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therenlover · 3 years

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In Fleeting Touches & Airy Sighs Chapter 3 Part 2 + Epilogue (A Helmut Zemo x Reader Fanfiction)

(Thank you to everyone who has joined me on this unexpected journey. If you’d like to start from the beginning, you can find Chapter One HERE)

Synopsis: At the end of the day, Helmut and his wife fall back together as they always do, and rediscover their intimacy in the wake of their past arguments with no more games left to play.

Tags: Smut, Fingering, Kisses, Neck Kisses, Married Sex, Soft Sex, The Morning After, Fluff, Banter, Excessive References To Old Literature, Wuthering Heights

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Explicit Smut, Swearing, Mentions of Alcoholism/Alcohol Withdrawals

Word Count: 10,500~

This work has been crossposted to my AO3!

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The two of you stayed there for a moment, your heart alight with an almost childlike wonder as you relished in the pure bliss of your husband’s hand holding your own. It was as familiar as your own name and yet so new, so different than it had been before. Had he ever held your hand this tenderly? Or looked at you with such adoration? You couldn’t say for certain. Definitely not while you were so distracted by the romance of it all.

Still, all good things must come to an end, and after what could have been an eternity or a moment Helmut pressed one more kiss to your hand before lowering it back to the bed.

“Your trembling has stopped,” he muttered, more to himself than you, “that’s good. Are you still in pain? You could still take one more naproxen if you think it would be helpful,”

You shook your head. “No thank you. I think I’ll be fine for now,” Slowly, you stretched up, your joints cracking loudly as you yawned. Across the room, the clock on the wall ticked silently past 8 o’clock. Could it really be that late?

Helmut seemed amused by your little movements and mental musings. With a sweet smile, he leaned back in his chair. “Tired already?” He teased, but there was no fire in it. You didn’t have anything in you to make a funny quip with, so you opted for simply giving an honest nod. That was enough for him. He dimmed the bedside lamp a bit and picked up his novel once again before he spoke. “You can rest now, Schatz. I’ll be here if you need me,”

Then, nonchalant as can be, he opened up his book and started reading again.

It was a bit… strange, the idea of falling asleep while being watched, even if it was just by your husband. You settled into the sheets, but the thought of it irked you enough that you had to roll onto your side in the hopes that once he was out of sight you’d forget about him being there. It didn’t work. Then, you rolled onto your back thinking if you just closed your eyes, sleep would come eventually. That didn’t work either. You were quickly sat face to face with a conundrum: You couldn’t sleep.

Not in your current situation at least.

As if he could sense your discomfort, Helmut peered to you from above the pages of his book. “Are you reconsidering my offer for pain medication?” He asked.

You groaned. “No, I just can’t sleep. It’s weird being watched,”

Helmut watched over you with kind eyes. He didn’t set down his book as he watched you toss and turn until you finally rolled onto your side to face him, but he did tilt his head slightly as he studied your face. Once he was sure you weren’t in any pain, he gave a curt nod. There was something almost awkward and adolescent about the expression that crossed his face as he spoke.

“Are you… I’m sorry, would you rather I leave?”

The thought of being alone, even if it meant not being watched, made your stomach drop. You had spent so long wanting to fall asleep with Helmut at your side once again. To have him leave now, after everything you’d worked through? It felt like a massive step backward in comparison to all of the progress you’d made. That being said, him sitting at the edge of your bed like some sort of visitor at a hospital bed wasn’t what you wanted either.

No, you wanted him closer.

Needed him closer.

The only problem was that you had absolutely no idea of how to ask for what you wanted. It had always been so simple before. Ever since you had broken him out of the raft you had fallen into bed together exhausted every night with very few exceptions. There was no asking about it, you just did because that was what a married couple would do. That wasn’t even mentioning the nights you’d fall together after the throes of passion onto the nearest soft surface, fully satisfied and boneless and exhausted, but you didn’t want to think about those times. They brought a flush to your face and other places long neglected. You pushed the feeling down. It wouldn’t get you anywhere to be thinking of things like that in your current situation.

Back to the problem at hand, you started to think about if there was a possible, non-awkward way to ask Helmut to lay with you.

After a minute you became acutely aware that there wasn’t.

He was still waiting for an answer though, dark eyes watching you with an intent care and fascination as you struggled to sort through your thoughts, ever patient and careful with you. From your position on your side you had to tilt your head up slightly to see him fully upright in the lamplight but it didn’t matter much. He was still stunning, even sideways. Slowly, you took a deep breath. “I want you to stay, it’s just a little weird to have you watching over me like that,”

The words were soft and delicate in the moonlight. Helmut, thankfully, took them at face value and nothing more. He was still wearing that same strange expression from before, awkward but not painfully so, as his eyes flitted around the dark room. “You… last night and the night before you woke up a lot, inconsolable and vomiting. I didn’t want you to choke or make too much of a mess, so it was easier to sit up and watch you, just in case,”

“Oh,” Your soft lips parted as your heart fluttered, “I’m sorry, I guess? And thank you? I don’t know quite what the right response to that is,”

“There’s no need to apologize, it’s nothing, and I don’t need thanks either. I’m not doing anything any other decent husband wouldn’t do,”

“Well, you’re only halfway decent, so I’d consider this a win,”

Helmut laughed then, something low and throaty that made your chest feel fuzzy and heavy with warmth. “Touché, Schatzi. Now try to sleep? You need your rest,”

You obliged him once again, letting your head hit the pillow. Your eyes remained open, though, as you admired his features in the darkness. He hadn’t shaved properly in a few days and it was obvious from the dark stubble forming on his cheeks and chin, but you didn’t mind it. In fact, you found it incredibly endearing. His turtleneck looked thick and soft as it hugged every plane of his soft chest. Even his face, furrowed in slight concentration as he found his sentence once again and began to read, looked sweet in the lamplight, framed by unkempt locks of his chestnut hair that had fallen out of their usually precariously kempt style. He looked like an angel there, illuminated from the side while his eyes flitted back and forth down the page.

Part of you yearned to reach out and touch him, because at that moment he seemed far too beautiful and idealized to be real.

After a moment, though, his eyes met yours again. You spoke before he had a chance to offer pain medication a third time.

“What are you reading?”

He regarded you with a practiced gentleness. This was a game all its own that you were both intimately familiar with, and it was much more fun than the ones you usually found yourselves playing. Helmut loved his books, but he never read one without reason. You were curious to see what he found appropriate for the occasion.

“Wuthering Heights,”

A small grin spread across your face as heat rushed to your cheeks. “Really? How morbid,”

“If you think this is morbid, you should have seen me last night,” he chuckled, “I was still neck-deep in Anna Karenina until the early hours of the morning. It did nothing for my nerves,” Somehow, his accent seemed thicker as he rolled the title gently on his tongue. If you closed your eyes, you could see the scene in your mind; Helmut watching you intently in the darkness as you shook, his eyes flitting back nervously to the words on the page before darting back to you again as he read of love and infidelity and death… it was almost too much to bear in the best of ways.

“What will you read next?”

Helmut paused, but his decision came quick. “Pride and Prejudice, I think,”

“How fitting,” you hummed, “I like Pride and Prejudice,”

“As do I, Schatz. As do I,”

The two of you sat with that silently for a moment as you took in a deep breath of cool nighttime air. Outside, you could hear the soft sound of distant passing cars in the darkness, but that did little to soothe the thoughts now racing through your head and making your heart beat faster. Suddenly, and without deliberation, you acted with your heart alone and not your mind.

“Helmut?” you called softly into the darkness.

He lifted his eyes from his book without a hint of annoyance at your repeated interruptions. “Yes?”

Suddenly, your throat felt very tight. “Do you remember the last night we spent in Berlin?”

“Of course I do,” he hummed, but he offered you nothing more to work with. Trembling slightly from the effort, you tried again.

“You read to me that night and it helped with the nightmares. Do you think…” your voice petered off, but came back stronger when you steadied yourself again, grounding yourself in the warmth of Helmut’s eyes, “do you think you could read to me again?”

The smile he offered you was brilliant and kind.

“I would like nothing more,”

With a bit of adjusting, Helmut scooted to the front of his chair so that his knees brushed the edge of the bed. You stared spellbound up at him. If you reached out, just the smallest bit, you would be able to rest a hand on the warmth of his leg and relish in the feeling of his soft dress pants. Still, it wouldn’t be enough. You needed to be even closer, surrounded by him, entirely engulfed by the warmth and strength and scent of him.

“Do you believe such people are happy in the other world sir?” Helmut began, reading aloud in a voice reserved for you and you alone in these incredibly rare moments, “I’d give great deal to-”

“No,”

Helmut looked up from the novel with a soft ‘hm’ of confusion.

“I-'' you stuttered, “I want you to lay with me while you read, like you did back then,” His eyes lit up and his cheeks flushed as you floundered for some sort of excuse or placation that would explain your sudden boldness. “You don’t have to! I just… I thought it might be nice. If it’s not, that’s more than okay, I didn't mean to upset you. I guess what I’m trying to-”

“Shhh, Schatz. You’re okay,”

At the sound of Helmut’s soft reassurance, your heart slowed down a bit from its jackhammer rhythm against your chest. What? He was… agreeing? Slowly, he stood from his chair and rounded the bed before sitting on the opposite edge. You had to roll over to watch him go, but when he finally sat you reached a hand out to him, which he took into his own without a hint of hesitation.

“It’s not good to work yourself up like this,” he cooed as he toed off his shoes and socks, moving them away with his free hand. “I’m still your husband, just as you are still my wife. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be held,” Your cheeks burned with shame, but somehow you didn’t feel like he was chiding you. He slipped below the sheets then, resting his back on the headboard and beckoning you forward to rest on him. You were scrambling towards his warmth before he had to say another word.

Then, you were finally safe.

There, with your cheek pressed flush against his chest and your arms wrapped tight around his middle, you breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed for the first time in… well, since you could remember really. He chuckled, but you didn’t notice. No, you were far too busy enjoying your newfound warmth. Your limbs were trembling a bit again, but not from your withdrawals. Instead, you seemed to have so much love running through your veins that you just couldn’t manage to keep still. Slowly, you swung your bare leg over Helmut’s clothed one before interlocking them to ensure your closeness.

Helmut smiled down at you and pressed a kiss to your forehead as he smoothed down your hair with one hand and re-opened his book with the other. “Now where were we? Ah, yes. Here we are. Do you believe such people are happy in the other world, sir? I’d give a great deal to know,”

You tuned out his words quickly, instead opting to focus on the timbre and lilt of his tone as he made his way down the page. There was a lightness to it, an honesty that came with reading words that came from another’s mind and not his own. There was no room for bartering when he read, no way to twist the sentiments of the author into his own narrative. Instead, he spoke plainly and often from the heart. You liked to think that was why he spent so much time choosing the books he read. They were, for him, a beacon of clean, clear-cut honesty to cling to even as his brain fought to deceive himself and everyone around him.

As he continued, though, you did notice something strange.

Your husband, especially when focused on a task like reading, wasn’t one to let his mind wander. If he wanted to do something he would simply do it without hesitation. Needless to say, it was also very difficult to distract him once he got fully invested in something. That being said, as he turned the page and continued to speak, his voice seemed to be losing its focused intensity by the second. He also was squirming. Well, no, squirming wasn’t quite the word for it, but he couldn’t seem to get comfortable below you. It was clearly not the weight of your body that bothered him though, nor was it the temperature of the room. Only when you shifted your leg up slightly and heard his breath hitch roughly in his throat did you notice the growing hardness in his pants.

Oh.

There was something almost giddy about knowing that you could still affect him the same way you always had, even while half delirious with sleep and suffering through one malady or another, and while a small part of you grew nervous at the thought of reuniting with Helmut like that for the first time since your initial argument all those months ago, on the whole, every nerve in your body was longing to feel him against you again. You smiled softly at the discovery. Some things truly never changed.

As you determined the best way to go about initiating something, you tuned back into his words again. His voice was still sweet and low with his heavenly accent cutting through the old language in a way that made butterflies erupt from your stomach down towards your newly aching core, and yet there was an inconsistency to it.

“She lies with a sweet smile on her face,” he muttered, breath hitching slightly once again as he blinked, long and hard in the darkness, “and her latest ideas wandered back to pleasant early days. Her life closed in a gentle dream - may she wake as kindly in the other world,” As he finished his sentence he looked down from the page to you, prone against the broadness of his chest. His pupils were blown wide with lust in the yellow lamplight and, after a moment struck mute, he licked his lips. “Schatz-,”

“Don’t stop now,” you breathed into the darkness, “we’ve only just gotten to the best part,” Slowly you rose from your place slotted against him. The loss of contact was difficult for you both, but you quickly amended the issue by placing a hand flat against his upper thigh. It was so close to his growing length and yet so far away at the same time.

Helmut regarded the digits with a sure disbelief and mild amusement. “Don’t stop what?”

“Reading,”

Somehow the word sounded obscene as it dripped syrupy and saccharin from your lips. You leaned in closer now, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off your husband’s body as his gaze flickered down to your mouth. Despite your words, though, Helmut was quick to mark his page and reach to set the book down on the dresser beside his side of the bed.

“Do you want me?” he gulped, letting himself brush his fingertips ever so lightly against the bottom hem of your sleep shorts. “I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t, after everything,”

You replied with a question of your own:

“Do I look like I don’t want you?”

He was quick to shake his head. It was his turn now to steady himself. “I’ve yearned for you every day since I left,” he whispered, and you could feel the heat of his breath on your lips from the proximity alone, “I never should have gone, Schatzchen. Not then and not before. To be without you is torture. I’ve wasted so much precious time...”

You replied with a simple, breathless, “Kiss me,”

Who would he be to deny you?

With the slightest of smiles, he leaned in and captured your lips with his own.

You had kissed him hundreds, probably thousands of times and yet you never got over the feel of his mouth against your own. Hot and wet and always ever so slightly minty from the small, sweet lozenges he kept in his right breast pocket, it laid claim to you. When you kissed him, there was nothing except him and him and him for eternity. You never considered yourself much of a wordsmith, your talents were elsewhere, and yet you could write sonnets about the bliss that came only when you connected in these brief, close moments of peace.

There were no threats here, not now. There was only Helmut, with his dark eyes and wild hair pulling away from you just long enough to breathe in the darkness of the room before dragging you back in to kiss him again.

Time had no bearing on you then. You could have been sitting there and kissing him for hours, your soft hands gently exploring each other once again but never daring to touch where the other wanted to be touched more than anything. Eventually, though, Helmut pulled away for a meaningful period of time, letting his forehead rest gently against your own as you both breathed heavily, hands finding each other blindly to clasp together in your lap.

When you felt like you were finally grounded to your body again, you chuckled softly, paying careful attention to the way the dim light accentuated the soft blondes and reds hidden in your husband’s brown hair.

“What is it?” he cooed in the darkness, “What could you possibly be laughing at now,”

“I thought I asked you to keep reading, Baron. You stopped at my favorite part. How am I supposed to focus on this when all I’ll be able to focus on is that once we’re done, I’ll finally get to hear what Heathcliff has to say,”

Helmut didn’t respond to your gentle ribbing, not at first. Instead, he leaned back in for one last fleeting kiss before letting his hands rest at the bottom edge of your sweater, bunching up the excess fabric. You assisted him in removing it by pulling your arms from the sleeves as he lifted it over your head. Then, you were finally semi-bare before him.

The cool, dark, nighttime air felt frigid in comparison to the almost burning heat of Helmut’s hands as he ran them down your sides. It made you shiver. That being said, it was nothing in comparison to the full-body tremble he evoked a moment later when he leaned in close to your ear with a sinful smile.

“May she wake in torment,” he quoted softly. The sound of it, so lewd and yet so refined, only added to the wetness between your legs. It didn’t help that his hands had moved on to find purchase on your breasts. He took a nipple between his fingers, rolling it ever just so as he continued. “Why she’s a liar to the end,”

Distantly, you just barely had enough complex thought to marvel at the fact that your husband had memorized your favorite passage from Wuthering Heights. It didn’t surprise you in the least. The last thing that crossed your mind before it clouded fully with lust was that there was something so tender in Helmut’s eyes when he looked at you that you just couldn’t bear it. It wasn’t long after that, though, that Helmut let one of his hands creep under the elastic waist of your shorts to cup your mound and you lost all ability to think about anything other than his soft voice and the feeling of his hands on your skin.

He touched you as if he knew you, and he did. You had known him carnally in more ways than could be counted. Though a bit rough with time, his fingers fell easily into their usual rhythm as muscle memory took over. He relished in dragging you to the edge in a way only he knew how to, and for the first time in months, you let him.

“Where is she? Not there,” he purred against your cheek as his fingers caught just so against your nub. You arched into his touch without a thought. “Not in heaven,” Slowly, his mouth departed from your face. He trailed wet kisses down the sensitive column of your throat, and yet he never broke from his steady rhythm of stroking down your wetness before letting his fingers come back up to circle your clit.

“Not perished,” As Helmut paused, he sucked a deep purple bruise into the soft nook where your neck met your chin, “Where?”

It had been so long. So long since you’d been with him, since you’d touched yourself. You could do little more than cling to him and gasp his name as he played you like a well-tuned fiddle.

He delighted in the feeling of your fingers in his hair, yanking at the nape of his neck and urging him lower and lower as he continued to bring you towards completion. In all honesty, he was smitten with you, and anyone who saw him as he was in that moment, wide-eyed and slack-jawed at just the sight of your pleasure, would know it. Still, his devotion was lost on you, especially in your current position.

That was fine by Helmut.

As long as you were happy, he would be too.

“Oh! You said you cared nothing for my sufferings!”

“Helmut!” You gasped low and sweet and right as he nipped at your collarbone.

The grin that you found when you met his eyes again didn’t do anything to help you put your mind back together, nor did it prepare you for two of his thick fingers to suddenly breach your sopping wet entrance. He paused then, searching your face for any signs of discomfort or hesitance, but he was only greeted by pure and utter bliss on your end.

Good. That was his goal.

With a soft tug to his hair, he was off to the races again.

“And I pray one prayer,” His mouth was on your breast now. Your hips canted and bucked to meet the quickening thrusts of his digits, which were curled ever so slightly and dragged at that rough right spot inside you with every push and pull. “I repeat it till my tongue stiffens,”

Then, suddenly, his eyes found yours again, and you felt you might perish then and there from the pure ecstasy of it.

“Y/N L/N, may you not rest as long as I am living!”

His fingers dragged across your sweet spot once again.

“Helmut, darling-”

Your voice was a stunted wail against his quiet, sure tone.

“You said I killed you - haunt me, then!”

His mouth was on your peaked nipple, your throat, your collarbone.

“Darling I’m so close-”

“The murdered do haunt their murderers,”

You were climbing, soaring, flying.

Higher, higher, higher…

“I believe,” he faltered for a moment. It was all too raw, all too real. God, how you loved him. “I know that ghosts have wandered on earth,”

You were up on your knees now, and Helmut had followed you up. He held the weight of your body on his clothed chest as he added a third finger. If you thought you had reached the heights of pleasure before, you had broken all the way through the ceiling, up through the sky, and into heaven now. Words dissolved on your tongue as spittle dripped warm from your open mouth down to the messy sheets below.

Suddenly, though, in the heat of it all, there was a tenderness.

The hand that had come to wander your body and assist Helmut’s mouth when it was preoccupied came to cup the back of your head and hold your gaze to him, keep you a captive audience to the way he looked at you; full of lust and love and adoration of the basest most human kind.

“Be with me always,” he urged, and the words were his . There was no more Heathcliff in them than there was Brontë or Austen or Tolstoy. “Take any form,” Tears, big and fat and wet dripped down your cheeks at the sight of it. This was your husband. Husband . Oh, the wonder of such a little word! How had you gotten so lucky? You feared you’d never know. All you truly knew was the sound of his voice as he drove his fingers into you with a mad fervor. “Drive me mad! Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!”

Finally, your words seemed to return as you soared to your completion.

“Always!”

It was a wail. A cry in the dark. A promise.

“Oh, God!”

“Oh, God! It is unutterable!”

Just two more lines.

“Helmut, please,”

Something inside of you was breaking by the second as you clung to him.

“I cannot live without my life!”

“Yes, yes, yes-”

“I cannot live without my soul!”

He crooked his fingers just so.

You snapped at the finality of it all.

Wordlessly you spasmed against him, hands clinging to every single part you could find purchase on. His neck, his arms, his back; you only had half the mind enough to kiss him as he pulled you through, never stopping his steady rhythm of thrusts. He kissed you back just as eagerly and wiped your tears with his free hand while he did. How could he be so perfect and fucked-up and yours?

You didn’t think to ask.

Instead, you rode through your bliss before slumping bonelessly into the arms of your husband, smiling and crying and utterly alive.

What a gift it was to be human, short life notwithstanding.

You had almost forgotten that.

After a moment, Helmut slowed his ministrations. He pulled his slick fingers from your body and out of your sweat-soaked sleep shorts and all the way up to his mouth, where he deposited them and sucked the remnants of your release off of the pruned digits. You would have considered it extremely sexy if you weren’t still recovering from a leg-shaking orgasm to end all orgasms. Instead, you just laughed weakly as he removed his fingers from between his lips with a wet slurp and wiped the excess spit onto the sheets.

“How the hell did you manage to remember all that?” You finally asked, nudging him softly in the side as he chuckled above you, settling down once again against the headboard.

He shrugged before he replied. “During my incarceration, I had nothing more than the books you sent me and my own mind. After discovering that particularly filthy annotation you included in my copy of Wuthering Heights, I found I was eager to reread the highlighted paragraph quite often. With time and repetition, the words simply remained,”

You held him closer to you in the darkness.

Outside, the crickets were still singing their sweet song to the sleeping world, dancing along the wisterias and honeysuckles down in the yard, planted long ago with love and care to be pressed and sent along in the very books Helmut had previously mentioned.

“It’s a shame you had to leave it behind when James broke you out. I put a lot of effort into my notes,”

“Take a closer look, Schatz,”

His words were an incentive that provided enough energy for you to just barely push yourself up from his chest on shaking limbs. Sure enough, though, and true to his word, the copy of Wuthering Heights sitting on the dresser beside you was the same well-loved copy you had mailed to him in his first months of imprisonment.

“You never miss a single detail, do you?” You asked, incredulous. He answered you with a simple kiss.

“Do you want to get cleaned up? I could run you a bath,”

The question had your mind wandering to the luscious jetted bathtub in your ensuite bathroom, sitting unused as it had for months in the wake of your fight with Helmut. Perhaps the memories of your endless trysts in that very tub would no longer haunt you as they had before. Despite the temptation of it, though, you had other plans.

“Helmut,” your voice was barely a whisper as you brought your hand to cup him through his pants, “you didn’t get to finish yet,”

Despite the way his breath hitched in his throat, he shook his head. “You’re tired, Schatz, and I will be fine to wait for another occasion. This was about you,”

Excuses, excuses.

You tutted softly as your hand wandered towards his belt.

He made no move to stop you.

“I’ve missed you so much,” The admission escaped you in a breathless sigh. You needed him. Needed to see him, to feel him, to connect with him, trembling hands and aching head be damned! Helmut seemed to understand that because as you released him from his belt and unzipped his pants he busied himself with removing his turtleneck. “Every night, I swear I thought of you every night while you were away. I would lay here alone and close my eyes and hope, so foolishly, that when I woke up you’d be right there beside me again,”

Shuffling out of his slacks, he discarded them haphazardly into the darkness of the room along with his boxers. “Lay down, Schatzi. I’ll take you if you’ll have me,” His words were tender in the night. You did as you were told. In the yellow glow of the old filament bulb, you could see his proud cock, thick and leaking, and it made you want. For what you didn’t know, but you wanted. You needed.

You yearned.

The yearning didn’t last for long, though. There were no games to be played that might make your husband taunt you or force you to work for your pleasure. It had been far too long for that. Instead, you lifted your hips and let Helmut pull the soaked sleep shorts from your legs to deposit them with the other clothes. Then, you were both laid bare.

There was no need for words past that point.

Helmut lined himself up with your opening and, gazing down into your soul, pressed each and every inch of himself into you as he groaned like a man possessed. You clung to him, bringing your arms up around his shoulders, and for a moment the two of you stayed put, connected and completed in a way only the two of you ever could be. Languid kisses were shared. You passed them back and forth like secrets from wet and swollen lips. Only after an eternity when you dragged your pelvis up the slightest bit to grind against him did he move once more.

When he pulled himself from your wetness, just about halfway, he did so with the same slow precision he entered with. You wouldn’t have had it any other way.

There was no desperation to it like there had been when he got you off, no fast-paced need driving you together in frantic breathless shouts. Instead, Helmut kept his pace slow and deliberate. It was like he wanted to memorize the feel of every inch of your body, inside and out. So, he took a snail’s pace as he worked you open below him.

The lack of speed didn't mean there was a lack of passion, though.

Oh no, you both possessed passion in spades and it reflected in the breathy moans that filled the chamber of your shared room. Your room. Your bed. Your home. The thought of it brought you closer to the edge by the minute.

In that darkness, lit by your little lamp and the light of the brilliant moon outside, you could pretend things were different and yet the same. Helmut was simply a businessman who traveled often. You were his little wife. The home was cheery and filled with light, and he would come home to you every weekend with a smile on his face and flowers in his hands. There was no danger lurking in every corner, nor was there the threat or separation at every turn. Instead, you could leave your house freely to buy groceries or visit the Sunday market in the city square down the road. Things were happy. You weren’t going to die.

Oh god, you were going to die.

It was a fact you both knew, now, and had accepted. Your fate was sealed the second you chose to stay at his side all those years ago. Still, it was all approaching so very quickly, you barely had any time left to prepare.

Despite it all, though, you had this time.

You had this moment in the darkness where you could wail and moan and cling to your husband without fear. He had you in his arms and under his chest and filled oh so good with his cock and for just a second, just a sweet blissful tick of the clock, you could forget. You both could. So you did.

Your second orgasm didn’t come on in a steep climb like the first.

No, it crept up on you without you even knowing it was coming. Helmut fucked into you good and slow and deep for an eternity before you felt those telltale jolts of pleasure urging you towards your end. He felt it too, felt it in the way you tightened around him and arched your back when he pulled back only to push into your heat once again.

There were no words. You didn’t ask for permission. Instead, you just let yourself fall into a pit of your own pleasure as you kissed Helmut and clung to his hips with hands that left bruises in their wake. He followed quickly behind. In the wake of it all, his return and your seizure and the fight and your recoupling, you felt a bone-deep ache of heartache and peace. Then, Helmut pressed a kiss to your forehead and collapsed beside you, pulling the sheets over the both of you and wrapping you in his strong arms. The skin on skin contact was divine.

“Your doctor is going to be very cross with us,” he muttered into the crook of your neck.

You let your fingers dance lightly down his back, slick with sweat, as you chuckled. “Let them be cross, then. I needed you. Besides, you started it,”

He nodded against you. Slowly, you both shifted to a more comfortable position. Helmut laid his head on the pillow, propped up against the headboard, while you opted to use his chest as a pillow instead, running a finger through his chest hair and looking up at him with tired eyes. “I will take full responsibility for my actions,” he said softly, “both recent and past,”

“I’m still mad at you, you know,”

“As you should be, Schatz, I’ve been a poor husband and partner as of late,”

“But you’ll stay now, right?” Your voice was more uncertain than it should have been as your husband reached for the dresser once more, retrieving his book.

Helmut met your gaze and nodded ever so slightly in the darkness.

“I will be beside you from now until I draw my final breath. Now sleep, Schatzchen. You’ll still have me when you wake,”

Slowly you let your eyes drift closed. You were pretty tired out… Wrapping an arm around his soft stomach, you murmured softly up to your husband. “I love you, Helmut,”

“And I love you, Y/N,” he replied, and as you drifted to sleep you could still hear his soft voice, ebbing and flowing with the breeze and cricket song in the nighttime.

“He dashed his head against the knotted trunk; and, lifting up his eyes, howled…”

“What is it with you and bathtubs,” You chuckled, sitting on the lid of the toilet as Zemo straightened out his well-gelled hair in the mirror. Beside you, the body of a man sat bloody in the tub as rigor mortis set in.

Helmut shrugged. “I don’t like to leave behind a mess for those unfortunate enough to find the bodies,”

His words were heavy, but that didn’t stop you from humming an upbeat tune idly as you watched him work. In the end, you had been the one to land the killing blow on… well, whoever was now starting to smell as his bodily fluids crept towards the drain. You didn’t care much about him enough to remember his name. No, not while you could be watching Helmut with an intent fascination. He hadn’t trusted you with his plans, not fully, but that didn’t mean you weren’t going to try to figure out what they were by watching the minute twitches of his muscles as he gazed at himself through the thin glass.

If there was one thing in the world you were good at besides killing, it was deciphering your traveling companion’s expression. He looked… tired.

“We’re reaching the end of the line, aren’t we?” You asked.

The words made him pause, catching your eyes in the mirror, but he surprisingly answered you straight.

“Yes, my plans are almost complete,” he hummed, turning to face you, “The Soldat will be moved into his cell to be evaluated tomorrow. I shall assume Mr. Broussard’s identity and, if everything goes according to plan, I shall be traveling to Serbia from there to kill the remaining super soldiers and stage the final fight between Iron Man and Captain America,”

You leaned forward from your perch on the toilet lid, letting your legs sprawl out towards the wall. “So that’s it? Just one more day and it’s done?”

He repeated your words; an affirmation.

“Just one more day and it’s done,” his eyes remained glued to you as you laughed lightly, leaning back to let your head rest against the cool wall behind you. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” you snorted, “I’m just trying to figure out where you’ll drown me now that the bathtub is already in use. The sink?”

The look that crossed Helmut's face was between amusement and disgust as he let one small huff of laughter escape from between his lips. Slowly, he closed the small gap between you and leaned against the opposite wall. From his new position, you could see all of him more clearly. The rough beginnings of stubble on his chin, the bloodstains on his sweater, the way his hands fidgeted nervously at the edges of his pockets; everything about him was endearing. You had to remind yourself that both of you would be dead in a few days to push down the burgeoning feelings that began to bloom in your chest.

Besides, Helmut was still in love with his wife. If he wasn’t, you wouldn’t be sitting in a cheap hotel bathroom with him and a corpse in the first place. Still, it wasn’t terrible to have fantasies. You were a woman, after all, a woman with needs you were sure Helmut would understand. Distantly you were glad you’d be dead before you had to part ways with him. If it was a choice, you weren’t sure you’d ever choose to leave him.

“About that,” Helmut said, low and sweet. He licked his lips after he spoke. If you didn’t know him better you would have assumed he was nervous. About what, you had no idea. Then it hit you.

“You’re not going to kill me, are you?”

As Helmut nodded, you took note that it was the first time you had ever seen someone look ashamed for choosing not to commit murder. He gulped down a breath before he began his attempts to explain. “I try not to kill without reason. The deaths of those innocents at the UN are already weighing on me more heavily than I anticipated. It’s only a precaution, but I fear that if I killed you, the guilt would eat at me enough that it might interfere with my mission,”

“Mhm,” your response, a low hum, came with a slow nod that told him you were far from convinced with his reasoning. “It’s a real shame you dragged me all the way to Berlin just to make me find my own way home. I wish I would have known I was making it out of this alive. Maybe I would have remembered to grab my wallet before we left the house,”

“That is another thing I wish to talk to you about,”

You raised your eyebrows in mild disbelief. “There’s more?”

Helmut nodded. His formerly nervous expression was now replaced with a loose smile. Well, as loose as it could be on the face of a former colonel and current terrorist.

“We’re both aware that I will not be making it out of this little escapade alive. Now, I wanted to thank you somehow for your assistance, and I figured leaving you a monetary endowment of some kind would be a good way to repay you,”

“How much are we talking?” Without even noticing it you leaned forwards towards him. He grinned all the while, wolflike and half-mad. You adored it. Adored him.

“At least one million euros,”

Your jaw dropped.

“I’ve gotten in contact with my butler and have taken the liberty of purchasing you another hotel room across town, far from where the Winter Soldier will be set loose. You can check in any time after noon and stay there for up to a week. If you choose to accept my offer, my butler will meet you on the seventh day of your stay with the money, papers to create a new identity, and free transport to wherever you want to go. After that, should you want it, you will receive monthly payouts to help pay for any bills or extra expenses after you get the lump sum. Now, if you’d like something a bit more… permanent, I could also arrange for an extra few million to be delivered in cash up front for you to purchase a house. You will be free of your past, free of everything that has bound you. You can start over and live like any other person. Does that seem like something you’d be interested in?”

Before you could even speak you had launched yourself into Helmut’s arms. He smelled warm, like cedarwood and mint and fresh-pressed linens as you clung to him like a lifeline. There were no words you could say to express your gratitude, nothing you could do to beg him to change his mind and stay. You just held him there, close as you could manage to, as you smiled into his chest.

You were free.

“I assume that’s a yes?” He asked. His voice was almost a coo as he finally wrapped his arms around you and reciprocated the affection. The motion caught you by surprise. You didn’t mention it, though, not when you were so deeply entrenched in the feeling of his pulse soaring under your ear.

“A million times yes,”

“I’m glad,” he whispered, “It will give me solace to know you’ll be taken care of. Now, where will you go? What will you do? I want to hear it all. I need to know what I’ll miss once we’ve parted ways,”

You let an almost goofy grin cross your lips. “I’ll retire, buy a little house somewhere in the middle-of-nowhere France with cash, and spend the rest of my days on this earth living in delicious sin. There’ll be no more killing, just cooking and cleaning and painting. I might take up watercolors again. Maybe I’ll even stop by the castle on my way and grab that big painting of you as a token to remember you by,”

Helmut cringed beneath your cheek. “You wouldn’t,”

“I would,” you quipped back, “and I will! I’ll hang it right in the middle of the living room so all of my guests have to pay homage to the man who set me free,” The fact that you wanted to see his face every day as you sat on his couch went without saying. It was simply implied. Helmut seemed to gloss over that fact entirely.

“What will you tell them about me?”

“That you were a good man. A dear friend. Someone who left the world too soon after doing what had to be done,”

“Is that a promise?”

“Absolutely,”

As you breathed him in, Helmut became fully aware of just how close the two of you were, pushed tightly against the off-white wall of the bathroom as the smell of lemon cleaner just barely masked the sweet rot of death. If he minded, it didn’t show. You only pulled away from him when a soft knock on the door of the main room broke you from your reverie.

“That’s breakfast,” you muttered, “I’ll keep her from coming in,”

“You do that,” Helmut replied, but he hesitated before turning back to the mirror. “Y/N?” He called softly.

“Yes?”

“If I don’t get another chance to say it, thank you for everything. I won’t forget the kindness you’ve paid me,”

“Neither will I,”

“Will you stay with me till the end?”

“Always,”

Morning came quickly.

Not quick enough for your rest to feel unsatisfying, but still too fast. There would never be a period of time spent in Helmut’s arms that felt like it lasted long enough. In the end, though, you woke feeling a full-body warmth from the tips of your toes to the top of your head.

There was no blaring alarm to rouse you this time, no spasms wracking you and dragging you out of your peace, there was only the soft chirping of birds and the gentle humming of the air conditioning unit as your eyes fluttered open and your arms stretched out to the bed beside you to find… nothing.

You paused.

After a moment of adjustment, you found that your eyes agreed with your hands. Helmut was gone.

Even in the worst heat of the fight the night before, you had never felt quite as upset as you did in that moment while realizing he had left you again. Tears pricked at your eyes. How could he? After all of his promises, he had left you alone the same way he had before. Knowing his schedule, he’d be long gone by now; off the runway and up in the air if not already on the ground at his next destination. The only thing that kept you from bursting into an angry choked sob was the sound of the bedroom door creaking open.

You clutched the sheets to your bare chest expecting one of your guests. Then, Helmut stepped into the bedroom.

What? He had stayed?

Your heart thundered in your chest at the sight of him.

He smiled broadly, with the sleeves of his striped cotton button-up bunched at his elbows and a dirty dishrag in his hands. His voice was soft and tender as he approached. Everything about him seemed so domestic that it almost brought you to tears all over again. “Schatz!” he cooed, reaching the edge of the bed, “did you sleep well?”

Nodding mutely, you offered a wet smile.

“I’m glad,” he said. One of his large hands found yours, still knotted up in the soft fabric of the sheets. The silver wedding band on his ring finger gleamed brightly in the soft daylight. “I hoped I could be here when you woke, but Sam and James requested breakfast and I didn’t want to wake you up quite yet. You seemed peaceful,”

“I was,” you let yourself lean into his touch and smiled when he pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead, “I am,”

Helmut sighed. “What I wouldn’t give to be able to crawl back into bed with you and enjoy that peace. Unfortunately, I still have to finish cutting up fruit downstairs. I just wanted to make sure you were doing well when I found a minute to sneak away,”

“Well, I appreciate it,” your voice was light as you brought up your free hand to Helmut’s collar and pulled him down for a proper kiss.

He fell into the familiar rhythm with practiced ease. It was brief, just a momentary press of the lips, but it made your heart beat just a little quicker when you felt him against you, warm and real and solid. As soon as it began, though, it was over, and Helmut was pulling back with a smile. All the while, he never let go of your hand. The two of you sat silent for a while, happy to just relish in the feeling of being together, but a clang from downstairs urged a deep sigh from your husband as he finally stepped away. You hated to see him go.

“Duty calls,” He chuckled, accent thick, “Do you think that was James or Sam?”

You nodded softly. “My money’s on Bucky, but knowing what I do about those two it was probably both of their faults. You’d better go survey the damage before they break anything else,”

“I suppose I should,” Helmut paused, turning back to you with his hand on the doorknob. “Will you join us downstairs for breakfast? Or would you rather I bring you up something to eat once I finish entertaining our guests,”

It took a moment for you to respond.

There was a certain safety to remaining in bed. Helmut would be sure to return as quickly as he possibly could, doting on you once again with the same soft vulnerability. You would probably even be able to pull him back into bed with you if you waited long enough. Getting a few more hours of holding him would be a luxury, one rarely afforded even when things between the two of you weren’t rocky. Something, though, urged you towards the other option. Maybe it was the quiet aching in your legs or the urge to see if your husband was able to keep his commitment to bettering your relationship outside of your bedroom, there was no knowing, but the universe wanted what it wanted, and what it wanted was for you to get out of bed.

“You make leaving our room seem like I’m exploring some wild, new frontier,” you snorted, throwing your legs over the edge of the bed. You both ignored your nakedness, though Helmut’s eyes did linger on the swell of your breast as you stood. “But yeah, I should probably get up. I need to clean up anyway, after… well,” you gestured to the mess of dried slickness between your legs, “all that,”

Despite the fact that you had been married to Helmut for over a year and had known him much longer, there was a bashfulness in your regarding of the events from the past night. It might have had something to do with the absolutely caddish grin on his face as he beheld the reminder, though.

“I’ll set you your usual place at the counter,” he said, watching you wander over to the closet like some bare goddess in the morning sunlight. Before slipping away back downstairs, though, he indulged you with a sweet “I love you, Schatz. I’ll await your arrival downstairs eagerly,” Then, he was gone, having closed the door behind him and retreated back down the stairs to deal with whatever nonsense Sam and Bucky had gotten up to in his absence.

You giggled softly to yourself.

Sure, your head still ached slightly and there was a tremor in your hands that wouldn’t quite go away, but for the first time in months, you had hope. The sun seemed to shine extra brightly thanks to that fact. Inside the walk-in closet, Helmut’s cologne was once again just cologne, light and pleasant as you gathered up a soft t-shirt and some sweatpants. After some deliberation, you grabbed another one of his awful thrifted sweaters too.

It didn’t take long for you to take a quick shower next. You washed away the evidence of your coupling under the warm spray, and as you did, something told you that you’d be doing a lot of that in the future. The water was heaven on your aching limbs. About 15 minutes later, you were dry, dressed, and patting the dampness from your hair on the edge of the bed.

Beside you, the nightstand was almost entirely cleared off. At some point in the night Helmut had taken away the tray with the long-forgotten toast, but in its place sat your wedding ring. It seemed to stare up at you with a gaze all too human. The decision wasn’t an easy one to make, far from it actually, but as you pulled on your husband’s sweater you grabbed the ring and slipped it back onto your finger where it belonged, and where you hoped it would stay into the distant future.

With one last deep breath, you made your way out the door and down the stairs to find out exactly what your guests had gotten up to in your absence.

You heard them before you saw them.

“I said cube, James,” Zemo groaned from the kitchen, “not slice. Mangos are best enjoyed cubed,”

Sam chimed in next. “Dude, it’s just fruit! Does it really matter which way he slices it?”

“Maybe if you cared so much about how your fruit was cut up,” James added, “you could do it yourself!”

You crept softly from the landing to the archway leading into the kitchen only to find exactly what you expected. There, crowded around the island and all dressed up in matching aprons, were the three men, all fussing over some part or another of what looked to be a breakfast spread fit for a queen. Well, baroness. Same difference. The sight was one you enjoyed a little too much, so kept yourself quiet for the chance to witness just a little bit more of their natural conversation. Between them, in a high necked vase, sat the salvaged bouquet of spring flowers you had abandoned on the front table. You were glad to see they had made it through.

Zemo was the next one to speak, walking to the stove where he flipped a delicious smelling slice of french toast.

“I believe you were the one who offered to help out this morning. If you hadn’t I would have happily completed breakfast on my own,”

“Yeah, I offered because I’m not a complete jackass,” Bucky quipped back.

“Language, James,”

“God, please don’t ever say that to me again,”

“Apologies,”

Sam noticed you then, your soft chuckles a giveaway. He smiled warmly and set down the strawberry he was coring as he addressed you. “Hey! Look who it is!” In an instant, all eyes were on you. Somehow, though, the attention wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, your presence seemed to calm the constant animosity between your husband and your guests. “How are you feeling, Y/N?”

You replied with a smile. “As good as I can be. Did you guys break anything while I was upstairs?”

As you passed the men to take your own spot at the end of the island, Bucky looked up from his butchered mango almost sheepish. “No, no we didn’t break anything,” Quickly, he added, “It’s good to see you up and running again,”

“He broke a plate while playing catch with Sam this morning,” Zemo added, “Nothing important, we won’t miss it much,”

Bucky blanched.

The domesticity of it all was almost painful as the room shook with everyone's combined laughter. Even Bucky joined in once he got over his mortification. For a moment you all seemed like an odd sort of family, bustling around that kitchen as the last bits and bobs of breakfast were sliced and fried.

It smelled heavenly.

When you had the mind to sit down at your spot on the island to eat you found Helmut had just barely beaten you there and was pouring you a mug of coffee beside your full plate. Oh, how long had it been since you’d had coffee in the house? Probably since last January, when the short days were spent watching out the window for a man who wouldn’t come back. You disregarded the thought as you examined your plate. Tropical fruit, french toast, and a small portion of omelet (with more waiting in the pan), sat, fragrant and saccharine and ever so tempting, but instead of digging in you watched intently as Helmut poured your cream and doled out your sugar. He caught your gaze just as he set a small spoon in the mug to stir it with.

“You still remember how I take my coffee?” You asked.

Instead of answering, Helmut just watched as you brought the mug to your lips. It was, as expected, perfect. Sweet enough but still biting at your tongue as you swallowed it down. Hot, but not too much so. Just heated enough to warm you from the inside out. Perhaps it was Helmut’s gaze that warmed you too.

He turned back to the stove then, gathering his own plate, but you knew he was still watching you even when turned away.

“Of course I remember how you take your coffee,” he finally replied, “You’re my wife,”

“You didn’t get me perfect coffee,” Sam added from his place beside you, beginning to pick at his food as he stared at the dark liquid in his own cup.

“Yes, Sam, but you are certainly not my wife,”

The room was laughing again then, but in a quieter way. Helmut came back around the island with his own plate and took up his seat on your other side as you ate and drank your coffee in the warm glow of the morning light. There was something so alive about being surrounded by compatriots, even if your truce was temporary. Your husband could see the change in the way you smiled.

Slowly but surely, breakfast was eaten and seconds were doled out. You discovered that Bucky, for all his harshness, had a soft spot for french toast with extra syrup and he, in return, learned that mango really did taste better in cubes. The sun rose higher in the sky and, through glass doors, you could hear birdsong outside as they enjoyed the amenities of your garden. Maybe Sam and James could be put to work digging weeds…

You had to work hard to stop yourself from getting attached.

To the guests, to the laughter, to the house you’d lived and loved in. It would all be gone soon enough, shot through or smashed or burned in the months to come, as would you be. Still, you enjoyed it while you could. If this was to be one of your last true spring days, you would savor every tiny minuscule detail.

It did you no good to live in fear of the inevitable.

Instead, you enjoyed the moments in the hope that when it all did come crumbling down, you could face the end knowing you had truly lived.

Helmut’s voice pulled you from your morbidities as he finished the last bite of his omelet. “We’ll have to run out to the market for more groceries today, I’m afraid,” he hummed, “but perhaps that’s a blessing in disguise. It’s far too lovely a day to spend it cooped up inside,”

You quirked up an eyebrow. “We?”

“Yes. We, Schatz,”

Something about the way that he was trying so hard to write his past wrongs was incredibly endearing. It made you grin into your mug as you swallowed the dregs of your coffee. “I guess I could take some time out of my incredibly busy schedule to go shopping with you,”

“Could you really? I can hardly believe it,”

“I’ll have to actually get dressed first, but I could pen you into my schedule, just this once,”

“I hope that you won’t change out of that lovely sweater, though. I find it ravishing on you,”

“Oh, really? Thank you. It’s my husband’s,”

You said the word proudly, The sound of it made Helmut’s face flush as he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips.

Sam’s voice pulled you from the soft display.

“Man, you guys are so cute it’s kinda gross,”

Bucky didn’t say anything, but the set of his jaw made you think he agreed.

“My house, my rules Sam,” you jested, “and my rules are that I get to kiss my husband,”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just try not to get all mushy. Some of us are painfully single over here,”

“Like you?”

“No, not me, I get all the ladies. Bucky, on the other hand…”

“Hey!” Bucky interjected.

And you laughed. All of you laughed. You laughed and the world turned and somewhere across the globe, John Walker scoured Madripoor for an informant who could give him a lead on Sam and Bucky, but you didn’t know that, and even if you did, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to care.

Not when Helmut’s hand was in your own, fingers laced together tight, as you brought your head to rest on his shoulder.

“Schatz?”

“Yes, Helmut?”

“I love you,”

“You know what darling? I love you too,”

You really did.

------

a/n: Wow. It feels so surreal to be done with this project. Thank you to every single person who has supported me through this process. It means more than you know. If you enjoyed the series, or want to scream into the void about it, I always love comments, so feel free to leave one! Thank you again!!!

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AO3 | FFN Royai Week 2021 | Day 1 – King’s gambit/Queen’s gambit Rating: M (light drinking, sexual content) Genre: Lemon Word Count: 3,230

A/N: Happy Royai Week, everyone! Welcome to the spiciest thing I've written so far, which marks the first time I'm starting Royai Week with smut. I hope this feeds you well. Special shoutout to Mica for adding life to this with the gorgeous art! 😍

Something stirs in her; on one hand, it would be easy to call it yearning. But on the other, nothing that concerns Roy Mustang has ever been easy. Riza has always equated these things with methodical moves and calculated risks.

And so, for once, Riza pictures herself playing her game not for Roy’s sake, but for hers. She imagines that the stakes are different, the rules may be broken, and the only person she has ever wanted is both her gamble and her prize. She could have it all now—she need only play her piece.

———

Roy Mustang was made for a night like this. Handsome, stylish dress uniform, hair slicked back like a frame around his striking facial features, an air of dignity in his walk, his posture, even his gaze. He wears it all so well that he stands out from older, more distinguished company in the East City Hotel, where tonight, the Eastern Army is holding an extravagant ball in recognition of its recently promoted officers.

Riza is present as well, of course. For the occasion, she has traded her usual military attire for a blue satin gown with a flatteringly slender silhouette. A sash pinned with the insignia of her rank hangs from her shoulder to her hip. Having gone up the stage much earlier in the program for her own recognition, she has now retreated to the far end of the room, from where she’s got a full view of Roy as he waits to be called in front of the crowd.

Her promotion from Second to First Lieutenant is nowhere near as significant as his becoming Colonel, but it is no less her night than his. Selfish though the thought may be, it’s true that Roy owes this night to her, every title and every honor conferred to him. In every aspect of his life, she has made a crucial choice that allowed him to take a step in the right direction towards their goals—his goals that she has chosen to make her own.

“For the rank of Colonel, Roy Mustang…”

It was Riza’s choice to join him in the military, and it was this choice that has kept him on his path and his eyes on these goals. She has been devoted to his success just as much as to her act of atonement, but she was not subservient to either. Roy also carries with him the burden of their sins in Ishval. Her responsibility over his atonement means that she has more power than a subordinate would normally have under their superior. Anyone could be a dutiful subordinate or competent bodyguard, after all, but only she could be trusted with his life as well as his death.

“… the formidable Flame Alchemist…”

And it was her choice to reveal the secrets of flame alchemy, entrusted to her by her father, that first set him on the path towards his goals for the people and the country in the first place. Had she not trusted him, Roy would have searched further and longer for some other practice of alchemy. Had Riza chosen to die with her father’s secrets, Roy might not have come anywhere near who he is now.

“… and Hero of Ishval.”

Every choice she has made in their intertwined lives has determined the course of his, even when he should have been none of her concern. This was especially true in Ishval. She could have pulled the trigger at any time when she despised him most. She could have reversed the choice that brought him to Ishval. Riza chose instead to be an ally—a friend in a war where every other sense of humanity seemed to have been lost.

The Hero of Ishval was made through her actions; as was the Flame Alchemist; as was this shiny new Colonel Roy Mustang. As he is introduced by Lieutenant General Grumman, he takes his place at the center of the ballroom stage, and his titles and promotion seem all the more impressive due to the fact that he is the only new Colonel being recognized tonight. The crowd erupts in a reverent applause which Riza does not join in.

In different circumstances, if it weren’t for the very cards they have been dealt, tonight could have truly been happy, a cause for celebration. But their plans continue forming and unfolding; this game on which they have staked their lives does not pause. And so Riza watches him as she drinks her champagne, quietly imagining the steps they ought to take next, the moves they must plan, the sacrifices she must make in this gambit where she is both player and piece and he is the king set to take it all.

Her life is a game which she plays for Roy Mustang to win.

When his moment passes and the ceremony moves on, Roy descends from the stage, searching through the crowd for Riza. He finds her and meets her gaze across the room, and for a moment she wavers in her train of thought. She is familiar with this feeling. She has felt its pull before, but never this strongly, never with enough clarity so as to explicitly name him its object. How could she possibly feel it towards someone for whose sake she has forgotten her own needs and her own desires? How could she not be indifferent instead?

Riza leaves her champagne on a nearby table and turns in the opposite direction to walk off its effects. The party thankfully offers plenty enough distraction from the drink and from Roy. She meets a few colleagues here and there, makes small talk, and when she loses sight of Roy, she’s certain that he has been intercepted by people wishing to congratulate him or rub elbows with him for his prodigious rise through the ranks. She soon manages to extricate herself from the crowd and disappear from the ballroom.

———

“You should be celebrating tonight, Lieutenant.”

Riza knows that Roy has found her before he even speaks. She didn’t think that he would. She had wandered around the hotel until she found herself in distant, unfamiliar hallways decorated with beautiful artwork that she could admire until her intoxication had worn off enough to safely drive home. But there is no mistaking the sound of his footsteps or the scent of his perfume tinged with the liquor from the party. Part of her wants to disappear again, but his proximity in an otherwise deserted place seems to further slow down her currently unreliable reflexes.

Riza smiles dryly. “Does it matter if we received our actual promotions a week ago? We all know this is just an excuse to flatter ourselves and have a good time without spending our own money.” Roy smirks as she shakes her head. “Either way, I think I'll enjoy the party much better here, away from the crowd. But you're everyone's darling for the evening. They'll be wanting you back."

Roy sighs and rubs the side of his head, as if the very thought tires him. "I see enough of them at work. And there's going to be more of them around now, especially when we get transferred to Central. This night isn't about them."

The mention of Central causes Riza to bristle with alertness. She whips her head around to ascertain that the hallway is deserted. Behind her, she finds an intricately carved double door, and she quickly strides across the hallway to it. To her surprise, it is unlocked; the room beyond it appears to be dark and deserted. Riza shoots a glance at Roy as she enters. He swiftly follows.

Riza spots a nearby floor lamp just before she locks the door. For a moment, the room is pitch black, then Riza switches on the lamp. Its warm glow is just enough for her to make out Roy’s face and the silhouettes of the furniture in the room. They seem to have found themselves in a lavish parlour with a high-backed sofa and matching armchairs, a handsome tea table for two, a fireplace carved from white marble, and a vintage piano.

“I see you’re already making plans for proceeding to Central,” Riza begins. “We should be more careful about discussing them from now on, Colonel. Everyone has their eyes on you.”

Roy stares at her questioningly. Then, a small laugh breaks through his expression, and he shakes his head. “I’m not. I didn’t come looking for you to talk about our plans.”

She frowns. “What is it, then?”

“It’s just like I said. You should be celebrating tonight.” He draws what sounds like both a nervous breath and a laugh. “It wouldn’t have been right to enjoy the party without you. You’re the reason we’ve both come this far.” He pauses, and then his voice turns softer than before. There is no trace of a smile left in it or on his face. “I know you know that, Lieutenant.”

In the soft light, Roy’s face appears flushed, his features softer than they were when she watched him back at the ballroom. Riza doesn’t realize just how close he is until the scent of champagne on her is lost to his raspberry wine. Something stirs in her; on one hand, it would be easy to call it yearning. But on the other, nothing that concerns Roy Mustang has ever been easy. Riza has always equated these things with methodical moves and calculated risks.

But never in any of their plans or her own did she consider this a possible outcome, that Roy Mustang would be kissing her with one gentle hand on her face and another on her waist, or that the warmth of his body could be such a welcome comfort. He kisses her as if he has known for a long time just how closely he would need to lean in, how to tilt his head to the correct angle so that the curve of his lips would fit perfectly with hers. Riza senses this not because of unrestrained passion—on the contrary, Roy is perfectly still. The kiss is tender, but the rest of him is tense, as if it’s the only thing holding him together now. Or as if it’s the only thing he has held out for all this time.

Roy breaks away from her slowly, and it’s Riza whose heart is thundering in her chest. Perhaps, had the game been hers alone to play, it wouldn’t have led them so far so soon. Had it been she to approach him first, they might have only teetered over their fragile lines and not fully crossed to a point of no return. But Roy has taken her by surprise where the playing field has always seemed to be even between them. This, she cannot accept—she has never made a gamble that she did not see through. This will not change now.

She will play her game on her own terms.

Riza flings her arms over Roy’s shoulders as she kisses him, one hand running through his hair and undoing it back to the style she knows and likes best on him. It makes her want more—thank heavens that he realizes it right away. He responds so ardently that they stumble, so he steers her until she falls back against the piano and dissonant notes blare over their sighs. His hand runs down her side, over her hip and into the slit of her blue dress, where he reaches under her thigh and lifts it up against his leg.

But Riza refuses to give in so easily. She trails her hand down his front, all the way down to where he has started to turn hard. A gasp escapes him when she wraps her fingers around his erection and tugs at it. It gives her an opportunity to push back and reverse their positions so he is seated on the piano—it clangs unpleasantly again—and she is leaning over him as she makes short work of his jacket and his shirt to kiss his chest. The further down Riza drags her lips, the less familiar she is with the territory she is exploring, but she goes on until she brushes against that warm, rough outline. Riza tugs his trousers down, and when he springs free of his clothing, she takes Roy into her mouth.

He is exactly how she wants him right now, inelegant and vulnerable with his head hanging all the way back. Riza starts off slowly, but she is eager to figure out whether she can get him to unravel more quickly with her lips running back and forth along the length of him, or with her fingers massaging the base which her mouth cannot reach. His pleasure seems to build unhurriedly until she twists her tongue around, making him throb and moan quaveringly. She becomes hungry to hear more of him and picks up the pace, never mind that the effort is choking her. Roy grips her hair until it falls out of its pins, ultimately coming loose down her back. She goes, and goes, and she thinks he might be close, but then—

But then Roy pulls her up so he could kiss her, and Riza sighs in pleasure, and it isn’t enough for her just to watch him unravel anymore. She falls into him in a blissful, drunken haze, allowing him to kiss and caress her and unzip her dress. She could burst into flames at every part of her that he touches, even the scars that he had left on her back when their game was at its deadliest. He begins rubbing her between her legs, and there it hardly matters whether his touch flutters over her skin like candlelight or pushes as suddenly as lightning—the sensation just builds and builds, like a storm stirring up the sea.

How could he know so well what to do with her, how to give her just enough and yet leave her wanting more without ever having explored her this way before? The question is quickly lost in Riza’s mind as he finds other ways to arouse her. Now, he’s pulling the top of her dress down, switching positions with her again, alternating between kissing her lips and her breasts. It’s easy to follow him where he goes when he’s leading her through a dazzling trance, easier than it has ever been to follow him in any other way.

The storm slows only once as Roy’s lips brush against her ear with a stammering plea. “Do you want me to—can I keep going?”

Riza hardly recognizes the sound of her own voice when she gasps, “Please.”

Slowly, carefully, he enters her, with her dress hiked up above her hips. Despite the mild ache that comes with it at first, it feels better than anything she could have planned or imagined. Riza is shaking now. She buries her face in Roy’s neck and moans there, where only he can hear her, and she feels his excitement growing at the sound of it. He begins to thrust into her—clang, clang, clang, goes the piano—first at an even pace, which helps ease away her initial discomfort. When the tension disappears from her shoulders, she finds herself swaying against him hungrily. He varies from going exhilaratingly fast to tantalizingly slow—clang, clang, clang!—and at some point, she whimpers—

“Roy—"

It seems to awaken something feral in him. Everything he does with her is greedy now, from his kisses running clumsily from her neck to her lips and back, to his hands grabbing at every part of her that he can reach—and although she likes him like this, unhinged and at the same time in complete control, it makes her want to give him more than she is getting.

Riza pushes herself off the piano and into Roy, and he is more than willing to let her drive him down to the floor. There, she pulls at his hair as she kisses him, then shifts slightly so he can kiss her chest while she slowly sinks down and allows him back into her. Their rhythm is easier to find this time. She starts off at a pace that builds up the heat in her body just right, then later allows his hands and hips to guide her with more fervor and intent. Soon, the pleasure is just too close for her to wait any longer, and they are both overcome with an aching desperation—

“Roy”—she pleads, groans—“oh—"

“Riza—ahh—fuck—”

“Don’t stop, don’t stop—"

Roy climbs over her, snaking his arms around her to grab at her chest, and he enters her from behind without breaking their rhythm, thrusting vigorously until and throughout her release. The rush, the bliss, the high is simply unthinkable—Riza presses her forehead down and bites her own hand hard to keep herself from screaming. She sinks into an ungraceful sprawl on the floor, drenched in sweat and tremors and Roy’s weight all over her body, but also as feeling if she were made purely of her sensations, with no physical body at all.

A moment passes, or two, or an eternity before she turns to lie on her back. Roy has collapsed next to her and entangled with her, so he adjusts to make way for her. She then finds herself looking up at him; Roy is leaning over her, seeming like an entirely different person with his gentle gaze, his tousled hair, his clothes only barely clinging to his body. His clothes—a reminder of who he is, and therefore, the gravity of what they have just done.

The high subsides almost as quickly as it came over her.

The room is piercingly silent as they scramble back to their feet and several meters away from each other. They keep their backs turned as they smooth their clothes back onto themselves and comb their hair into some normal, unquestionable style. Riza’s senses settle back into rationality at last. This was not a different way to play their old game. This was a temporary escape, a rare exception to her life’s unwavering rules.

“Riza.”

It’s unsettling how he says her name as if it were what he normally calls her, so she does not respond. Surely, he understands that what has just transpired between them must remain in the past, in favor of the reality that they left outside the door. Surely, he knows as well as she does that that reality has already resumed before they have even left the room.

He calls her name again. Riza, again, refuses to acknowledge him.

“Lieutenant.”

Her resolve wavers for only a moment. Riza knows exactly what he is doing. She knows her own excuse for this lapse in judgment—she knows how to keep it from happening ever again. But she can tell by his current insistence and his earlier passion that he doesn’t consider this a mistake like she does. This is, after all, exactly how he plays the game—head on, without hesitation. Roy has broken the rules more thoroughly than she has. He would have done so without her instigation. He has made perfectly clear the gamble that he is willing to make for her.

Riza turns, brushing past Roy and out of the room without so much as looking at him—leaving him behind the door, leaving as much of her selfish desires as she can possibly let go of—because she knows she must keep him from gambling everything away.

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storiesforallfandoms · 3 years

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sister’s approval ~ machine gun kelly

word count: 1415

request?: yes!

“Machine gun Kelly x female reader. The reader is Kells younger sister who’s a singer and who’s really close to kells. When kells and Megan start dating people start saying how Megan is trying to push her out of kells life, trying to make kells forget about his sister even though Megan and kells sister immediately became best friends when kells introduced them. She finally has enough of people saying stuff about Megan and she posts on social media saying that she’s tired of people saying stuff that isn’t true and that her and Megan are best friends and she doesn’t hate Megan and that she’s really happy that her brother found someone as amazing as Megan. Please and thank you”

description: in which the tabloids are trying to paint her brother’s girlfriend as a bad person, so she decides to set the record straight

pairing: machine gun kelly x sister!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two)

She ran right past her brother and immediately tackled his girlfriend instead. Megan chuckled and hugged (Y/N) back as Colson watched with amusement.

“Good to see you too, sis,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re cool I guess,” (Y/N) said, waving Colson’s comment away. “We both know I’m here for Megan.”

“Weird, I thought you were here to record a song with me.”

“That’s like the side quest, the main mission is Megan.”

Colson rolled his eyes. (Y/N) made her way to his home studio, basically making herself at home in his house.

Despite both of them being in the music business for over 10 years, neither of the Baker siblings had ever done a song together. With the production of his next album, Colson insisted that (Y/N) made a feature on the album. She said yes on the condition that they both kept it an absolute secret until it was released to which Colson agreed.

(Y/N) threw herself down onto the couch in Colson’s home studio and pulled her songwriting notebook from her bag. “I have a few different verses written just because when I started writing I couldn’t stop. You choose one that sounds best with the rest of the song.”

“I’m sure all of them would work.

“Yeah but we can’t do a six verse song, that’s just too long. Pick one and I’ll use the others for a different song.”

Colson took the notebook and read through the verses. (Y/N) took her phone to look through social media while he read them. Megan was sat next to her, sending each other 8 Ball games back and forth between social media sessions.

After scrolling through Instagram for a while, (Y/N) switched to Twitter to find her own name trending. Confused, she clicked it to find an article at the top of the trend. The title read: “MGK blows off sister again! The rapper stands up (Y/N) for Megan Fox yet again”, accompanied by a picture of (Y/N) sat alone outside of a restaurant.

She didn’t have to read the rest of the article to know it was bullshit. The picture was of (Y/N) waiting on a friend outside the restaurant, not Colson, and the headline was so false that (Y/N)’s hands started to shake.

“(Y/N)? You good?”

Colson’s voice brought (Y/N) out of her enraged trance. She looked up to see him and Megan looking at her, expectantly.

“Yeah, I’m good,” she responded. However, another brief glance at her phone brought her anger back. “Actually, no, I’m not. I’ll be right back.”

She got up and walked out of the studio. She went to the living room, far enough away that she knew they wouldn’t be able to hear her as she filmed her video.

The press had been trying to pin (Y/B) and Megan against one another since she and Colson started dating. (Y/N) and Colson had always been close, but once Colson started dating Megan, the paparazzi started taking pictures of just the two of them or just (Y/N), totally ignoring the fact that (Y/N) was constantly posting pictures and tweets about Megan, and that all three of them spent time together often.

(Y/N) had had enough of the lies and the clickbait just to make Megan and Colson look like bad people. She was about to set the record straight, whether people wanted to hear it and believe it or not.

She switched her phone to Instagram again and went to her story. She held her phone up so that she was framed perfectly in the shot and held down on the button to begin recording.

“Hey everyone! I just wanted to address something really quick,” she started. She held the phone out so that the camera would pick up the background. “You see this behind me? This living room I’m in? This is Colson’s living room, because I am in Colson’s house. I am here spending time with him and with Megan, as I do almost every day. I am bringing this up because I just saw yet another article trying to make it out as if Colson has stopped spending time with me due to Megan. These articles are nothing but clickbait and lies to try and grab reader’s attention, especially the attention of my fans.

“Colson and I have not had any sort of falling out. There are no ill wishes from me towards Megan, and vice versa. In fact, Megan is my best friend. I like her more than I like Colson. And no, Colson has not stood me up or dumped me for Megan. Does he like to have his alone time with her? Of course! All couples do! But we still spend time together and we still talk to one another. There’s no bad blood between any of us. To the tabloids that have been spewing this bullshit for nearly a year now, I’d like for you all to kindly and politely shut the fuck up and move on. If I keep seeing this slander about my family, I will not hesitate to take legal action. To any of my fans who actually believe this and are sending hateful messages to Colson and Megan, I also beg you to stop. They are my family, and by hurting them you are hurting me. Whether you choose to believe this video or not is totally up to you, but this is the truth. All three of us, we’re a family. So fuck off of my family.”

(Y/N)’s hands were still shaking as she pressed “post”. She watched the videos load one by one before they were all posted to her story. The moment they went up, the views came flooding in, as did the positive messages. Many of her fans sent her private messages in response to the story, telling her they were sorry that she and Colson had to deal with that and assuring her that the real fans knew there was no ill intentions between the three of them.

Satisfied that she had finally gotten that off her chest, (Y/N) went to Colson’s kitchen and poured herself a glass of water before going back to the home studio. As she walked through the door, both Colson and Megan’s heads turned to look at her.

“Did you guys want water, too?” she asked, trying to lighten the mood.

“You could’ve told us you were going to film that video,” Colson said. “We could’ve addressed the rumors, too.”

(Y/N) sighed and took her spot on the couch again. “I know that, but I felt like it had to be me addressing it. I was the one being made out to be a victim. If you guys said anything before I did, everyone would just think you’re trying to cover your own asses. You can make statements if you want, but I felt like I had to be the first one to speak up about this.”

“She’s right,” Megan agreed. “If we came out about it first it would just be fuel to the tabloid’s fire. Although, I don’t think we should have to make any sort of statement about it. The fact that anyone believes that shit makes no sense to me.”

“People like to demonize celebrities they don’t like,” (Y/N) responded. “Whether it’s true or not. Chances are that video will be taken out of context to fit their agenda, but whatever. I said my piece, I’m moving on.” She nodded to her notebook in Colson’s hand. “Did you choose a verse?”

Colson looked down at the notebook before passing it back to (Y/N). “They’re all really good, so I thought maybe, instead of one single, we do an entire album together.”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened. “Are you serious? Like you actually wanna do that?”

Colson nodded. “Yeah! I think it’ll be a fun surprise to both of our fanbases, and it’ll definitely make up for the last ten years where we haven’t worked together.”

(Y/N) was basically bouncing with excitement. “Oh my God, this album is gonna be so fucking awesome! We should give it a really cheesy name, like Baker’s Dozen.”

“No,” Colson said.

“Yes!” Megan retorted.

“Two against one, it’s being called Baker’s Dozen,” (Y/N) decided. She and Megan high fived while Colson buried his head in his hands and let out a groan.

#machine gun kelly #machine gun kelly imagine #machine gun kelly x reader #colson baker #colson baker imagine #colson baker x reader #imagine #one shot #sister!reader #request #fanfiction #fandom #fanfic

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turnaroundroundround · 3 years

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Opera References in Musical Yuukoku no Moriarty Op. 2

Some thoughts of mine after re-watching Morimyu Op. 2, regarding Irene's arc A Scandal in British Empire, about all the opera references and some random thoughts that come to mind during this arc. Obviously there's a lot more to Morimyu Op. 2, for instance The Two M's and Mycroft's solo (which I often refer to as "the Mycroft Anthem" lol), the entire Baskerville arc, and the train arc, and so on. And there's a whole lot of other things I'd like to discuss about them as well, but maybe just save it for another time. I don't know if anyone has discussed these references before, and I am not entirely a pro in music either. All I have is some basic knowledge on opera and harmony, so these are just some personal impression that came to mind when I watched this arc, so please keep it in mind.

A SCANDAL IN BRITISH EMPIRE

Okay, so the biggest motivation for this post is, obviously, the music throughout the entire Scandal arc. It is heavily influenced by opera, partly because Irene herself is an opera singer, partly also because the masquerade ball itself is also a perfect stage for an opera to be shown. And the opera was not simply brought in to make the music sound good, but also utilising the plot of the opera itself to create more depth and color to the musical. About Opera during the 19th Century Some side notes. Opera has originated and developed from various different kinds of stage ever since the Greek and Romans. I'm not going into details but anyway, by the 19th Century, it's still somewhat of a luxury that is mostly meant for nobles and people with high status. There are millions of stories about nobles coming to the theatre only to enjoy the music and not the play itself, or not really watching anything but waiting to see their favourite opera singer. Like when the other things in the play are going on, they stay in there box or hang out with other nobles, playing cards and all, and when their favourite singer makes her debut, they come to the front of the box and watch her. Then they return to their games when she exits. All the luxuries. Opera is really something that is meant for nobles and those with nothing but time and money on their hand back then. And another thing is (with an image that I quickly searched on Google just now lol) back them before any stages there is always a pit for the orchestra to be in. They are just below the stage so that the music can still reach the audience as equally, but also low enough that they aren't in the way of the audience's view.

By the way, the role of the conductor and stage director back then was somewhat a blur (if I remember it correctly), as the music writer would very often himself direct the entire stage and become the conductor on the performance day. In case something goes wrong, such as actors need more time to adlib, then he knows how to direct the orchestra to play accordingly. It's quite a small detail, but in Op. 3 Liam also refers to himself (yes this is still about Yuumori lol) as the maestro, somewhat very similar to the role of the conductor himself. This reference, as we can see, shows Liam's role behind the scene conducting all the plots and instructions. It's quite a small detail I think, but also quite interesting

By the way, the leading singer, or Prima Donna (as they call Irene), are always sopranos. And the same goes for Irene Adler, all of her songs were written to highlight her soprano voice, like in 大作戦ーDaisakusen or her song with Ms. Hudson

An example from a song that I was reminded of when listening to Cecile!Irene. Of course there are many other songs we can talk about, this is just one of the examples.

Obviously, Irene's song aren't entirely like classical opera songs. They were all arranged to both highlight the opera feature, but also to suit the form of the musical and all the while showing Irene's elegant and gracious manners of a prima donna, and also showing her playful side especially during her duet with Sherlock.

YAMI NO OPERA - DON GIOVANNI BEHIND THE CURTAIN

To understand Don Giovanni references, it's essential to understand the story behind the original opera by Mozart. That being said, the actual plot of the story is quite long and contains so many details it's almost impossible to fit all of them into one post while also comparing them with the one in Morimyu, so this is a link to a more detailed synopsis of the opera. Or you can also read more on wiki. I'll just give some basic details that are referenced and discussed in this post. Overall impression: This opera revolves around a playboy that flirts with women, but lacking in loyalty and commitment to keep any of his promises to them. By the end of the play, after all the sin he has committed, Don Giovanni is engulfed in hell's fire, and punished for his sin. It is very much similar to the story in Morimyu, nobles relying on their wealth and status and have the freedom to do anything as they want, without having to worry about having to bear the consequence. Because of the difference in power and status, it is almost impossible to punish all of them, therefore having a need of a "demon" to punish them with powers that no human have - the role of Moriarty gang within the play.

In this arc, Liam is "directing" a play that is inspired by Don Giovanni. His audience is Irene Adler (and of course us who is watching the entire thing), and the main character is Lorinson who ends up being punished for his crime. Mozart's Don Giovanni is being performed on stage, but at the same time Liam's "Don Giovanni" happens, in the back stage. What we are watching as the main stage is actually the "back stage" of the real story.

In the original play, Don Giovanni was a playboy that flirts with many women. At the beginning of the play, he flirts with a woman called Donna Anna, and her father tried to defend his daughter. They got involved in a duel and Don Giovanni killed the man. Donna Anna mourns and wish to avenger her father.

In Morimyu, the story of Lord Lorinson (pardon me for not knowing both the translation of his title and his name) is added in spite of the original plot in the manga. As far as my Japanese comprehension goes, the story is that Lord Lorinson is also one that uses his status to abduct other women to his pleasure, and ends up treating them poorly.

At one point, a woman came to the Lord of Crime, saying that her daughter has been murdered by the noble and mourns her. She wishes for revenge, and Liam proceed to do so.

Don Giovanni - Act I Finale

During Moran and Louis' fight with Raymond(?), in the section behind the stage we can see the opera theatre with the Finale song going on. The ensemble is still singing as the fight goes on behind them.

youtube

In the Finale of Act 1 here, the section that was insert into Morimyu was rather short, and was meant for a dramatic effect than actually showing what's happening in the original opera anyway. But anyway, we can see that as the fight proceeds, the curtain behind also slowly closes, ending the first Act of the opera.

It's clearer here. We can see that as they are fighting there is an entire opera going on at the back. The fact that the ensemble has their back to the audience emphasises how everything we're seeing are all in the backstage, but at the same time it proceeds alongside with all the events in the "mainstage". It's quite a powerful image.

At one point in the opera, Don Giovanni attends a party where he met one of his previous lovers that he betrayed. Then there's some talking and such and more betrayal, and somehow he then decides that he would also flirt with his ex's maid.

There isn't much that I have to say with this reference in the play, only that it is actually Fred disguising as a maid for the purpose of carrying out the plan and scared the sh*t out of Lorinson lol

I couldn't catch all the details from their conversation, but apparently Fred did some kind of stand-in again as the victim who was murdered by Lorinson, also to provoke him and lead him into Liam's trap?

At the end of the opera, Don Giovanni was cornered by the 'devil', drowning him in the flames of hell. However before that happens, the women that Don Giovanni once flirted with (as well as Donna Anna whose father was murdered by Don Giovanni) gathered, chasing after Leporello - Don Giovanni's servant - who exposed him of his guilts and sins.

The song that the women sung in this scene is "Ah, dov'e il perfido?", and there is a very small section at the end of the song that was kind of re-arranged and added to Morimyu. In Morimyu, this is the scene when Lorinson is exposed of what he is done, after that being "punished" by the devil. There is also a scene in the play when Liam mentions 地獄の炎 - Jigoku no Hono (The Flames of Hell) which is a direct reference from the original Don Giovanni. In fact, what he has been telling Lorinson is the story of Don Giovanni and how he ends up being punished - only that when Lorinson realised that, it's already too late.

(A reference from the song in the original play, the section that is used in Morimyu is actually quite short, only starting from around 5:40 within the song in this video)

youtube

In Yami no Opera, the song is arranged with Liam's part of the melody above the entire harmony. So it is indeed a proper opera that "Liam" has based on re-arranged to carry out his plan.

While Don Giovanni is happening on stage, there is also another "Don Giovanni" being punished by the devil - Lorinson. We hear part of the original song from the ensemble in the background, and also Liam's version of the punishment along with Lorinson's struggle. And at the same time the ensemble does seem to be focusing on "Don Giovanni" - all of them looking towards Liam's and Lorinson's position. A really impressive scene.

And after that very short section, the play goes on, returning their focus back to Irene Adler and Albert's conversation. There is no "Flames of Hell" erupting in any ways except for Liam's really strong section of the Yami no Opera song. And there's no need for it, I think, as Lorinson has never been the real protagonist like Don Giovanni. Liam only made him a temporary "protagonist" and not solely for the purpose of exposing him, but only as a mean to show Irene the true identity of the Lord of Crime. So there is no point making it more dramatic than it already is.

So...

That's pretty much all that I have to say about Don Giovanni and opera's reference, I think?

Well another thing, maybe, is how much I love the instrumental arrangement for violin and piano in Morimyu. They don't have the privilege of having an entire orchestra, but instead they did as much as they could for the instruments so that they recreate the original opera vibe as well as they possibly can. And the result is, just, extraordinary.

Anyhow, I've heard many of my friends comparing the songs from Op. 2 and Op. 3, seeing that Op. 3 has more of a "flow" in between the songs as all of them were written with harmony such that they have a certain connection to each other.

Not that Op. 2 doesn't do the same thing. However the second Opus does feel more separated, I think, since the music in the 3 different arcs are much more different. For instance the Baskerville arc has a "hunting" vibe to it, describing Moriarty gang's plan to bring down the nobles' game of hurting children, while the final Scandal arc revolves around an opera singer and mostly happens within a masquerade ball. So there is a big difference between the scenes, and obviously a big difference in the music brought to them as well.

Aaaand, that's pretty much all the details I've picked up (and remembered lol) up to this point.

Anyway, I've been watching and re-watching all 3 Opus of Morimyu many times, each time firguring out something else that I haven't noticed before. So if I end up realising some other details within this arc, maybe I'll come back and add to this post.

Thank you for reading ヽ(・∀・)ﾉ

Also, thank you @rikaaki for these beautiful gifs(☆▽☆)

#musical yuukoku no moriarty #yuukoku no moriarty #william james moriarty #morimyu #yuumori #Youtube

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cacoetheswriting · 3 years

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champagne problems, epilogue

Epilogue: Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby: The beginning of the end. A/N: chapter is titled after this song if you want to listen while reading. Word Count: 1.3k Warnings: brief mentions of alcohol consumptions, other than that just a big ball of FLUFF !

series masterlist

A/N: holy shit, this is the end!!! i had so much fun writing this little series, but it wouldn't have been the same without all of you reading, so seriously thank you! now, if anyone on the story taglist would like to be moved to my general spencer reid taglist just let me know, other than that i hope you enjoy this very last chapter!

Ever since you were little, you dreamt of your wedding day.

The elegant white dress you would wear, the way you’d style your hair, how your dream venue would look, the perfect guest list, the flowers, the track list, and of course, your husband to be.

You imagined he’d be handsome, a prince to accompany your dream of becoming a princess. You imagined he’d be smart, trustworthy, courageous, and caring. You imagined he’d be funny, make you laugh even when you didn’t want to smile. You imagined he’d be a great listener and have a heart of gold. And you imagined he would always put you first, no matter what.

Dr. Spencer Reid, your husband, was everything you imagined and so much more.

“I believe it was Paulo Coelho who once said, Love is just a word. Until someone comes along and gives it meaning.” All eyes were on Rossi, who with a glass of champagne in the air was delivering a speech he swore he hadn't prepared prior to this moment, “Now, when Y/N and Spencer broke the news and told the team they were finally tying the knot, I personally couldn't have been more thrilled.”

Everyone nodded along to his words as he continued, “And I think I speak for everyone gathered here today when I say these two are made for each other.”

Rossi glanced between the tables until his gaze finally landed on you and the brunette doctor beside you. “To the bride and groom. Cheers!”

“Cheers!” The gathered crowd erupted simultaneously, and what followed was the loud clinking of glasses.

You turned to face Spencer. The hazel-eyed man was already looking at you, a warm smile circling his lips.

“Cheers, my husband.” You lifted your champagne flute a little higher, as he chuckled lightly before following suit, “Cheers, my wife.” Without breaking eye contact, the two of you chinked your glasses together and took a sip of the bubbling liquid.

The evening slowly turned into night. Dozens of tiny fairy lights illuminated the venue, accompanied by the shimmering hue of the disco ball in the middle of the dance floor. Not a single body was sitting down. Everyone swayed to the music, rejoicing in the love which was so clearly floating in the air.

Spencer had his arms wrapped around you, the palms of his hands resting on your lower back. Your arms were around his neck, tips of your fingers tangling in the ends of his soft curls.

The song currently playing was quite fast, but neither of you were particularly keen on the comforting embrace ending - even though you had the rest of your lives to hold each other.

Next to the two of you, on your left, Emily and Tara were jumping around to the beat of the music, while JJ filmed them. Rossi and Will observed the spectacle with drinks in hand and loudly cheered the ladies on. On your right, Penelope was engaged in a dance battle with Derek - one she was undoubtedly winning. Matt, Kristy, and Savannah watched the pair in fits of laughter. And all of the kids ran circles around the gathered group, playing a game of tag with Luke.

“What’s on your mind?” Spencer questioned quietly, after noticing the look of contemplation gracing your features.

“Hmm... I’m just trying to remember the last time we were all together, and this... carefree.” You replied, meeting the ever so welcoming hazel gaze of your husband.

Spencer smiled softly at your response. “Well, we’re here now.” He simply stated, and you couldn't help but playfully roll your eyes.

“You know what doctor, for an extremely outspoken man, and one who seemingly possesses more knowledge than all of us here tonight, you can be very cryptic sometimes.”

“I have to keep a few things to myself, otherwise you'd loose interest in me.” He joked with a chuckle.

The comment earned him another eye roll. You moved one hand from behind his neck and lifted it in between you, curling all fingers inwards apart from the ring finger. His gaze travelled to the notion and the grin on his face widened, because he knew what you were about to say.

“I’m stuck with you now, forever and ever and ever, whether I loose interest or not.” You teased. Spencer’s hand found yours and he brought the finger to his mouth, before pressing a soft kiss to the ring.

“I wouldn't dream of being stuck with anyone else.” Spencer proclaimed, and proceeded to attach his lips to yours in a blissful exchange of breaths. The kiss was short and sweet. Similar to many you’ve shared before, yet different at the same time. Better almost, because he was no longer just Dr. Spencer Reid, he was your Dr. Spencer Reid, and you were now Mrs. Reid.

“I love you, my husband.” You muttered against his lips after pulling away. He smiled, “And I love you, my wife.”

Spencer spun you around once, causing a light giggle to escape you, before he pecked your lips again.

“May I steal her for a moment?” It was Luke who asked, appearing beside the two of you almost out of breath.

“The kids really wore you out, huh?” You teased as Luke smirked, “Oh definitely! Which is why I’d like a dance with the lovely bride so I can compose myself.” He extended his arm and you linked yours with ease.

Shooting Spencer a smile, you disappeared into the crowd with Luke. The doctor watched you for a moment, once again wondering how the hell he got so lucky, when his thoughts were interrupted by a clearing of the throat. He turned his head to find your dad also looking in your direction.

“She’s beautiful, isn't she?” Your dad asked.

“Extremely.” Spencer whispered back, loud enough for Anthony to hear.

The older gentleman shifted in his position, facing Spencer completely. “Thank you.” Anthony stated and extended his arms to wrap them tightly around Spencer. “Thank you for keeping an eye on her, son.”

“I’ll continue to do so for the rest of my life. Nothing’s gonna hurt her ever again, sir” Spencer replied, before quickly correcting himself, “Anthony.”

The older man chuckled lightly as he pulled away. He straightened his tie and proceeded to place his hands on Spencer’s shoulders. “I’ve wanted to say this for quite some time now.” He paused briefly. “Call me dad, son.”

The unexpected request caused the smile on Spencer's face to widen ever so slightly. He didn’t waste time to nod his head in agreement and with one last hand shake, he observed Anthony make his way through the bodies and steal you from Luke for a dance of his own.

Spencer’s heart soared as he watched you sway to the music. In this moment, he was glad he had an eidetic memory that would allow him to remember this sight forever. How filled with joy you seemed, and how ethereal you looked in your white wedding dress under thousands of fairy lights.

Your eyes locked with his amid the celebrating crowd. Amid the off-key singing and crazy dancing. Amid the drinking and loud cheering. Amid every single person that was currently partying between you and Spencer. When his hazel gaze found yours, it felt as if there was no-one else present.

And you were suddenly filled with immense gratitude for everything that has happened since you met the handsome doctor. Grateful for every single step which lead to this very this very moment. Grateful for him, for Spencer.

Your husband.

Today was like any other day.

You woke up at your usual time to the sound of your alarm. You had coffee, and a quick bite to eat while aimlessly scrolling through the social media apps on your phone. You showered, brushed your teeth, got dressed, did your makeup. And when it was time to leave, you walked out the front door locking it behind you, hopped in your car, and drove to work.

Today was like any other day. Except that it wasn’t.

Today wasn’t like any other day because while you carried out all of your menial morning tasks, you felt a great deal happier. Because you weren't doing them alone, and with Spencer by your side, you won't ever have to again.

You finally found your happily ever after.

A/N: from the bottom of my heart thank you for your continuous support and going on this journey with me. with love, mal. x

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dropsofletters · 3 years

Text

cursed your name [lty]

—summary: lee taeyong has wanted one thing for the past two years: to be the worldwide light featherweight champion. his up-and-rising career is on its highest point to this day, one step away from being one of the youngest winners of the title, watched and studied by the world with intent. little does he know that success is a lonesome road, filled with envy and betrayal.

owning a casino is already difficult on its own. fights, bets, cards, money, the stench of alcohol following around every step…she knows this is not how her life should’ve turned out to be, but after being passed down her best friend’s casino, the jungle, she does everything in her power to keep the business alive. the dream, even.

the dream of a casino dies down when taeyong makes his way through those doors one night, but another dream starts…and she has to wake up.

—title: cursed your name —pairing: lee taeyong x reader —genre: boxer!au ; casino owner!au ; crime!au ; strangers to one-night stands to enemies to friends to lovers!au (yes, that’s a thing) —type: angst ; fluff ; suggestive ; drama ; humor ; slowburn —word count: 28,354 —warnings: mentions of death, guns and blood. acts of betrayal on page. none of these actions are morally correct and are only plastered on paper for the sake of storytelling. characters are fabricated in every way. there’s a mystery, kind of, so you can solve that as well.

Lighter off. Lighter on. It says enough about a person when the only source of light of their night comes from igniting a cigarette.

The long stick rests between her fingers, pushing one leg over the other when leaning back against the muddy backdoor of the casino. Her casino. It’s hard to believe that the twinkling lights, bustling people, workers dancing on tables all belong to her now. So, they say, people have to lose it all in order to have one glimpse of success.

Even themselves.

She pushes the black beanie on her head a little bit further down her forehead, puffing out the smoke from her lips before tapping the cigarette a few times. The ashes fall on the floor beside her, near her boots, but she can’t bring herself to care. For once, she wants peace. And maybe, silence comes with the faint background music behind her, and the cars passing by in an alleyway that could probably get her killed if she stood there for too long.

The fact that the casino is in a rich neighborhood doesn’t mean it’s a good one.

Her fingers almost become numb thanks to the coldness, but for once, she can breathe. Perched, tranquil, mixing the vapor of her mouth and the smoke of her cigarette in just one breath. Turns out that casinos are filled with cocky, overconfident people who lose it all and win it all over again. If people ask for the manager in normal establishments, they ask for her when they decide to bet everything and their wife in just one game.

People decide how to destroy their lives, and she’s just the one giving a ceiling to the conclusion of their proper economical lifestyle.

The backdoor swings open, hitting her directly on the back. She can’t even begin to form a sentence about privacy when she’s met by the sight of her right hand. The only man she has ever trusted, one of her closest friends, Tori. If there is loyalty in people, it’s shown in him. Mussy brown hair parted in the middle, a set of somewhat interesting features welcoming her. Wide forehead, somewhat downturned and bored eyes, paired up with his slim, rouge lips and his short, straight nose.

For being in his thirties, he looks good.

“What do you think you’re doing out here?” Tori is always behind her. Checking. Nosing around where he shouldn’t be. Sure, he does it out of worry, can’t let his fingers slip around her hold to keep her in place and make sure that everything runs smoothly. After all, he’s an investor in this place, but a breather wouldn’t go wrong.

She takes a puff from her cigarette, hiding her hands in the pockets of her black, elongated coat. Mixing in the shadows is for the better when running a business like this one. “Running away for a bit. What else would I be doing?”

Tori opens the door wider, his gray suit perfectly fitted around his buff body. The lights of the casino swirl behind him, a worried look on his features. “I don’t know. One of these days, I fear you may actually run away.”

Scoffing, she rolls her eyes. “As if I could.”

“She wouldn’t have wanted you to.”

At the mention of the ghost between them, she presses her lips together, unhooking the rounded sunglasses that rest on the collar of her shirt. “I know.” The memory of her still bleeds deep within her. The woman who took her in. The one that did everything for her, even lure her into a world of betting and losing. She never lost after having her in her life, and that’s as much as she could have ever hoped for. “Need me for anything important, Tori?”

She’s already halfway through the door, her baggy dress pants rubbing against each other as she moves away from the bar at the corner, followed by Tori right behind her. “A—Actually,” He catches up with her, a little bit breathless when he takes the cigarette from between her fingers. “I wanted to have a talk with you.”

Before he could take a drag of her cigarette, she snatches it away from his fingers, stopping on her tracks. “One would think that if you’re driving a Lambo around town, you wouldn’t have to steal my cigs.”

Tori smiles, all crooked teeth and faux innocent ways, looking down at her from his tall, almost enormous height. “Yours are a better brand.”

Truth be told, she has tried the cheapest of brands. Had to at the beginning of her career. Right now, she feels powerful enough to have the thing that will kill her on the long run be, at least, exquisite in shape and style. “And they are mine for a reason.” She tilts her head to the side, pointing at the other end of the casino. “Let’s meet at at my office to see what’s that important thing you need to talk to me about.”

“You’ve got it, boss.”

She will never get used to the title, because one year ago, she wasn’t the boss at all. She was just another worker at The Jungle, perhaps a very conceited one, hanging around the boss a little too often—her truest friend, if she’s honest. Serving drinks, drifting her eyes away from the people she knew were too important to be seen there. Those were the fun times, but then, the owner was gone. Disappeared. Leaving the casino under her watch on a last breath.

Allegra was not meant to be gone this early in her life. In her forties, she was aiming to be the biggest, most well-known casino, and she was on the way there. She took people in, from the streets and from raunchy places, turned them into polished versions of themselves and basked on their loyalty. She was one of them, and some of the other workers were, too. Though, a robbery in her office later and a few stabs to the chest, Allegra was gone.

Left like a kiss on the wind.

Though, the casino was just as outstanding. Conceptualized to be capturing, both in aesthetics and in entertainment. Compared to other casinos, bathed in the typical golden and red, The Jungle was specialized in darker colors and better security. Instead of having women in poles, they danced from cloths on the ceiling, as if they were branches, surrounded by green and brown walls, woodened tables and ignited lights putting in the typicality of a casino. It was a well-thought-out concept, that’s for sure.

The heavy woodened doors of her office are opened once her fingers push down the code to enter. Her office, once Allegra’s, glimmers for its intensity. Dulled forest green walls, glimpses of white, and the most carefully thought-out hiding spots.

It’s a nice business. It doesn’t mean it’s a safe one.

“So, Tori—” Though, she hears someone else waltzing inside, saying their hushed greetings to Tori just as she turns off her cigarette, hitting it against the wood of her desk. “Anything important I should know about?”

Giving someone your back means that they’re one second away from killing you. Out of everyone in The Jungle, Tori is the only one who was rich from the crib. An investor for a reason, and Allegra’s lover for some years before they decided they were better off as business partners. She trusts him, but maybe, it’s second-nature to be wary.

The singer of the casino, Junghoon, stands by his side, a hat over his long, straight black hair, sharp features and bone-structure almost hidden. He’s way smaller than Tori, with an air of arrogance that falls on borderline silly.

“We’ve found him.” Tori whispers, his smile dissipating when he takes a seat in front of her, extending his long legs forward.

“Who’s him?” She asks.

“The man who killed Allegra. We found him.”

One thing she couldn’t defend about Allegra is that she was a little bit too trusty. She could see a man that she was interested in, and it was as though all judgement left her brain. A night on someone’s sheets and with a man between her thighs and she was done for. Intelligence nowhere to be found.

It was clear it would be the cause of her death, but she has to expand her hands on the armrests of her office seat to be able to stand her weight, sitting down as the memories come flashing down. The blood on her hands. The ache of her chest. She lost her sister, though not blood-related, to whatever this man did.

A sharp breath leaves her lips, memories flooding back when she closes her eyes tightly. “H—How do you know?”

Tori is pensive for a few seconds, fixing the black tie around his neck before sighing. “I’ve been looking for a year, boss. You know how close I was to her. How much I loved her…” Tori may have never gotten over Allegra, but it’s very rare to see glimpses of him that aren’t bathed in his business-like judgement. “I talked and talked around until I found him. Well, a group. Of course, the crime couldn’t have been committed by just one person.”

The police had turned their backs on this. Unaware not, but not caring enough about raunchy people of society to be able to help them. Some of their team were good, others not so much, but justice needed to be made regardless.

“A group?”

“They’re well-known. Not for killers, but they are wealthy enough to frequent The Jungle.” Tori spits out, swirling his hand around the air as he explains. “A boxer slept with Allegra the night before her death. Lee Taeyong, I’m sure that’s his name. He’s a newbie with a small group of trainers, publicists, all of the life on his team. Around eight men.”

People of all categories frequent The Jungle, and boxers aren’t the exception, but she’s certain she has heard this name before. Though, she can’t quite put a face on it. “Tori, you can’t be making assumptions out of what people tell you. It could be someone trying to get to him, for all you know—”

He breathes out her name, different from his usual connotations of ‘boss’, and she knows he’s serious when he does so. “…I have a backbone for this. You just have to trust me.”

Silence engulfs them, sparing one glance towards Junghoon, patiently waiting by the door, just as she lets her fingers roam over the stacks of papers over her desk. “And what do you intend to do, Tori?”

This time, he seems to be happy about her choice of words. His face contorts in the sweetest of smiles, but she knows he’s anything but. “…I’m glad you asked, boss. I have it all planned.” The man interlocks his hands together, leaning his weight forward the slightest. “Taeyong will come to The Jungle tomorrow. You know the killer stole money from Allegra, lots of it, and that he stabbed her to death. So, I decided to give him some taste of his medicine.”

Allegra may have been like a sister to her, but there are a hundred steps from that to murder. “Tori, I won’t kill a man. Jesus, what kind of person do you take me for?”

“I know you’re not that kind of person…” He trails, voice deep when he looks down at his hands before his brown eyes connect with hers. “But I am. I’m just asking you to take the money away from him. All his cards. Leave him spotless, and then, I’ll take care of him.”

Gruesome images appear right behind her eyelids. Blood is definitely something she can’t stand, much more knowing she is one of the causes behind it. “I don’t want to.” She stands her ground, crossing one leg over the other and pushing her sunglasses away from her face. “Shit, Tori. This is hard stuff. I don’t want to have someone’s body on me, much more if they’re important.”

Tori scoffs. “He has enough enemies; they’re not going to know it was us.”

“I don’t want to, I said.”

“Listen, I don’t know if we’re on the same page here, but Allegra was practically sliced in half by her killer. She couldn’t even utter words properly when she died, innocently, just because she slept with someone and you decide not to take revenge?” Those words reverberate around her ears, resonating in awful ways, reminding her of that one night where they both found Allegra dead—

God, could it really have been a boxer?

“You have no idea if it’s him—” She argues, the voice of reason in this case.

“Explain the punches. Explain the hook-up. Explain the timing. If I’m not right, then why does everything fit?”

Her lips fall shut, rubbing her face with her palms, burning with the coldness of her fingertips when her index and middle fingertips press to her eyelids. Tori is not half-wrong. Allegra suffered, unattended by the hospital, given no sense of justice…but if this person is a boxer, they must be well-known.

“What do you have in mind?” She questions, but just as Tori smirks, she shakes her head. “Don’t think I’m supporting you, Tori. I just want to know.”

“I’ll be the one killing him. I need to do it. For me. For her.” His words are filled with purpose, eyes darkening. “But I need someone to keep him in a room. I will book a room in a hotel, and you’ll seduce him. I’m not saying that you’ll sleep with him, but it’s even better. I just need you to take his money and leave the room. I’ll enter them.”

“Holy fucking shit.” She whispers to herself, giving a glance towards Junghoon, much too quiet in his position. “I—I don’t think I can be part of it. I can’t stop you, but I’m not a seducer. Why me when there are a handful of great-looking, powerful strippers that could do the trick even better than I do?”

“He’s very collected and controlled by his team. After all, sleeping with strippers and prostitutes would not be nicely seen for an athlete.”

She chuckles at that, standing up from her position to move over to the door. “Okay. Out of my office. I won’t do it—”

“Come on, boss.” This time around, Junghoon’s lightweight voice takes place around the office. “Tori wanted me to help you out. I have some knowledge about the ladies and a pretty little dress may finally get your panties out of its twist and make you loosen up.”

Those words make her raise her eyes. Junghoon is a complete asshole, but she’ll give him and his baritone ways some slack because the people frequenting the casino love him to bits. “And a pretty little turn of your legs out of my office may help you keep your job, asshole.”

Tori’s pristine shoes tap against the tiles as he moves over to her. “It’s them or us.” He says, pointing towards the door. “You don’t know when he will do it again. Women are always killed for the most horrendous of reasons, just for being free. It’s not a sin if you take a sinner away.”

She sighs. “I don’t care if it’s a sin. I’ll go to hell either way. I care that it’s a crime, Tori, and I won’t go to prison.”

“That won’t happen.” He promises, grasping both hands in between his. “I just need your help, that’s all. If anyone will go to prison, which won’t happen, it will be me.” His eyes connect with hers, filled with certainty and honesty. “Please—”

Allegra’s face pops back behind her eyelids. Despair. Loss. Pain. All her life taken away because of what one man decided to do. She opens her eyes then, humming in return.

“I’ll help you.”

###

“Come on, another jab. To the jaw, Taeyong, go higher—”

The plan never was to be a boxer. The plan, indeed, would have been to take over his grandmother’s bakery, stuff his face with chocolate at least once a week, and let time pass with professionalism. Destiny would come to him one day, with some money in his pocket, bring the love of his life over, have a family, own a dog, then have a child and it would continue on until the day of his death. He’d bake for his family, for the neighborhood, too, and never lay a hand on anyone.

His arm extends, boxing gloves rubbing against his bony hands as his eyes concentrate on the target. Sweat accumulates on his hairline, his bleached blonde hair tied on a ponytail behind his back, toned stomach uncovered, loose shorts wrapped around his slim hips as he moves his legs back and forth, keeping some distance before coming for the hit.

Now, he can say he’s skilled, but when he was discovered, it was such chance as luck. Grandma liked for him to take a casket of buns and pastries each afternoon after school to sell them. It helped the business, and he could give out some business cards in the process to help expand. It was the easiest task a fourteen-year-old boy could have. Get on a bus, sell some pastries, go around the neighborhood and come around with clients, orders and money.

It was when someone older, a young man around eighteen or nineteen years old, had tried to steal from him that his eyes had flared with anger. One of the most fulfilling afternoons monetarily almost slipped away from his grasp, had it not been for the piling rage that left him two options. Lose the money that his grandmother desperately needed or man up and fight for it. His fists were uncontrollable, such force coming from self-defense, with a few people having to pull them away in the streets. His eyes blurred with tears at the time, knuckles bathed in blood—from his own body, actually, all he did was break the man’s nose and those who tended his wounds are now part of his team.

Thirty-two wins. Zero loses. Zero ties. Ten knock-outs. Knock-outs are the worse; there is something inherently fearful about having someone drop to the ground thanks to his punches that he lands. It gives more money than the bakery ever would, and his family doesn’t have to work half as harshly as they used to thanks to his success. Well-earned, but not easy at all.

He spent years practicing. Only two years ago did he actually get to debut in the big leagues. With cameras around him, interviews, surprised by how this underground boxer in his teens suddenly became someone of importance. Travelling around the world in order to earn his name.

And now is the time to become light featherweight champion.

Another punch has one of his staff stumbling back, just at the same time that the bell rings. It’s then that he moves to the corner of the gym, inspecting the walls covered in posters of the biggest boxing champions, gulping on water to be able to wash down his tiredness.

From behind him, two people emerge. One shorter, buffer, face filled with wrinkles as he speaks to Taeyong. His trainer, to be exact. The other, much younger, parts his black hair in the middle, always wearing dark clothes and holding an agenda up to his chest. His publicist, if anything.

Soonhwan, his trainer, fixes the ponytail behind his head as he speaks. “Listen, Bruce Lee, start getting confident in your punches or Eiji will knock you on your ass on the first round.” Eiji is the current champion, prepared for eight years, quickened in his movements and filled with endless cockiness. “He’s been talking real talk to the media and we need to shut him up, Taeyong.”

Dongyoung is the one in charge with the media, completely stressed out as he puts his agenda to the side and looks down at his tablet. “He’s spoken?” Taeyong asks, licking his lips after finishing off half of the bottle. Finally, Dongyoung looks up, pushing his bangs away from his forehead.

“Too much, I’d say. I’d put a fist in his mouth if I didn’t know he could break me in half if he wanted to.�� Dongyoung speaks out, pointing the tablet towards Taeyong’s face. The article is too long for him to read all at once, but Dongyoung simplifies it for him. “He’s said you opened your butterfly wings and he’s ready to take you down. Something about you just being a lucky guy in the right place at the right time, but no substantial talent behind you and just bullshit over bullshit.” Dongyoung pulls the tablet away before scoffing. “We’ll keep quiet, but the guy is testing me…”

His eyes soften, pushing his lips together when he looks at Dongyoung. “He really said all that?”

Soonhwan lays his hands on his shoulders, moving him from side to side. “You need to toughen up, boy. Eiji is made of steel, both physically and mentally, and I don’t want his words to get to you.”

No matter how many times he physically fights, Taeyong will never get used to it. Call it presumption or something of the like of guilt, but landing punches and raising his fists after doesn’t bring him utmost happiness. Stability? Of course. It pays the bills. Does the trick. It’s what he has prepared for the past handful of years.

“I’ll be fine.” Taeyong leans his head back, bones cracking in the process, staring up at the ceiling. “Just need a breather. And a meal. Haven’t eaten since the morning.”

Dongyoung doesn’t know how to express his concern at most times, writing something down on his agenda as he speaks. “You haven’t been eating your proteins, Taeyong.”

“I’ll have all the steak you give me right about now.”

“How about this, my boys?” Soonhwan doesn’t have children of his own, and by being the oldest of the staff, with a boxing career that has lived to be legendary but not ever-lasting, he has found the two youngest to be like his children. One of his arms ends up around Taeyong’s shoulders, the other engulfing Dongyoung closer to him as he speaks. “I know a pretty good casino at the center of the city. The Jungle. It has pretty women, nice tables, excellent drinks and food. They serve the best sauces I’ve ever tasted in my whole entire life.”

Truth be told, it’s been a while since he has found himself relaxed. Taeyong is about to shake his head when Dongyoung nods from his spot. “I could have a few drinks.”

“But I can’t.” Taeyong conquers. “The fight is in a month.”

Dongyoung shrugs then, a smirk taking over his features. “I’ll drink for you, then.”

“Asshole.”

“Hey, you were the one that became a boxer. Not me.”

“Boys, boys, boys, calm down.” Soonhwan interrupts between the two. “We’ll just have fun. Play some poker. Call it a night early. It’s needed. We’ve been preparing for this fight for months.”

Truth be told, it doesn’t sound so bad. His staff, himself, and a nice bowl of whatever meat he could find, dipped in sauce, up to his lips, as he splays whatever cards are in poker on a table. Perhaps, if he’s lucky, he’ll get some money. If he’s not, he’ll lose some. Not too much, but enough.

A smile pushes itself to his face, pulling away from Soonhwan as he nods. “Okay, okay, we’ll go out.”

“That’s my boy!” He exclaims, patting his hand across his back. “Now finish him. We’re going out tonight.”

###

Drops of sunshine fall on her dress. If this can be considered a dress on her, really. Definitely not her style, the lace on the high collar makes her look polished, molding into her body like a golden second skin. This definitely comes from the closet of someone much more open to being, well, open. One turn to the side on her dancers’ mirror lets her see a glimpse of her ribcage and the side of her chest thanks the opened back and if she doesn’t walk short steps, her dress would definitely ride up her thighs.

Junghoon wasn’t the one to dress her up, and if she doesn’t know if she’s thankful for that. Jinhee, however, had taken it upon herself t turn her otherwise mysterious boss into one of the bombshells seen around The Jungle. Wig put in place, heels making her wobble in place, and the tint of her lips shining brightly under the harsh lights.

Jinhee spots a red wig of her own, her robe falling open when she crosses one leg over the other, half-dressed and ready for her show. “Atta boss. You look sexy.” The word makes her cringe, turning around to see Jinhee’s rounded eyes settled on her.

“Don’t say that word.” She punctuates, shaking her head in the process. “I feel like a clown.”

“Because you’re not used to it. Think we don’t feel like that from time to time? It’s the empowerment from your head that will make you feel like a badass.” Jinhee stands in front of her, straightening her back. “Now, boss, shoulders back, chest up, ass moving, that’s the first set of things to care about when getting someone’s attention,” Tori could have easily picked Jinhee for the work, but no, it had to be her. “But the eyes are the ones that are going to get you out of trouble. Most men don’t think when they see a gorgeous woman with an innocent gaze. They don’t know the difference between heaven and hell, and you’re about to show it to them. Use that to your advantage.”

“Jinhee, this is pointless.” Smacking her hands on each side of her thighs, she rolls her eyes. “I haven’t seduced a man in years.”

“It’s never too late to start.”

“He’s a boxer. Men like him get everyone they want.”

“So?” Jinhee asks, crossing her arms across her chest. “Make sure that who he wants is you. Prettiness is all over the world, but it’s the core of a person that make them stand out.”

She turns around, hands splaying on the vanity as she sees the informative picture Tori had given her. Taeyong has his gloved hands lifted in the air, curling his slim yet toned arms after a victory. His hair was red at the time, but she was informed he had dyed it to blonde, tied behind his head as a smile spreads across his handsome features. His eyes don’t have the look most people in his world have, filled with anger and pride. Somehow, he seems awestruck, like he can’t quite believe he is there.

The past few hours, she has been killing her mind with thoughts. All that can run through her head is the happiness of his smile, the people cheering for him in that picture, and the revenge that has overcome Tori’s senses. It doesn’t feel right. Seducing him isn’t what she would have imagined for the night, but it’s what Tori wants…

It’s what Allegra deserves for what he, supposedly, did to her.

“Jinhee, give me a minute.” She takes the photo in between her hands, folding it in place before sighing. “I have to get something in my office.”

“Okay, but be careful with those heels. The dress is Versace, the shoes are Valentino’s—”

“Nothing will happen to the heels. Don’t worry.”

Her steps are steady when getting out into The Jungle. As far as she knows, Taeyong is nowhere in sight as she moves towards her office, pushing down the code to have the doors opening.

The problem is…she can’t kill him. Steal what he had stolen from Allegra? Maybe, but she can’t help Tori kill the man when she is not certain if his sources are correct. Tori hangs around some people that she doesn’t entirely trust. Bad to the core. They could be lying because of any hatred they could hold against Taeyong.

And sure, she could be wrong. Taeyong may have been the culprit of Allegra’s death, but she’d rather die knowing that she saved a life than live with the thought of murdering someone innocent.

Opening the drawers, she sees the pistol Tori keeps there. It’s for safety measures, he says, but she never touches it. It belongs to him, used for his own protection, but she’d rather not have her fingerprints all over it. Taking it in between her hands and with some isopropyl alcohol by her side, she unloads it, making sure to take all the bullets there and place them inside her strongbox.

When she cleans the gun and puts it back in place, she sighs. He better not notice it.

With that, she scavenges into the casino once again, careful steps trying to look a little bit too confident. Not failing in the process, luckily.

###

“Shit.”

Through his yellow sunglasses, Taeyong manages to cover the glimpse of comedy that begs to seep through his voice. Dongyoung splays his money on the poker table as if it was his flag, crossing his arms over his chest like a kid without his toy. Truth be told, Taeyong is, also, awful at this game, but he doesn’t get petty when he has to give his money to the winner of the game.

The Jungle is somewhere new for him, but Dongyoung has been here before. An outcast, through and through, with the way he dressed himself in a silk beige suit from head to toe, bringing a smile up to his face.

“Dressed like a winner, living like a loser?”

The man in question digs his elbow on Taeyong’s ribcage, stealing a gasp away from him, combined with laughter. “Shut the fuck up. You’re not that good either.”

“I know.” Taeyong says, lifting his bottle of water up to his lips, maintaining his health even through a night with his team. His trainer is somewhere on another table, but he can’t bring himself to keep his gaze away from the game as they divide the cards in between the players. “But I accept it, Dongyoung. I suck at this game. You should, too—”

“I don’t suck at this game.” Dongyoung, always trying to the highest reach, lets the words cling between his teeth as he speaks. “I’m just out of practice.”

Shrugging, Taeyong lets him live his dream. “Whatever you say. Whatever you say…”

For one moment, he lets himself get involved in the movement of the cards, but instead, the clicking of heels captures his attention. It’s the consuming curiousness that overtakes him that makes his attention flee away. If anything, he should be used to it. There are strippers at The Jungle, and of course, they’re going to be using heels in the process, but once he leans back on his chair, his leather jacket rubbing against the fabric, he sees a pair of swinging hips he can’t take his eyes away from.

He has a thing for untainted presences, like an angel in between a sea of sinners. It’s better, after all, when having someone who knows their strength but doesn’t quite show it, to correlate with them, as well. Surprising, it is, and he knows it’s the case with her. Eyes gleaming in seriousness as she moves through the seas of people and though she’s a bit awkward with her heels and she doesn’t walk with as much confidence as she should when sporting a body like that, he’s staring.

He bites down on his lip, raising his eyebrow when he sees her move directly towards him. Dongyoung chuckles by his side, low and breathy, when he nudges his side. “You always get the good ones.”

Though, Taeyong breaks his gaze away from hers once she gives him a smile. In reality, his ears burn in bright red shades, concealed in the darkened stance of The Jungle. “What are you talking about?”

“She’s practically eating you with her eyes.” Dongyoung finalizes.

“Yeah, so?” Taeyong continues, conversation not over, even when he hears her move closer. That ‘tip-tap’ of her heels may become his newest favorite tempo. “I’m not looking for anything.”

“Well, she’s looking at you. Do with that what you will.” Taeyong knows the difference between wrong and right, but he can’t tell why his body practically paralyzes at the alluring scent by his side. When his face turns around, his cards underneath his fingers, now divided between the group, he sees her from up-close. Delicious lips, mascara-coated eyelashes framing her eyes perfectly, windows to a soul short from enigmatic. It’s fucking hypnotizing.

“Saw you lose from over there.” Her fingers point towards one of the tables, not too far away. Soonhwan was there, that’s all he knows. “You’re not too good at poker, aren’t you?”

“Not good with cards at all.” Taeyong confesses, licking his lips when he lifts up his cards and inspects them with a frown on his features. He wants to look prepared, but he has no idea what they mean. “I don’t know what they mean.”

“Oh,” She breathes out, leaning over his shoulder to look at the cards. “You’re fucked.”

The way she says those words has Taeyong leaning back against her touch. He has an idea what that could mean for him, and God, if he has to be fucked— “What? Why?”

Their voices are low, and her breath fans on his earlobe, lighting the little hairs on his nape on fire when she fiddles with the edge of the card. “A 2-7 offsuit. Worst hand at poker. Don’t go too high on your bets.” Her chin juts towards one of the men in front of him. “He’s as bad as you are, so don’t you worry.”

“Boss!” One of the men by the table speaks, tapping his cigarette-holder against his finger to let the ashes fall on his dark suit. The man is over his forties, and the whine on his tone is somewhat annoying. “What are you doing helping that little boy out?”

“I’m teaching him, Hino. He doesn’t know a thing.”

The man speaks through his crooked teeth. Better quit smoking now. “Then, he should’ve thought about that before ruining my game of poker.” His voice slurs, raided by nicotine, husky and raspy to the point he finds himself lost in some of the syllables he says.

Instead, she rests her arm on the backseat of his chair. “My place, my rules, my game. Sorry, Hino.”

He calls out what seems to be her name, and Taeyong turns his head around to look at her before this could escalate any further. “Don’t worry,” He replies, brown eyes inspecting her features. “I’ll get out of the game, if that is the case. I don’t want to bother anyone.”

Just as he stands up, splaying his already terrible hand at poker on the table, Hino wants to say something else. “He just ruined the game—”

“Calm down, Hino. He’s new to this.” Though, she follows after his steps, getting away from the seat and standing by his side. “Take a breather. I’ll pay whatever he owed in this game, and that’s it. Just…relax.”

What is it with this woman?

There is something so inherently seductive and attractive about her. Boss, that means that she has a position here…maybe, she owns the whole place.

Hino shuts his mouth, enough to have the woman smiling, but that sets him off. “You put on a dress and you change entirely.”

Taeyong can’t imagine her without a dress. Or, yeah, he can—but those legs are exquisite enough to worship for the rest of his life. “Happens.” Is the entire excuse she has, softly wrapping her arm around Taeyong’s arm when she says: “Want me to invite you a drink, player?”

For some reason, Taeyong is starting to believe she is the player here. Still, he loves it. “Sure, let’s go.”

###

“So, you own this place?”

Call it curiousness or his fidgety persona, but Taeyong’s fingertips trace the outline of his drink as he asks the big questions about her. One of her legs is crossed over the other, seated by his side on the bar counter, with sprinkles of the sugar in her drink scattered across her lip-gloss.

Now, Taeyong knows a lot about pretty women. They are everywhere, around him, talking to him, falling for the boxer he is. They never once stop and think that he is more than a few good punches. So far, she hasn’t spoken about that—about him. She asked questions, taught him the basics of poker, answered to his every word until silence overcame them.

She chuckles, nodding to his words. “I do.” Leaning on the backrest of the stool, she rolls her eyes slightly. “I run this place to the best of my abilities.”

Taeyong sips on his drink, unaware as to why he had never come here before. Soonhwan better wrap him up some more nights for going out. “I imagine you’re really good.”

“I manage.” She shrugs, turning to look at him with her chin resting on her palm. “It’s not that I’m particularly good at it, but hey…I make everyone believe I have everything together.” Her words are coated in the sincerest of manners, sighing deeply when she plops her hand on her drink, asking another one from the bartender who already knows what she wants. “…That’s what you want to do when you’re playing poker, Taeyong. Make everyone believe you have it together, even if you don’t.”

Just what the fuck is going on with him? He questions himself. One of the strippers dangles from the sky, dancing to her heart’s content, earning howls and whistles from men that definitely include people from his staff. Money rains from the sky and falls pathetically on the flooring, but his eyes are trained on hers, laughing along to her words.

Truth is—Taeyong sees beauty, but he never sees the beauty that urges him to get to know more about someone. If he is lucky, he gets a pretty model by his side, a singer that he dates for two months and then, the distance becomes unbearable. In most occasions, he is too busy to date. A kiss to a not-so-close friend to pass time. A smile at a socialite to spend the night. It has come down to this…to watching faces blend and personalities dissipate into nothing. They fade to black, irrelevant inside his brain.

“And how exactly do I do that?” Taeyong questions, turning around on the stool until his legs are prodding against the side of her thighs. She repeats his actions, slightly parting her legs to interlock it with his, and it takes all the will inside of him not to have his eyes linger on the uncovered skin.

Her finger touches his chin, softly, delicately—for someone who rules this place, she is as tranquil as it can get. Mysterious and mellow, Taeyong can’t quite put his finger around the paradigm of her. “It’s in the eyes, Yong.” The nickname has him raising his eyebrows, a smile splaying over his features. “You have pretty eyes. Use them to your favor.”

He leans forward then, licking his lips to bite down on his bottom one. “And how exactly do I do that?” Breaths mingle when he speaks, stench bathed in alcohol, and though he’s nowhere near tipsy, he’s hypnotized by her beauty. So unlike whatever he has seen in this world of money and fame.

“Look in my eyes.” Her fingers point at her own, and Taeyong nods. He doesn’t have to be asked twice. “What do you see?”

His eyes rake down her features after capturing her gaze for a few seconds. “That you’re gorgeous.”

Laughter bubbles from her at that moment, the changing lights of the casino casting over her face. The music has gotten louder, bass boosted, but even if his biggest celebrity crush had taken her clothes off right there and then, in The Jungle, he wouldn’t have looked away from her. “No, you have to think that you see yourself. Eyes are not windows to the soul. They are mirrors, Taeyong.” She explains, one hand splaying on top of his, rested on his thigh, when she leans forward to keep their eyes connected. One single movement and their lips would touch. “When you’re playing poker, or when you want to lie to someone, you only have to think that you’re looking at yourself. Like, when you’re practicing for a big speech and you practice in front of the mirror to see the motions and get a grasp of what you want to say.”

Taeyong hums, concentrating on his reflection in her pupils. Dilated. God, she’ll be the death of him. “And then?”

“Don’t smile.” Her hand reaches for his cheeks, pulling down the smile before sighing. “Twinkling eyes are okay; your eyes are just like that…but you have to be serious and conniving. Scheme, Taeyong. The body follows what your mind says.”

“Okay.” He pulls his lips down, earning laughter from her.

“You look like you’re sad.”

“I’m just trying not to laugh.”

Swatting her hand against his shoulder, softly, she speaks up: “I’ll take it.” Soon, she continues explaining. “After you are serious, with all your scheming ways going on, you look at the people around the table. Look for giveaways of what they are feeling.”

Taeyong shudders when her breath ghosts against his lips. Never has he wanted to kiss anyone with this fervor, as if running a fever just by her mere lack of touch. “I can tell something.”

“What do you mean?” His eyes trail down to her lips, desiring to lick the sugar off the skin.

“Your pupils got big.” He feels dumb saying it out loud, but he reconnects his gaze with hers. “Doesn’t that mean that you’re into me?”

Tilting her head to the side, the diamonds around her neck glisten. Money, that seems to match her smile. “I have eyes, Yong.” She answers. “…But you’re not too far behind, you know?”

A smile takes over his features once again. “Oh, I know what I want. You don’t have to worry about that.”

Rolling her tongue with each word, she spits out: “What or who?”

If he had to plead, he would. Never had he felt this immense connection with somebody—it has been a while, that’s for sure. It’s not complicated; a night with her and he’ll be off the hook, sedating his thirst for curiousness. His trainer once told him his ambition will be the death of him, but why not reach for the stars when he’s already in a plane? “You. Goddamn it, it’s you.”

“You want me?” She questions, resting her hands on his waist, only to have Taeyong wrapping his digits around her nape.

“Thought I made it clear.”

“I’m good at reading signs…” She trails. “But there’s nothing as good as speech, Yong.”

His mind is clouded and if she asked him to, right at that moment, he would give her everything he has ever gotten. “I want to kiss you.”

“And then?”

“Wherever you want to take it.” Taeyong instructs, playing with the small hairs on the back of her neck.

“I know a hotel we can go to, if that is what you’re implying.”

The forest walls engulf all rational thoughts away from him, as if his soul was sucked out of his body and exchanged for a man starved. Taeyong leans forward, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss, though slow, meticulous, wanting to taste every portion of her soul. She parts her lips soon enough, a small groan captured in the back of her throat when she trails to the edge of her seat and curves her back to mold into him.

No one has ever fit him better.

Maybe, Taeyong should have thought with a clearer head, should have not told Dongyoung he’d be going to a hotel with someone on the way out of the casino, should have not gotten in a that damned SUV Soonhwan insisted on having a chauffeur using to drive him around, as he scattered kisses down her neck, learning to trail after her sighs and noises. But he did, and he did it with glee, needing a fucking second of relaxation and away from the boxing world.

And when he looks into her eyes, he doesn’t see himself, but he sees a reflection…

Desire.

###

Somehow, it feels as though Taeyong adores everything around his world. He thanks the sun for coming up in the morning, loves the stars that scatter across the sky when the night falls down, and of course, the way he looks at her, as if she is a goddess taken straight out from his fantasies. And she isn’t.

God, she is not one bit of it.

Getting distracted by him is easy, legs splayed underneath her weight, with his jacket and shirt disregarded somewhere in the hotel room, warm skin melding against hers when she presses her lips to his. Sympathizing with him is easy, much more when his fingers seem to know exactly where to press and trail after. He may look innocent, but he’s not one bit of it.

She gets lost in it, loves the way his eyes glimmer when she pulls away from him, playing with the straps of her dress and tugging them down the slightest, scattering kisses along her shoulders and the only thing she can hear is the voice inside her head. Sure, she has saved him—taken the bullets away from the gun that Tori was going to use against him, but there is always a possibility…

And shit, she has to steal from him.

She closes her eyes tightly, only opening them again when Taeyong softly searches for her lips, pecking them once before asking, in the softest of tones. “You don’t mind if I take off your dress, do you?”

Laughter comes naturally when around him, and though she is not herself in this dress, she can’t deny that Taeyong has won her interest over with just his speech. So polite, so tranquil, so interesting and caring in every way. She shrugs her shoulders then, spreading her fingers on his slim yet toned chest, before saying:

“I’m on your lap in some hotel, and I’m halfway through taking off your pants…isn’t that permission?”

“It’s not.” Taeyong says. “I will only do what you tell me to do, beautiful.”

She’s a piece of shit. She’ll go to hell for this, but she’ll have a good time before everything falls down.

Now she knows the exact reason why Allegra had spent the night with him before dying.

A whine lingers on the back of her throat, nodding. “Take it off, Yong.”

###

For her, life was chaos. Clashing of memories that come down to conclusions she is never too happy with. It’s running and never reaching the end-line, or having someone stick a leg out just to see her falling on the way there. It’s definitely not peacefulness, and not spending the last two hours just enjoying Taeyong’s embrace around her, unable to fall asleep knowing what she has to do.

The first strike was when she looked past her reflection in his eyes, that is what brought the guilt down on her. Then, it was the way he treated her—not as if she was made of paper, but as if he wanted her to enjoy herself as much as she could. To make it unforgettable and loving, even if it didn’t mean much. No one had ever taken the time with her, not even the people she dated in the past, let alone her lack of lovers in the past few years.

One of his arms is over his abdomen, the other softly wrapped around her shoulders. His hair is done a mess, all thanks to her, the strands falling over his closed eyes, lips half parted, nose letting out the softest of snores, barely audible. She smells like the bath they had taken together, and she hates it. Despises the fact that she doesn’t want to pull away from him when she lifts her gaze to look at him.

Lips reddened, soul tainted, and on the verge of being robbed, Taeyong doesn’t look like the type of man that killed Allegra…but Tori is so certain. Tori was there throughout her years with Allegra, and he had always treated her like a little sister. He wouldn’t lie to her, no matter how dangerous he could get.

Maybe, Taeyong was one of those dangerous, beautiful threats.

And as always, she can’t trust anyone.

She stands up then, careful not to awake him, when she tugs at the dress scattered on the flooring and her underwear, putting them on in the blink of an eye before grasping Taeyong’s pants and jacket in between her fingers, rummaging through his pockets until she finds his wallet. The clothing drapes on the floor once again, lurking through the leather of the wallet until she finds them.

Three black cards and a platinum card.

She leaves him the platinum card, taking the three black cards as payment for what he did to Allegra. He may not die, but he also won’t have a nice time after this.

So, what is stopping her when she is by the door, looking over her shoulder to see Taeyong splayed in the dark, an arm still extended as if waiting for her to linger on his side. She feels like shit, but it’s what she has to do. She felt even worse when Allegra died, and that was her only friend dying right in her office. The office she frequents every single day, on top of that.

Sucking in a breath, she opens the door, cancelling all thoughts of staying there and getting to know him. Taeyong is not a good person, that’s for sure. If the only person she has left to trust tells her he is the bad guy, it’s because he is. But why is it so hard to believe?

She saved his life. The least she can do is get his money, right?

Her head is thumping by the time she gets out of the door, three black cards richer with her heart in her sleeve. Life was never meant to be easy.

###

Fingers frozen after mixing drinks endlessly, her back rested against the harsh walls of her new workplace, The Jungle. Her head lulled to the side, trying to keep herself awake after her workhours, wishing for the sun to rise so she wouldn’t have an excuse to fall asleep, but it was four in the morning. Forever was more of what those two hours left felt like.

Truth was, it was all her fault. She would not have to sleep near the back door of this expensive casino had she not trusted people too easily. Her boyfriend, fuck, she had loved that man to bits—promised him the world and back. Daniel swore back and forth that they were going to have a future together, that they would get out of their little neighborhood and reach for the sky.

As it turned out, just as they had moved in together, he reached for her bank account and took all the money she had left. The money she had earned with hard work, while he scratched his balls around the apartment. The one she lost two months after, and the one she couldn’t afford to get back.

Well, she was on the way there. She had only worked here for a week, and if she ignored the cold, sleeping on the backdoor was not so bad. Daniel could go live a somewhat good lifestyle, but she would get up again one day. She just had to wait for her first paycheck and stay in a motel—

The door opened then, almost knocking her over, but awakening her successfully. She moved to the side, aware of how dangerous it was to be out in the open like this—then again, what other option did she have? It was either this or sleeping in a box on the streets.

Much to her distaste, it was the boss. Allegra, with the vibrato in her voice and the relaxation in her features. Her lips were plush, face enigmatic, hair too short to be grasped. She always wore the tallest heels she had seen, dressed to perfection from head to toe, ready to bite the night and make it her own.

“Oh, darling,” Allegra said, fingers pointing at the corner of the casino’s back-place. As it turned out, she saw a little glimmering light there, making her frown deeply. Shit, that was a camera. “When I was checking around for robbers, I didn’t expect to see my newest bartender sleeping on the streets.”

“I—I’m so sorry, miss.” She spoke, voice youthful, lowering her head to look at her dirtied hands. Shit, the dust on the concrete must have stained her skin. “It won’t happen again…”

“Why?”

She lifted her head then, looking at Allegra. “Why what?”

“Why do you sleep here?”

Embarrassment bathed over her features, heat taking over them when she looked into the woman’s eyes. Successful, and perhaps on the way to kicking her out of there. “…I have nowhere else to go. I got kicked out of my apartment.”

With that, Allegra’s features softened even more, if that was even possible. She kneeled in front of her, extending her hand to wave it in front of her, as if trying to catch her. “Then, you’re coming with me.”

She gasped, choking a bit on her saliva. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not letting someone live in the streets, much less if it’s a woman we’re talking about.” Allegra moved her hand, as if to catch her attention any further, but she clung onto herself. This was too much of an issue.

“You don’t have to, miss—”

“Allegra.” She corrected, quirking one of her eyebrows. “And I want to.” With that, her fingers extended towards her, waving them to calling her over.

“I don’t want to be a bother—”

This was what the world taught her. She never could ask her family for help, for they were the first ones to tell her not to get involved with Daniel, her high school love, the man that was supposed to make her feel like they were at the top of the world, but only managed to bring her down. She would never forgive him for taking away everything she ever had, that was for sure.

Allegra sighed, giving lessons without knowing, like she always did. “It is not a bad thing to trust people, darling. I know you’re scared now, but the magic of life comes from trusting people and letting yourself feel. There are enemies everywhere, but out of all badness, there will be a glimmer of good.”

The moment she wrapped her fingers around Allegra’s hand was when their friendship started, and what a shame, it was, that her singular advice—to trust people just to find the good ones in between the bad—was the solemn thing that got her killed.

###

Taeyong awakens to constant clicking, a string of curse words in a manly voice, and in an empty bed.

Brown eyes open to see an unknown man standing next to his bed. He’s at gunpoint, with a pistol directly pointed at his face that he manages to run away from. The blankets cover his naked body when he stands up from the bed, a scream leaving his lips when he studies the expression of the man in front of him. Much to his confusion, however, the killer continuously pulls the trigger only to come up with a clicking noise. No bullets coming out, definitely not a bang against his head because he would have died already…

“What the fuck?!” Taeyong asks, heart picking up in a rhythm he can’t control. The killer has mussy hair and a suit, perched to be a man of wealth, but he doesn’t recognize him one bit. Even so, he knows his intentions. “W—Who are you and how did you get inside?”

The man in question lets the gun fall to the side of his body, extending his palms on each side of his head in surrender, well-lifted with his elbows crooked. “Easy…easy…”

“I asked you some questions. Give them an answer because you definitely don’t want to see me angry.” Now that the gun is down, Taeyong is ready to defend himself if necessary. He wraps the white blanket fully around his hips, trying to—at least—keep himself cladded in this situation. “Who are you?”

The killer calls out her name. The woman he had slept with last night comes in full view at that moment, void of her presence in this room. His heart thumps mercilessly against his chest, burning his ears, rubbing at his lungs and distinguishing his breathing. Taeyong can’t control herself.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He’s done playing the good guy, stepping towards his clothing and putting them on now that he knows there is not a loaded gun pressed to him. His back is not turned towards this man, however.

The coward keeps his hands up in the air, frowning at his words. “Ah, she was the one that hired me.” Those words don’t settle well in his stomach. He was one step away from death just because of the person he connected with just mere hours ago? His stomach churns at the idea. “Check your wallet and you’ll see that she stole from you. She does that to everyone, man. It’s what she does. How did you think she got that casino going?”

The rapidness of the man’s voice speaks of fear, enough to have Taeyong lifting his butt after putting on his pants to rummage through his wallet. The leather rubs against his fingertips, and he stops for a second. There is no way in hell that she had hired someone to kill him. She could have done so herself, if that is what she wanted. Besides, she didn’t seem like the type—

He opens the wallet. Three of his cards are missing, only his platinum one left.

He had been lied to. Scammed. Robbed. Almost killed, had it not been for the lack of bullets.

“P—Please, don’t call the police.” The hitman—and Taeyong is guessing he is that—says with his hands up in the air, moving towards the door. “I’ll tell you where she is, really. Exactly where you can find her right now and you can take the police there but please…please…don’t…”

The pathetic tone in his voice has Taeyong erasing all thoughts of anger, but he exchanges it for betrayal. He bites the inside of his cheek, putting on his shirt as he speaks to the man. “Get out of my face before I smack some sense into you. You just tried to kill me and expect me to forgive you?”

“She was the one who did it. I—I…I couldn’t bring myself to do it.” The man is much older than him, but the way his eyes glisten, like a kicked animal, makes him lose all trust he did not even have on him.

But what does he know? He was the one who trusted a complete stranger last night and almost got robbed and killed.

He pushes his wallet inside his pocket, speaking lowly. “Where is she?”

“In her office at The Jungle. I can tell you the code if you want.”

Taeyong scoffs. “No, you will tell me the code. I need to get her in jail.” He can’t believe that their connection had completely subsided to this. Even worse, that he trusted someone so easily and now, he was on the verge of dying.

Why would she want to kill him for, either way? Fame, success, money? She already had that!

Bad people roam through the air like mosquitoes, that’s for sure.

“One-two-seven-zero-five.” The killer spits out, only to have Taeyong nodding.

“Okay. Anything else I should know?”

“Don’t tell her you saw me.” He says, and Taeyong rolls his eyes, moving towards the door with purpose.

She better start thinking about having fun behind bars, because he is not going to get played with that way. His heart aches, eyes battling tears of betrayal after just trusting someone. Well, there is a reason as to why Soonhwan told him not to trust one-night stands, but he would have never expected this to happen to him.

He needs to make justice out of this, that’s all he knows.

###

Peace. Quiet. Loneliness. The Jungle is empty, void of any costumers, strippers or bartenders. Everyone is off to their houses, just like peace has left her long ago.

It’s been hours, goddamn it, hours since she had left Taeyong in that hotel room, and her mind couldn’t stop whirling like a ceiling fan. All she can think about is the fact that at seven in the morning, exact, Tori would go to his room, try to shoot him, and find the pistol void of bullets. If she’s lucky, he would not have one of his own. She’s almost certain that he hasn’t, because this is Tori she is talking about. He relies on her like a child on their mother.

But still, she can’t bring herself to feel any less guilty. Besides, the pieces didn’t quite match. Taeyong had said last night, in between their introductions and it could very well be a lie, that it was his first time there. Truth was, it felt honest. He would have stepped back had he managed to have a thing with Allegra, much more after Hino outed the most important factor about her personality—that she was, indeed, the boss in The Jungle.

Any normal person with at least two fingers of forehead would have ran out of there. Sleeping with someone, who was possibly close friends with someone he apparently killed, is not the best route to take.

Tori wants her to believe Taeyong did it. Taeyong, who had been sweet, tranquil, nice enough to hold her hand after sex, clean her up if she will, treat her like a pillow princess after everything was over—

The cards glisten when she takes a seat on the center of the casino. All lights are turned off, the shadows making the black cards mock her. A thief, she would have never thought she’d become that.

Truth is…she knows what kind of people Tori and Allegra are. Or was, in Allegra’s case. That’s why Allegra opened her arms up to her—because she knew what it was like to end up in the streets. Both from wealthy families but with dirtied hands, they had done the impossible to withstand the titles behind their names. Their nicknames, even, she doesn’t think she has called them by their real names—ever. They had businesses to withhold, families to take care of, and contracts to keep.

Being good in this world is so rhetorical, even metaphorical. Rules are there, but sometimes, we dare judge them according to the people around us. Call her a dog biting her owner’s hand, but Allegra was at risk of getting killed. If someone like her, just some simplistic friend that ended up as the owner of a casino, has to keep enemies close in order to get things done, then she can’t imagine what it was like for Allegra.

It’s not justified…what they did to her, it will never stop hurting, but it makes sense. It’s what happens when people when involved with crime, even more if it’s with those who have enough power to erase all trails of their injustice.

The doors of the casino open, enough to have her standing up from the table. Shit, she had forgotten to close those. She was about to, but she had stayed talking to one of the strippers, losing time only to, casually, get lost in her own thoughts after. It should be one of the workers, forgetful of an object, but it’s nine in the morning and who he sees takes her off guard.

Wearing the same clothes as last night, Taeyong has never looked so different. All rays of sunshine in his smiles and his eyes are gone. Void of that, he frowns deeply, letting the heavy door close behind him when he runs his fingers through his blonde hair and spits out the ungodliest lie.

“You tried to kill me.”

In reality, she stole from him, like the poor little thief she never was. There is nothing better than revenge, she had once heard, but this is horrid. She knows, in this case, that she was the one that fucked everything up. Nothing about the puzzle Tori had created made sense.

She swallows thickly, extending her hand once he is in front of her, though far away to keep meters of distance. Different from how they were last night. It’s time to cut the bullshit. “Here are your cards.” She whispers, voice hoarse. “I didn’t intend on killing you. I was supposed to just steal from you—”

Taeyong scoffs, snatching the cards away from her with a tight grip, hand smacking against his side from the force. “I got lucky, you know? Something in destiny switched and the bullets in the pistol were not there, but I could have fucking died and just because you wanted to steal from me?” He spits out the words as if treating with a gold-digger. She doesn’t judge the player or the game, but she has never been like that. Dated an asshole in her life, decided not to do it again, not even for money.

Though, why would he think that? She obviously doesn’t need the money now.

She frowns, shaking her head. “I stole from you because of what I have heard about you, Taeyong.” It’s time to uncover the truth, for even in his haunt for reality, Taeyong had fallen far behind. “I have enough money to have black and platinum cards of my own. I’m not some prostitute.”

His brown eyes don’t show her image, she has stopped mirroring herself when looking at him. She sees pain. Clear as day. The kind of look that is given to a man when everything he believed in is suddenly changed. “But you are a murderer. You didn’t even have enough braveness to do it yourself—”

“Where exactly did you get all of this from?” She asks, teeth clattering against each other when she tries to connect the dots of what Taeyong envisions. “Taeyong, I stole from you, and sure, I knew someone was planning on killing you…I…I was supposed to take you there so you were murdered, but I didn’t have the heart—”

He widens his eyes, running his hands through his hair once again. “Shit, am I supposed to feel better about that?”

“I’m not a murderer! I wasn’t the one that had the idea. All I did was take the bullets out so no one would kill you, and I wouldn’t lose the trust of the only person I have left!” Taeyong must have gotten it all wrong, and she doesn’t know why her breathing picks up the way it does. She knows she’ll go to hell, maybe because she acknowledges things like this happen in her casino all the time, but it’s the price she has to pay for the life that was crafted for her.

What wouldn’t have she given to live a happy life with Daniel, perhaps get married on the long run, get a job that was proper and stay on the downlow until the day of her death?

But he robbed from her, and now she is in his position.

“What would have happened if he got some bullets from someone else? If he had noticed before—?”

“He wouldn’t have, Taeyong.”

“You don’t know that!” His voice raises, getting closer to her with fire radiating from within. For one second, he breathes in and out, trying to calm himself down until his voice lulls to a lonesome blues. “…He could have killed me and you would have to live with that.”

She shakes her head, pressing her lips together when she looks to the side. “Well, the man that tried to kill you was the one that schemed it all.” Now, she doesn’t know why she isn’t protecting Tori, but it’s the lies that obvious scatter behind this mess that makes her say the truth. For once, she wants to riot out the reality inside of her. “Stop pointing fingers because I am not a murderer or a robber. I did it because—”

“I should feel grateful, shouldn’t I?” Taeyong asks, voice low. “I have to get on my knees and thank you because you took some bullets out. What did I do to deserve being robbed and threatened, almost murdered for fuck’s sake—?”

“He said—”

“He said, he said, he said! What did you think out of all this?” Taeyong questions, more knowledgeable than she’ll ever be. “You are old enough to have judgement, to know between wrong and right, to make decisions for yourself and let me tell you, with the sincerest heart, that your decision was wrong.”

She closes her eyes tightly, breathing through her nose when the image of Allegra pops inside her head. She died in her arms, how was she supposed to feel? “I was just trusting the people that I knew, Taeyong. I—It was wrong, I can accept that. I’m not saying it wasn’t. I just thought it was revenge for something I got told.”

“It’s not an excuse.”

“I’m not trying to find excuses.” She says. “The man you met, Tori, told me you killed my friend, Allegra. She was stabbed in her office by a man she saw that night. They robbed her of everything she had on her, made her seem…poor and reckless. They practically ripped her in half.” Her stomach churns at the image, bringing one hand up her mouth to stop the sensation of vomiting. “I’m not asking for mercy,” She opens her eyes, looking at him, truth spat out. “Or forgiveness, Taeyong. I’ve had enough bullshit in my life to know I don’t deserve either…but she didn’t deserve what she got done, either. I lost the only person who was there for me when I was at my lowest, in the most horrid of ways, and all I wanted was justice.” Shrugging, she sighs. “What a shame that justice for people in my side of the world can’t be through the police. They would put her as some whore who deserved what she had for enjoying casual sex, and I won’t have anyone talking shit about her, you hear me?”

Taeyong remains silent for a few seconds, taking in everything she said before placing his cards inside his pocket. “I didn’t know whoever you are talking about. I, fuck, I would never kill someone.”

She huffs. “That makes two of us.”

“That man…Tori,” Taeyong speaks the name out, testing it in his tongue. “He said you were the one that hired him to kill me.”

Those words paralyze her. No. It can’t be. Tori had treated her as part of his family, there is no way in hell he would ever— “He has been investigating for years. He was the one that said you were the last man Allegra saw—”

“How many years ago?” Taeyong asks, and just as she’s about to open her lips, he says: “Not that I know any Allegra, and I may have one-night stands from time to time, but I know one thing…and that’s that I learn the names of the women I’m with. I have never slept or dated with a woman named Allegra.”

And it’s an odd probability that she actually used her real name with him. Her name was Allegra, as if her past never existed, and she knew the reason why she would never follow after her past, either. That’s why they connected as friends.

“Almost two years ago.”

“I was dating a model two years ago. Kind of public, if you ask me. You can find the pictures online.” Taeyong replies, as if it’s that fucking common to date a model. His arms cross over his chest, licking the inside of his cheek. “So…you didn’t try to kill me?”

“Tori was the one with the idea.” She replies, head filled with thoughts. “…And he was the one that told you I wanted to kill you?”

“Yes.”

Tori is up to something.

The man that she trusts the most has stabbed her in the back.

Just as she’s about to say something else, the sound of the door opening captures her attention. This time, the person opening it doesn’t take the time to not be audible. They barge in, showcasing their buff body, as a woman points a rifle directly at Taeyong’s head.

Something is so wrong about this.

Before she knows it, she lowers Taeyong to the ground, the gunshot ringing through their ear drums when his eyes widen.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, not again—”

“I need you to trust me, okay?” She speaks, rather quickly, standing up as she places Taeyong right in front of her, taking the unused gun in her coat out to aimlessly throw some bullets. Truth is, she doesn’t use a gun often, but Jinhee reassures that she needs to. If strippers need them, so does the owner of this entire place.

“Where do we—?”

Before he could continue speaking, she opens the door of the office, jotting down the code and closing the door behind her. “She shouldn’t get in. She doesn’t know the code—”

“Tori gave me the code.” Taeyong speaks too quickly, going over to the desk to hide underneath it. “If Tori is the one behind this, he probably gave her the code too.”

“Shit.” She curses, thanking Allegra for teaching her the way through the office and her lack of trust for keeping her lips sealed. She opens the strongbox, getting inside of it in a crouched position before pressing her fingers against the touching pad at the very back.

“Hey, don’t leave me alone here.” Taeyong rushes behind her, only to have her tugging at his forearm to bring him with her.

“Take a deep breath and close the door. I’ve never used this getaway.”

With that, Taeyong follows her instructions, closing the strongbox’s door to be left in absolute blackness. Only when she opens the hidden door does the light come back to them, closing that small door behind them.

###

“Taeyong, will you just please move your ass?”

Ironic, given that Taeyong is just crawling through an underground passage, with last night’s one-night stand’s ass right in front of his face, as the distant sound of someone rummaging through the office like a maniac leaves his ears ringing.

“I—I am…” He breathes out, trying to get used to the closed-up space and concentrate on the peak of light he can see, well, between her legs? God, no one would ever believe him if he were to say this story out loud. “I just, I, um, I don’t know what just happened. That’s all.”

“This passage leads to an alleyway. We’ll smell like trash once we’re out, but we’ll be safe.” She breathes out, hands clinging onto the dusted walls around them before huffing. “Well, as safe as I can keep you…”

“I still can’t believe you trusted that Tori guy about me being a murderer.”

“I don’t keep up with sports, Taeyong.” She says, moving up to jot some numbers onto another notepad and much to his delight, the railings that keep them away from the alleyway open at her ministrations. He would have never thought these holes on the ground really existed. “But something about boxers, who have all the force in the world and get paid for it, murdering a woman in a passionate crime didn’t sound so impossible to me. Only because I have a sense of guilt and I’m not a murderer, did I decide to save you.”

“I’m not a violent guy. Just because I’m a boxer doesn’t mean you get to judge me—”

His ramblings are cut short when she turns around to look at him, both of their bodies extended underneath the opening, trying to reach it, but unable to. “Taeyong,” Her chest molds against his, looking completely different than she did when they met. Dress forgotten, she is cladded in all black, not a curve in sight from the oversized nature of her clothing. “Read the room and help me up so I can get us out of here.”

His hands wrap around her waist, as used as he was to it last night, but now cladding him in embarrassment. He does as she says, watching her arms expand on each side of the railing until she was out. Seated on the concrete and pulling her legs away, she extends her hand towards him.

“Up and at them. They’re going to catch up with us soon.”

He didn’t know what he expected when he was hoisted up, but it definitely wasn’t not to close this chapter of his life and continuing with this runaway stance. He coughs out the dirt that clung to his lungs, hearing her close the railings as he inspects the alleyway. It seems to be in the same neighborhood, but it’s so narrow and surrounded by trash that it looks inhabitable.

Shit, it is. The only reason why he would imagine someone would come in here was because they weren’t up to no good.

“What do you mean they’re going to catch up with us?” He asks, unaware of the way her fingers hook around his, dragging him away from the scenery and towards the street.

“Blend with people.” She instructs, pulling him along with her as she loses them in between masses of people. “If Tori is behind this, which I’m guessing he has something to do with this whole mess, he will know where to find me and he will discover the passage and where it leads to. This neighborhood has too many gangs, and it’ll only take a handful of money to have us both killed.”

“You have a…” Taeyong trails, patting the pocket of her coat where he saw her put her gun last. “Isn’t that supposed to protect us?”

“I’m not talking pistols, Taeyong. I’m talking rifles, grenades, knives, you name it, they have it.” It seems as though she doesn’t care about people hearing her speak about this. Or maybe, this is far more normal in this side of town than he had expected.

The rich only bring more issues into this world.

“And what are we going to do?”

“I’ll keep you safe for a few hours while you contact your team and we figure out what is going on. Once you’re with your team and I’m sure no one is following you. I will go have a talk with Tori.”

He may not be part of this world—and he’s starting to doubt she knows much more than running away—, but that doesn’t sound like an equation to success. “That’ll get you killed.”

She shrugs. “An eye for an eye.” She tells, turning around the corner and sighing deeply. Her hand extends towards a cab, calling it over in the crowded city. “I almost got you killed,” The sun rakes down on her face when she opens the door of the taxi. “So, you can expect me to almost get killed, too. Let’s just hope I survive it.”

Taeyong enters the car right behind her, looking around the windows with suspicion. Even the man at the front, old and with a long beard, keeps him on the edge. “Oh, a couple!” The taxi driver says, unexpectedly chatty. “I haven’t had one of those in a while.”

“Yeah.” She smiles, charming when she wants to, pulling her beanie up her head. The next thing she does is tell the man an address, leaning back on her seat for some seconds of silence. “I know you don’t trust me, Taeyong.” And he doesn’t, but the way she looks at him tells him that she is trying her best. “But I’ll do anything to protect you. No one deserves to die and definitely not for my actions, but there is a reason why Tori is targeting you…and if you’re not involved with any of his businesses, we have to find out why you’re the target.” Her whisper is delicate, but it sends a shiver down her spine.

He has to trust her. He has no other choice.

###

Sometimes, we have a wound. This wound, caused by another person, closes up after endless prodding. In her case, her wound was caused by Daniel. They were so happy once, enchanted enough for her to end up on the streets after he stole from her and glad enough for him to buy the apartment that they kicked her out of once she was working in The Jungle. He was a thinker, and a coward too, and while happiness could have been the end of their story, it wasn’t.

But it’s the only person she knows in her life that doesn’t come from The Jungle and that lives in a place where no one would ever find. Her little secret, she would say, and now she has to pierce through that wound that she had let heal only to keep Taeyong safe.

The muddy hallways were not ones she missed, filled with gossiping neighbors and endless music. So much that it thumps against her eardrums and it irks her endlessly. Either way, she moves up the woodened staircase, hearing each creak and letting it bleed through her. Daniel, when was the last time she saw him? Over five years ago, that’s for sure, maybe through the street or grabbing a drink.

“Where are we going?” Taeyong asks, moving over to her side as he still inspects everything. She can tell he’s thinking they are being followed, and who knows? They might.

“To my ex’s place.” She says, shrugging her shoulders. “It’s the only place Tori doesn’t know about, because I never liked talking about him. If they’re looking for us, they definitely won’t look here.”

Taeyong hums, nibbling on his nails as he ponders. “He must be a nice man. Your…ex…for letting you crash at his place just like that.”

She chuckles, standing upright in front of apartment 204. That’s where they moved in together after high school. “He’s not the worst man I have ever met in my life, but he stole all my money and left me in the streets so…he’s up there.” Without giving Taeyong the time to answer, she knocks on his door, licking her lips in the process. “Let’s just hope he feels some remorse and decides to help me for what he did to me.”

“We don’t have to do this.” Taeyong argues, only to have her shaking her head.

“We do, Taeyong.” Once again, she knocks. “We need to hide for a few hours. Not too little, not too long. They won’t find us here.”

“I don’t want to put you through that—”

The door opens then, and when she looks up at her much taller ex-boyfriend, she realizes she didn’t miss him one bit.

The enigma of Daniel was the fact that he was always a bit on the bad side. It’s like she saw shards of glass on the floor and she swore on her life she could put them back together. She swore it didn’t mean a thing when every single penny he earned went to the drinks he shared with his friends. She swore that he loved her, with all his being, with the way he wrapped his lips around a cigarette and kissed it as if it was her…

But now that she looks at the mirror of his dark eyes, clouded, she realizes that her being by his side was only a condemn. A doom. He was slowly and absentmindedly dragging her to be exactly like him, leaving habits within his wake. He was the one that taught her how to smoke, and she’s not sure she’ll ever drop her box of cigarettes without, at least, taking a drag.

He practically purrs out her name, his slim frame covered in a gray t-shirt and jeans. He crosses one leg over the other when he leans against the doorframe, bringing his cigarette up to his thick and dried lips, his short nose letting out some of the smoke when he blurts it out. “Thought I’d never see you at my doorstep again.”

“I never needed to.” She replies, eager to call him out—to take that smirk off his face, but Daniel is smart. Wicked intelligent, at that. He knows the only reason why she would ever be there is because she needs him. “…But now I need a place to stay with. With…my friend.”

The brown strands of his long hair curl around his face, chuckling. “Why’s that?”

She rolls her eyes. “Can’t we talk inside, Daniel?”

He hums. “Of course, but you never called me Daniel.” He opens the door wider then, taking another drag of nicotine as he moves inside. He doesn’t care giving his back to people, definitely someone who doesn’t have enemies surrounding him. God, she’s one of them. “It always Dany, Dany, Dany.” He repeats, putting the cigarette down on the coffee table, tapping the ashes before taking another drag. “In different occasions, too. Different tones, tempos, you were always very—”

She knows what he is doing. If there was one thing that was brittle in Daniel’s body was his ego. He saw another potential love affair, even when he had cheated on her a bunch of times probably, and he was already thinking of the past. “Very stupid. If you liked it when I called you ‘Dany’, you would have never stolen from me on the first place.” She puts her beanie down on the coffee table, pointing at one of the sofas to Taeyong. “We’ll crash here for a few hours. Some fucker is following me and trying to kill us and I need to keep him safe. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t, sugar.” The sarcasm in his voice is ever present, his tired and bag-filled eyes roaming over her face. “But I thought you’d, at least, have the decency to introduce me to one of the most well-known boxers of our time.”

“You know I don’t care about sports.” She repeats, something that she had told Taeyong already, and the man stares in between them as he sits down on the sofa. Awkward. Definitely uncomfortable.

“I—I’m Lee Taeyong.” He says, extending his hand for Daniel to take.

“I’m Daniel Kim.” He finalizes, shaking his hand. “Though, you probably heard wonders about me.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “Daniel, I’m not here for your bullshit.”

“Right.” Finally, the flame of his cigarette dies down when he stomps on it with his foot, standing up from the flowery sofa and moving over to her. This place is as tainted as she remembers it, smelling like cardboard and humidity. “You’re here for protection and I’m here to prepare lunch and shut my pretty little mouth, ain’t it?”

She hums. “First correct thing you’ve said.”

Daniel chuckles, all teeth when he reaches for his box of cigarettes on the coffee table. Another one? It wouldn’t surprise her. “I’ve always managed to know what you wanted.” And that was one of the reasons why she always stayed. His wit played to his favor. Daniel could read her like a book, and she would always be surprised by his skills. His fingers press the cigarette stick to her mouth, and she complies by opening it, watching him as he lights it up before he turns to Taeyong. “Big fan of your work, man.”

He doesn’t seem to be utterly pleased to be where he is, and she doesn’t blame him. She put him in an unnecessary position. “Thanks. Can’t say the same thing about you.”

“Someone stole the Mona Lisa; I stole some money. Different stories for different folks, similar outcome.” Daniel shrugs, moving over to the kitchen and closing the white door behind him, leaving them in solitude when Taeyong scoffs.

“You really fell in love for that?”

“I was young and stupid.” She finalizes, taking the old landline by the kitchen door in between her fingers before putting the device up to her ear.

Taeyong stands up at that, as if knowing she wants him to call someone, when he says: “I imagine you did better after. As in, looked for better men.”

“I didn’t date anyone else after him. Well, went on some dates, like two.” She replies, not ashamed of her lack of experience, and giving the landline to him. “But…” Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she pulls the cigarette away from her lips to talk to him. “I did do better.”

“When?” Taeyong asks, pressing some numbers down with his slim fingers.

With you. Last night. She wants to tell him those words, but it’s useless. It could have easily been a simple one-night stand, perhaps a date after, but she had to fuck it up. “With someone. I—I shouldn’t really be talking about this.”

She puts her cigarette down, realizing exactly where she is, who she has always been. How could she even think their stories would have intertwined had it not been for Tori?

“Call your people. Whoever you trust and ask them where we can meet up. I’ll drop you off with Daniel’s car and then, I’ll see myself out of your life. You’ll never hear from me again and I can promise no one will bother you again.”

She turns her back to him. It’s the right thing to do. Instead, she turns off that old, raunchy television and sits down in front of it, trying to concentrate on something else.

###

By the time she plans to get out of Daniel’s place, it’s already eight at night. The sun has disappeared and her conversation with Taeyong has died down. Trivial things to keep themselves entertained and away from Daniel, who has embarked in one or two words about boxing with Taeyong.

Tori. Shit, she can’t keep Tori’s name away from her head. It’s second nature for her to correlate Tori with Allegra when they were together when Allegra had taken her in like a little sister. Tori had been the one to serve her meals, protect her from freaks when she was a bartender, and the one that taught her how to use a gun. Sure, he was always threaded in the world of organized crime, but she would have never imagined he’d kill for fun. Period.

But Taeyong could not lie to her. Something about him tells her that he is absolutely innocent. Maybe, it’s the confusion at hearing gunshots or the fact that nothing about him exudes malice, but the punches on Allegra’s corpse could have come from something else. Anyone with strength who hit on a dead body, that’s for sure.

Dongyoung, now that she knows is Taeyong’s publicist, had practically ripped her head off through the phone when Taeyong put her on it and told him everything. He was on the verge of calling the police, too, but that would only get her to jail and give unnecessary publicity to his team, just weeks away from the big fight. That’s the reason why she insisted on having him find a place for them to stay. A mansion not too far away from here was rented only this afternoon, and Taeyong would be moving in the matter of seconds.

She just needs to take him there and for that, she needs to get Daniel’s car.

“If he gets funny with you or asks you for something in return for the car, don’t do it.” Taeyong tells her once he sees her stand up, and she smiles when she looks at him from over his shoulder.

“I’ve taken care of myself plenty, Taeyong. You can land some good punches, but I think I can give a good bitch slap.” She replies, walking over to the kitchen with certain steps. “We should be out of here in ten minutes. Sit tight.”

The sizzling of vegetables comes from the pan in front of Daniel. Everything in the kitchen looks so small next to him, from the salt he pours on the pan to the pan on itself. He has changed clothing, taken a shower, and even when he’s cooking, a cigarette is in between his lips. Talk about hygiene.

“Daniel, I need you to lend me your car. I promise to return it…but tomorrow.” She starts, walking over to the white counter only to see Daniel hollow his cheeks, the ones she had once sprinkled with kisses, before taking his cigarette out.

As always, he speaks in between a cloud of smoke. “You can have it,” He says. “But I was thinking you guys could stay for dinner, too.”

She scoffs at that. “Sorry, man. I’m not sure I’m feeling like eating cigarette salad.”

Daniel chuckles at those words, shaking his head. “We used to share the same cigs and now you’re out here judging me for cooking while I smoke?” He asks, looking down at her as a smile takes over his features. She doesn’t feel a thing anymore, rapid on getting out of there. “Which reminds me, you really used to like it when I smoked as we had s—”

Stupid decisions made by even stupider, younger minds. She can’t even believe she fell in love with a foul mouthed, rampant mess like Daniel Kim. “Okay, the car keys. I’m out of here and looking for Tori—”

“That’s all I needed,” He leans his weight forward, looking into her eyes. “There’s something going on with Taeyong, I can feel it.”

“Oh, not this shit—” She mumbles, rolling her eyes. “If there was something with Taeyong, it’s none of your concern, Daniel. Get it through your head.”

“That’s a yes.” Daniel finalizes, licking the inside of his cheek before looking down at his stirred vegetables. “Damn, here I was thinking all highly about myself.”

“Your time passed long ago.” She tells him, watching him rummage through the cabinet of the counter before tossing the car keys at her.

“I can tell.” Wrapping his lips around the cigarette, he blurts out some words with the smoke. “One more thing—”

“I don’t have the time…”

“Is the man you’re looking for, that Tori guy, tall, with brown hair and always wears suits? Kind of tan…”

She frowns deeply. Daniel is not the kind of person to be around people of importance like this. “Yes. Why? Do you know him?”

“Don’t go wherever you’re thinking you can find him. He’s always accompanied.” He instructs, moving the vegetables around with his spoon. “I frequent this…brothel that he goes to. It’s the only place you can find him alone. He can’t go a week without a blowjob so I’m sure he’ll be there.” He takes a piece of napkin, jotting down the address before giving it to her.

Her stomach revolts against itself. “A brothel? Christ, Daniel, where has your life gone to?”

He clears his throat. “Turns out there are not a lot of women who would cope with me quite like you did…so, if I want to have sex, I have to pay for it.” It doesn’t surprise her one bit, but Tori? She couldn’t even imagine it.

“Thanks.” She dangles the keys he tossed at her before sprinting towards the door. Though, once she opens it, she comes face to face with Taeyong.

He looks like a deer caught in the headlights, blinking rapidly even when she tells him to start moving, walking out of the apartment with the man trailing after her steps.

“You’re not thinking of going to a brothel alone, are you?”

“Yes.” She replies, creaking stairs carrying her weight as she goes down. “I have to talk to him and see what the fuck happened.”

“He’ll kill you.” It’s hard for her to believe Tori would do such thing, so she shrugs.

“I’ll go in a two to three days just in case.” She pushes the address inside the pocket of her coat, next to her gun. “For the time being, I’ll stay at a motel and keep on the downlow. It should be fine. You’re going to your mansion with your bodyguards, I’m staying here—”

Taeyong shakes his head, taking her by the shoulders and shaking her slightly as he walks behind her, that doesn’t halter her steps. “Listen to yourself!”

“I’m listening, Taeyong. It’s a brothel.”

“It’s not the place only, it’s where you’re going and with who.”

“Alone.” She finalizes when they are by the entrance door of the apartment complex. “I should have never stopped being alone, that’s just how it is. It’s better off if I just—”

“Throw yourself to the mouth of the tiger, let yourself get chewed up and then, killed? You stand no chances.”

Trying to mask her concerns with vividness, she laughs, pushing the door open and clicking on the keys to see Daniel’s car come to life. “What are you talking about, Yong? You don’t know me—”

“I just know that if you were…if you were really like him, you wouldn’t have taken the bullets out. You spared my life even when I could have possibly been your friend’s killer and you continue to save me even if that means losing your entire casino. You left the place alone just to run away with me!” The breeze swirls against her clothing when she opens the passenger door, but before she could get inside the black, old car, Taeyong spits out some words that she would have never expected from him. “If you’re going to that brothel, I’m going with you.”

That is what does it, targeting at her patience and he has good aim. “You are not, Taeyong, end of story, get in that car and fuck off.”

While he does what she says, he can’t stop arguing: “So, what do you expect me to do?” Like a good citizen, he puts on his seatbelt, resting his palms on his knees. “I go to sleep each night for the next few days thinking about the fact that I left you to go alone on your own to some brothel, to get a guy who obviously has a team with him, and that you are going to die, most likely?”

She starts the car then, sighing deeply as she unparks it. “I know how to deal with Tori,” There can’t be all falseness in his personality. There must be a cause to all this. “Just leave it to me. If something happens, you don’t have to worry about it.”

“You’re a human being. Of course, I should worry—” Taeyong continues. Once his buttons are pushed, he can’t shut up, but the pushed pout on his lower lip has him looking far more innocent than he intends. “You don’t know how to deal with him. I’m certain he’s the bad guy—”

Sure, he may be right. “But we are all bad guys, Taeyong. I invite people in each night knowing the business that goes down in my establishment.” She pushes him away. He needs to get his head out of this business. “I—I robbed you, Taeyong. I’m a bad guy, too.”

He looks over to the side of the windows, surprising her when he leans over to her side, his breath fanning on her face when his palm gets lost in the pocket of her coat.

“Taeyong, just fuck off!”

“I need to know where you’re going, at least.” He spits out, and she is unable to take the piece of napkin away from his fingertips.

“You’re not going there.”

“I just—”

“Taeyong, I don’t want you to die. I don’t need you to.” Losing her temper, she concludes. “You don’t know what it’s like. Even if you go there and even if I do get killed, you don’t know how people like these react. They won’t only get you. They will get your staff, your friends, your family…you have no option but to follow after my advice. Stay out of it.”

He doesn’t utter a single word from then on, giving her the piece of napkin after reading over it. The silence settles in a way that has her opening her mouth a few times, trying to come up with something to say, but she’s left with nothing more than a goodbye when she reaches that mansion of his. Newest, fresh out of the market, and safe.

That’s all that matters.

###

The key to life is knowing how to nag. Outing opinions in common manners, though sometimes obstinate, is a talent, truthfully. But Dongyoung has something against his favor—he does not only have the key, he has the goddamned lock, the door itself. Nagging is his passion, his job, his talent, his characterization. It’s his everything, and Taeyong isn’t having it.

The black satin sheets rest on each side of his body, fresh out the shower after spending an entire day in that mansion. Goosebumps rise on his skin at his lack of shirt, looking up at the ceiling as he tries to concentrate on something. Anything other than her. When he was practicing in his own personal gym, early in the morning, with Soonhwan by his side worried out of his ass, he could only think that she’s out there, a target, looking to get killed and he knows that something bad with happen.

His hand rests behind his head when he watches, once again, that Dongyoung moves back and forth in the spacious new room he just bought. “What exactly were you thinking, Taeyong?” He asks, sighing deeply when he runs his fingers through his hair.

“Easy.” Taeyong whispers. “I wasn’t.”

This makes Dongyoung stop on his tracks, but Taeyong doesn’t see what he does. Looking at the ceiling is far more interesting, confirmed. “Oh, and that’s supposed to make me feel at ease? You’re lucky no one saw you. Not only did you sleep with a complete stranger, but you went to a hotel with her, almost got killed, decided to go with her to some raunchy apartment and now you can’t go anywhere without a bodyguard.” He says, anger flaring in each portion of his words. “Just to fuck a hole—”

“Yes, just to fuck. What’s the issue?” Taeyong sits up at that, rubbing the damp strands of his blonde hair that cast down his forehead. “I had sex with someone, but that’s the last thing on my list of worries. She could get killed at any second—”

“And that’s none of your business.” Dongyoung finalizes for him. “She tried to kill you, too.”

Truth is, Taeyong knows that he doesn’t trust her entirely. There will always be that nagging voice inside his head…but he can also see the factual matters on his hands. She saved his life, not once but twice. And even three times. She decided to go to that damned brothel whenever the hell she pleased without taking a ‘but’ for an answer.

“She’s the reason why I’m here.” Taeyong finalizes, standing up from his bed before walking over to the mini-refrigerator in his room. He really needs a snack. “And I’m sorry for worrying about someone who basically just threw herself to a bunch of people who want to kill her.”

“You can only care about yourself, Taeyong.”

He sighs deeply, head lulling forward to rummage through the refrigerator. There, he sees a granola bar. That should do it. “I know,” He starts. “That’s what I should do, but it…I don’t know, maybe you don’t see it this way, Dongyoung, but when I have sex with someone, is because I feel a connection.”

Dongyoung raises his eyebrows. “Oh, my God—”

“What?”

“Taeyong.” Once he has stood up, his publicist takes him by the cheeks, looking into his eyes as he tries to clear his mind. “Everything is a connection when your dick is hard. That’s just how it is. Have you ever thought about anything while having sex? No. That’s because sex is not a thinking process. It wasn’t that deep.”

“Maybe, you’re right.” He says, opening the granola bar and taking a bite. “But,” He swallows, aware of how awful his voice sounds when in the midst of eating. “You just weren’t there. She could have left my ass after I cursed her over and over again, but she didn’t. That takes responsibility.”

Dongyoung lets go of him, shrugging. “So?”

“So what?”

“You’re going to a brothel, where everyone is going to recognize you and just…save her?”

Taeyong shakes his head, deep in thoughts as he munches on the snack. “I just have to figure out what is going on first. Before she does.”

That has Dongyoung cackling. “Good luck with that.” He says, picking up his phone and looking through his contacts. “For the time being, I’ll actually do my job, as you should and try to keep everything you just did under control and for fuck’s sake, if you tell me one more time that you had a connection with someone when having sex with them, I’ll be the one to cut off your balls before they get us in any more trouble.”

Sounds like business in the way Dongyoung speaks and on the rare occasion, Taeyong would have listened to his words. He knows how difficult it is to keep a career like this but…

He doesn’t listen now.

###

Smiles and waves make less mistakes, but they aren’t any truer when in front of cameras. Interviews are exactly his thing—Taeyong has rehearsed to speak in front of the public and being liked comes inherently to him. Though, ESPN had no idea just what kind of week he had when they invited him over to watch over some fights and give his commentary.

It’s good publicity and Dongyoung is practically at the verge of his seat in happiness. He only wants the best for him, Taeyong can acknowledge that, but his mind weights with the possibilities of having lost her. As in, physically, she was never his to start with. Five days have passed since the last time he saw her and if she had gone to that fucking brothel, it had already happened. For some reason, he tries to tell himself that she’s dead already; that he really, sincerely, wholeheartedly, and all words with ‘ly’ terminations should not give a fuck.

But he does.

The glide of boxing gloves and the mixture of groans fill the dense air as people cheer for the heavyweights fighting on the ring. He respects them, and would have waited to take pictures with them, bathed in blood, putting all their will into it had he not seen someone jump up from his seat to scream directly at the boxers.

It’s not the person per say that catches his attention, but who is by his side. The man screaming, void of any embarrassment, filled with vanity is none other than Eiji, his rival. Tall, with a permanent frown on his features and a long face, his black hair sleeked back with plenty of gel to show his thick eyebrows, reddened eyes, long nose and thin lips.

Women went crazy for the bad boy persona Eiji had within him, but Taeyong knows better. The man likes blood, loves the collide of his knuckles against some flesh. Eiji has the world wrapped around his finger, gets what he wants when he wants it, but he would have never thought he’d be accompanied by someone like Tori.

That Tori.

The man that almost shot him.

If the commenters know something, they don’t tell, because Taeyong rolls down his seat the slightest, munching on his fingernails out of fear. God fucking damn it, that’s a reason! Eiji hates his guts, would kill him if he had the chance, had been asking to fight with him for months but he had denied it time and time again. Who blames him? Taeyong fears the guy, that’s all he knows, but he would have never thought he’d ask—

Wait. Pause.

Taeyong tugs at Dongyoung’s sleeve, pushing his mouth to his ear when he whispers: “The man next to Eiji was the man that tried to kill me.”

Dongyoung may be too lost in the fight or in the music, because he turns to him and screams: “What did you just say?”

Sighing, the boxer repeats: “That’s Tori, the man that tried to kill me. Maybe, they weren’t going after her, they were going after me.” It makes more sense now. Tori had lied to her to help him kill him because he couldn’t have any possible straight connection to Taeyong, or couldn’t get a hold of him, so in order to avoid any extra work from him, he had asked her to join him with the excuse of doing justice. Then, she had acted upon rationality, thrown off the bullets and called it a day. Had she not done that, he wouldn’t be here…

But the issue was never with her. She’s in more danger because she saved him.

And she definitely doesn’t have any bodyguards with her, like Taeyong does…so…

It’s a matter of time before they get her, if they haven’t already.

Taeyong could assume that said statement was the case, but he couldn’t help but think she was still out there, in danger.

“Let me call the bodyguards—”

Dongyoung tries to take matters into his hands, but Taeyong stands up. “No man, we’re going to that brothel and you’re helping me get her. That’s what we’re doing.”

His publicist shakes his head widely. “Taeyong, no—”

“They were looking for me, dumbass, they weren’t looking for her. I need to…I need to make sure she’s okay.” Before Dongyoung could say anything else, he turns to the commenters, lowering his face to the two older men to speak over the bustling noises. “I’m sorry, but something came up right now, I have to go. It was a pleasure working with you.”

“Come around any other time, Taeyong!”

“You’ve got it.” When he tugs at Dongyoung sleeves, walking through the rows of people, he hears his publicist huffing.

“Do you really expect me to get inside a brothel just to look for—?”

“Yes. We have to. You can call all the bodyguards you want, but we’re going.”

Though, he swallows the fear at the pit of his stomach. It’s only a matter of time before they get to him…or even worse, Eiji could kill him on the ring himself.

###

Hips, the place Daniel talked about is called, and while it’s covered from the police as a ‘strip-club’, she knew that it wasn’t the moment she entered three days ago.

Everyone who would look at her from afar, workers or just costumers, would think that she is, perhaps, obsessed with sex. Or that, for some reason, she was a watcher that enjoyed a few drinks, getting a glimpse of some men and women, and then she was off and away from this kind of world. A coward who couldn’t get the job done, but was just on the brink of trying it. They couldn’t be more wrong, even though she has gotten used to the place, green and violet neon lights casting down on the black room the moment she enters. I.D checked, money given, everything is under control.

And definitely, Tori has been nowhere in sight. Daniel could have confused him with anyone else named Tori, maybe someone whose real name was, indeed, Tori but she keeps trying. It’s the only clue she has left to earn the casino back. Last time she tried to enter, yesterday afternoon, bullets pierced through the armored car. Tori has fucking stolen her place, and she can’t get it back.

Not yet, at least, she has to make mends with him and sign a contract or something. She gives him what he wants, he leaves her the fuck alone.

Friends are not to be trusted. No one is, really, but when she pushes through the seas of people, women clinging onto half-naked men and men throwing money as if they were the owners of this place, she feels like she has a plan. It comes in the shape of the man that stands under the blinking, violet neon sign that reads ‘sexy boys in your area’.

Oh, cringe.

But he’s smiling at her as he nears her, taut abdomen contracting, sweet smile and innocent features changed by the darkness of his eyes, as nightly as the black strands of his hair that damply fall on his forehead when he stands in front of her.

How he isn’t sweating buckets with those leather pants? She has no clue.

“I’ve seen you around.” The sex worker says, voice soft like a blanket, extending his hand forward and she shakes it, earning sweet laughter from him. What? Was he expecting her to hold his hand or something? “I would think you really can’t be sedated, but…I think it’s pretty obvious you’re looking for someone.”

Well, pretty boy is intelligent, at least. “I am.”

“Is it your partner?” He asks, his plush lips wrapping around a softer smile. “We get plenty of husband and wives trying to mend their marriages, but it always falls down when they catch them here. If they haven’t come around, I could check the books to see if they are a regular.”

He’s not her husband. Or her boyfriend. God forbid she ever laid a finger on Tori, and the thought alone makes her want to barf, but whoever this stripper is, with love bites scattered across his neck and legs that seem to last for miles, tries to help her the best he can. “What’s your name?”

He chuckles, leaning his weight onto the wall next to her. “We don’t use real names here. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t.” She mumbles, looking through the pocket of her dark denim jacket for her box of cigarettes. She lights one up at the same time that the extremely handsome worker breathes out his nickname.

Or his work-name, really. She has one of those. Jinhee does, as well. She never heard Tori’s real name.

“Woo.” Melodic voice breathing out, in what she supposes is an empathic tone, he continues his speech. “I can tell you what you need to know if you book an appointment with me.”

She quirks an eyebrow, embarrassment engulfing her. “I—I have never…”

“You don’t have to, well, we don’t have to do anything.” Woo conceptualizes, pointing in between the two of them. “I’ll take you to by assigned room, but I’ll only answer your questions.”

“How much?” She asks, lurking for her wallet to get her card out.

“Two hundred the hour.”

She has never done the walk of shame. Not even with Taeyong, but it feels like one when she pays for an hour with Woo. The man doesn’t even put on a shirt, smiling at some of the people scattered around the brothel before he opens the dark velvety door. When it closes behind them, does he actually light up the room in its soft light, a white bed in the middle of a champagne room accompanied by burning red cushions.

He goes over to the mini-bar at the corner, serving himself a cup of whiskey as he speaks. Shit, he really doesn’t look like he belongs here. He could potentially be an actor if he wanted to, one of those pretty ones in romantic comedies.

“So, what do you want to know?” Woo asks, leaning his slim frame against the mini-bar as he sips on the honey-colored whiskey.

She takes a seat on the bed, with her back properly straight, blinking at him. “Ah…” Awkwardness follows her movements, but she shakes her head. This is not the time to be embarrassed for being in a brothel. “He goes by the name Tori. He’s an associate at The Jungle, my casino. I want to know who he is working with and he’s a constant costumer around here—”

“Oh yes, he is.” Woo accepts, licking his plush lips. “One of my friends, Ice, she is the one that is usually hired by him. He’s an absolute freak…” He trails his voice, deep in thought. A tint of red washes over his face, as if somehow touched by awkwardness for what he is about to say. Definitely a paradox for a sex worker. “And loud, too. Super loud. He asks Ice to tie him up to the ceiling and—”

Her hands come up to her ears before he can continue with that mentally scarring image of Tori. Shit. “No, no, no, I want to know who he works with. That’s all.”

Woo chuckles at her antics, soft and tranquil, before he walks over to the bed. He sits next to it, laying his cheek on the mattress as he speaks. He keeps his distance, respectful of her desires above all. “I know he is part of some organized crimes. He works with a lot of people.” He says. “He brings them over here sometimes. I’ve slept with some of them.”

That’s a start. “And who is his leader?”

“I don’t hold that kind of information.” Woo utters, shrugging. “I know they go by the name ‘The Redemption’, but I’m not quite sure who is their leader. I could guess if I saw them, but I don’t know his name—”

Screams and bustle fill the air around the brothel outside, but she doesn’t pay attention to it. “Are you sure—?”

“Sir, you can’t go in there!”

“I need to get her out of here and I promise I’ll leave.”

“She’s getting services—”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before! Just let me in!”

The door opens in the blink of an eye and though she hasn’t spoken to him much, she saw him take Taeyong in when she dropped him off at his mansion. Kim Dongyoung is right in front of her, blinking rapidly with a frown on his features as he points his thumb outside the door.

“We need to go now. You’re not safe here.”

She stands up at those words, frowning back at him. “Dongyoung? What are you doing here?”

“I said we need to go. My…represented person is waiting for you.”

She tries to stifle her laugh. He’s really not trying to say Taeyong’s name.

“We’ll, that’s the end.” Woo finalizes, splaying himself on the bed for one second before taking another sip of his drink. He speaks to the organizer in the brothel. “Tell me when I’ll have a real client.”

“Thank you—!” She can’t say much to Woo as Dongyoung is tugging at the sleeve of her jacket, dragging her along with him as he speaks, albeit raggedly.

“I can’t believe Taeyong is saving your ass when you’re not even helping anyone. You’re out here, sleeping with someone, while he’s in danger.”

She scoffs at his words. “I wasn’t sleeping with anyone.” She defends herself. “Woo is a worker here and he offered to give me information if I paid him for the hour.”

“Yeah, whatever.” The security guard opens the door for Dongyoung, two bodyguards standing in front of the black wagon that probably had Taeyong inside. The man turns around, hair whisked by the wind as he talks to her. “I don’t care what you’re doing, I care what happens to him…because he’s my friend, and you dare get him killed or break his heart, and I’ll go after you.”

With the certainty she has had to use when being put in front of a business, she hums. “You can bet on that. I would never hurt Taeyong.”

Dongyoung nods at her words. “Then, get in the wagon. He has something to tell you.”

###

A border of silence separates them in the tinted wagon, driving through the streets thanks to the chauffeur. Even Dongyoung, who had been an avid supporter of getting his hands out of this mess, remained silent after she and Taeyong had put all the cards on the table. He’s not good at poker, but he is good at bringing the pieces of this puzzle together. Taeyong is a rational thinker, while she’s more of an act.

Eiji Watanabe, a professional boxer, up and against Taeyong, thirsty for blood and power. Tori, her former companion, who had done everything and anything to seem innocent in this situation, even to Taeyong. He must be following after her now, along with Taeyong, considering that she was the one that ruined his mission. But thinking of Eiji, at such a young age, as the leader of a group like The Redemption, a mafia or a gang whatsoever, is a little bit hard to believe.

He may be a connection, a rich kid in the way who manages to call the shots from time to time. It must be in his family, much like Tori’s family was involved in that kind of thing, from a higher hierarchy that Tori fearing what he could do, or following after his steps. Thus, she has to make Taeyong believe Eiji is not entirely the culprit behind this, but he is one of those spoiled rich men with power who decide that disliking someone is enough of a reason to murder.

She sighs, looking over to the side but she can’t see much from the city with those tinted windows. Not to say she doesn’t fear, but she has to say this: “I’ll go my own way. Stay out of your lane.” She concludes. Truth be told, she always thought death wasn’t going to come—she expected it, said she didn’t fear it, claimed life as more difficult than death, but now that it palpitates on her tongue, bleeds its taste onto the muscle, she can’t help but be frightened by the idea her eyes close and they stop working altogether, along with the rest of her body.

“Fucking finally.” Dongyoung says, lifting his hands in the air as if his prayers had been heard. “Can we call the police now, too?”

“Bad publicity, remember.” Taeyong replies to Dongyoung, folding the sleeves of his white button down up to his elbows before sighing deeply. Everything about him looks expensive now, and she can’t help but study his otherwise dulcet features bathed in worry. It should have never gone like this for him. “So, Eiji is trying to kill me…and Tori is trying to kill you.”

“Yes.” She adds, between a chuckle. “I shouldn’t have—It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t…if I hadn’t just seduced you—”

“But you did. I could have said no, too.” Taeyong explains, spreading his palm over his chest, right atop his heart. “I could’ve just not had a one-night stand, but I did. We did. And I can’t simply let you die because you think this is all your fault.”

“I knew what was going to happen. It is my fault.”

“We can’t point fingers between each other.” He says, finishing the sentence with her name. As egotistic as it sounds, she loves how he rolls the name off his tongue. “We’re dealing with something bigger here. You have to get your casino back and Tori was probably the one behind her death—”

She acknowledges that, but she can’t quite put all her worries on Taeyong. “For the same reason, I should leave. You don’t know how long it will take until I get my casino back.”

“Well, it will take however long has to take, but you will.” Even when he is trying to sound certain, she can see a bit of nervousness in his eyes, biting on his nail before huffing. “What I’m trying to say is that you can stay at my mansion, with bodyguards, with me until you figure it all out. He’s right behind you and I can’t live with the weight of knowing I let someone die.”

Dongyoung widens his eyes from his spot, straightening his back on the seat. “We never a—agreed to that.”

“Dongyoung…”

“I don’t want to be any trouble.” She says, but Taeyong leans forward, taking her hands in between his when he retaliates:

“You’re already enough trouble. I think I can get used to it.”

Her throat dries up at those words, thinking and pondering of her place, perhaps surrounded by workers of Tori and how she almost got killed at the casino. There is nowhere else to go, so she responds:

“Okay, I’ll stay with you for the time being, but I’ll protect you, as well. Consider me another bodyguard.”

“Shit.” Dongyoung says once he sees the two smiling at each other. “Am I painted on the wall or do you guys just decide not to listen to me?!”

###

Awakening in Taeyong’s place tells her one thing: This is not a mansion, it’s a damned palace.

Now, now, owning a casino has given her enough to live a good life. Lavish, surely, but she has always been a bit uptight with money, but even as she gets out of the door that Taeyong had lent her, she gets a bit lost in between the gray walls and modern decorations. Everything pristinely put, as if scared of being touched, and she doesn’t even let her fingertips roam the walls properly while going down the set of stairs. Could’ve used the elevator, but she decided against feeling like the crazy, neat-freak scientist in murder movies today.

She gets to the kitchen, cladded in Taeyong’s sweatpants and a t-shirt that only now she realizes reads his nickname in boxing. It’s classical, a black t-shirt with an outline of him in white that reads “The New Boy”. Well, not so new anymore. Taeyong is on the verge of reaching the highest point of his career.

And she had to come and ruin it all.

Just as she’s reaching for the bottle of orange juice, she hears someone entering the kitchen. She stands up far too quickly, nerves on edge as she takes the Coca Cola bottle next to the orange juice, shakes it three times before she points it at the culprit in question.

Whom she sees is far different from what she imagined. Taeyong stands there, hair recently washed, his white t-shirt three times his size, lifting up his taut abdomen.

“Get close to me or I’ll…shoot…you…” Her voice grows weaker with the passage of time, staring at Taeyong with widened eyes before the man chuckles, lowering his hands altogether.

“With a Coca Cola bottle?”

She scoffs. “A shaken Coca Cola bottle. Whoever decided to attack me would have learned his lesson.”

“I can imagine, but don’t you have a gun?” Taeyong asks, running his fingers through his hair and keeping the hand there. Even at the peak of the morning, seven to be exact, he shines the brightest. Never had she seen a man hold so much beauty beneath him.

Her eyebrows raise at his statement. “I don’t point my gun around at everyone, you know?”

“Hard to believe.” The first thing he does is move the coffee machine out of its confines, the scent of fresh coffee beans taking over the kitchen. Shit. How long has it been since she has felt the smell of home? With fresh food, accompaniment, someone else’s perfume lingering in the air. “Either way,” He whispers, raising his voice the slightest to sound cute. Where were people like him in her part of the world? Where everything is wicked and broken. “I brewed you some coffee. Wasn’t sure if you’d like it, so I went all out with breakfast.” He opens the oven then, turned off, taking out the leftovers of what he had prepared. Still lukewarm. “Hot cakes,” He points to each thing he prepared. “With honey and cinnamon, spongey scrambled eggs and sliced avocado.”

“You didn’t have to—” But Taeyong is already settling the plate of food on the counter, and serving her a mug of coffee.

“There are sliced fruits in the fridge. I was going to pair them up with oatmeal, but I wasn’t sure if you’d like it.” He looks up then, placing the mug in between her fingers before rubbing the back of his neck. “Soonhwan tells me I’m an old man on the inside for liking oatmeal.”

She chuckles, taking a sip of what may compete with the best cafés in town. It’s not too sugary, with droplets of chocolate on its taste, dulcet but with some kind of spice that has her humming. “Oh my God—” She brings her hand up her mouth, savoring the taste. “You made this?”

“I like cooking. And coffee. I used to work at my grandma’s bakery when I was young.” Taeyong is rummaging through the cabinets, getting a fork and a knife out before moving towards the kitchen. “Let me look for the fruit so you can start eating—”

“Taeyong.” She calls out, voice clear as day. Her face is heated, perhaps with embarrassment. “I almost got you killed and you’re acting like a prince? You can’t do that.”

He lifts his head, half-covered by the fridge’s door, before he says: “This is called being an average roommate, who wants you to feel welcome and safe.”

She shakes her head, chuckling when he takes a plate of fruit out, placing another fork inside before he settles all meals on the kitchen island. Taking her mug with her, she takes a seat on the stool Taeyong has dragged for her. “No.” She concludes. “This is…this is madness, Taeyong. No one has ever treated me like this.”

Taeyong looks at her, raising his eyebrows for a brief second as he internalizes the words. Shit. She shouldn’t have opened her big mouth, so she tries to stifle it with some of the food he prepared for her.

“No one…has ever treated you well?” He asks, only to have her laughing, trying to cover it all.

“Taeyong, don’t listen to my stupid sad shit—”

“That’s not an answer.” But he is a prier, curious in his own way, and she has to sigh, biting down on her lip when she picks at the avocado.

Her life flashes in front of her. Happiness, then not. A smile, then a frown. It was never consistent. Never solid. Never planned or thought out. She wholeheartedly believed in high-highs and low-lows. “Life is more difficult for some people,” She says, slicing through the avocado and putting it inside her mouth. “And I just happened to never meet nice people to help me make life better.”

He wraps his hands around the edge of the island, sighing. “Then, why don’t you leave it?”

Curious, she tilts her head to the side, connecting her gaze with his. No longer are his eyes mirrors. They will never be for her, when she sees him as…as perfection itself. With some mistakes, sure, but far more simplistic than anything she had ever seen. “Leave what?”

“The Jungle.” He instructs, and she smiles at his words, shaking her head. “I’m serious. If it has only brought you stress, leave it. It’s not worth it. You could be a nice person—”

“Yong,” She interrupts, voice tiny, looking down at her hands before humming. “One day, you have your friend by your side and she’s drunk. She’s so drunk her eyes roll back and she’s laughing at everything she says, but something gets serious in her. So serious…that she can’t believe it herself. She says to you that the day she dies, she wants you to take charge of her place, her dream, the only thing she considered worth living for.” The images of Allegra fill her brain once again. Friendship was never the same; and for a reason. Tori betrayed her, and Allegra proved to be the only person she could trust in at the end. “…And then, you see her dead and her last breath is given in your arms. She’s fragile, broken, and…and she’s looking at you. She’s dead but her eyes are open and the only thing you can think of is that you want all her dreams to come true.” She lifts her gaze then, looking at him. “She saved me, but I never got to save her…and this is my only chance to prove that she was my realest friend.”

The doors to the kitchen swish open at that moment, a man with a husky voice, well above Taeyong’s age, says into the thin air: “Atta boy, we need to practice for—” His voice loses itself when she looks over her shoulder, connecting her gaze with whom she can only guess is Soonhwan. Old, with soft features, and a nose so crooked from so much fighting that it almost touches his cheek. “Oh, look at who we have here. Main character of the decade—”

“Soonhwan…” Taeyong threatens, voice low, though never scary. “Don’t become a Dongyoung, she’s…she has saved me enough times for me to pay back.”

“I’m not saying a thing.” Soonhwan says, running his fingers over his lips as if he was zipping his mouth up. “I’m just saying: Nice to meet you. I’ve heard…plenty from you. I don’t know what to believe for the moment, but we’ll figure it out.”

He’s candid, sincere, in the way he extends his hands and shakes hers. She can only bring herself to nod. “I’ll do my best to protect your boy.”

His eyes trail down to the logo on her shirt. “If only all fans spoke like you…” He trails, letting go of her hand to wrap his arm around Taeyong’s shoulder. The man shrinks like a boy being embarrassed in front of his crush by his old and jokester dad. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, not all of us are lucky enough to know how to use a gun and I have to prepare my boy for the fight.”

Taeyong sighs. “Yeah…”

“Seventeen days from now. We’re going strong for that fight.”

She continues to eat, shrugging her shoulders. “Suit yourselves. I’ll be here…thinking about dinner recipes and…how to make them and not fuck them up in the process.” She points at the plate with her fork. “This is too good to compete with, but if I’m staying here, we have to make an arrangement.”

“Arrangement?” Taeyong questions, confused.

“You make breakfast, I make dinner.”

Soonhwan whistles at that. “Well, I better start living here if that’s the case.”

“Soonhwan!” Taeyong nudges his side, earning breathy laughs from Soonhwan.

“Let’s go, kid. It’s getting late and we need to train.”

With that, he’s gone, leaving her with a trail of his scent and a taste of his immaculate cooking skills.

Dinner time is going to be difficult for her.

###

Seven days until the fight and Taeyong’s nerves are up the roof. The media has started to go crazy, publicity at its peak, Dongyoung the busiest he has ever been and his eyes are reddened from the lack of sleep. He spends most of his time practicing, with the usual break for a meal or a chat with…well, her.

It’s eleven at night when his phone is no longer as interesting as it should and he decides to go to the gym, get some punches on and practice a bit more. Though, once he slides the doors open, he is met by the sound of groaning and rubber hitting against rubber. His sturdiest punching bag, in a bright red color through the gray walls, stands out when she collides her fists against them, covered by his fighting gloves that move around her hands thanks to her ignorance in not knowing how to put them on.

The door closes behind him, but she’s too immersed in whatever consumes her, sweat pooling at her forehead, sporting her pajamas as she knocks and knocks against the punching bag. They are weak punches, but filled with rage, trying her hardest to bend something stronger than her to her will. As though she wants power again, but she’s unable to receive it.

“You’re going to hurt yourself.” Taeyong says, moving over to her to take the punching bag in between his fingers. She looks at him, hands misplaced in front of her, one over the other, as she tries to land another punch. Upon trying to smile at her, she doesn’t.

“What is there to it?” She asks, voice low, void of any hope, ridden by impatience. “If I hurt myself, what’s there to it? I have nothing else to lose.”

Her right fist lifts up at that, a groan ripping through her throat when she punches the bag again. Taeyong widens his eyes, shaking his head in the process. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. What just happened?” Though, worry only glimmers on him when he sees her drop to her knees, taking off his gloves and tossing them to the side when she brings her hands up to her eyes, folding onto herself as a sob escapes her. “Hey…”

He rushes towards her, taking her in between his arms as he tries to get a glimpse of his face. Her hold is strong, covering every ounce of pain on her features.

“Let go, Taeyong.”

“Not when you’re like this.” Taeyong whispers, resting his chin on top of her head as he hears her crying in his arms. His heart is broken, and he doesn’t even know why. He’s captured in this mansion, aware of his surroundings, because of her, isn’t it? Somehow, his mind can’t quite believe that she wasn’t another little card played in a game of poker, but they both lost. “W—What happened? I can’t help you if you don’t…if you don’t tell me. Oh God, please stop crying—”

She doesn’t, but she rubs at her eyes, lifting her gaze to connect her eyes with his own once he pulls away from her. Not enough to let go of her, but to look at her instead.

“I’ve lost it all, Taeyong.” She says, shaking her head when her lip trembles. She bites it before another sob could leave her. “I’ve lost my friend, the casino, my apartment, my life. Taeyong, how can I protect you when I have nothing else to lose? I don’t see a way out of this mess Tori created for me—”

Taeyong shakes his head, using his thumbs to rub the tears away. “You haven’t lost everything.” For some reason, he finds his body gravitating towards her, his nose resting on the side of her face as he takes in a breath, rubbing his skin with her own when a shaky sigh leaves her. “You haven’t lost me. I’m your friend. I’m here. You’ve proved yourself trusty enough—”

“You’re not mine to lose, Taeyong.” She repeats, shaking her head. “I can’t be your friend. I haven’t lost you yet, Taeyong. They’re still looking for you and you’re getting in that ring looking to—” Her arms push him away, obstinate in the way she rests a hand against her forehead. “Looking to get killed, Taeyong. Eiji is going to murder you.”

Taeyong denies that with a little smile of his own. “That’s the risk of being a boxer. A punch could always be a little bit too strong—”

“No, Yong, he’s looking to kill you. I investigated him, Taeyong, he’s killed someone on the ring—”

“What can I do?” He asks, though never does he lift his voice or accuse her of anything. A feather in the way he reaches out for her and once again, takes her in with those eyes of his. “I can’t back out. I can’t do that now when I’m just one step away from reaching what I have worked so hard for.”

His ambition has blinded him, or maybe, she is just a coward while he has been the real hero all along. “Right.” She whispers, reaching a hand out to cradle his face before a grin takes over her features. “Taeyong?”

“Mhm?” He hums, eyelashes fluttering against the underside of his eyes.

“I will never have enough words to tell you how sorry I am for getting you into this. For using your punching bag, too.” She tells, earning laughter from him as he helps her up.

“I was just worried you’d injure yourself. Bad punches and with the gloves not put on correctly? An equation to broken knuckles.”

“Oh, because you’re an expert in broken knuckles.” She jokes around, only to have him nodding.

“You’d be surprised to know that I am quite knowledgeable in the subject.” Though, his warm hands reach for her own as he puts the gloves on her, palming her hands together to make sure they are tightly put. “Come on, I’m going to teach you how to land a good punch.”

###

Her favorite part of the entire mansion is the balcony. The railings are modern, straight lines and no curves, but the coldness of it when she wraps her fingers around it, the breeze swooshing at her hair has her closing her eyes. For once, the world feels okay. It’s quiet, peaceful, she’s back in square one. No judgement, no time, nothing to worry about.

But she has things to worry about. Twenty-four hours until the fight. An entire day filled with images of what she has made her mind into. She opens her eyes then, hearing the doors of the balcony slide open until she feels someone placing a cold glass against her skin. She hisses, turning around to capture the cause of the shiver and pain that rakes up her skin, but when she wraps her hand around Taeyong’s wrist, he’s already smiling.

No, he’s chuckling, like a goddamned child on a Christmas morning before he waves the glass of iced tea in front of her face. “I’ve got you and I’ve got you good.” He says, now resting it against her cheek when she tries to reach out for it again. It burns, that’s for sure.

“Taeyong!” She scolds, even when he continues laughing, almost choking on his own iced tea when he takes a sip to ease his laughter. It doesn’t work, clearly, and she has to pat his back to get him to stop coughing, eyes brimmed with tears when he looks up at her. “Jesus, why did you drink the tea if you were laughing?”

“I…I…was…” He coughs again, chuckling when he straightens his back and looks at her, rubbing his tears again. “I was being stupid.” His voice comes out hoarse, but that’s all his doing.

“I could tell.” She replies, but a little giggle makes its way through her lips. This is probably the last time she is going to see him like this, and she can’t help but feel a little tug at her heart. The past few weeks have been tranquil, perfect in their own way, and she knows better than to get attached…but she has never had a friend like this. “So, Yong.” He repeats her name, only to have her taking a sip of the tea. “You prepared for tomorrow?”

The question almost sounds like she is asking herself, but she ignores it, concentrating on the way Taeyong nods. “I am.” She hums, turning around to continue to look at the moonshine and the dangling stars, but just as she takes in a breath, she feels his presence behind her, resting one hand on her hair to ruffle it softly. “Thank you for making dinner all these days. It was tasty.”

“Tasty?” She questions, looking over her shoulder to see him a bit too close. His eyes look down at her lips, parting his own, shimmered by the glistening lights of the city around them. Too far to see them. “It was average at best.”

“It was made with intent. That’s all that matters.” He whispers, resting one of his arms on the side of her body, hooking his fingers on the railing before taking a sip of his drink. The sinful way his throat goes up and down and he licks his lips after has her cursing herself internally. “You know, I really thought you were going to be one of the best people I would ever meet. Then, you were the worst. And then, you came out to be…”

“The worst, again?”

“Human. You’re neither too good nor too bad. You’re real.” Taeyong says, his breath fanning over her face when he looks into her eyes. “A friend of mine once told me that I had to inspect people’s eyes to know if they were lying or not. I had to see myself in them, but I could never see me in yours. I could only see…see you, you giving it your all to make sure I was okay.” He mumbles, and she feels her heart being stepped on, tugged, eaten alive just at his words. His body pushes forward, his abdomen contorting to her back when he leans down, lips caressing her own. “And I want to be able to thank you—”

He places the glass down on the table next to them, his cold fingertips melting against her stomach when he brings her back, pressing his lips against her own. His slim body molds to hers perfectly, as if made to fit her, and for a moment, she stays there, with her chin placed over her shoulder as she kisses him with fervor. It feels right, to have the wet glide of his lips against her own, tongues getting to know each other and he lets out a soft breath.

But that’s the thing. Taeyong is soft, dulcet, tranquil. He’s made for all the good in the world, and she’s in the bad. As much as her heart wants to glimmer gold, it’s tainted in black. She pushes herself away from him, taking in a deep breath when he looks into her eyes. There is nothing that she desires more than to kiss him, but—

“It’s better if we don’t.” She mumbles, and he stays quiet for a few seconds before pushing himself away from her.

“You didn’t want to? Oh shit, I didn’t mean to—”

“I want to, Taeyong. I’d kiss you forever if I could.” She replies, turning around until her back is resting against the railing. “I would love to have you kissing me silly and be with you but—”

“But?” Taeyong asks, raising his eyebrows.

“But from tomorrow on, I won’t be with you.” Though, she shortens the real reason. “I don’t…want you to think I’m a good person, that underneath me is all the good in the world. I’ve hung out with the wrong people and no I have to learn how to deal with that. I can’t fill your life with that bullshit. Not anymore.”

Taeyong crosses his arms over his chest, staring off into the city, his hair tied behind his back to put his gorgeous face in full display. “So, tomorrow you will leave?”

“I’ll make sure I leave everything organized so they never bother you again.” She moves over to him, splaying her hands on his chest, rolling them backwards until they rest on his back and she tugs him for a hug. She doesn’t want him to see the tears that gather in her eyes when she says: “And as long as you’re okay, that’s all I could care about. You’ll get over it, Taeyong, but I could never get over losing you.”

Taeyong nuzzles his nose against her neck, breathing in deeply before the warmth of his mouth lets out a few words: “Why couldn’t it have been easier for us?”

The possibilities are endless, but she fights back the tears and pulls away to say a truth she doesn’t want to accept. “Because we were never meant to be, Taeyong.” With that, she takes the glass she had left on the side, taking a sip before humming. “So, care to watch a movie with me before everything goes to hell?”

He nods. “There’s nothing I’d love more.”

###

As it turns out, the lights on top of the ring burn against his skin, compared to the flashes and the cheers that come with the people surrounding him. For once, he feels naked, as if reborn again, with his shirt off and his knuckles well prepared for a good punches, his hair pushed away from his face and his eyes directly set onto Eiji.

The man practically oozed confidence the moment he entered the ring. Tall, sturdy, ready to take over the world, with his prize wrapped around his waist before he unhooks it and shows it to the world. He even manages to throw some laughter Taeyong’s way, teeth clattering and eyes throwing daggers by the time they hook their gazes.

But he knows something…and that is that he has a family, away from the one that is obviously watching him from home. He has his staff, including Soonhwan and Dongyoung at the corner, waiting for him, rubbing Vaseline on his skin just in case something goes wrong with a wound and they prepared for him, confectioned each muscle on his body to be in his best shape.

He jumps in place a few times, hearing the introductions of both the fighters and the referee, the judges themselves, as well, and his mind suddenly goes to one of the people in the crowd.

Her.

She’s there.

And somehow, that makes him feel better. It relaxes him, because while he had once thought of boxing as a game of the body, it includes the mind too. When he steps forward, face to face with Eiji as he sports that infamous grin of his, that people somehow don’t notice is far more malicious than intended, he sees himself in those eyes. They are so different, yet he can see the determination in his own features, his blonde head of hair, the preparation of his body.

And he can see that he wants to win, for all he put him through. For all she had to lose just because of him.

So, the first punch lands in the weakest point he can muster, hearing cheers from the world around him, bleeding around his ears. Taeyong’s pulse quickens and he tries to take it easy. Life is a game of poker and all his cards have been spread, but now more than ever, he wants to win. Not to be the champion, though that would be a plus, but because he caused him pain, real pain, and that’s not how this sport works.

He’s back on square one, when he had to defend the bakery against those robbers, so even when punches land on his face and body, he manages to dodge them—or some of them, really—.

Somewhere in the crowd, he’ll show her that there is nothing more she should worry about.

###

It’s time to say goodbye.

As she moves through the groups of people in the crowd, excusing herself along the way, with her heart roaring to the sound of the people around her cheering. Taeyong is doing good. Too good, and pride swells at her chest, as well as fear. She knows what Eiji is capable of, but when she sees Tori in the front row, a bottle of beer snugly kept in place by his fingers, she knows that her plan will be executed to perfection.

All Eiji wants is money and power. As long as one of the people that got in his way is killed and he gets his money, he is okay. That, along with causing Taeyong pain, is more than what he could ever ask for. It’s the kind of mentality that comes with dictators, an eye for an eye, and maybe, she’ll snatch both out if that means just getting out of this mess. Protecting him, above all, from a bullet through the chest. From what happened to Allegra because of Tori’s fucking loans.

Her hand splays on top of his shoulder, freezing when he looks at her from over his shoulder, his mussy hair falling over his now disgusting face. “Long time no see, friend.”

His surprise doesn’t last long, the corner of his lips lifting up in a smile. “Likewise.” He turns around then, jutting his chin forward. “Want to take this outside and talk?”

“I think we can talk here.” She crosses her arms across her chest, kneeling down just in case the people behind her start arguing about her position. Her eyes connect to Tori’s, a harsh sigh leaving her lips. “I know what you’ve been meaning to do and I know you work for Eiji, but I have something I want you to tell your boss.”

Tori shakes his head, trying to play dumb. “I don’t know what you’re—”

“You can take my casino. It’s all yours now. Take all the money that you will from my bank accounts, but don’t touch Taeyong. Do not lay a single finger on one of his hairs, because I’ll make sure to haunt you down if you don’t follow through.” And maybe, she’s a one-woman club, but she knows that someone like him doesn’t deserve half of the shit he has been put through. “…You can take me instead of him. Kill me. Rob me. Whatever the fuck you want to do. I will work for you if that’s what Eiji wants, but he can’t touch Taeyong. That’s my part of the business.”

Tori remains silent for a few seconds, the ring of the bell catching him out of his thoughts before he hums. “Okay, I’ll talk to the boss.” He says, tugging at her arm and placing her by his side before sighing. “This could’ve been easier if only Allegra had not decided to change her testament on the last minute, you know?”

He takes a sip of his beer and she scoffs at his words. “What do you mean?”

“I would’ve paid all my loans had she kept on her word and left everything under my name. That was the plan, killing her and paying Eiji’s family, but you had to come around and ruin it all.” The sound of his voice brings a shiver down his spice, looking down at his hands, the same ones that had killed her friend. “I gave you another chance and I was going to kill you once you got to the office, but you had to ruin everything, right? Stab me in the back and all.”

All the pain, the questioning, the mysteriousness, had all fallen down on him. How could she not have noticed? “That makes two of us.” She repeats, throwing her head back when she sees Tori stand up. “Wait, what—?”

“Come with me.” He instructs, extending his hand. “You have to leave The Jungle under my name and I’ll leave you with the Watanabe’s on the way there.”

Her eyes close tightly. There was no way of getting out of this legally, so she had to result to this. Maybe, if the world is fair, she won’t have to die today.

So, she grasps the hand of the man that killed her friend, stabbed her in the back and brought Taeyong into her life only to pluck him away at the same time, and decides to put all her hope in destiny.

Or mercy, really.

###

Eleven months later.

A beauty blender presses against his skin, cameras pointed directly to his face as he looks up at the ceiling. The makeup artist is trying to get to his dark circles, ever-present ever since he earned the title of worldwide light featherweight champion, but he is also taking this time to think. Rehearse over his lines for the interview, try not to get lost in his thoughts, feel proud of the place he finds himself in.

But he feels guilty, instead. Eleven months ago, he had been stupid enough to leave her on that crowd, on her own, gone to God-knows-where, doing God-knows-what and definitely not alive. Taeyong has perpetrated this inside his brain, that there is no way in hell she was alive. Maybe, one of Eiji’s men took her, or she tried to win a fight on her own, but he is certain of one thing: All the riches around him, the success, the life that he is living comes from the fact that she had given up something for him. To keep him safe.

They could have been great friends. Hell, maybe, if things had been different for them during that one-night stand, he would have asked for her number and they’d pose for pictures together, be the envy and the gossip of magazines, but that didn’t happen. Instead, he’s seated on a leather seat, cladded on a black turtleneck and matching pants, with his hair now dyed deep brown as the makeup artist tries to smile at him.

“Your eyes shine a lot, sir.” She says, a small giggle leaving her lips as she pushes the beauty blender away from his face.

Taeyong tries to smile, he really does, but he has heard those words before. Not from fans, not from family, but from her. Those were one of the first few conversations they had and it’s stupid of him to keep clinging to that. They weren’t Bonnie and Clyde or Romeo and Juliet. They were two fairytales, far too realistic, that interfered in each other’s stories but were never meant to end up together.

“So, I’ve heard.” Taeyong replies, but just before the makeup artist could say anything else, Dongyoung comes sprinting into the studio, trying to catch his breath as he splays his hands on his thighs. “Dongyoung, what happened?”

His nerves have been on the line ever since what happened. Always wary. Always careful. Not everyone was good, he had learned, but sometimes, the bad holds some of its past with it. The publicist lifts his gaze, waving a letter in front of him when he spits out: “You got mail. This is important.”

He has never seen Dongyoung this preoccupied, or this excited at the same time. Taeyong frowns, taking the card in between his fingers before touching the signature at the back of the envelope. That’s when his heart picks up, seeing her real name—not boss, not the nickname she used, but the one she had given him instead. The person he knew.

But no, it couldn’t be. She had to be dead.

Impatience and ignorance makes him open the envelope far too quickly, ripping it to get to the letter, signed only two weeks ago.

Dear Taeyong,

I know you probably curse at the sound of my name by now, or that you hate me. I don’t blame you. I hated me to certain extent, too. I only learned how to grow easy with myself after what I did and here I am.

How’s life? I know you won’t be able to reply to me, but from where I am—in some island that I shouldn’t be telling you about—, I get to see some glimpses of you on TV. I’m glad you’re doing great and that you’re successful. I hope you get to meet someone to be by your side in all those interviews, but that’s only if you want…you have always been whole just on your own.

I wanted to pretend I was dead. I thought it was easier for you, but it’s not easier for me. I expected to die that night I gave myself to The Redemption but no, Eiji’s family wanted me to keep working for them. They said to never communicate with you, but the more I saw you on TV as I travelled around the world, the more I hoped I would have been able to say my proper goodbyes.

I’m a mule. Not an animal, I just deliver…things around. Things I shouldn’t be talking about in a letter that your management will probably read, but I was just clarifying in case you didn’t know. I’m working for them, and it’s not easy, but it’s what had to be done. They would have killed you instead, I know they would have.

And I wouldn’t have been able to take it. Not you, Taeyong. Not the only person I had left that I could trust.

Allegra once told me that I had to start to trust people. I trusted her, I trusted Tori, but I never learned what was real trust until I met you, Taeyong. I know now what she felt…what she wanted…she only wanted be me to be safe, and I wanted the same for you.

I get a feeling only good things will come your way now that I’m not around, so hold tight. This is only the first ride to success.

Much love and all the hugs and kisses I never managed to give you.

She ends it with her name, and Taeyong has to look up to stop the tears that gathered in his vision. Still, he blinks them away, reading the letter over and over again before holding it closely to his chest. Dongyoung doesn’t take it, thankfully, and he relishes on the feeling of knowing she is okay. She is alive.

Not living the life she deserved, but breathing nonetheless.

“Are you ready, Mr. Lee?” The interviewer asks, taking a seat on the couch across from him as he looks down at his notes. “I’m a huge fan of you. I’m sure you don’t mind some extra questions.”

“I don’t.” He smiles. If there is one thing he has to do is succeed.

For him.

For his family.

For his friends.

For her, for giving the casino and her freedom away just to have him succeed.

Little does she know he would never curse her name, not when she’s the bravest person he has ever met, and that comes from someone who does boxing for a living.

#taeyong scenarios #taeyong #nct scenarios #nct #kpop scenarios #writing #taeyong angst #taeyong au #nct angst #nct au #boxer!taeyong #casino owner!reader #ok yes i watched too much creed while writing this i swear it isn't my fault lol

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donteattheappleshook · 3 years

Text

There is a Pirate in the Dungeon

Summary:

There is a pirate in the dungeon. All the serving girls are too afraid to go down the steps and bring him his meal. All but one.

This fic is based on a beautiful little story from The Starless Sea that just screamed of Captain Swan so strongly that I couldn't resist.

***

Happy Birthday to @elizabeethan who supported this fic and is just an all around great friend and writer <3

Thanks to @kmomof4 and @the-darkdragonfly for looking this over!

***

There is a pirate in the dungeon. All of the servants are in a flurry over it, gossip filling the halls of the Evil Queen’s palace. They say it’s him. Him who? You know, him, with the hook. The girl pays little mind to it. There is always someone in the dungeon. It doesn’t take much to upset the queen. One foot out of place, one word out of turn.

There are always people in the dungeon. Some are former servants, some former friends, some simply people who had the misfortune of crossing her path on a bad day. In fact, this pirate may be one of the few - if not the only - prisoner being held for any real crime. But the girl keeps her head down and goes about her work. No need to get involved. No need to stand out.

***

The pirate sits in the dungeon. He finds himself bored. It’s a strange emotion to have when facing down one’s inevitable end, but it’s the emotion he feels all the same. He wonders when Death will come. He wonders if this time he will stay, if they’ll meet like old friends, if Death will smile - not in self satisfaction, but in fondness for this game they’ve played so long. It’s only fair. He’s slipped through Death’s fingers so many times, it was bound to be his turn sooner or later.

A key hangs on the wall, six feet away from his cell, a tease of freedom just out of reach. He appreciates the metaphor. The guard is old, and drunk, and asleep most of the time. In a past life, the pirate may have attempted escape, may have hatched some elaborate ruse to win back his liberty. But he is old now - though he does not look it - and he is tired. And so he sits in his cell, bored, and waiting for death.

***

The girl does her best to ignore the chatter, but it follows her everywhere. She hears it in the kitchen, ears catching the whisper of a name, or perhaps a title. She hears it in the hallways, a guess at what he’d done to earn his date with the gallows. She hears it in the small bedroom that she shares with another girl, a rumor of his terrifying reputation, of a man more monster than human. But she isn’t afraid. There’s no such thing as monsters.

***

On the first night of his captivity, a girl comes into the dungeon carrying a tray of food and water. The pirate makes the mistake of standing too close to the bars, of looking over perhaps a tad too suspiciously, too threateningly, and the girl gasps, dropping the plate and running from the dungeon in fear. The guard wakes, and shrugs, and the pirate goes hungry.

On the second night there is a new serving girl. She makes it halfway across the room before the candlelight gleams off his hook and she stumbles. Half the food and water spill from her hands before she sets it on the floor far enough from the bars that he needs to remove his hook and use it to pull the tray close enough to have what’s left.

The third night no girl comes at all, though he hears her retreating footsteps at the top of the stairs. By the fourth night, the pirate has resigned himself to dying of starvation. It’s not quite the death he’d always pictured for himself, but he supposes it’s as fitting as any other.

The guard is asleep again when the girl comes down the stairs on the fifth night, this one also new and more striking than any of the other servants who have fled from him. More striking than most women he’s ever seen and suddenly something that had started to go out in the pirate’s heart begins to stir.

There’s a wariness about her, a hesitation as she approaches, but there is no fear, and it surprises him. As she approaches the bars, she meets his eyes and he watches in wonder as the doubt melts from her features, making way for confusion, relief, and even, he thinks, disappointment. It makes him laugh and he nearly startles at the sound of his own voice after so many days of silence. The girl, however, does not startle.

She sets the tray in front of him and he thanks her. That does startle her. He wonders briefly if it’s at seeing manners in a prisoner or from having become accustomed to never being thanked for her work at all.

The girl studies him, gaze falling over his face and his greatcoat, settling finally on his hook before finding their way back to his eyes. He wonders what she finds there, what she may have been looking for. He takes the chance to study her himself, her long golden hair and bright eyes, the rags she wears unable to disguise a certain dignity with which she carries herself.

He holds her gaze for a long moment, neither compelled to speak as they take each other in and draw their conclusions. Soon, however, his stomach cries for him to eat the bread which she’s brought him and he’s too tired and too hungry to deny it. But as he takes note of the thinness of her cheeks and the smudges below her eyes he feels a certain obligation towards her, a long forgotten sort of duty.

The pirate tears the bread in two and holds one half out through the bars. The surprise returns to her face and he wonders at the fact that it’s kindness that seems to scare her, rather than danger. She watches him, closely, carefully, more curiously than she has yet, and he’s stunned when an older - younger - version of the pirate makes himself known, one he hasn’t seen in years, but that he hopes is still worthy of this girl’s scrutiny, perhaps even of her trust.

She takes the bread from his hand and neither miss the way his fingers brush across her wrist as she pulls back. But she doesn’t recoil. She doesn’t run.

“You’re not afraid of me, are you?” the pirate asks, trying to remember the last time his presence wasn’t met with fear or dread.

She considers him a moment before answering, her voice low so as not to wake the guard. “I’ve met scarier men than you,” she says, and he believes her.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her, because he is, and because he doesn’t know what else to say. He himself has met few scarier men.

The girl does not stay to eat her bread. The guard begins to stir and she hurries out of the room before he can ask her name. The pirate cannot chase after her. He would like to, but the bars pose a certain problem. When the guard wakes he finds the pirate with his forehead pressed softly to the iron rods of his prison, a soft, faraway look in his eyes. He does not, the guard notes, look at all like a pirate anymore.

***

The girl walks swiftly down winding steps that lead from the kitchen, which is on the second floor of the palace, deep underground to the damp, carved out tunnels that serve as a dungeon. She doesn’t pay attention to the strange looks she receives from the other serving girls, or the judgemental ones she receives from the men. She is the first to make this trip twice since the pirate’s arrival and it has earned her the distrust of her coworkers.

“Aren’t you afraid of him? Haven’t you heard what he’s done?”

“He’s behind bars,” she answers simply whenever this question is posed. But she knows that the bars are irrelevant. She does not fear the pirate.

She is more concerned with the second question, that of what he has done. The girl, who grew up near the palace and was orphaned near the palace and now works in the palace, has never done anything, not truly, not anything worthwhile or worth remembering.

She wonders how many places outside this palace the pirate has seen. She wonders how many places outside this kingdom he has visited, or perhaps even, outside this realm. She decides that she’ll ask him to tell her about them. The worst he can say is “no” and then her life will be no different than it was when she woke up this morning. She thinks however that if he says “yes”, it could be a little bit better.

When the pirate sees her coming down the stairs he looks surprised, and then relieved, and then pleased. A small smile pullis at the corner of his lips and she feels it makes him look even less the terrifying monster those upstairs believe him to be. He looks young, his eyes which yesterday had betrayed an ancientness of one who has lived many lives, perhaps, more lives than they’d have liked, are now bright and anxious like a boy’s.

The guard is predictably asleep and the girl makes her way to the bars where the pirate waits and hands him his food. He takes it with a thank you, as he had yesterday, and while she’d expected it, she was still not prepared for it and it catches her off guard, her cheeks flushing. Then her cheeks flush at her embarrassment over her cheeks flushing in the first place.

He is handsome, dark hair and dark lashes framing blue eyes and a soft smile contrasted by a strong jaw. But she has seen handsome men before and paid them little mind. She wonders what it is that is different about this one. Whatever the difference, it makes her lose her nerve, and with no other reason to be here, and no question bold enough to ask, she turns to take her leave.

“Wait,” the pirate says, and the girl stops, glancing back. “Will you tell me your name?” he asks. When she does not answer, he speaks again. “If I’m to see you again, I’d like to be able to thank you properly for your service. If I’m not, then I’d like a name to associate with the memory of you.”

The girl is grateful for the darkness in the dungeon, and the distance that hides her stricken expression. “Emma,” she tells him, and he smiles at her in the same youthful way he had before. She offers a clumsy curtsy, and leaves.

When she returns the following night, the girl has slipped whatever extra treats she could find onto the tray. A roll of bread with honey stolen off a table while serving breakfast, meat leftover from the servant’s dinner, and a small, baked good that the queen had sent back. She imagines the pirate must be hungry. She is only sent to bring him food once a day and there are no other servants making trips to the dungeon.

He looks relieved, and then happy to see her. And then something crosses his expression that she doesn’t recognize. Likely, because no one has ever looked at her like that. She finds that she likes it. She hands him the tray, watching a little too eagerly as he notices the contents. He smiles, one eyebrow jumping up, the pull of his lips lopsided, and it spreads warmth through her belly.

“Thank you,” he says, adding “Emma” to the end. It’s the first time he’s said her name, and Emma is surprised at how much she likes hearing him say it.

The guard is asleep, and she imagines he will be for a while, his snores resonating annoyingly through the room. She wonders if the pirate gets much sleep. She imagines it would be hard to sleep with the threat of impending death looming over her. But she imagines it would be even harder to sleep with the guards snores echoing in her ears. Either way, the guard seems unlikely to wake, so she chances stealing a little more time in the pirate’s company.

He watches her as she makes her decision, and when he offers up some of his meal again to share, she accepts it. She feels guilty, taking his food, but it allows her the excuse to step closer to the bars and to brush her fingers carefully against his as they had last night.

When their hands have been touching as long as they reasonably can while passing food, perhaps even a little too long at that, the pirate pulls his arm back through the bars. She notices the hook on which he balances the tray. He notices her noticing it, but says nothing.

After a moment, he sits on the floor, resting the tray against his knee as he picks at it. While he doesn’t ask her to stay, the invitation is clear in both how close he sits to the mouth of his cell and in the way he watches her, waiting. Feeling bold, Emma sits down beside him, shoulders near close enough to touch, were it not for the bars between them. They sit silently, letting the guard’s snores fill the quiet that would be filled by their words. After a long time, Emma speaks.

“They say you’re a captain,” she tells him, wondering if any of the gossip is true.

“Aye, that I am,” he answers. “Or… was,” he corrects, acknowledging his current predicament. Can a captain be a captain without a ship? She takes a breath before speaking again.

“They say you’re a pirate.”

He smiles, mirthful, his eyebrow ticking up again. “Aye,” he says, “that too.” Emma only nods and it seems to surprise him. She wonders if he was expecting shock, or fear, or perhaps even fascination. She gives him none of it.

“Have you been a pirate long?” she asks then, and this time his smile is melancholy as he nods.

“Yes. Too long.”

Emma draws her knees up, holding them in her arms as she gazes forlornly at the floor. “I can’t imagine you could ever tire of being a pirate. Not when there are so many places to see.” When she says it, she’s thinking of the freedom he must have had, the chance to go wherever he pleased whenever he pleased. But then she feels guilty, remembering where he is now.

“I suppose you’re right,” he agrees, offering her an accepting nod.

“And have you?” she asks, breath held in her lungs until he answers.

“Have I what, love?”

“Been many places.”

“Aye. More than you could imagine.” She can imagine quite a bit, but she supposes he’s probably right.

“You must have many stories,” she suggests, and he smiles at her the same way he had when she’d asked him about being a pirate.

“As many stories as there were places,” he promises.

“Will you tell me some of them?” She looks at him when she asks and is met with eyes that are both old and young all at once.

Before he can answer the guard starts to stir and she jumps to her feet. The pirate follows suit, hand reaching out to catch at the sleeve of her dress before she can leave. She turns to him and is shocked at the look in his eyes, she can’t quite place this one either, but if she had to name it, she’d call it... hope.

“I will,” he promises. “If you come back tomorrow. And I’ll tell you more if you come back the following night, and more after that.”

Emma meets his eyes and knows he isn’t lying. And the promise of hearing his stories is nearly as powerful as the promise of being able to sit next to him in the dungeon again, with their shoulders just close enough to touch, if not for the bars. She agrees.

***

When Emma returns the following night, there is more food on his tray. The pirate imagines she must have stolen or kept most of it, sharing her own dinner with him. So it feels only right to share some of his own meal with her.

He’d tried to hide his excitement at seeing her come down the stairs, though he’s sure it was written all over his face. And she’s quite perceptive, he’s noticed. It feels strange, to have something to look forward to. He never imagined being excited for or anticipating anything while in this dungeon, apart from perhaps death. He prefers it this way.

“So what would you like to hear?” he asks after he has touched her hand and sat next to her on the dirty floor of his cell. She contemplates his question for a while, putting serious weight to her decision and he smiles. It’s been a long time since someone was so interested in learning anything about him.

“How did you become a pirate?” she asks finally, and his heart settles like a lead weight in his chest. It must show on his face because she begins to apologize. He stops her. He had not expected to have to share such a painful story so quickly, but he tells her anyway. He tells her of his childhood, uncertain why he starts so far back but the more he continues the more he feels it suits the story.

He tells her of his upbringing on Silver’s ship, of his time in the Navy, of his brother, of everything he was and everything he himself wished to be. He tells her of his brother’s death and her eyes fill with tears, the kind that speak of understanding rather than sympathy. He’d learned long ago to spot the difference, to pick a kindred spirit out of a crowd. Tonight, he picks a twin soul out of a dungeon.

When he has finished his story he waits for her appraisal, wonders if he did it justice. He embellished in parts, if only to make himself more dashing or the dangers greater. He could read on her face that she knew what he was doing and it only made him smile, even as she rolled her eyes. That made him do it more.

“I’m sorry,” she says, he imagines in much the same way he had said to her that first night, and he knows then that they understand each other, perhaps in a way nobody has ever understood him before, not really.

The guard is still asleep but he doubts they have much time left. Nevertheless he offers her another story, if only to keep her here a little longer, to watch her eyes light up with wonder and excitement as he spins his tales. Emma considers again, as carefully as she had the first time.

“Will you tell me your name?” she asks.

He smiles. “Killian.”

***

Killian tells her of Neverland, of evil little boys and fairies and mermaids. He tells her of a land covered in snow, of one where sand reaches as far as the eye can see. He tells her of krakens and monsters and heroes and damsels, of kings and knights and pirate queens over the course of the following nights, each tale more fantastical than the last. But he never lies. She knows he doesn’t. He may embellish but his stories are true, and that makes them all the more unbelievable. She begins to pity the guard, who sleeps through such magical stories, but does not begrudge the privacy it allows them.

His fingers tangle in her hair through the bars, as they do every night, playing with each stand before letting it slip delicately between his rings. He likes her hair and she likes that he likes it. He’d made a comment when she asked, about pirates being drawn to gold. She’d rolled her eyes and he’d laughed.

“What tale would you like to hear tonight?” Killian asks, smiling that smile which always makes her stomach warm and her cheeks flush.

She thinks carefully, as she does every night, wanting to ask the right kind of question to hear the right kind of story. With every tale he reveals more about himself, whether intentionally or not. She knows he is brave but also protective, charming, but also solitary. Dangerous, but kind. He’s seen the whole world, known countless people, but he carries a loneliness that breaks her heart in a way her own never could.

There is a story she wants to know, one that she’s held off on asking. In part because it feels rude, because she is unaware of the rules around asking such things. But also, because she imagines this is the tale that everyone asks him, and she doesn’t want to be everybody. She hopes she can ask and still be Emma to him.

“Will you tell me how you lost your hand?” she asks finally and his fingers still in her hair. She fears she’s crossed a line, but when she turns to face him he’s watching her with that same expression he had when he told her the first story. She knows that this will not be a fanciful tale.

Killian nods and his fingers return their attention to her hair, his eyes fixated as he begins to speak. He tells her of a woman, of a great love and a cruel man. Of adventures and romance and the promise of happily ever after struck down by one monster’s hatred. His eyes water and she wants to ask him to stop, to beg him not to continue if it pains him so much to speak of it, even after all these years. But he finishes his story. Nothing embellished, nothing softened. And when he is finished she’s the one with tears in her eyes.

He does not look at her, preferring to watch the strands of her hair slip through his fingers as he brushes it over her shoulder and back again. She wonders if he’s awaiting her judgement, disgust or forgiveness. Neither are fitting. There is only empathy, and anger, and a feeling she has not felt before but is certain of regardless - love.

She reaches through the bars, takes his hook which rests in his lap in her hand and turns so that she can face him. He looks up in surprise as the movement steals the strands from his fingers, and then in greater surprise when she brings his hook to her lips before holding it to her chest, hoping he can read what she cannot say.

He does.

***

The following night is the last night. Killian knows this and while he’d always thought he’d leave this world with no regrets, he is left with one. He regrets not meeting her sooner, regrets time, not having enough of it, having wasted too much of it. For the first time in a century he fears death, resents it, because death will steal her from him and he is not ready to let go. But the gallows await him in the morning.

The guard is, shockingly, awake when Emma arrives, and he flatters himself that the redness around her eyes is because she knows as well, because she will miss him as well. His heart tightens, loathing that their last night will be cut short, impeded by the presence of the guard who will prevent her from staying. But he should have known to expect more of her.

Emma smiles at the guard, offering him something from the pitcher she carries on the tray. She imagines from his enthusiasm that it is wine or rum and he supposes he was to be offered a last drink on his last night. The guard drinks greedily and Emma continues to smile that lovely smile until he suddenly falls against the table, face colliding painfully with the wood. Killian looks at her in surprise as she comes to meet him. She shrugs.

“He’s not dead,” she dismisses and he smiles, proud and impressed.

“Perhaps there’s a little pirate in you yet, love.”

She gives him his food and they share it as they always do, sitting side by side yet too far apart to truly be together. Killian is aware of the metaphor here as well, though he appreciates it less than the keys on the wall.

Tonight, perhaps because it is their last night, perhaps because she is feeling the finality of it, the grief for all that could have been and what little was, Emma slides her fingers through the bars and takes his hand, letting her fingers slide along and play with his own and his rings as he had her hair. His whole body warms from his hand, rolling through him like a wave, like the sea, like magic.

“I thought, perhaps,” he starts but then hesitates, fingers tightening against hers. “I thought you might tell me a story,” he suggests. She watches him, eyes still red, thumb stroking along the back of his hand. “I’d quite like to know you before I die,” he admits, his voice more strained than he’d like. He realises it's not death he fears, but never seeing her again, never again touching her hair or holding her hand, never having so much as kissed her. He brings their hands to his lips and kisses her knuckles. It’s a poor substitute, but it’s something.

She nods, eyes watery and lip caught between her teeth. She tells him of her life, of being born near the palace, of losing her parents young, of being left by them, sent to live in the castle before she even had a chance to know them, of having looked for them but only having been met with dead ends and disappointed hopes.

She speaks of growing up in the castle, of the queen’s temper and the constant fear and he can see where her strength comes from, though he believes she may have been born with it. She tells him of a man that she believed she loved, one who left when things became too much. All her stories speak of abandonment, of loneliness and perseverance and hope, despite it all, hope.

When it’s nearly dawn she asks if she can have one final story and he cannot deny her anything so he says yes. She asks him what he did to be imprisoned by the queen. He laughs, because there is nothing else to do. He is not a good man, he has not believed himself to be one for a long time. But he likes to think that his last deed, the one that sent him to the gallows, was. That it was one that Liam could be proud of, and Milah, and Emma.

“I refused to kill someone for her.” Emma’s eyes widen. Clearly, this was not what she’d expected. “The Queen learned that someone in her castle had been placed there by the former king and queen, the ones she overthrew so many years ago, and that she, a girl - a daughter - had the power to destroy her. She wished me to find and kill the girl for her, as she cannot. I refused. I am many things, but a killer of innocent women, I am not.”

The booming of a drum brings his story to a certain, poetic end. It is followed by another and it is only a moment before they recognize them for what they are. The gallows await. Emma turns to him, fingers tightening against his until her knuckles are white, eyes wild.

“No,” she says with all the strength and stubbornness he’s grown to love in her.

“Emma,” he starts, not wanting their last moments to be anger and pain and sadness. But she pulls away, standing and staring at him for what feels like an eternity as she makes up her mind. She lunges for the keys, fingers fumbling as she tries to find the right one, to fit it in the lock. “Emma,” he tries to stop her. “Go,” he warns, fearing what fate awaits her if they catch her trying to help him escape. But she doesn’t listen. He did not expect she would.

When she finds the key the gate is wrenched open and she stands in the open doorway watching him with frantic, panicked eyes. He is frozen in place, unable to move, shaken by the risk she is taking. For him. She frowns at him then, confusion and just enough disbelief and annoyance to make him want to laugh.

“Run!” she commands, gesturing towards the stairs. He knows he could make it, he could run now and get out before the guards catch him. He’s gotten out of more dire situations before. But he can’t. She may save him from death but the result will be the same. Either way he will be without her. Being without her when he knows she is somewhere he cannot reach is far worse.

“What are you waiting for?” Emma demands, voice raising. “Get ou-”

He strides forward, takes her face in his hand and kisses her. He kisses her as though this may be the last time, because he fears it will be, regardless of whether they catch him or not. But once he’s kissed her he can’t let her go.

He’s held the whole of his world in his hand and against his lips and he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to let her go. He’s lived a very long time, and been to a great many places, but nothing has felt quite like this. Nothing has felt so much like home.

“Come with me,” he pleads, knowing that if she says no he’ll wait here for them to come for him, because it won’t matter, not without her.

The guards burst in, catching them with their faces still only inches apart and it takes them a moment, registering their own shock before they lunge at them, at him. Emma screams and suddenly there is a burst of white light, a light so bright that he has to shield his eyes against it. When he opens them again the guards are on the ground - breathing but unlikely to wake up anytime soon - and Emma is staring at her shaking fingers.

She looks at him with confusion and fear, helpless he thinks for the first time in her life. He takes one of her trembling hands, kisses it softly, and asks her again.

***

They run. They run until they reach the shoreline, Killian gazing out at the sea, and Emma imagines them on any of the ships out there as he attempts to figure out which he could commandeer most easily. She’s quite pleased with how easily she’s taken to piracy. Or perhaps, she’s just taken to pirates. He hasn’t released her hand since they ran from the dungeon and he still won't. She’s not sure she wants him to, for fear that what happened in the dungeon might happen again.

He’s only just picked a ship and started to pull her towards it when they hear the commotion behind them. The guards have caught up to them. The Queen is with them, fury on her face. They stop only a few feet away and Killian steps forward, attempting to stand between them and her. She attempts the same, and so they end up standing side by side, hands clasped tightly, ready to face whatever comes together.

“Well, Captain,” the Queen says. “I underestimated you. It seems you found her after all.” Emma’s breath catches, putting together the pieces of Killian’s story, of her own. Killian’s fingers only tighten around hers and she realises that he must have put it all together much sooner than she had.

She calls for her guards and this time Killian does stand before her and the Queen has him on his knees without even taking a step, sick pleasure in her eyes as the man Emma loves gasps for breath. She screams and she cries and she begs but the Queen doesn’t stop. She won’t lose him. It’s not a question or a choice but a fact. She refuses to lose him, not when they’re so close to freedom, not when she’s only just found him.

She isn’t sure how she does it, but before she has time to question how she does it now, or how she did it then, a light bursts from her fingers and she only just has time to see the fear in the Queen’s eyes before it engulfs them. It flows out of her. Like magic. Like love. And she’s certain that’s what it is, at least, that’s what it feels like.

She helps Killian to his feet and he takes her hand as he had in the dungeon, thanking her. She asks if he still wants her to come with him, warns him that if she is who they think she is, the Queen will never stop hunting them. He smiles, that same smile from their first night. His fingers find her hair, slipping through the strands from her ear to the ends and letting them fall around her shoulders.

“I’ve been hunted before,” he says. “And for far less valuable treasure.”

Someday, her parents will find her. Someday they will defeat the queen and they will ask her to come back with them. And she will, for a while. But she will always go back to him, to the adventures that wait for her in far off lands, and to the love that waits for her aboard a ship. But that is only someday. For now, the pirate takes the girl’s hand and asks her to follow him as he will follow her always, to the ends of the earth, or time.

The End.

*****

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