#except this one the cold snap one unveils a little bit more about him which I love | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

peakyblinderswhore · 3 years

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DAY 12 ⇨ SMILE FOR SANTA

GENRE: Christmas!au, Fluff, a lil Crack

PAIRING: John x Reader (although it does include interactions with the whole family :) )

SYNOPSIS: After John convinced you to spend the day with the Shelby’s, you made sure that you were there to help with anything and everything you could. Except when it came to the family photo that Polly had suggested on a whim. Everything was getting a little bit more chaotic than usual and the family was more than struggling to keep in check.

W/C: 3.4k

A/N: *ugly crying* because i love john!! john deserved better and i’d happily die for him. *shouting* ENJOY! OR ELSE! also merry christmas :) also john doesn’t have kids in this scenario :D it’s safe to say i got more than carried away adn fell in love with this fic. it pains me to have to leave this world behind after finishing this.

merry christmas! joyeux noël! feliz navidad! meri korisomasu! (🇯🇵 rom)

After that cold afternoon in your house when John had convinced you to spend the day celebrating with his family, you had found that you had become incredibly anxious as the day neared. Last night, you had been running around, making sure that the food you had promised to bring was cooking before wrapping it up tightly, burning your fingers twice as you hadn’t waited for it to cool down.

John had given you some pocket money and you had spent the weekend deliberating between two dresses, having no idea which one would look better on you and which one would please Polly more. You knew she could be straightforward at times but you didn’t know if this translated over to what she might say about your appearance. In the end, John had blindly pointed at one and told you to buy it after getting frustrated about your nervousness but he kept insisting that it was ‘just like any other day with the added extra of strictly no business talk at the dinner table’.

When you finished stressing the morning of, John halted your never-ending train of thoughts when he knocked on your door, prompting you to open the door and make sure that you had everything you needed for the day in a flurry.

“John!” You breathlessly exclaimed as you swing the door open to greet him, “Please come in, there’s just a few more things I need to make sure of.”

Wordlessly, he wraps his arm around you, stopping you from walking away to whatever you were going to do next. “It’s one day; there’s no need to stress out,” he mumbles into your hair,pulling your back closer to his chest and winding his other arm around you.

You bring your hands to rest on his forearms, leaning your head back on his shoulder and breathe out, “I don’t want anything to go wrong… that’s all.”

John lets out a light laugh, “Have you met The Shelby’s before? No matter what you say or do or think is going to prevent a disaster from happening, there will always be something. I’m pretty sure last year it was Arthur’s drunk antics breaking things and the year before Finn knocked over the tree by accident which, in turn, lit up the rug as he knocked it into the fire.”

“Jesus… I’m not sure that helps my mind,” you say, wincing at the thought of Polly screaming at everyone as they put out the fire and attempt to save the rug and the tree, “Wait, is that where the massive scorch marks came from in the lounge?”

John loosens his hold on you, letting you turn to face him, his grin takes over his face, “You noticed? Pol’ tries to hide the scorches by arranging the furniture differently but we all know it’s there.”

“I was only trying to be polite,” you mutter, a small smile gracing your lips.

“That’s why she loves your company,” he leans closer, eyes flickering to your lips, “it’s one of the many why I love you.”

Your eyes flutter close and he presses a chaste kiss to your lips, not pressing for anything more. Turning your body to face him completely, you bring your arms to his chest, resting your palms on the breast of his coat before curling your fingers around the lapels. His fingers brush your face, rubbing soothing circles into your cheeks. It was a kiss filled with love and it made you melt into his body, knowing that no matter what would happen today, you would be okay and you knew that at the end of it all you would still have John to turn to.

Eventually, you pull apart, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, making you instinctively run your thumb across the bottom of his lip, enjoying how they looked when stained with your lipstick, “You got a lil’ something…” you whisper before pressing a kiss to his lips and pushing him away gently.

“I’ll go clean my face then,” he replies, moving towards the sink.

When you’ve decided that you’ve gathered everything you need for the day you make your way over to the Shelby family home. It was a brisk walk in the biting cold, tucked under John’s arm with your arms wound tightly around his torso for warmth as he carried the food you’d insisted on cooking to lessen the load on Polly.

John pushes the door open and calls out, “Pol’? We’re here.”

At the sound of her nephew’s voice bouncing off the walls, Polly appears, wiping her hands on an apron that was tied around her waist, a smile board on her face.

“Love! You made it; I’m so glad you’ve decided to come over this year. Could’ve used the company last year -- what with our Ada moving down to London,” she pulls you into a hug, pressing a kiss to your cheek in greeting before addressing John, “and you, mister,” she raises an eyebrow, “I hope you’ve warned her about your shenanigans you like to pull on Christmas day.”

Amused, you turn to look at John, “Shenanigans? You never told me about any shenanigans.”

His face heats up, turning red from the sudden attention being directed his way and from the onslaught he knew Polly was going to let you in on. Instead he directs the conversation in another direction, “Ah listen yeah,” he rubs the back of his neck with his free hand, “I don’t know…” he mumbles.

You decide to save him, resting your hand on his that carried the bags you had packed, “I made something so you don’t have to worry too much. Let’s unpack it.”

Polly grins, raising her hands in the air in celebration, “Perfect! I tricked Finn into helping too so he doesn’t accidentally light any trees on fire this year.”

You giggled, “Oh I heard about that one a little earlier on.”

Polly holds her hand out for your coat that you slip off of your shoulders, you quickly thank her before she throws it at John, “Hang that up, you little gremlin,” she playfully growls at him, “me and my niece have important work to be doing.”

He huffs in annoyance but does as his Aunt requested, pegging up your coats on her coat hanger -- something that she moved towards the front of the house when it came around to Christmas, knowing this might be the only day of the year that the boys actually stay long enough to remove their coats. She lets you lead the way into the kitchen, shooing you to stand by the table. Finn wanders over from the betting den, a spoon in his hand and a bowl tucked under his arm.

“Finn! Did you let Arthur taste some?”

He sheepishly nods. She lets her head fall back and her arms sag behind her as she groans, “I gave you one job! Don’t let Arthur eat the produce; it ruins the build-up to the main course.”

John shuffles into the kitchen and picks a chair to sit at, more than happy to watch you smile and be happy around his family.

You make your way about unpacking the food you had cooked while Polly scolds Finn. It’s not really serious scolding but it’s something you can watch from a distance, enjoying it. When Polly turns to go back to the oven, John gestures to Finn, encouraging him to move closer and takes the spoon from his grip. Finn’s eyes widen but he doesn’t say anything, not wanting to set Polly off again. John lets himself sink into the chair when he licks the spoon and you giggle at him.

Polly’s head snaps in your direction, making you squeak as you clamp your lips shut.

She eyes you before turning her attention towards Finn who had made his way closer to her, spoon mixing around in the bowl. “What have you made, love?”

“I made a crumble. I wasn’t sure if you were a Christmas Pudding family so I went for a family recipe instead. I also made some chocolates in case you weren’t a crumble family either,” you say, unveiling a baked apple crumble, still in the pot and a box filled with chocolate shapes, “I made the crumble last night but it can go in the oven to be warmed up later.”

John leans into you, hand reaching to pick up a chocolate but you slap his hand away, making his yelp, having not expected that. You glare at him, “Don’t be greedy. I know you had some while I went to reapply my lipstick.”

He waves you off, pretending to not know what you’re on about, making Polly laugh after seeing the scene that unfolded before her. Finn stands close to you, peering into the box, wanting to see what they looked like. When he saw them his eyes widened. You had spent the rest of your money on buying the best ingredients you could afford, not wanting to turn up with half-assed chocolates.

“Have one,” you whisper and nudge him with your elbow, “go on.”

“But…” he glances at John.

“Don’t worry about him. He gets to eat these all the time when I make them.”

Finn places the bowl down and gingerly picks a chocolate out of the box, making John burst out, “Hey! You can’t have any if I can’t.”

“Not true,” you counter. His mouth blubs like a fish. “Finn can have some since he’s never tried them before. Plus you get to eat them when I make them and you like to steal one every now and then when you think I’m not looking.”

John gets up and engulfs you in a hug that you weren’t prepared for. Polly moves the crumble out of the way and puts the box of chocolates on the side, not wanting any of this to get in the way, she smiles fondly at the two of you. He presses a kiss to your lips, to which Finn turns and imitates sticking his fingers down his throat and being sick, sticking his tongue out. Polly abruptly hits his arm, making him jump and rub it.

At some point Arthur walks in from the betting den while you and John are making a cock-up of the potatoes. By this point, you’re both mucking about while Polly sits smoking a cigarette at the table, occasionally telling the two of you what to do with something. Finn had run off to fetch something for Polly while she took a break.

“I thought I heard trouble brewin’.”

You spin on your heels, “Arthur!”

You drop what you were doing and greet Arthur with a bear hug, making sure to keep your hands away from his clothes in case you made them dirty. He lets out a chuckle and when you’re finished hugging him, “I almost forgot you were here. Were you finishing something up?”

He nods, “Finished now. Pol’s pleased she’s got me for the day now. It was urgent. Anyway, while you were busy, er, cooking,” he offers a skeptical look when he peers at John over your shoulder, you smile, shaking your head at this, “I pushed the table to the middle of the room.”

Polly looks up from her position at the kitchen table, “Did you get out the cutlery and the napkins?”

“Got Finn setting it up now -- Tommy rang. Said he’d be here soon.”

Polly scoffs, “Whenever that means,” she drags on her cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray on the table, “let’s start plating up.”

It takes Tommy less than ten minutes to arrive. He brings his smiling son, Charlie with him. Ada knocks on the door not too soon after in tow with Karl, a pleasant surprise for Polly who had explained she wasn’t sure if Ada was going to be able to make it on time if at all.

Polly dragged Tommy into helping her plate up the food and Ada pulled you to a side in the betting den, now transformed into the dining room with enough chairs to seat you all and some.

“So,” she drawls, “have you and John… y’know, made anything a little more official? Tell me there’s at least a bun in the oven! You two have been making puppy eyes at each other for years and have been dating for almost two.”

Charlie and Karl run around the table, chasing each other while Finn desperately tries to get them to sit down for fear that Polly will tell him off for not being able to look after a couple of kids on his own. You glance at Finn fretting over the boys and shake your head, smiling fondly before turning your focus to Ada, “Nothing yet.”

“Yet?”

“Well,” you begin, suddenly going shy, “I’ve suggested a baby. He’s more than happy to comply with that.”

Ada’s hands wrap around yours, something she tended to do right before whispering something that was supposed to stay between the two of you. “Personally, I think he wants you to himself for just a little bit longer,” she whispers, “and I cannot wait until we reach that fateful day… oh just thinking about it no--”

“Ada, where’s Y/N?” John calls out.

Ada releases your hands from her hold and calls him over, “Here, John. We were just having a catch-up since it’s been so long. Let’s switch, mhm? I’ll help Polly so you can talk to your girlfriend,” she emphasises the ‘girlfriend’ part, winking at you as she scurries away, her hair bouncing before she halts to whisk Karl up to help in the Kitchen with her.

John rounds the corner, scooping you up in his arms and spinning the two of you round. You squeal having not expected it but enjoying his playful mood. When he sets you down again, he rests his palms on either side of your waist, pulling you closer to him. You lean back, fingers wrapped around his biceps to keep yourself steady as you look up at him.

“What is it?” You ask after he had been gazing at you for a little while, “Is there something on my fa--”

He lowers his head, lips meeting yours as he begins to kiss you, keeping it soft and suitable in front of the young, wandering eyes.

When he pulls away he rests his forehead on yours, “What was that for?”

“I love you,” he simply says.

“I love you too,” you feel a warmth bloom in your chest, making your heart beat that little bit faster than usual.

“John!” Arthur calls, “Did Charlie tell you if ‘im and Curly were coming or not? I wanna know if I should bully Finn into setting up another two seats or if I can rest.”

John rolls his eyes, grasping your hands and lacing his fingers through yours as he leads you back towards the kitchen as Finn aids Polly with the turkey. “He said he was coming. He said he’d also bring the folding camera, to which I assume Curly is coming since most of the fun stuff is usually his.”

Polly looks up from setting the turkey on the biggest dish you’d ever laid eyes on, “Perfect; I think we should take a family photo. Don’t you?” She asks no one in particular.

Tommy sighs, “It’ll take too much time.”

Ada waves him off, “Nonsense, all the best photos are taken in a limited amount of time. Plus we’ll be able to get everyone in it, it’ll be a good experience.”

Arthur wanders off, not wanting to have too much to do with this conversation and mutters something about setting up more places at the table.

After a little bit of back and forth arguing, Charlie and Curly arrive, camera in tow. Charlie has a cigarette dangling from his lips and Curly brings you into a hug, leaving Charlie clutching onto the camera equipment.

“Curly! I’ve missed seeing your smile every time I pop by to see the horses,” you grin as he replies back to you, “where’d you get the camera equipment anyway?”

“Oh,” he begins, “Tommy thought it’d be a grand idea if we got pictures with him and his horse after it won at the races so I searched high and low for something to please him. Eventually I found this set up and got it under my ownership soon after. Tommy even pulled me into the photo since I looked after it mostly.”

Charlie scoffcs, “Curly, you’re the only one who cares for the creatures as well as you do. I don’t know anyone with a heart quite like yours.”

Polly comes over and pulls Charlie and Curly towards the dining room having them set up the camera at one end of the table. Yourself and Curly finish the conversation when Polly returns, informing you that dinner was ready to be served.

Everyone made their way into the dining room, a plate full of food to be served up each. Ada had scribbled out quick namecards, insisting it made it more fun and then there also wouldn’t be the argument from previous years about who gets to sit next to who -- especially with the younger kids now. Of course, you were seated next to John and you were sure that you noticed the seats were a little bit closer than the rest of them scattered around the table. Nevertheless, you made your way to your seat. John stood behind you, pulling out the chair to which you smiled warmly, not wanting to call him out on his manners that he only pulled out in front of his Aunt and instead enjoying the gesture.

When you’re all seated, Polly stands at the head of the table, hands clasped together, apron thrown away to the side somewhere and hair falling at her shoulders. “Everyone,” it’s been a tough year, I know that much more than you think I might. I’m thrilled that we could all be here this evening and I hope we get to experience this again for many years to come.”

The candles dotting the tablecloth illuminate everyone’s faces, eyes wide as you all wait for what she is going to say.

“While the food is still hot, let’s take a picture, eh? Curly, love would you mind setting it up and running back round again?”

Curly nops, jumping up from his seat, making sure everything was in the right place and the flash was on a makeshift stand.

“Alright,” he says, “the lighting’s a bit funny, so if you could all stand, it might be better.”

Slowly, you all rise from your seats. John’s hand rests on your waist so you move to the side to lean into his touch and rest your head on his shoulder.

He presses kisses to your hair, “You look gorgeous in that dress, you know?”

You lift your head to talk to him, “It’s the one you picked.”

“I saw,” he grins, proud of himself, “sorry it took me until now to compliment you. I was trying to calm you down for the first half of the day and spent the rest of it helping out around here.”

You shake your head, “It’s okay. I knew you liked it. You grinned and gave me a good lookin’ when I answered the door this morning in it.”

“You saw that?”

“How could I not?”

“All right,” Curly calls out, “I’m going to set it off now.”

“Kiss me,” you whisper to John.

He does.

Curly runs back to his seat, Ada rests her hand on Karl’s shoulder in front of you, Polly rests a hand on Arthur and Tommy either side of her, Tommy has Charlie in his arms. Curly stands proudly next to Uncle Charlie opposite you and Finn sits closest to the camera in front of his Uncle.

You almost miss Ada slapping Karl’s hand and shouting, “Those cookies are for Santa!” as the flash goes off.

It’s in this moment, that you know you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world right now.

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dragonologist-phd · 3 years

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Could I request something with, “What am I supposed to do when I can’t even trust my own mind?” or, “You see everyone so clearly except yourself,” using one of your Pillars OCs?

thank you for the prompt! I got You see everyone so clearly except yourself from someone else, so I’ll do What am I supposed to do when I can’t even trust my own mind?

For this one Rudi grabbed my inspiration, so have some Rudi & Eder BroTP!

(AO3)

When Edér first wakes up and realizes Rudi is gone, he isn’t too worried. Over the course of their travels, he’s learned that she’s got a habit of up and wandering off whenever she can’t sleep. He himself is usually the first one of their little group to rise in the morning- an old habit from years of farmwork that still hasn’t died off- and it’s no strange thing for her to come waltzing back into camp just as he’s relighting the fire, brandishing a rabbit or two for breakfast. So rather than wonder where she’s gone, Edér simply follows their routine and waits for her to return.

When the sun has crept up above the horizon and the others are beginning to stir awake, Edér does begin to get a bit concerned. The woods along the river pass aren’t especially thick, and Rudi is more than able to handle any stray bandits or wandering beasts… but still, with her luck it’s hard to tell what she might encounter. Best to check in on her, Edér decides, even if she makes fun of his hovering later on.

It doesn’t take long to find her- she didn’t bother to cover her tracks, and it’s hard to miss the lion footprints leading down dirt path. The first moment Edér catches sight of her, he thinks that maybe she actually fell asleep after all. She’s nestled on the ground, back against a tree, knees curled up to her chest so she can rest her chin on them. Sol is curled up at her feet, his tail flicking lazily through the leaves that cover the ground.

Then his foot comes down on a twig with a sharp snap, and Rudi’s head shoots up. Sol is on his feet at once, teeth bared and every hair in his mane standing on end.

“Whoa there, buddy,” Edér says, holding up his hands and giving the big cat a grin. “It’s just me.”

The lion only snarls in response, not relaxing until Rudi lays a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Sol.” She stands, stretching out her arms as she does, and turns to give Edér a weak smile. “Checking up on me now? Sorry, I guess I lost track of time out here.”

Her tone is casual and unworried, but it doesn’t match up to her appearance. She just looks so damn tired- bags under her eyes, unsteady on her feet, and a half-hearted grin that just doesn’t quite do the job. “Now, I know it ain’t polite to comments on a lady’s appearance,” Edér says, keeping his tone light, “But did you get a wink of sleep last night?”

He’s hoping to draw a laugh out of her- and normally he might have- but today Rudi’s mood instantly shifts, her eyes narrowing and her mouth setting into a hard line. It’s the same look she gets when she’s deciding whether to shoot something or not, and if she weren’t looking too exhausted to aim straight Edér might consider hiding behind a tree. Eventually she settles for crossing her arms and fixing Edér with a stern look. “Maybe. It doesn’t matter. I don’t need sleep. I need to hunt down Thaos before…”

She stops and looks away, blinking hard and lifting a hand to her temple. The moment passes quickly, and then she’s pushing past Edér with a scowl. “Let’s just get going.”

“Whoa, there,” Edér says, putting a hand on her shoulder as she passes. “You sure you’re good?”

“I’m fine,” she insists, pulling away.

“Right. You’re actin’ exactly a person who’s fine.”

Rudi turns her glare on him again, to which Edér only raises an eyebrow. And then the fight goes out of her, just as suddenly as it came, and her shoulders slump as she lets out a heavy sigh. “Fine, yes, I got some sleep. For all the good it did.”

“What does that mean?”

“I had…dreams.” Rudi looks down and kicks at the dirt. “Memories, I guess, I don’t know. And then I woke up and I didn’t even know where I was, I just kept thinking I had to find…someone. Like it was the most important thing in the world that I find her right away.”

Watcher stuff, Edér thinks, worry sinking into his stomach. He knows Rudi’s been having nightmares and visions and a whole mess of strange stuff. But he’s been hoping it’s the sort of the thing to get better with time, not worse. “Who were looking for?”

Rudi shrugs, but her eyes flicker upward, and for a moment they flash as Rudi stares at something that isn’t there. “Iovara.” She speaks the name heavily, as if each syllable carries an unfathomable weight.

Rudi goes silent then, until Edér finally has to ask, “Who’s that?”

The questions breaks her from her reverie, and she scowls and throws her hands into the air. “I don’t know!!” she exclaims, turning to pace in a circle. “I just had to find her, and I started moving- with no idea where I was or why I was here- and then Sol came up to me and for a split second I was scared. Of Sol. Like I didn’t even know who he was.”

Her voice gets thick, and she stops to take a breath, sinking once again to the ground with her back against the tree. Sol watches her with concern, and approaches to nuzzle against her shoulder. A small, sad smile creeps onto her face as she runs a hand through his mane.

As Edér watches the two of them, it occurs to him that he’s never actually seen them separated. Sol sleeps at Rudi’s bedside, shares her meals, even sit next to her in the receiving hall at Caed Nua. For Rudi to not even recognize him, even for a second…he can’t imagine it.

And apparently she can’t, either.

Eventually, Rudi recovers herself enough to continue. “After that, I guess I just…woke up. I remembered who I was, and the other memories went away but I…gods, Edér, I couldn’t go to sleep again. I couldn’t risk going away like that.” She closes her eyes, her hands trembling as they continue to stroke Sol’s mane. “I’ve always been able to take care of myself. But what am I supposed to do when I can’t even trust my own mind?”

It’s a big question, that’s for sure. And yet to Edér, the answer is immediate and obvious.

“You trust us, of course.”

Whatever Rudi is expecting, apparently that isn’t it. She blinks, looking up at Edér in silence, and he takes advantage of her surprise to continue. “Hey, I know you haven’t really known us all that long. But you know we’re your friends, right?” He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, maybe not Durance. I wouldn’t put much trust in him. But me and Sagani and everyone else- we got your back.”

He bends over and holds his hand out to Rudi. “We’re gonna look out for you, and we’re gonna find this Leaden Key guy, and we’re gonna put you right as rain again. So don’t worry too much about bad dreams and memories and such.”

Rudi hesitates, watching Edér with unveiled skepticism. “And if I forget again?”

He shrugs. “Bucket of cold water. It’s a cure-all, and I bet anything it’ll wake you right back up.”

Rudi regards him for a moment, then snorts as she takes his hand, letting him pull her up. When she’s on her feet again, she shakes her head and punches him in the arm. “That’s your first instinct? Really?”

“It’s an incentive, too,” Edér answers with a grin. “Keeps you on your toes.”

“Ass,” she says, but she’s laughing, and the tensions seems to have left her shoulders. She still looks exhausted, and maybe still a little worried…but she also looks much more like the Rudi Edér knows so well.

“Alright, let’s get back. For real this time.” She starts walking in the directions of the camp, rubbing your back and groaning as she goes. “Gods, I’m too old to be staying up all night. And we’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

Edér grins, falling into step beside her. “Bet you could convince Maneha to carry you for a while.”

“Oh, I like the sound of that. First good idea you’ve had all day.” She continues like that, talking and making jokes as they approach the campsite, Sol padding quietly at her side. Just before they arrive in sight of the others, however, she pauses and glances at Edér from the corner of her eye.

“Thanks, by the way,” she says hurriedly, as if embarrassed by the words. “I do trust you, you know. I haven’t had someone like that for a long time, but…you’re a good friend.”

Edér nods- of course he knows. ‘Cause Rudi’s his friend, too- probably the best one he’s had since his brother- and looking out for each other is just what friends do.

#ch: rudi #prompt fill #thanks for the prompt!#pillars of eternity #risualto

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laughing-with-god · 5 years

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Pandemonium XII

(Author’s note; so I owe everyone an apology. I haven’t written for this story in a long ass time and tbh it shows. I’m sorry but I lost inspo for this story and that’s why this story had been dead for so long. I’m trying to get back into the flow of this plot, so please just have a little more patience with me. I have no right to ask for that but I really need it. But anyway, this chapter is more of a buildup for the next big event I want to happen in this story, please enjoy.)

Words; 3.6k

“Your mom’s chest hair!”- Janis Ian, Mean Girls

You were having a Lindsay Lohan moment in a bathroom stall….except the ‘Regina George’ in this situation was God fucking with you in a form of a shitty day.

Okay…*record scratch* you’re probably wondering how you got yourself into this mess.

You gasped after the dreaded ‘D’ word left your mouth and before you could give Namjoon a chance to respond over the phone, you hastily pressed the ‘end call’ button to return to your pitiful sobs.

Except these sobs were harder than the ones before because like...what the fuck?? You called Namjoon daddy….. Why?

The taboo word slipped past your lips as if it was nothing, as if your brain didn’t send signals to your mouth to form the name and release it. You didn’t give your mouth permission to utter it, but it was said into the receiver of your phone before you could even process why the fuck you would say it.

“‘Word vomit”, some might say.

Two ‘Mean Girls’ themes in one day...you were on a role.

How could you face him after that? Knowing you accidentally fed into his dumbass daddy kink just because you were having a meltdown and needed someone to call on. The fucker probably thought he ‘snapped you into submission’ or something. His pathetic male ego was most likely purring right now.

And your timing couldn’t possibly be any worse.

You JUST had this conversation with him and told him that you would never play into his weird little bdsm game, yet here you were. You couldn’t comprehend your own stupidity.

Hastily, you pulled out your laptop from your bag. While sitting on the toilet with little regard for hygiene in favor of your record-breaking distress; you quickly opened your gmail to send a message to your professors that you would be missing class for the rest of the day.

After doing so, you slammed the device shut and exited the stall.

The mirror reflected the tiredness and annoyance you felt. Your skin was blotchy and drained of color whilst your nose and eyes were red with evidence of your crying. The swelling of your eyelids was enough to make you head to the sink in attempt to splash some cold water onto them.

While hunched over the sink, you heard your phone buzz from its’ place in your pocket. You reached around to grab it but when you saw whom it was, you felt the need to throw it out the window before jumping out yourself.

However the person calling was not to be put off by the decline to talk, given they only tried again and again. When the device began buzzing for the fifth time, you groaned but answered it in hopes to give them a piece of your mind and end the line of future communication for good.

“What do you want?!” You growled, sure to let the bitchiness overlap your tone.

“Y/n! Thank god you picked up! Where are you? I saw you looked really down and just ran away. Do you want me to take you home?” You heard a rustle over the phone which told you that he was indeed looking for you. His heavy footsteps and background noise of student chatter hinted that he was still wandering campus in search of you.

“No Jungkook, I really rather not talk to you right now.” You bluntly responded.

“Why? did I do something wrong? At least let me talk to you~” He whined pathetically, the sound more annoying than what you originally recalled it to be.

“I don’t know. Maybe ask your bros why I feel like trash.” You couldn’t help but be passive aggressive, not caring if you were giving in to the stereotypical women trope of being petty without reason and emotional without logic.

“My ‘bros’? What does that mean? Did one of them say anything to you? Because if they did then I will kill them I swear-” You cut him off with a bitter laugh.

“Listen, I don’t think I can have a sugar daddy who goes to the same school as me. It’s too….” you struggled to find the perfect word. “...problematic.” You said, the words surprising even you for the solution to the problem was staring at you right in the face.

With the other brothers, there was a clear line of personal life and professional. You never had to worry about running into them on campus or having your classes and peers interfered with given that all of them were older. All except Jungkook. And although he was closer to age with you, he still was a man. And you rarely trusted men that age, much less men in general. You would live in constant fear that he would spill the truth to your classmates about what you’ve degraded yourself to in the name of money. Today was a slap in the face of just how much power Jungkook held over you in this arena, the paranoia now unveiled by seeing him laugh and talk to other college guys.

It was too risky.

“W-what? Where is this coming from?” His footsteps became more hurried as his voice began to tremble. “Where are you? Let’s talk about this. We all have bad days, Y/n. I’m sure tomorrow you’ll think differently. Just tell me where you are so-”

You ended the call.

What followed was a nervous pacing driven by your frenzied exhaustion of the drastic turn of the day. Perhaps when this day was over you would look back and realize that this was an extreme over reaction on your part. But at this very moment, in the midst of a nervous breakdown, all you felt was an insufferable itch to abandon anything and everything that seemed to complicate matters. And at the moment, Jungkook was very much complicating an already complex situation.

Your head pounded due to the sudden stress it had to endure in the last few hours. With a deep sigh, you paused your pacing to rest against the wall and catch your breath...or rather hyperventilate. Over the sound of your haggard gasps for air, your phone continued it’s onslaught of ringing. It was a mixture of calls and texts that only succeeded in making your brain ache more.

There was no ignoring for the disturbance of peace was persistent. You felt annoyance in its’ purest form and was determined to yell at the fuckboy to never contact you again. This was your goal when you picked up the device to answer the incoming call.

“Leave me alone!!” You barked into the speaker after pressing the phone to your ear, no time wasted on greetings.

“.....I don’t recall asking for that attitude so I strongly recommend that you drop it.” A baritone voice rumbled right in your ear.

You spluttered for a moment as you were met with Namjoon over the line and not the expected manchild.

“Listen, I’m in your campus parking lot if you need a ride home.”

This statement made you gather your senses.

“I-I don’t recall asking you to come.” You bit back, startled at his sheer boldness.

He chuckled. “Yeah, because you’re obviously doing so well where you’re at right now.”

“Sometimes I can’t help but wonder who you think you are.” You said this through gritted teeth.

“Don’t worry about who I think I am and just focus on what you think I am; daddy.”

You choked on your own salavia. “I’ll drop you just like I did your brother, don’t fucking try me I swear.”

“Dropped? My brother? You must tell me more when you get in the car.” He sighed, voice as casual as someone discussing the weekend weather.

“You still have yet to tell me why I should leave with you.” You rolled your eyes while saying this. You noticed something within the brothers, they all only paid attention to what they wanted to and never what they didn’t. It was selective focus that you suspected was inherited from the breastmilk because they all had it.

“Let me break down your options. You can ignore my ride and continue your hellish day at school whilst trying to avoid crying again. You can ignore my ride and insist that you go home on your own, relying on some public transport given it’s pouring rain out here. Or you can save yourself the trouble and take a free ride home.”

Perhaps you were just too tired and drained to even muster another retort. You felt your stance slump as you released another sigh of defeat (you seemed to be doing this a lot lately),

You were a prideful person.

But you also weren’t stupid.

Why bite the hand that feeds you?

Even if that hand was attached to an insufferable and egotistical man….it was still feeding you.

“I’ll be out in a sec.”

How many unlucky events could occur within the same 24 hours?

You seemed to be the runner up for that record breaking given you just tumbled up yet another unfortunate conclusion.

Namjoon’s car was quiet except the pattering of the rain against the vehicle. You had not said a word and neither had he. Perhaps it was your stiff posture and miserable expression that told him to back off. Thankfully, it was a short ride to your dorm.

But a doomful emptiness welcomed you when you reached into your pocket for the usual key to said dorm.

It was missing.

And Kat was at school and wouldn’t be back till hours later.

Namjoon watched carefully as your face dropped and hand frantically grasp around your (empty) pocket.

“Oh no~” He whined in a fake tone of concern that barely masked his grin of delight. “Did you lose something?”

You glared at him but huffed, “I don’t have my key.”

“Whatever shall you do?” Namjoon was really bad at acting, even his dimples were on display as he tried his best to pull off looking sorry.

“I’ll wait until my roommate comes back.” It was unrealistic as Kat wouldn’t be back until much later and that’s a lot of time to spend just sitting outside your front door, but he didn’t have to know that.

“Y/n, don’t be stupid.” he chuckled and before you could reach over to open your door, you felt him pull out of the parking lot.

“Hey! What the fuck?! Stop this car right now!” You growled and watched in horror as he crruised into the main road.

“No, you’re coming to my place.”

Namjoon’s apartment was far too big for one single person.

It was yet another high-rise penthouse that was doused in expensive furniture and decor that somehow managed to be brutally pricey while also being overly minimalistic. Blacks and greys seemed be colors fond to Namjoon’s heart and you briefly got flashbacks of a certain bunny-smiled fuckboy…

Just what did the brothers have against color?

Did it come with the territory of being rich?

Were dark colors the only thing allowed in their aesthetic?

The layout of the apartment was a bit more complex than Jungkook’s home. When one entered the apartment, you were in a small corridor that eventually lead to a living area (complimented with a bar and fireplace) while next to it was an open kitchen area. You spotted a smaller hallway beside the kitchen but you didn’t bother asking what the other rooms were, though you counted three. Before one could get into the hallway, one would have to pass a staircase that lead to an upper level of the residence.

Your time of inspecting the space was cut short as Namjoon gestured for you to follow him.

He lead you up the stairs, and you noted with small surprise that the whole second floor was just his massive bedroom.

He began talking and walked around the area comfortably, lazily unclasping his rolex watch and tossing it onto one of the bedside tables.

“I have some extra sweats in the third drawer down over there. You can wear those and I’m sure you can find an extra t-shirt in the drawer above it. I have netflix and hulu and whatever the fuck you kids watch these days. Not that youtube red bullshit though.” he explained before he began pulling his tie off.

You made your way over to the drawer that he had refenced, pride being easily outweighed by the alluring comfort of over-sized sweats and a t-shirt. You spotted a doorway leading to a connected bathroom, so after you gathered the clothes you made way to dress there.

When you returned back to the bedroom, Namjoon was nowhere to be seen.

You didn’t quite care. Instead you hopped into the bed and climbed under the covers, moaning as you did so due to the cloud-like softness of the matress and the gentle threading of the expensive sheets.

You rolled over but felt the hardness of a remote halt your movement.

You grasped at the object and used it to light the giant flat screen across from the bed to life. It didn’t take long until you found a movie to entertain you.

You were about 10 minutes into Ratatouille (cheering the old hag on as she shot up some rats) when you heard weighted foot steps approach up the stairs.

Stubbornly you kept your gaze on the film, not addressing the male as he climbed into the other side of the bed with you.

“So, are you going to talk about what happened today?”

“I think I finally snapped.” You deadpanned, purposely avoiding further details.

“I’m going to take the freedom to assume that you’re meerely referencing a bad day and not a murder or something.” He rumbled, causing you to shoot him a glare.

Namjoon had a way of speaking that was amazingly condescending, yet it was not the tangible type of rude (as in the type that you could call out). It was very clever, as if he was explaining something to a child and not a grown woman, it was amicable enough to slip under the radar but the symboliminal passive aggressiveness was also evident to anyone willing to pay attention.

You huffed and flipped to your side, curling up and closing your eyes as you let the stressful weight on your eyelids win its’ battle.

“Are you going to tell me about the brother you ‘dropped’?” He pushed, not at all affected by your show of bratiness.

“Your toddler asshole brother was talking about me to his other fuck boy allies.” You informed him, eyes still closed and ignoring the sting in your heart at the foul memory.

“I’m not the one to say ‘I told you so’ but I’m pretty sure I expressed that you needed a man and not a boy.” After saying this, you felt his larger and warm form curl behind you. One of his lengthy arms circled around your waist and pulled you into his firm chest.

“I need money.” you said, strategically not favoring the ‘man’ or the ‘boy’ as it was not a relationship so much as a business transaction. You then instinctively breathed in his foriegn cologne that somehow smelled aristocratic. You found his smell to be very soothing, and very ‘Namjoon’. Is it possible for certain scents to just scream money?

“I make my own wealth while Kook has to rely on his trust fund.”

You snorted at this and allowed your body to melt into his, exhaustion being harder to keep at bay.

Silence spilled onto the bed after that, the only sound being the french music of the Ratatouille movie sounding from the high-tech speakers. The world became flooded in darkness and the only stimulation you were able to experience was the feeling of Namjoon’s nose running up and down your neck, his breath ghosting the skin and leaving goosebumps in its’ wake.

A warm glow of vulnerability blossomed from your stomach as you curled closer to Namjoon’s side, a touch starved mammal was all you could bring yourself to identify with in that moment. You didn’t quite care that cuddling was a tad too intimate for your tastes, you were far too tired and simply appreciated the protective hold he had you in. It lulled you to sleep and calmed the nerves that had been abusing you all day.

You just hoped he wouldn’t read too into it or bring it up to the others.

It would be a shame if another Jungkook situation happened again.

With that though, you fell into a deep sleep.

Dreaming of baguettes and cold hard cash.

“What the fuck do you mean he found out?”

“How should hell should I know?”

“Joon, you’re the closest to him. You can talk him out of this.”

“It’s out of my hands. Once he’s made his mind up, nothing could change it.”

These were the words you heard pull you out of your slumber.

The voices started out muffled but became more coherent as you became more aware. You pulled yourself from the dark comfort of sleep and opened your eyes to investigate the intrusive sounds.

You groggily sat up and glanced around the bedroom, only to discover it was completely empty and dark; the television no longer on and Namjoon no longer present. This meant that the voices were coming from downstairs, you could see the light from below and the sounds of pacing occuring in the living room.

You yawned and stretched before slowly getting up from the bed to lean over the railing.

Namjoon was pacing beside the wall-sized glass while three other people were sat on the enormous sofas, faces not clear due to the sky-view that only allowed you to make out the tops of their heads.

“Well, it’s not for us to decide really. Y/n would have to make up her own mind about it. We can’t force anything.”

The light-hearted and soft spoken tone was easily deduced to be Hoseok.

And at the mention of your name you decided to waltz down the steps, all too eager to involve yourself in the phantom conflict you were somehow associated with.

At your approaching figure, all their heads snapped towards you.

Seokjin, Yoongi and Hoseok all widened their eyes at the sight of you.

“What the fuck is she doing here?” Yoongi growled, glaring at Namjoon with his piercing black eyes.

“Princess, did Joon force you here or something?” Jin favored to focus on you, eyes roaming up and down your figure in search of any evidence of harm.

You shook your head in response to Jin and directed your attention to Namjoon, who was furiously shaking his head in decline to the foul implication of him trapping you here.

“Okay so...what were you guys talking about? Who found out what and how do I have anything to do with it?” You asked while casually plopping yourself between Yoongi and Hoseok, noticing the way they grimaced at the clothes you were wearing (belonging to their brother).

“Nevermind that honey. Have you eaten yet? Do you want us to uber eats you something?” Hoseok’s attempt to divert the subject matter was laughable enough to make you roll your eyes.

“I’m fine thank you. Now onto the decision I supposedly have to make.” You watched as the brothers awkwardly exchanged glances, obviously caught off guard and not knowing how to dampen your interest in the clearly sensitive issue.

“Babe why don’t you tell them about the Kook situation.” Namjoon prompted, causing the three brothers to raise eyebrows at you. You scoffed at Joon and shook your head.

“I’d rather address the ordeal you guys were talking about before I came down.”

“Yn, it’s not often that I give a shit so please don’t take my words lightly; you’re gonna wanna stay out of this shit-show.” Yoongi told you with that deep voice of his, face unusually somber in contrast to his usual aloof expression.

“Well now I have to know.” You groaned. If it was enough to make Yoongi on edge then it must’ve been a serious matter. Your interest was peaked and you couldn’t help the need to know what the fuck was going on.

“Y/n, why don’t we wait ‘til later to talk about it? We still have to tell our other brothers and figure out the details. I wouldn’t want to give you half the story.” Jin said this with a kind smile, a dazzling show that he must frequently use on women to make them bend to his wishes.

You huffed a breathless chuckle and stood up.

“Tell me now or I will walk home and never speak to any of you, I swear on everything holy!”

“Being a brat won’t get you anywhere.” Namjoon frowned, as he always did when any disobedience was shown on your side.

“How long are you going to use that threat?” Yoongi drawled.

“Guys, lets just tell her.” Hoseok pleaded with the others, always one to submit to any demands.

“Fine, but don’t force her into anything. This isn’t the only option. We could always work around this.” Jin sighed.

“Yn….our dad was informed by various employees that we had an altercation during your job interview.” Namjoon ran a hand through his hair and plastered on a look of despair (an expression that didn’t fit his powerful aura). “He has requested that he meets with all of us.”

“What does that have to do with me? Is he an evil mob boss or something?”

“.....Our dad is a very….terrifying man.” Hoseok said, face also downcast.

Yoongi took it upon himself to finish your unanswered question.

“And it includes you because he told us to bring you along.”

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years

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12 Days of Blasphemy: Day 2 - Eastern Star (Rated NC17)

Summary:

Crowley and Aziraphale both have scars - battle scars, punishment scars, scars of ownership. But now that they're free of Heaven and Hell, they only want to belong to themselves and each other. So Aziraphale comes up with a way to cover those scars, and brand them as lovers.

Notes: NSFW. Written for the '12 Days of Blasphemy' prompt 'Eastern Star'. To my knowledge, the Order of the Eastern Star are free masons. I didn't want to go that route, so I chose the interpretation 'Star of Bethlehem' from the Gospel of Matthew. And in the grand tradition of stories that ran away from me, this one is longer than expected. But meh. XD

Warning: This fic is about scars and covering them with branding. That means heat and metal, but also a quill. There's mention of self-harm but nothing in this story is gory, graphic, or explicit. But bear that in mind. Also, sexual content.

Read on AO3.

“There,” Aziraphale sighs, slowing his hips, unraveling his rhythm, settling his weight on the back of Crowley’s thighs. “All finished, my dear.”

“It’s finished? Or you’re finished?” Crowley moans into his crossed arms.

“Take a look,” his angel invites, lifting up carefully and rolling onto the bed beside him. Aziraphale looks well and thoroughly fucked out – eyelids barely staying open, limbs limp, in no hurry to cover himself, so not a care in the world. In his hand, he holds a metal plate, engraved with pictures and symbols. It’s pitch black, so cool to the touch. If that’s the case, then Crowley is right.

They’re both finished.

Crowley peeks over his shoulder and grins contentedly at the mark seared into his skin. It doesn’t burn anymore, not now that the oppressive metal plate has done its job. It never really hurt. Crowley just complained in an attempt to get sympathy from his angel in the form of praise and kisses and a longer fuck.

To be honest, the intense heat turned him on.

“How does it look?” Crowley asks. He didn’t go into this sight unseen. He saw the iron stamp when Aziraphale created it, approved of the image before they tossed it into the fireplace to heat. But Crowley craves praise. He came making love and is thoroughly satisfied.

But he’s a selfish beast. If he can finagle a little more, he’s going to take it.

“Glorious!” Aziraphale says breathlessly. “Absolutely stunning!”

“Now, are you remarking on your artistic skills, or …?”

“Possibly …” Aziraphale smirks “… but an artist is really only as good as his subject. And his tools.”

“You’re lying! No artist in the world has ever said that!”

“I’m an artist and I’m saying it,” Aziraphale pouts. “Besides, my dear, you make an exceptional canvas.”

And there it is. The praise he was longing for. Crowley bites his lower lip, rests his chin on his arms.

“I love you, you know,” he admits, looking not at Aziraphale, but at their reflection in the mirror – the two of them together, lying side by side.

“I know.” Aziraphale rolls closer, cuddles into Crowley’s side, making a silent demand for an arm around him. “Now everybody knows.”

“It wasn’t much of a secret, angel,” Crowley says, shifting on his side and obliging.

“True. But for the longest time, it was something others saw more clearly than I did.” Aziraphale takes his lover’s hands and threads their fingers together, runs a thumb down the long fingers that helped sear him as well. He winds their arms together, Crowley’s pale skin wrapped over fresh marks on Aziraphale’s arms that make up the intricately carved scales of a black serpent. “Now, that’s changed. And change is good.”

***

They come up with the idea naked in bed after making love, which is when the best ideas come. When passions cool but the need for touch remains, they start comparing scars.

So many scars.

Aziraphale has more than Crowley. Battle scars, yes, but also punishment scars - some Heaven inflicted, others self-inflicted. Crowley can’t tell the difference unless he touches them, uses his power to divine their sources.

They look so much the same.

Aziraphale could have healed them, but he left them as reminders of whom to trust, whom to love.

Whom to obey.

Crowley has similar scars, but the majority of his, he’s miracled away. He likes his human façade too much to leave it damaged and besides, he doesn’t need reminders.

He doesn’t want reminders.

Hell had their ways of reminding him daily who he is and what he’s worth. No need to wear it on his skin.

Now that he and Aziraphale are free of Heaven and Hell, he has better reminders.

Some of his scars, he’s unable to get rid of, or even cover. The power that created them was too strong - several on his back in particular, where his wings were ripped from his body when he Fell.

Those will never go away.

Aziraphale traces them with his fingertips, dancing lightly along the outlines of the ragged bruises flush against the spot where his demon wings emerge, fascinated by them the way children often explore the taboo. Or perhaps he’s imagining that this is how his own back will look soon if he continues like this.

An angel falling in love with a demon is unheard of. He’ll surely be cast down eventually … right?

Crowley chooses not to dwell on it. Instead, he shuts his eyes and absorbs his angel’s touch, surrenders to how good it feels to have him caress a part of himself that he exposes to no one. He doesn’t notice when Aziraphale’s fingers skate over his shoulders and down his arms, exploring smaller scars, lighter scars.

Scars a bit more perplexing in their origins.

“Did you … do these to yourself?” he asks so innocently that Crowley can’t conceive of lying to him.

“Yeah, well … you know … maybe,” he stammers, pushing up onto his elbows and reaching for a shirt to throw on.

To hide them.

“Why?”

Crowley’s eyes snap to Aziraphale’s arms, to the fading silver whip marks there. “I think you know why.”

“You don’t like them,” he states plainly.

“Why would I?” Crowley says, his question rhetorical, biting with shame.

“Would you object to covering them?” Aziraphale steps forward, reaches out but leaves a gap between them, offering Crowley comfort but giving him space to turn him down. “To me covering them? You could … cover mine as well.”

Crowley tilts his head, intrigued but unwilling to admit it. “And how would I do that?”

“A tattoo?”

“Tattoo on you?” Crowley shrugs. “Might fade.”

“I don’t want it to fade. That’s not the point.” Aziraphale glances around, searching for a solution amongst the items in the room. They’re in a demon’s bedroom, after all. There has to be something in here that will leave a mark.

Aside from Crowley’s bed, a small table, a large dresser, and a fireplace, there’s little else.

Aziraphale stares into the fire, watches the flames hop and swirl, listens to the popping wood, eyes the metal tools in their stand on the hearth.

For the life of him, he doesn’t know why he thinks of it, but once he does, it fills his head, strikes him as a logical solution. A wonderful idea.

Insane, but wonderful.

“You can give me a brand! A-and I’ll brand you!”

Crowley’s face pinches. “Like cattle?”

Aziraphale frowns. “No, not like cattle! Humans do it.”

“To slaves.”

Aziraphale makes a face. He’d somehow overlooked that. “Yes, but, that’s not the sort of brand I’m thinking of. Believe it or not, it was quite the trend back in the day.”

Crowley laughs, to stall more than out of amusement. “Now which day was that, angel? Because we’ve lived thousands of them.”

“I used to see young men and women come into my shop with brands all the time,” Aziraphale continues, refusing to be deterred. “Some of them were quite extraordinary.”

Crowley sighs. Aziraphale isn’t going to let this go. “Are you sure that’s something you want to do?” he asks softly, taking Aziraphale’s offered hand in his and reaching for his other. “I don’t think Heaven is going to look too kindly on you wearing a brand from a demon.” He pauses to let that sink in. Aziraphale has a tendency to act on a whim, not consider the consequences. If Crowley had a pound for every time he’s pulled Aziraphale’s neck from the gallows, he’d be a rich demon – far and away richer than he is now. If Heaven hasn’t cast Aziraphale down yet, this might be the tipping point. “You know what a brand will mean, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do,” Aziraphale says, staring purposefully into Crowley’s face as he does, “or I wouldn’t have suggested it. Oh …” Aziraphale’s eyes go wide and Crowley thinks it’s finally hit him. Saying it out loud must have done it, caused him to reconsider the severity of what he’s asking for. Now he’ll change his mind, thank Someone. And Crowley will agree because they will have dodged a bullet. A big one.

So big, he won’t even tease him over it.

Much.

“Are you afraid that other demons will think that you belong to me? In the servant sense?”

Nope. No such luck.

But oddly, Crowley discovers, he’d have been disappointed if Aziraphale had changed his mind.

“I do belong to you, angel. In all senses. And I don’t care who knows it. Mark me up all you want. But, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You can’t hurt me.”

“Yes, I can.”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes. Why does Crowley have to make everything so difficult? “No you can’t. I’ll prove it to you. Do me first.”

Disappointed or not, Crowley finds himself backing away. “I … I don’t know. That seems … wrong.”

“Wrong? How can it be wrong, my dear, if it’s what I want?”

“I don’t … I still … I mean …”

“Do this for me?” Aziraphale’s soft beg silences Crowley cold. “Please? I’ve belonged to Heaven for so long now. Don’t leave their mark on me. Replace it with one of your own.”

Aziraphale’s eyes meet Crowley’s and hold them. Crowley isn’t wearing his glasses. They’re both still naked. There are no barriers between them. Together like this, flaws exposed, scars unveiled, could be the most vulnerable they’ve been around one another.

It’s the most vulnerable they’ve been around anyone, even the sides that owned them.

And they were owned.

There’s no love lost for Crowley. He had no illusions that Hell and its demons were some sort of family to him.

But for Aziraphale …

He was kept prisoner by the hands of God Almighty Herself. She’d tasked Aziraphale to spread love to her favored creations, but how much love did She show him in return? She all but forgot about him on Earth, left Her goons to terrorize him, and yet he still fought for the greater good.

Her greater good.

Her ineffable plan.

But he’s free now.

They’re finally both free, and yet Aziraphale still wants to belong.

To him.

Crowley feels the same except in his mind, he’s always belonged to Aziraphale.

Here’s one of many chances he has to show it. By giving Aziraphale something he wants. Something no one else can give him.

Crowley nods. “Okay, angel. Okay.”

***

Marking up an angel is a tricky business.

Heaven has their methods.

So does Hell.

In both cases, they’re meant to inflict as much pain – or humiliation – as possible.

Crowley doesn’t want to hurt Aziraphale, and he definitely doesn’t want to humiliate him. He wants this to be a positive experience. A bonding experience. Sharing their scars with one another has brought them closer together.

This has the potential to bring them closer still.

Crowley doesn’t want to use a knife on Aziraphale. Or a needle. Those seem like crude instruments. Impersonal. Plus, they wouldn’t be able to handle the fire he’ll need to leave the marks he’s planning on making. He could use his fingernails, but as personal as that would be, it also seems violent. He wants a device, like a tattoo gun, or a paint brush.

Or a pen.

How about a quill?

He unfurls his wings and plucks out a single feather. His feathers are strong, and coming from a demon, a perfect vessel for fire.

Crowley lays Aziraphale out on his bed and starts with his back, covers the scars there with constellations – ones he’s created, that sparkle in the deep indigo of the night sky; and ones that were merely thoughts in his head when he was tossed away.

While he works on those, perfecting his technique, Aziraphale busies himself manipulating the iron – Crowley’s fireplace poker, may it rest in peace – that will become Crowley’s brand. He molds it with his fingers, bends it using strength and holy fire. When it’s finished, he tosses it into the fireplace to heat while Crowley moves on to his arms, etching into them scales that cross over the angel’s shoulders so it appears he’s carrying a serpent with him always, draped protectively over his arms, its tail ending on the back of his right hand and its head on his left with an apple in its mouth.

Aziraphale sees it covering his flesh without a single scar visible and he glows, overjoyed.

“How do you handle heat, my dear?” Aziraphale asks when the two switch places.

“I am a demon,” Crowley quips, stretching out on his bed like a jungle cat, beyond satisfied that he could bring his angel so much happiness, “so pretty well, I’d assume.”

Aziraphale reaches a hand into the flames and fishes out the metal plate. He barely needs to shield himself from the heat. The magic embedded in the marks Crowley gave him protect him from the fire. He grabs the plate about the edges and lifts it out. The black metal glows a fantastic red as he displays the relief to his demon. Aziraphale grins at Crowley’s resulting surprise. “We’re about to find out.”

Aziraphale zeroes in on the spot he wants to cover, but he doesn’t just set the plate on it and let that be that. He turns the process into a ritual. He takes ownership of his demon’s body while he brands him, pressing the hot metal to his shoulder while he indulges, making love to him slowly, with the longest strokes he can manage – a feat which requires every ounce of his self-control. When Crowley comes and Aziraphale is spent, what’s left on Crowley’s shoulder is a pair of angel wings surrounding a flaming sword, and above that, a star divided into nine rays of holy light - the same star that led the Magi to the manger of the infant savior. It’s a tongue-in-cheek reference, but one which, after Crowley explained it, Aziraphale adored. The Magi left their homes, their kingdoms, and followed that star in the hopes of finding Jesus Christ so that they could worship him.

Crowley would travel any distance, do whatever it took, to find and worship Aziraphale.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #12 days of blasphemy #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #frankie writes

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just-another-romantic · 4 years

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How to Date a Broken God - Chapter Two

Chapter Two: Honest Apologies and a Sparring Match

Series Summary: After too many years of pain, a mortal teaches a god how to feel again. Maybe she can learn from him.

Warnings: ngl (Y/n)’s just rude in this one, language, sad Loki, fighting

That night, Loki threw up. After (Y/n)’s confession, the god quickly excused himself from the room, and barely made it to his bathroom before puking up everything he had within the past century. He hadn’t been ill since he was a child, and here he was: knelt over on the cold tile, head in the toilet bowl and clammy hands holding on for dear life.

Last time he had been ill like this, his mother had scooped him up in her arms - despite his protests - and tucked him into her bed, pulling the silk blanket up to his chin. He tried to recall how her hands stroked his hair in comfort as he pushed a stray lock from his face.

He was sick at himself. The once vain god now looked in the mirror and hated the face that stared back at him. He hated his heritage, Odin’s lies and abuse that lasted centuries, and he hated the spiral the truth threw him into once it was unveiled. He hated Thanos with his mind control, that he was weak enough to fall into it - costing thousands of innocent lives, including that poor girl’s parents.

Loki let out an audible groan of anguish, his head dropping lay on his land clutched to the toilet bowl. He hated her...well, not exactly. He hated how his heart twisted at the mere mention of her name. How his heart burst at the melody of her voice or, Odin forbid, her laugh. How she was not a normal mortal, that she stood her ground and held a knife to his neck the second he dared test her. He hated that in every aspect, (Y/n) was what Loki wanted in a lover.

She could never love you, he remembered. You’re a murderer, a cold-blooded killer. A monster, like the world...like your own father and brother think of you. Who would ever want to hold your crimson-stained hands?

Shakily, the unbreakable god stood up from the bathroom floor, quick to splash water in his face in attempt to refresh himself. He looked into the mirror and a monster looked back at him. If asked, he would deny it, but that night Loki fell asleep with tears running down his cheeks.

The morning wasn’t any better. An awkward heavy air still lingered above the Avenger’s heads, leftover from last night. Loki entered the kitchen nook of the floor around seven, grey sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips and maroon t-shirt contrasting against his pale complexion. The golden rays of the still-rising sun fled into the room, enveloping the god in what one could only describe as a halo. Of course, Loki was tired and disoriented from sleep; the only thing he felt like was disheveled. No one noticed the beauty of the waking deity, no one except (Y/n), who promptly choked on her hot coffee.

Bucky was laid out on the sofa, the morning news drowning out his soft snores. James Rhodes sat at the dining table, a book in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Sat on the ground by the television, Peter started on a new Lego set of the Avengers Tower, mumbling about the minor mistakes there were in the tiny architecture. Loki was worried he’d convince Pepper to sue the company.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Sam called from the barstool, cup of coffee in hand. His eyes traveled from Loki, to Wanda and the pans of scrambled and fried eggs and the pot of boiled eggs, then the pile of bacon next to her. “I hope you like eggs. Don’t really know what you guys eat on different planets.”

Loki stifled a yawn. “I’ll get myself a bagel. But, Birdbrain, yes, we have eggs on Asgard. I just don't eat them.”

“Oh my god is he vegan?” came Peter’s small voice.

Loki chose not to respond to that question and only walked into the kitchen in search of the toasters. He found them pretty quickly, (Y/n)’s small form serving as a landmark. She looked snug and smug, giving Loki the once over as she sipped her coffee, her feet dangling from where she sat on the counter. She looked innocent enough, cozy and clad in sweatpants and an oversized Star Wars shirt, and though she was barefooted, Loki had no doubt she was hiding another dagger somewhere.

“Good morning,” she chirped sweetly. “Don’t worry, I don’t have another dagger on me.”

Well, there’s one question answered. He gave her a smile in greeting. There was a bit of a pause before she raised her eyebrows as in ‘Aren’t you getting something?’ to which Loki quickly grabbed the bagels from the breadbasket.

After putting the two slices into the rack, he found himself suddenly interested in his cuticles, while it had been a bad habit he picked up when he was only a child- that constantly got him ratted out by his mother for it. The once suave god that had women falling at his feet lost his tongue in the presence of a mortal girl. “(Y/n)-”he began, before getting cut off.

“Don’t. I know what you’re gonna say.” He gave her an inquisitive look, to which she only rolled her eyes. “The air’s still heavy from last night.”

Loki felt his cheeks heat up. “(Y/n)...I give you my sincerest apology. And I’m well aware that a simple ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t even close enough to covering it.”

She shrugged. “I loved them. Still do, with every ounce of myself. My parent’s were my best friends. But you know what they always taught me?” Her burning stare locked with his. “That there’s two sides to every story, and even the monster thinks he’s the hero.”

Her voiced echoed monster in his ears and left an impact in his gut. “I’m sorry darling but I’m not seeing your stance on this...are you offering forgiveness?” His mouth dried up and he found himself unable to speak more than one sentence. He couldn’t even think.

(Y/n) scoffed, swinging down from her perch on the marble. “Oh no. Not even close.” She stepped uncomfortably close and Loki was intimidated, though she barely came up to his nose. “No. I hate you,” she seethed.

His stomach rolled in his belly at the venom in her voice, the words she spewed stinging like hellfire.

“But I will never wish you bad intentions. Like they always say, ‘keep your friends close but your enemies closer’.” She flashed him an innocent smile, the façade immediately building back up. “We’re teammates, we have to at least tolerate each other.” Tolerate. Enemy. “And for the record, don’t call me ‘darling’, darling.”

Loki gulped, feeling as though his throat had filled with cement, stepped down from his stance with her, and quickly grabbed his food before retreating to his room without another word.

Throughout the entirety of (Y/n)’s accusations, the newest Agent's voice had grown tremendously in volume, drawing the attention of the rest of the room’s occupants. There was a sweet moment of silence and (Y/n) turned to enjoy her coffee in peace, but Sam was too blunt for a Saturday morning.

“Don’t you think that was a bit...I dunno...harsh?”

“If it was, I don’t care.”

“You should,” said Bucky from the coach, his face stony and serious. “It’s how the whole Civil War ordeal started.”

“That’s completely different,” she snapped. “They had their reasons, Stark was being ignorant to the truth, as always it seems-”

Coronel Rhodes’ voice boomed through the kitchen, “Hey!”

(Y/n)’s head turned as the silence fell over the room. Rhodey’s eyes narrowed in on her. “I suggest you watch yourself, little lady,” he said. “You are the new comer, you have absolutely no right to waltz in and talk bad about the man who saved the universe, saving your ass as well.”

“Loki killed my mother in cold blood! My brother! My sisters and my father! And I had to watch!”

“Stark’s weapons killed my family, sweets,” spoke Wanda, seemingly appearing out of thin air. Her slender fingers interwove with the agent’s own, soothing and warm. “And I forgave him. In a matter of weeks.”

“He had no control of who used his weapons, Wandie.”

“I killed his parents,” mentioned Bucky. “He forgave me.”

“You were brainwashed!”

Rhodey leaned against the counter, arms crossing and face stern. “Loki was too.”

Agent (Y/L/n) felt her heart drop at a sickening speed. “He was...what?”

“It was all a part of Thano’s mastermind plan or some bullshit,” explained the Falcon. “He sent people to collect all of the infinity stones, but that ended up going south and he took it into his own hands. One of them being Loki.” Sam’s brown eyes fell to the ground in a silence, and the extremity of the situation hit the girl like a truck. “He found him, floating out there in the depths of the universe, took him, and convinced him to go on a killing spree. Basically.”

(Y/n)’s mind was going a million miles an hour and everyone in the room could practically see the wheels turning in her head. All the blame, all of the hurt, she had cast onto the wrong man. Her voice was shaky and breaking, “So...my parent’s death was - was that raisin’s doing?”

“Thanos killed millions before the Blip,” said Bucky gently.

Tears pricked at her eyes. “Jesus, I really am an asshole, aren’t I?”

Rhodey laughed, clapping a hand on her shoulder. “You have a few things to learn before we put you on the field, that’s for sure. Gotta control those anger issues, but I think we can whip you into shape pretty quick.

------------

And boy, did they whip her alright.

Hesitantly, (Y/n) agreed to beginning her training early on Sunday, instead of waiting for the work week to start. First, it was a three-mile run with Sam and Bucky around the compound at the crack of dawn, nothing she hadn’t done before or couldn’t handle. After breakfast, there was weights with Rhodey, then yoga with Wanda. Thankfully, she caught a break with Banner in the lab in between sessions, talking about the design of her new suit and how the tech that she didn’t understand would work. Now, she laid flat on her back, thrown for the fifth time in a round of sparring with Bucky.

“C’mon doll,” he taunted in his Brooklyn drawl, “get your butt up. Or do you need help? Do I need to phone 911?”

“For an old man, you sure do know how to talk shit, Granny.”

His black brow quirked in amusement. “That was the best you could come up with?”

Shakily, the agent denied the hand he offered and pushed herself up again, resuming the fighting stance. “I’ll work on it.”

The brunette supersoldier smiled at her, wiping the minimal sweat off himself with a towel. “Don’t worry, doll. I’m giving ya someone that’s more so your size this round.” He called off behind his shoulder and low and behold, Loki took his place on the mat, looking unpleased.

The first thing he said was the simple, “I didn’t sign up for this.”

“I doubt you would,” she replied, masking her nerves with a stern voice. She shot a glare at Bucky, who sat off to the side with a grin that could beat the Chesire Cat’s. “’I’m pairing you with someone more your size,’ he said! ‘It’ll be fun,’ he said! Bullshit, Buchanan!”

“He’s your size!”

“He’s a god!” (Y/n) looked the mischief maker up and down. He was scrawnier than his blond brother, but his stance and build clearly stated he’d be a difficult opponent. He stood a good half-a-foot above her head, and she doubted her own strength could outmatch his.

“If you haven’t noticed,” Barnes began matter-of-factly, “Loki isn’t built the same as Thor. He’s less jacked and smaller.” Loki’s muttering was heard but disregarded. “However, he’s still one of the strongest of the universe.”

“Then why the hell are you putting me with him if he could squash me between his fingers? I’m human.”

“Yesterday morning, you seemed to be out for his blood, I’m giving you what you wanted.”

Heated shame crept up (Y/n)’s chest and face and Loki’s smirk rendered her speechless.

Bucky ignored her redness, continuing, “He uses his brain, his cunning, his agility, and his speed. Along with his magic, he become’s a dealy combination. You could learn a lot from him, which is exactly why I’m pairing you with him. But for a fair fight, no magic.”

“You’re no fun, Sargent,” the god complained.

“Unless (Y/n) has a trick up her sleeve, no magic.”

Loki looked at her with hopeful eyes, to which she only shrugged. “I only know party tricks. Sorry.”

The mix-matched pair stepped onto the mat, both hesitant. The moment Bucky’s voice rang “Start!” throughout the room, (Y/n) swung a punch, that was quickly deflected and brought behind her back. His body pressed against hers, heat and electricity in-between the two bodies. The agent writhed, brining her elbow hard into this side, then looping her legs around his own.

“That’s it, (Y/n)!” Bucky praised, and (Y/n)’s face flushed under the compliment and the god’s mighty stare. The applause fueling her, she had Loki down a moment later, sitting on his upper thighs, her own straddling his waist. His arms were pinned helplessly against the floor; she smirked.

Loki’s eyes were blown wide, breath heavy, but he smiled back. “You okay there, Silvertongue?” (Y/n) cooed sweetly. She had won.

“Loki,” Bucky called from behind the ropes, “quit holding back!” and the agent’s blood ran cold.

Instantly, her back slapped against the mat, the positions now reversed. Pinned, despite how hard she struggled and fought against his strength. Loki’s eyes locked with hers and her breath caught in the base of her throat, mouth running dry.

“Never better, petal,” the god answered, whisper of breath crossing her face. The heat left her body as he got up, grabbed his duffle bag, and exited the gym.

(Y/n) sat on the floor, heaving and images of the bluest eyes flashing through her mind.

AUTHORS NOTE

Holy shit. The first month of 2020 has been kicking my ass. Lord help us all. I’m so sorry for the wait, guys. I hope I can make it up to yall.

TAGLIST

@cosmic-souls-and-stardust @rinthehufflepuff @electroma89 @madshelily @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @acf2510 @daddylouislittle @fanartdom @iam-a-painted-whore

#loki #Loki Laufeyson #loki fanfic #Loki Angst #loki odinson #loki marvel #loki fanfiction #loki headcanon #loki drabble #loki fluff #Avengers #avengers endgame #endgame spoiler alert

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walkerduchess · 4 years

Text

A Game of Hearts - Chapter Eleven: Exposed (The Royal Romance AU)

Pairing: Drake x MC [Liam x MC]

Notes: A fact that some may find important: this series will be finished. It is completely outlined since before I posted the prologue. I know what happens in every chapter, I’m just too insecure to put a number here and near the end I realize I’ll need another chapter (it’s probably going to be 20 + epilogue), and I’m a slow writer. But I’m finishing this even if I’m the only one reading lol

I do not own these characters, they belong to Pixelberry.

Summary: Elia tries her best to make Drake change his mind and let her complete her mission. They make a shocking discovery in the end. Heavy explaining here (I believe things are made clearer but if you have doubts don’t hesitate in asking)

Word Count: 4928

Tagging: (if you want in or out the list just let me know) @confessionsofabrokegirl, @museofbooks, @stopforamoment, @annekebbphotography, @queenodysseia, @drakewalkerisreal, @twinkle-320, @i-bloody-love-drake-walker

Chapter Eleven: Exposed

“I can’t do that, Drake,” Elia’s words are calm, but inside her chest her heart is beating fast and strong like men marching into battle.

She holds both her hands up in an attempt to diminish Drake’s hostility. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Jonah taking a couple of steps closer to her again, but this time she lets him, after all, he’s probably thinking the same as her - can they both beat Drake in a sword fight?

Probably not. And, even if they could, Elia is not sure she wishes to hurt him. No, she doesn’t want anyone to be hurt.

“I’m not asking, princess,” the man spits out her title as if it tastes bad in his mouth.

It stings to hear it as well. “Don’t call me that,” she murmurs, yet it’s loud enough for Drake to hear it.

He chuckles, and it’s marked by so much cynicism that Elia is sure could bring tears to her eyes if not for the occasion demanding all of her heedfulness. “Why not? It is who you are, is it not?”

It is, but hearing it from Drake felt like being slapped in the face, and she doesn’t really know why. It could be the look in his eyes - a look he has never given her before. Despise. Does he hate her because she is the Princess, or because she is the Builder? Or is it because she kept it from him? She decides she doesn’t really want to find out.

She gathers up her strength once again, staring defiantly into his eyes. “You don’t get to say who I am.”

Before anyone can add more to the conversation, she feels something hard touching her hand and, when she looks down, she notices Jonah has reached her and is handing her her own sword. Despite taking it, Elia is quickly to say, “No, Jonah.”

“What should we do, then?” The boy’s eyes are determined, and so loyal.

She switches the sword to her other hand and loops her arms around Jonah’s neck, doing her best to give him a confident smile, even though it comes out weak.

“At least you have some good sense.” Drake, who has been watching them both intently, remarks sarcastically. “Come willingly now, and we can all discuss matters in a more civilized way back home.”

His tone makes her blood boil and for a moment she does want to fight him, if possible hitting him right in the face. Except she knows she can’t.

“We’ll go.” She says, closing the matter at last. She can’t fight him right now but she can try and escape him later. It’s a long way back and she can come up with another plan to keep on with the mission.

Even if they went willingly, Drake still made sure to tie all of their wrists - hers and the kids’ -, not even flinching before the look of betrayal in Elliot’s eyes. Elia is sure Jonah feels the same, he looked up to Drake in his own restrained way after all, but he wouldn’t show it. She tried to protest about it but Drake wouldn’t listen to her. Hell, he wouldn’t even look at her.

So, she manages to stay quiet during the whole afternoon of disgracefully walking in the direction they came from, while tied up to Drake’s waist. Even Elliot is quiet, and he never is.

It is when Drake changes directions a bit and starts taking them out of the woods sooner than she expected that she finally speaks again, “Where are we going?”

He doesn’t bother turning around or slowing down to reply, “Home still, but we can take the faster route now.”

“You mean the more dangerous route.” The princess presses him further, annoyed at his attitude.

He surprises her then, turning around and moving closer to look into her eyes. Inside his, only cold irritation stares back at her. “You’re probably used to boss people around, princess, but for now I’m calling the shots. And I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

It’s infuriating and she huffs a breath, holding back from giving a likewise answer. It would be a never ending cycle.

When night falls they finally stop to eat and sleep in an abandoned building. This one is very large and has some old and ruined cars inside. Drake settles their bags and weapons against a large pillar and brings them to sit beside a wrecked and dusty car. The princess gets a good look of it and notices the car is missing most of its doors and seats. It’s more a skeleton of what was once a car, really.

But she doesn’t get to dwell much on the thought of it, for Drake begins untying them from his waist and tying them to the car’s wheel instead, through the missing front door.

“Really?” Elia asks accusingly.

Drake raises his eyebrows at her, “can you blame me for not trusting you?” And then he walks away, to see about their food.

The princess tests the ropes tying her wrists together and the ones tying her to the car when she thinks Drake isn’t looking. Shit, he knows his knots. Refusing to give in to panic, Elia tries to think of a plan different from escaping during the night.

Well, if she can’t escape… the only other option is to convince Drake to let her go. Escaping seems easier, she thinks.

She waits until the kids are asleep. After they had eaten, Drake brought blankets for them and made sure the ropes were long enough for them to lie down as comfortable as possible. Now he’s sitting in the ground, his back resting against the nearest wall, his eyes unfocused as though he is deep in thought. The small fire beside them the only source of light apart from the modest one the moon and stars cast on them from the windows of the building.

“Drake?” Elia’s voice is low and tentative. She doesn’t really know if he’ll answer or ignore her completely.

Slowly, he turns his head down to her, giving an annoyed sigh. “What?”

She knows she has to approach him carefully. As much as she’d like to snap at him, she forces herself to remember she means to lure him to her side. There is no place for her pride here.

“Please,” she begs, “let me tell you the plan.”

“Why?” He narrows his eyes, “why would you share your precious plan to your enemy, the very one who’s keeping you captive?”

Great, he doesn’t believe her. Of course he doesn’t. The princess closes her eyes and takes some deep breaths. “Because you’re not my enemy.” At his incredulous glare, she adds, “and what have I got to lose now?” She raises her tied hands, as to show him her point.

“Fine,” he concedes, yet without showing any sign of openness. Not that she expected it, anyway.

Elia moves to sit straighter and a little bit closer to him, though her binds doesn’t leave her much room for it. “That device,” she motions to her bag with her head, “is what’s going to fix the Cordonia problem.”

“Which is…?”

Drake’s got a bored look in his face, and this time the princess can’t suppress her annoyance. “Really?” She asks, eyes narrowed.

She’s tired, physically from the whole day of walking, and mentally from worrying about getting back on track. Having to deal with Drake’s dismissiveness is exhausting, and she has probably said the wrong thing, because before she can even notice it, his eyes change from apathetic to furious, and that fire in them that she has come to know this morning is back again.

“Yes, really, your highness,” he gets up, and walks towards her, addressing her with the same disdain from before, “I would like to know which Cordonia problem you’re referring to.” He makes a show of pretending to be thinking before continuing, “is it the fact that the Crown Princess is missing weeks before her coronation? Is it that said princess is actually a traitor supplying weapons for the enemy kingdom? Or maybe it’s the fact that the princess is actively on a trip to the south with new machinery and a new plan to, I don’t know, destroy Cordonia once and for all?”

Elia doesn’t remember ever feeling so small as she feels right now. But she has to go through with it, so she swallows any tear threatening to spill and forces the words out of her lungs.

“Drake I… I have made many mistakes,” she speaks calmly, “and I regret them.”

She dares a glance at the man. He’s frowning at her, probably not believing her, but at least she has his attention.

“When I found out about… what happens in the undercroft,” she can’t even use words to describe, such was the horror of what she’d seen and what still haunts her, “I sort of flipped out. I truly could only see one way of righting this wrong. That is the north had to lose. I thought that’s what we deserved.”

“So you became the Builder.” Drake’s voice startles her. When she looks up at him his face is impassive and he moves to sit back down.

“Yes,” she continues, “until a friend from the past made me see things clearly.” Her eyes lit up and she manages a small smile when she remembers Drake knows her too. “Hana!”

He knits his eyebrows for a moment, and after a few seconds realization dawns upon him. “Oh! She hasn’t been around since…”

“Since we were kids, yeah.” She finishes for him and Drake nods. It doesn’t escape Elia how easier the conversation is flowing. She’s almost afraid that at any moment he’ll remember he hates her. However, she continues, “her family took her to the south. Her abilities and her dependability were so high she became a spy for the queen herself.”

Glancing at Drake, the fire casts dancing shadows across his face, and Elia cannot tell whether he’s concerned or impressed. Maybe both.

“Despite working for the South, she had plans of her own. She wants to stop the war. So she found me and we concocted a plan.”

“This thing,” he half-asks, half-affirms, motioning to her bag.

“Yes.”

“You said it can clean the water,” Drake begins, and Elia is astonished he was paying attention, but she doesn’t remark it in case it puts him off, “can you show me?”

Her eyes go as wide as can be. He was actually asking her to show him, not ordering it. She tells herself the elation it causes her is solely because it means she is somewhat closer to getting him to her side, not because of… any other feelings she might have.

“Yes, I--” she cuts her reply short upon realizing her hands are still tied, glancing down at them and frowning.

Elia sees movement out of the corner of her eye and turns to see Drake getting up and walking towards her. She can only observe attentively as he crouches next to her, holding what looks like a small dagger in the dim light. He takes her hands in his free one and she tenses for her skin is red and sensitive where the ropes had been grazing all day. However, his touch is unexpectedly gentle.

Drake cuts at the knot between her wrists and a wave of relief washes over the princess, when she can finally move her arms and hands freely.

The man stands abruptly, and when she looks up at him, his expression is hard. His eyes are narrowed at her, but he hesitantly offers a hand. Speechless, Elia takes it, using it as leverage to prop herself up quietly so not to wake up the children.

“Let’s get to it, then.” Drake brings them both to where the big bag is settled, and they manage to get the device out.

Though the lighting inside the building is less than ideal, Elia succeeds in showing him all the pieces while explaining how they worked. Despite being drained from the whole day, doing this gives the princess a newfound energy. She is in her own element here, and it only helps that Drake pays attention to every detail. If he’s not interested in it, he can sure fake it. The tiredness seems to have gone from him as well, and he asks questions, and looks at the Device and listens to her story as if it was fascinating - not that it isn’t really.

Elia is even a little proud of it, of her creation. Obviously the great breakthrough to this solution had not come from her, but from Hana - she was the one who’s been in the south, after all, to see just how the sunlight hits the water there, and how different it was from the way it happens in the north. She has been the one to look further into it before even finding the princess and sharing her knowledge so they started researching together.

She holds nothing back, not even the technicalities of recreating the perfect focus for the light to hit the water in a way that can almost completely erase the toxins, leaving a minimum - and most importantly, safe - amount of it. Drake can’t possibly understand it all, but he listens attentively to the entirety of it, nodding from time to time to let her know he is following.

“That’s it,” Elia concludes, after what felt like a lifetime. “That way, no one has to be hurt anymore.”

“Very well,” Drake replies, apparently lost in his own thoughts.

The princess studies him carefully. He says nothing, only paces around, and she can’t even begin to guess what’s on his mind. She’s beginning to feel sleepy again, so she doesn’t hold back a yawn, rubbing her hands in her face shortly after to prevent herself from falling asleep while standing right there.

Next thing she knows, Drake is standing right in front of her, a completely unreadable expression on his face while he looks down at her. Elia is about to ask what he is thinking when the touch of his hands on hers silence her. She gasps silently. What is he doing? She’s suddenly aware of her heartbeats growing faster, for which she blames her apprehension.

He brings her hands closer, between them, and the only thing she can do is stare back at him. It all changes in one second though, and Elia sees the sudden shift in his eyes, the way they unfocus in an almost sad look, right before she feels the ropes against her wrists again.

“What are you doing?” She moves to pull her hands back instinctively, but apparently not fast enough. They’re already tied in the ropes again, and Drake’s strong grip on it doesn’t even falter.

“What does it look like?” He asks as he pulls her back towards the car and where the children are sleeping.

“But I thought--”

“What, that I would leave you to resume this mission?” He snarls at her. His eyes are cold again, in contrast to how they were when she was explaining the Device to him.

He tries to push her down to sit next to the kids again, but she holds her ground with the last of her strength. “Yes, Drake. You know it’s a solid plan. The only one.”

“I know nothing!” He practically shouts, since the building is so silent. “I only know what you tell me, Elia!” He throws his hands up in frustration, one of them still gripping the rope she’s tied with. “If this is the solution, why isn’t it back in Cordonia? Why are you taking this to the enemy?”

“If you’d only let me explain before jumping into conclusions and restraining me you would know!” The princess retorts, her voice rising to the same volume as his, which caused Jonah and Nora to wake up, stirring in the blankets before sitting up to look at the commotion.

“What’s going on?” Nora asks, a little scared. Elia takes a few breaths, calming herself.

“Nothing.” Drake answers, this time managing to push the princess down on the blankets and quickly tying her to the wheel of the car.

Despite being furious, Elia mutters some assurance words to the kids and it doesn’t take long before she doses off to sleep.

They wake up and eat next morning in a heavy silence. Sometimes they can hear Elliot’s voice talking to Nora or Jonah, but even that isn’t much. Eating with your hands tied is the opposite of pleasurable, and Elia is doing her best not to make any snarky comment, but it does get easier each time.

Once they’re back on their feet, she considers her possibilities. She can still try to escape, after all, there’s still a couple of weeks until they reach home. But then she’d have to count on her luck, and she can’t afford that. She has to do something now. She can’t give up.

“You asked why I’m taking the Device to the South,” she approaches Drake hesitantly.

He only grants her a side glance. The princess sighs and takes it as a cue to keep talking.

“As I said, Hana became a spy to Queen Madeleine. She knows her. And she knows Madeline will never surrender. She’s too proud. And honestly, it makes sense for her to want some payback for her people,” Elia says with a shrug. “Even if we clean our water and stop the war, she won’t stop.”

When she stops talking, she realizes how calm she is. Drake has a way of listening that is actually reassuring. Maybe that’s why Liam told him so much too.

“If I’m correct,” he begins, seemingly choosing his words, “we can easily win the war if you’re not… helping the other side.” His comment doesn’t sound bitter though, not like the previous times. It almost sounds careful.

“Yes, we would win. But the thing is, Drake, me and Hana are not the traitors you think.” She decides she can give him a little scolding too. “We really mean to save everyone, and that includes the south and some of our men who would become casualties if we fight this war to the end.”

He finally looks at her, his eyebrows shot up, and he gazes at her for long enough that she starts to feel a little self-conscious.

After a moment, he shifts his focus back to their path ahead and asks, “And what good will it do to hand over our salvation to Queen Madeleine herself?”

“That way she is the one who gets to ask for our surrender in exchange for the technology. She’ll come out on top, she can’t possibly refuse it.”

“That doesn’t make much sense.” Drake replies.

“So what, you think I made that up?” Elia is decidedly annoyed now. “I didn’t have to tell you who I am, Drake. I chose to.”

Drake’s jaw clenches. “Well, your wrong choices are not my problem.”

The princess stops in a halt, forcing Drake and the kids behind them stop too. She glares at him, “so you think I shouldn’t have told you?”

“No,” he seems like he’s losing his patience too, and he pulls on the rope tied to her wrists to get her to resume walking again, “it doesn’t matter. What did you expect me to do? I don’t have a choice other than take you back.”

Elia takes a moment to breathe and calm herself before speaking again. Why does he have to be so one-sighted? “You always have a choice, Drake.”

He chuckles sarcastically, “again with that. You’re wrong, princess. We don’t have a choice.”

It doesn’t slip past her that he’s talking about both of them. She huffs. Drake can be so frustratingly stubborn that she swears it nearly kills her.

“I don’t understand. Why did Liam send you?” She asks, more to herself than to Drake, feeling already drained.

He answers, nonetheless, “he didn’t have to send me. I knew what I had to do.”

“So you came on your own?”

“Yes!” He answers, matter-of-factly.

She swipes her face with her tied hands. Of course. “What did he even say?”

Drake scoffs. “He’s my best friend and his girl was kidnapped. He didn’t need to say anything. What is wrong with you?”

Elia really, really wants to punch something. Preferably Drake. “Well I’m sorry to inform you but, despite your good intentions, your whole mission here was worthless.” She turns her whole body to the side, facing him. She can bet she shows some teeth too.

“What?” He scrunches up his whole face.

She sighs, “Liam knew I wasn’t kidnapped! He was the only one who knew, in fact.”

At first, Drake’s eyes get as wide as they can be, and he opens his mouth a little, staring at her. Then, he finally mumbles some words. “No… no, he… he would’ve told me.”

Elia is confused as well, since apparently Liam tells his best friend everything.

He notices her confused face and asks, “he knew you were leaving?”

“Not really, I… I went to see him right before I left. To… say goodbye.” Her voice is small as she finishes the sentence, the memories of Liam’s eyes, conveying how broken his heart was, filling her with guilt.

“Why wouldn’t he tell me?”

Then she remembers… “because I asked him not to.” Liam had every reason not to, but still he chose to respect her wish. She doesn’t hold back a small, sad smile. He’s that good.

Drake’s face changes from confusion to recognition. He doesn’t even need to believe her, he knows his friend well enough to be sure that’s exactly what the prince would do if someone he holds dear asks anything of him. Especially the woman he loves.

Drake stays quiet for a moment, his eyes unfocused. After a while, Elia thinks she must say something, or check if everything’s alright. But before she can ask, he suddenly turns and strides further along down their path, forcing a sudden pull on everyone along with him.

Elia and the kids struggle to catch up, and she begins to protest, “Drake, slow down!” What has gotten into him?

Instead of slowing down, he comes to an abrupt halt, causing Elliot to collide with the princess waist.

“Ow!” The youngest grimaces.

“Drake!” Elia calls him out again while he has his back to her.

At last, he turns around, looking like he’s living in a whole other world. “Fine,” he declares, “we’ll go south.”

“What?” The princess is left bewildered. Is he saying what she thinks he is saying?

“We’ll finish this mission of yours and then I take you home.”

She searches his face for any sort of prank, but his gaze is decided. “You’re coming along?” She can’t help but to be a little stunned still.

“Of course,” Drake replies, reaching inside his pocket and taking out the small dagger from before. “Can’t let any harm come to the promised princess.”

As he cuts the ropes tying the children’s wrists, finally setting them free, she feels her spirits lighting up again. When he steps in front of her to cut hers, she looks up at him, not caring to hide a smug grin that settled in her face.

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself, now.”

They spend practically the whole day making their way back to the woods, where it’s safer to travel. Elliot has definitely gone back to his usual energetic and talkative self, which not only automatically makes the ambiance lighter but also makes Drake smile more often, which in turn makes Elia pleased. She doesn’t really cares to find out why. She supposes if they’re all on the same mindset it’s more likely they’ll complete the mission with no further trouble. Nora seems content too, so the princess only has to worry about Jonah.

He’s quieter than normal, and it was especially bothersome when they’d stopped in an abandoned cabin for the day after the sun began to set and he declined Drake’s invitation for some sparring practice. Jonah never says no to that.

The cabin is cramped, with one main room and two smaller ones in the back. Drake is still outside enjoying the last of sunlight, having ditched his sword practice for playing with Nora and Elliot - the three of them properly warned by the princess they should be inside before it’s completely dark. Despite the cabin being located in what one would call the top of the (small) hill, they’re still in a disconcertingly open field area.

Elia decides then she should check in on Jonah. She finds him sitting alone in one of the smaller rooms, eating an apple. He doesn’t even spare her a proper look when she enters, a frown stuck on his face as he takes a bite of the fruit.

“Is it any good still?” She asks, while she moves to sit beside him.

“Not at all,” he mutters, seemingly annoyed.

Apparently she won’t warm him up with small talk, so she goes directly to the subject, “hey, what is wrong?”

He only gives her a side glance, “nothing.”

“Jonah, you can talk to me.” Despite the boy never being much of a conversationalist, she always felt like they could be truly open with each other.

“I’m fine,” he insists.

Elia wants to keep pressing him, but she knows it might do more harm than good. When he wants to talk to her, he will.

“Okay,” she stands up, “I’ll go make Drake and the children come inside before we’re in trouble.”

However, as she turns to leave, Jonah speaks up, “so you’re gonna keep treating him like you’re best friends again and ignore everything he’s done?” He makes the accusing tone in his voice very clear.

So that’s what it is about. She takes a deep breath while turning back to him, choosing her words carefully. “Look, I’m not ignoring what happened.”

Jonah rolls his eyes and glares at her. Is this a teenager thing? Is it gonna be like this now?

Despite her annoyance, she continues, “it felt like a betrayal for me too.”

She sees the boy’s lips press together. So she got to the core of it. Jonah was really forming some sort of bond with Drake, and then he treated them like prisoners.

“But he did what he thought was right with the information he got, even though I didn’t like how he did it.”

“And now that he’s changed his mind you can just forgive him?”

“I can’t hold people accountable for their past mistakes, not when they mean well, and certainly not after they recognize it and try to fix them.” Elia gives him a sad smile. “Not when my mistakes are so much bigger.”

Jonah’s eyes widen, yet he stays silent.

After a while of silence, she leaves for the main room, to find Drake and Nora attempting to light up a fireplace, one of the only things that remain intact - though as dirty as can be - inside the cabin.

She smiles at the sight, but it only lasts for a couple of seconds, before Elliot shouts from where he’s kneeling in a ragged settee, looking out of the front window, “Someone’s coming!”

The princess and Drake rush to look outside, where five men, wearing uniforms that undoubtedly indicate they’re southern soldiers, and heavily armed, walk around another man, taller and in a much nicer and cleaner uniform. They’re following the marked path on the field just outside the cabin.

“Shit,” Drake lets out, grabbing Elliot swiftly from the settee and putting him down on the ground. They all crouch to hide from the window as the men’s voices become louder.

After a moment, the voices wind down. Elia and Drake move so that only a part of their heads is in front of the window and they can see the men walking away. Finally she can take a better look on the taller man. He has blond hair and is the one doing most of the talking, gesturing to the others as though he’s giving them orders. There’s something familiar about him… she searches her mind for a couple of seconds and then it hits her.

Her eyes open wide and she turns to Drake, only to find him scowling at the fading sight of the group of men. His hand is gripping the window railing a little too firmly. That means she isn’t crazy and that figure giving orders to the soldiers from the South is really the person she remember it is. She only saw him in few occasions and she was young the last time. But not too young, probably around fifteen years old, she calculates.

“That was--” the princess says, still a little appalled, before Drake finishes the sentence for her.

“Leo.”

Elia looks at him, his anger somewhat more evident. She doesn’t have to ask to know how he feels about traitors. He held her at a sword’s point upon learning that she - his friend, even if from years before - was a traitor too.

“All those rumours… and Liam always defended him… he didn’t, he doesn’t…” Drake doesn’t seem able to finish a sentence.

Elia can only place a hand on his arm and give him an empathetic look. The world is disrupted in every way, and that’s why she has to keep going, to put an end to it.

#the royal romance #choices fanfiction #choices trr #playchoices #drake x mc #trr #post-apocalyptic au #long post #fanfiction #trr drake #trr leo #drake walker #pixelberry choices #choices fandom #trr au #a game of hearts #trr fanfic #choices #princess sapphire

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jinterlude · 5 years

Text

Two Faced (Final Chapter)

↳ gif header is made by © @softjeon. Please don’t try and steal it and make it your own.

➵ Pairing(s): Gang!Jungkook x Female!OC & Gang!Mark Lee x Female!OC x Gang!Seokjin

➵ Genre(s): College!AU, Mafia/Gang!AU, Angst, Romance, Friendship, Humor, Love Triangle & Slight-Fluff

➵ Warning(s) + Rating: major character death / violence / guns / attempted sexual violence/assault / blood / gore / swearing | Rated M

➵ Words: 8.9K

➵ Co-writer: @softjeon

➵ Summary: Two girls. Two gangs. One craved absolute control over the city of Seoul. While, the other simply craved sleep and good grades. Now, what do these two ladies have in common? Simple. They have nothing in common—or so they think. Everyone knows the saying, “never judge a book by its cover”, so maybe there is something more to these two than meets the eye…especially when one of them is suddenly thrown into the underground life. Loyalties will be tested. Romance will blossom. Yup. Sounds like an average college day…

« Previously | Next Time »

Final Chapter - Only One Shot

Sumin continued to struggle, desperate to fight off the person’s hard grip. She shouted a few profanities, calling the unknown person every name in the book. The others were made up on the spot.

“Wait, it’s me!” She heard the strong bodied figure yell. Though, she didn’t let up. If she did, then she would be taken to Mark, and that’s something she didn't want. She’d rather die than go back to him.

“Princess! It’s okay! It’s me!” shouted the person, releasing the squirming Sumin and unveiling his true self.

His eyes penetrated hers, hoping that she’d recognize him.

Sumin eyed the person strangely, believing that her mind played tricks on her. She had hallucinated before, missing not only Seokjin, but the other members of Bangtan as well. Shit. She’d even missed Jungkook, and he pissed her off to the point of using him as target practice—without his permission.

The person cautiously walked up to Sumin, careful of her body language and ready to protect his body in case she wanted to attack. Step after step, he closed the gap between their bodies until he was able to place a warm hand on her shoulder.

“How’s my princess doing?” He softly asked, smiling warmly at the woman.

Sumin’s eyes widened. Tears pooled in the brim of her eyes as she felt over the moon at the sight of the man she had longed for.

“Seokjin!” She shouted in glee, throwing herself at him. She wrapped her arms around his waist ⎼ practically locking him in place ⎼ as she was afraid that he’d disappear if she did. Seokjin glanced down; the fondest smile appeared on his face. This feeling of love and euphoria entered his body as he finally had the opportunity to hold the woman he had longed for—and worried for.

After what seemed like an eternity, the lovers pulled away, dawning the brightest and warmest smiles on their faces.

“That obsessed asshole didn’t do anything to you, right?” asked Seokjin, glancing over Sumin’s body. He ignored how beautiful she looked wearing that simple yet extravagant black and blue dress. He even tried his hardest to ignore her shoes and how he had grown envious of the ribbons that wrapped around her sinful legs.

“Okay...Seokjin...now’s not the time to be aroused…” He silently chanted as Sumin told him that she was fine. She added that Mark only ever kissed her.

Of course, that triggered Seokjin....

“He fucking kissed you??!!!!”

“Now. Now. You know that I don’t kiss and tell…” taunted a voice that caused Sumin to tense and created pure and utter rage within Seokjin.

Seokjin swiftly turned around, using his own body to shield Sumin.

“Ah...so you’re the infamous leader of NCT.” He clicked his tongue, “Can’t say that I’m impressed.” He announced, tilting his head just a bit.

Mark ignored his snippy remark and glanced behind the elder. His eyebrow perked up just a bit as an evil smirk appeared on his lips.

“Now... “He paused, taking a step towards them, “...why is my precious angel playing hide-and-seek?” He finished with a tone that could easily send shivers down anyone’s spine.

“I’m leaving whether you like it or not.”

“Interesting...well...we shall see about that. Right, my precious angel?”

WARNING! WARNING! INTRUDERS SIGHTED!

The three of them heard.

“Now, no one can get in, and no one can get out.” Both Seokjin and Sumin heard Mark say. “Good luck trying to escape…”

WARNING! WARNING! INTRUDERS SIGHTED!

Sowon snapped her head around when the sudden alarm went off. “Fuck,” She cursed loudly. Listening closely, she tried to hear who the intruders were. Was it Bangtan? Did Sumin fuck up their plan? Did someone else come in? Either way, Sowon started to panic. Her breath quickened as she tried to come up with something, her eyes flickered around the room. But there was nothing. No window. No way to escape.

A scream tore from her as she could hear the locking system lock once more to make sure that no one would get her. She let out a desperate cry of help, as she hammered against the door with her fists, screaming, for anyone, for someone to get her fucking out of there. And then she sunk onto the floor while the energy had been drained from her body.

Every muscle in her body hurt. Every limb felt too heavy. Every bruise and cut burned. She rubbed her hands over her face, causing it to pale more than it already was. A tear fell onto her cheek. There was no fucking light at the end of the tunnel, except for one tiny glimpse of hope.

Sumin.

She could only hope that Sumin was getting out of Marks grip so she could come and get her. Or else she would die here. Alone. Sowon could feel how the lack of nutrients had weakened her body over the past days more and more. She could barely keep herself up. “Sumin, please,” She whispered.

A few levels up, Seokjin had his hands wrapped around his weapon tightly, trying to foresee whatever Mark was planning.

“Good thing you’re beautiful...at least you have something then,” Mark teased the other with an evil smirk. “You think running around like a headless chicken will bring you back to your girl?” Mark took a step closer, making Sumin jerk back immediately. “Come here, princess,” He said in the sweetest tone, reaching out his hand for her to take,

“Do you really think we’re the bad ones in this?” Mark laughed, icy and cold, making a shiver run down Sumin’s spine, “Oh baby girl, you really didn’t do much research on the boys, hm? Do you really know everything there is to know about Sowon? About her past. About who the boys killed.” He added as his grin grew wider.

Seokjin stiffened up, his eyes growing wide as he took a step back, trying to protect Sumin. “Don’t listen to him!” He hissed quietly.

“He wants you to not question anything...you’re always so eager to question everything, why didn’t you with Bangtan?” Mark shook his head as if he was disappointed, “Did you ever ask yourself who shot your dad?” A fake gasp fell from his lips and he pushed his hand over his mouth. His eyes wide, before they had gotten a mischievous glint, “Did you ever wonder about Sowon’s first kill?”

Sumin’s eyes flickered between Seokjin and Mark, questioning everything and anything that had happened. There was no viable way that Sowon could’ve killed her dad. He died when she only four-years-old, which meant No. It’s not possible...right?

She firmly shook her head, refusing to believe that Sowon had anything to do with her father’s murder. Mark, on the other hand, saw her conflicted state as a better opportunity to sink his teeth in. The more conflicted she had become, the higher the chance of her believing every single word that were to come out of his mouth.

“Oh...but it is true, my sweet little angel. It is because of her mother that your father lies dead, practically dust, in his coffin. It because of Bangtan that you grew up fatherless,” He took a step towards Seokjin and Sumin, “All alone. Questioning why every kid in your class, had a dad, but you didn’t?” He inched closer and closer, “Why whenever your mom took you to weddings, you unknowingly eyed the bride with insane jealousy because she got to dance with dear old dad, and you know that it would never happen to you. Never.” He now stood close to Seokjin. Their chests bumped into each other. “And it is all...because...of...Bangtan…” He finished with an evil smirk painted on his lips as he swiftly grabbed Sumin’s wrist before she or Seokjin had the chance to react.

Sumin winced from his harsh grip. She mustered all her strength to pull her wrist out of his firm grasp.

“Let me go!!” She shouted, desperate to break free from him.

Mark’s smirk only grew, secretly loving the pleading tone in her voice. “But I just got you back, my precious angel. There’s no way I’m going to let those fools corrupt you any longer.” He stated, dragging her out of the room. He then glanced over his shoulder, fully aware that Seokjin had his gun aimed at him. “Don’t bother. You shoot me, and she’ll die.” He suddenly revealed his position, “I have us set up in a way that the bullet will pierce us both, causing both of our deaths.” He held Sumin nice and close; his breath practically fanned her cheek, “In short. You lose. Again.” He said softly yet evilly as he guided both himself and his prize possession out of the room and out of sight.

Seokjin growled, slowly lowering his gun fully aware that that bastard was fucking right. If he were to shoot him, Sumin would die as well. If Sumin wound up dead, then Sowon would be utterly destroyed. And that was something that he or any of the other fellas would allow to happen ever again.

He rubbed his hand over his face; a habit he had done out of frustration, while tucking his gun behind his back and inside the waistband of his pants.

Not only was he separated from his members, but he lost his princess as well. Whether it was just physical lost had yet to be determined. He needed something or someone to convince Sumin that what Mark spouted was simply bullshit.

Right now, more than likely, she became confused, questioning if he and the rest of Bangtan were tied to her father’s murder. To be specific, if Sowon had anything to do with it.

Then, that’s when it hit him. He needed Sowon, herself, to convince Sumin that they had nothing to do with her father’s murder. But, would she listen? He prayed to God that she would…

He drew out his gun once more, mentally preparing himself to spill blood. While, he had killed before, his were done faraway. He had an extreme dislike for getting dirty when he didn’t have to.

“Alright...time to go save the leader…”

It was extremely quiet in the headquarters and Seokjin was praying to himself that the rest of his group was out there, surrounding the building and getting in just like they had planned.

He only had to remind himself that it was all part of the plan—only the fucking fool talking shit about Bangtan wasn’t. He would have never gotten in alone if it wasn’t exactly what they had wanted. Mark going crazy and locking everyone in. He just hoped that Bangtan had been fast enough to be locked in as well.

It wasn’t easy to find Sowon, even though he had studied the plan of the building by heart. But when he did find the locked door, Seokjin quickly tucked his gun away when he felt safe enough to get out a little device that Namjoon had built a long time ago. Only seconds later the door opened, smoke coming from the lock device and Seokjin smiled to himself—that only faded when he saw the leader.

His eyes were wide, his mouth hanging open when he saw Sowon in the corner of the room. Her eyes were closed, knees tucked in as if she was trying to hide. There were bruises all over her body and she awfully looked like she had lost weight...and her usual glow. “Fuck!” He cursed, running over to her and immediately cupping her cheeks, slapping her slightly to get her to wake up. “C’mon, a queen never gives up, now fucking rise and shine, Sowon!” Seokjin murmured angrily. Sowon blinked her eyes open, a faint smile appearing on her lips. “Wow, I thought that if I hallucinated it would be Jungkook not you Jinnie,” She said with a weak chuckle as she felt

herself getting hoisted up by Seokjin. It took her a few blinks and feeling

Seokjin’s heartbeat against her own body to realize that she wasn’t dreaming.

It woke her up in a matter of seconds.

“Where’s Sumin?”

Seokjin’s lips thinned. A short humming sound emitted from them. Shit...how was he supposed to tell his leader that Sumin had gotten taken away…again? How was he supposed to tell Sowon that he had purposely failed Sumin, so that their plan would work?

Easy.

He doesn’t.

Sowon would go ballistic if she were to know that they needed Mark to become paranoid and lock Sumin away with him.

They needed to isolate him, so it would be an easy kill. He just hoped that both Sowon and Sumin would forgive them in the end. With the most believable smile - he could muster - Seokjin told Sowon that Sumin decided to stay with Mark, so that way he could rescue her. He uttered a quick prayer in hopes that Sowon would believe his lie. Unfortunately, Sowon knew better. Out of Bangtan, Seokjin sucked absolute shit at lying.

“...you’re fucking lucky that I am pretty much almost dead or else I would’ve punched you square in the fucking face…” threatened the weak leader. Her eyes icy cold and laced with anger.

Seokjin winced, fully aware that she would actually punch him and perhaps use him as a practice dummy. He held up his hands in surrender, carefully picking his next choice of words in a way that wouldn’t enrage Sowon even more.

“Well, you can always direct your fiery rage at Mark because right now he’s manipulating Sumin into thinking that we are the reason that her dad is dead.” He stated; his face completely serious.

Sowon’s eyes widened, “This better be one of your crappy ass lies…”

Seokjin shook his head, “I wish it was, but it’s not. Mark is using Sumin’s longing for her dad against us and molding it in a way that she doubts everything and anything,” He sighed, taking a moment, “I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if Sumin truly believes his bullshit because of what was reported in the fucking news.” Sowon remained silent. She refused to believe that Sumin would even consider taking the side of someone who had this creepy obsession with her over her genuine friends. No. She needed to hear the truth from her. Sowon had to make Sumin believe in her. And not some deranged man.

Anchoring her hand on Seokjin’s bicep, Sowon mustered any remaining ounce of strength she had to stand up. A few painful winces left her lips as she forced herself up. Seokjin supported the leader’s weakening body, making sure she didn’t collapse back down.

“Take me to her. Now.”

Somewhere in the mansion, dead bodies, debris, and broke glass decorated the marble tiled floors. Mark, still in his delusion, protected Sumin from hurting herself. She had a bruise on her wrist now thanks to him, but he personally blamed Seokjin and the rest of Bangtan. It was because of them invading his sanctuary that he had become this way. Crazy. Paranoid. Frightened that they would take her away from him.

Sumin, didn’t feel that way. She called him a fucking psycho and demanded that he’d release her this instant.

Sadly, it didn’t work that way....

“Why are you so bent on trying to convinced me that Sowon is this monster? If anything, it’s you. You’re a monster!”

Mark halted and then forced them to look at one another. His grip tightened around her forearm. His eyes blanked with emotion. Though - on the inside - he was absolutely furious. His precious angel had grown scared of him to the point that she saw him as this evil monster. No. No. No. That needed to die quickly.

“I told you, baby girl that she isn’t the one you thought her to be,” Mark explained further, tightening his grip around her and pushing the gun into Sumin’s side, “Now come on. We’ll get you somewhere safe!”

Mark positioned them in a way that not only would be able to protect her but use her as shield if Bangtan decided to ambush them. But he knew better. They wouldn’t be stupid enough to try and attack him while Sumin was with him. He had won—like always.

The two of them ventured deeper into the mansion. Sumin had never been towards the west wing before as Mark told her that it was unsafe for her to be around the construction. Which, if she thought about now, would make the perfect hideaway spot for them. No one, but NCT, knew about this area. Mark had hoped once the west wing was finished, it would be where he and Sumin could make new memories in their bedroom. Where Sumin could study to her heart’s content without being disturbed by the men. Where Mark would one day turn one of the empty rooms into a nursery for their future child.

He had every single thing planned out to the last detail, but fucking Bangtan ruined everything. And now, he’d be damned if they were to walk away from this scotch free...

Mark continued to tug her along, still pressing the gun to her side, until they reached a door. He released his hold on her arm but still had the gun firmly pressed against her ribcage. He then hovered his free hand over the keypad and entered the password. Of course—it was the digits to her birthday. And Sumin quickly noticed it.

“Okay. Creepy.” She muttered under her breath. Unfortunately, Mark heard her snide comment and swiftly angered him.

Not wanting to verbally lash out on her, he calmly opened the door and pushed her inside. He glanced over his shoulder, checking to make sure that no one followed them, before walking inside himself. Afterwards, he closed the door and alarmed the special security system he had installed for their future bedroom. Now definitely no one could get inside nor get out. They were safe. Alone in each other’s company. The perfect moment created just for them.

“We will be safe here, my sweet little angel.” Mark said softly, tucking away his gun, as he walked up to her.

Sumin glared at her abductor, “How is me being locked in the same fucking room as you safe? You’re psycho!” She exclaimed, letting her emotions best her.

Mark clicked his tongue as he tilted his head slightly. He slowly became fed up with her snappy remarks. Why couldn’t she see that everything he had done was to protect her?

Why couldn’t she understand the love he bore for her?

Why?

Without thinking, he too allowed his anger - his frustrations - control his actions and…

SLAP!

Sumin’s head forcibly moved to the side because of the strong impact against her cheek. In disbelief, she cupped her throbbing cheek, biting her bottom as she refused to shed any tears over this crazed psychopath.

“I’m sorry, little one, but you need to learn that actions have consequences.” He explained sweetly as he placed an index finger underneath her chin, forcing her to look at him.

Sumin breathed heavily. Her fiery gaze penetrated his, hoping that her looks could indeed kill someone. If only she had some kind of sharp object with her...then she’d be free forever.

Wishful thinking. But she had to remember her part in this. She needed to save Sowon—her most cherished friend.

Not wanting to be touched by a second more, she roughly removed herself from his hold. She created space between them; though, it was pointless as he quickly closed it.

“Haven’t you heard of personal space?” She asked. Her tone laced with attitude.

Mark, again, didn’t appreciate her snarky attitude. This wasn’t his precious angel that he had fallen for. His sweet baby girl would never snap back at him. She would stare at him with nothing but love in her eyes as this warm smile appeared on her sweet lips.

The woman in front of him looked at him as if she loathed him. She hated his touch. His words. Everything.

No. No. No. That’s not supposed to happen.

Fucking Sowon. That stupid bitch corrupted her. That’s what he gets for allowing Sumin alone time with the stubborn leader. She molded his angel’s mind into hating him.

That’s it.

This was all Sowon’s fault, and Sumin would soon blame her for what’s about to happen next.

He needed to reprogram her.

Practically reset her mind. He needed her to love him.

And that’s what he’d do…

Suddenly, he grabbed Sumin and forced her to the ground. Sumin - panic settling within her entire body - struggled against his body. She became desperate to free herself from underneath him.

“Get off me!” She pleaded, disgusted

by his hands roaming up and down her body.

Mark shushed her, pressing his lips against her temple.

“I’ll be gentle. I promise. I won’t hurt you.” He whispered sweetly as he bound her wrists together with one hand while the other moved down to his jeans.

Sumin’s breathing became sporadic. Tears pooled at the brim of her eyes. Her heart pounded against her chest. While, she knew of sexual assault and what to do afterwards because of her classes, never once did she prepare herself for it. What made her sick to her stomach was that she was a virgin...and she hoped to give it to the one person she loved with all her heart...Seokjin.

“I’m so sorry, Seokjin…” She thought helplessly, slamming her eyes shut and embracing for what would come next.

“You know...I would greatly appreciate it if you removed your fucking hands away from my sister.” She heard someone say before she felt Mark’s body forcibly removed. “Oh, by the way, you shouldn’t have made your stupid password her birthday. It was painfully obvious.” Then, she heard the sound of someone landing a hit. From how swift the hit was and the fact that the person called her “sister”, she knew it was Jungkook. That annoying little twat that loved to tease her, and she enjoyed every moment of it.

“I got you, Min…” She heard another voice. She slowly pried her eyes open and saw Hoseok shrugging off his jacket and placing it around her shoulders. Without a second thought, she lunged herself at him, hugging him to make sure this wasn’t a dream. Bangtan was here.

But where was Sowon?

She broke the hug and asked about her.

“Right here, sunshine…” Sumin heard that familiar voice.

Sumin’s eyes immediately snapped towards the direction of the voice. Soon, happiness basically beamed from them as Sumin saw that Sowon was safe—for the most part.

The poor girl scrambled up and rushed over to Sowon. Or at least tried to. The second she stood up; the door busted wide open. Then, every single member of NCT came storming in – with guns locked and loaded – as Mark slowly stood up, dusting himself off. The rival gang leader cracked his neck, warming up the stiffened muscles. He then touched his bruised cheek as this smug smirk graced his face.

“Has anyone told you that you hit like a little bitch?” He taunted Jungkook as he nodded towards his members, greeting them. “Now, if you guys can kindly step away from Sumin and no one gets hurt,” He whipped out his gun, pointing directly at that stupid bitch, Sowon, “Correction. Leave and no one dies.” He finished with his index finger pressed lightly on the trigger.

Sowon glared harshly at her rival but soon her expression was replaced with amusement. Just like Mark, a smug smile appeared on her face as she boldly stared her rival down.

“Interesting. I was about to say the same thing.” She commented, directing her focus on to Sumin, “Sunshine, it’s okay. You can come over to us. Seokjin and I will keep you safe.”

“How…? My father is dead because of you and Bangtan. While, I know it is stupid to believe Mark, but somewhere deep down, I feel like he’s telling the truth.” Sumin stared sadly at Sowon, a look of betrayal flashed in her eyes, “I mean it makes sense. From what I could remember, he was always there for me. He’d take me to and from preschool every single day, making sure that I would arrive safely. Then suddenly it stopped. His cause of death makes perfect sense now. He was incredibly healthy, so there was no way he could’ve died from natural causes.” Tears trickled down her cheeks. “You took my dad away from me, and I will never forgive you.” She finished, releasing years of pent up emotions when it came to her father’s death.

Upon hearing her last sentence, Mark smiled in victorious while Seokjin and the rest of Bangtan became worried.

Were they too late…?

Blankets of both silence and uncertainty covered the room. Neither side spoke as it seemed that words were unnecessary. NCT had won. Bangtan had failed. So, what was more left to say?

In Sowon’s mind...there were plenty more to say…

“Sumin, listen to me,” Sowon let go off Seokjin who helped her steady herself and walked up to the frightened girl,

“Please, I will tell you the truth. All of it.”

The silence in the room was almost unbearable, the guns pointing at each other’s rivals while Sowon’s eyes were only on Sumin’s. She kneeled down, putting her gun aside and then she kicked it over to Seokjin, whose eyes grew wide as plates. Was the leader fucking out of her mind? She had not a vest on, nothing but her ripped jeans and a ripped shirt with dirt and blood all over it from the days of torture. Sumin on the other hand was shaking, her eyes flickering around the room as she tried to sort out wrong from right and whose side she should be on. But all she wanted was to curl up and not see or hear anything. Sowon reached out her hands and Sumin took them without thinking, making Mark take a step forward, eyeing the leader warily with his gun pointed at her. Sowon took a sharp breath, seeing the gun and knowing that she would be dead in a matter of seconds, even if Jungkook’s gun was pointed at Mark. It would be over for her, before he could shoot.

But it didn’t matter.

Only Sumin did.

“Sumin, your father had been involved in some deep shit. I’m not going to lie that the original Bangtan had something to do with it. We were paid to kill him by someone anonymous but...and please listen to me, your father was involved with my mother. Not romantically, god please, no. They knew each other. He kept her out of some crazy shit actually. He was a good lawyer. A good man. A good soul, just like you. But we didn’t kill him, my mother didn’t,” Sowon took a deep breath, “It was EXO.”

A gasp fell from everyone’s lips and Mark stiffened up.

“But EXO is…” Sumin looked around, realizing the connections between EXO and NCT.

“Yes, I know. It sounds crazy...but I didn’t kill him. Mark was right when he said that I was incredibly young when I first killed someone,” Sowon shrugged her shoulders as if it was something that every little 5-year old girl would do, “But I never killed your father. Nor did my mother. We found him. That night of his death. I am so sorry Sumin. I always knew about you. Who you were, where you’re from, who you were going to be? But honestly, I never really thought you’d become my friend. Someone I trust. Someone I want to protect. I am so sorry, Sumin. I couldn’t tell you. I just couldn’t.”

A slow and soft sigh escaped her lips as a storm of thoughts brewed within Sumin’s mind. Who told her the truth? Most importantly, why had her father paid the ultimate price for being the greatest parent? It wasn’t fair. All he did was love her and protect her from harm’s way...just like Bangtan…

Slowly closing her eyes, Sumin inhaled and then exhaled slowly. The more she did that, the more the irrational thought exited her mind. The storm slowly cleared up and this ray of light pierced through the thick gray clouds. The light illuminated a path for Sumin’s subconscious to follow and she did. With each step, all the negative thoughts - all the doubts - exited her brain. It was clear as day to her. She knew who she could trust - who she could call a “friend” - in this spacious room with the tension at an all-time high. She knew that when this was all over, she would be home.

Her home with Bangtan…

Without a second thought, Sumin wrapped her arms around Sowon. Mark and the rest of NCT saw a glimpse of victory, but it had soon evaporated as they saw Sumin rest her face against Sowon’s with a content smile resting on innocent girl’s lips.

Sowon was shocked. A huge part of her feared that Sumin’s psyche was too far gone that her words had been pointless and a huge waste of fucking time. But noticing Sumin’s relaxed body language and the smile - the same smile she had painted on her face on the day they had first met - gave Sowon a glimmer of hope. And the hug had sealed that for her.

She had her dearest and closest friend back.

Hugging Sumin close, Sowon held onto her friend tightly. “You can get us out of here. I know you can.” The leader whispered into her ear, “You’re the key in this story. It was never about me or anyone else. It’s you.” Sumin tightened her hold, not really sure what the other woman meant with her words, when a sudden gasp fell from her lips and it felt like Sowon slipped between Sumin’s arms. Something warm spread on her stomach and Sumin wondered what it was; a scream filled the silence followed by gunshots. And suddenly everything went in slow-motion.

Sowon stumbled back a few steps; her hands tightly pressed onto her lower stomach. Her fingers shook, covered in red. Her eyes flickered helplessly around the room. Her breathing grew closer and closer together. Her heart rate increased as the adrenaline surged through her veins in hopes to keep her alive. Sumin screamed. One painful, loud, scream. Her eyes fixated on what Mark held in his hands. A fucking throwing knifes. Not just one, but three. Each settled in between his fingers, and there was a fourth knife, but it was currently impaled in Sowon’s stomach. With an evil smirk on his face, Mark said only one thing, “Oops.”

“Oops…? Just a fucking oops?!” Sumin shouted; fury burned throughout her body. Her shoulders trembled. Her breathing grew sporadic. Her eyes practically became slits as she glared harshly at the man who broke her heart. Not the same way a lover would’ve had done, but in a way that was drastically worse.

He tried to kill the person who Sumin had grown fond of - practically love as a sister - and she would be damned if she allowed NCT to take away a family member. She had lost her father to one of their affiliates, and for the sake of her sanity, she couldn’t lose another.

“That’s all you have to say?” She began, kneeling down and grasping her shaky fingers around a gun that had been kicked towards her thanks to Yoongi. She stared coldly at the weapon as she slowly stood back up; her index finger anchored on the trigger. “You have done nothing but torment me…” She spun around, facing Mark, “You fucking drugged and tried to kidnap me on the night we first fucking met…” She held the gun at him, making sure the nozzle was aimed at a vital spot, “You filled my head with nothing but lies and molded me into this prized jewel of your sick obsession…” She slowly pressed her index finger against the trigger, “And to add insult to injury, you attempted to kill my sister.” Sumin finished, firing round after round. She couldn’t care less if she didn’t hit an instant “kill” spot. Sumin wanted Mark’s blood to drain from his body.

She wanted him dead…

Mark easily dodged each bullet, then pulled out his gun and fired at Sumin. He too couldn’t care less about her. His heart shattered into a million pieces the moment he witnessed his precious angel hug another man.

Sumin was dead to him…

“Boss! What do we do?” The angry leader heard Taeyong ask, firing a few rounds at Jimin and Yoongi, while Johnny provided support and made sure that Namjoon, Jungkook and Seokjin were pinned against the corner wall.

Mark growled; his eyes narrowed onto Sumin, who currently provided cover for Sowon, while Hoseok and Taehyung did everything in their power to slow down their leader’s pending death.

“Kill that fucking bitch.”

“Which one?”

“Both of them.”

Before Taeyong left, Mark grabbed onto his second-in-command and roughly pulled him down.

“But make sure that Sumin’s death is slow and painful. I want to hear her beg for us to put her out of her misery.” He instructed quietly with anger burning in his eyes.

“What about EXO? You know that our original instructions were-”

“I could give two fucks about our original instructions. Just fucking do it!”

Emptying yet another round, Sumin released the clip and loaded up another. Without a moment to lose, she fired bullet after bullet, shooting to kill, as her mind became plagued with one simple thought—protect Sowon.

Her roommate had done so much for her, so it was time to return the favor.

It was her turn to protect the fatally injured leader.

“How much longer Taehyung?!” Sumin shouted, demanding answers as she noticed Namjoon, Jungkook and Seokjin pinned down by Johnny and Haechan while Yoongi and Jimin were fighting against four others. The odds were definitely against them as not only were Bangtan outnumbered but their ammo supply ran low. Jungkook and the rest of the fellas did not expect to be in this shootout for this long. The original plan was to save both Sumin and Sowon, kill a few NCT members, and then book the hell out of there. But no. Mark fucking Lee had to be a sore loser and throw a knife at Sowon’s stomach.

And now it was a battle for life…

Who was allowed to walk out of that mansion alive…?

Taehyung exhausted every single resource he had to slow down Sowon’s pending death. He had Hoseok apply an insane amount of pressure to the wound without moving the knife while he used Sumin’s diamond earrings as a tool to sew his leader’s giant cut shut; though, it was proven difficult since Taehyung would need to take out the knife but doing so would increase the blood loss which would lead to death of Sowon.

It was lose-lose situation, and it fucking sucked.

“She’s losing too much blood, and at the rate its leaving her body, I can’t come up with a solution that would prolong her life enough for us to get back to base where I have the necessary tools to save her.” Taehyung confessed, angry at himself for not being able to help his leader.

Sumin’s jaw clenched, “And I can’t let her die!” She grabbed Hoseok’s knife from its holster and threw it at Jungwoo, killing him in the process, “So, you better try again. I’m going to help Yoongi and Jimin and then send them your way. They are our best shooters and can easily provide better support for you…!” She stated; her eyes drifted towards Sowon as this desperation settled inside her heart. She slowly ran out of options, and that was a depressing thought with her brain filled with knowledge that put some of her professors to shame.

And yet...

Her intellect failed her right now...

Slowly closing and reopening her eyes, Sumin gathered her thoughts and calmed herself. Like her mother always told her,

“If you believe that you exhausted all of your options, collect your thoughts, and then try again. If you think that there is nothing left to say or do, think again, Sumin. Number one rule of being a damn good lawyer like your mom.”

And she was right…

Just as Sumin turned to leave to help Yoongi and Jimin, she felt something grab her wrist.

“S-Sunshine…”

“Don’t Sowon. You need to strength to keep fighting. You hear me? You keep fucking fighting or so help me God, I will bring you back alive and then kill you myself. Got it?”

“C-cute… but no Sumin…” Sowon wrapped her bloody fingers around the knife handle, alerting Sumin, Taehyung, and Hoseok. She tightened her grip, “I-is it sad that I miss how q-quiet you were…?” She gently pulled out the knife, ignoring the throbbing pain and tightening sensation she experienced in her heart. “H-here…” She whispered, handing Sumin the bloodied knife, as a faint smile slowly appeared on her pale face. “Go kill that son of a bitch…” She added, dropping her arm.

Sumin choked back her tears as she swallowed roughly.

“Taehyung. Hoseok. Protect our leader. Do whatever it takes to keep her alive long enough to get the fuck out of here”

The two boys nodded firmly, already aware of what she was about to do. Part of them wanted to suggest that one of them should help her. But they knew that this was something she had to do by herself.

Sprinting away from the trio, Sumin dodged every bullet or at least tried to. As she zoomed towards Yoongi and Jimin, Doyoung and Haechan entered her line of sight as a few bullets grazed her arms and legs. A few winces escaped her lips, but she couldn’t afford to fall.

She had to keep going.

Sumin grabbed Haechan’s arm, applying enough pressure to gain brief control of him. She then turned around, aimed his gun at Doyoung, and fired a few shots, killing NCT’s resident Brainiac before slitting Haechan’s throat. Watching their bodies drop to the floor satisfied Sumin’s thirst for revenge, but it was short lived as Taeil came charging at her with guns blazing.

“Aw? Did I kill your best friend?” She taunted before diving for Haechan’s discarded gun and firing at Taeil, killing yet another member. If she was seconds late, then she would be lying in a pool of blood instead.

“Thank you, Yoongi…” muttered Sumin, staring at Taeil’s cold, lifeless body.

“You’re welcome, Minnie.” She heard someone say. Without a second thought, she aimed her gun at the intruder and had her knife ready but soon relaxed as she saw a familiar face—an ally.

“And to think...I thought only Jungkook calls me that…” Sumin playfully scoffed, displaying a grin, as she eyed Yoongi and Jimin with an amused gleam.

Jimin shrugged, “Well, it rubbed off on us since he called you that enough.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Now enough with the chit-chat. We need to get the fuck out of here.” Yoongi chimed in; agitation etched on his face.

Sumin gave Yoongi a look, “Not until I kill Mark.”

“And how, may I ask, are you going to do that?”

“That’s for me to know, and you two to see once I do it.”

“That makes little to no fucking sense, Minnie.”

“Just trust me. Now, go over to Taehyung and Hoseok and protect Sowon.”

Yoongi and Jimin cocked their brow up, staring at the formerly innocent lady. They observed her appearance and noted the fresh blood stains on her dress and tiny droplets that trickled down her arms and legs. There were a few bruises, and her hair was a disheveled mess, but other than that, she was okay.

Scratch that. She was furious.

Revenge blinded her and clouded her sense of morality.

She had become an official member of Bangtan.

She became their sister-in-arms.

So - naturally - they listened to her.

“Alright. Just be careful. We already have a pissed off Jungkook. We don’t need a pissed off Seokjin on top of that.”

Yoongi said, cocking back his gun and taking mental note of how many rounds he had left. Jimin mimicked his actions.

Sumin, at first, looked confused by Yoongi’s statement but soon waved it off as she didn’t have time to question why Seokjin being furious would make the situation worse.

With one final “good luck” uttered to one another, Sumin resumed her task. She needed to find a way to sneak up on Mark and slit his throat.

Question was how...

How could she gain the upper hand on the one person that always seemed to have eyes on the back of his head.

Then, it hit her.

“Let’s finish this…” She nodded with this fire of determination burning throughout her body.

Gripping the handle of the knife with one hand, the determined yet secretly nervous girl uttered a quick prayer before diving back into the battle. Without a slight sense in hesitation, Sumin fired round after round, shooting to kill, as she made her way closer to goal—Mark Lee. Her eyes homed in on his back, and how it didn’t appear that he would turn around anytime soon.

Perfect.

She needed to continue the momentum and close the gap between their bodies. Funny. Throughout her time in captivity, she wanted nothing but space between them yet now, she needed to be close as possible to the man. The cruel, vile, evil man. Mark needed to be wiped away from existence. Someone like him shouldn’t be allowed to roam this Earth.

He needed to be stopped.

“Just a little bit more…” Sumin whispered, stepping lightly around the fallen debris and broken glass. She ignored the fatigued that slowly washed over her body. She ignored the pounding of her heartbeat as negative thoughts began to plague her mind. She couldn’t afford to give in to such thoughts. There was no room for the idea of failure or any errors.

This execution had to be flawless…

With each last step, Sumin slowly raised her hand, making sure that she didn’t cast a shadow in doing so. She took extra care in ensuring that no light reflected off the bloodied blade of the knife; though, the metal was coated too much that it shouldn’t be a problem, but Sumin didn’t want to chance it.

As she neared Mark’s body - ready to grab the NCT leader with her other hand after tossing away gun moments earlier - she heard,

“Aw my precious angel, you have to do better than that.”

Sumin’s body froze as she saw him slowly turn around, revealing a triumphant smirk and evil gleam in his eyes. The color drained from her body. Her breathing grew sporadic.

“How the fuck did you know I was behind you?”

“You know…” Mark clicked his tongue as he cocked his head to the side, “If you wanted to sneak up on a man,” He roughly grabbed her arm, giving it a little squeeze, “You really shouldn’t wear a scent that he has grown accustomed to.” He said; his voice sent shivers down her spine. He then twisted her arm back, causing the poor girl to scream in pain as she felt the knife forcibly drop from her hand. He roughly turned her around - her back pressed against his chest - as he maintained his iron grip on his arm. He lowered his head; his hot breath fanned the crevice of her neck.

“Just kill me, Mark. I’d rather be dead than go back to you.” Sumin said in nothing but pure rage.

“Aw, but baby girl. Where would the fun be in that?” Mark released his hold on her, “No, my sweet angel. You have betrayed me, broke my heart into a million pieces, and for that, you need to be punished.” He said with an expression so dark that Sumin’s eyes widened. Her fingers trembled. She felt that she could no longer breath. She could only imagine what this cruel leader would do, but even then, her imagination wouldn’t do them justice.

Mark stepped closer to her as Sumin took a step back.

“When I get done with you, you’ll be begging for me to end your life. No one betrays NCT. NO ONE!”

“And no one should ever put their hands on a woman, especially someone who is precious to me.” The duo heard. Mark growled, swiftly turning around to face the intruder while Sumin felt a wave of relief wash over her.

“You…! This is all your fault. If you kept your hands off on what’s mine, then your leader wouldn’t be lying on the cold hard ground, fighting for her life. Which, by the way, I’m surprised that stubborn bitch is still alive.”

The person shrugged, “Well, you did say so yourself. Sowon is quite stubborn, so she doesn’t die so easily.”

Mark scoffed, “You’re right. Maybe I should help her out then.” He said with a malicious smirk as he aimed his gun in between the gap of Yoongi and Jimin. He pressed his index finger on the trigger and just as it neared the end, Mark felt his arm jerked back; he struggled to remove himself from the tight hold that Sumin had on him as she positioned her hands on his bicep and wrist.

“Seokjin, now!”

And just like that, Seokjin landed a hard punch on Mark’s chin, staggering the enemy enough for Sumin to wrap her other hand around his neck. She managed to put him in a sleeper hold, tightening her grip, as she forced Mark to his knees.

“Y-you think you’ve guys w-won?” Mark choked out, smirking.

“Oh, we did.” The trio heard Jungkook say as he walked up with Namjoon by his side. The two men cocked their gun back and while their faces remained blank, their eyes told a different story.

They were furious…

They thirsted for revenge…

And they were ready…

“You see, Mark. All of your men are dead. Your Chinese fraction isn’t coming to rescue your asses. The teens that you recruited are sitting in a jail cell, waiting for the news on their pending death penalty. And you, my friend, are finished.” Jungkook stated, pressing the cold nozzle on Mark’s forehead.

“So what? While I might be dead, so will be your leader. Right now, she has lost so much blood that you won’t be able to save her. Not even the best doctor in the world will be able to rescue her, so you see… I fucking wo-” But before he could finish that sentence, everyone heard a snap.

Jungkook’s eyes trailed up and saw Sumin forcibly breaking his neck; thus, ending his life.

“Damn, Minnie…”

“That fucker had it coming…” Sumin stated before rushing back to a dying Sowon. The sole reason why Sumin had enough courage to even do that. Immediately, Jungkook, Namjoon, and Seokjin followed suit. The fellas had almost forgotten that their leader - Jungkook’s wife - had been in a tough battle with death.

And just as the four reached Sowon, they failed to notice the solemn expressions painting the other four fellas of Bangtan’s face.

Sadly, it didn’t take a genius to know that someone had died…

Sumin dropped to her knees first; tears spilled out her eyes as they streamed down her rosy cheeks.

“N-no. No. NO!” She screamed followed by Jungkook’s anguish shout. He too dropped to his knees, clutching his wife’s body. His heart shattered into a thousand pieces. He felt a part of his soul left him the more he held Sowon’s body nice and close. He refused to believe that this was the end for them. Their story - while yes had more tragic moments than happy - deserved to have a fairy tale ending. They deserved to experience an endless amount of happiness and love.

But...it wasn’t their story to write…

It was someone else’s task...

“Sowon! Sowon! Please come back! Sowon!”

Six Months Later…

“I don’t know how Sowon did this…” Sumin muttered, holding up two different files containing intel on a potential threat.

“Well, she didn’t do it alone, princess. She had help, you know.” Seokjin chuckled deeply as he walked inside the office that belonged to Bangtan’s former leader. The corners of his lips curved upward even more as he practically beamed the moment, he laid his eyes upon Sumin. Sure, her hair had been put up in a messy bun. She looked like she hadn’t slept in weeks. Oh, he couldn’t forget how easily his woman became irritated whenever she got locked out of Sowon’s computer. One would think that she would write down the login credentials after the first locked out, but nope. Like Sowon, Sumin was stubborn. The former innocent ray of sunshine might even be much worse than the former leader.

Scratching the back of his neck, Seokjin walked behind Sumin; his palms anchored on the wooden desk. His head rested near hers to the point that their cheeks touched. He could feel the warmth from her. Something that he would never take for granted.

“When are you going to write down the login credentials, so that this doesn’t happen again? Huh, princess?”

“And when are you going to stop talking about me as if I died, huh, tiny dick Jin?” The couple heard a familiar voice say.

Sumin’s head perked up; her eyes lit up, while Seokjin glared at the person.

“Sowon’s right, you know. You do talk as if she had died.”

“Well, if you want to get technical, she did die for a second, but then you had to be sweet and loving princess that I know you are and give her your blood for the transfusion. Why didn’t you tell me that your blood was O negative?”

“Eh. Never came up, but I did tell the doctors to do whatever it takes to bring Sowon back alive. So...”

Sowon laughed, “Yeah but now I’m benched because of a certain husband of mine just couldn’t keep his hands off me. Now, I’m four months pregnant. This shit sucks!” She whined, leaning against the door-frame.

“It’s not my fault that you’re so irresistible.” chimed another voice, joining in the conversation.

Sowon rolled her eyes and smacked Jungkook on the chest.

“Yeah but now I’m stuck in our room with little to no activities. I’m going bat shit crazy in there!” She complained so more; her voice raised an octave.

Jungkook ignored her whines as he told her that both her life and the life of their unborn child are his utmost priority.

Sowon made a face as she mumbled, “I guess you’re right…”, and placed her hands on her semi-round tummy.

In response, Jungkook grinned brightly. It was quite rare for his wife to surrender whenever they argued. Usually, it was him doing the surrendering. He then wrapped a loving arm around his wife’s shoulders while Sumin stood up from the desk. The replacement leader walked up to her dearest friend with a soft smile painting her lips.

And just as the young girl closed the gap between their bodies, Taehyung entered the office with a quizzical expression.

“This came for you Minnie.” He announced, holding out a package with no return address.

Both Seokjin and Sowon raised a brow as they both glimpsed at the brown paper wrapped package.

Something about that did not sit well with them…

“Well, what is it?” questioned Jungkook; his body tensed yet his mind went on high alert. He was ready to protect his wife and unborn child.

Sumin took the package from Taehyung and shook it, earning a few head shakes and disgruntled mumbles from Seokjin and the others.

The more she shook it, the more she grew confused. Her brows knitted together as she tore the packaging and opened the box. She titled the box and out came a ring box and a letter.

“What does the note say?” Seokjin asked, walking up behind her and peering over her shoulder.

“I honestly don’t know…” replied Sumin as she opened the envelope, tucking the ring box against her ribcage. She pulled out the letter and scanned its contents.

A faint gasp escaped her lips as her eyes grew wide. The color practically drained from her face as the hand - that held the letter - went limp before she came to her senses and swiftly opened the ring box.

“Princess?”

“Sowon?”

“This is my mother’s engagement ring and my father’s wedding ring.”

Everyone in the room became confused.

“Meaning?” asked Sowon, though, deep down she knew the answer.

“They’re coming.”

“Who is?”

“EXO…”

The letter slipped from her fingers and slowly fluttered down to the floor. Once it landed, it revealed what was written, leaving everyone, especially Seokjin, speechless and alarmed.

“Your father should’ve listened to me when he had the chance, my prized jewel. Now, I have to take matters into my own hands since I made the foolish mistake of sending a boy to do a man’s job. Why do you have to be so charming, huh, Sumin? Because of that, not only did EXO lose a formidable ally, but now Bangtan will perish as well. And trust me, when I say this, little one. I always get what I want…

Yours,

P.C.Y

P.S: thank you for taking care of Mark by the way. It saves me one less body to dirty my hands with.”

A/N: And there you have it folks! Finally! After what seemed like forever, here is the conclusion Two Faced! Sorry that it took so long! I just felt the burn out form writing too much KPOP, so I switched my focus to writing fanfiction for “The Umbrella Academy” (good show by the way) and once I got the burn out from writing too much TV Show fanfiction, I came back to this story! I hope you guys like the final chapter, I ended up finishing it up myself since Jey had lost interest for it and didn’t know what was happening (which was understandable), and I’m proud of myself for making it reach to almost 9K words. Go me!

In other news, there will be a short sequel planned (at most 5 chapters but we’ll see) and it should be released sometime in the Fall! I will start the planning stages sometime over the weekend or next week. I know I want to get the story planning stage done before I work on one of my network’s summer project! So prepare yourself for that story once it’s released!

Again thank you so much for waiting patiently! Jey & I can’t thank you enough for giving this cross over story a chance! :)

Don’t forget to leave a comment/like/reblog/and an ask in mine or Jey’s inbox! We love hearing your thoughts!

- Kim

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