him — eyes cracking and tears shuddering. he’s slowing ascending from his seat, making his way, pressing little steps from the hardwood floor of their home. his hands are trembling and ready to touch his face. atsumu is slowly approaching sakusa and he does not know. sakusa does not know that he’s there in front of him, as for he’s busy singing his chest out after all the days of repressing and hiding his written songs for atsumu.

at least one of them is now revealed. he’s contented and relishing every tick of the moment.

hes there and atsumu touches his chin — warm and in utter grace. both eyes meet and boiling from the perplexing depths of reasons — reasons of trying and reasons of persisting.

atsumu’s persian lips converging the crevices of his lover’s mouth. but sakusa pushes himself in, interrupting the gradual approach and there, both hands of atsumu resting on sakusa’s chest. feeling the lovely frolicking beats of his heart — racing and thumps in fourscore at once.

there, they temporarily asunder solely for sakusa to say

“do i look dumb in this suit?” eyes squinting in romance.

“yes and i would make a thousand jokes just for you to annoy.”

“tch. this wasn’t my first choice okay i couldve wor—“

“you cant live without my irascible self right omi-omi?” he sneered, while his one brow curved upwards and making millions of blinks. he’s cute, his omi-omi admits it in his mind.

“you are such a dork” sakusa laughingly remarked. “of course”

foreheads intertwining like eclipse, just like how the sun fills the curve of the moon.

eyes closed, swaying like dandelions in the meadows, following the lulling melodies suffusing the room — both dashing and soothing along the navy nights. they bought it from the gods from above and below and owns it.

two arms hooked around sakasa’s nape and both hands rested on atsumu’s torso.

their faces creak with fulgent smirks and there, the love that once doubted and rejected out of the frowns and failed punchlines in the locker room, is now seeping with verses from love sonnets that they never understood.

a love that no one else, even them, understood.

atsumu buried his face to the broad shoulders of sakusa.

“i love you, omi-omi.”

“you deserve this, tsumu.” he gently grabs atsumu’s face in front of him, caressed his cheeks like cirrus clouds. “youre safe with me and will always be, i love you, my love”

atsumu broke down to the floor and cries rushing streams of tears.

“why’d you leave me omi? i still have my jokes stored, exclusively reserved just to annoy you. you’ll love them omi-omi” his voice cracks as he sobbed and continuously hammers the floor with his clenched fist, bottled with sheer dread and disbelief.

no one is there for atsumu to annoy, to love, and someone that could understand his troubles and jokes. it may seem a small deal but even an inch of appreciation was given, atsumu feels loose.

now, he’s bereaved and helpless on the floor. left with his crooked reasons of persisting and there, in his very place, everything has sunken as it supremely pains him inside.

#fanfic #haikyuu #sakuatsu #sakusa #atsumu #romance #fluff #angst #haikyuu!! #literature