#the trust is more complicated than this rating suggests however. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the7thcrow · 10 months

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Not all that Glitters is Gold -> 11

series pairing: (fem) princess!reader x seonghwa x san x wooyoung. eventual polyamory.

series masterlist | previous chapter

Part Eleven: a broken conscience, tenderness, and a final confrontation.

series rating: 16+

series genre: action and adventure. romance. angst. fluff. suggestive. fantasy au.

series warnings: character death, blood and violence, weaponry, injury, suggestive content, mxm content, elements of misogyny, language, monsters. (will only be using chapter specific warnings for things not included on this list.)

summary: as a princess fleeing a royal assassination attempt, you have no choice but to put your trust in a band of three thieves in order to reach the kingdom of kuroku alive. however, amongst magic, deceit, and the bounty hunters that are hot on your trail, you realize that you might have stumbled upon a relationship far more complicated than what meets the eye.

chapter details beneath the cut ->

wc: 16.2k

extra chapter warnings: themes of self-hatred, brief mention of suicide. heed the violence warning for this one.

chapter summary:

“I don’t know what happened at the lake,” Seonghwa starts, tentative and unsure. Clearly cautious to continue forward. “But do you think you guys will be able to work things out?”

“I don’t know,” San breathes, and it’s true. “I really don’t know, Hwa.”

Seonghwa nods, taking this in. He begins to chew on the corner of his cheek, nervous. “I need to tell you something.”

a/n: me apologizing for taking eons to write is getting a bit old, so imma stop LMAO. life is just busy but what’s new. anyway, to be frank i adore this chapter. it's a wild ride. i hope you all enjoy. mwah.

“Wooyoung!”

Wooyoung hears someone call out to him, but he isn’t sure from where. Their voice appears close, yet far off all at once. As if they are speaking from beside him, and at the same time miles away.

His senses feel muddled. Eye-sight a bit faded, it’s as if he’s looking through a window in the winter season. Fogged and clammy with precipitation, almost translucent. His hearing is muffled, his footsteps creating a dull-echo through him, as if they’re coming from within his mind rather than heard through his ears.

Wooyoung ignores this, instead choosing to follow the voice, although really, he’s walking aimlessly more than he is following. He can’t tell where the voice is coming from, and the darkness that surrounds him is disorientating. When he looks down, he can see his own eyes staring back at him, the ground polished and reflective. However, when he looks forward it all meshes into a thick blackness, like a mirror facing the night sky.

“Wooyoung!”

He hears the voice again, and it sounds like it’s coming from behind him, but when he turns there is nobody there. Just more of the same darkness.

Wooyoung scowls. Something is wrong, although he can’t place what. An inkling of worry rests on his shoulders nagging at him to listen, but everytime he tries to grasp it, it slips between his fingers. Sliding like water over rock.

His frown deepens. Yes, something is very wrong. He should know what it is, and yet he doesn’t.

Wooyoung turns back around, walking back in the same direction from which he came, this time with more fervour, his cluelessness leaving him agitated.

However, as he turns it is not only blackness ahead of him, but a boy.

He faces away from Wooyoung so that the elemental cannot see his face, although based on his narrow stature and height, he’s no older than his early teens. Wooyoung, struck by a sense of familiarity, heads towards him.

Upon reaching him, Wooyoung reaches out to grab the boy's shoulder, turning him around to face him. However, just as the boy’s face is almost visible, he vanishes. Wooyoung blinks. Darkness sits before him, empty, his hand outstretched into the blackness.

“Wooyoung.”

He whirls around, finding himself face to face with the boy.

Wooyoung gasps.

The boy’s light eyes meet his, a rich grey colour that has always reminded him of a coming storm. His black hair has grown longer, shaggy as it curls around the boy’s ears. Although Wooyoung has grown quite a bit since he last saw him, the boy is still taller, even if only by an inch or so.

“Yeonjun,” he whispers, and then his arms are wrapped around him, pulling the boy close. Wooyoung presses one of his hands along Yeonjun's back, feeling his skin and the muscles along his shoulders, trying to make sure that he’s real as he remembers each of his skin’s crevices. Ensuring that he is not a trick of the mind, an illusion within the warped darkness.

But he is real. Completely solid, his skin as warm and soft as so many years ago. Wooyoung places a hand onto the back of his head, cradling it as he pulls Yeonjun close.

Yeonjun does not move to hug him back. He stands still, stiff. Arms planted at his sides.

“You’re dead,” Wooyoung whispers, because he doesn’t understand how this is possible. He tucks his chin over the boy’s shoulder, overwhelmed by the familiarity of it, even after all these years. There’s a rightness to it, like his shoulder was meant for Wooyoung’s chin to rest there.

Yeonjun doesn’t reply right away, and Wooyoung finally pulls away from him. Yeonjun’s deep grey eyes meet his, although there is a certain absence to them. Not of life, but compassion. His lips are pulled into a thin line, his jaw clenched tight.

It’s not until now Wooyoung realizes that Yeonjun is not happy to see him.

“You don’t have to remind me that I’m dead, Wooyoung,” Yeonjun says, and his voice is not how Wooyoung remembers it. Not in its actual sound, but in its tone. Wooyoung remembers Yeonjun’s voice within night’s spent up in the watchtower, huddled close together. He remembers it in whispers around the lunch table, jovial and bright amidst the darkness.

He does not remember Yeonjun’s voice being so cold, nor so pointed. So hateful.

“It’s not the kind of thing I would forget,” Yeonjun spits, releasing himself from Wooyoung’s grip. Wooyoung flinches, caught off guard by this ferocity of his words.

“I didn’t mean-” Wooyoung starts, reaching out to place a comforting hand atop the boy’s shoulder. Yeonjun slaps it away. Hard.

“Don’t touch me,” Yeonjun scowls. He takes a step forward, and Wooyoung finds himself stepping back. “Don’t you dare fucking touch me!”

“I-I’m sorry,” Wooyoung says, and his voice is small as he takes another step back, pulling his hand away completely.

“Don’t tell me that you’re sorry,” Yeonjun says, and then Wooyoung is flying backwards. Blown by a sharp gust of wind, he hits his back against the ground. It sends a sharp spark of pain along his spine, and he winces as he continues to roll, using his elbows to protect his face as he tumbles backwards.

When he finally comes to a stop, he looks up, watching as Yeonjun storms towards him. “You think that you being sorry is going to change anything? That it’s going to fix what you did?”

“No,” Wooyoung whispers, because it’s true. He has hated himself for what he did to Yeonjun. Dragging him into his plan to escape, the plan that ultimately got the boy killed. However, even with all of his guilt, regret, and self-hatred, he never once thought that he’d have to face Yeonjun again. That he would have to own up to his failure. His unforgivable mistake.

He deserves this.

“You’re right, I am dead,” Yeonjun says, no longer shouting, but the ice within his voice is just as powerful. “I’m dead and it’s because of you.”

A ball of fire ignites in Yeonjun’s hand that the younger boy pulls it back, before letting it fly towards Wooyoung. The fire hurtles towards him, its orange and yellow flames twisting and turning, growing in size with each passing second.

Wooyoung would never hurt Yeonjun. Not intentionally, not with his own hand or flame. So instead of firing back with his own, Wooyoung redirects the flame away from him, sending it sideways.

Except that he doesn’t, because the redirection doesn’t work.

Yeonjun’s aim lands true as the flames engulf him.

Wooyoung thinks that he is screaming, but he can’t tell, his ears having gone deaf amongst the pain that radiates throughout his entire body. The burning sensation starts at his skin, thousands of little needles stabbing him everywhere from his face down to his feet. He can’t think beyond the burning, the heat intolerable as it consumes him. He begins to roll around on the ground, wailing in agony as he desperately tries to put the fire out.

When the flames subside, Wooyoung can’t rise to his feet. He drags his hand along the ground, weak and shaking as he pulls it to his side, and he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the mirrored floor beneath him.

His skin bubbles and blisters, it’s once deep bronze having shifted to an angry and repulsive bright red. His hand twitches, shaking as he attempts to move it. He lets out a low whine of pain, tears glistening in his eyes.

He hears Yeonjun’s footsteps approach him. When the boy crouches down in front of Wooyoung, his eyes are full of malice. He does not smile, even as Wooyoung looks up at him through bleary eyes, weak and pathetic.

Yeonjun’s hand fills with fire, and instead of throwing it at him, he simply places it onto Wooyoung’s arm. Wooyoung watches in horror as his skin catches light, the needles returning as sharp pain cascades over his flesh. He lets out a broken cry, trying to move his other hand to put it out, but he’s too weak. His other hand merely shakes, awkwardly patting at the fire in a way that does nothing to put it out, but rather makes his other hand hurt even more.

“Use your gift, Wooyoung,” Yeonjun chides, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Or maybe you really are as useless as he claims.”

“He” meaning Warden. The only man Wooyoung has ever been genuinely afraid of. The only man who convinced Wooyoung that he was nothing. Has always been nothing.

Is nothing, even now.

Yeonjun leans in closer, and when he speaks, his voice is a low whisper. “You deserve all that’s coming to you, Wooyoung. Remember that.”

The fire spreads up his arm and onto his shoulder, and Wooyoung closes his eyes, losing himself in the pain. It continues through him, the fire eating away at his flesh and burning its way into his mind. He can smell the smoke around him, and it's reminiscent of his skin. Rotten and vile, he breathes it again, mouth agape as he wails in agony.

The fire consumes him until there is nothing left. His body gone, mind lost to the flames.

“Woo, get off of the floor,” a voice says from above him.

Wooyoung blinks. His cheek is cool against the ground beneath him, as is the rest of his body that is sprawled out above it. He glances forward at his hand that sits out in front of him.

It looks normal, the burns completely vanished.

He narrows his eyes, glancing at his reflection in the mirror below him. All he sees is himself staring back, disbelieving. Wooyoung’s skin has returned to its normal, deep bronze rather than bright red, the blisters having disappeared entirely. His reflection blinks back at him. It’s as if nothing happened.

“Did you hit your head or something?” The voice says again, and Wooyoung glances up. Seonghwa stands above him, looking down with a puzzled look on his face.

Wooyoung frowns, a burst of both excitement and shame igniting within him, although he doesn’t know where it comes from. Did something happen between him and Seonghwa lately? He can’t seem to remember.

“No, sorry,” Wooyoung replies, and Seonghwa extends a hand out. Wooyoung takes it, letting the blonde lift him back up to his feet.

Wooyoung glances down at himself, at his once burnt clothing now perfectly in-tact. His frown deepens. “Do you know-” He begins, but whatever he was going to say dies on his lips, as when he glances up Seonghwa’s eyes are already staring into his own.

Seonghwa is close, a little too close. His hand continues to hold Wooyoung’s, resting against Seonghwa’s own chest. His face is closer than Wooyoung thinks it’s ever been, mere inches apart, and Wooyoung can feel the heat that rises to his cheeks.

“I… I, um,” Wooyoung says stupidly.

“Hm?” Seonghwa hums, and a small smile grazes his lips. It’s coy, almost knowing, and if Wooyoung could feel the heat in his cheeks before then they’re practically burning now. “Were you saying something?”

Wooyoung swallows hard, and when he speaks again his voice is a whisper. “No.”

Seonghwa’s smile grows a little wider. “Good.”

Then Seonghwa kisses him.

It’s familiar in a way he can’t understand, almost as if he’s been here before, but also nowhere close. Seonghwa’s lips are soft, tender as they meet Wooyoung’s own. The empath’s hand is gentle as it reaches up to rest on the back of Wooyoung’s neck, whose mind melts.

Seonghwa clearly feels the elemental stiffen in surprise, smiling against Wooyoung’s lips. He lets out a breathy chuckle that is oh-so-familiar, and Wooyoung lets the sound flow through his ears and fill the rest of him. His mind, his heart, his body. He lets himself become wrapped in the comfortability that is one of his closest friends, his mind’s long-harboured desire.

Seonghwa’s hand drifts from the back of the elemental’s neck to the front, fingers dancing along his Adam’s apple, which bobs as Wooyoung swallows in anticipation.

Then Seonghwa begins to squeeze.

His grip is not gentle, nor is it suggestive. Instead it is tight, increasingly uncomfortable, and Wooyoung tries to pull his lips away. “Hwa,” he murmurs, although it’s difficult to get out through the way Seonghwa’s hand squeezes around his airway. “Hwa, you’re hurting me.”

“Am I?” Seonghwa speaks against his lips, his tone shifting from fond to something that resembles seductive, but not quite. Mischievous, or even dangerous. “Awe.”

Seonghwa's grip shifts from uncomfortable to painful as he deepens the kiss, nails digging into Wooyoung’s skin as he presses harder on his airway. Wooyoung tried to pull away, to protest, but Seonghwa forcefully keeps his lips on Wooyoung’s own.

Wooyoung places his hands on Seonghwa’s wrist, trying to pull his grip away. However, it’s as if Seonghwa has gained impenetrable strength, as his arm will not budge no matter how hard Wooyoung tries. Seonghwa finally pulls his lips away, looking down at Wooyoung, eyes full of a mocking pity.

“What’s wrong, Woo? Isn’t this what you’ve been imagining?” Seonghwa asks, and while Wooyoung opens his mouth to deny him, his squeezed airway prevents him from speaking. Seonghwa grins, squeezing tighter as he moves his face closer, his breath hot on Wooyoung’s skin. “Isn’t this what you’ve been dreaming about in that sick head of yours?”

Wooyoung tries to cry out but all that comes out is a choked, pathetic sound that makes Seonghwa snicker. Blackness creeping into the corners of his vision, Wooyoung’s head begins to become foggy, everything fuzzy but the pain and image of Seonghwa before him.

He can feel his eyelids drooping, his effort to pull Seonghwa’s hand away diminishing with each passing second. Seonghwa notices it too, as he coos in disapproval.

“You really thought I could love you, didn’t you?” Seonghwa says softly, grip tightening to keep Wooyoung awake. Tears begin to fill the elemental’s eyes as his chest aches, desperate for air. For release, one way or another. “That if anyone were able to love something as fucked up as you, maybe it would be me.”

Seonghwa leans in, and Wooyoung feels his eyes roll into the back of his head, nothingness beginning to replace the space his thoughts once resided.

“I could never love you, Woo. Nobody could. It’s time that you stop pretending otherwise.”

Wooyoung awakens to his cheek pressed against the cold mirrored floor. Again.

Taking a deep, gasping breath, he feels his lungs fill with air. Hand drifting to his neck, he searches for the pain of bruising, only to find that there is nothing there. His neck feels fine, his breathing having returned to normal, and he curses beneath his breath.

“What the fuck is happening to me?” He thinks, staring up at the never-ending darkness above him. He searches his mind for the memory of where he is, how he got to this strange place, but can’t seem to find anything. The answer sits on the tip of his tongue, but he cannot speak it, the words just out of his reach.

Anxiety pulses within his head, hands shaky as he pulls them down to his side. He feels as if he’s going crazy. Maybe he is. Maybe he already has.

Wooyoung rolls over, prepared to rise to his feet, only to be stopped by the sight of a man lying next to him. He faces away from Wooyoung, but from the outline of the muscles of his back that poke through his shirt and the strap of the eye-patch that wraps around the back of his head, Wooyoung knows that it’s San.

Wooyoung lets out a sigh of relief, comforted by the fact that San is with him. San always knows what’s going on, what to do when nothing seems to make sense. San will be able to put together what Wooyoung cannot.

He extends out a hand, letting it fall onto San’s shoulder, giving the swordsman a gentle shake. San’s skin is cool to his touch, smooth, and Wooyoung smiles at the comfortable familiarity of it.

“San,” he says, giving the swordsman a gentle shake. When San does not reply, Wooyoung shakes him a little harder. “San.”

When San still does not move, Wooyoung assumes that he is sleeping. It’s not surprising, as even for a man so keen and alert at all waking hours, he sleeps like the dead. Sitting up on his elbow, Wooyoung tugs on San’s shoulder, rolling him over.

Except that when Wooyoung’s gaze meets man’s face, San’s eye is not closed in peaceful slumber. It is wide-open, glazed, and worst of all, vacant.

Wooyoung knows that he is dead.

Time appears to stop for a moment, although it feels more like an eternity. Wooyoung stares down into San’s blank stare, the coolness of his skin suddenly making far too much sense.

San is dead.

“No,” Wooyoung murmurs, hand drifting from San’s shoulder to his chest, feeling for a heart-beat and finding nothing. Wooyoung pulls himself up onto his knees, leaning down to press his ear to San’s parted lips, listening for a breath. There is none to be found.

“No,” Wooyoung whispers, turning his head to press a kiss to the swordsman’s lips, one that goes unreciprocated. “No, no, no,” he protests, hands shaking as he grabs San’s jaw, pulling his mouth to his own.

San’s lips are cold, unmoving, and when Wooyoung pulls away from him his eyes are stained with tears. His throat swells, chest aching, and he lets out an open sob. It echoes throughout the empty darkness around them, over and over again, like a lament of agony.

“This is your fault.”

Wooyoung’s gaze shoots up. In front of him sits a young girl, no older than thirteen, her long black hair tangled and pale face stained with tears.

“Winter,” Wooyoung whispers.

“You couldn’t just let him leave,” she says, voice shaking as her hands clutch onto San’s tunic. They tremble around the light fabric, in desperation, in anger, in devastation. “He knew what you would do to him, but you couldn’t let him go, could you?”

“I…” Wooyoung starts, tongue feeling too big for his mouth, mind fuzzy. “I did this?”

He looks down at his hands. They’re coated in blood, as is San’s shirt. He doesn’t know how he didn’t notice it before.

“He loved you,” Winter says, eyes finally looking up to meet Wooyoung’s. The redness of her crying face and the gloss of her tears bring out the blue in them. “We both did. And this is what we get for it?”

“I’m sorry,” Wooyoung says, his voice barely above a whisper. Winter says nothing, her sobs merely grow louder, and Wooyoung looks down at San. The man he ruined. The man he destroyed. “I’m so sorry.”

When San makes no reply, as he no longer can, Wooyoung’s tears transform into loud, broken sobs. His own hand grabs onto San’s bloodied tunic, needing to hold a part of him but not daring to let himself touch the man’s skin. Tarnish him any more than he already has.

“I hate you,” Winter whispers, and it takes Wooyoung a minute to realize that although he’s heard her say those words before, it isn’t Winter speaking.

Wooyoung looks up to meet your gaze.

Your jaw is tightly clenched, your lip quivering. Although, what affects him the most is your eyes and the deep emotion they hold. A fiery blaze of distaste, of fury, wrath, and pure and unadulterated hatred.

“I hate you,” you say again, face contorting inward on itself as you look at him. “For everything you’ve done to me. For everything you’ve done to them. For everything you are.”

“I know,” he answers, and when he speaks his voice is barely above a whisper, as he lets out an admission. “I do too.”

He doesn’t notice the knife in your hand until it is buried in his chest.

Wooyoung stares down at the knife protruding out from him, your hand wrapped around its delicately engraved handle. It’s the one they gave to you, the one he took from you that first night.

He doesn’t fight it, doesn’t attempt to pull it out or shove you away. He deserves it.

Blood pools around the wound in his chest, leaking down. He opens his mouth to speak, but instead coughs, blood splattering from his mouth onto your face. You don’t seem to care.

You lean forward over San’s body, pressing your lips against his ear. However, when you speak, your voice is not your own. It’s deeper, more masculine. Familiar, although from where Wooyoung cannot place.

“Tell me where she is, Wooyoung. Tell me where she is and I’ll make it stop.”

“The refuge,” the answer comes immediately to his mind, dancing on his tongue, although he doesn’t know where it comes from or what it means. “She’s with the refugees. Sharing a tent with a young red-haired girl. It’s just three turns from the entrance.”

But he doesn’t say these words, even as the pain within his chest deepens, even as he wants everything to disappear. Even as he craves for the darkness to consume him, to rid him of this terrible mess. The horrors of everything he’s done.

He doesn’t say these words because something in his mind screams that he can’t, something deep within him that pounds at the walls of his subconscious, that something is deeply, horrifically wrong.

“Fine,” you say in that same voice that is not your own, leaning back from his ear to face him, the anger in your eyes having faded to a cold disinterest. “Have it your way.”

You twist the knife deeper and Wooyoung dies, this time in even more agony than the last.

This sword is nicer than San’s old one.

His old sword had been gifted to him from Gloria's blacksmith when he was thirteen. A kind old-man who knew the trouble that had entangled San, and wished to give the young boy a chance in a life where his fortune had run dry.

The sword was nothing special, hilt not quite heavy enough and wrapped in a cheap leather that had become worn over the years. It was not as flexible as to be expected of a good sword, and even with the trips he’d taken to sharpen the blade, the metal was becoming dull and had lost much of its durability. San was also thirteen upon receiving it, so of course, the blade was not long. Even for a short-sword, it had become too small with San’s growing height.

This sword doesn’t have those problems, with its thick hilt coated in fine leather. It clearly holds a stronger durability than the last, almost nimble with its flexibility. It’s even a little longer, allowing him to reach an opponent from a few inches further back, granting him better protection.

The new sword is objectively better than his last in just about every way possible.

San hates it.

He hates the way the new sword glides through the air effortlessly, how the sharpness of the blade cuts deep against the wooden pole he strikes with a terrifying ease. He hates how it fits his hand so well, how the length suits him perfectly. It was made for him, fashioned for his grip..

There is no life to this sword. Not yet. It wasn’t given to him in a time of desperate need like his last, something to hold onto when everything else was falling apart. He has this sword because he simply needed a new one.

San misses his old sword. It’s heavy hilt and the roughness of the cheap leather against his palm. He misses how it wasn’t long enough, how he’d have to dance closer to danger within every battle. He misses the wrongness of it, and how right that wrongness felt. He misses the imperfection. The faults. The years spent getting used to those faults, of learning to navigate them.

San wants his sword back.

San also knows that he isn’t thinking about weapons anymore.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, San takes a breath before attacking the pole before him once more. In a flurry of motion, he hacks at the pole’s cheap wood, landing blow after blow. There is no grace, no tactical finesse, just violence. The excuse of training having faded a long time ago, San simply seeks to cause damage.

Then he growls, a low noise of annoyance in the back of his throat, before throwing the sword to the ground. It clatters against a couple rocks, before settling itself in the grass, almost invisible within the night's shadow. Good, he doesn’t want to look at it anymore.

San leans against the pole, feeling the many indents he’s created against the bare skin of his back. His tunic sits discarded on the ground next to him, having been soaked through with sweat. He’s been at this for hours.

“Are you okay?” A voice asks from over his shoulder. San turns to see Seonghwa standing by their tent, a sad expression on his face. He asks more out of courtesy than anything else. San knows that the answer is obvious.

“No,” San says softly, and the honesty surprises him, but after a moment it doesn’t. San is tired of hiding how he feels about things. Of pretending things are fine when they so obviously aren’t. If he still had the energy for it after the last couple weeks — although more like years, really — then it left alongside Woo.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Seonghwa asks.

“Not really,” San answers honestly. He’s been thinking about it for hours, the last thing he wants is to continue doing so.

“Alright, we don’t have to, ” Seonghwa says gently. San peers back over at him. Seonghwa’s arms sit folded over his chest, eyes big and full of concern. His hair is tousled, patches of blonde sticking out in opposite directions, as if he were trying to sleep but couldn’t. He likely has been. San wonders how late it is, how long he’s been out here for.

“Do you want to just come inside then?” Seonghwa offers instead, tilting his head towards the tent entrance. San considers this for a moment before deciding he would rather be anywhere other than beside this pole, and nods in affirmation.

Following Seonghwa inside the tent, San takes note of Seonghwa’s crumpled sheets, evidence of San’s assumption that the man has spent the last few hours tossing and turning rather than in rest.

“Do you want some tea?” Seonghwa asks.

“I’m alright.”

“Good. Whiskey then?”

San can’t help the chuckle he lets out at that. “Please.”

Seonghwa reaches into the basket Yeji had gifted them, filled to the brim with different delectables. San knew that it was nice of her to do, a kind gesture, but the cynical part of him saw the silliness of it. Here, your friend just got kidnapped for ransom, but maybe these scones will make you feel better about it.

However, maybe she also saw the futility of it, having added a rather hefty bottle of whiskey to the mix of sweets.

Seonghwa pours the whiskey into two ceramic cups before handing one over to San, who sits down on his own bed of blankets across from Seonghwa’s own. Woo’s remains between them, untouched.

Seonghwa extends his cup forward to meet San’s own in a form of cheers, although to what exactly San doesn’t think Seonghwa knows the answer either. They both take a sip, and the liquid burns slightly as it trickles down San’s throat. He makes sure to drink a bit more than he normally would.

Swallowing his own whiskey before San does, Seonghwa looks down at Woo’s bed between them, gaze contemplative.

“Have you ever told me how you and Woo met?” Seonghwa asks.

San quirks a brow at this, a bit amused but at the same time confused. “Many times, Hwa.”

Seonghwa nods at this, cheeks dusted with a faint shade of pink, as if he’s well aware of this fact and embarrassed to have been caught.

However, when the empath says nothing, San sighs. He knows that Seonghwa simply wants to talk about Woo, even if not about the situation at hand. The dire, horrible situation that plagues both of their minds with worry. The situation that San cannot bare to talk about, so lest he tear up this tent with his sword before heading up the mountain to kill the entire Dark Army himself

But how they met… he supposes he can talk about that. If it will bring Seonghwa some peace of mind, of course.

“We were both fourteen,” San begins, watching as an appreciative smile spreads over Seonghwa’s lips. “I’d been working a job for Jay, spying on an investor he suspected of embezzling The Cradle’s Funds. But I was still new to working for him, and hadn’t quite found my knack for stealth yet.”

Seonghwa closes his eyes as San speaks, as if what he’s saying is some sort of lullaby, a piece of comfort.

“He caught me hiding in the shrub garden of his courtyard and dragged me out by my hair onto the city street. He started screaming at me, before pulling out a knife from his back pocket," San says, and he can still remember that moment as clear as day. The terror that consumed him, that kept him frozen in place as the man advanced towards him.

San does not tell Seonghwa this, but what he remembers most is how in that moment he thought about how nobody would care if the man killed him. His father had left him, his mother and sister were both dead, and his expendability in Jay’s eyes was made blatantly clear by the fact that he sent San to deal with this man in the first place.

If the man killed San right then and there, nobody would have batted an eye. He would just become another one of the many nameless, faceless victims of Gloria’s streets.

“The man came towards me, and I remember closing my eye as he lifted the blade in the air. I didn’t want to see it enter me, I knew I couldn’t handle that.”

“But then Woo showed up,” Seonghwa says softly.

“Yeah,” San breathes, unable to help the smile that curves across his lips. “But then Woo showed up.”

San takes a deep breath, before letting his own eye close, reliving it. “Across the darkness I saw a bright flash of light, and could feel a sudden rush of heat across my face. I opened my eye in a panic. I thought that maybe I’d died, that he stabbed and killed me instantaneously, that the light had meant I’d ascended or that the heat was the fires of Hell.”

“But when I opened my eyes I saw the man standing before me, except that now his arm that was holding the knife was completely engulfed in flame. The look on his face when he saw it was priceless, completely in shock as he ran back into his house screaming for help, the poor boy in front of him that he was about to murder completely forgotten.”

“Then Woo walked up to me, standing up with his arms crossed. The light of the sun shone out behind him, and I remember at the time thinking he must have been the god of fire himself. Or maybe an angel that came to save me. It’s ridiculous knowing him now, but at the time I really believed it.”

“What was the first thing Woo said to you again?” Seonghwa asks, and San chuckles.

“He asked me ‘Were you really just going to sit there and let him kill you?’ I shakily replied yes, and then he said ‘That’s kind of pathetic, don’t you think?’”

Seonghwa laughs at this, shaking his head to himself. San gets it. Even now, so many years later, it’s a very Woo sort of thing to say.

“I thought about it, and then agreed that yeah, it was pretty pathetic. He laughed, and then somehow I found myself laughing too. He helped me up, and then that was it.”

“That was it?” Seonghwa asks, inquiring what he means by that.

“That was it. He never left my side after that. I joined him in his camp outside of the town. He helped me train with my sword even if his own knowledge on the subject was next to none. He never wanted to see me so helpless again. He joined me on countless missions that Jay sent me on, even the nasty ones, the ones that still keep me up some nights.”

San takes in a deep breath. “He was just… there. When I had no-one, he was there. I don’t know what I would have done without him.”

San looks down at Woo’s sleeping mat between them. Pristine. Untouched. A testament to his absence.

Things between him and Woo have been horrible lately. It’s been years of build up, of the little issues growing larger, of San’s discontentment boiling beneath the surface. He knows that things with Woo will never change. He knows the elemental will never give San all of himself.

But it’s in these little moments, when he thinks about their past and everything that has happened between them, that he wants nothing more than to have Woo with him. In any form. In a blistering argument, in the cold quiet following, in his bed even when he knows the elemental will be gone come morning.

He simply needs Woo there. Even when it’s wrong, even when he knows it’s an awful, gut-wrenching codependence at times. He needs him.

And with Woo gone, taken from him, it’s now that he knows this more than ever.

But then he remembers the jealous spats over the last few weeks. The many morning’s waking up alone. The way that Woo jumped after him over that cliff…

“I don’t know what happened at the lake,” Seonghwa starts, tentative and unsure. Clearly cautious to continue forward. “But do you think you guys will be able to work things out?”

“I don’t know,” San breathes, and it’s true. “I really don’t know, Hwa.”

Seonghwa nods, taking this in. He begins to chew on the corner of his cheek, nervous. “I need to tell you something.”

“Go ahead,” San says, taking a sip of his drink as Seonghwa takes a deep breath.

“Woo kissed me.”

San chokes on his whiskey.

“I’m sorry,” Seonghwa says as San sputters and uses a fist to pound at his chest, forcing himself to cough. “I should have waited until you swallowed first, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” San says through coughs, and while he tries to keep the blatant shock out of his tone, he fails miserably. “Woo kissed you?”

“Yeah,” Seonghwa answers, voice breathy and small.

“When?” San asks, bewildered.

“Before they captured him.”

“Before they captured him,” San repeats, more to himself than Seonghwa. He runs the idea of it through his head, although it doesn’t make much more sense to him.

Woo kissed Seonghwa. He actually did it. Recently. Just the night before.

“Are you mad?” Seonghwa asks.

“No,” San says absently, before really registering the question. He looks over at Seonghwa, who looks at him, knees drawn up to his chest. His fingers tap against the cup in his hands as he chews on the corner of his cheek, both nervous habits of his.

San realizes that Seonghwa is genuinely scared that he’ll be upset with him, and even amidst the shock, San’s heart softens.

“No. I’m not mad, Hwa,” he says gently, running a hand through his hair to pull it out of his face as he takes another small sip of his drink. “I’m just trying to wrap my head around this.”

San knew Woo had feelings for Seonghwa, he has for years. He could tell by the way Woo looked at the empath in absent moments, when he thought nobody was looking. That undeniable fondness in his gaze that told San everything he needed to know. He noticed as Woo stiffened at Seonghwa’s touch, the way his breath would catch in his throat, just as San’s own did.

Yes, San knew that Woo had feelings for Seonghwa. San just didn’t know that Woo knew that Woo had feelings for Seonghwa.

“I know, it was a lot for me to take in too,” Seonghwa says, before letting out a small laugh that doesn’t hold much humour. “Still is.”

“How did it happen?” San asks.

“We were arguing…about her, amongst other things,” Seonghwa says with a shrug. “And it quickly escalated to fighting. I asked— well, I yelled at him asking why he cared so much about what I do, and then he grabbed me and kissed me.”

It makes sense. If there is any scenario San could imagine Woo confronting his feelings, it’s in a fit of rage.

“After he kissed you, then what did he do?” San asks.

Seonghwa sighs, and when he speaks his tone is bashful, cheeks flushed as if he’s embarrassed to say it aloud. “He ran away.”

“For fuck’s sake, Woo,” San thinks, giving him a mental slap that he hopes the elemental can feel from miles away.

But San isn’t going to complain about Woo right now, because that’s not why Seonghwa brought this up, it’s not what the empath really needs. He just needs someone to listen.

“Do you know how you feel about it?” San asks, tone gentle.

“No,” Seonghwa says quietly. San catches a glimpse of annoyance in his eyes, as Seonghwa’s expression shifts from bashful to frustrated, lips drawing themselves into a tight line.

“No, I don’t. How am I supposed to know how I felt about it? If I liked it?” Seonghwa says, standing up from his sleeping mat and beginning to pace around the tent. However, given its small size he doesn’t have much room to actually pace, instead walking a mere few steps forward and back.

“There was no tenderness to it. It was nothing like a real kiss should be. He just grabbed my face and shoved it into his and then said ‘Sorry Seonghwa, you’re going to have to figure that one out on your own, I'm off to get kidnapped!’” Seonghwa says the last part in a high pitched sing-song sort of way, one that doesn’t really sound like Woo, but at the same time a lot like him in spirit.

Seonghwa sighs, taking a sip of his drink before pinching the bridge of his nose, as if he has a headache. When he speaks again, his voice becomes quiet. “That's not fair. I know it’s not fair. But neither is what he did.”

San looks up at the empath, contemplative. “Any ideas as to what it means to you yet?”

“No,” Seonghwa answers immediately, before appearing to think better of it. “That's a lie. So many. Too many. I don't know, it’s just…”

He trails off, giving San a nervous glance that tells the swordsman that Seonghwa is worried of making him uncomfortable. San gives him a gentle smile, a signal to keep going despite it.

Seonghwa takes a deep breath. “It’s always been you and him. Always, from the moment I met you both. There was never another option, so I never considered another option. It would have been unfair. To you, to him, to myself… So I don't know. I honestly don’t know if I think of him that way. I don’t know if I think of guys that way. But now he’s gone and that’s like, the least of our problems to be worried about right now, but I just…”

“I know. I get it,” San says, because he does. He’s been there. San hadn’t loved a man until he met Woo, and falling for the elemental certainly wasn’t easy. Figuring out Woo had always been like deciphering a puzzle, or even navigating a ship out on a foggy day at sea. Disorientating, frustrating, and requiring a strong will and patient temper.

Seonghwa sighs. “I don't know what to do.”

San see’s Seonghwa standing there, dejected and confused and what he’d dare to call a little heartsick, and the words come out of his mouth before he even registers that he’s thought of them.

“You could kiss me.”

Seonghwa’s gaze shoots back at him, and when he speaks his tone is hesitant, maybe even a little pointed as his lips hover above the rim of his glass. “That's not funny.”

San looks up at him, expecting to feel caught, or to begin back-tracking. Play it off as a joke and cover up his feelings as he’s so often done in the past, let them exist to him and nobody else.

Instead he says: “I wasn't joking.”

And he isn’t.

He isn’t because San realizes that Seonghwa is not repulsed by the idea of Woo kissing him, or of even Woo loving him. He’s upset that Woo didn’t do it more cautiously, that he didn’t let Seonghwa give any input on his own thoughts or feelings. He’s upset that Woo did all of this in a moment of anger and aggression, without asking, and without apparent thought or care.

Seonghwa is not upset that Woo confessed to loving him, he’s upset that he didn’t do so tenderly.

“San,” Seonghwa says, and his tone is difficult to read. He says it like a warning, telling San to think about what he’s saying, what he’s really offering here. But San is thinking about, a small part of him always has been.

“I’m serious, Hwa. Think about it,” San starts, and he tries to keep his demeanour nonchalant, even as his heart begins to rapidly pick up pace in his chest. “You said you aren’t sure if you’re into guys. Well, I’m a guy. I’m not horrible to look at. You’re comfortable around me. It might help you sort some things out.”

“But…” Seonghwa trails off, and his complexion has gone a bit pale, clearly taken aback by the proposition. “But it’s you. It’s us.”

“Look, if you don’t feel anything or don’t like it I’m not going to take it personally,” San says, and maybe that’s not completely true, but what he says next is. “I’m not going to let it ruin our friendship. I promise.”

Seonghwa stares at him for a moment, large brown eyes scanning the swordsman’s face, as if searching for something. Eventually he speaks, and his voice is barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

“Really?” San asks despite himself, unable to contain his surprise.

“Yeah, whatever, okay,” Seonghwa says, his voice breathy, small, and all-around nervous. He walks over to sit down in front of San, this time on Woo’s unused sleeping mat rather than his own. Seonghwa does so with such a quickness that San is pretty sure the empath is trying to commit to this before he can talk himself out of it.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Seonghwa asks, gaze meeting San’s own. When he speaks his tone is embarrassed, maybe even a little self-conscious. “I mean, it’s me.”

Seonghwa says “me” as if that’s something that would deter him. As if there’s no possible way that San would want to kiss him, of all people. As if that were something San should be repulsed by.

San decides that with this kiss, he’ll prove to Seonghwa just how wrong he is about that.

Reaching forward to take hold of the empath’s jaw, San’s grip is gentle as his fingers dust along Seonghwa’s cheek. Seonghwa’s skin is warm, a beautiful kind of soft, and San takes a moment to run his thumb along Seonghwa’s cheekbone, his own heart fluttering at the way the empath’s skin floods with a light shade of pink.

Seonghwa’s eyes flutter shut, lips parted open slightly, waiting for San to accept them. San waits for a moment, taking in the sight before him, registering that this is actually happening. That Seonghwa - the man he’s only let himself love in seclusion, in weakness, in devastating secret - waits for San’s lips to meet his own.

Closing his good eye, San takes Seonghwa’s face in his hand, fingers grazing the conjunction between his neck and jaw. The empath’s skin is warm and San wonders if he’s blushing.

Seonghwa’s lips are soft. Softer than San imagined them to be, admittedly watching the empath’s mouth at times rather than his eyes. Embarrassing. Foolish. Pitiful.

But perhaps not anymore. Not right now. Right now is anything but such cruel negativity.

San makes sure that the kiss is good. That it holds a sense of passion, by no means chaste or hesitant, but also is not aggressive or to the point of formidability. He grips Seonghwa’s jaw a little tighter, pulling him in deeper.

More than anything, San makes sure that the kiss is tender.

Seonghwa sucks in a tight breath, and for a moment San fears that he’s uncomfortable, repulsed by it. That this was a mistake. That the rejection he’s been terrified of for so long is just a moment away. Maybe Seonghwa won’t even be able to look at him after, he’ll be too disgusted.

But then Seonghwa’s hand finds itself on San’s arm. It rests there, Seonghwa’s fingers gently gripping San’s tunic. In that moment, the swordsman can almost feel as the fear and anxiety leaves his mind, draining from his body like a fruit squeezed of its juice.

Not rejection. Maybe not acceptance, maybe not a confession or admission on Seonghwa’s behalf. But not rejection.

And with no rejection to be found, San knows what he must do.

He pulls away from Seonghwa’s lips, albeit not far, as he rests his forehead against the empath’s own. He can’t look Seonghwa in the eye for this, he knows it will make him too much of a coward to get the words out.

“I need to tell you something now,” San says.

Seonghwa’s voice is shaky as he speaks, quiet as his breath grazes San’s lips. “Okay.”

San holds his breath, as if he is about to dive underwater.

“I love you.”

There is a pause, and while San knows that realistically it is no more than a few seconds, it feels far more like an eternity as they pass by. He imagines all of the things Seonghwa could say. All the many variations of rejection or denial he could utter, ranging from a simple “no” to an entire memoir on why Seonghwa would never feel the same.

Seonghwa says none of these things. Instead he asks: “As in how?”

It takes San a moment to register what Seonghwa is asking. “As in I’m in love with you,” San clarifies.

“But…” Seonghwa starts, and in the moment’s pause he finally draws away from San’s face. When he looks at San, his face gives nothing away, a surprise given the empath’s often animated nature. Perhaps it is because he also does not know how he feels, how to respond to such a confession. Seonghwa does not smile, nor does he frown. His eyes do not light up with joy, nor do they swim with despair.

In fact, the only emotion San can read is the wariness within Seonghwa’s gaze. A deep sense of caution. “What about Woo?” Seonghwa asks.

“I also love Woo.” San says, because it is true. Even after everything. Even after what happened at the beach the other night. Even with the line dug in the sand between them, a line that San himself has drawn, he knows that he will always love Woo. Always.

Seonghwa frowns, eyebrows furrowing together into a puzzled look, as if the possibility of loving two people in such a way had never occurred to him before. As if the possibility of San loving two people in such a way were impossible.

“I love him differently,” San admits, before thinking about it for a moment. “But at the same time, maybe not so differently either.”

“I don’t get it,” Seonghwa says, and for a moment San believes that he is talking about how San could love them both, but then Seonghwa clarifies: “How can you love me? For the last year you’ve kept me at such a distance. You’ve barely been able to touch me, let alone anything more than that.”

The words settle like a stone in San’s gut, and he thinks of their conversation at the fire after their run-in at The Desert Lotus. How Seonghwa had believed that he made San uncomfortable.

It was true. Touching Seonghwa did make San uncomfortable. Uncomfortable with how with each touch filled him with the desire to touch him more.

San’s voice is quiet as he speaks. “And why do you think that is, Hwa?”

“I don’t know,” Seonghwa answers, an immediate response, dejected as his gaze drifts away from San to look downwards. To Woo’s bed beneath them.

A flash of realization dawns on Seonghwa’s features, lighting up within the empath’s eyes.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” San says, unable to hide the amused smile that grazes his lips. “Oh.”

Seonghwa seems to consider this for a moment, before looking back up at San. “You know I love you too, right?

San’s eyebrows shoot up at this, and Seonghwa rushes to clarify. “Maybe not in the same way. Or maybe I do. I honestly don’t know. This is all new. I need some time to think about it.”

San nods. That’s fair. He hadn’t expected Seonghwa to immediately reciprocate his feelings. Although, maybe a little part of him deep down had foolishly hoped that he would.

Seonghwa seems to take note of the slight solemnity to San’s smile, and places his hand over the swordsman’s own. “But either way, I love you. And I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”

“You won’t” San replies, and it is instant. It is instinct. It is the truth. “Take all of the time you need.”

“Thank you,” Seonghwa says, giving San’s hand a soft squeeze.

A moment of silence passes between them, and despite its slight awkwardness, San finds it the least tense he’s felt around Seonghwa in a very long time. It’s as if a weight has been taken off of his shoulders, finally free of the deep sense of guilt in the quiet moment’s between them. When San’s mind would wander, and he’d hate himself for thinking such things about his closest friend, and then hate himself even more for being too much of a coward to tell his closest friend what he was thinking.

But now Seonghwa knows. He knows. And no matter the outcome, no matter what he feels towards San in return, San no longer has to hide or wallow in his own guilt.

It is freeing.

Seonghwa takes a sip of his drink. “That was a good kiss though,” he mumbles over the rim of his glass, and San laughs. A real laugh, bubbling up from his chest. It’s been too long since he laughed like that.

Then, as if a reminder of how not all good things can last, Yeji bursts in through the tent flap.

“She’s gone,” Yeji says, voice cracking with shock and worry. She’s wrapped in her blanket to cover her nightgown, her hair falling in tangled red curtains over her shoulders, clearly having just woken up. “She’s gone and a horse is missing.”

San’s heart drops down into his stomach.

He doesn’t need to ask who the “she” is that Yeji refers to, nor does he need to question where you went.

You’ve gone to find Woo. Alone.

You've gone to find Woo, alone, amongst men who are willing to pay a fortune to see you dead.

“Fuck,” Seonghwa breathes, voicing San’s own thoughts.

“Do you know when she left?” San asks, as it couldn't have been long ago. It had to be some time after San came inside the tent, otherwise he would have noticed you sneak out.

“Her bed is still warm. So recently,” Yeji answers, confirming San’s suspicions.

“Alright,” San breathes, before turning to Seonghwa. “Let’s go.”

Seonghwa nods in agreement, and without another word, they’re on their feet and heading out through the tent flap. Annoyance bubbles within San’s gut. He told you not to go. He told you to wait until he came up with a plan. A plan that meant getting both you and Woo to safety, not forcing you all to pick between one or the other. He is not one of the gods and has no interest in playing one.

You seem to have made the decision yourself, and while San resents you for not telling him or Seonghwa what you were planning, he understands why you did it.

Because San was never going to come up with a better plan. Time has been ticking since the moment he found the message scrawled in the alley, and his ideas have run dry. There is no better way, it was always going to end in you heading up the mountain to Woo’s aid. You wouldn’t have had it any other way, and deep down San knows he would have had it the same.

He just wishes that they were there with you. There to help you. To protect you. To kill these men with far too much power, who took everything from you.

Who took everything from him when they kidnapped Woo.

The sun has begun to set over the horizon as you ride along the Concorsus Mountain Pass.

An entire day having come and gone, your pace relentless as you rode in a restless pursuit, your body now aches in protest. Your thighs burn from their friction against the horse’s back, the muscles in your arms throbbing from maintaining your grip on the reins. Your stomach rumbles and groans, gnawing at your insides in hunger, head-pounding in demand of water.

But there is no time to eat or drink, not when only the god’s know what the black-clad men are doing to Woo.

You’ve had an awful lot of time spent in silence to consider the many possibilities of how they could be torturing him, all too gut-wrenching and grotesque to even think about. You try to push away the images of Woo bathed in blood, his face swollen with bruises and infected wounds. You hope that they have him in a room somewhere, untouched, awaiting your inevitable arrival.

You also recognize this as wishful thinking.

Pushing the thoughts from your mind, you focus on the trail ahead of you. The Concorsus Mountain Pass is not an easy ride, the ground full of jagged rocks and rolling hills that have put your elementary equestrian skills to the test. Looming cliffs rest on each side of you, the black-colour of the rock like two blankets of darkness threatening to crush you between them.

The black-clad men did not specify where along the pass you were to meet them, but as you continue to ascend higher and higher, the increase in altitude making you feel both dizzy and nauseous, you imagine that they are stationed at the mountain’s summit.

As far away from Bebbanburg and any chance at aid you could possibly be.

You swallow hard, riding onwards. You have no help here, no protection. Having abandoned the safety net that San and Seonghwa created, you are truly alone in this. Your only protection is the sword attached to your waist, as well as Minho’s elixir residing in your pocket— if you could even consider that protection. It’s old magic, not even the god’s know what it will do. You aren’t particularly keen on ingesting it.

But if it comes down to a choice between life and death, a matter of saving Woo, you will.

With this in mind, you approach a rock wall. It’s not particularly large, five-feet tall at most, but your horse whinnies in protest as it comes to a stop before it. You try to give it a bit of encouragement, but the animal does not budge, clomping its hooves in irritation.

You sigh. This is not a horse from the kingdom stables, bred to ride and trained to jump, you have to leave it behind. Letting yourself down from its back, you grab the cliff’s edge, pulling yourself up and over the wall. Crawling up off your knees, you cast the animal a glance backwards, to which it meets with its black marble eyes.

The horse continues to huff, neighing in frustration. You frown as the animal grows louder, squealing as it lifts up onto its back legs, crying out.

“What the…” you mutter to yourself.

“It’s trying to warn you,” a voice says from behind.

You twist around, hand reaching for the sword at your waist, but you are not fast enough. The stranger grabs your wrist as you turn around, his other hand digging into your scalp. He pulls your hair back, forcing you to look up at him.

He’s young, maybe only a couple years older than yourself, with dark eyes and pale skin. His light hair is made brighter through its contrast with the black armour he wears.

“Hey, Princess,” the man says, grinning. You spit in his face, but he simply laughs, giving your hair a sharp tug backward. His laughter is quickly accompanied by others, as more black-clad men appear from behind different dark rocks along the mountain walls. You count what appears to be a half-dozen of them, all different ages and sizes, appearances united only through the black armour they wear.

Giving your body a sharp twist, you catch the man off guard, before giving him a swift knee to the groin. He lets out a groan, his grasp on your hair relinquishing itself as he stumbles backward.

You’re prepared to run, to jump down from the cliff and back to your horse in hopes of finding more allusive passage, when you feel the coolness of metal along your throat.

“You’ve gained some spunk since we last saw you,” the man holding the knife whispers, seizing your wrist as he tugs your arm behind your back. You wonder if he was one of the men that chased you down the corridors following the besiegement, that hunted you in your father’s library. That killed Mingi in the stable.

“Good,” another adds, although which of the men is speaking you cannot tell. “It’ll make this all the more enjoyable.”

You were correct about their base being set at the mountain’s summit.

The men have been dragging you with them for what you assume has been roughly an hour, the setting sun having finally fallen victim to the night’s darkness. Stars glitter in the sky above you, and they are the only light present besides the singular torch one of the men carries, alighting the mountain pass in an ominous, orange hue.

They’ve remained silent since your capture, although the glances and cunning grins they’ve exchanged between one another have spoken loud enough. You don’t know what exactly is waiting for you at the summit, but you know it isn’t pretty.

The cave you approach at the top of the mountain seems fitting, as it's possibly the most unwelcoming entry-way you’ve ever seen. Sharp rocks align its entrance, each of them bleached white from sun exposure, creating the illusion of a monster’s gaping mouth.

You swallow hard, fear curdling within your stomach. It’s fitting, as entering a beast's mouth seems an awful lot like what you are doing.

Upon entering the cave, the initial darkness does not last long, as you spot light further up ahead of the winding tunnel. As you draw closer, you recognize the light to be lanterns, strown up and around the cave. The bustle of people fills your ears, their chatter growing louder with each passing step. When you finally leave the tunnel and enter the cave’s main area, you blink in surprise.

You aren’t sure what you were expecting. Solemnity, perhaps. A dark cave with minimal light, nobody talking. A monster’s domain.

Instead, it reminds you an awful lot of the refuge, albeit smaller. There are plenty of tents set up, people sharing in conversation between them. Others spend their time chopping firewood, or brushing dirt and gravel away from their own tent’s entrance. To the left of the camp-site is a massive ravine, haphazardly blocked off by wooden pegs stringed together with rope. You are not close enough to the edge to tell, but you imagine the fall to be hundreds of feet down. Deadly.

You glance around, watching the many men bustling about, as if this were merely a war-camp and not the station of murderess assailants.

Then you see him.

Woo resides on a makeshift parapet in the center of the camp, chains clamped around his wrists that are attached to large stone pillars on both sides of him. He sits on his knees, head hanging out in front of him, his hair falling in a dark mop that hides face. It appears that if it weren’t for the chains holding his arms up, he’d have already crumpled over.

Your blood runs cold.

The talking comes to a quiet as you enter, the dozens of black-clad soldiers all turning away from their conversations or menial tasks to face you. “Look who we found wandering,” the man holding you says, bringing his knife up from your throat to your cheek. He presses the blade against your jaw, forcing you to look up, displaying your face to the many men watching you.

Some of the men begin to snicker, a few even cheer as the man pushes the blade a little harder, piercing your skin. You can feel the blood trickle down your neck, although the sensation feels more like a dream than reality, as you catch sight of a man walking towards you.

Not just any man, but the one that chased you through the library. The one that cornered you in the stables.

The man responsible for Mingi’s death.

He walks slowly, almost a saunter as he appears to be in no rush. His posture holds a sense of confident ease, of power, and you’re certain that he is the commander of this army. His narrow, wrinkled face adorns a thick black beard. His eyes are dark, sharp as they scan you up and down, a satisfied smile plastered across his lips.

“Well,” the commander says, his voice not particularly deep, but intimidating nonetheless. “We were beginning to think you wouldn’t come.”

You say nothing, merely stare back at him, venom in your gaze.

“I’m assuming you’re here to save your friend then,” he says, continuing despite your silence. “How very noble.”

You do not give him the satisfaction of a retort.

“You’ve become rather stoic since I last saw you,” the commander says, eyes flashing with something awful. Something cruel. “Before you wouldn’t stop screaming. Begging your other friend not to sacrifice himself— the tall silver-haired boy, wasn’t it?”

“Shut up,” you whisper, tears stinging in the backs of your eyes. They are born of rage, not sadness. You do not let them fall.

“I suppose this is some sort of retribution for that, isn’t it?” The man continues, tone calm, almost light. “He gave his life for you, so now you’ll give yours for another.”

“Shut up,” you repeat, this time louder and with far more bite.

“You should have heard him scream. You should have heard the sound it made when my sword entered him again and again-”

You’ve had enough of this. Tears sting your eyes, fists trembling at your sides. You don’t have to listen to this man, give in to his taunts. He simply wants to have some enjoyment before he kills you, some sick sort of pleasure. Your father always said it was impolite to play with your food, and for once you’d have to agree with him.

“Woo!” You shout, turning your attention away from the man in front of you, from his barbed provocation. When Woo does not look at you, nor move his head from its slumped position, you try again. “Woo, can you hear me?”

“Unfortunately, Wooyoung isn’t quite with us anymore,” the commander answers with a sigh, tone sympathetic, although the smile he wears is anything but. “Not mentally, anyway.”

You frown at the use of Woo’s full name. How does he know that? Did Woo tell him?

“What are you talking about?” You ask, your voice low as fury rises hot in your throat, pulsing within your mind.

The man grins. A mischievous, dangerous, evil grin. “Would you like to come and see?”

The commander nods towards the man holding you, giving a look that says— no, orders: “Let her go.” The man’s knife falls away from your throat as he reliquishes his grip on your arm. You can still feel the spot where his fingers were, aching where bruises will surely soon appear.

Nobody moves to grab you, and it strikes you that in this moment, you could try to flee. Bolt back down the tunnel, dozens of men sure to take after you and grab you once more. You’re certain they would be far less liberal on your second capture.

You could try and fight. Relinquish your sword from its sheath and take out as many as possible. It would likely be only one or two, considering they’d all be on you and you don’t have San here to coach you through it. By the god’s you wish that San were here.

But he is not, and thus instead of fleeing or fighting you follow the man, obeying as his hand beckons you forward. “Good girl,” he says, and your gut clenches in disgust, face twisting with repulsion.

If the commander is offended by the expression, he doesn’t show it. Instead he continues walking, the two of you winding past different groups of the black-clad men, each of their gazes falling over you. You feel like a gazelle in a den of lions, their stares hungry for your blood.

When you reach Woo, you take a step forward, unsure of what exactly you plan to do. Perhaps move the thick mess of tangled hair from his face, or give the chains some slack to loosen the pull on his wrists. You just need to do something.

The commander places an arm out, stopping you. “I wouldn’t get too close if I were you.”

“Well, good thing you’re not me,” you cut back through gritted teeth, moving towards Woo. You crouch down, reaching for the chain on his right wrist.

“Woo, I’m here,” you say, trying to keep your voice level, even as it shakes. The commander had suggested that Woo wasn’t mentally here, and while you aren’t sure exactly what that may mean, you know you should navigate this with caution.

When your hand touches the chain around his wrist, Woo lets out an awful, blood-curdling noise. You’d describe it as a scream, but that would make it too human. It is nothing less than animalistic.

Flames emerge from the elemental’s palms, scorching your arm. You yank your hand away, wincing as pain bubbles within your fingers. Despite yourself, you step back, clutching your burnt hand.

Woo looks at you, except that he doesn’t really. Instead his eyes almost look through you, unfocused and distant, although that’s the least of what worries you about his appearance.

Apart from the unsettling and distant look to his eyes, the whites of them have shifted to a strange and unnatural purple colour, like blooming lilacs during the spring season. It contrasts greatly against the many thick red veins expanding out from his pupils, which have spread across his iris’ in a way that reminds you of black marbles.

His wrists are laced with wounds, the metal of his bonds having heated up due to the fire he unleashed from his palms. The burns are clearly infected as they beam a revolting yellow, puss forming within their deep gashes. Those will scar, you have no doubt.

Sweat beads along Woo’s temple, trailing down his face and onto his neck. You hadn’t noticed it before, but his entire body is drenched, all of his clothes soaked through. He trembles, tremors seizing his body as he breathes heavily, chest heaving as he appears to not be able to get enough air.

“What did you do to him?” You whisper. The man chuckles.

“We gave him an elixir of sorts,” he answers, and your stomach twists at the thought. Old magic. The weight of your own potion grows heavy in your pocket.

Woo continues to shake, arms trembling as he continues to look through you. Tears form in his eyes as he begins to murmur beneath his breath, although what exactly you cannot make out. You didn’t know what the men would do to him, what state he would be in, but you never could have imagined this. Fury twists in your gut like a cheap ale, making you feel sick with ferocity.

“Why would you do this?” You ask, and it’s the question that has been pressing down on your shoulders ever since you watched the dagger enter your father's stomach. You twist towards the commander, and despite how he stands taller than you, you do not let yourself appear weak. Chin held up high, you meet his gaze.

“Why would you destroy my kingdom? Why would you spend so much time and effort hunting me across Burovia? Why would you place such an utter fortune of a bounty on my head?” You look him up and down. “Who are you?”

The man grins. “Me? I am nobody.”

“Enough games-” You snarl, but he merely shakes his head, giving you a dismissive wave.

“You think I care about a pampered royal brat bred by a kingdom of snakes?” The commander asks, his dark eyes glimmering in the many lantern’s light. “I couldn't care less about your disaster of a court, although I must say I enjoyed burning it to the ground.”

You frown. “Then why would you-”

“Because my employer cares,” he cuts you off, tone final. He folds his arms behind his back, a clicking noise filling the air as he taps his fingers along his black armor.

“Who is your employer?” You press further, ignoring how the noise matches the beat of your racing heart, that’s pace only increases with each passing second.

“I am not to say,” he answers with a shrug.

You grit your teeth, frustration building in your chest. “If you plan to kill me then what does it matter?”

The man hums, grin growing wider with satisfaction. “Does it scare you, the possibility of never knowing?” He takes a step forward. “Does it terrify you to never know why your kingdom burned to ash, to never know why your father was murdered?”

The man is close now, peering down at you, the crow’s feet along the edges of his ageing eyes more prominent as he stands before you. He reaches forward, running two of his fingers along your bare cheek.

“Does it frighten you that you’ll never know why you died?” He asks.

You do not flinch, even as he touches you, even as your body demands it. “You do not scare me,” you lie.

He chuckles at this, his hand still placed on your cheek, his calloused fingertips rough against your skin. “Your eyes say otherwise.”

The commander reaches to his side, pulling out a knife. Its long blade is serrated, details of stars carved into its wooden hilt. It reminds you a bit of the one Seonghwa gave you, the one Woo took on that first night you met them.

He extends the blade out towards you, hilt settled neatly in his open palm. “Would you like to do the honours? Or should I?”

You stare at the knife out before you, its blade a cool white, almost glowing within the cave’s dim lighting. He’s offering you a choice. Not of whether or not you will die, but how. Or better, by whom.

To do the deed yourself, or have it done by his own hand.

Your hand hovers out in front of you, fingertips a mere inch away from the hilt. You stare at the knife, at its cool iron, at its spotless white blade. Soon to be tainted. Your hand shakes despite your attempt to steady it.

It’s a horrible, horrible decision to make.

Fortunately, the arrow that embeds itself in the commander’s arm liberates you from making it.

Sticking out from the crook of his elbow, nestled within a small gap in armor that was designed for amplified movement, the man lets out a shocked groan of pain. The knife clatters on the cave’s rocky floor as he brings his hand to the wound, the blood emerging from the black fabric not noticeable until it coats his pale fingers.

In unison, both you and the commander twist in the direction from which the arrow flew.

Seonghwa stands atop a rock in the far corner of the cavern, bow drawn up, still in the position from which he let the arrow fly. You nearly let out a cry of relief. Joyous, unadulterated relief.

A scream cuts through the air, followed by the thud of a body hitting the floor.

There’s another noise, a gargled and choked sort of cry, and you hear the sharp sound of the many black-clad men unsheathing their swords before you actually see them do it.

This is because your focus is not on them. It’s on San, as he holds a body out before him. It’s one of the men that captured you on the mountain pass, the young blonde. San’s sword sticks out through the man’s chest, blood pooling out from his mouth as his eyes grow dim.

It’s immediate, how the cavern erupts into chaos.

“Seize them!” The commander orders his battalion, before ripping the arrow from his arm. Despite the blood leaking from the now open wound, his movements are agile as he removes the sword from his own sheath. The blade is as black as night, matching its shadowy hilt.

You stare him down, relinquishing your own sword, your mother’s sapphire glittering.

You prepare to take a step forward, however, something presses up behind your back. You prepare to twist around, strike the oncoming threat. However, San’s voice fills your ear, quiet as he speaks over his shoulder. “We move together.”

“Alright,” you breathe, lifting your long-sword out before you as San’s back presses into your own. “Together.”

The black-clad men attack.

They move at you from all directions. San places his free-hand along your waist, guiding you with him. The two of you move with the grace of one being, fending off the dark wave of men that surround you like a swarm of hornets defending their hive.

You swing at one of the men, catching his shoulder as San pushes on your left hip. You move with it, narrowly dodging the strike of a different enemy blade, the breeze of his swing cool against your cheek. The failed strike catches the owner of the blade off-balance, allowing you to seize the opportunity to stab your sword into the soft spot of his breastplate, straight through the opening just below the pit of his arm. The man cries out, face knotting together in agony as he falls to the ground.

You do not allow yourself the time to dwell on how you’ve likely just taken that man’s life, how there are even more to come, as you slice your sword along another soldier’s neck. Save yourself, save Woo, save your kingdom. You can mourn the horrors of your deeds later, for now that is all that matters.

You catch a glimpse of a man in the corner of your vision, hair the colour of flame as he sneaks in behind the soldier whose chest you currently run-through with your blade. You won’t reach him in time, his sword is raised high in the air, another second and he’ll bring it down on your neck-

An arrow shoots right through his skull, entering near his ear as the point sticks out the other side of his head. Blood sprays out from the wound, splattering onto your tunic. The man crumples to the ground, falling in the direction of the arrow’s path. Dead.

Your gaze shoots to Seonghwa. He stands atop the rock, eyes wide as his gaze falls to the man on the ground. The man he killed. Horror is plastered across his own expression, as if realizing what he has done. Woo had once told you that Seonghwa has only ever wounded with his arrows. He’s never killed, not even beasts.

You worry he will crumble, just as you did after the mimic, just as you had the first time you’d taken the life of something. Instead Seonghwa swallows hard, a glazed look to his eyes as he gives you a nod, before removing another arrow from his quiver. You have a sense he’s also saving his pain for later.

San tugs you to the left, and your gaze is pulled away from Seonghwa and back to the battle before you. A man swings at you, and you push backwards against San to avoid the swipe. You worry it will cause San to tumble, but instead he sinks lower on knees, flattening his back. Using it for support, you fall back and into the air, giving the man in front of you a firm kick to the chest that sends him backwards, crashing into a few of the men behind him.

You grin. It’s satisfying, watching the men who took everything from you struggle.

And struggle they do indeed. You and San work as a tight-knit unit as Seonghwa picks off the stranglers with his arrows, as well as those attempting to crawl atop his residing stone.

“By the gods,” you think. “We’re winning.”

However, if you are aware of this, so is the man leading the operation.

You search for the commander amidst the swarm of black armour surrounding you, trying to pin-point his dark beard and aging face. He doesn’t appear to be a part of the mob.

“Do you know where he went? The commander?” You ask San, yelling over the sound of battle cries and the screams of the wounded. San does not respond immediately, likely searching for him amidst the crowd.

San lets out a sudden growl of annoyance. “He’s with Woo.”

You glance over your shoulder, seeing the commander next to the elemental. He stands behind Woo, lips drawn close to his ear, hand placed on the elemental’s shoulder. You cannot hear what the commander is saying to him, but you know that it is nothing good.

Woo’s eyes are wide, the purple where the white’s of his eyes should be growing darker. Tears stream down his face and they are a matching colour, like drops of ink. You can see Woo whispering something, and while you cannot make out the words, the desperation on his face makes you believe that he is begging. Although what he is pleading for you do not know.

Fire surrounds them, leaking from Woo’s fingertips and onto the cavern floor. The flames run thick, the consistency of molten lava. You’ve never seen that from an elemental before, didn’t even know it was possible..

“We need to make our way over there,” you say while stabbing your sword into the arm of a black-clad soldier. You can feel San nod his head in affirmation.

Wrapping his free hand tighter around your waist, San pulls you with him, the two of you spinning through an opening within the mob. You nearly trip over something, and upon looking down you see that it is a body. His dead eyes look up at you. They are a light hazel.

You would vomit if there was anything solid in your stomach.

San pulls you past the man before you can stare at him for too long, before you can memorize the features of his face, before you can wonder if it was he or you who killed him.

So much death. So much needless death. You close your eyes, only for the briefest of moments, for the split of a second. You imagine you are the person you had been a mere month ago. The girl who let her baths be drawn from her, her clothes picked out and placed on her body by others. The girl who sulked when Mingi left for battle training, who’d never held a sword in her hands, let alone ran someone through with it.

You open your eyes and know that you will never be her again.

San continues to pull you with him through the opening within the dark swarm, letting go of your waist as the two of you break through and sprint towards Woo.

The commander continues to whisper into the elemental’s ear, more molten lava dripping from Woo’s hands. It forms in pools on the cavern floor, slowly trailing down the parapet in a way that reminds you of the baby basilisks, like long thin glowing snakes.

It’s not until now that you realize what the commander is doing, as Woo grows more and more affected by his words, blood-vessel’s bursting in his eyes as red mixes itself into the purple. A mosaic of burning hues.

The commander knows that he is losing, which means he’s pulling out a last resort, willing to play his wild-card. He plans to use Woo as a weapon. He’ll do whatever it takes to take you out, even if that means his battalion goes down with you. Bastard.

The commander steps back from Woo, walking over to the top of the chain tied to one of the stone pillars. He will set Woo free, grant him full range of motion with his gift. After all, an elemental can only summon flame with movement, with the dancing of their fingers or full swing of their arms.

Only Woo is not your average elemental.

Before the commander can finish untying the first chain, Woo screams. It’s not as animalistic as his last, but far, far more broken. Fire flares out from around him, a massive wave of curling flames that tumbles in all directions, standing over ten feet tall.

You grab San’s wrist, yanking him with you as you dive behind the nearest rock. Face pressed to the ground, you do not see the fire as it stretches over top of you, but you can feel its heat along your back even through your tunic. Screams echo from all around, bouncing off of the cavern's walls, and you know that not everyone was so lucky.

Once the heat disappears, both you and San are quick to settle onto your knees, peering up over the rock. Woo’s head has fallen back down, shrouded in tangled black hair, chest heaving as he catches his breath. The commander, who had fallen to the ground behind him, rises to his feet.

You gasp.

While it appears he managed to find shelter before the flames completely engulfed him, he also did not make it out unscathed. The left half of his face burns a bright red colour, the skin bubbling with boils in a way resembles lumps of flour in unkneaded dough. His dark hair is gone on the affected side, both on his face and the top of his head, smoke billowing out from his disintegrated scalp.

With so much of his skin burned off, his eye nearly pops from his head, stark against his bright red skin. He looks undead, like a walking skeleton, the teeth on the left side of his mouth permanently visible due to his upper lip having been incinerated. His gums bleed, the red almost glowing against the whiteness of his teeth.

Your gut twists at the sight of him, and you have to look away.

Black-clad soldiers sit slumped around the cavern, broken moans leaving their lips as the fire was not enough to kill them all. The agony of their cries fills your ears, and although you fight against it tears sting your eyes. You know that these are bad men, men who killed your father and countless innocents in the castle, who ruined your life and want nothing more than to see your end.

But right now they are just men. They are just human, each one with their own life and story, and they are dying a slow and horrible death.

The blow to the back of your head stops you from becoming too absorbed in remorse.

It comes sharp and quick, carrying the heaviness of what you assume is a rock, and your vision momentarily sways. It doesn’t knock you out, but it does throw you off balance, giving the attacker enough time to seize your wrist. They give it a sharp twist, causing you to let out a whine of pain as your sword clatters to the ground.

The culprit drags you from behind, and you fight to remain on your feet. You shout to San, and while he twists to face you he is moment too late, as the person from behind shoves you away from them.

And into the arms of the commander.

The commander grins, his smile even more unsettling with his missing lip as he casts an appreciative nod to the young, brunette soldier who had grabbed you. He wraps his hand around the back of your neck, uncomfortably tight as he turns you to face away from him, chest pressed against your back.

With his spare hand he holds a knife to your throat.

“Enough of this,” the commander says. “Put your weapons down.”

The world around you stills as San comes to a halt, gaze sharp as his good eye flickers between you and the commander, analyzing the situation. He appears to come to no solution as he slowly retracts his sword back into its sheath.

However, not everyone follows his orders.

“Let her go.”

Seonghwa no longer resides atop the rock, likely having dived behind it to avoid the flames. Now on the ground, he stands roughly twenty feet ahead of you, his bow up and arrow drawn.

“What an awful accent,” the man laughs, and his voice sounds more manic now that he is on the verge of defeat. Of death. His cheek presses to yours, and you can feel his spittle against your skin, smell the rotten tang of his breath. “Like a Mainlander that swallowed his tongue.”

Seonghwa’s frown deepens, eyebrows furrowing together as he pulls the bow taught.

“You let that arrow fly and we both go down with it, boy,” the commander warns, and you can hear the smile in his voice. Such an awful smile. “Choose wisely.”

For a moment you don’t understand what he means, but realization sinks like a stone in your gut. The ravine resides behind you, hundreds of feet deep, the belly of a monster whose darkness would swallow you whole.

“Take your mutt and leave,” the man says to San, nodding towards Woo, who has returned to his slumped position, skin glistening with sweat as his arms tremble.

“So you can kill her as soon as we’re gone?” San bites back, tone venomous. “I don’t think so.”

“I promise to make it quick and painless,” the man says softly, before pressing the knife into your neck. Not deep, but enough to make you gasp in pain. “Otherwise I can make it very, very slow.”

Seonghwa’s hands grip tighter around the bow, San’s expression settling into a snarl of fury. However, neither of them move. If San moves to attack him, he’ll simply slice your throat. If Seonghwa fires the arrow, you’ll plummet with him. You try to reach Minho’s elixir in your pocket, but cannot manage it. Besides, even if you did manage to grasp it, there’s no way the commander would let you go long enough to down the liquid.

He has you cornered, and you all know it.

Well, that is except for one of you. You turn to Woo.

The elemental does not look at you as you speak. “Woo,” you call, the knife sharp against your throat as it bobs. “Can you hear me?”

“No, he can’t hear you.” The commander whispers into your ear, and you can feel the hollowness of his cheek as he speaks, the rough and ruined texture of his skin. “Or maybe he can, but who knows how much of him is even left in there.”

“Woo,” you call again, ignoring him, even as his words send a shiver down your spine. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but it’s me. It’s us, we’re all here. San, Seonghwa and I. We’re all here.”

Woo twitches at this, although he still does not lift his head. You hear him murmuring something beneath his breath, and it’s a moment until you can register what he is saying.

“You’re not real,” he whispers, voice shaky and blubbered. “You’re not real.”

You swallow hard. “I don’t know what he did to you, and I don’t know what you’re seeing or hearing or what’s going on, but I need you to lift your head.”

He doesn’t respond and you try again. “Please, Woo. Please, just lift your head for me.”

It takes a moment, but shakily, he does. His hair falls in dark matted clumps over his blood-shot, purple-stained eyes. His pupils still do not focus on you, a distant vacantness to the broken expression across his tear-stained face.

“Leave me alone,” he says, and it is a hoarse, beaten plea. “Please, please just stop. Let me die. Don’t bring me back. Please. I deserve it.”

Your heart twists at hearing Woo - confident, self-assured, unbreakable Woo - say something so self-demoralizing.

However, it’s with these words, these broken claims that he deserves it, that you have an idea of what horrors he may be seeing before him.

“Wooyoung,” you say, and you notice as Seonghwa’s brows furrow in confusion at the name, San raising an eyebrow. Perhaps it's the first time they’ve heard it. “Wooyoung do you remember our conversation by the fire?”

“Please just stop,” he whispers, shaking his head as more of the molten lava begins to leak from his hands.You don’t even know if he’s still listening, but this is your last shot, so you push on.

“You told me that you knew you should regret what you did to the wardens, that it should eat you up inside. But it didn’t, because they deserved it.”

Tears continue to stream down Woo’s face, which is contorted in a pained, agonizing expression. However, as he does not deny your words or continue his broken mumbling, you take his silence as a sign to continue.

“I haven’t been able to forgive myself for what I’ve done, and I don’t think I ever will,” you continue, and you know both San and Seonghwa are watching you as you can feel the heaviness of their gazes. The confused curiosity mixed with desperation that swirls within them, staring intently. Yet, you ignore them. You ignore the commander and the knife at your throat, the wails of agony in the air and the thick stench of burnt flesh.

Right now it is just you and the broken elemental before you. You and Woo.

“But that’s the difference between us,” you say, swallowing hard. “I chose to harm people that never deserved it.”

“Enough of this,” the commander says through gritted teeth, pressing the knife harder against your neck. Choking down the increasing pain, you ignore him.

“And you never deserved it Woo, any of it. Any of what Warden did to you, any of my father’s cruelty, any of my lies. None of it was ever deserved.”

Woo’s breathing begins to escalate, but this time it is not as if he’s having trouble taking in air, it’s as if he has realized that he finally can.

“Enough,” the commander says again, with more anger in his voice as he appears to come to the same realization about Woo as you do.

“You’re there,” Woo whispers. His gaze is still lost and distant, his limbs still trembling and words blubbered with misery and fear. But there is also something more. Something powerful.

“We’re here,” you say back, relief blossoming in your chest. Even as the commander twists the back of your wrist and you let out a cry of pain, you’re filled with an undeniable, unbridled sense of hope.

“We need your help, Wooyoung,” you say, and the elemental swallows hard in response.

“I can’t,” he says, voice a quiet breath as he shakes his head in denial.

“You can,” you say, tone firm. You have him, even if only for a moment, and you will not let yourself lose him again. “You’ve done it before.”

Wooyoung stops shaking his head as he realizes what you are suggesting.

“Stop this!” the commander says, and now he’s shouting. He means it as a demand, as a threat, but it sounds instead an awful lot like a plea.

“You can do it, Wooyoung,” you say, the softness leaving your voice and replacing itself with a hardened encouragement. You will not yield.

“How do you know?” He asks, and even though his voice shakes, its weakness has fallen away.

A grin spreads across your lips. Even with the knife to your throat, the burnt bodies around, and the commander rotting breath hot against your skin, you smile.

You smile because you know you’ve won.

“Because, Wooyoung,” you say. “He deserves it.”

You can feel the commander’s grip around the knife clench, his elbow brought higher as he prepares himself to slice it clean across your throat.

“I said enough-”

A blast of heat ignites from behind you, burning hot along your back, and you instinctively push forward. The commander's grip loosens without protest, the knife within his hand falling to the ground, clattering against the cavern’s rocky floor. A strong stench floods your senses, the same horrid and sickening scent that had previously hung around the cavern, only now increased ten-fold.

You twist around, putting yourself face-to-face with the commander, who’s entire body is engulfed in flame.

His screams leave him like waves crashing along the shoreline, powerful and ominous amidst their build-up but shattered and broken upon their downfall. The fire spreads across his body in a way that is almost unnatural, hugging close to his flesh as it eats away at his skin, a vicious parasite devouring him whole. He stumbles, and you cannot make out his expression, his face covered in the burning orange glow. Perhaps it is better that way.

He reaches forward blindly, his flame-covered hands extended outwards as he searches for your body. Even in death, he seeks to take you with him. Find his glory, his vengeance, even if it’s accompanied by his final breath.

And yet, even with all he has done to you, Woo, and your family, you grant the commander one final mercy.

A quick death.

Reaching forward, you place your palms flat against his chest, giving him a firm push. It burns your hands, although only for a moment, as he stumbles backwards. His foot catches on one of the pegs tied together with rope before the cliff, sending him tumbling backwards. Time appears to stand still for a moment, an eternity slipping by as he hangs in the air, a ball of glowing flame suspended above the ravine’s gaping mouth.

He falls, the glow like a spark slowly diminishing, until it disappears entirely. You do not hear him crash against what lays beyond the darkness.

There’s a moment of silence that follows as you stare over the ravine’s edge. You half-expect the commander to fly back upwards, to catch you in a moment of weakness, suddenly equipped with new fire abilities of his own.

He does not. There is only darkness.

You turn back around. Both San and Seonghwa stare at you, both of their expressions difficult to place. Mouths parted slightly and eyes wide, they appear to be in disbelief. Awe, even. You imagine your face looks the same.

Woo sits with head hung over, eyes closed. For a moment you fear he is dead, but from the shaky rise and fall of his chest, you know that he is merely unconscious.

There is the sound of footsteps as the few black-clad men left unscathed flee down the cave’s passage-way, leaving you behind.

“Well,” San whispers, his good eye drifting from you, to Seonghwa, to the scattered bodies around you, before finally settling on Woo. He laughs, shaky and unsure, but at the same time so, so sincere. “Fuck.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

next chapter coming soon.

thank you for reading! feel free to come chat with me about any thoughts you may have, feedback is the one thing that keeps me going tbh. also, if you’re bored in the meantime, here are both my ateez and skz masterlists for your convenience. i hope to see you around :3

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webscarlet · 1 month

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oliviajames1122 · 10 months

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Car Repairs near Me: A Comprehensive Guide to Finding Reliable Garages in Reading

If you're an automobile owner, you recognize the importance of normal upkeep and spark off repairs to maintain your car in foremost situation. Finding a dependable car garage for your neighborhood place can make all the difference in terms of making sure your vehicle's sturdiness and overall performance. In this newsletter, we'll delve into the sector of vehicle upkeep and discover the best car garages in Reading that you can trust.

Introduction

When your car begins displaying signs of wear and tear, or worse, breaks down all at once, it is important to have a dependable vehicle storage close by that you could consider. In this manual, we're going to offer you with insights on finding the first-rate car repair options in Reading, ensuring that your vehicle is in the arms of professional specialists.

Why Choosing the Right Car Garage Matters

Selecting the proper car storage is more than simply fixing a mechanical issue; it's approximately making sure the protection of your vehicle and your peace of mind. A nicely-prepared and experienced vehicle garage will now not best diagnose and restore issues but additionally provide preventive renovation to prevent destiny problems.

Factors to Consider When Searching for Car Repairs near Me

3.1 Location and Accessibility

Opt for a vehicle garage this is without problems located. This will make dropping off your automobile for upkeep or maintenance hassle-loose. Additionally, recollect the provision of public transportation or opportunity commuting options while your car is being serviced.

3.2 Reputation and Reviews

Check online evaluations and ask for guidelines from buddies and own family. A car garage with a stable popularity and wonderful feedback from customers is more likely to provide excellent services.

Three.3 Services Offered

Look for a storage that offers a huge range of services, from recurring renovation to complicated repairs. This will prevent effort and time in locating one of kind garages for different issues.

Three.4 Expertise and Certifications

Ensure that the mechanics on the garage are nicely-educated and authorized to work to your car's make and version. This ensures that they own the important abilities to deal with your vehicle successfully.

Benefits of Regular Car Maintenance

Regular protection now not simplest prolongs your automobile's lifespan however additionally enhances its overall performance. Oil changes, fluid exams, and tire rotations are easy obligations that save you most important troubles down the road.

Common Car Issues and Their Solutions

6.1 Engine Troubles

If your engine is making unusual noises or experiencing a drop in overall performance, it is time to seek advice from an expert mechanic. They can diagnose the problem and suggest appropriate solutions.

6.2 Brake Malfunctions

Spongy brakes or uncommon sounds when braking are symptoms of brake problems. Prompt attention to these issues ensures your safety on the road.

6.3 Electrical System Problems

Issues with lighting fixtures, power home windows, or other electric additives require specialised interest. Professional mechanics can perceive and connect these troubles correctly.

6. Four Suspension and Steering Issues

Poor managing or a bumpy trip may want to indicate troubles along with your vehicle's suspension or guidance. Experienced mechanics can diagnose and deal with those issues directly.

DIY Car Repairs vs. Professional Services

While a few minor can be done at domestic, complicated troubles require the knowledge of expert mechanics. Attempting tricky repairs without right information can worsen the problem.

How to Choose the Right Garage for Your Car

Consider your car's wishes and the offerings presented by using the storage. A personalized method to vehicle care guarantees that your particular necessities are met.

The Importance of Transparent Pricing

A legit garage gives obvious pricing for its offerings. Avoid surprises by means of getting an estimate in advance and information the breakdown of expenses.

Customer Experience and Satisfaction

Outstanding customer support is a mark of a dependable garage. From clean conversation to timely updates, a patron-centric technique complements your enjoy.

Conclusion

In conclusion, finding trustworthy garages in Reading is essential for maintaining your vehicle's performance and safety. By considering elements which include location, recognition, services supplied, and information, you can make an informed choice. Regular preservation and timely repairs will now not handiest prevent money ultimately however additionally keep you secure on the street.

#car repairs near me #Car garages in reading #Garages in reading #car repairs #car services in reading

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equality-wealth · 1 year

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Hidden costs facing LGBTQ+ parents at a glance

The hidden costs facing LGBTQ+ parents At a glance

It’s invaluable to seek financial advice from an adviser you can trust who understands what you’re going through. No matter who you are, having kids presents challenges, whether they’re physical, emotional or financial. But for LGBTQ+ people, the route to starting a family can be especially complex. LGBTQ+ couples who want their own children typically have fewer options available to them, and the processes that are available can be both expensive and emotionally stressful.

Cost of starting a family via IVF

Some LGBTQ+ couples may go through IVF treatment to have children. However, the chances of a round of IVF being successful is just 32% for women under 35, falling to 4% for women over 44 (1). What’s more, the number of NHS-funded rounds of IVF that are available is something of a postcode lottery. Although NICE guidelines suggest three rounds of IVF should be available on the NHS (2), it’s the local Integrated Care Board (ICB) that assigns healthcare budgets in local areas and ultimately decides how many – if any – IVF treatments can be funded by the taxpayer. The necessary criteria to qualify for NHS-funded treatment can often be strict, too – including being within a certain age or weight range, and not having children from a previous relationship. For example, some ICBs will only fund IVF for women under 35 (3). The cost of private IVF treatment can vary, but the NHS advises that one round of treatment can cost £5,000 or more (4). Given the success rates, this could mean some couples end up spending high sums of money to start their family. For some, the only way to pay for this will be by taking out loans. Then there is the impact to earnings from taking parental leave and caring for a young family, which can affect everything from future earning capacity to pension values in retirement.

Cost of starting a family via surrogacy

Another option for same-sex couples looking to have children is surrogacy – where a woman carries a baby for someone else – although this is complicated to achieve in the UK due to the legislation surrounding it. Many decide to go overseas to fulfil their wishes of having a family.

Whilst many won't regret the costs associated with commercial surrogacy, the outlay can be extremely high. In the US, costs start at around $100,000 per child, including medical expenses, insurance and legal fees (5). That’s in addition to the expense of bringing up children, regardless of how you came to have them. Recent figures put the cost of raising a child in the UK, including housing and childcare costs, at more than £150,000 for couples and £200,000 for a lone parent (6).

Work with an adviser to cover costs

An adviser can help both same-sex and opposite-sex couples, to understand the benefits, difficulties and costs associated with surrogacy, plus the wider costs of funding childcare.

People need advice and they don’t always know where to find it. It’s about the cost of bringing up a child, and the value of saving for your children. It’s important to understand how to make best use of your tax wrappers and tax allowances.

It’s important to be sure that you and your adviser can work together, no matter what your goals and aspirations are. But if you’re dealing with the specific issues you face as an LGBTQ+ person – or considering IVF or surrogacy – then it’s great to speak to someone who understands what you’re going through.

There are not many people doing this type of advice, but as always, it’s about finding someone you can trust and talking to them honestly and openly.

Chat with Kath today via https://kathwilkinson.co.uk/contact

#wealthmanagement #homeowners #businessowners #pensions

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divorcelawyergunnisonutah · 1 year

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Bankruptcy Lawyers Near Me

Personality and professionalism matter, and like anyone a lawyer who appears terrific on paper can fall short in person. It’s critical that you trust that the person you hire will be working in your best interest. Look for the following three qualities during your consultation.

They discuss alternate resolutions: Chapter 7, a complete cancellation of eligible debts, might not be the best or only way to deal with your financial problems. If there are other options, an ethical lawyer will present them. Another suggestion might be a credit counselor’s formal debt management plan, especially if most of your lenders are credit card companies. The interest rate reduction the agency may be able to secure can translate into lower payments. Chapter 13 bankruptcy, a court-supervised payment arrangement, might also be on the table. A lawyer may recommend it if you have enough income to support at least some of your liabilities and own property that could be taken in a Chapter 7 or a lawsuit. Understanding the full menu of resolutions and then choosing from them reduces the possibility that you will regret making the decision to file for bankruptcy.

They display a passion for the process: You wouldn’t have a heart operation performed by a indifferent surgeon, nor would you want the person representing you in bankruptcy court to be distant or aloof. Therefore, the lawyer you’re considering should exude a genuine passion for the occupation and process. Find out why he or she chose to specialize in bankruptcy law. Listen carefully to the response. Many lawyers find the work fascinating and rewarding.

They hear and understand you: For most people, declaring bankruptcy is a painful decision. Because of the emotions involved, you’ll want your attorney to not just to have the proper credentials, but to exhibit a desire to understand your specific situation and goals. Your lawyer should possess empathy and a willingness to take the time to ask probing (sometimes difficult) questions. “Only hire someone who wants to know what led to your financial predicament.” “Someone who will can address what your biggest worries are.” Not all lawyers have great bedside (or courtside) manners, so after the meeting, ask yourself if you’re truly comfortable with that person and if all of your concerns were addressed. If you feel like a number rather than an individual, cross that lawyer off your list and move on to the next until you find one who treats you with some respect.

A fee commensurate with service

Lawyers, even those who help you not pay your creditors, aren’t free. The cost varies by complexity and location, but in general is between $800 and $2,500 from start to finish. Avoid ultra-low-rate bankruptcy mills that advertise heavily and crank out the cases. “They usually only have a few lawyers and a large number of legal assistants.” “For a simple run-of-the-mill case, they’re probably ok, but you don’t know when complications may arise. The first time you meet with your lawyer would be at the creditors meeting, and if there is a problem, they won’t be prepared to handle it properly.” Don’t presume you get more for hiring the most expensive lawyer on the block, however, or less if you scrape the bottom of the price barrel. “Fees are determined by the market.” “In some areas, caps are set by the courts. This means that, for the same price, the client can usually get an experienced, highly qualified lawyer for the same price as a novice.” Be sure to ask what it covers, though, as some attorneys include court and other costs in the quoted fee, others don’t. Once you’ve found the person who possesses the ideal combination of experience, character and cost, you’re set. If you choose to move forward with filing, you can do so with assurance that you’re working with a lawyer you can trust.

Bankruptcy Discharge

In a bankruptcy proceeding, the debtor and the court figure out a plan to repay creditors as much as possible. In exchange, the debtor is released from legal liability for the rest of the debt that he owes. The remaining debt is discharged and the debtor is not legally responsible for paying the debt.

Are Attorney’s Fees Dischargeable?

In personal bankruptcy, most debts are dischargeable even unpaid attorney’s fees. Section 523 of the Bankruptcy Code lists fees that are not dischargeable. They include child support, alimony, debt that was incurred through fraud or false pretenses, luxury items bought right before the bankruptcy, government education loans, medical costs from driving drunk, reckless failure to pay debts, court fees, and other court costs. Since the current bankruptcy attorney’s fees are included in court costs, she will get paid. In contrast, attorneys that the debtor hired prior to bankruptcy will probably not get paid. Often, attorneys with unpaid legal fees will lodge a complaint with the Bankruptcy Court, claiming that their fees were non-dischargeable. However, these claims usually fail because they run counter to the purpose of bankruptcy, which is to give the debtor a new economic start. In response to this, attorneys are now anticipating their clients’ bankruptcies. Attorneys now routinely maximize their “retainer” (down payment) and encourage clients to file bankruptcy before legal services are rendered.

What If I Filed for Bankruptcy after a Divorce?

Family law practitioners, in particular, often run into problems when their clients file for bankruptcy immediately after divorce. Family lawyers have frequently argued that their fees are non-dischargeable, because they help the client to fulfill the duty to support the child, which is itself non-dischargeable. The BAPCPA, a bankruptcy law that went into effect in October 2005, made the law even stricter regarding the non-dischargeability of family support obligations. However, courts rule that if attorney’s fees were not ordered to be paid in the original child support decision, then they are dischargeable in subsequent bankruptcy. Attorney’s fees are not alimony. Although attorney’s fees help collect spousal support, they do not go into a spouse’s pocket. Finally, there is no justification for favoring family lawyers above other lawyers who might be owed even greater sums of money.

Can I Discharge Fees or Fines Imposed By the Court?

The answer is typically no, you cannot discharge fees imposed by the court. Fines and other fees imposed by the legal system are designed to punish citizens who break the law. It would be unfair to punish some citizens and not other citizens simply because they can’t afford the penalty. The only possible exception is if the fine or fee given is not retributive or punitive in nature. In personal injury lawsuits, for instance, the damage award taken from the defendant is not meant to punish the defendant, but to restore what was lost to the victim.

Do I Need a Bankruptcy Lawyer?

Filing for bankruptcy is a very complicated process. The law varies depending on where a bankruptcy is filed and also depends on which type of bankruptcy is filed. A bankruptcy lawyer knows the particulars of filing for bankruptcy, can recommend what chapter of bankruptcy is right for you, and can ensure that your paperwork is filed correctly so that all eligible debts are discharged.

Flat Fees Versus Hourly Fees

Many attorneys, especially bankruptcy attorneys, will charge a “flat rate” to represent you in a bankruptcy case. You’ll pay a fixed amount for the attorney to represent you, regardless of the amount of time the attorney spends on your case. Other attorneys will charge you an hourly rate, although it’s uncommon in consumer bankruptcy cases.

The more likely scenario is for the attorney to charge a flat fee for the bulk of the matter. The lawyer will charge an hourly fee for any extra work required for services like defending against an objection to discharge. Your contract should spell out what the flat fee covers.

Average Chapter 7 Bankruptcy Attorney Fees

Most Chapter 7 bankruptcy attorneys will base their fees on how complicated your case is and what other attorneys in the area would charge for a similar bankruptcy. If you have a lot of assets or debt, you might pay more than an unemployed person with no assets. In general, attorney fees for a Chapter 7 bankruptcy range from $1,000 to $3,500 depending on the complexity of the case. Larger firms with more advertising and overhead costs sometimes charge more than a solo practitioner, but not always. Some larger operations offer low fees and count on a higher volume of cases. Also, you might find a solo practitioner will cost more but offer more personalized service. It will depend on the office. You can expect a newer attorney to charge less than a more experienced lawyer, and if your case is a simple Chapter 7, you might not need an attorney with years of experience. Keep in mind, however, that bankruptcy is a specialized area of law and that most attorneys who don’t regularly practice bankruptcy won’t accept a bankruptcy case. When shopping around for a bankruptcy lawyer, call at least a few attorneys in your area. Compare their fees and ask if bankruptcy is an area they specialize in, as well as the number of cases they file each month.

Paying a Chapter 7 Attorney

You’ll pay your Chapter 7 attorneys’ fees in full before the attorney files the case and with good reason. Chapter 7 wipes out most unsecured debt in a Chapter 7 case, including attorneys’ fees. So if you had a balance due when filing the matter, it would get discharged. Chapter 7 attorneys know this, of course, and require full payment.

Average Chapter 13 Bankruptcy Attorney Fees

Most courts have guideline “acceptable” fees for a Chapter 13 bankruptcy. Unless exceptional circumstances justify it, an attorney won’t be allowed to charge more than the court’s guideline fee. Chapter 13 guideline fees are different for each judicial district. However, they are typically between $2,500 and $6,000 depending on the complexity of the case. For instance, if you own a business, the case will likely require more work and justify a higher fee.

Paying a Chapter 13 Attorney

Fortunately, most attorneys don’t require you to pay the entire Chapter 13 bankruptcy fee upfront. In most cases, attorneys will ask for a portion of their fees before filing your matter, and the remainder will get paid through your Chapter 13 repayment plan. How much a bankruptcy lawyer will require before filing will depend on each attorney or firm. But on average, you can expect to pay about half of the total fee before the attorney files your case.

Lawyers Must Disclose Attorneys’ Fees to the Court

Attorneys’ fees in bankruptcy cases are somewhat unusual in that they must be disclosed to and approved by the court. However, this doesn’t mean that the bankruptcy court fixes the amount that attorneys can charge in bankruptcy cases. Attorneys are free to charge what is reasonable given their experience and the complexity of your case subject to review by the court. Some courts have a “presumptive” maximum fee for certain types of bankruptcy cases, but the attorney can overcome the ceiling by demonstrating a good reason for charging more.

Attorneys’ Fees, Court Costs, and More

When you hire an attorney to represent you in bankruptcy, you should plan to pay three amounts: • the attorneys’ fees the lawyer charges to advise you, complete your bankruptcy paperwork, and represent you at bankruptcy hearings • the bankruptcy filing fee you’ll pay to the court to file the bankruptcy paperwork, and • the cost of a pre-bankruptcy credit counseling course.

Many people can pay the court’s Chapter 7 filing fee in up to four installment payments, and some get the court fees waived. By contrast, you’ll have to pay the court fees for a Chapter 13 case at the time of filing.

Choosing Between Debt Consolidation or Bankruptcy

If you’re like most folks who carry multiple credit cards, the merry go round of payments is a monthly frustration and chances are good you’ll eventually face problems making your deadlines. Nearly half of Utah’s households carry a balance from month-to-month and the amount they owe is growing. The average family that carries a balance owes $15,094 in credit card debt, which helps explain why the Federal Reserve said card debt hit a record $870 billion at the start of 2019.

Delinquencies – payments that are more than 90 days late also rose to 3.22% at the end of 2018 and the credit reports of about 37 million cardholders were dinged because of it. If you’re one of the dinged, it might be time to get brutally honest with yourself. You’ll need to ponder if you have enough income to fund a debt consolidation plan or whether your finances are so out of whack that the only alternative is to surrender and file bankruptcy. Struggling with debt is a juggling act and dropping the ball can have serious consequences. Before you decide how to approach your situation, it’s a good idea to take stock. You may have multiple unpaid credit card balances, a student loan and a home loan, each requiring either a fixed or minimum monthly payment. Make a list of them all and include the balance owed, the required monthly payment and the interest rate. Add up your minimum monthly payments. This exercise will give you a sense of your situation. Though there are assortments of techniques to reduce debt and make it more manageable, debt consolidation and bankruptcy are two of the most common.

Debt consolidation, which could be accomplished through a nonprofit credit counselor, turns an assortment of unsecured credit card debts into a single, affordable monthly payment that eliminates debt in 3-5 years. The alternative, bankruptcy, seeks court protection from creditors and can either discharge debt or reduce it with a payment plan that can take up to five years to complete.

Debt Consolidation

Debt consolidation is a strategy to reduce the interest rate and lower the monthly payment on credit card bills by combining them into a single payment. There are several ways to accomplish this, including: • Enrolling in a credit consolidation program through a nonprofit credit counseling agency. The agency will collect monthly payments from you that include a service fee and pay off your creditors in an agreed upon amount until the debt is eliminated. • Taking out a debt consolidation loan through a bank, credit union or online lender. Typically, there are fees associated with the loan and your credit score will influence the interest rate. If you don’t have at least a good credit score something above 650 – that interest rate may not be much better than what you’re paying on your credit cards. • Taking a do-it-yourself approach by contacting your card companies and offering to repay them at a lower interest rate. Creditors don’t have to accept your terms. Before attempting this, it’s wise to research tactics and techniques, considering the pros and cons. You can use a nonprofit credit counselor to guide you through the process and offer suggestions.

Pros of Debt Consolidation

Whether you use a nonprofit credit counseling agency or go it alone, the objective is to turn an assortment of bills into a single monthly payment. If the consolidation loan or debt management program has a lower interest rate than the original debt, you can save money and lower payments. Using debt consolidation will maintain your access to credit and if your plan is successful, your credit score should improve.

Cons of Debt Consolidation

Trying to arrange your own repayment plan usually requires a solid credit score. Whatever type of debt consolidation loan you pursue, a good credit score is usually necessary for approval. The higher your score, the lower your interest rate is likely to be. Also remember that paying off a consolidated debt could take several years and will require that you force yourself to rein in spending, especially credit card spending. Finally, before paying off unsecured credit card debt with a home equity loan or line of credit, remember that you’re putting your home at risk. If you don’t make payments on time, the lender could foreclose on your home.

Free Initial Consultation with Lawyer

It’s not a matter of if, it’s a matter of when. Legal problems come to everyone. Whether it’s your son who gets in a car wreck, your uncle who loses his job and needs to file for bankruptcy, your sister’s brother who’s getting divorced, or a grandparent that passes away without a will -all of us have legal issues and questions that arise. So when you have a law question, call Ascent Law for your free consultation (801) 676-5506. We want to help you!

Ascent Law LLC 8833 S. Redwood Road, Suite C West Jordan, Utah 84088 United States Telephone: (801) 676-5506

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novus-logics · 1 year

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Ruby on Rails: Why and When you should consider outsourcing your project?

We know we cannot simply rely on our instinct to outsource our Ruby on Rails web development project. However, technology and trust are the essential components that create an ethically sound and profitable organisation. Entrepreneurs that outsource expect outstanding results and outcomes because they trust and take a risk with their contractors.

Before hiring Ruby on Rails engineers for your company, you should check out and read through the complete guide we've provided in this blog. We start with a list of requirements that your desired offshore RoR developers' resumes must meet. Following that is a list of circumstances in which outsourcing RoR development makes sense and why.

Let's look at how to outsource Ruby on Rails development and some things to keep in mind.

Why you should hire outside developers for Ruby on Rails?

Right from cutting costs to hassle-free development, there are multiple benefits of outsourcing Ruby on Rails web development.

Cut costs

As opposed to full-time compensation, working for outsourced developers allows you to only pay for what you actually need. Depending on where the staff is assigned, you can qualify for reduced housing fees. Remember that the company you partner with must pay its employees a wage that is either more than or equal to the going wage in the area. Otherwise, your project's success could be jeopardised by employees with low qualifications or a high rate of turnover. What's worse is that it might constitute a breach of human rights, which, in addition to being immoral, might cause consumers to quit ships and criticise you in public.

Having access to top developers

The freedom from being limited to applicants in the same region or within the same region is the most evident benefit of outsourcing complicated technical work.

Scale No-hassle

More talent will also be accessible "on-demand." If a business only needs a VR developer for a single project, it makes little sense to hire a full-time specialist or spend money on a variety of cutting-edge tools.

Fulfil your organization's goals

When you outsource ruby on rails development to a far-off offshore development partner, you have more time to devote to your business goals. You are no longer required to feel outraged by management or developmental issues.

Start with Rocket Speed.

The Ruby on Rails development partner takes on all of your development responsibilities, freeing you to focus on your business outcomes. The developers can create hassle free projects thanks to the innovative techniques of Ruby on Rails development.

When Should You Think About Hiring Someone Else to Develop RoR?

In the following circumstances, it is best to outsource the RoR development project.

Startups

Technical professionals can be difficult to find and time-consuming to hire. RoR's rapid expansion has led to an increase in its appeal among business owners. You may quickly develop a product, onboard the first users, and begin iterating using this Minimum Viable Product (MVP) building technique.

Ruby is advised as a language for creating MVPs (minimum viable products) that are both rapid and inexpensive to produce because it can handle complicated logic and require fewer lines of code. This language was frequently used to create prototypes, suggest modifications, and evaluate several software iterations prior to creating fully functional apps.

Platforms for eCommerce

Ruby is perfect for the job since it can handle multiple transactions at once and is quick to expand, versatile, and affordable. For instance, Spree and Shopify were developed using the RoR framework. Despite Shopify's later move to only develop in Ruby, RoR is still a popular option for eCommerce applications.

Social Media Applications

Ruby is appropriate for social networking applications since it can support traffic-heavy apps. Twitter was once a RoR undertaking. Right now, RoR offers businesses a fantastic basis for testing their ideas without committing to time-consuming and expensive development.

Platforms for Complex Database Support

RoR is used by the best database websites in the world, including analytical portals and multi-platform portals. Bloomberg and GitHub are two ideal instances.

Things To Consider When Outsourcing RoR Web Development

To run successful projects, there are many aspects that you should consider before outsourcing your RoR web development project. Here, we have listed a few important factors that you should consider for a successful project deliverables.

Set Specific Business Objectives

You must first understand the task at hand. It will help you choose the best vendor and collaboration strategy. Think about it:

· Do you have a concern but lack the knowledge to address it? Find businesses that specialise in creating custom software.

· Do you need to validate a product concept but are unsure how to make it a reality? Try to find vendors that offer an exploration phase.

· Are you in need of additional engineers? Think about contracting out your IT.

· assemble data and establish the task's parameters.

Every successful project begins with thorough planning, specific objectives, and input from all stakeholders. Gather requirements, discuss schedules, the system's projected capacity for growth, and scaling options. Try to anticipate how future interactions with corporate systems and third-party software will play out.

Choose an Honest RoR Outsourcing Development Partner

Before you choose an offshore partner to build Ruby on Rails, you should consider the following factors:

· Check to see if the potential development provider has a strong background, credentials, and a sizable portfolio of diverse projects.

· Examine their prior case studies to confirm their veracity and dependability.

· Read the clutch reviews and testimonials.

· Make sure they adhere to organised processes; Agile technique is preferred.

Establish Trust by Executing a Contract

To protect your identity and privacy, make sure the Ruby on Rails development company you hired executes a non-disclosure agreement (NDA).

Final thoughts

In conclusion, outsourcing your Ruby on Rails project can bring numerous benefits to your business, including cost savings, access to a wider pool of talent, and the ability to focus on your core competencies. However, outsourcing is not always the best option for every business, and there are some factors to consider before making a decision. By carefully evaluating your project needs, budget, and goals, you can determine whether outsourcing is the right choice for you. Whether you choose to outsource or not, working with a skilled and experienced Ruby on Rails development company can help you build a robust and scalable web application that meets the needs of your business and your customers.

FAQs:

Which company developed Ruby on Rails?

Ruby on Rails was developed by a Danish programmer named David Heinemeier Hansson while he was working at the web-based software company Basecamp (formerly known as 37signals) in 2004.

What is the salary of Ruby on Rails developer?

The salary of a Ruby on Rails developer varies based on factors such as experience level, location, and company size. According to Glassdoor, the average base salary for a Ruby on Rails developer in the United States is around $93,000 per year, while in India, it ranges from INR 5,00,000 to INR 12,00,000 per year depending on experience and location.

Is Ruby on Rails used in India?

Yes, Ruby on Rails is used in India. It is a popular web development framework in India and is widely used by startups, small and medium-sized businesses, and larger enterprises.

Are Ruby on Rails developers in demand?

Ruby on Rails developers are in demand, especially in the startup and technology industries. Many businesses are looking for developers with Ruby on Rails skills due to its efficiency, scalability, and ease of use. According to the job search website Indeed, the demand for Ruby on Rails developers has been on the rise in recent years, with a significant increase in job postings.

#ruby on rails #ruby on rails tutorial #ruby on rails interview questions #ruby on rails developer #what is ruby on rails #ruby on rails development #hire ruby on rails developers #ruby on rails developer salary #ruby on rails jobs #what is ruby on rails used for #ruby on rails development services #ruby on rails framework

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pestcontrolmaster · 1 year

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Fast Advice To Locate The Most Effective Pest Control Orlando Company

youtube

Absolutely nothing will certainly disturb the serenity of a house more than seeing a rat or a roach roaming totally free. Panic may rapidly take place, but it's important to take a moment as well as take into consideration the next action.

Do it yourself parasite control might operate in some instances and for a short time. For that reason, home owners require a dependable Orlando pest control firm that they can depend carry out one of the most thorough removal and also extermination.

Nonetheless, not all pest control companies are equivalent, and also it can be complicated to choose the right one. Here are a couple of suggestions on just how to find the best insect control company:

Ask for referrals

The majority of people initial ask friends and family because it's likely that one of them will certainly have a suggestion for a pest control Orlando business.

They can inform you carefully concerning the quality of their work as well as level of professionalism and trust. Plus, you'll hear about the costs of services beforehand.

Check the on-line testimonials

These days, most people don't buy points before inspecting on the internet evaluations initially. Whether you need to get rid of bed pests, wasps, or ant infestation, usage Google to read testimonials of your regional pest control firms.

If a specific business seems legit, go to its site and also examine its qualifications, experience, and listing of services. An outstanding elimination company will certainly have all the details conveniently offered.

Ask concerns

If the search has actually generated a few potential candidates, the testing procedure can proceed. Homeowners should email or call each company as well as ask added questions.

Top-tier pest control companies will happily answer all inquiries and also demonstrate a desire to suit your demands.

Property owners can also request for a complimentary assessment to examine the degree of infestation at the property. In addition, requesting a quote can give a sense of the company's transparency as well as general techniques.

Licensing is a must!

A few house owners might be inclined to choose an unlicensed Orlando exterminator firm for lower rates, yet that would certainly be a mistake.

Some companies use severe chemicals that might be unhealthy for members of the household.

On the other hand, an accredited insect control specialist will recognize to utilize government-approved chemicals and keep the home safe as well as protected.

Obtain a consultation

A homeowner may wind up choosing an insect control company that's not the appropriate fit.

They might tell you that the circumstance is out of control which comprehensive and also pricey job is required to eradicate them.

Understandably, that may appear excessive or unnecessary. So, it's probably best to obtain a consultation. If another bug control expert recommends the exact same, it's most likely what needs to be done.

Fight pests with the proper pressure!

It can be incredibly demanding to discover an insect invasion in your home. Nevertheless, taking immediate action can make all the difference. However not every pest control business offers exceptional services.

That's why recommendations, online study, and also asking all the pertinent questions are the method to go. When it involves pest control, do not settle for anything but the very best.

All American Pest Control

390 N Orange Ave Suite #2300

Orlando, FL 32801

(321) 559-7378

Orlando Pest Control

#Orlando Pest Control #Orlando Exterminator #Pest Control Orlando #Youtube

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worldivfcenterr · 2 years

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What Kind Of Fertility Doctor Is Best For You?

Introduction: What to consider when choosing a fertility doctor

Finding the right fertility doctor can be difficult. You want to make sure they are successful at doing what they need to do, but also that you feel comfortable with them and their treatment options.

You may meet with your doctor several times before getting pregnant, so it’s important to find one you trust and feels like home.

These doctors can help you by being non-judgmental, listening to your concerns, and answering your questions. They should give you confidence that you are in control.

Types of fertility treatments: In-vitro fertilization (IVF), artificial insemination (AI), and donor sperm

There are several types of fertility treatments available, including IVF, AI, and Donor Sperm.

Most people choose one or two options, often starting with IVF since it’s more common and has higher success rates than AI or donator sperm.

When looking into treatment, you should know what type of IVF treatment is available so you can ask relevant questions about how successful it will be for you.

There are three main types of IVF: Standard IVF, Micro-IVF, and Maxi-IVF.

In standard IVF, the woman’er eggs are removed from her body and then combined with male partner’s sperm in the lab to form an embryo. This embryo is placed in her uterus by way of either natural means or through surgery.

Micro-IVF uses reduced numbers of eggs and sperms compared to standard IVF. It may only be used as a last resort for couples who have tried everything else.

Maxi-IVF involves combining multiple embryos at once. The risk with this approach is that not all the embryos make it past the first stage of development. Also, there's no guarantee that any given set of embryos will produce healthy babies.

Pros and cons of each type of fertility treatment

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There are many different types of treatments for infertility, but only some will work for you and your specific situation. Your first step to getting help should be conversation with your partner.

They can get their hands on supplies like pregnancy tests, explain how testing works, and discuss options with you.

If your relationship is strong, you may decide to seek marriage counseling to improve your sex life. If not, that may be a separate solution.

At this stage, doctors may suggest seeing a therapist to help you deal with any issues you have relating to infertility. Some studies show that therapists can help couples to understand what has caused them to suffer from infertility and give them ways to cope with it.

Natural vs. assisted reproductive technologies

Photo by Allan Mas on Pexels

Understand what we mean when we say “natural” or “non-traditional” ways to have children. These are methods of pregnancy that do not involve any type of technology, such as IVF (in vitro fertilization).

There are many different types of natural pregnancies, both before and after conception. Before conception, the mother’s body will create a baby through a process called ovulation. During ovulation, the female sex hormone estrogen levels increase significantly, causing the egg to ripen and be released from the ovarian follicle.

The egg travels down the fallopian tube and attaches itself to the wall of the uterus, where it can begin developing into a child. This happens about once every month for women who are normally pregnant.

For men, there are similar processes that occur in their bodies during ejaculations and sperm production. But these processes happen more frequently than for females.

These are all things that can happen naturally, without any help from medicine. They are also some of the most common ways people have babies today.

However, doctors may still assist with other parts of the process if needed. For example, hormones like oxytocin are used to trigger contractions and labor at birth, although they can be avoided by using alternative methods, such as amnioinfusion.

In rare cases, complications related to menstruation, ovulation, or pregnancy may require medical intervention.

How much does fertility treatment cost?

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There are many factors that can affect your overall cost, including diagnosis, medication, procedures, tests, and therapy. In most cases, treatments outside of traditional medicine can cost more.

But how do you know which ones are right for you?

Many people turn to natural therapies or traditional medicines to treat their infertility.

These methods have been used for centuries in other parts of the world, but here in the United States they’re still relatively new.

That means there are some aspects of these alternative treatments that may be harder to find.

Also, it’s important to realize that costs may differ between centers across the country, depending on the severity of your condition and the type of treatment you receive.

FAQs about choosing a fertility doctor

Many people wonder if they should see a specialist to help with fertility treatments. A basic understanding of medicine is helpful, but you should also talk to other women who have worked with a variety of doctors to find one you like.

You can ask about referrals from friends or looking online, but it’s not always easy to find information about their experiences as patients.

Some hospitals and clinics may offer discounts to employees and members of their family.

If you work at a hospital, you may be able to get in free treatment because of that. Try asking around and see what others say before you decide.

For more tips, please schedule a consultation with world infertility & ivf centre delhi.

#ivf centre delhi

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welsh98groth · 2 years

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#replica clothes #replica designer clothes #replica chanel clothes

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the7thcrow · 1 year

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Not all that Glitters is Gold -> 10

series pairing: (fem) princess!reader x seonghwa x san x wooyoung. eventual polyamory.

series masterlist | previous chapter

Part Ten: a relic from the past, confession, and dark magic.

series rating: 16+

series genre: action and adventure. romance. angst. fluff. suggestive. fantasy au.

chapter details beneath the cut ->

wc: 15.3k

extra chapter warnings: panic attack, a non-consensual kiss, non-consensual drug use (but magical? idk?).

chapter summary:

“It is you!” The stranger exclaims, their voice light and feminine.

Feminine and familiar. You narrow your eyes.

“Do I…” You start, swallowing down the bile that has arisen in your throat, as well as the tremble of fear in your voice. “Do I know you?”

a/n: guess who’s back :3 sorry this took me a million years to write, hopefully i can be a bit more consistent in the next coming months. hope you enjoy, and don’t be shy to let me know what you think! love y’all, thanks to everyone who has not abandoned this story after this massive hiatus LMAO <3

Seonghwa has never believed anger to suit him.

While Woo wears his anger like a loaded cannon, and San - like most other things - buries it until it inevitably rises to the surface, Seonghwa has tried to avoid fury when he can.

After all, anger is often the replacement of a different emotion. It comes easier than understanding, quicker than resolution. It’s the nasty, winding short-cut off the high road, and Seonghwa has learned that the high road is almost always the safer path in the long term.

Anger is ugly. It’s nonsensical and he doesn’t like how it looks on him. It’s why he prefers the cold shoulder to blind rage, sorting out his feelings on his own rather than lashing out on others. It’s the kind thing to do. The empathetic thing to do.

It’s never been overly difficult for him to settle this rage until now.

It festers in his mind every morning, as well as in the night before he falls asleep. Everytime he accidentally catches your eye over breakfast, letting his gaze drift away in hopes that you will think that his eyes were trailing by rather than staring.

He is so unbelievably angry with you, and he hates it.

From the moment the truth was revealed in the forest, it’s as if someone wrapped a hand around his lungs and began to squeeze, then never let go. A hot, burning fire in his chest that’s smoke rises up his throat, choking him with rage. It stings his eyes, fogs his senses. It feels unbeatable, indestructible. Blinding.

He knows that anger is just an emotion. A bad one, one that he’s had to expel from others countless times before. From San, after The Desert Lotus. It’s just another entity, another plague on the body. Settle down, feel it, think better of it, then let it be gone.

And yet now that feels an impossible task. Seonghwa doesn’t know the last time he was so angry. Perhaps it was the night in the kitchen with his mother, learning of the heights of human greed, the one he relives every time he uses his gift to expel the anger from someone else.

He supposes this memory may replace that one.

When he found out the truth about you it was like the last few weeks came crashing down around him. The closeness, the trust and understanding, the mutual respect and admiration.

All lies. All of it. And he feels like such a fucking idiot.

There was no trust, and by the gods, there was certainly no respect. He was a mere pawn in your game, a part of the plan, and all he can do is beat himself up about being too naive to not see it earlier. Woo has always harped on him for being too nice to people, or as the elemental would put it, “not behaving like an actual person, but more like a rock on a walkway that people like to kick around”. Seonghwa thought that Woo was just being grouchy, the pessimist he always is. But hell, maybe he was right.

After all, Seonghwa should have seen it coming. There was so much he could have done. If he had questioned why a beautiful stranger would have so much immediate interest in him in the first place, or why you constantly asked him questions while dismissing any deeper ones about yourself. If he wasn’t so passive about the parasitic emotions practically radiating off of you. If he looked past the ideal he so desperately wanted and dared to dig up the reality of what was underneath.

He’s not an idiot. The reality is that for you, it was never about him. It was about getting to Kuroku. For him it was about the journey, but for you it was always in the name of the destination.

And well, he certainly did his part in getting you there. He shared his gift with you as a token of trust, he took your pain away and made it his own, he vouched for you against Woo’s constant doubt.

All for a girl who’s name he didn’t even know.

The thought makes more anger - ugly, volatile, and oh-so-unflattering - surge within his chest, and he throws a rock into the lake before him. It doesn’t skip as he intended, and instead sinks with a loud plunk.

Seonghwa frowns. He grabs another rock to throw.

After being met with an even louder plunk, he groans, before creeping further up onto the shoreline to grab a flatter rock. His toes dip in the water, which feels colder than yesterday now that he’s no longer fueled by sheer terror and adrenaline.

The coolness brings him back to Maralya, when he and Yunho would sit on the fishing dock. Feet in the water, even though Seonghwa was older, Yunho was the one who had taught him to skip rocks. His half-brother always had a knack for things like that, or well, for everything it seemed. From medical skills, to scaling buildings, to setting a fishing line; Yunho could master whatever he picked up. He must have inherited it from his father, a man Seonghwa doesn’t really remember, as he died when they were young.

Seonghwa doesn’t remember his own father either, as he disappeared on an escapade to The Mainland directly after he was born. His mother told him that his ship was lost at sea, but Seonghwa is pretty sure he just left and never came back.

It doesn’t really matter, he’s never had much of a desire to know the man. After all, the only thing Seonghwa inherited from him was his foolishness. And maybe his nose.

Seonghwa sighs. Picking up another rock, this one flat and polished, he recalls the steps in his mind. Yunho's voice runs through his head as he goes through the form, before bringing his hand back and letting it fly.

Plunk.

He stares at the ripples surrounding the sinking stone for a moment, before sitting down. He must have forgotten a step. It was a long time ago.

He lays back so that his head presses into the sand, the little grains cold and damp against his scalp. It’s familiar. It’s a little like the shore at home, although the sand isn’t as white, and the water’s colder, nor as blue. There’s no sound of hustle and bustle from back in the village, or his mother yelling at him to take a dip in the ocean before coming back inside because he’s covered in sand and he can’t track that into the house.

So maybe it’s not so similar, but he will pretend.

Seonghwa sighs, grabbing a handful of sand, letting it fall between his fingers. It’s times like these, ones where he’s dejected, broken-down, and lonely, that he wants nothing more than to go home. Only then does he remember that there’s no home for him to return to.

He sighs, his anger drifting to sadness, and yet he doesn’t mind. He believes that at the very least, it suits him better.

Footsteps approach from far off behind him, and he knows that it’s you. Woo walks faster, heavier footed, and he likely wouldn’t have heard San until he was closer. Besides, you’ve been walking with a slight limp since the fall, and he can hear it in the thump of every second step.

A part of him wants to ask what happened, what hurts. If you’re okay.

The angry part of him won’t let the other speak.

He hears your steps stutter, coming to a sudden halt from what he assumes is about a dozen feet off. Silence follows, and he wonders what you’re thinking. If you’re nervous to approach him, taking the time to contemplate your words before you say them.

Eventually, you do come closer. “San and Woo want to head towards Bebbanburg,” you call out from behind him. “I said that I’d come get you.”

“Thanks,” Seonghwa says flatly, making no motion to move. He will, of course, but not until you head back to camp. He’d like to avoid the awkwardness of walking in a strained silence, pretending not to notice as you try to meet his eye.

Although when he doesn’t hear you leave, it seems as if he doesn’t have much of a choice.

Sighing, he pushes himself up into a seated position. Glancing back at you, he has to place a hand over his forehead to block out the rising sun blinding his vision.

You stand with your arms wrapped around yourself, watching him with a dampened expression. Your tunic billows in the wind, torn around the waist and covered in dirt and dust. Chewing on your bottom lip as your fingers tap along your arm, you appear on edge. As if you wish to say something.

Seonghwa hates the way he wishes to know what it is. He hates how he wants to smooth your hair that is violently blown by the wind and wipe away the smudge of mud that has hardened against your cheek.

He hates how even now, after everything, he yearns for you.

Perhaps this is how it always would have ended, anyway. Having grown more attached then he ever should, not ready to lose what he knew was never his.

“Seonghwa,” you say finally, although it’s a little strained. Rigid. “About yesterday, by the fire.”

Ah yes, that. You and San hadn’t noticed him at the time, but when neither he or Woo came back to the fire, the two of you went out looking for them. It only took a moment, finding them sitting against the caves outer wall. Quiet and avoidant. Woo had fallen asleep, but Seonghwa had met your gaze. He held it for only a moment, watching your own eyes widen as you realized he’d seen the whole thing. He looked away when your lips parted to speak.

“With San. I hadn’t expected it to happen,” you say, calling loudly over the wind, and yet somehow your voice still seems quiet. Trapped and tight. “I… I don’t regret it. But after everything, it feels unfair to you-”

“I don’t care about you and San,” Seonghwa butts in. Not aggressively, or overly angry, merely factual. After all, that’s not what he’s angry about. He doesn’t care about you and San. That’s your business.

He wants San to be happy. Whatever it takes, the swordsman deserves a bit of peace.

Besides, now that he will not, perhaps San will wipe the mud from your cheek.

“Oh,” you say, followed by a pause. “You just seem upset.”

“I’m not angry about that,” Seonghwa replies, lips pursing together. He swallows hard. “Just about everything you did before it.”

Your expression falls. Mouth dropping open into a small part, your eyes fill with a sudden sense of shame and hurt. Your hands grip your elbows, hugging yourself tighter, even if only slightly.

Your expression settles like stone in his gut, and he knows that what he said has made you hurt. He has made you feel that same pain that tightens in his chest and floods up his throat.

Seonghwa wishes he hadn’t said that.

No matter his anger, no matter the pain, Seonghwa has never wished to pass an entity on to another.

“I’ll meet you back at the cave in a moment,” he says, because he doesn’t want to say anything else that he’ll regret. He doesn’t want to force his gaze from yours while at the same time feeling a pull towards you like a beacon, begging him to take it away. Take it all away. All the horrible entities that radiate from you like a plague, a blackened sickness.

Turning back towards the lake, he waits. When he hears the sound of your footsteps - fading away, not growing louder - he lets out a sigh of relief.

He doesn’t like what this has made him into. The anger that has filled him, strangles him, stops him from drifting towards you like a moth to a flame. Sure to be burned, but the glow will be glorious.

No, anger doesn’t suit him. And yet he wears it, draping over him, akin to a stranger’s jacket.

If there is any luck to be found following your fall from the cliff, it’s in that at least you’ve found yourselves closer to Bebbanburg.

The journey to the small kingdom only took a few hours, the fact that you had nothing to carry but the clothes on your back having sped up the trek. It was spent in silence.

You know there’s certain to be some of the black-clad men poking around in such a populous city, so upon reaching the kingdom, the first order of business was to purchase you a cloak, as Mingi’s own had remained within a satchel on the horse’s back.

It weighs down on your shoulders, knowing that it’s gone, the final piece of him you had left. You’ve tried to view it as for the better, as the cloak of a Libaiyan Royal Guard could have attracted the attention of the wrong pair of eyes.

Even so, it hurts.

The cloak you wear now isn’t nearly as nice, a tattered brown fabric that’s itchy in the spots where it touches your bare skin, but it only cost a few bronze pieces. Considering that all the group of you have to your name is the pouch of coins attached to San’s waste, you have to know where to ration your spendings.

This is only on the necessities. San is trying to locate a cheap blacksmith to fashion him a new sword. Meanwhile, Woo and Seonghwa are searching if there’s anywhere for your group to stay that doesn’t cost an arm and a leg. Bebbanburg is an expensive kingdom, and so long as you find a place with a roof and walls that doesn’t blow through all of your savings, you’ll consider yourselves lucky.

With all the men on their own errands and a new cloak purchased, you’ve had about an hour to kill before now, as you currently make your way to meet them back at the city center. You’ve spent it wandering, peering into shop windows but never making your way inside. You don’t have the money to spend, nor do you want the undivided attention of a shop-keeper when you’re trying to lay low.

You’ve passed a few of your wanted posters strown up about the town, plastered to bulletin boards, poles, and shop windows alike. On top of being newly adorned with a far more accurate portrait of yourself, they’ve also added the detail of your recent scars. Printed along the bottom is the following: “Last spotted travelling with three young men. Potentially dangerous. Approach with caution.”

As an incentive due to what you assume is the elevated danger risk, they’ve increased the reward for your capture or demise to 300,000 gold pieces.

Apparently, someone at the tavern ratted the group of you out. Likely Yeosang and his band of not-so-merry men, or perhaps the poor shop-keeper desperate for a bribe.

Either way, someone is on your tail. Considering the new addition to the posters, that someone is in this city.

You haven’t seen them yet, but you know that it’s the black-clad men. They have to be lurking around here somewhere, they’re just being quiet about it.

You swallow hard, pulling the hood of your cloak further down.

Fortunately, the street’s are bustling with people. Bebbanburg, while not quite as big as the four major kingdoms, is still a hub for tourism. With money to spend, the streets are clean, the buildings well-kept. Despite being a narrow path in the merchant’s district in town, the air smells fresh.

It doesn’t feel quite right, in your opinion. Between the few towns you’ve visited these past few weeks, there was a certain scent to the air that felt more…natural. A strange concoction of smells as different taverns and homes didn’t agree on a pre-set menu for the night, dirt and pebbles aligning the trails as hunters dragged home their latest catch, or the muddy hoof-prints left by horses that stick to the bottoms of your shoes.

Bebbanburg feels too polished. The sort of polished that takes an effort, that works extra hard to rid itself of anything it deems unclean.

Trying not to obsess too much over the fact, you do your best to retrace your steps in order to return to the city center, taking a turn down another street. A slight limp to your step, ankle still not having fully recovered from your fall off the cliff, you count the shop doors that you pass along the alley’s stone wall. You kept count on your way here in order to know which alley to take back.

Counting down the doors, you pass by a butcher’s shop, cafe, and Zarian boutique for rare gems, all of which you’d passed along the way here. Gaze fluttering passively over the alley next to the boutique, you nearly miss the pair of eyes that lock on your own. Cat-like gaze fixated on yours, the bottom half of the figure's face is covered by a black cloth, their head shrouded in a dark cloak.

You pause. Hesitant, you retrace your last few steps, peering back down the alley.

The figure’s cloak follows behind them as they disappear behind a winding turn.

Swallowing down the bile that arises in your throat as an unsettled chill creeps down your spine, you keep moving along your original route. It was just a stranger. You’re paranoid, on edge, searching to find shadows and enemies in places in which they are not there.

Nevermind how something about the stranger's gaze felt oddly…familiar. Although you cannot place from where.

You continue along your original path, turning down the alley that will take you back to the city center. Glancing over your shoulder, you see nobody behind you, just the bustle of people continuing their way down the mainstreet. You mentally scold yourself. You’re being ridiculous, and casting lingering glances as you loiter in one place for too long is only going to attract attention.

When you turn forward, you catch a glimpse of movement, as something disappears behind a wall up ahead of you. “Shit,” you think to yourself, rushing forward as you place your back against the stone wall, peeking an eye out to see if you can spot them.

All you can manage is the tail end of the dark cloak disappearing down another alleyway. You wait a moment, as if contemplating how daring - or foolish - you’re willing to be, before heading after them.

“This is a bad idea,” you whisper to yourself, hand drifting to the hilt of the sword at your waist as you follow after the mysterious figure. However, even if unwise, you’d rather know your enemy and have them right in front of you compared to being stalked like prey. You’ll get slain in a fair fight any day before getting your throat slit from behind.

It’s a morbid thought, something San would likely say during combat practice, and you wonder if you’ve been spending too much time with these men.

Following the stranger, you keep quiet on your feet. Pulling the sword out from its sheath, you tread carefully, slowing your pace as you near the corner that the cloak had disappeared behind. Holding the sword firm in your grasp, you take a deep and shaky breath, before jumping to face your attacker.

Only to find there is nobody there, just another barren alleyway. Another alleyway that leads to nothing but a dead end, a stone wall looming tall before you.

You frown, confused at how this is possible. Your gaze darts around the narrow alleyway, searching for a cloaked figure, but it remains entirely empty.

Letting out a troubled sigh, you resheath your sword and turn back around.

Only to be met face first with the masked stranger.

Your breath dies in your throat, and you instinctively pull an arm back, aiming to strike them. However, as you swing forward, they narrowly dodge your strike, managing to grab your wrist instead. They twist it, not so hard as to dislodge anything, but enough that it disarms you. Then, using their free hand to push you backwards, they press you up against the stone wall. Elbow against your chest and hand gripping your upper arm, their spare hand grips tightly around your other wrist, rending you immobile.

Your chest heaves, not from tiredness but scheer panic. They’ve got you. Your gaze flickers up, to scan the face of your assailant. The person that will turn you in to the black-clad men, or is perhaps one themself.

The strangers' dark eyes meet yours from beneath their thick cloak, black orbs dancing as they move to scan over your face. Cat-like in their shape, with thick eye-lashes and brows.

Then the stranger laughs.

It’s not a menacing laugh, nor one you would expect from someone who is about to kill you. Instead it’s joyous, almost disbelieving.

“It is you!” The stranger exclaims, their voice light and feminine.

Feminine and familiar. You narrow your eyes.

“Do I…” You start, swallowing down the bile that has arisen in your throat, as well as the tremble of fear in your voice. “Do I know you?”

The stranger’s eyebrows furrow together into a look of confusion, before lighting up in realization. “Oh!” They say, before doing the last thing you would have ever expected of removing their hands from you entirely. “Of course!”

The stranger pulls off the hood of their cloak, revealing a head of long, thick red hair. They follow the removal of their hood by doing the same with their mask, and with it, you are hit with a wave of not only relief, but scheer and unadulterated joy.

“Yeji!” You nearly shout, pulling your back from the wall and wrapping your arms around your old laundress.

She chuckles, and then you are both laughing. In happiness, in relief, in sheer and utter disbelief. You pull away, placing both of your hands along her jaw to cup her face. You scan every detail, to ensure that she is real and actually standing before you, not some sort of trick or illusion.

But is her, just as you had seen her last at the castle. Maybe not exactly the same, wearing far different clothes than the modest beige dress she had adorned as your laundress, hair worn loosely, and eyes holding more of an edge than they ever had before.

Still, it is Yeji.

Yeji with the shimmering grin and freckle on her nose. Yeji who you know, and knows you in return. Yeji from your castle. Your home.

Yeji, a relic from the past that has not been destroyed.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack, following me around like that,” you laugh, taking one of your hands and giving her a slap on the shoulder, playful and not hard enough to actually hurt.

“Sorry,” she grins. “I didn’t want to attract any attention on the street. Figured it would be safer to lure you somewhere quiet, and you know, I also wanted to make sure it was actually you first.”

She then scoffs, returning the slap onto your own shoulder. “I didn’t expect you to pull out a sword on me! Where did you even get one of those?”

You consider answering, but a heavy cloud of unanswered questions hangs over the two of you, its presence loud and rattling like thunder. The jovial nature to your reunion cannot last long, not when there’s so much at stake, not when your world has crumbled to ash since you last spoke.

“What are you doing in Bebbanburg?” You ask, before realizing there’s a far more pressing question at hand. “How did you get out of the castle?”

Yeji smiles, placing her hand over one of your own along her cheek. “After what happened with the king in the ball-room, it was chaos,” she explains. “The Dark Army were rounding up and capturing all those who worked in the castle and may have been close to you.”

Your heart seizes at the statement, and your voice is quiet as you speak again. “Did they hurt them?”

“I don’t know,” Yeji replies, tone equally as somber. “A group of us laundresses escaped together using the underground tunnel system. I didn’t see what happened to those they had rounded up, but…”

She swallows hard, eyes pitiful as they meet your own. “But with how The Dark Army were talking, and the screams that followed behind us…I don’t think it would have ended well for them, Princess.”

Your throat swells at her admission, and it becomes more difficult to breathe as your eyes fill with the remnants of tears. Your mind is flooded with the unwelcome image of all of your old servants - your friends, as they had far surpassed their job description - tortured to try and probe them for information regarding you.

You wipe at your eyes with your hands, stuffing down the rising guilt and pain, placing a lid on these horrible thoughts. You will mourn later, when you have the time to properly grieve and honour all that they have lost because of you. For now, you must keep moving, deal with what is right in front of you.

“You keep calling them The Dark Army,” you begin, changing the subject. “Is that a made up title, or something they’ve defined themselves as? Do we know who they are?”

Yeji shakes her head. “Nobody knows who they are, it’s just what we’ve been calling them because of their armour. Not to mention the fact that they are about the sourest men I’ve ever met.”

“You’ve spoken to them?” You ask, scolding yourself for the fear that seizes in your chest at the thought of it. Of them being anywhere near her, or anyone you care about, for that matter.

She nods. “They’re poking around the city. Trying to keep a low profile, because Bebbanburg doesn’t like any semblance of war or conflict contaminating their streets, but they’re here. We try to keep to ourselves by not causing any trouble or disturbances and they mostly leave us alone.”

Your head buzzes at the confirmation that they are here, within the walls and perhaps a mere alley-way over, which is far, far too close.

“You keep saying we,” you note. “There’s more of you?”

Yeji nods, a soft smile grazing her lips. “Lot’s of us. We’ve set up a refugee camp on the outskirts of the city. Bebbanburg doesn’t want us here, because of course they don’t, but at least it’s safe. Not much crime or Anti-Libaiyan extremists in the city, so even if it’s not much, it’s all that we can really ask for.”

If she had told you this a couple weeks ago, you’d have been startled to know that there were Anti-Libaiyan extremists at all. However, having been given insight into the monstrosities your father was capable of, this no longer comes as a surprise, but rather expected.

“Can you take me to them?” You ask, and Yeji nods.

“Of course,” she says, grabbing your hand as she begins to walk back up the alley-way. “Although, I’d recommend keeping a low-profile, seeing that you're alive might cause a little too much excitement. Draw attention.”

You nod in agreement, following behind her through the winding alley-ways. It’s not until you’re almost back on the main city street that you remember why exactly you were trekking through the alleyways in the first place.

“Wait,” you say, stopping. Yeji turns to face you, raising a quizzical eyebrow. “There’s some people I need you to meet first.”

“Where have you been?” Woo asks as you approach. The three men have gathered around the fountain within the center of the city square, water spouting from the tall and golden statue into a small pond embedded with various coloured jewels along its rim. The falling water casts a veil of mist around them, as well as the various other groups gathered beside it. Many of them are tourists from different kingdoms, which you can recognize by the various types of clothing they wear, such as the vibrant coloured patchwork of the group next to you that is distinctly Zarian. It seems a prime spot to talk, the definition of hiding in plain sight.

“You were supposed to meet us here a half-hour ago,” Woo says with a scowl, before he notices Yeji beside you. His gaze flickers up and down, as if assessing her potential danger. “Who is this?”

You take a deep breath, preparing yourself, before motioning to her. “You guys, this is Yeji.”

She gives them a smile to which none of the men return, and for a moment you stand in silence.

“We’ve heard that one before,” Woo says.

Your face warms with embarrassment, and you clear your throat before beginning to explain. “This is the real Yeji, the girl whose name I used. She was one of my laundresses back at the castle, as well as a close friend.”

Another moment of silence follows, as none of the men appear to know what to say, or how to approach the appearance of a stranger.

Eventually, Seonghwa speaks, tone polite. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says, to which Yeji returns the sentiment. Although he isn’t looking at you to see it, you cast Seonghwa a grateful smile all the same.

“This is Seonghwa, San, and Woo,” you say, pointing to each of them in turn. “They have been helping me get to Kuroku.”

“Thank you for aiding Her Highness,” Yeji says, placing a hand on her chest while delivering a curtsy. A sign of respect. Although…exceedingly formal respect.

San’s lips pull together into a stifled smile, and Woo raises an eyebrow.

“You, um, don’t have to do that,” you say, placing a hand on Yeji’s shoulder and gently tugging her upwards. “It’s not really like that.”

“Oh,” she says, straightening herself as her eyebrows raise in surprise. There’s a silence that follows, as well as a sense of discomfort that hangs in the air, as Yeji chews nervously on her lower lip.

And for all the love that you have for her, you know exactly what she’s thinking, as it’s been drilled into her since the moment she began to work at the castle: The demands of Libaiyan proprietary.

She ponders that if the relationship with this group of men escorting you is not formal, then what is it, and how far have you stretched the rules of etiquette that bind you?

You wouldn’t even know how to answer that question even if she asked.

Instead of dwelling on the subject and the lingering discomfort, you turn to Woo and Seonghwa. “Did the two of you find a place for us to stay the night?”

Woo scoffs in annoyance while Seonghwa shakes his head, defeated.

“Not anywhere reasonable,” Seonghwa says. “There’s a few places we can go if nightfall comes, but we honestly might be better off sleeping in the woods. It should be a clear night, and at least it won’t cost us an arm and a leg.”

You frown, not fond of the idea of spending yet another night on the ground, especially without a tarp or blanket to shield you from the elements.

Fortunately, Yeji pipes up from beside you. “If you’re looking for a place to stay, we’ve formed a refuge on the outskirts of the city. I believe we have an extra tent to spare.”

Now this finally causes the men’s expression to shift, the discomfort and wariness on each of their faces replaced with a glimpse of relief.

“Alright,” San says, gaze shifting over to you even as he speaks to Yeji, and his expression is difficult to read. He appears almost bemused. “Lead the way.”

The refuge, while about as bleak as you expected it to be, fills you with an undeniable sense of glee. Mostly due to how big it is, meaning that even if the mass size of the refuge indicates that there have been hundreds driven from the Libaiyan kingdom, there are also far more people who survived and escaped the castle than you’d originally thought.

Gathered just outside of Bebbanburg’s walls, dozens of the beige and tattered fabric tents are clumped together, creating a sort of maze as people make their way between the narrow passages. Head shrouded beneath your hood, the five of you pass through the different camps, ducking beneath laundry lines hanging between tent poles and maneuvering through the small groups gathered around make-shift fire pits as they roast small rodents and birds for dinner.

You watch their faces, searching amidst them for anger, for loss and resentment. While some are quiet, dark circles of tiredness hanging beneath their eyes, others are not so beaten down. There is the sound of laughter in the air, and a group of children nearly bump into you as they recklessly chase each other through the labyrinth of tents.

You smile. All is not lost.

You’d been so focused on your own survival, of getting to Kuroku alive and fighting to give your kingdom a chance, that you hadn’t realized the fear you had of there being no kingdom to fight for. Of not only the castle being besieged, but the entire kingdom being left in ashes.

Yet, even if this is so, there are still Libaiyans left. There is still a nation, full of life, that will not let themselves be stripped of their pride so easily.

“This way,” Yeji says softly, trying not to draw too much attention to your party. A group of girls wave to her as you pass by, and you recognize some of them as your kitchen maids, although you were never close enough to have learned their names.

The women are seated around a small fire. With the setting sun, they gather closed together, a blanket stretched over them. Or, upon closer look, a Libaiyan flag, its golden sun bright against its stark white background.

There is a man playing the lute sitting beside them. He has light eyes and a soft voice, fingers dancing as he strums the small wooden instrument in tune with his voice.

The man sings a Libaiyan folk song, one about a man arriving home to a small Libaiyan village after fighting many long years at war. The song doesn’t make clear which war exactly, centuries old and deriving from a time of high conflict, but it doesn’t really matter.

After all, the song is less about the war, and more about coming home. The ghosts of his fallen comrades following him, cane in hand to support his leg that will never heal, and his love having left the village to marry another man from the kingdom city.

The song is normally sung in a minor chord. It’s sad and melancholic, painting a tale of loss and grief.

However, the man currently singing has changed its tune to a major chord.

A message of triumph. Of defiance. Of the man’s survival, even after all else is lost and destroyed.

A song of hope.

You want to join them. To listen to this man sing your nation's song, to let his tune of triumph fill not only the air, but your entire body. Your heart, even your soul. Reignite the reason you started this journey, why you couldn’t give up.

These people need you. Your people need you.

Yeji wraps her arm around your wrist, giving you a gentle tug forward as you linger near the fire for a little too long.

“Don’t worry,” she whispers. “You’ll be able to hear his voice late into the night, even from your tent.”

You aren’t sure how to respond, how to depict your gratitude for all of this. For her taking you in and letting you hear these songs that you weren’t so sure you’d ever hear again, for being alive and granting you hope.

All you can do is reach to give her hand a soft squeeze, and hope she understands.

Yeji stops before a small tent, one that doesn’t seem big enough for two men, let alone three. “I know it isn’t much, but I hope it will do.”

“It’ll do,” Seonghwa answers with a smile.

“Especially considering we have no luggage,” Woo grumbles.

If Yeji hears the dissatisfaction in his voice, she doesn’t show it. “My own tent is just over there,” she says, pointing to what is only a few tents over. It’s a bit larger than the one before you, although not by much. She turns to you. “You can stay with me.”

You’re grateful for the sentiment, considering none of the men - except maybe San - would enjoy being forced to share such close quarters with you.

“There’s a table inside, if you’d all like to sit and regroup. I can catch you up on all that has happened since the siege,” Yeji says.

Her gaze flickers over to the three men, and it is hesitant. Curious, as it returns to you. “And you can do the same.”

“Scorpion beasts, a mimic, and a dragon-basilisk hybrid all in just a few weeks?” Yeji gapes, hands clutching tight around her mug of hot tea, as if she needs something to hold onto. “And you’re alive?”

“I take it your journey here wasn’t so exciting?” San asks, sipping his own mug. He seems in good spirits today, as he willingly engages in conversation with Yeji. Especially compared to Seonghwa - who is more hesitant, likely less willing to jump the gun on trusting a new stranger - and Woo, who sits with his eyes bearing down into the table, not touching his mug even as the tea inside grows cold.

“No, we took the main path down the Arila River, so far less rural,” Yeji explains. “Although it was a good thing you didn’t do the same. There were Dark Army ports all along its bank. We were stopped and searched at every one of them.”

If there’s one thing you’ve learnt from Yeji’s recollection of the besiegement and the time that followed, it’s that the black-clad men are relentless in their pursuit. They want you, at any cost. You only wish you knew who they were, so at least then you’d know why.

“I really am glad you’re alive, Princess,” Yeji says suddenly, hand drifting to rest on your own atop the table. “Libaiya has a chance to be strong again, so long as your blood sits on the throne. You’ll make the perfect Queen.”

You open your mouth to thank her, albeit bashfully, but are cut off as Woo pushes himself from the table. It rattles in protest, although the elemental does not seem to care, as he stomps towards the tent-flap. He does not meet any of your eyes as he disappears beneath it.

“I’m sorry,” Yeji says, tone worried. “Did I say something to-”

“It’s not you,” San reassures her. “He’s just been dealing with a lot lately.”

“I’ll go talk to him,” you say, because you have a feeling about what may be bothering him. Your blood, as Yeji had said. Although to him, it’s more like poison.

“No,” Seonghwa cuts you off, already rising to his feet. “You shouldn’t, I don’t think he’d take it well. I’ll go.”

You want to protest, as Seonghwa does not know about Woo’s past, about the orphanage. The Libaiyan orphanage, and all the horrors that happened there. But the empath is already heading towards the tent flap, and the words die on your lips.

Even so, maybe he is right. Woo is upset, upset about you and your nation, perhaps you are not the one who should attempt to console him. Besides, Seonghwa has always been far better at that.

Yet, as you watch Seonghwa disappear after Woo, you have the sinking feeling it may not go as the empath plans.

Wooyoung cannot breathe.

Making his way blindly through the darkness of the refuge, the sun having set over the horizon, he pushes past Libaiyan’s as he heads for the exit. They turn and look at him as he shoves past, and he wonders if they know. If they can smell it on him.

“You were his,” they whisper as he walks by, or is that just in his head? “One of his dogs. Our dogs. A machine for use. Worthless.”

The last word is in Warden’s voice, and Wooyoung places a hand over his ears to try and tune it out. The other clutching his chest.

He can’t breathe. By the god’s, he really can’t breathe.

Each short pant is as unsatisfying as the next. He feels dizzy, wanting to summon a ball of flame to guide him, but he can’t seem to move his hands in front of him. He pushes forward, searching for an exit through the mazes of tents.

Then he’s covered in something. It’s thin, engulfing him, and panic rises hot in his chest. They’ve gotten him. Again. It’s happening again. He opens his mouth to scream, but no sound comes out.

It’s only after nobody attempts to drag him away and he gets a whiff of soap that he realizes that what covers him is not a bag, but someone's laundry. With shaky hands, he untangles himself from the fabric, before glancing down at his captor.

It’s a Libaiyan flag.

The bright, golden, and horrible sun stares back at him. The same one hung in the cafeteria, the one he pledged allegiance to three times a day. The one plastered atop the ceiling of his bedroom, watching him every night. The one deckled on Warden’s shoulder, as he tortured them relentlessly, as he murdered Yeonjun.

Wooyoung throws it to the ground, hands still shaking as he walks over it, the dirt on the bottom of his shoe stark against the flag’s white background.

“Woo!” A voice calls from behind him, but it sounds far away. Maybe it’s also just in his head. He keeps walking.

He can hear the sound of the same man singing as when you’d all entered the camp. He has a nice voice as he sings Libaiyan songs. Songs he’s never heard. Songs that were reserved for Libaiyan citizens, not slaves.

Wooyoung’s throat burns with the taste of Libaiyan tea. Only one sip, and it will not leave his tongue.

It tasted like the infirmary tent after Assessment Day in the orphanage. Before Warden got there, but not before Wooyoung got beaten within the sparring ring. They’d given him the tea to calm him down, try and make him forget the burns lacing up and down his arms.

With the taste on his tongue it’s as if he can feel them again, the searing pain starting in his mind and seeping into his skin.

“Woo, hold on!” The voice calls again, closer than the last. This time Wooyoung knows it’s not in his head, as he recognizes it to be Seonghwa. The sound of foot-steps follows behind him, as the empath chases after him.

He does not turn around. He needs to get out of this place.

Wooyoung begins to run.

Tearing through the refuge, he sees Bebbenburg’s outer walls appear ahead of him, the light emitted from the lanterns hung on the outside fortress drawing him in like a beacon.

When he reaches the wall, he makes sure to take a few steps inside and past the gates, to ensure that he is no longer within Libaiyan territory. Here, he is within the Kuroken realm. Safe.

He pauses to catch his breath, less from the running and more from the panic that has seized him. Hands placed on his knees, Wooyoung lets the foggy haze fade from his mind, although it does not relinquish control so easily. His heart continues to race, ears ringing with a constant buzz.

Wooyoung doesn’t know why this is affecting him so horribly. He’s been to the Libaiyan castle since entering the orphanage, having stolen plenty of Libaiyan treasures and heirlooms on their heists within the castle.

Then again, that was in the dark of the night, when there were no songs to be sung or tea to be drunk. When the flags were shrouded in pure shadow, not wrapped around him like bonds of rope.

That was when he was in control. That was when he was taking from them. That was revenge.

That was before he entangled himself with their princess.

“Woo, what the hell?” Seonghwa asks as he approaches, slightly out of breath from chasing down the elemental. “Where are you going?”

“Away,” Wooyoung says, because it is all he can manage. He doesn’t look up at Seonghwa, instead staring at the cobblestone beneath his shoes, blinking blearily as he tries to direct his focus to its stone patch-work.

“Why did you just storm out of there?” Seonghwa asks. He’s not mad. Not yet. He genuinely wishes to know.

“Because of what that woman said,'' Wooyoung answers in his mind. “Because it’s true, she is the Libaiyan throne. Because it is her blood that’s done all of this. That did this to me.”

Wooyoung, of course, does not actually say any of this out loud. Seonghwa won’t understand. He doesn’t know, not only about Wooyoung’s past, but the orphanages in general. He’s from a small town within Zaria’s realm, far away from any news about Libaiyan political treachery.

He won’t get it, and Wooyoung isn’t going to even bother to try and explain it to him, especially when his tongue feels three sizes too large and his heart beats at a million times per minute.

“Leave me alone, Hwa,” he mutters, turning away from Seonghwa and heading deeper into Bebbanburg, hoping the empath will take the hint and piss off.

But he doesn’t, because after all, it’s Seonghwa. The blonde follows after him. “Where are you going to go, Woo? You saw the poster, it’s better to stay together, keep a low profile.”

“Leave me alone, Hwa,” Wooyoung repeats, beginning to walk faster, tone a little more pointed.

“Is this about her?” Seonghwa asks, and now his own tone is rising, annoyed as has to jog to catch up to the elemental. “Look I know you’re mad, I am too. But can’t you just push that aside? We’re almost to Kuroku, then we’ll be past it. We can move on.”

“Right. We’ll get to Kuroku. She’ll leave. San will leave. And then inevitably, you will too.”

After being met with silence, Seonghwa lets out a groan of annoyance, continuing to chase after him.

“Woo, stop!” He calls, reaching out to grab Wooyoung’s arm. Wooyoung slaps his hand away, perhaps a little harder than he should have. “Can’t we just talk about this? Can’t we have an actual conversation for once instead of you shoving me away?”

Wooyoung keeps moving, because no, they can’t. Not right now. Not like this. Not when he can’t think straight.

“I don’t get what you have to be so mad about anyway!”

Wooyoung stops at this, finally turning around to face Seonghwa. “What?”

Seonghwa stares at him for a moment, eyes wide and mouth parted with surprise that Wooyoung actually stopped. Then he frowns, eyebrows furrowing together, as if remembering his annoyance.

“Yes, she lied to you,” Seonghwa starts. “And I know it sucks. But it’s San’s money on the line, and clearly he’s been able to forgive her.”

Seonghwa swallows hard. “And even if I haven’t been able to do the same, even after all she’s done to me I’m willing to swallow my own feelings to get this journey done. For them.”

Them. By that Seonghwa means San and you. You, after all that you have done - to Seonghwa, to San, to Wooyoung himself - he’s still choosing you.

“Well maybe you shouldn’t, Hwa!” Wooyoung says, and now he’s shouting. It’s good. The anger provides him comfort, something familiar to latch onto. “She used you! She used all of us! I know you have this deep-seeded issue of thinking everyone and everything has good in them, but open your eyes! Not all that glitters is fucking gold! A pair of pretty eyes doesn’t repair what she’s done, it doesn’t mean that she isn’t rotten inside!”

“Just as you are too,” a voice reminds him within his mind, but he ignores it.

Seonghwa opens his mouth to cut back, but Wooyoung is not finished. “She lied through her teeth, and you’re really just going to let it slide? Keep quiet because it’ll make things easier for her? For the sake of the gods, grow a spine!”

“Why do you care so much about what I do?” Seonghwa yells back, taking a step towards Wooyoung. Seonghwa’s fist is clenched at his side, and for a moment Wooyoung thinks that Seonghwa might actually hit him. He almost wishes he would.

“Why do you care if I forgive her? Why do you care so much about whether I let people walk all over me? Why do you care?”

Wooyoung doesn’t know why he does it.

Maybe it’s the way his mind still buzzes from moments prior, hazy and foggy and unable to think of anything beyond his anger. Anything beyond the way his heart pounds rapidly and vision blurs with an anxious haze.

Maybe it’s the way Seonghwa’s words sting, more than Wooyoung wants to admit, and he wishes to prove the man wrong. Show him that it’s not so simple. Win, in a strange and possibly fucked up way, but win nonetheless.

Or maybe, more than anything, it’s the way Seonghwa is looking at him. Big brown eyes scanning his face, full of anger, but also passion. Desperately searching for an answer, as if there will be a solution to the enigma that is Wooyoung hidden somewhere on the elemental’s face.

Wooyoung knows what the answer is that Seonghwa seeks.

It’s the part of himself that Wooyoung has never admitted exists. The part that he has shoved down, smothered, pretended wasn’t there. The part that flutters at the sound of Seonghwa whining at his teasing. The part that stalls when Seonghwa lets his hand fall onto Wooyoung’s shoulder, thinking nothing of it, simply trying to get the elemental's attention or leaning in to point out something in the distance.

The part that broke the first night you and Seonghwa spent together. Defeated, angry, and beaten down, crawling into his bed that night in a drunken stooper, aching at the thought of the elemental being intimate with someone. Well, someone else.

The part that he once again shoved away the next morning, and had every day before and has every day since.

It’s that part of himself that he’s dejected and ignored that now comes crawling to the surface, invited by Seonghwa’s searching eyes, that unleashes its presence in a way that will make itself known. That will ensure it will no longer be forgotten, that it cannot be ignored or subdued again.

That part of Wooyoung unleashes itself in the form of a kiss.

It’s a horrible one, teeth smashing into teeth as Wooyoung grabs onto the collar of Seonghwa’s tunic and roughly pulls the man into him. In fact, it’s less of a kiss compared to two faces smashing together, Seonghwa clearly not prepared for it, but the message is sent all the same.

Wooyoung holds him there for three seconds, which feel far more like an eternity as they pass by.

Then Wooyoung pushes Seonghwa off of him, letting go of the man’s collar as the blonde stumbles back.

For a moment they stand in silence, and it’s a deafening one. Seonghwa’s hand drifts up to his lips, grazing them, eyes wide as he stares at Wooyoung. He’s clearly in a state of shock, as he says nothing, just stares with his mouth parted open in disbelief.

“There,” Wooyoung breathes. “Do you get it?”

Seonghwa continues to stare at him. Then his eyebrows furrow together, and when he begins to speak, Seonghwa’s tone is incredulous. “Woo, what are you-”

“Forget it,” Wooyoung cuts him off, because he doesn’t want to know what Seonghwa is going to say. He doesn’t want to hear the empath call him crazy, ask him what the hell he’s thinking.

Because Wooyoung doesn’t know the answer to that either. The mind-numbing fog has returned to his head, his heart racing even faster than it had before.

He needs to get out of here.

“Just go back to the tent, Hwa,” Wooyoung says, and then his feet are set in motion. He heads deeper into Bebbanburg, away from the Libaiyan tent. Away from you and San. Away from what he’s done, the irreversible mistake he just made.

He runs away, and this time Seonghwa doesn’t follow him.

“What were you thinking, what were you thinking, what were you thinking?” Wooyoung repeats the question to himself over and over again in his head, trying to make sense of what he’s done.

The look of bewilderment on Seonghwa’s face, followed by incredulity. Shock, then disbelief. Almost angry, and why shouldn’t he be? How could Wooyoung do something like this? Something so blatantly stupid and thoughtless?

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

Wooyoung still cannot come up with an answer, because frankly, he wasn’t thinking. And he still can’t.

He turns down one of the many alley’s surrounding him, head buzzing, not a clue of where he’s going. All he knows is that it’s away, and for now, that is enough for him.

Wooyoung closes his eyes, hand trailing along the wall beside him as he runs. He feels silly, running with his eyes closed, but he cannot bring himself to keep them open. This way, the world around him fades. He can simply be moving, feel the air rush past him, and pretend that nothing happened.

There are no Libaiyan refugees a few alleyways over. He does not care for the Liabiyan princess, nor did he lose San a mere night ago. He did not reveal his feelings to a man he loves and ruin their entire friendship in one fell swoop.

He is merely running in the darkness, chest heaving for air, fingers scraping along the cobblestone wall.

Maybe, if he keeps running like this, he’ll actually have escaped it all.

Or maybe, running like this is not such an acceptable option, as it stops him from noticing the figure that has been following after him.

Wooyoung does not notice he is being followed until it is too late. Until he’s already been shoved sideways, face smacking into the stone wall beside him.

At the very least, the blows knock him from his stupor, and his eyes fly open as he stumbles. Whirling to face his attacker, fire ignites immediately within his hand, dancing in between his fingers.

However, the second he turns, he’s met with a swift punch to the jaw that catches him off guard. Mostly because it does not come from where he can feel the man beside him - who now pins Wooyoung’s wrist to the alley-wall - but from the other side.

It’s not one attacker, but many.

“Shit,” Wooyoung thinks to himself, spitting out the blood that fills his mouth, the metallic taste thick on his tongue and gritty between his teeth. Eyes searching the darkness around him, his attackers are nothing more than blurs within the night, and he gives the one in front of him a swift kick to the groin. The man lets out a long string of curses, and Wooyoung uses the opportunity to try and rush forward.

It’s of no use, as another man (or two, maybe even three?) pins his wrists to the wall.

It’s not the most efficient way to capture a person, as it leaves their legs functional to kick and mouth free to spit, bite, or scream for help.

Unless, of course, you’re capturing an elemental.

Wooyoung tries to summon fire into his hands, and while it manages to dance around his fingers, the inability to move his arms stops him from managing anything greater. He tries to summon the flame with only his mind, staring at his hand with sheer determination. He knows it’s possible, he’s done it before. Once. The night Yeonjun died.

Of course, he didn’t exactly mean to, and apparently it isn’t the sort of thing he can do by will, as his hands remain barren of flame.

Instead, he’s left helpless, pulling against the grips of the men that bind him. His eyes dart amongst the shadows that surround them, and he tally’s roughly ten of them, although he’s certain that there’s more as he hears shouts from down the alley-way.

One of the men’s hands digs into Wooyoung’s hair, pulling his head forward before slamming it back into the stone-wall. Hard.

Stars dance before Wooyoung, and a darkness creeps into the corners of his vision. He continues to kick out in front of him, although each swing is far weaker than the last, as the pain leaves him sluggish.

The man yanks on his hair again, before slamming his head back into the wall once more, and suddenly Wooyoung is on the ground.

He doesn’t remember crumpling, but the stone pathway is cold against his back, so he must have passed out for a moment. He opens his eyes, vision swaying as he tries to make out the men surrounding him.

He can vaguely spot the face of the man above him. Middle-aged, with a dark beard and intense eyes. He speaks to someone beside him, although Wooyoung’s mind is too muddled to make out the actual words.

Likely not thugs then, as they aren’t even bothering to hide their identities. Besides, there’s too many of them to be a regular mugging. Too conspicuous, so it must be targeted.

But if it’s targeted, then who are they?

“W-who?” He asks, because the full sentence is far too much effort. His words are slurred and he sounds drunk. Which to be fair is an awful lot like how he feels.

The man above him doesn’t answer, but instead places a hand on Wooyoung’s throat, silencing him. With his other two hands, the man pins Wooyoung’s wrists to the ground.

No, no, that doesn’t make any sense. He can't have three hands. Which means it must be somebody else pinning his wrists to the ground, as well as another that slips the cloth bag over his head. How many were there again?

By the god’s Wooyoung really can’t think right now.

“Knock him out,” one of the men speaks from above him. Now that Wooyoung can make out.

Then the world goes black.

“And he seriously didn’t tell you where he was going?” San asks, arms crossed as he leans against the training post outside of the men’s tent. It’s covered in grooves, clearly crafted by a sword, and one in the hands of someone not too pleased. A testament to San’s opinion on Woo not returning to the refuge last night.

“I already told you,” Seonghwa replies. His tone is also frustrated as he sits at an outside table, fingers tapping anxiously in rhythm with his jittering leg. “No. He didn’t.”

“He just took off?” San repeats, and you can understand why Seonghwa is becoming a bit annoyed. It’s also the third time you’ve heard San ask, although you have a feeling the swordsman isn’t actually expecting the answer to change. He simply wants to hear it again, to let him fuel the flame of his annoyance. “Without a word? Without a reason? Out into a city we’re currently being hunted in?”

Seonghwa’s eyes shift to the ground. “Yes.”

“And you let him?”

Seonghwa scowls at this. “What did you want me to do? You know Woo, he’s going to do what he wants no matter what anyone says or thinks.”

Seonghwa has been in a sour mood all morning, and something tells you there may be a little more to Woo leaving than he may be letting on. However, now is not the time to ponder what it might be, nor is it the time to start a fight. You simply need to find him.

“Let’s not start bickering with one another just because Woo’s not around to start it,” you say, attempting to remedy the argument before it can start. Fortunately, neither of the men are overly confrontational, at least not with each other.

“You’re right,” San sighs, turning to Seonghwa. “I’m sorry. I’m just stressed, I know it’s not your fault.”

Seonghwa gives San a sort of half-smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes before staring back down at his shoes. He appears to immediately lose himself in thought, knee bouncing anxiously.

Yeah, something definitely happened last night.

“This isn’t like him,” San says, pulling his sword out from his sheath and spinning it around in his hand. A nervous habit. “Staying out for the night, sure. But he’s always back by the next day. Always.”

With morning long past, the sun high in the sky with the arrival of late noon, San’s statement of “always” is replaced with “until today”, and a sense of uneasiness passes through you.

Something is wrong. You can feel it.

And with both San’s sword spinning in his hand and the sound of Seonghwa’s fingers tapping the table, you know that they can feel it too.

“I think we should go looking for him,” you say, expecting immediate approval. Instead both men look at you, and San shoots Seonghwa a side glance, to which the empath returns.

“What?” You ask, uncomfortable at the fact that it appears they’re both in on something you’re not.

San sighs. “You shouldn’t come.”

“What?” You say, this time with far more anger than confusion. “If Woo’s in danger then of course I’m going to come-”

“If Woo’s in danger then it’s likely because of the men who are looking for you,” San cuts you off, and while his tone is not accusatory, it is pointed.

You prepare a rebuttal, but it dies on your lips. San is right.

If the black-clad men have done something to Woo, then you going looking for him is likely exactly what they would want for you to do. While the stubborn part of you wants to go anyway, put Woo’s safety before your own. Be daring, bold, and perhaps a little stupid, just as Woo is in the face of danger, you know that this is not an option.

You need to get to Kuroku, and if you aren’t yet certain of the danger Woo may be in, you cannot afford to take such blatant risks.

“Alright,” you say, tone defeated as Seonghwa rises to his feet, San making his way towards the path leading outside of the refuge.

You don’t manage the next words until they’ve already left. Leaving you alone, face shrouded by your hood, suddenly aware of the wind’s chill nipping at your skin. The seasons are turning.

“Good luck.”

They are back sooner than you expected.

You sit at a table with Yeji, playing a game of Skirmish. A traditional Libaiyan game meant for children, due to the fact it has few rules and never really ends, so it can keep them occupied for hours. You didn’t particularly want to play, but Yeji said it might help to keep your mind distracted. You figured it was worth a shot.

It didn’t work.

However, it doesn’t matter, as when both San and Seonghwa approach from down the refuge’s path, the cards are forgotten. Tossing your deck to the side, you give San a look, one that asks: “Any luck?”. Although, you’re fairly certain of the answer, as there is no Woo in tow behind them.

San does not give you a look of his own. In fact, he does nothing. He simply stares back at you, a dead look to his eye.

It’s that look, the emptiness of it, that tells you something has gone wrong.

“What happened?” You ask as he approaches, although San does not reply. Instead he gives Seonghwa a fleeting glance, and the blonde meets it. His own expression is not as empty as San’s. In fact, it is the opposite. Brimming with emotion, Seonghwa’s eyes hold worry, mouth drawn tight, jaw clenched. A look of nothing less than pure fear.

“Seonghwa?” You ask, your own worry settling deep in your chest. Something has gone wrong, but what, and how badly?

The blonde doesn’t answer you with words, instead he moves towards the table. You hadn’t noticed before, but he holds something in his hands. The paper is a light tan colour, the size also familiar, and you recognize it to be one of your wanted posters. Immediately you're confused, as why would Seonghwa show you one of these? You’ve already seen dozens of them plastered all over Bebbanburg.

However, as he lays it down onto the table, the answer is blatantly obvious.

The paper is smeared with blood. The red stark against its light colouring, it doesn’t coat the poster fully, but is rather smothered haphazardly, the semblance of fingerprints notable. It’s testament to a job done quickly, as whoever did this did so with one purpose: to get a message across.

The message is made even more clear by the thick, dark lock of hair tied to the corner of the page.

Woo’s.

Beneath the lock of hair is writing, scrawled in black ink.

The Concursos Mountain Pass.

Three Days.

Wooyoung awakens to the back of his head pounding in a violent, aching fashion. The world sways in front of him, and it takes him a moment to remember where he is exactly.

However, at the sight of tarps on all sides of him, the tent coated in darkness as only the light of the setting evening sun is able to get through, he remembers.

Right, the Libaiyan refuge.

Wooyoung groans, blinking as he tries to get his eyes to focus, his pounding head making his thoughts difficult to string together.

He moves his hand, attempting to wipe the sweat beading along his forehead, only to realize that he can’t.

His hands are tied.

Eyebrows furrowing together, he looks over his shoulder. The chains that tie his wrists to the chair that he sits in are thick and made of iron. If he tried to melt his bonds with the fire between his fingers, rather than catching fire like rope, they’d heat up and burn his wrists.

“What the…” He croaks out, throat raspy. Who would have tied him to a chair? Surely not Seonghwa or San. Not very likely you, as he couldn't see what good that would do you. Maybe your friend, the Libaiyan patriot? But why?

Wait.

Wooyoung’s brain pauses, mind doing a double-take as he stares at his bonds, noting bruising along his wrist. The massive purple marks are dark against his bronzed skin, and are almost line-shaped, as if someone had been holding him.

No, he’s not in the Libaiyan refuge, he’s somewhere else.

The memories of last night come rushing back to him. Running from the tent. The fight with Seonghwa. The subsequent kiss with Seonghwa.

His capture.

The shock of it is enough to cause Wooyoung to jolt awake, mind finally clearing even if the pain at the back of his head does not subside.

As if sensing Wooyoung’s realization, a man appears from under the tent-flap. He’s older, his face like a worn-glove, leathery and wrinkled in its places most used. His dark hair is cropped short, although his beard remains long, as well as scruffy.

Most notably, he’s dressed entirely in black armour. One of your predators.

“Ah, good. You’re awake,” the man says, and his voice is not as deep as Wooyoung expected.

“Who are you and-”

“Don’t speak. Not everyone has arrived yet,” the man cuts him off dismissively. “Besides, we’ll be the ones asking the questions.”

“Oh, my mistake, I thought-”

Wooyoung doesn’t know why he is surprised by the slap, but he is. Maybe because he hadn’t even had the chance to say the insult he was planning yet. Usually the hit would at least come afterwards.

These men, they aren’t playing around, that is clear.

His cheek stings, and he can imagine the bright red mark appearing along his skin as more men in dark armour appear from under the tent-flap. Wooyoung is surprised by the amount of them that manage to crowd into the space, almost a dozen.Then again, it is a big tent. Mostly empty, other than a small table in the corner, scattered with a variety of knick-knacks and spices that seem non-sensensical. Lunadore pollen, silver beads, Alagor Root, and a bunch of other rare ingredients the Wooyoung does not have time to make sense of, although set him on edge nonetheless.

If they plan to torture him, the table should be full of knives. Hammers. Maybe a few pliers to pull off his fingernails. Not plants.

The man who slapped him - their leader, it seems - clears his throat, and the group of men fall silent. Each of them turn to face Wooyoung, eyes glinting with something dark, something that says that they know more than he does.

Wooyoung makes sure to give each of them in turn a glare.

“I’m sure you know who we are by now,” the man says.

Wooyoung considers playing dumb, maybe earning himself a matching slap on the other cheek. However, he needs information, which means at least for now he must play along.

“You attacked the Libaiyan castle. Killed their king,” Wooyoung answers, meeting the man’s gaze. His eyes are sharp, intimidating, and Wooyoung makes sure not to look away. Not to show any fragility. Even if he has been made into the weakest in the room, he need not show it.

“People have been calling you The Dark Army,” Wooyoung says, and then because he can’t help himself, adds: “Cute name. Very scary. Did you come up with it yourselves?”

The man doesn’t answer his question, but instead smirks. “If you know who we are, I’m sure you also know what we’re looking for.”

You. That’s the answer the man wants. But Wooyoung won’t give that to him. “Power?” He ventures instead. “Glory? Access to the king’s many bejeweled robes?”

The man steps forward, grabbing Wooyoung's face in his hand. His fingers squeeze Wooyoung’s jaw, so much so that it not only hurts, but prevents him from speaking.

“Enough playing coy,” the man says. He still does not seem angry, face blank and tone almost bored as he grips Wooyoung’s face between his fingers. “Tell me where she is.”

He eases his grip just enough to let Wooyoung speak. “Where who is?”

The man’s grip tightens once again, fingernails digging into the elemental’s skin, and Wooyoung forces himself not to wince. “The girl you’ve been running all over Burovia with. The princess turned convict. Ring any bells?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wooyoung manages. At this the man lets go of his jaw, but it’s only to deliver another slap that burns along his cheek. The man grips his jaw again, and Wooyoung struggles to focus on the man’s face, blinking away the stars that dance across his vision.

“Yes, you do,” the man says, and this time his tone is almost soft, gentle as he attempts to coax out an answer. Somehow it’s far more unsettling than the blankness. “Is she with the refugees? At one of the hostels, or even a tavern?”

“I told you, I don’t know,” Wooyoung says through gritted teeth. This time the man does not slap him, but instead grips his hair as he brings Wooyoung face down into his knee. Pain radiates from his nose through the rest of his face, and when the man lifts him back up, it takes Wooyoung a moment to register the man’s face before him through the blurriness.

It’s not until now that Wooyoung realizes the severity of the danger that he is in.

They want him to hand you over to them, and Wooyoung can’t do that.

But why can’t he do that? It would be the easiest thing to do. Nobody would blame him, after everything that you’ve done, especially if it came down to choosing between his own life or yours. San and Seonghwa would understand.

You are the Libaiyan Princess. Your family sent him to the orphanage. Turning you in would rid himself of the volatile confusion that has plagued him, it would fulfill the dream that his younger self wished for every night and morning. So why can’t he do it?

He knows the answer. How he feels towards you has grown beyond hatred. It’s grown beyond mere toleration for San and Seonghwa’s sake. It’s grown beyond the excuses he’s been telling himself for weeks.

He’s not going to hand you over to them to die, no matter what that may mean for himself. Unfortunately, what that may mean for himself is not looking good.

“You’re going to tell us,” the man states, not to persuade, but to simply state as fact. “It’s just a matter of how much you’re willing to put yourself through before you do.”

“Well I have nothing but time,” Wooyoung answers, grinning, and he knows his teeth are bloody. Can feel the grittiness on his teeth, or maybe that’s still from the night before.

The man smiles back. “You have three days.”

Wooyoung raises an eyebrow. “Because I’m just such lovely company?”

“Because that’s how long we’ve given her to come find you.”

Wooyoung pauses at this, and he knows he’s shown a glimpse of weakness. How did they get a message to you? Is he bluffing?

Would you really be stupid enough to come after him?

“Nobody will come,” Wooyoung says, and even he can hear the uncertainty in his voice. Surely you wouldn’t come after him. Not when you’re so close to Kuroku, to San’s freedom. You have to keep going, there’s no way you, San, and Seonghwa could take on a dozen armed and highly trained men, especially considering there’s more of them out there somewhere. It would be pointless, a suicide mission.

But Wooyoung also knows that none of you would leave him behind to die.

“That’s fine,” the man says with a shrug. “Either she comes to us, or we go to her with the information you’ll give us. It doesn’t matter.”

“You aren’t going to be able to torture anything out of me,” Wooyoung says with a scoff, tilting his chin up, defiant. “Pain? Yeah, I’ve been through my share.”

The corner of the man’s lip curves upward, eyes gleaming. “I know. That’s what they told me.”

Wooyoung frowns. They?

The man chuckles at Wooyoung’s weary expression, finally letting go of his hold on the elemental’s jaw. The group of soldiers step back, creating a pathway for him as the man heads over to the table covered with rare ingredients and spices.

The man begins to fiddle around with them, although what exactly he’s doing Wooyoung can’t make out, his vision obscured by the other men standing before him.

“Do you know what they say about those whose body cannot be broken?” The man calls over his shoulder, and Wooyoung catches a glimpse of what is in his hand: a small bowl and mallet, which he uses to grind down the Alagor Root.

“No,” Wooyoung answers, wary.

“Break their mind instead,” the man states, holding up a small vial of purple liquid that Wooyoung cannot identify, before pouring into the bowl. A strange, dark and odorous smoke wafts up from the concoction. It smells like something burning, although what exactly Wooyoung cannot place. That is, until he can. It’s burnt flesh. It reminds him of the infirmary tent, of his scorched arms.

An inkling of fear settles into Wooyoung’s chest as he becomes increasingly aware of the bonds on his wrist. He can’t move, run, fight back, or do anything, really.

For a man with so much power, he’s grown accustomed to never feeling powerless. For a moment, it’s like he’s thirteen again. At Warden’s disposal and no fire to call his own.

The man places the empty vile back down on the table, before grabbing something else Wooyoung cannot see, although he can hear the sizzling noise it makes as he adds it to the bowl.

Wooyoung cannot take the silence any longer, his curiosity - or better, fear - overtaking him. “What are you doing?” He asks.

Instead of answering him, the man begins to mutter something beneath his breath, making a strange circular motion with his hand above the bowl, which he has set back down on the table. Wooyoung cannot make out what he is saying, but the way the words leave his lips is almost rhythmic, like a priest delivering a chant.

Wooyoung scowls, opening his mouth to interrogate the other men around him as to what the hell is going on, but the words die on his tongue. He knows what the man is doing.

It’s part of the Old Faith. Old Magic.

Dark magic.

Wooyoung has never been a devoted servant to the gods. In fact, for all of his life he’s hated them. He hated them as a child for giving him a gift he could not use. He hated them as a teenager for cursing him with the power to destroy everything he held dear. He hates them as an adult for idly standing by as all of the horrible events of his childhood tumbled down one after the other.

However, even with his hatred towards the gods, he’s always considered worshiping them to be far more understandable than the Old Faith. More particularly, the Old Magic aspect.

It’s a breach of order. If the gods blessed the gifted with their powers, then Old Magic defies that. It’s taking from the earth what was not given to you. It’s blasphemous. Immoral and unnatural. At its very core wrong.

Wooyoung tugs at the chains around his wrists, which clatter in protest. Panic begins to rise in his chest, as one thought fills his head: “What the fuck are they going to do to me?”

The man finishes his chant, before digging into his pocket and pulling out a miniature knife. He uses it to create a small cut along the tip of his finger, holding it above the bowl as a drop of blood collects around the wound, before dropping into the potion.

Smiling to himself in satisfaction, the man takes the bowl with him as he heads back towards Wooyoung. Stopping before him, the man takes a moment to meet the elemental’s eyes, that glimmer of darkness potent within his gaze.

Wooyoung does not look away, but by the gods, he wants to.

“Well,” the man says. “Open up.”

Wooyoung keeps his mouth shut, lips pursing together. He can hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, feeling its thump throughout his entire body. He can’t drink that. He isn’t sure what it will do, but he knows that its something horrible.

It will break his mind. That is what the man had said.

And while Wooyoung has always had confidence in his abilities, perhaps even relied on himself more than he should, for the first time that confidence falters.

“So this is what it takes for you to be quiet,” the man jests, earning a few chuckles from the others around him. “Good to know.”

When Wooyoung doesn’t reply, the man nods to a couple of the soldiers beside him. “Open his mouth.”

Four of the men approach him, and Wooyoung fights against the bonds of his chair, even if he knows it’ll be pointless. The chains against his wrists and ankles hold him still, and as two of the men grab his shoulders to stop the chair from rattling, he’s left with nothing but twisting his face away from the men who grab at him.

Hands blur across his vision as he feels one of the men press an arm to his throat. Another digs into his scalp, pulling his hair in order to bring his head back and face upwards. Fingers claw at the crevices of his face, digging beneath his cheekbones, into his ears, scratching along his lips.

It’s overwhelming, but Wooyoung stays focused, repeating over and over again in his mind, “Don’t open your mouth, don’t open your mouth, don’t open your mouth.”

It’s not until the elbow pressing into his throat has been there for a little too long that Wooyoung registers that he needs to breathe. Black lines creeping into the corners of his vision, head beginning to feel foggy, he does his best to ignore it.

Until he can’t any longer. Against his mind’s will, when the man removes his elbow from the elemental’s throat, Wooyoung gasps for air.

The men do not waste the opportunity.

Fingers dig themselves into his mouth, and while he attempts to bite down on them, their force is too strong as the many hands pull back his cheeks. Limbs bound, hair pinned, and face pulled back, he’s left helpless as the man with the bowl approaches him.

As the man lifts the bowl above the elemental’s face, a smile grazes over his lips, and Wooyoung knows that he is enjoying this.

The liquid burns as it pours down his throat, rubbing like sand-paper along his tongue. It tastes familiar. Like stale bread, but worse. Rotten with mold. Wooyoung gags but the man does not stop, not until the final drops fall from the bowl and into his open mouth.

The men do not release him until he swallows the concoction, and he feels it as it settles down into his gut, twisting and turning like cheap whiskey.

Wooyoung attempts to catch his breath, chest heaving and sweat beading along his forehead as he looks at the man before him. He continues to smile that awful, wretched grin, empty bowl in hand.

“See? Now that wasn’t so hard,” the man says, for no other reason but to rub salt in the wound.

Wooyoung spits on his shoes.

The man does nothing, merely takes a few steps back as he continues to watch Wooyoung with an analytical gaze, as if observing whatever the hell is supposed to happen. For a few moments, Wooyoung feels nothing but the tension that hangs in the room as all of the men stare at him. He feels like a monster in a cage, like one of those griffin’s from a traveling circus he saw passing through Gloria many years ago. Undeniably dangerous, but stripped down to a mere display for people to gawk at.

Then he notices it. It doesn’t start as much, more of a feeling in the back of his mind than anything else. An uncomfortable tingling sensation creeping through him, like an itch beneath his skin, little prickles of worry like ants tunneling through his veins.

He blinks, and his vision goes blurry.

The men in front of him transform into foggy statues and he blinks again, but instead of focusing it only gets worse. He swallows hard, only to find his throat has gone dry, the saliva refusing to go down.

Heat settles itself in his gut, rising into his chest as an aching sensation washes through him. Wooyoung lets out a low whine, one that under any other circumstances would humiliate him, but he can’t bring himself to worry about that right now. Not when his body feels as if it’s rejecting him.

“What did you do to me?” Wooyoung asks, and it comes out as a hoarse whisper. The man hums softly, reaching forward to hold Wooyoung’s chin. This time his grip is gentle, and Wooyoung wants to slap it away, but he doesn’t have the strength. In fact, if it weren’t for the man holding his head up, he’s certain his chin would have fallen down to his chest. Maybe it already had, Wooyoung doesn’t remember.

“This is the easy part, Jung Wooyoung,” the man says, and Wooyoung swears that that is the first time the man has said his name. Although the worry is replaced by agony as another ripple of pain rattles through him.

“Remember. You tell me what I want to know, I’ll make it stop,” the man says. “You’d be wise to accept that offer.”

Wooyoung blinks up at him, and he thinks thaf tears stain his eyes, although his vision is too foggy to notice a difference. “And if I don’t?”

“I don’t know,” the man says, giving a soft, condescending thumb-stroke along his cheek. “They always tend to comply.”

You cannot sleep.

The tent feels crammed, even though you’re well aware that there’s more than enough space. Yeji sleeps soundly, a few feet away and face turned from you as the peaceful sighs of deep slumber escape her lips. It is dark, only the faintest hint of moonlight seeping through the tent’s thin fabric, and yet it feels too bright.

You do not wish to sleep. There are things to be done. This is no time for rest.

They have Woo.

The men you’ve been fearing this entire journey. The ones that ambushed your father, that killed Mingi, that besieged your castle and robbed your life right out from under your feet. The men that have made you paranoid, always keeping one eye over your shoulder, creating wariness with each new city and step you have taken.

The men you have feared would kill you, they have taken him instead.

And somehow that is so much worse.

It’s not something you’d anticipated, always having assumed that if the black-clad men were to find you, you would be the one to face the consequences. The idea that travelling with the three men was putting them in the crossfire of the mysterious army hadn’t occurred to you. After all, it’s your wanted posters on every city street, not theirs.

How stupid you had been, and now Woo is gone. Captured by your family’s assassins, and only the god’s know what sort of danger he is in.

It’s your fault. It’s you they really want, he is just a pawn in their greater game. You’ve been outplayed, and Woo is the one forced to pay the price of your failure.

They could be torturing him for information. You know the sorts of things powerful men do to prisoners, having heard whispers about it in your halls, the dungeons located deep beneath the castle. Using a whip to lash the back until there's more blood left than flesh, spending hours drowning them within a bucket of water, pouring vials of liquid metal along the skin. Maybe one of them is a sadist, and Woo’s face is blistered and burnt beyond repair.

Maybe he’s already dead.

You roll over, eyes accustomed enough to the darkness that you can make out the ceiling of the tent above you. Although really, what you see is Woo, pleading for mercy as one of the black-clad men delivers the final blow. Woo goes silent, his eyes still open, and you know that it is over. He is gone.

Another person you care for, dead.

You cannot just sit here like this and let that happen. However, while you were prepared to head to the Concursos Mountain Pass the moment Seonghwa placed the message down in front of you, both he and San urged caution.

“This is clearly a trap,” San had said, wrapping a hand around your wrist to stop you from heading down the path towards the refuge’s exit. “They’re going to be prepared, which means we need to be. We need to come up with a plan before we do anything.”

“We have three days,” you snapped back, frustrated. “Yeji said the journey is at the very least a full day’s ride. We don’t have the time to sit here and twiddle our thumbs.”

“Then we have a day and a half to come up with something,” San replied, tone calm but also curt. He was not entertaining the possibility of going now, no matter how much anger you added to your glare. “Maybe we can form a group of some of the other refugees and leave together.”

“There’s only two horse’s between the entire refuge,” you cut back. “We cannot make it in time by foot. There’s no chance of us building our own army, if that’s what you're implying.”

“We’ll figure it out,” San said, still not budging. However, beneath his steady gaze, you could see the faintest hint of worry. Of doubt. Of knowing that there may have been no other option but to go alone, although he was not ready to admit it. Not ready to acknowledge the truth that weighed down on each of your shoulders.

The fact that it may come down to Woo’s life, or your own.

Thus, a second truth sat just as heavy. He would choose Woo. They both would.

It’s not until this moment, staring up at the ceiling of the tent, that you realize you would choose Woo too.

You will not have him die for you. You will not have the black-clad men take anything else from you. Not him. Not like this.

If they are to kill you, let it be your own doing. Not ambushed for the money they have placed on your head, or killed silently in an alley-way along the streets of Bebbanburg. You will not be your father, stabbed at his own celebration, unaware of what was coming. If you are to die, let you come to them with your sword in hand, fighting for a man who - even when you haven’t deserved it - fought for you.

Rising to your feet, you pull the blanket off of you, heading towards the tent flap. Stopping in place, you turn back, watching Yeji’s sleeping silhouette, chest rising and falling peacefully.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, and it is not only to her, but to all of them. All of the Libaiyan’s uprooted from their homes, left to wander Burovia with no kingdom to call home. They had finally been reunited with their princess, only for you to leave them once more. It is selfish. It is what your father would consider an abandonment of responsibility.

Maybe you are abandoning your royal duty, or perhaps you are fulfilling your duty to another.

Either way, it must be done.

Slipping out from under the tent flap, you can hear San and Seonghwa talking within their own tent, though you cannot make out what they are saying. Good, they're busy. They will likely not notice you’re gone until morning.

Scanning the field, the man continues to sing by the fire, and it is the same song as before. Lute in hand, he serenades the men and women surrounding him, although the number has depleted under the blanket of the night.

As you approach the horse tied to a nearby tent-pole, you sing along quietly beneath your breath, to the words you have known your entire life.

“My love for whom I do come home,”

“I’ve been bathed in scars, both body and soul,”

“And while I’ve returned beneath darkened gloam,”

“Without you this place may never be whole.”

Although, while you may sing his words, unlike the man within the song you will not be so passive.

You will find Woo, and you will bring him home. Even if you do not come back with him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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ladyartemesia · 3 years

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TEASER: Kim Seokjin and the Mean Omega

Pairing: Nerd Alpha Kim Seokjin x Popular Omega Reader

Genre: A/B/O • Enemies to Lovers • (Sorta) College AU • Best Friend's Brother AU (Who is surprised? No one?)

Teaser Word Count: 3.6K

Teaser Warnings: A/B/O sexual dynamics • suggestive content

Rating: Explicit (18+) (Teaser is PG-13)

Summary: In the modern world, alphas are almost unheard of so why even bother learning about them? After all, as a spoiled (but reasonably kind-hearted) omega who is used to getting whatever she wants, you have better things to do. However, when unexpected circumstances throw you in the path of (extremely) nerdy and (probably?) shy Kim Seokjin, you're shocked to discover that he won't be wrapped around your little finger as easily as all the rest. Bringing that infuriating geek to his knees quickly becomes your personal mission in life... But it turns out that Kim Seokjin is not what he appears to be and the mean omega who eats beta boys for breakfast is about to get way more than she bargained for...

Author’s Note: This story would not be here without the love, support and friendship of my incredible support system. You talk with me, you laugh with me, you listen when I’m crying, and you read my chaotic drafts when I am ready to pull my hair out of my head in frustration. I love you all. @ppersonna @xjoonchildx @untaemedqueen @lemonjoonah. ALSO thank you to each and every one of you who encouraged me to post this story. This fic is dedicated to all of you as a token of my love and appreciation. Your support keeps me writing. Never doubt that for a second.

“...due to discriminatory anti-alpha policies in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, alphas were nearly eliminated from the general population…”

You heaved a weary sigh and rolled your shoulders—stretching the buttons of your high-end Oxford shirt to their limit. The beta sophomore to your right whined audibly and you smirked.

“...despite efforts to restore the genetic balance of designations, alphas currently comprise less than one percent of the population…”

Your back arched slightly as you crossed your legs, letting the absurdly short hem of your skirt ride up even higher. The poor boy you were tormenting shifted miserably in his seat.

How was he supposed to focus on a Human Biology and Designation Studies lecture when the living breathing embodiment of every sweaty undergrad’s fantasies was twisting her fingers in her hair and wrapping her pretty pink tongue around a strawberry lollipop right there in the middle of class?

“...unlike betas and omegas, alphas possess enhanced strength and the ability to compel other designations with their voice. Unmated alphas especially were often baselessly feared and distrusted...”

You knew exactly how you affected boys like him. You were a shameless tease who relished their attention and the power it brought you. Who needed drugs when driving a man mad with desire was a rush more potent than any high?

“...and that’s all for today so please read pages 450-466 in the text over break and remember to turn in your essay on scent and consent in intimacy—”

That poor sophomore looked like he had finally worked up the courage to speak to you, but you were already out the door and tearing down the hall toward your beautiful (and entirely platonic) counterpart, Kim Taehyung.

“Do you think Professor Moore is unaware that class is over at 3:25 or is he just torturing us for science?”

Taehyung shrugged, falling into step beside you with practiced ease.

“I mean I would torture you for free so it’s hard to say.”

The corner of your mouth quirked up at his characteristic dry humor, but the irritation at being held in that sweltering lecture hall for an extra ten minutes had frayed your temper.

“It’s the last class before spring break, I’m sure he was on some sort of twisted power trip.” You dug around in your purse for some chapstick, ignoring Tae’s amused snorting, “Alphas barely exist anymore and none of us are likely to meet one. Why bother learning what they can do?”

Taehyung tilted his head in amusement.

“You might be surprised.”

The final party before the beginning of spring break was always a laid back affair.

Many people had already caught planes to their various destinations, but your flight was scheduled for early tomorrow morning—leaving you with some time to kill.

Taehyung pressed his newest experimental concoction into your hand within minutes of entering the house (a surprisingly neat bachelor pad owned by two seniors, Jung Hoseok and Min Yoongi) and then darted back to the kitchen to craft more questionable alcohol potions like a deranged party warlock.

You had just found a comfortable place on the couch and were contemplating whether sampling your best friend’s mad scientist elixir would be worth the probable damage to your body when—

“H-Hello...”

It was that sophomore from your Designations Studies class. What was his name again? Jungwoo? Jinwook?

“Jungkook,” you smiled, delighted to have remembered before it became awkward. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You motioned to the empty cushion next to you and the man in question scrambled over like he’d won the lottery.

“I—I know we don’t know each other well, but I noticed you were absent during Professor Moore’s lecture on intimacy and scent consent so I—” he blushed deeply, “I wrote the essay for you—and I brought a copy on my flash drive if-if you want it.”

Your heart melted immediately.

“Oh my gosh Jungkook, that is so sweet of you!”

Your gaze darted over his muscular form and thick brown curls.

Sweet indeed.

“I don’t want to miss out on the learning though,” you pouted, placing a hand on his tattooed bicep. “Can you explain it to me?”

Jungkook nodded vigorously even as his wide eyes fell to where your fingers were sliding slowly over his chest.

Scent consent was a pretty basic and universally known concept, but you really were touched by the handsome sophomore's consideration.

Why not give him (and yourself) a little reward?

“Um so basically if two people are involved in...intimate activities—”

You leaned forward to nip his ear lightly and he whimpered.

“Like this?” you asked innocently.

“Y-Yes. Like that.” He gulped. “In an intimate situation consent or refusal can be smelled. The scent of refusal or reluctance in intimacy is strong, unmistakable, and has a high chemical potency.”

“Is that so?” you drawled, sliding over onto his lap. Jungkook’s eyes rolled back into his head and you bit back a grin.

He was adorable.

“Uh-huh—it—oh my gawd,” (you were nibbling on his ear again) “it can immediately block sexual arousal and performance in the other partner. Meaning, if consent is not present, then it becomes difficult or—ahh” (his voice began to waver under your continued attention) “—or even impossible to continue with intimate acts.”

Your hand slid up to his cheek, bringing him closer till your lips were almost touching.

“Then what does it mean if I’m still so turned on right now?”

“It means,” Jungkook shuddered—nearly delirious with your scent, “that I really really want you.”

Across the room, Park Jimin chuckled as he watched you seduce his enthusiastic friend.

Jeon Jungkook was such a sweet kid.

Hopefully he wouldn’t get too attached.

“Wow... Some people are genuinely born blessed I suppose.”

Jimin turned to see Jung Hoseok eyeing the dimly lit corner where you and the eager young sophomore were exploring each other.

It was a rather...provocative spectacle. Not quite raunchy (you weren’t truly an exhibitionist)—just insanely sexy.

Jimin’s gaze lingered on the smooth curve of your thigh where Jeon Jungkook was currently holding on for dear life.

Lucky bastard.

“Ah you know how she is,” he sighed. “That boy isn’t going to get any farther than anyone else.”

It was relatively common knowledge that you liked to mess around but rarely—if ever— fully hooked up with anyone.

Jimin asked you about it once during a drunken game of truth or dare and you had just shrugged, mumbling something along the lines of avoiding STDs (which—to be fair—was at least part of your motivation), but the truth was a little more complicated than that.

In terms of experience, you weren’t a virgin, but... you hadn’t actually had sex in years.

You loved the chase, the foreplay, the build-up—the game of cat-and-mouse between two people who were attracted to one another.

But the final consummation was always so…

Wildly unfulfilling.

Every encounter left you frustrated. Empty.

Grumpy—even.

So you stopped bothering with it all together. (That was what sex toys were for after all.)

At the end of the day you were perfectly content being labeled a tease—it meant that people tended to know what they were (or rather weren’t) getting into when they rolled the dice with you.

Besides…it hadn’t even put a dent in your throng of admirers.

You were sunny, spoiled, indulgent, almost universally adored—

And you loved every minute of it.

“You know…” Hoseok took a long sip of his drink. “I always thought she would end up with Taehyung, but it’s been three years.”

Like you, Kim Taehyung was a trust fund brat and it was only natural that two beautiful and absurdly privileged people would gravitate to one another. You met at a freshman pledge party and had been an inseparable (and formidable) dynamic duo ever since.

The undisputed king and queen of campus.

Yes—maybe the two of you were a little self-absorbed at times, but it was hardly your fault that people tended to instinctively cater to the force of your combined looks, wealth, and charisma.

And it didn’t hurt that neither of you were ever intentionally cruel or unkind.

Just... habitually thoughtless.

(Though not when it came to each other. If anything your friendship was one area where you were both a little more human.)

Jimin shook his head.

“Nah that’s never gonna happen.” He tapped his nose. “They’re scent-crossed.”

Hoseok’s eyes widened.

“Really?”

Scent-crossed pairs didn’t smell sexually attractive to each other.

Like. At all.

No matter how physically or visually appealing an individual might be, it would be near impossible to form a sexual or romantic attachment to them if you were scent-crossed. Alphas, betas, and omegas were all subject to their noses first and foremost in the realm of attraction.

You and Taehyung smelled like comfort and home to one another...

But you were more turned on by a crisp cup of apple juice than you were his scent and the feeling was quite mutual.

He might as well have been your actual brother.

“That explains so much.” Hoseok snorted as he watched a drunken Taehyung do a flying leap on top of both you and Jungkook.

“Why is sunlight so offensive?” you croaked, dragging yourself and your luggage toward the boarding ramp next to an equally miserable Taehyung.

“The next time I book a flight before 9 AM, please shoot me,” he grunted.

Your parents were celebrating their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary with a month-long European cruise so your best friend had graciously invited you to spend two glorious weeks of spring vacation at his family estate.

The invitation had actually come as somewhat of a surprise because—for all your closeness—Taehyung was uncharacteristically tight-lipped about his family.

Not that he was deliberately withholding information per se… It was just that he never really brought them up beyond an occasional passing comment.

The one time you did ask him about them directly he sighed and said—

“We’re very close, but… I suppose we’ve just gotten used to being very private.”

There was clearly more to the story, but you were confident that Tae would share it if and when he was ready.

“My parents are in Seoul opening a new branch of the company. They took my little sister with them and my older brother has his own house so it will be just us.” He snuggled deeper into the first class seat directly next to yours. “We’ll hang out by the pool and chill during the day, then hit up some of the new clubs or whatever at night.”

“So… No one from your family will be there?”

Perhaps the invitation was not so surprising after all.

“Nope. Just you and me and thirty acres of ocean front property.”

You grinned.

“Perfect.”

“Whose room is that?”

The two of you were lugging your bags down the main hall of Taehyung’s expansive mansion when a strange hint of...something caught you right by the nose.

Your friend turned to find you frozen and staring curiously at a familiar door near the balcony.

His eyes widened, but you were too preoccupied to notice his momentary concern.

“That’s just Jin’s room.”

A firm hand wrapped around your wrist and dragged you away, but your eyes stayed glued to the source of the mysterious scent until you were around the corner and out of sight.

Your suite for the next two weeks was right across the hall from Taehyung’s. There was a whirlpool, a full bath, a balcony, and an ocean view that would rival the cover spread of any travel magazine.

Tae headed for the shower (to ‘wash the airplane off’) immediately after showing you the room and you were thinking of doing the same except…

Your mind kept going back to that door and the hint of scent you detected.

There was something… different about it.

It was faint—and far from fresh (which made sense considering that one of the few things you did know about Kim Seokjin was that he hadn’t lived in this house for years).

But still…

The need to smell it again pressed insistently at the back of your mind.

Suddenly the sound of Taehyung singing raunchy lyrics in the shower carried over through the walls and you found your feet moving almost of their own accord.

What Tae doesn’t know won’t hurt him, you rationalized, making your way down the hall toward Jin’s door. Besides—it’s not as if I’m going to steal anything…

You just needed to find that scent again.

By the time your fingers closed over the knob every one of your nerves was strangely—acutely—alert but nothing could have prepared you for what was waiting behind the door.

Oh. My. Gosh.

“What a colossal nerd.”

The room was covered floor to ceiling in Nintendo memorabilia.

Bright primary colors assaulted your eyes from all directions in the form of action figures, posters, pillows, and every other conceivable merch variety known to man.

In the center of the suite stood a large king-sized bed covered in a custom black couture toile-style Mario-verse bed set (that looked every bit as expensive as it was geeky) and a mountain of high quality Nintendo character plush toys.

Everything was simultaneously luxe and nostalgic—a rare combination of sophisticated aesthetic balance and childlike indulgence.

And the scent was there.

It was faint and covered under layers of cleaner and air fresheners, but still lingering just below the surface—too weak for you to get a really good whiff, yet potent enough to torment you.

You moved forward unconsciously toward the strongest source of the hypnotic smell—the strangely inviting expanse of Kim Seokjin’s mattress.

Suddenly the urge to climb—no crawl—across the bed itself and roll around in it like a kitten in catnip gripped you out of nowhere.

“What the hell?” you muttered, rubbing absently over the mating gland at the base of your neck.

Something very odd was going on with your body.

Your restless gaze zeroed in on one of the stuffed toys piled atop his pillows. It was a cute little mushroom man your brain recognized as a Mario character named ‘Toad’.

Take it.

Your mouth dropped open in shock.

You need it.

“Am I going insane?” you wondered aloud.

You have to take it.

Muscles in your hand began to twitch involuntarily. You bit your lip.

Bring it back with you.

Several minutes later a freshly washed Taehyung wandered over to your room and found you sitting perfectly still on your bed while staring off into space.

His head tilted in curious concern.

“Everything ok?”

You started a bit at the sound of his voice, but recovered quickly.

“Never better!” you chirped—almost too brightly. “Let’s go get some dinner, I’m starving.”

Then you grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hall toward the kitchen—shutting the door before he could catch a glimpse of his brother’s stuffed Toad doll stashed underneath your pillow

“...a critical water main rupture in the city’s New Market district early this morning has forced several residents out of their homes as flood water swelled up to nearly two feet. The governor declared a state of emergency and ordered hotels around the city to accommodate the displaced citizens. Crews are still clearing the water and assessing damages. We expect—

“Hey!” you shouted through a mouthful of cereal, after Your best friend switched off the television, “I was watching that!”

“And what you should be doing is getting ready for the pool.” Tae snatched your cereal bowl and dragged you by your shirt collar toward the stairs. “It is the first morning of our vacation. I’m not trying to waste any time. Now go.” He shoved you forward, smacking your ass for good measure.

You swatted back at him half-heartedly as jogged back up to the room where you enjoyed a surprisingly restful sleep last night.

Kim Seokjin’s door glared at you accusingly as you shuffled past—unable to let you forget that you had kidnapped it’s little mushroom man in an unexplained fit of kleptomania, but that was a problem for your future self.

The you of right now was going to zen out in the Kim family's premium glass-enclosed indoor pool (it was still a little chilly for the outdoor pool) with her best friend and bask in the simple joys of good company and no responsibility.

...Or not.

A few minutes later you bounced into the living room wearing a simple black tankini with a cute floral cover only to find Taehyung on the phone with his head in his hands.

“Yes, sir. I understand… I...I know this is my responsibility...”

That didn’t sound good.

After a few more tense moments, Tae hung up and collapsed backward into the couch with a heavy sigh.

“That water main break you heard about on TV this morning was the last straw between the province and its current contractor. They called an emergency meeting for new bids.”

Your heart dropped as you sank down beside him.

“Your dad wants you to go...doesn’t he.”

Taehyung nodded miserably.

“He can’t leave the Seoul opening on such short notice and managing government construction contracts is part of what I’ve been training for. This could be huge for our company.”

“Well...why doesn’t your brother go?”

“Jin is the brains behind most of our patented gaming and tech innovations. He wouldn’t even know where to begin with this sort of thing. Besides,” his lips quirked up in a rueful grin, “my brother doesn’t have the patience to stroke entitled geriatric egos for hours on end—which is likely what I’m going to have to do.”

The two of you headed back to Taehyung’s room where you helped him pack some suits and toiletries for his trip.

Naturally you were disappointed but...this was a great opportunity for your best friend to prove himself in his chosen field and you both knew it. In fact, he was already starting to brighten a bit.

“The meeting is about a hundred miles north of here. My dad’s secretary already handled the flight and hotel room.” His eyes darted around the suite to see if he was forgetting anything.

It was clear he was nervous, though you were sure he didn’t need to be. Kim Taehyung was a trust fund brat, but he was also talented and deeply passionate about his family’s company.

Someday this would be the norm. The two of you were stealing time in college, determined to live a little before the expectations of your powerful families transferred fully onto your shoulders.

It was becoming more and more clear, however, that your carefree time was slowly running out.

Mother had already spoken to you about potential marriage alliances and your father expected you to intern with his Vice President this summer just as your elder sister had...

Taehyung’s voice suddenly interrupted your bittersweet introspection and you couldn’t help but smile at how grown-up he looked in his suit and briefcase ensemble.

Everything was going to change, but not quite yet.

“They estimate negotiations should take around a week or so…” He walked over and pulled you into a tight hug. “There should still be some vacation left for us when I get back.”

“Hurry back then,” you mumbled grumpily into his chest and he chuckled.

“I will.”

Taehyung had been gone for less than twenty minutes when you decided that the best use of your time would be to eat more snacks.

The last thing you expected when you skipped merrily into the kitchen was to find it occupied by a shaggy-haired homeless man in glasses.

Your first instinct was to scream which caused the homeless man to drop the apple he was biting right onto the floor where it rolled around for a small eternity before coming to rest at his ankles.

Your second instinct was to grab a butcher’s cleaver from the nearby knife block and wave it chaotically at the intruder while shouting something along the lines of—

“You’ve made a huge mistake! My boyfriend is the biggest, meanest mafia boss in Seoul! Leave now and he might let you live!”

The homeless man continued to stare at you with a mixture of confusion and shock, but made no move to run away in terror like you were hoping.

So you tried again.

“Didn’t you hear what I said?! The last man who touched me drinks his steak through a straw now! Do the smart thing and leave before my boyfriend comes down those stairs and it’s too late!”

Infuriatingly, the homeless man was still not fleeing for his life and frankly you were starting to get frustrated. You drew in a deep cleansing breath and were prepared to issue another grandiose threat when he finally spoke.

“I’m sorry, miss. I... think there’s been some sort of mistake. Who is your boyfriend?”

There was no rational explanation for what came out of your mouth next, but it rolled off your tongue so smoothly and you didn’t even flinch.

“Kim Seokjin.”

For the first time in your entire exchange, the intruder looked truly alarmed.

Now that’s more like it.

“You’ve heard of him I see. He’s a dangerous man and my body belongs to him.” You slammed the cleaver down onto the countertop with a (hopefully) menacing slash. “Kim Seokjin doesn’t like when other men put their hands on what belongs to him.”

There was a long, unpardonably tense moment of silence…Then the stranger slowly reached forward and picked up a mobile phone from the table in front of him.

His eyes remained locked with yours as he pressed a quick series of buttons, brought the phone to his ear, waited a few seconds and said—

“Taehyung… Would you mind telling me why there is a half-naked, knife-wielding omega in our kitchen claiming to be my girlfriend?”

Hello! Please comment on this post if you would like to be added to the taglist!

You guys were all so wonderful, and encouraging, and excited that I literally got this teaser out in three days! If you like what you read so far, please let me know! I cannot put into words how meaningful and valuable feedback is to me. I truly treasure it! It fuels my creativity and keeps me writing. I would love to hear from you!

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justimajin · 3 years

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Til Death Do Us Part ♜ Pt.10 [M]

➟ Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

➟ Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut

↳ (4.2k), Arranged Marriage AU

➟ Summary: If someone told you that you’d be marrying the Kim Namjoon, you would think you were being lied to, or worse, that you were hallucinating. However, fate seems to have it’s own ways of making the impossible possible and before you even know it, the title of Mrs. Kim is bestowed onto you. There’s just one problem: you’re not sure if Kim Namjoon is the person he says he is and the truth of your own identity is dangling by the strength of a mere thread.

➟ Warnings: 18+ rating: unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, body insecurity (result of physical markings), slight body worship, hints of sexual tension

gif credit.

➟ Previous Parts: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

➟ Last Update: Friday, February 19

The moment your eyes catch onto a patch of black hair within the crowd, you freeze in place.

Jung Hoseok appears just as you remember him. Lips tugged up into a playful smile, mischief dancing in his eyes and adorned in a black suit that easily conceals away any weaponry he stows away. Despite his traits, the sleek material fails to hide the circles lining his twinkling eyes, his posture sunken and suit appearing oversized as if he had lost some weight with time.

You decipher his appearance within seconds, and when your observant eyes snap over to Namjoon, you already know he’s done the same.

The two of you stay stationed in the corner, afar from the crowd. Jimin stands off to the corner opposite you as Seokjin darts his eyes around, taking careful steps towards the shareholder before he decides to engage with him.

There’s a whimsical expression on Seokjin’s features that mimics Hoseok, hands curved around a glass of champagne that he raises.

“Jung Hoseok.” He counters, “I haven’t seen you around in quite some time.”

Hoseok turns, a crease in between the brows from the sudden call of his name, but once his eyes come into contact with Seokjin’s, his regular demeanor shifts back.

“Since you know my name along with my record, why don’t you tell me where you know me from?”

Seokjin smiles, “You’re one of Kim Namjoon’s shareholders, right?”

There’s a glint in Hoseok’s eyes and his grin immediately falls, something that has Seokjin’s eyes narrowing, before it abruptly returns.

“I am.”

Seokjin hums, “It was just a question, no need to get so surprised.” He leans forward, eyes hardening as his voice drops into a whisper, “Unless, there is some reason for you to be….”

Hoseok grits his teeth, looking away for a moment. His disdain is heavy and he glares at Seokjin, who slyly smiles back.

“What do you know?”

A light chuckle leaves Seokjin, “I think the question you should be asking is, what do I not know?”

He reaches into the inner pocket of his suit, revealing a creased piece of paper that he hands to Hoseok. The latter tilts his head, unfolding the sheet that reveals a photograph.

Hoseok’s eyes widen, “If you need to recall the memory, his name is Kim Minhyuk.” Seokjin sips his champagne as he whispers, eyeing the shareholder, “Strange for someone of your status to be interacting with someone that has been known to get his hands dirty for the right price, don’t you think?”

The paper is instantly crumbled within his hands, and Hoseok snarls at him, “How much?”

Seokjin glances at him intrigued, “What? Money?” He snorts, “Oh, it’s going to take much more to silence me.”

Hoseok fists up his jacket, “Listen here‒”

“I wouldn’t ruin the suit, it was fairly costly for what it was worth.” Seokjin gestures to his hold and Hoseok let's go in annoyance.

“Who are you working for?”

A smirk spreads across Seokjin’s features.

“Turn around.”

The sound of a deep voice from behind Hoseok startles him, and as he does as he’s told, all the colour instantly drains from his features.

Namjoon tilts his head to the side, piercing eyes scrutinizing the shareholder.

Immediately, an excuse tumbles out. “N-Namjoon! I-I didn’t think you would be here….”

“Of course you didn’t,” He smirks, “I’m alive after all.”

If Hoseok was scared before, he was downright terrified now.

Namjoon steps forward, and Hoseok bolts.

Seokjin whips his head around and Jimin immediately leaves his corner, running after him. Hoseok pushes past protesting guests without any qualms, sprinting into one of the hallways as Jimin pursues him.

“This way!” Jimin hastily shouts. His brows suddenly contort with surprise, but then he curses underneath his breath as Hoseok slips from his sight, completely disappearing.

Namjoon hurriedly rushes forward a bit late, peering in both directions.

“Where is he?” Seokjin wonders and Jimin rubs his temples, squinting in the direction.

“There was a woman.” He abruptly whispers, glancing at the two, “I saw them together before her and Hoseok split apart into different paths.”

“A woman?” Seokjin wonders.

“I know.” Jimin muses, “She looked young, but I wasn’t too sure.”

“So he wasn’t choosing to run away, but instead ran to someone…” Seokjin slowly utters, shaking his head, “Whatever it is, we have to find him.”

“Don’t worry.” Namjoon states, a twinkle in his dark eyes, “He won’t get too far.”

***

Hoseok runs as fast as he can, sweat beginning to trickle down his features. He peers behind himself, acclaiming himself of at least getting away in time.

Abruptly, he’s sent flying towards the ground. His hands barely break his fall, harshly slamming right against it.

The sound of a trigger cocking alerts him, and right as he glances up, the sight of a gun pointed towards his head.

You stare down at him with a triumphant expression.

Hoseok grits his teeth, a sound of dismay leaving him. You reach down, grabbing onto his hands before securing them behind his back.

You soon catch sight of Seokjin from afar and you usher towards him as Namjoon and Jimin follow behind.

As Seokjin helps you lift him from the ground, his eyes are frantically darting around, as if searching for something.

“What wrong?” Seokjin wonders, “Lose something?”

Hoseok sneers, “Like I’ll tell you anything.”

Seokjin smiles, tightening his hold, “We’ll see how long you can keep that up.”

Night falls as Namjoon paces back and forth in the hallway, fiddling around with the hem of his sleeve. The door to his right abruptly widens, a tired Seokjin emerging out.

He instantly steps forward and Seokjin sighs, “He kept true to his word.”

Namjoon raises his eyebrows, “He’s not talking?”

Seokjin hums, “A lot more stubborn than I gave him credit for.” He gestures towards the door, “Jimin’s still there with hopes of getting something out, but he’s holding onto everything as if his life is on the line.”

“That’s odd,” He whispers, “If being threatened to force out information isn’t horrible enough, I wonder what is…”

“I agree, it seemed like he had a lot to tell me before, but now…” Seokjin shakes his head, “Maybe he thinks we’ll hesitate in killing him.”

There’s a sharp glint in Namjoon’s eyes, “Have you told him otherwise?”

Seokjin snorts, “No, but he isn’t wrong.” He adds, “We do need him to tell us about his connections.”

Namjoon hums and the door cranks open again as Jimin emerges out. Both him and Seokjin turn at the same time, glancing at the man’s distressed appearance.

“Nothing so far,” He huffs for a moment, before staring at the two of them peculiarly, “But he said one thing that’s been bothering me a lot.”

“What?” Seokjin wonders.

Jimin stands up straighter, bafflement crossing him.

“He said we’re fools for thinking that he’s the one pulling the strings.”

Seokjin scrunches up his nose and Namjoon cocks his head to the side, clearly as perplexed as Jimin from the saying.

“That’s it?” Namjoon asks.

Jimin sighs, “That’s it.”

“Well, this just got a lot more damn complicated.” Seokjin shakes his head, before gesturing to Jimin, “Take a break, I’ll have to spend a couple more hours with him to get something else out.”

Jimin nods, fatigued from the demanding interactions.

Once Jimin leaves, Namjoon’s voice drops into a whisper, “We’re fools for thinking he’s the one pulling the strings….”

Seokjin narrows his eyes and lets out a sigh, mind still swimming with the response. “As if suggesting that he’s innocent….”

“Maybe it's the woman.” Namjoon’s eyes snap up as Seokjin reminds him, “Hoseok’s first instinct was to run to her.”

He nods, “Though I don’t think we can trust him on this, he could be trying to cover himself up. Or someone else, for that matter.”

Namjoon hums, fingers pressed against his lips as he dwells deeper into thought. Seokjin leans over, patting his back and his eyes peer up at him.

“Why don’t you go get some rest? This whole fiasco won’t be figured out until he talks and that...might take a while.”

He gestures to the gun sticking out from his jacket and Namjoon lets out a frustrated sigh from the notion.

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” He wonders.

Seokjin softly shakes his head, “He’ll talk with the right persuasion, trust me. And besides….”

There’s a small smirk lingering on Seokjin’s lips, playfulness practically twinkling in his eyes. He points upward, gesturing to the upper floor.

“Y/N actually left a couple of minutes ago.”

At the mere mention of your name, there’s a flush that scatters over Namjoon, skin nearly akin to being feverish. Seokjin’s smile widens, restraining a small laugh that seeks to slip out of his mouth.

“I-Is that so?” Namjoon mumbles, his eyes darting everywhere. When they connect with Seokjin’s, he sheepishly laughs, “I, uh‒ suppose you’re right.”

Seokjin hums, but he can’t conceal the amused smile that crosses him.

Bidding his friend good luck, Namjoon gyrates around, promptly heading to his room as fast as he can.

***

Namjoon’s eyes are glued to the sight of the door.

He’s reached his room, pupils having traced the outlines and shape of the wood, handle practically right in front of him ‒ but he remains planted in place, as if someone had poured lead into his shoes.

His hand reaches up, rubbing against his temples as a sigh leaves him.

The last time you were in a room together he could barely control himself. And this time, standing right in front of your shared room’s door, he knows that control is on the edge of completely shattering.

Squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, he peers at the door again and takes a deep breath.

His hand reaches out for the handle.

He quietly walks in, hastily ensuring the door is fully closed before saying anything. Turning around, there’s a soft smile on his lips, warmth brimming in his eyes.

“Y/N, I‒”

His breath instantly hitches, form completely freezing.

Your startled eyes snap up in an instant. There’s drops of water falling from the strands of your hair onto the damp carpet, one of your hands resting against the wall next to a small door to your left. Your other hand is tightly fisting the material of the long towel that covers your form, struggling to keep it in place.

At the sight of Namjoon gawking, you fumble with your words, “N-Namjoon….I-I didn’t think you would be back s-so soon…”

A light chuckle leaves you, a fevernet shade of scarlet taking over your features. He continues to stare at you, and you break into a fit of rambles to explain the situation.

“I-I’ve been having a hard time bathing!” You laugh again, “So I tried to quickly wash up before bed, but it’s been difficult….moving around and whatnot…”

Your eyes are fixated on the ground, barely able to meet his own through your explanation. It feels like an eternity until Namjoon finally clears his throat, the sound of his footsteps growing louder.

He’s a mere inches away from you, outstretching his arm, “Let me help you.”

Nothing seems to leave your lips at the suggestion. You hastily nod, still unable to make eye contact as you reach out and grasp onto his sleeve. However the moment you do so, you unfortunately can’t stop to take notice of the way one of his hands slips behind you to steady your back.

A sudden rush of heat is brought upon on you and you internally curse yourself for being so flustered in his presence. On the other hand, Namjoon tenses when you lean against him, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard.

He gently guides you towards the bathroom again, carefully waiting as you struggle with the occasional steps and fumble around with the towel clinging to your body. Not paying enough attention to your surroundings results in you taking one step too close, nearly toppling down until a weight stops you.

Your eyes glance up in surprise at Namjoon, who managed to shift himself before you were sent smacking against the ground. You wouldn’t normally hesitate to thank him for the gesture, but his eyes immediately connect with yours and the words can’t seem to form anymore.

The warmth in his eyes disappears within seconds and is replaced with the carnal gaze you’ve become far too familiar with. You’re only a handful of inches away from him, his breath intermingling with yours the longer you stare at each other.

Namjoon doesn’t hesitate to close the gap between you this time, arms looping around your waist in an instant.

A burst of electricity tingles through your skin, his soft lips molding ravenously against your own. You push back with just as much desire, fiercely kissing him as your hands fist the material of his jacket.

It’s not long before that jacket is being pushed off his shoulders completely and your back hits against the wall, a gasp escaping from your lips until his mouth crashes against yours, tongue slipping in within seconds.

A deep moan leaves Namjoon when you loop your arms around his neck, fingers weaving into the soft strands before tugging against them. You’re abruptly being lifted up from the waist, lips still connected to his until you’re suddenly falling down, hands finding purchase within the soft material of your bed.

Namjoon remains underneath you when you lean down to kiss him again, strands of your damp hair ticking his features and soaking through the fabric of his shirt. Your hands eagerly fumble around with his tie, growing exasperated within minutes when it refuses to come undone despite all your tugging. You can feel Namjoon smiling into your kiss, knowing that he’s holding back a laugh from your efforts.

A desperate whine leaves you and that’s when he makes the decision to halt his teasing, spinning you around so that he hovers above you. He roughly tugs at the material and the sound of a harsh snap leaves your eyes widening, before he leans down to press a soft kiss against your lips.

He aids you in hastily undoing his buttons, letting a chuckle slip out when an exhale of relief leaves you from the last one. The material easily slips off his shoulders and although you’re eager to finally have flesh, you have to try your hardest to control your gawking eyes.

To your complete surprise, your hands come into contact with muscle when you run your hands against him, noticing the bulkiness of his arms and chest. As if he knows he’s rendered you speechless, Namjoon coaxes your surprise by briefly connecting your lips, before descending to the juncture of your neck.

A mewl nearly leaves you at the hot open mouthed kisses he leaves behind, serving to stroke the heat that pools between your legs. When his thumbs begin to move against the rough material of your towel, his carnal eyes snap up to meet yours, silently asking for your wishes to continue.

Although you nervously bite down on your lip, you ultimately decide to answer him with a nod. With one flick of his wrist, the cloth is tossed onto the ground, leaving you completely bare beneath him.

At the sight of confusion spurring in Namjoon’s eyes, you sheepishly look away. You’re not completely sure of what he was expecting, but from the way his brows are drawn together and there’s a pang of hurt in his eyes, you can tell he’s at a loss for words.

Even though you know you’ve been through a lot, your body takes it sweet time to heal. There’s still a wound healing from the time you were shot from Taehyung and obscene injuries littering the entirety of your legs from the time you were kidnapped. It’s coupled with a handful of clumsily sewn together old bullet wounds, long having engraved themselves into your skin from the past.

Namjoon takes it in for a moment, but when you fidget underneath his gaze, he leans closer to you.

“No, don’t.” He stops your hand from sliding over, attempting to cover up a piece of reality you had become uncomfortably close to, “Please, don’t, I‒”

He softly smiles, leaning down to whisper to you, “You’re beautiful. You’re so, so beautiful.”

A smile cracks onto your lips and although you’re aware that he’s called you beautiful before, there’s something about the way he says it now that has your vision fogging. He presses his forehead against yours with a smile as you lightly laugh, pecking your lips hastily. Your body suddenly jolts in retaliation, eyes flickering over at him in astonishment.

He kisses against your legs, right where your prominent ones have recently surfaced, before he shifts to press his lips against all the other ones. It makes you squirmish within his hold, his touch bringing shivers down your spine.

Abruptly a sear of pleasure thrums through your body, vision going hazy. Namjoon’s hands roam around the swell of your breasts, before his fingers fondle the skin again and pinch against the eroding buds. You wither from his ministrations, sucking in a sharp inhale when he envelopes one of them within the heat of his mouth.

Bliss fills your veins, the gratifying sensation coiling need within the pit of your stomach and dampening your aching core. You shift against him, desperately needing some relief from the agonizing heat that only seems to grow.

“N-Namjoon...”

As if he already knows, his lips halt their ministrations before drawing all his attention to your seeping centre. His fingers are quick to swirl against the muscle, and when he notices you immediately shudder, he doesn’t hesitate to latch his mouth onto your clit.

“Oh my god‒” Your hands fervently grasp onto the bed sheets, eyes squeezing shut as he continues to circle his tongue against your sex. Moans are slipping out from your lips, your chest heaving as a sheen of sweat begins to cover you.

A sharp cry escapes you when he slips a finger into your heat, joining in with the rhythms of his mouth. Your thighs quiver against him as he adds another, abruptly curling up his digits in a way that completely blurs your vision and has his name tumbling from your lips.

The friction builds up until it’s too much, barely having the chance to tell him that you’re close to the brink of losing it all. The chord within you snaps before a wave of euphoria is washing over you, core pulsating and clenching around Namjoon’s fingers. Exhales are leaving you as your eyes focus back, your chest rising and falling.

You grimace as he slips his hand out, raising his head to softly brush his lips against yours. A content sigh leaves you, the taste of your residue lingering on his mouth.

Namjoon shifts for a moment, and from the corner of your eye you see him beginning to unbutton his trousers. He kicks the flimsy material away and settles himself between your thighs, his throbbing length pressing against your skin.

He rests his elbows on either side of you, his gaze intent as he pants, “Do you....do you want this?”

“Yes,” You breathe out, and Namjoon nods, before reaching down to align himself with your centre. His head probes at your opening for a moment, until he begins to push inside.

You immediately grip onto his shoulders, nails digging right in. Namjoon peers up at you in hesitation, but you shake your head and encourage him to continue.

He goes as slow as possible, the stretch eliciting beads of pain to shoot through you. When he bottoms out, you’re surprised you haven’t been split at the seams. He lets out a groan, eyes screwing shut as he rests his head against your neck.

Small huffs are leaving you as the pain contorts into something else, a scorching heat that only intensifies as your core clenches.

Your hands tighten around his shoulders, “Namjoon, move.”

He glances up in surprise, but doesn’t take long to fulfill your request. A sharp thrust has you gasping, grasping onto him as it contorts into a wanton moan. Your reaction urges him on more as he thrusts into you again, earning a breathy call of his name to slip from your lips.

Namjoon quickens his pace, before he’s slamming into you with as much vigor as he can. Your back is arching, attempting to meet the strong jerk is his hips half-way. His thrusts are a mixture of deep and aggressive, feverishly quenching the insatiable hunger that consumes you.

Your name falls from his lips when you begin to clench against him, and he instantly reaches towards where your bodies are connected, circling against the sensitive bud that draws tears to your eyes.

“Namjoon.” You choke out, pleasure threatening to eat you alive. Your pleas of his name are muffled by his lips, his thrusts and ministrations growing his strength. In the midst of this, he whispers against your mouth, your hazy eyes instantly connecting.

If it weren’t for the proximity, you would have easily missed it.

I love you.

“I-I love you, too.” You pant, his brows contorting as he lets out a groan.

Your release rips through you, legs wrapping against him and battered core clenching against Namjoon’s hasty thrusts. Your vision blurs out, electricity humming through your form until it fizzles out.

Namjoon roughly thrusts against you one last time before he’s coming, his seed coating your damp walls and dripping out of your opening. He collapses against your gasping form, his breaths intermingling with yours through the silence.

You reach out, softly running a hand against his soaked back before tangling your fingers within his dampened locks. He tilts his head to the side, pressing a soft kiss against your cheek and then leaning back.

He carefully slips out of you, a mixture of your combined releases leaking out of your core. He rises from the bed as you lay there, returning with a moist cloth that he gently taps against your swollen core.

The blanket is tugged up as Namjoon settles in, warmth already surrounding you from his embrace alone. A lazy smile curves on his lips, his features mirroring your content expression as you welcome sleep with open arms.

Namjoon is awoken with a gentle shake to his shoulder.

His eyes briefly flutter, refusing to open as a sound of protest leaves him. His shoulder is shaken again, but this time it’s rougher.

“Namjoon…” Your voice whispers from behind him, “Namjoon, please wake up.”

There’s a sense of urgency in your words and it’s the single thing that causes Namjoon to roll over, his eyes squinting through the lack of lighting. You hover above him, hair still tousled and the blanket covering you slipping from your shoulders, but your eyes frantically search his features.

“Y/N…” He croaks, voice husky from sleep, “What is it...?”

You bite down nervously on your lip and Namjoon’s confusion only deepens.

“I-I….I think I saw someone.” You profess, “Outside.”

At that, Namjoon’s eyes flash open. He bolts upright, leaning towards you and directing his gaze towards the window.

“Through there?” He points and you immediately nod, watching him scramble out of the sheets and pacing over to the glass.

You closely follow behind, peering over his shoulder, “It was almost like a shadow...I thought I was hearing things at first but then I just saw‒”

As if on cue, his eyes catch onto it. Like a faint blur in the darkness of the night sky, his pupils narrow onto the faint movement.

He spins around, orbs coming into contact with yours. “We need to know who that is.”

You nod, swiveling around and then walking towards the bedroom cupboards for some clothes. By the time you manage to find a nightgown, Namjoon already has his trousers on, hands rummaging around for his shirt.

He slips his arms through it as you adjust your straps, concerned eyes peering at you as he hurriedly does the buttons. You glance up, meeting his gaze with a firm nod.

The door quietly creaks open as Namjoon gazes around, gesturing with his hand for you to follow him. The pair of you descend down the stairs carefully, eyes racking around for any sight of movement.

There’s absolutely nothing ‒ an eerie silence reigning over the house instead. It’s truthfully unsettling, and you find yourself unconsciously drifting over to Namjoon’s side, slipping your fingers within his.

Once you reach the front door, Namjoon tightens his grip on you. He slowly pushes against it, attempting not to wince at the gush of wind that spills in. As silent as it is inside the house, being outside doesn’t seem to help.

You and Namjoon instantly separate, searching around the area with the notion that either of you will alert the other from finding something. But no matter how much you peer around, even specifically searching in the region where your window was, there seems to be no one in sight.

The two of you return inside when it feels like your fingers and toes are prepared to fall off from the icy cold, confusion evident in your shared glance.

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equality-wealth · 1 year

Text

Hidden costs facing LGBTQ+ parents.

For LGBTQ+ people, starting a family can prove to be particularly emotionally and financially challenging. Both private IVF and surrogacy involve high costs, as well as the potential impact of having children on earnings and pensions. It’s invaluable to seek financial advice from an adviser you can trust who understands what you’re going through.

No matter who you are, having kids presents challenges, whether they’re physical, emotional or financial. But for LGBTQ+ people, the route to starting a family can be especially complex. LGBTQ+ couples who want their own children typically have fewer options available to them, and the processes that are available can be both expensive and emotionally stressful.

Cost of starting a family via IVF

Although NICE guidelines suggest three rounds of IVF should be available on the NHS,2 it’s the local Integrated Care Board (ICB) that assigns healthcare budgets in local areas and ultimately decides how many – if any – IVF treatments can be funded by the taxpayer. The necessary criteria to qualify for NHS-funded treatment can often be strict, too – including being within a certain age or weight range, and not having children from a previous relationship. For example, some ICBs will only fund IVF for women under 35.3

The cost of private IVF treatment can vary, but the NHS advises that one round of treatment can cost £5,000 or more.4 Given the success rates, this could mean some couples end up spending high sums of money to start their family. For some, the only way to pay for this will be by taking out loans. Then there is the impact to earnings from taking parental leave and caring for a young family, which can affect everything from future earning capacity to pension values in retirement.

Cost of starting a family via surrogacy

Work with an adviser to cover costs

An adviser can help both same-sex and opposite-sex couples, to understand the benefits, difficulties and costs associated with surrogacy, plus the wider costs of funding childcare.

There are not many people doing this type of advice, but as always, it’s about finding someone you can trust and talking to them honestly and openly.

If you need help navigating the expenses of starting a family, contact us today - https://kathwilkinson.co.uk/contact

#lgbtqparents #rainydays #canalstmcr #gayvillagemcr

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nioxuntitled1 · 3 years

Photo

Types of Love

{ Albedo x reader } (1523 words)

Even though your position within the Knights of Favonius isn’t one with a bright title as your job was merely to gather the needed ingredients for various investigational needs, you were nevertheless happy to be a part of it.

Since your tasks are greatly around gathering and exploration, it isn’t anything too surprising for your relationship with the chief alchemist and captain of the investigation team to be close. It was common for him to drag you along to the magnificent yet deadly temperatured white scene of Dragonspine on a perfect Thursday.

“Say, what is the ingredient you need this time?”

“The scarlet quartz. It’s ability to maintain warms despite it being a crystal is truly interesting. A little further in investigation and we might turn it into something to help our future journeys here.” He said it with his usual tone while walking up the mountain to our camp. Surely it will be a lie if you say you aren’t taking a liking to this popular alchemist, but at the same time, something kept interrupting those words from revealing themselves.

The sky had started to turn dark yet the camp was at least still ten minutes away, despite making numerous runs around this area and fully prepared for each, the cold still manages to slip through jackets, sending a shiver down your body.

The boy had noticed your reaction to the sharp climate and decided to silently place his coat over yours.

“But-”

“I’ll be fine. You seem a little tired from your tasks previously, ignoring human temperature maintenance at this state will cause sickness.” And you could only nod to his statement.

“Actually, I...have a certain matter that I hope you would help me with.”

“Sure, what’s it about?”

“Emotions, various distinguishing between emotions to be exact. I admit I might not be the most professional when it comes to human feelings, so I do have some questions on some reactions I have when I meet a certain few.” “Hm, I might not be the best to ask though.”

“I understand, though I would like to know your opinion on these cases.”

“...Okay then.” After finally reaching the camp, managed to gather some of the quartz that he needed, cooked up some soup as he started his experiment once more.

“Should we start?”

“Here’s your jacket-”

He only stepped closer and held your hand within his. After knowing that your body has still yet to recover from the freezing coldness, his eyes expressed worry before grabbing his coat and placing it on you once more.

“I should make a potion for you, just in case…” You could hear him talking to himself as he walked back to his table. Before you could stop him, he had already finished the creation.

“Here, take this warming bottle, it should provide enough heat for your body to regain maintenance under the weather. And here’s a potion, you should drink it if you feel any uncomforts.”

“T-Thanks, you don’t have to do too much for me though.”

“I wanted to.”

There was a silence between the two before you decided to continue the previous topic. “Let’s start?”

“Alright.” He sat down beside you, somewhere not too close and somewhere not too far, just the enough distance for you to tense up and him to laugh at your reaction. “This first subject, whenever I meet them I get a very warm feeling. The feeling of the need to protect them and to make them smile even if it was to act out of...order and control. And when they made the right decision, I’ll feel glad for the troubles that they didn’t cause-, um, the peacefulness that we get to keep.”

You thought for a while before answering. “Hm, that’s...love, I think. I’m not so sure, but it could be connected to the caring that you have for the one and how you might feel proud if she grows in her decision making.”

He hm in response, slightly amused at you taking seriously the emotional words he used which yet so confusing, “You certainly do possess a skill that’s worth investigating.”

“Me?”

“Indeed, what you’ve said was quite the fact. I do care and would be proud to watch Klee grow,” he said. “And this word, love, is a complicated one, isn’t it?”

“It is, so to be more specific, your love for Klee is the family kind of love.”

“Hm, interesting.” He replied while taking a few notes from your explanation before continuing. “Then what about the second subject? Whenever I meet them, I feel as if I was being understood in the field of alchemy. The work that they’ve done is not quite yet at an extraordinary level, but the determination they have for the topic is admirable. I enjoy researching alchemy with their help and the progression they’ve made to where they are today was nevertheless impressive. Even off work, their suggestion for taking a leave was...amusing. I recall once they suggested investigating the crabs near the Falcon Coast.”

You can’t help but giggle at the fact that observing crabs is a good way to relax, which gives the chance of the slight blush on the boy, upon hearing your soft sounds echoing the area, to go unnoticed.

“Friendship,” you said, trying to take a pause from laughing. “The feeling you feel is probably the friendship, which you could also classify it as a kind of love I suppose. The feeling of being understood through the same interest, the respect you have for one another, and the carefree side that you tend to present to them is a form of trust. I’d say you are good friends with them, am I correct?”

“Precisely, but the usage of the word friend still confuses me. But in this case,Sucrose...then I guess we’re good friends, huh.”

“Sucrose?! Was she the one who made that suggestion-” And you couldn’t help but started to laugh again, it really was nothing new for the alchemists to misunderstand the definition of ‘relaxing.’

“What do you think about it though?”

“About what?”

“That plan, the crab and Falcon Coast one.”

“Oh, I think it was worth investigating, since crabs themselves might have some connections to a few recipes that I want to improve.” And you could only sigh at the boy who relates everything to work.

“...You did mention you feel confused by the word friendship?”

“Ah yes,” He said before glancing away, “I feel like there’s something more to this feeling.”

“...Is that so.”

It made your mood die down a little as your grips tighten around your knees, embracing for whatever he had to say. It was perhaps, Sucrose, the one he adores and not you. The thought of them being together, walking onward for a future that’s made for them was indeed an warming sight. But this bittersweet feeling just won’t go away.

Your focus landed on a plant beside some documents on the desk, a slight unusualness of it being present on this specific place as if it was something special, given from someone important. You shake your thoughts away, however, clearly he views you less than her.

Your admiration for him had already lasted for some time, but will the bud bloom when the spring comes?

“Does the emotion of friendship include an increase of heart rate?”

“...no, not usually.”

“Hm,” he said, continuing to record it down. “Then does it include the desire to hold them close?”

“...no.”

“Or signs of redness across ears and cheeks?”

“no.”

“Or the desire to protect them, be with them, and spend time with t-them till the end?”

“no, no, and no.”

He silently put down his pen and the paper before turning back to you. You could feel his sight, but you weren’t brave enough to maintain any sort of connections at the moment.

“Is it not friendship that I’m feeling?”

“...No.” And you started to explain. “It’s love, romantically. Your hope to be sharing the same future with the one you adore the most, the desire to be by their side whenever and wherever, the need of protecting and the signs of blushing shows how you treat them differently from the rest.” It hurts every inch of your heart to explain, but it was still done for his sake. “It’s love, the romantical kind of reaction.”

“I see.” he said before standing up, giving his hand to you. “Then I suppose I’m in love with you, (Y/n).”

“Wait-”

“Yes?”

“Is it not Sucrose that you love? But I thought-”

“You even said it yourself. It was only friendship between her. That description of emotion made me wonder about my feelings toward you. Turns out, it was as expected.”

“So you planned this all along just to-”

“Yes.” He looked at you with his shimmering teal eyes gazing into yours, as you see his smile that’s not noticeable, but compared to his usual expression was too shocking to be ignored.

“I planned this all along just to confess to you, correct.”

In the end, the flower did bloom in the coming spring.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin oneshot #genshin albedo #albedo x reader #albedo #oneshot #genshin impact oneshot

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matryosika · 3 years

Text

shoot me, chapter VI

pairing — changbin x reader

rating — 18+

genre of the overall series — smut, angst, fluff if you squint

prologue chapter I chapter II chapter III chapter IV chapter V chapter VI

word count for this chapter — 4.1 k

warnings — mentions of alcohol and emotional abuse

note — this chapter has no smut in it. still, the love-story gets completely developed here. next chapters will be filled with smut and angst so stay tuned! i haven't read this chapter because i wanted to upload it as soon as possible, so it may contain grammar mistakes. i will check it later since i have to go out with my family to have dinner! <3 hope you enjoy

taglist:@cozyblues @ahgasearmyfan @binnie-m00n @minaamhh @pinkishwen @spilledtee

[changbin's pov]

"so?" you asked him, modeling one of the dresses that you had previously selected from the expensive clothing shop "what do you think?"

she looks like a goddess.

"good" changbin limited to reply. "is that the last one?"

"c'mon you are not helping at all" you grunted, turning around slightly on the mirror to see the full silhouette of the dress "this might be the one, don't you think?"

i think so. i think you look perfect in all the things you have tried on, actually.

"it's alright" the dark-haired man reply "just take that one and let's get this over with"

"jesus, changbin" you whined "you are such a pain in the ass. if you were in a bad mood then you shouldn't have accepted to drive me here so i can buy a dress for the wedding"

you had been in korea for a month and 2 weeks now, your relationship with changbin growing unconciously intimate as you often engage in sexual encounters with him. you wouldn't say the both of you were close, but each day that passed by you could feel how you learned more about him just like he learned more about you too. you wouldn't consider him a good friend, since hostility made a presence every now and then between the both of you, but you had learned to spend time with him without feeling the need to put plugs into your ears and a blindfold to stop acknowledging his existence.

"if you needed help picking a dress" changbin interrupted, standing up from the seat he had been occupying for the last 45 minutes "you should've asked hyejin or ryujin to come and help you out, not me"

"hyejin is busy" you were quick to respond "ryujin had work today and you were the only other person i know that owns a car"

"cabs exist"

"yeah well" you made a pause, swallowing hard "i don't like cabs"

"you could've asked arthur to lend you his private driver" changbin tilted his head slightly.

"i get uncomfortable with strangers" you answered after a few seconds of being completely silent, changbin's gaze making you incredibly nervous.

"really?" he inquired, one of his hands traveling all the way to the pocket of his jacket as he pulled his wallet out. "why won't you just admit that you wanted to spend time with me?"

"fuck no" a grimace of disgust was quick to appear on your face "don't get confused. i would rather be dead than to spend more time with you than i already have to"

"yet you are still here" he teased "maybe i'm not as unbearable as your mind is trying to convince you i truly am"

with lazy steps he took the bunch of dresses that were piled up on the chair next to him, putting them all over his shoulder as he walked to the counter. "what are you doing?" you asked, still wearing the last dress you tried on.

"you are indecisive and i am starving" he said without even looking at you "i don't need to spend another 45 minutes here looking at how much you struggle to pick between 5 dresses, just have them all and pick one when you are alone"

you looked at him in desbelief "do you have any idea of how much just one of them cost? are you stupid?" you almost yelled in astonishment, looking at the figure of changbin slightly turning around to face you.

"i am not stupid" changbin reply "like i said, i am just hungry"

and currently thinking about how beautiful you are looking right now with that look of amazement on your pretty face. if i could, i would buy you the entire world just for you to destroy.

[y/n's pov]

"i will pay every single one of those dresses back before i leave" you mumbled, eating your food as if you had been starving for days "i had money, i didn't need you to come and rescue me as if i was some sort of damsel in distress"

"you were in distress though" he added, taking a sip of the drink he ordered "you took almost 30 minutes just to pick one dress to try on, you are really undecisive"

"yeah well, it's not like i had anywhere else to be" you replied.

"isn't arthur going to have a small gathering at his house today?" changbin inquired "like a pre-celebration of the wedding or something?"

you shrugged your shoulders "i don't know and i don't care. i am just here for the wedding and then i will be finally free"

you kept on eating your plate of food, confused as to why changbin's gaze stayed fix on you. "what, do i have something on my f-?"

"are you leaving right after the wedding?" he asked in a very hostile way, almost as if he had completely forgot that you were not going to stay forever.

"not right after but that's the main reason i came here, yeah" you replied, having a mixture of feelings inside your guts.

you couldn't deny the fact that you missed tsukuba, but living there meant to be trapped in the university dorms 24/7 just studying. but still, the lifestyle you have had for the past time was absolutely something you could get use to it: ryujin, hyejin, going out on the weekends, being free from school, changbin...

changbin?

"i still don't know the exact date though" you added "school doesn't start for me in another months so..."

"how is your life?" he asked, earning a weird look from you as you couldn't quite understand his question "in Japan, i mean"

you sighed. you had thought that living in japan was really good and you felt utterly comfortable living there until you arrived to korea and discovered a whole new life style that you had already learned to love. not only that, but leaving everything here was going to get you a bit nostalgic in the future. "it is great, better than people say it is honestly" you responded as he nodded "i live at the university dorms so life is pretty much everything but rushed. i spend my days at the library studying, i sometimes work as a shadow teacher for like 4 or 5 kids and on weekends i go and visit my mom and her partner"

"your mom got married after divorcing arthur?" changbin followed, just in time as he finished his dish of food.

"uh, it's complicated" you gave him a smile "she lives with someone and she is very happy"

"and are you?"

you were about to answer the question when you felt a pinch on your heart. a month ago you would have replied "yes" without a doubt. you thought you were happy living in japan, you thought you were happy when you visited thea, your mother, and reiko, her girlfriend. you thought you were happy when reiko made you her special coffee and you thought you were happy when they ocasionally visited you on winter nights at your dorm. you thought you were happy when you worked with children and spent time with them. you thought you were happy when you rode your bike from school to work and you thought you were happy when ryejin visited you and your mom on the holidays.

however, you had learned a new definition of happiness here.

"are you?" you fired back.

changbin slightly tilted his head as he laid completely back on his seat "i could be"

"what is exactly stopping you from being happy?" you asked him, intruiged.

"even if i explained it to you" he mumbled "i don't think you will be able to understand it"

"ah, there you are again" you scoffed, slightly rolling your eyes "your god complex has not show all day. i guess you missed it."

"c'mon" he grunted, raising his hand at one of the waiters at the restaurant "let's go somewhere else"

"where exactly?" you laughed "to your place? your car? a motel? jesus changbin, you can't really go a day without fucking, can you?"

"that's not actually what i had in mind" he replied, taking out his credit card as he saw the waiter approaching the table "but i mean if you want to fuck i won't say no"

"you had something in mind?" you asked, faking excitment "for me? you planned something for me?"

"if you want i can drop you at arthur's place right now so he can force you to have dinner with him and his bride. it's up to you"

you weren't really feeling like spending "quality time" with your father, and you also knew that hyejin was probably not going to attent the dinner, so there was no point of you being there. but at the same time, the thought of spending time with changbin doing non-sexual activities was something that it always made you nervous for an unknown reason, and you were feeling particularly nervous today.

"whatever"

the evening went on peacefully and that alone was unreal. he drove you to the center of seoul and suggested to take a walk around the most popular avenues because "the city looked better at night", something you have always believed too.

changbin was attractive and, even though your personalities crashed every damn time, you couldn't deny the fact that there were some sort of intimate bond going on between the both of you since that very first night at the bar. still, you wouldn't accept it. you wouldn't accept that the one person you disliked the most was starting to change your mind.

and you couldn't get yourself to trust him either. you couldn't trust any men, for that matter.

"have you thought about which dress you are going to wear tomorrow?" he asked so casually, his hands inside the pockets of his jacket as his gaze diverted from building to building.

"no" you replied, trying to get back at the trail of thoughts you had been threading since you left the restaurant with him. "have you?"

"have i thought about the dress i am going to wear tomorrow?" he laughed "i don't know, it will depend on which one you lend me"

"i got distracted" you admitted "but i will try on all the dresses tomorrow morning and i will give you the rest of them so you can return them to the store"

"i won't do that" he clicked his tongue "i bought them for you"

your heart skipped a beat after hearing those words and it was everything but pleasent.

"i don't want them"

"you can't reject a gift" he mumbled "that's the whole point of a gift"

"i will sell them on the internet" you threatened.

"do it, at the end of the day they are yours" he gave you a side look while smirking "but i wouldn't sell them if i were you. you look good in them"

"oh so you want to give opinions about the dresses now, huh?" you asked, mildly annoyed "you could've help me back at the store but you chose to be grumpy"

"at least i am helping you now"

"you are unbearable" you whispered.

a bright smile was quick to appear on his face. a genuine smile, as if he was enjoying the conversation. not only the conversation but the whole moment: you and him, walking around the city and talking about something so casual and trivial like which clothes you were going to wear tomorrow or which dress he liked best on you.

and for a moment it felt nice.

you felt safe.

"the red one was pretty" he added. you looked at him confused, once again lost in your trail of thoughts. "the red dress, the one that you tried on last"

"good" you responded "i'll make sure not to wear that one"

"you hate me that much?" he teased while a faint chuckle left his lips.

"oh changbin, you have no idea" deep down knowing it wasn't more than a vile lie.

you looked in the mirror one last time before you heard hyejin calling your name once again "y/n, how long will you take? i need to stop by the bakery to pick up the wedding cake"

"i'll be out in a minute" you replied, noticing how your hands got sweatier by the second.

you were quite nervous, but couldn't really understand why. maybe the sole thought of your father having his "happy ending" made you jealous because you knew that he did not deserve that at all; he didn't deserve the love he had.

the emotional abuse your mother and you suffered throughout your childhood and adolescence was not something that could be fixed in a month or two and you were certain about it. no matter how happy your father was, you couldn't help but to feel jealous about how he never had to suffer like you and your mother did.

and even though you got over your negative feelings towards him, the scars and aftermath of an abusive household still caught up on you: the mistrust, the negativity, the hostility and the lack of commitment were things you had to deal with on a daily basis.

of course he was the one to blame. but you were an adult now, and you were supposed to deal with all those issues by yourself. no one was going to fix them for you.

"jesus y/n, we are running late" hyejin busted the door open "are you ready now?"

"yes" you were quick to respond, grabbing the purse on your bed and trying to quickly divert from your sister's gaze.

"wait" she mumbled, gripping both of your shoulder as you intended to the leave the room "why are you tearing up?"

"i am not" you replied "i yawned"

she didn't look convinced, but still decided not to push any further "i'll meet you in the car, i just have to grab a few things"

you nodded and made your way through the hallway. because of how rushed she was, you didn't have a chance to tell hyejin how gorgeous she looked. she was wearing a golden shiny dress that embraced her body just fine and carrying a maching clutch with it. she was really pretty, maybe the prettiest woman you had ever seen, and not only that but she was also very smart. any guy would be head over heels for her, but she still decided not to engage in a "silly love story" as she called them because "it is a waste of her precious time, and time is money"

you wished you had the same mentality as she did, but you grew up getting educated on how love was portrayed in books, movies and television. it was ironic how you were the first person on earth to deny that love actually existed, but you were still a hopeless romantic after all.

[changbin's pov]

"changbin, are you too far from the church?" haeun, his mother, asked desperately as changbin picked up the phone.

"i'm right outside" he grunted "i told you i was not going to be late"

"we are sitting on the second bench at the left of the altar" the old woman added "hurry up"

changbin hung up the phone and cursed under his breath. the weather today was maybe too nice for his own liking and his clothes were a bit too uncomfortable to be wearing them under the sun.

as quickly as he could, he closed the door of his car and started walking towards the entrance, making sure that the ceremony hadn't started just yet so he wouldn't make a scene.

"did you bring the gift?" jang-yeop inquired as he sat down next to him and changbin nodded "did you also bring your mother the pair of shoes?"

"yes" he responded "how long is this going to take?"

"40-45 minutes?" his father replied "i have no idea, what time is it?"

"7:02 p.m." haeun was quick to answer "now, the both of you shut up"

right after she mumbled those words, music started to sound on the church. changbin, being in a rush to get to his seat before the ceremony started, didn't notice that arthur was already standing up next to the altar and waiting for his soon-to-be wife. changbin's gaze was fixed on arthur, then it diverted into the bride walking down the aisle and then returned to arthur once again. he never thought about marriage or building a family. hell, he never thought about having a romantic relationship that would last longer than a few months actually. but as he grew older, and as he experienced new stuff, he wasn't sure if he still had the same mentality he used to have last year.

to changbin, arthur seemed genuinely happy. his half-lidded eyes along with that bright smile he was wearing indicated that the man was living one of the happiest days of his life. and as changbin witnessed that romantic scene, the question that popped up in the conversation he had with you last night grabbed his attention once again.

what exactly is stopping me from being happy?

and before he could respond himself with words, his eyes had already found the answer: standing on the bench at the right of the altar and wearing that promising dark red dress that could drive any man insane, the woman he never dreamed of looking just as beautiful as the very first day he met her.

not being able to have her completely.

[y/n's pov]

after the ceremony, a big party was held at a very elegant event hall located in one of the tallest buildings of seoul. you were not particularly excited about having to see arthur's side of the family, but you still managed to keep yourself together the whole time.

"you are wearing the red dress" a sudden voice whispered into your ear as you were counting the tables that were still missing their dinner plates, an order given by hyejin. you slightly turned around to meet changbin's breath dancing on your neck and nape, goosebumps filling every single inch of your skin due to the proximity.

"congratulations" you sighed "your vision is crystal clear"

"i have been watching you since the ceremony" changbin added "i can't help but think about how pretty you are going to look when you are taking that dress off for me"

a spark of electricity traveled around your whole body and directly into your core. you immediatly looked around and notice a few people who worked for arthur's company sitting not that far away from the both of us "do you really want to do this here?" you asked "aren't you scared of being caught by any of arthur's friends?"

"are you concerned about that now?" he chuckled "that didn't seem to bother you at the company's elevator"

"c'mon" you whispered, your back slightly pressing against his chest "i have to help hyejin with some stuff"

changbin slightly gripped your hand and guided you to the dancefloor that was crowded with couples dancing around "i am sure that she can handle all of this by herself"

before you could protest, you took out your phone and sent her a message with the information she asked for. you had no idea what changbin was up to, but you still decided to follow him.

changbin positioned his hands on your waist as he gracefully dragged you across the dancefloor, looking for a spot in the middle of the crowd so it would be easier for the two of you to get lost.

"you are spending the night at my place" he mumbled over the slow songs that were now playing. it wasn't a question nor a petition, it was an order.

"yeah right" you chuckled "if you are too desperate to fuck we can do that, but i am not fond of sleepovers"

the thought of you spending the night with him was terrifying, but you would've been lying if you said that you hadn't think about what it would be like to wake up next to his him.

"i wasn't asking" he responded. "tell me when you are ready to leave".

with a swift movement, your whole body was pressed against his, his hands resting on your lowerback as you both swinged from side to side, following the rythm of the song. this was a whole new side of him that you didn't know it existed, and you couldn't deny that you were loving every second of it.

"who thaught you how to dance, huh?" you asked, your gaze fixed on his eyes that looked even brighter because of all the lights adorning the hall.

"there is so much about me that you don't know" he replied.

"oh i know everything there is to know about you, changbin" you scoffed "but let's see if you can keep surprising me"

it wasn't even midnight but people were already starting to get completely intoxicated with alcohol. arthur had spent the night dancing with ara and, after she was done being the unofficial wedding planner, hyejin ended up getting wasted with the small group of friends she invited to the wedding. you, on the other hand, spent the night dancing with changbin and eating your dinner with him.

it was not unusual to see the both of you together since you spent too much time at the company, but tonight it was sort of different. the looks he gave you, the way you two danced for hours on end, the way he was treating you... it felt different, a little bit more personal and intimate. his parents probably noticed this too, since they made a lof of comments about "how happy they were about us being really good friends". if only they knew.

"i think i am ready" you said to changbin after telling hyejin that you were going to spend the night somewhere else. she nodded her head and agreed to say, if asked, that "you were at ryujin's" even when she wasn't invited to the wedding in the first place. you just smiled at her and nodded, not leaving without telling one of her sober friends to look out for her.

"don't worry" the pretty pale girl mumbled "she will stay at my house tonight"

you glanced over to arthur and ara who were still having the greatest time of their lives on the dancefloor, and proceeded to walk away from the party with changbin. "you parents will stay here?"

"yeah, they will leave in an hour or so" changbin replied "i told them that you wanted to go home and that i was going to drive you"

"perks of living alone i guess" you joked.

the walk through the empty corridors of the building felt eerie as the loud sound of the music were still ringing in your ears. even though you were walking on your own, you could still feel changbin's ablazing touch on your body and that only provoked your heartbeat to go even faster.

as you waited for the elevator to open their doors, changbin's lips unexpectedly crashed against yours. it wasn't a passionate kiss, and it wasn't rushed either. it was just a kiss, an innocent kiss, a kiss you give to your significant other as a demostration of how much you love them. his soft lips dragged against yours as his teeth bite softly your bottom lip, earning a small whine from you. his hands, that were now located into your waist, guided you to the insides of the elevator once the doors were opened.

"you look so beautiful tonight" he whispered interrupting, his breathing getting faster each second that passed by "i can't get you out of my head"

his lips left yours to meet the sensitive spots on your neck, peppering soft kisses all over the surface. your gaze found the reflection of the scene in the mirror of the elevator, looking at how changbin was tasting every inch of your skin with his eyes closed, his rushed hands traveling all the way from your waist to your lower back trying to memorize every single trace of your body.

"i don't want to hurt you tonight" he continued "no roughness, no pain, no petnames. i want to make you completely mine, in the most pure way"

and for the night, you agreed to let your feelings out and let go.

no fear and no mistrust, you were ready to face the overwhelming feelings that had been building up inside you since the day you met him.

even if you could potentially regret it later...

#stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids x reader #changbin x reader #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #skz oneshots #stray kids oneshots #seo changbin smut #kpop smut

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