#but the best part of their marriage was when she stabbed him in the stomach 47 times and felt his blood splatter against her skin | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jingyismom · 3 years

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Time for more sex-cursed Lan Wangji!

a messy, self-indulgent spree imported from twt and lightly edited

explicit, wangxian, 9k, canon divergence fix-it

mild dubcon because of the nature of sex curses (but like, they do their best to communicate around it), and cw for brief thoughts of self harm, no other warnings

This curse's origin is mysterious, perhaps politically guided. Someone is trying to throttle Gusu Lan's alliance prospects by removing Lan Wangji's stellar marriageability after Sunshot. It works, after a fashion.

Wei Wuxian is in the Burial Mounds, farming and hardening his heart as the resentment worsens his health, subsisting on memories of Lan Wangji's single visit.

Lan Wangji is at home in Gusu, pining away while they rebuild the Cloud Recesses.

One day, he begins to burn up with unexplained fever.

The healers examine him quickly and thoroughly and determine first that he's been cursed. This is not entirely shocking, but it of course angers the entire sect. Next they test for the curse's nature. It turns out to be a very classic, very coarse type of love curse.

The afflicted will burn up, losing all their sense and senses, and eventually die, if their body's “needs” are not satisfied by the one it craves most.

The healers are disgusted. Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren are outraged. But Lan Wangji becomes very calm at the news.

Before, he felt anxiety. The urgent desperation of a dying man waiting to be told how to live.

Now he is just waiting to die.

For you see, the choice between throwing himself at another human being—no matter who they may be—and meeting death with dignity, is an easy one.

Everyone else privy to this information disagrees. The argument that follows is short, but heated:

"Well, Wangji?" Lan Qiren begins once the initial furor has died down. "How do you wish to...go about this?"

Lan Wangji, over-warm and aching, looks up at him from the examination bed. Gusu Lan funeral rites are ancient and immutable. He does not understand the question.

Lan Qiren purses his lips and glances around. "We must find the person first," he prompts.

Ah. The person responsible. Yes, Lan Wangji does have business with them before he dies. He stands, only swaying slightly. "I am well enough to exact justice. Let us cast the rebound."

Lan Xichen steps forward then, and gently pushes him back to sitting. "It has been cast. However, justice can wait. Your health must come first."

Lan Wangji looks between his uncle, his brother, and the one doctor allowed to be present. Surely they would not be joking at a time like this.

"I do not understand," he says.

The three exchange a look. "Breaking the curse must be our priority," says Lan Xichen.

Lan Wangji is not sure he heard correctly. But it would be cruel to give him unfounded hope. "I was unaware there was another way."

"...There is not," says Lan Xichen, his gentleness unfailing.

Lan Wangji experiences a moment of deep confusion before the horror sets in.

"You cannot mean this," he says through his shock. "Surely you cannot mean to cast aside so many disciplines at the whim of a base villain."

"The disciplines are a guide," Lan Qiren says, hands behind his back, looking into the distance, "to ensure a life well-lived. They are not meant to inspire martyrdom."

Lan Wangji's mouth falls open. He stares at his uncle, mute with betrayal. He has never heard of any such leeway before, not in regards to disciplines of such a serious nature.

"You can understand, can't you?" Lan Xichen says. "That no rule is more important than your life.”

Lan Wangji disagrees vehemently. "I would not buy my life with such behavior."

Lan Qiren huffs in irritation. "We may perform a marriage in haste, if you wish."

Lan Wangji balks at him. That his uncle should speak so flippantly of...such a thing. It is unimaginable. And besides, forcing a marriage on Wei—on anyone in this way is surely only adding insult to heinous injury.

"I refuse," he says.

Lan Xichen exchanges a look with the doctor, and sits beside him. "Perhaps the other person should be allowed part of that choice."

Ridiculous. "There is no such person." Preventing this course of action is worth one lie, Lan Wangji reasons.

"With respect, Hanguang-jun, if that were true, the curse would not have been able to take hold," says the doctor.

The use of his title feels uncomfortably ironic from a woman who helped deliver him at birth. He glares at her. She smiles tiredly in return.

"Wangji," Lan Xichen says. His tone is beginning to grate on Lan Wangji's raw nerves. "You will at least try, won't you?"

Lan Wangji stares at him in disbelief, in anger, in righteous indignation.

"Never," he says.

A hand slaps his shoulder. "Apologies," says the doctor, and the world goes dark.

-----

Lan Wangji wakes to dark wood beams dappled by lacy sunlight, and a faint smell of char in the air. His head is heavy, his limbs full of lead. He swallows around the dry thickness in his throat.

"Water," comes a familiar voice.

With effort, Lan Wangji sits up. His stomach is roiling, his mind fogged from the coma and the curse both. The doctor, crouching beside him in the carriage, offers him a bowl of water.

He takes it, and asks, "What have you done?"

She sighs.

"My duty," she says, "with the help of your brother."

She draws back the curtain at the carriage entrance, revealing a sea of black, twisted trees and gray tumbled walls.

Lan Wangji's blood freezes in his veins. He just barely stops himself from asking how they knew.

"Why," he asks instead, a much safer question.

She considers him. "Your brother said if he was wrong, he would beg forgiveness afterward. But it couldn't hurt to have an expert in resentment and curses look at you anyway."

A stab of sick embarrassment makes Lan Wangji’s stomach clench.

Has he been so obvious? Is he such a lovesick fool that anyone with eyes can see his shame?

The doctor pats his shoulder gruffly and he flinches, expecting more needles.

"Ah he's your brother, he's bound to know things you don't want him to," she says. "Come on. Out you get."

He allows her to tug him out of the carriage and onto solid ground. The air is stifling with resentment, but he is glad to be free of his bonds. Now he can look for his chance to get away.

There are six Lan disciples flanking them. He eyes them warily, wondering what they know. When the doctor pulls him out of earshot, and pitches her voice low, he is satisfied that they have not been fully informed.

"Your family and I agreed to give you a chance first," she says. "You have 24 hours to take care of this yourself. After that, I will personally tell Wei-gongzi of your brother's message. I have been assured he will not jeopardize your well-being if fully-informed."

Lan Wangji gapes at her. He does not know what he expected to happen, but it was not this...this...mercenary attempt at...forcing...

The curse has weakened him such that he cannot fly his sword. He can hardly walk in a straight line, let alone run. He has very little recourse now that everyone in his life has gone absolutely mad. His heart is racing with the adrenaline of upheaval, of fear, of impending death.

He wrenches his arm from her grasp and stalks off of the road, into the brush. She calls after him, but he does not mean to escape. He cannot manage that alone. Instead, he sits. He takes a deep breath. He sinks into meditation.

"Hanguang-jun," she calls. She approaches, hands on her hips. She sighs. "Well, if it's like that, then there's nothing stopping me from telling him right now."

She turns, and Lan Wangji feels a lurch of helplessness, when a new voice rings clear through the fog.

"Tell what to whom?"

Lan Wangji's eyes snap open. Wei Wuxian is standing on the other side of the carriage, the child A-Yuan in his arms, eyeing the Lan delegation with suspicion. Wen Ning is with him, and the Lan disciples shift nervously just looking at him, but Wei Wuxian sets A-Yuan in his arms, and he leaps away up the mountain.

"Might I assume this little party has come for me?" Wei Wuxian goes on, twirling his flute. His eyes are shrewd and cold, similar to the way they had looked when he had first returned during the war.

At the sight of him, at the sound of his voice, the curse...reacts.

A horrid, uncomfortable shiver of need runs through Lan Wangji's body alongside his own simple relief and joy at seeing Wei Wuxian again, looking relatively well. He fights it, keeping still among the weeds, hoping against hope to go unnoticed.

"Yiling Laozu," the doctor greets him with a deep bow. "We have indeed come to humbly beg your aid."

"I see," he says. "And what will you give me in return?"

The doctor hesitates, clearly discomfited by the context Wei Wuxian is currently unaware of. "We may...discuss that. Once we have informed you of the details."

Wei Wuxian hums, considering. Cold. Detached. "And if I am disinclined to—"

He breaks off. The doctor has moved so that she and Lan Wangji are both in Wei Wuxian's line of sight. Lan Wangji closes his eyes rather than see the moment of recognition, rather than feel the weight of Wei Wuxian's eyes on him, like this.

"Lan Zhan?"

Lan Wangji clamps his jaw shut. It is a struggle not simply to crawl to him.

The renewed ice in Wei Wuxian's voice when next he speaks makes Lan Wangji aware of the warmth with which he had said his name. His curls his shaking hands into fists on his knees.

"What have you done to him?"

The doctor sighs. "We have done nothing. He has been cursed, which is why we brought him here. If you—"

"Daifu," Lan Wangji interrupts, his voice thin.

She stops speaking.

Lan Wangji opens his eyes, but does not look at Wei Wuxian, not yet. If he is careful, and uses his remaining strength correctly, he can perhaps...perhaps guide the situation. Toward escape. With Wei Wuxian's help.

He may have to lie to him. He hopes he will be forgiven, all things considered.

Lan Wangji stands slowly, carefully, considering each movement so as not to reveal the state he is in.

"I will speak with him," he says to the doctor.

She eyes him. "24 hours," she says.

He does not acknowledge this. He thinks they both know it will not come to that, though his idea differs greatly from hers. He judges, from the time they have allotted and his own weakness, that he has perhaps a day and a half, total, to wait them out. Doable, if he is careful and intelligent about it.

He can manage.

He walks over to Wei Wuxian, careful to keep two arm's lengths between them. This close is already too close: a fine, constant tremor has made a home in all of his tightly-locked muscles. He feels the moment his fever begins to rise further. The sides of his throat hurt, the interiors of his ears. He wonders if his hearing will go first, or his eyes.

"Allow me to explain," he says to him.

"Of course," Wei Wuxian answers.

He sounds strange. Cold, still. Lan Wangji wants to look at him, and almost slips, but manages to stop himself. He follows him up the hill, past the wards, through the resentment that clings to them both, now. He keeps his careful distance, following behind.

"What happened?" Wei Wuxian asks, as they walk.

"A curse," Lan Wangji says carefully. "Origin unknown. The rebound has been cast. I did not wish to burden you with this, but they are...they will not listen to reason. Wei Ying, if you would but help me, I would deal with this on my own."

"Oh?"

"I...wish to seek justice. They will not allow it. But you understand. If there is another path off the mountain, if you would show me the way past them, I could—"

Wei Wuxian stops dead, and Lan Wangji, with his eyes in the ground, runs into him.

For a blazing, agonizing moment, he is touching Wei Wuxian, clinging to him, every element in his body sighing and crying out at once in satisfaction, in the torturous need for more.

He tears himself away, stumbling back, almost falling. Wei Wuxian reaches out as if to catch him, but falters.

"Lan Zhan, you can hardly stand," he says, alarmed, "and you want to go and fight someone?"

Lan Wangji draws himself up taller again, trying hard to stop his shaking. He cannot look at him. He cannot look. He is already dying, now, just from not looking. "It is my right."

"...It is..." Wei Wuxian says at length, watching him closely. "And it still will be once you're well again. Your doctors really couldn't tell what type of curse it is?"

Lan Wangji says nothing, trying to think past the way every inch of his skin feels as if it is burning clean off. The pain of it screams through him, worse than anything he has ever felt. Wei Wuxian is still speaking, but it is hard to make sense of it. When Wei Wuxian begins walking again, slowly, it is all he can do to both follow and stay away from him. This, here, now, is worse than death. If it lasts, he certainly will not be sane when the end finally comes. He lets go of any thoughts of a dignified death.

Fortunately, by the time they reach the cool dark of the cave Wei Wuxian calls home, the pain has subsided to a distant roar. Unfortunately, he hoped never to reach this point. He tries his only play again, unable to think of any new tactic.

"Please show me the way off the mountain," he says without preamble.

Wei Wuxian is quiet for a beat. "You really don't want my help that much?"

Lan Wangji is so confused by this question, and then struck by the irony of it, that he almost begins to laugh. A shivery, jittery feeling fills his chest, and he leans against the nearest solid surface. He wishes he were wearing a loose outer layer over his blue travel robes, the better to hide his shaking. He does not know how to respond.

"You haven't so much as looked at me once since you got here," Wei Wuxian goes on, digging through strange pots and objects on a table, "so I get it. But you'll have to forgive me if I disregard your objection to the kind of work I do, when it comes to your life."

"My life, my life," Lan Wangji mocks, accidentally out loud. Why is everyone suddenly so obsessed with his life? He was ready to give it freely in the war, but chance let him keep it. What difference does giving it now in the name of keeping himself clean of shame make? Why will nobody allow him this choice?

"What shame?" Wei Wuxian asks.

Lan Wangji buckles at the realization that he has said all of this out loud. He goes to the floor, to his knees.

"Nothing," he says. "The shame of not having warded off such a simple attack."

"Lan Zhan...you want to die because you didn't defend against a curse you didn't know was coming?"

Lan Wangji lapses into silence. He has said too much already. He does not know how to get out of this. He can only...he can only stay quiet. Refuse to speak or move.

"Lan Zhan...I feel like I'm missing something here. I only want to help.”

Lan Wangji grits his teeth and stares hard at the floor in front of him. He has rarely ever felt so trapped, so utterly helpless. The extended, full-body pain is dulling his mind by the moment. The hems of Wei Wuxian's robes come into view, and it takes everything in him not to fall forward into him, to plead, to beg. His breath is hitching at random intervals now, his heart tripping as it prepares to fail entirely.

There is a soft gust of air, and an odd prickling sensation across his face.

"Now let's see—oh," Wei Wuxian says. "I...oh."

Lan Wangji wilts at his stilted, awkward tone. He knows now, surely. Can see him truly.

"So that's why you want to leave, and why they won't let you. They want me to find another way to break it, to stop you from...ah."

Lan Wangji sorts through the words, trying to comprehend them.

"Sorry," Wei Wuxian goes on. "I...it's unbreakable, otherwise. A very old, airtight spell. You...will Gusu Lan start a war with me if I do just let you go...ah, handle this the old-fashioned way?"

Comprehension dawns. And with it, a way out.

Lan Wangji rushes to agree. "They—" He cuts off. Will they? If they think Wei Wuxian has willingly let him die, rather than...

He takes a breath. Another. Forces his mind past the endless litany of pleas for relief.

"Show me the way " he says, his words breathless and short, "and then tell Lan-daifu what you have done. And why. But give me time to. Get away. And you will be safe."

Wei Wuxian pauses. "How...ah. How far—how much time?"

Lan Wangji tries hard to come up with an answer for that. His progress will be slow. But he need only find a place to hide.

"Half a day," he hazards.

Wei Wuxian seems to vacillate. "Are you sure you can make it on your own?"

Lan Wangji wants to rage. To weep. To curse himself to the heavens for being so depraved toward so endlessly kind a man. His heart hurts, even as his body strains toward him.

This lie may be the worst he will ever tell.

"I will be fine,” he says.

"Alright." Wei Wuxian sounds unconvinced. "I trust you."

Lan Wangji nearly convulses, holding back a sob. How will he ever be forgiven?

He cannot think of it. Only this, only what comes next. Only keeping Wei Wuxian safe from this mess.

"Lan Zhan?"

"Mn," he manages.

"Would you look at me, now? I haven't...used any demonic cultivation on you. It's safe, I promise I won't. I just. Can't we say goodbye properly?"

Lan Wangji has not moved from the floor. He does not move. He should try. A parting gift. Just one look.

But if he is going to leave. If he is going to succeed. He cannot.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says again, frustrated now.

Lan Wangji does not look. He is so close to freedom from the horrible pull, from the way his very veins are trying to tear themselves free to wrap around Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian steps forward, and Lan Wangji's breath leaves him all at once. Suddenly, there are fingers beneath his jaw, kind but firm, tilting his chin up. He has no choice but to look.

(Inspired by this art.)

Wei Wuxian is there. Tall and strong and perfect, tiredness mixed with something bittersweet on his lovely face. Lan Wangji's entire being melts toward him, a deep, sharp tug from inside his bones, a mindless, helpless, straining need that pushes a low, wanting sound from his throat.

Wei Wuxian snatches his hand away and backs up half a step, staring at him.

"Sorry," he says, blank. Confused. "I thought it was...I didn't realize...sorry."

Lan Wangji, now that he has looked, cannot look away. He has overbalanced without Wei Wuxian's support, fallen forward onto his hands, but he cannot stop looking at him. He will look at him, and keep looking; he prays Wei Wuxian is the last thing he sees before he dies.

The most shameful part of this is that none of it is the curse twisting his thoughts. None of this is. All the curse is doing is making the way he always feels impossible to ignore.

"Wei Ying," his voice implores. He does not mean it to.

Wei Wuxian takes another step back and looks down at the bowl of powder in his hand, confused. "I was certain it was that curse," he says to himself. "If I was wrong, then maybe I could break it..."

Lan Wangji tries to scrape his composure back together. He tries. He tries. His fingers scrape on the rough stone floor. He does not reach out for him. That is something.

Wei Wuxian looks at him again, then hastily away. Lan Wangji does not ever want to know what it is he sees.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says, as Lan Wangji shakes, and shakes. "Where...where were you trying to go? I thought you...I thought you were, ah, thinking of a certain someone."

Lan Wangji's arms are weak. They are going to give out. He cannot answer him.

"I'm confused, and I...may have made a mistake," Wei Wuxian goes on, still backing away slowly, "but I just want to help. Can you tell me what was happening before, and what's happening now?"

Lan Wangji shakes his head, and the motion shatters his fragile balance. He falls, and curls tightly around himself in the dirt.

"Lan Zhan!" Wei Wuxian says, suddenly close.

Lan Wangji sees his hand reach out, then pause, and he can't stop himself from taking hold of it, just to be touching him. His body screams for it, and he gasps raggedly at the contact.

Wei Wuxian wrenches his arm free. Lan Wangji wishes he were dead.

"Fuck," Wei Wuxian mutters to himself. "I...I'm sorry. I made this so much worse, I..."

"No," Lan Wangji rasps. He cannot hear Wei Wuxian berate himself thus. His dignity has now died, and he himself will soon follow. This is all that matters. "Not your fault."

Wei Wuxian huffs, crouching beside him. "It is...at least partially my fault, at this point, I'm pretty sure. You wouldn't be...reacting. Like this. If it weren't. Is...can I...do a few more tests? To check what I got wrong, and maybe—"

"You were not wrong."

He does not mean to say it.

His need to reassure has overridden his sense, and his mind is too slow now to piece together what it will mean before it leaves his mouth. The regret once it does is instantaneous. He tries to curl himself yet smaller in the dirt.

Wei Wuxian is silent. Lan Wangji cannot stop making small, pitiful, pained sounds in the back of his throat. Everything hurts. Everything.

"I don't understand," Wei Wuxian says quietly.

Lan Wangji lies shivering on the floor, arms locked around himself to prevent any more untoward behavior. He cannot take it back. He cannot try to explain. There is nothing he could say, regardless.

"Lan Zhan...but you..."

He can hear Wei Wuxian thinking, but it only registers in the far back of his mind. The rest of his consciousness is taken up by pain, and by ruthless restraint.

"You wanted to leave to get away from me," Wei Wuxian says, finally.

Lan Wangji does not answer. He wishes he had his sword. He would use it now to end this.

Wei Wuxian begins to back away again, and Lan Wangji’s body moves without his permission. He grips the skirt of Wei Wuxian’s robes in his fist and drags himself closer, pressing his cheek to Wei Wuxian's knee.

Shameful. Wanton. The small part of himself that is still aware berates the action. But he cannot let go. He cannot move away. The only part of him that is not howling with pain is the side of his face pressed to coarse fabric.

"Lan Zhan, you…," Wei Wuxian is trying to gently pry Lan Wangji's fingers from his hem. "You wanted to leave, remember? You don't want...you don't."

"Want," Lan Wangji croaks, pressing closer. "Wanted to spare you."

"Ah, Lan Zhan...I...I'm still not sure it's that specific curse, it could...there could be other..."

"It is," Lan Wangji says, half-crawling up Wei Wuxian's leg. He wants to stop himself. It is impossible.

"Lan Zhan...you...you shouldn't—"

"Stop me," Lan Wangji pleads, nuzzling against Wei Wuxian's thigh, "Wei Ying, I can't...please. Stop me."

There is a long near-silence filled with harsh breaths, in which Lan Wangji is almost certain he imagines the light touch of fingers brushing his mussed hair back from his forehead. Then Wei Wuxian speaks.

"No," he says. "You'll die, if I do. Lan Zhan. I won't let that happen."

He touches Lan Wangji's face. Lan Wangji whimpers into him.

He knows this will break the fragile repairs they have made to their friendship. He will likely never see him again, at least not on good terms. The thought makes him feel ill. He should protest. Refuse. Flee. He can do exactly none of these things. He reaches for Wei Wuxian's wrist, to hold his hand to his face, but Wei Wuxian flinches away.

"You can't...Lan Zhan. I'm going to help you," he says, "but you have to...you can't...you can't touch me."

Lan Wangji feels another tight clench of shame. He nods against his leg. He understands: he knows any small part of this is too much to ask, let alone bearing his unwelcome, curse-fevered grasping.

"Okay," says Wei Wuxian. He slides his fingers beneath Lan Wangji’s chin again, tipping his face up.

He looks so uncertain. So beautiful in the dim light. Lan Wangji wants to weep with it.

"Lan Zhan, I know it doesn't count for much like this, but you have to tell me. You have to tell me what you need."

Lan Wangji turns his head, pressing his face between Wei Wuxian's thigh and stomach, trying to reach into him, to feel more of him, to stop hurting just enough to think. It does not work.

"You," he breathes, into the scent of earth, and stringent soap, and Wei Wuxian.

A harsh, uneven breath ghosts across his hair, and Wei Wuxian's hands grip his shoulders. He thinks he is about to be pushed away again, but instead Wei Wuxian pulls him up, pulls him close, folds him into his embrace.

Lan Wangji sobs into his shoulder, trying at once to get closer and to hold himself apart, instinct demanding, even now, that he try to conceal his obvious, disgraceful hardness. His muscles quake under the strain of doing both and neither, and Wei Wuxian smooths one hand down his back, pressing him close, pressing them flush. Lan Wangji chokes back a shocked sound.

"Shh," Wei Wuxian soothes. "It's alright."

It is not alright. It is the end of the thing Lan Wangji holds most dear.

But he does not have it in him to argue. He is shifting against him, his overheated body begging for touch, indeed for ravishment. He is mindless with it. The pain is not subsiding but slipping sideways into something more, something different, something necessary.

He is on his knees on hard stone, breathlessly held in the arms of his beloved. He has dreamt this: sweetly, hazily, with and without hope. But never like this. Never sick with remorse, with need, dying and demanding and defiling. His deepest desire twisted into a nightmare.

He whimpers again, his lips finding the soft coolness of Wei Wuxian's throat. Wei Wuxian jerks away again, and Lan Wangji fists his hands tighter at his sides, trying, trying not to overstep again.

"I—sorry," he gasps out. He will never be able to apologize enough. But he will try.

"Don't apologize," says Wei Wuxian. "I—"

He cuts himself off. Lan Wangji does not have enough sense to wonder why. In the same moment, one of his thighs gives under the strain, and he falls against him heavily. They tip over, to the floor, and he reaches out on instinct to brace them both. When he is again conscious of himself, Wei Wuxian is lying on top of him, breathing hard, both of Lan Wangji's wrists pinned to the floor in one hand. Lan Wangji arches against him inadvertently, and turns his face into his own bicep.

"Sorry, I...so sorry," he pants, his hips flexing, searching for friction. "I have...no control...”

"I know," Wei Wuxian says, "I know, I shouldn't have..." he swallows hard. "I'm going to keep you like this. Can I?"

Lan Wangji nods frantically, his eyes shut tight. He does not care. Anything that he can do to make this any less invasive for Wei Wuxian, he will do.

Wei Wuxian pulls away then, his hold still firm on Lan Wangji's wrists. Lan Wangji squeezes his eyes shut and tries to stop moving, to stop searching for touch, to stop making such a disgusting spectacle of himself, but to no avail. What feels like centuries later, he hears the telltale sounds of talisman activation. He is too far gone in his pain to look up, to see what they are. He simply lies there, pinned and writhing, his breath catching in his throat. The sounds it makes are small, pitiful, desperate.

Just like him.

Eventually, Wei Wuxian leans back over him, a considering look in his eye. His hand hovers at Lan Wangjis belt.

"I—should I..."

"Yes," pleads Lan Wangji.

He needs Wei Wuxian's skin on his skin. He does not know how discerning the curse is about what happens now, but it feels as if he will die without it. Wei Wuxian takes what looks like a fortifying breath and unties the belt. Lan Wangji, unable to help, instead hinders the process with his ceaseless movement. But Wei Wuxian manages it with deft hands, and immediately unties each layer of robes in quick succession until Lan Wangji’s chest and stomach are bare.

The cool air of the cave does not soothe his burning. It burns like ice instead. Lan Wangji shivers, an ugly whine escaping him.

"What," Wei Wuxian asks, pausing, "what is it?"

Lan Wangji shakes his head. He will bear it. He will not make demands.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says, "you need to talk to me, I...I don't want to make this even worse, or, or draw it out longer."

Something small and dark crumples in Lan Wangji's chest. He does not want that either. He will need to speak. To ask.

"Hurts," he says, rough and thick.

"Where?"

"...Not...not touching me."

Wei Wuxian makes a distressed noise and lays both his palms flat over Lan Wangji's ribs. Lan Wangji groans, pressing up into them.

"Please," he whispers, helpless. "Please."

"Oh, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian murmurs, something sad like regret. He leans closer and slides one hand down. Lan Wangji shudders under him. "I'm just going to..."

Lan Wangji nods again, holding his breath to stop the whines from escaping the back of his throat.

Wei Wuxian unties Lan Wangji's trousers and slips his hand inside. Clever fingers wrap hesitantly around him, and he bucks up into them with an obscene moan. It is minor relief from the most consuming pain he has ever felt, and it is simultaneously the most intense pleasure he has ever experienced. All of these sensations, coexisting in his fallible human body, feel likely to rip him apart.

"Wei Ying," he moans again, when Wei Wuxian moves his hand.

He gasps for air, his body twisting into it, his whole being searching for Wei Wuxian. He makes another piteous sound, the torment of it all overwhelming. Wei Wuxian leans down against him then, his own robes open, pressing them skin to skin.

Lan Wangji sobs. It is something. It is something. The pain abates somewhat, and he sighs, turning toward him, his mouth brushing Wei Wuxian's hair. He has the wherewithal now to fight the urge to kiss his head properly, his face, anything he can reach. He holds himself still beneath him instead. And Wei Wuxian touches him, and touches him. The incomprehensible pleasure builds, and builds, until Lan Wangji cannot breathe. But it does not break.

Something almost like soft lips brushes his throat.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says into his ear, "this, is this...will this be enough?"

The pleasure is just another kind of pain, now. Lan Wangji shakes his head as sweat rolls off of him, as he tries and fails to get enough air to speak.

Wei Wuxian clears his throat. "What, then?"

Lan Wangji's body knows what it needs. But he does not want to tell.

"Come on, Lan Zhan, after all this? Don't get shy on me now."

He misses the joking tone he is aiming for, but the pure, unmistakable Wei Wuxian-ness of the tease sends a surge of genuine desire through Lan Wangji. He wraps his legs around Wei Wuxian's hips and pulls him down. Wei Wuxian breathes in sharply.

"You just...you want...but only..."

"Please," says Lan Wangji, barely voiced. "In—" he cannot say it. "Please."

"Ah," Wei Wuxian whispers, into his skin. "If—are you sure?"

Lan Wangji whines. He wishes he were not so very sure. He wishes he were not asking Wei Wuxian to do something so intimate, so extreme. He wishes Wei Wuxian had let him die before it ever came to this.

"Alright Lan Zhan, just hold—hold on," he says, and is gone.

Lan Wangji clamps his mouth shut on a scream as the agony slams back into him, worse even than before.

Not soon enough, Wei Wuxian returns to divest him of his boots, socks and trousers. Lan Wangji fights him without meaning to, trying to keep his knees curled up to his chest, trying to minimize the hurt. Wei Wuxian is briskly patient, handling him with aching care he does not deserve.

And then he is upon him, chest and stomach, hips and thighs, smooth and hard and exquisite. Lan Wangji almost forgets the pain in the rush of gratitude, of solace. Their robes trail off them both, gathering dust as they move together in halting fits and starts.

"Don't let me hurt you, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian grits out, a strong hand lifting one of Lan Wangji's thighs by the back of the knee.

It is nonsense. He could not hurt Lan Wangji any more than this. And Lan Wangji could not stop him now if he did.

But the kindness. Even in this. Tears prick at Lan Wangji's eyes. He will miss him. He will miss all of Wei Wuxian with all of himself. He will never stop missing him. He will never move past this regret as long as he lives. How could he? Every breath he draws will be by the grace of Wei Wuxian.

Suddenly there is slick pressure against him, against his most private of places, and he gasps, loud and wretched. Wei Wuxian exhales, uneven and deep, and pushes in, in, in. Slowly. So slowly. Lan Wangji bites down hard on his lip to keep from begging for it. His arms are pinned, as are his hips, Wei Wuxian holding him steady, holding him still. Lan Wangji loses all sense. There is only the weight of Wei Wuxian, the full, stinging press of him, the searing pain, the devastating euphoria of being this close, and yet so very far in every way that counts.

Ages pass before Wei Wuxian is fully seated inside him. By then Lan Wangji's breaths are wet and shallow; scraping, desolate things. He does not know any longer what hurts and what feels good. It is all one and the same. He only knows he needs more, in some primal, wordless way.

He asks with the arch of his back, the squeeze of his thighs. He tries, somehow, to keep quiet, but fails more often than not.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says tightly, "try to relax, I'm going to move. Tell me if it...if it's right."

Lan Wangji manages a loose nod, though he barely understands.

And Wei Wuxian moves. He rolls his hips against him, shifting inside of him, and Lan Wangji groans. Each deep, short thrust pushes air from his lungs, and he lacks the strength to catch it again. It is beyond pleasure. It is ecstatic. To have Wei Wuxian around him, inside him, panting above him. A deep, villainous part of him wants it never to end. The rest of him howls for release.

He is dripping now, steadily, onto his own stomach. He can feel it pooling on his belly, unpleasantly cool. He whimpers between desperate, panting breaths, beyond words.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says, breath shivering across Lan Wangji's collarbone, "I can't...can't keep this up, you feel too—" his breath catches, and he pauses. "I'm going to finish. You need to come."

Dimly, distantly, the idea that Wei Wuxian should derive pleasure from this, no matter how perfunctory, gives Lan Wangji a perverse sort of satisfaction. It snuffs out like a candle at the nebulous thought that perhaps in another world, they could have had this for real.

In this world, the fact remains that this has gone on far too long. But Lan Wangji can do nothing about it. He meets Wei Wuxian's thrusts, leans into the pleasure, tries to gain the momentum to go over the edge. He should be able to. It should be easy. He has been so hard for so long, has been given more now than in his absolute wildest and wettest of dreams, and yet he hovers, scant inches away.

Wei Wuxian loses patience, his head dropping to Lan Wangji's shoulder. He grunts softly and fists Lan Wangji's wet cock, quick and merciless. Lan Wangji cries out, shuddering violently with the extended, expansive stimulation, worked both inside and out, helplessly, utterly unmade by Wei Wuxian's touch.

And still he does not crest. He is sobbing steadily now, ugly and jagged, and Wei Wuxian kisses his shoulder, his throat, his cheek.

"Were we wrong?" He asks, breathless. "Lan Zhan please, tell—show me, I...I can't...you...I can't lose you. Lan Zhan?"

Exhausted, Lan Wangji turns his tearstained face toward him, blindly seeking. Perhaps they were all wrong. Perhaps he will die now, like this. And perhaps it is selfish of him, but having heard those words, he finds his regret to be less than it should be. Everything, everything hurts. But Wei Wuxian will miss him, too. Of course he will. They are zhiji. This, miraculously, will not erase that. It is more than he deserves. Wei Wuxian has always been more than he deserves.

Lan Wangji heaves, and writhes, and cries.

Wei Wuxian kisses him. Soft, gloriously cool lips on his.

An odd, fleeting, hollow feeling.

The dam breaks. The pain goes suddenly quiet. Roaring to fullness in its absence is the killing swell of such a long-delayed climax. It is possible that he calls Wei Wuxian's name. It is impossible to know.

The world, again, goes dark.

-----

Lan Wangji wakes to gray light and distant birdsong. A sharp edge is digging into his shoulder. He shifts, then goes still at the deep ache in his entire body.

He remembers.

"Hanguang-jun should drink this," says a brisk voice to his right.

Wen Qing sits there, watching him. His heart skips a beat and he looks down. But he is fully clothed once more.

Her smile is wry as she holds a cup out to him. Laboriously, he sits up to take it. It is bitter, but familiar. A restorative. He thanks her formally.

She shakes her head. "No need.” She turns to go.

"Wen-guniang," Lan Wangji says. She pauses. "How long has it been gone?"

She turns to stare at him. He knows she knows what he means.

"How? When?"

She looks away. "You'll have to ask him."

The pang of loss he felt upon waking with Wei Wuxian gone speaks for him. "Will he let me?"

He lies on the slab of rock that serves as Wei Wuxian's bed for too long. It is difficult to tell the passage of time in the Burial Mounds, but it seems slightly brighter than it had...before. He reasons that it could well be the next morning. He wonders if Wei Wuxian slept beside him, then tosses the thought away as gross indulgence. He wonders instead, as he has many times since his last visit, if Wei Wuxian sleeps at all.

First, his excuse to tarry is meditation. He works at it, simultaneously restoring his drained core and healing himself, until the discomfort fades from his every movement to just a specific few.

Once that is done, he has no reason to be idle. But the voice in his head, Wei Wuxian's blisteringly cold one that had called him his proper name all those months ago, keeps him in place. He hears it saying all manner of things in response to seeing him now.

"What more could you possibly want of me?" Wei Wuxian sneers in his mind. And he would be right to do so.

But Lan Wangji does not intend to ask anything of him ever again.

And there is the other thing. The fact that his robes should be uncomfortable, filthy, but they have been cleaned, dried, and arranged back onto his body properly. Comfortably. Almost as if—

He dares not imagine. But at the very least it does not speak of utter contempt.

So he rises. He follows the path Wen Qing told him of. And he does something foolish. He hopes.

After no short while of walking, he comes to a slightly darker, more silent corner of deadened forest. He rounds a bend and sees Wei Wuxian crouched a little ways off, and then hears high, lilting notes as if through water. The energies are strange here, and Wei Wuxian is speaking to with them in their own language.

Lan Wangji approaches until he sees Wei Wuxian go still. He says nothing. Wei Wuxian drops his flute from his lips.

"Are you well?" He asks without rising or turning.

"I am."

Wei Wuxian nods. "Your people are waiting for you."

It is a dismissal. Lan Wangji recognizes this. But he will impose just a little bit longer.

"Your core," he says. Wei Wuxian stands abruptly, still facing away, gripping Chenqing. "Can it be replaced?"

Wei Wuxian whirls to face him, anger and fear warring with the questions on his face.

Lan Wangji has other questions, too. But they do not matter. He is intelligent enough to piece together the cold, empty space where Wei Wuxian's core should be, the tired guilt on Wen Qing's face, and...

"Your scar," he says, dropping his gaze to the scorched earth.

He should not know of it. But he does, now, and he also owes a greater debt than he can ever repay. Wei Wuxian does not respond. How dearly Lan Wangji wants to see his expression. But he will not infringe on any more of his privacy.

The wind howls. He waits.

"You won't tell anybody," Wei Wuxian says uncertainly.

Lan Wangji stiffens. "I will not."

"Nobody told you?"

"Nobody.”

Wei Wuxian pauses, momentarily satisfied.

"You're not going to ask how? Or when?"

Lan Wangji would like to. He would like to know everything of Wei Wuxian, even his sorrow, his pain. But he is not entitled to those things. There is only one point that matters.

"Can it be replaced? Can the procedure be reversed?"

Wei Wuxian sighs. Lan Wangji can tell he does not wish to speak of this.

"So single-minded, Lan Zhan," he scolds, then shakes his head. "The chance of success would be small; the chance of finding a donor, much smaller."

But this is all Lan Wangji hoped to hear. It is enough. He goes to his knees, arms circled in front of his chest.

"Allow me," he says.

"Lan Zhan!" Wei Wuxian darts forward, trying to pull Lan Wangji up from the ground. Eventually he gives up and goes to his knees in front of him, pushing at his arms. "Lan Zhan, stop this," he says, panicked. "Don't be stupid, stop—Lan Zhan, you can't be serious."

"Please allow me," Lan Wangji repeats, eyes downcast.

"Stop this!" Wei Wuxian shouts. "It can't be done, and I wouldn't take it from you anyway!"

Lan Wangji flinches bodily. He had not considered...but yes. Everything in him is sullied. He bends at the waist, bowing further.

"Apologies for the offense," he says, then snaps his mouth shut. His voice is too obviously strained.

"Lan Zhan?" Wei Wuxian says, still alarmed.

Lan Wangji needs to leave. He has already overstayed. But he...he has not tried hard enough.

"This debt is too great to repay in one lifetime," he says. "Please inform this one of what he may do to begin."

Wei Wuxian sags, dragging one of Lan Wangji's wrists with him. "Lan Zhan, there is no debt between us."

Lan Wangji only just stops himself from glancing up. He does not understand.

"I owe you my life and more," he says. "You took great pains to save me, even as the situation proved me unworthy of it. I owe—"

"You owe me nothing," Wei Wuxian insists, shaking Lan Wangji's arm. "There were no great pains. Nobody is unworthy. Well...you aren't."

Lan Wangji opens his mouth to protest, but Wei Wuxian speaks over him.

"People have...desires, Lan Zhan. There's nothing unworthy about it."

"But you—"

"Stop," he says. He sounds so, so tired. "If you hadn't been...dying. If we—" He stops. "Just keep my secret," he says, and lets go of his wrist. "And live well."

Lan Wangji closes his eyes. The thought of going back to his home, his life, after this, had not yet occurred to him. It sinks him from his knees to the ground. How can he do this? How can he leave him this way?

"Wei Ying," he pleads. "I must...I must do something. I cannot...I..."

"Why, Lan Zhan?" Wei Wuxian asks, not unkindly. "You have responsibilities. People to protect, just like me. Live well, and count things even between us. Why not?"

Lan Wangji’s chest caves in. He does not make the sound clawing up his throat.

"You...truly, you must know why," he says. "After... you must know. I would not leave you in need. I could not."

"Ah, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says sadly. He shuffles forward. Lan Wangji startles at the feel of fingertips on his cheek. "You're too good. But all I need is," he huffs, "political asylum for me and 40 friends? It's not your burden."

Suddenly yet slowly, like the first burst of sunrise, an idea reveals itself on the horizon of Lan Wangji’s mind. It is unorthodox. And likely unwelcome. But it is all he has.

"My uncle made a suggestion," he says. "When my affliction became known. It is true that he did not know what it would mean, but I would hold him to it. If it is not...hateful, to you."

"I don't know what you mean," Wei Wuxian says warily.

Lan Wangji steels himself. "You are perceived as the head of a sect. A proper alliance could protect your people, and Gusu Lan is in need of hands for rebuilding. The person who cast this curse upon me has given the perfect excuse, and made themselves scapegoat. If you would...I would not ask anything of you, if you agreed. It would be a marriage in name only, as you wish it."

Wei Wuxian's silence turns to spluttering. "M—Lan Zh—marriage?? What—how—"

"If the idea is odious, I will not mention it again. But as I said. My uncle suggested it. And under the circumstances, he cannot refuse."

"Your—he—Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, look at me. Look at me, please."

Lan Wangji looks at him. His eyes are wide. Disbelieving. Concerned.

"Your uncle would qi deviate if you even hinted at such a thing," he says. "Gusu Lan is in a precarious enough position, you don't need...I have nothing to offer in return." He pats his lower stomach, empty of spiritual energy, emphatically. “Nothing. Don't be ridiculous."

"It is not ridiculous," Lan Wangji argues, certain now that he is right. "You can offer more protection for us, and we can offer legitimacy. The person who cast this curse can be seen to have forced our hands. Has—has forced our hands."

He stops himself. He should not push this. Wei Wuxian is looking at him as if he does not know him.

"You don't want to marry me, Lan Zhan."

This gives Lan Wangji pause. It is a confusing objection, to say the least. He stares, trying to comprehend. He clears his throat. Takes a breath.

"If you are under the impression..." he stops. Drops his eyes once more. "...that the...impetus of the curse. Is the whole of the way I—”

"Demonic cultivation," Wei Wuxian interrupts. "It would be unhealthy. For you. And your elders! They wouldn't let me, not if I were...attached to your sect. To you.”

A fair concern, and one Lan Wangji has been turning over in his own mind as well. "Is this your only objection?"

Wei Wuxian casts about. "Ah..."

Lan Wangji takes one last plunge. "The elders can be reasoned with, compromises can be made. I am not concerned for my health: being near you could never be harmful to me." He hears himself, then, and amends, "Though you need not. Be near me. That is not a condition."

"You would defend this?" Wei Wuxian asks, bemused.

"Defend what?"

"My cultivation path. You..."

Lan Wangji resists a sigh. "I understand the reason, now. And I believe...if you did not object. We could work toward making it safe, without stripping you of what your hard work has created."

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says. He reaches out, then stops.

Lan Wangji stares at his hand, hovering between them. His heart is beating so hard he can feel it in his eyes, in his tongue.

"Wei Ying."

"You would let me, though?"

His tone is gently mocking. His head is cocked to the side, the edge of a smile playing across his lips. It knocks the breath from Lan Wangji's chest.

"Let you?" He asks, dazed.

"Be near you."

Lan Wangji's heart stops. It is a moment before he can respond.

"I would. Always."

Wei Wuxian takes his hand, and sighs. "You don't owe me this," he says again.

"I do," Lan Wangji counters, off-kilter. "I owe you. And I want to. I would want to, even if—"

He loosens his tight grip on Wei Wuxian's hand. He is saying too much, taking too much, being too much. He settles himself. Finds the words that matter.

"It would be a thing happily given, with no strings attached, should you wish it."

Wei Wuxian laughs strangely. "Lan Zhan, you really..." He shakes his head. "I'd marry you in an instant, you know," says.

Lan Wangji's neck hurts from the speed with which he looks up at him. Hope, warm and liquid, blooms through his limbs.

"But I can't make this decision on my own," Wei Wuxian goes on. "It's not just my life. We have to talk it over with everyone."

"Yes," Lan Wangji says, surprised, and eager now that he sees the possibility of success. Of doing something of use.

"Alright," says Wei Wuxian, a smile hidden in the corner of his mouth. "I can't promise...but it...it could work."

"It will," Lan Wangji says, certain that the strength of his conviction alone will carry them through if need be.

He feels strange and dreamlike, confused but heartened by the turn in this conversation. That Wei Wuxian can stand the sight of him, let alone wish to ally with him personally, seems too wonderful to be true. Another Wei Wuxian hallmark.

"But Lan Zhan, no more talk of strings," Wei Wuxian says.

Lan Wangji sobers and nods. It is unseemly. Of course their understanding must be a tacit one, now.

But his hand is suddenly in both of Wei Wuxian's.

"You need to stop feeling guilty," Wei Wuxian says, looking down at it. "If I were your husband...if I were. We could try all that again, but without the impending doom. We could try it again any way we like, any time—all the time—and we'd—"

"Wei Ying," Lan Wangji interrupts, strangled. His heart is in his throat. He cannot comprehend what he is hearing. His ears, his face, are on fire.

Wei Wuxian smiles down at their hands, one part shy, one part mischief. "I think we could get really good at it, if we had the chance, don't you?"

Lan Wangji stares at him. "You..."

"Mn," says Wei Wuxian, meeting his eyes.

He shines so bright, even without any core to speak of. He takes Lan Wangji's breath away.

"I take it back," Wei Wuxian says, his voice suddenly urgent. "I like strings. Mine is that if this happens, I want to be your real husband. In name, in practice, in bed, and in your heart. Because you would be, in mine."

Lan Wangji's voice sticks in his throat. He feels...he feels unreal. He does not know what to do, to say. Perhaps they never broke the curse at all and he has simply gone mad. But Wei Wuxian's fingers stroking his palm, the root-knotted dirt beneath his shins, are real. He sways, unbalanced.

Wei Wuxian reaches out. Catches him. Folds him into his arms for a second time. Lan Wangji's breath shudders out of him.

He is on his knees, breathlessly held in the arms of his beloved. He has dreamt this many ways. But never has it been so real, so full of hope. He wraps his arms around Wei Wuxian in turn, buries his face in his shoulder.

Wei Wuxian huffs. "Jiang Cheng is going to be so angry."

Lan Wangji comes back down to earth. It is true he had not thought of this. He makes to pull away. "How should—"

Wei Wuxian clutches him tighter. "I don't care," he says, "I don't care, we can manage him." He pauses, then speaks more softly. "Maybe...I could see shijie's wedding after all. Or—no. It's too soon, I—"

"Yes," says Lan Wangji. "You will. We will go together."

Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath, and lets it out into Lan Wangji's hair.

"Together," he says.

It takes several serious, and at times uncomfortable, discussions, but in the end, Gusu Lan’s Second Jade is indeed thoroughly removed from the marriage pool of the great sects. The curse caster is found and punished. And everybody else lives happily ever after.

The end.

-----

(Thank you for coming on this wildly self-indulgent journey, I hope you enjoyed it. If you’d like to read some actually nicely-polished, fleshed-out fics by me—including another sex-cursed LWJ—check out my AO3.)

#my fic #mdzsnet #the untamed fanfic #theuntameddaily #bottom lan wangji #that tag just...has to go there bc i know people actually find things through it #on tumblr??? you ask #yes my friends evidently #anyway here's...this #angst that morphs suddenly into the MOST indulgent of fix-its #does it have a consistent tone??? is it Good??? who knows. unimportant #is it not enough to simply tweet 9 thousand words in 3 days and then yeet it at your tumblr followers too #this isn't FOR a literary award....it's for melodrmatic wangxian Feels and nothing else #i hope you enjoy it!!!! <3

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neonlights92 · 3 years

Text

RUN: Chapter II

Jeon Jungkook hops from bed to bed, sleeping with as many beautiful, rich women as he can possibly find time for. He’s young and attractive, with a silver tongue that gets him practically anything he wants. So when his friend and boss, Kim Taehyung, tells him it’s time to settle down, Jungkook takes it pretty badly. And when he finds out that the woman he’s destined to marry is, in fact, his little sister’s best friend, he is less than impressed.

You have spent your entire life trying to forget the way you feel about Jeon Jungkook. So when you find out that Jungkook is to be your husband - and that he is anything but pleased about it - your world is thrown into chaos. How can you survive a loveless marriage with the man you are hopelessly in love with?

WARNINGS: Language, some violence and eventual smut.

A/N:ENJOY!!!!

Your wedding came and went like the wind.

It hadn’t been a large affair - barely more than fifty people had attended - but your mother had cried of course, and so had Jungkook’s mum, and at the end of it you were Mrs Jeon.

Your new husband had kissed you at the end of it - gently, quickly, like it didn’t really mean much - but you couldn’t help it that your heart skipped at the feeling. Your first kiss with the man you’d spent most of your life loving, and it was like vapour.

And now here you were, stood in the foyer of Jungkook’s apartment, wondering what the hell you were doing. You felt like some kind of imposter - a woman only pretending to be Jungkook’s wife. You tightened the hold on your suitcase, the one your mother had made you pack only a week prior.

“Most of your things will be sent over in the days after you marry,” She’d told you, eyes mischievous, “But you’ll need something special for your wedding night.”

You scoffed.

Your wedding night had been anything but spectacular.

Bangtan had splashed out on an incredibly expensive hotel complete with matching robes and expensive champagne, but you’d spent most of the night alone. You hadn’t been able to bare much of the reception, claiming a headache only an hour and a half into the festivities, and though Jungkook had seemed less than happy about it, he’d told you to make your way to the hotel room without him.

Of course, when you’d arrived all you’d done was to get into bed and cry yourself into some kind of dreamless sleep, feeling like nothing could ever make you happy again. Hours had passed before Jungkook joined you, and when he did, you didn’t mention the smell of perfume on him, and he stayed far, far away from you.

You shook your head furiously, trying to rid your mind of all those horrible memories.

One day, you hoped, you’d have beautiful children, and then you could shower them with all of your unrequited love.

“Are you listening to me?”

Jungkook’s voice shook you out of your reverie and you turned to face him sharply, eyes wide.

“What?”

He sighed heavily, “I said you can either move into the guest room or join me in the master bedroom. What would you prefer?”

You knew what your heart wanted of course.

As stupid as it may have been - and it was astoundingly dumb - you still wanted to share Jungkook’s life with him. You wanted to be able to indulge in the intimacies of marriage and your chest tightened as you remembered what you were to your husband - a hindrance.

“Will it be alright if we share different beds?”

He rose a dark brow, “What do you mean?”

“Your employees,” You clarified, tucking some hair behind your ears and avoiding his eyes, “They won’t think it’s… Inappropriate, will they?”

You hated the strange code of conduct you were being forced into. You loved Jungkook - you wanted to give him yourself, whole heartedly - and yet you had to walk around the truth. You had to pretend like every moment you spent here wasn’t causing irreparable damage to your heart.

Jungkook shrugged, “So what if they do? I don’t give a shit what people say and neither should you. You should sleep wherever you prefer.”

The words hung in the air and you watched his face carefully.

He knew how you felt about him didn’t he? So he had to know you’d prefer sharing his bed. You collected yourself, and after a moment smiled gently.

“Then I think we should share the master bedroom.” If he was surprised he hid it well.

“Okay. This way then.”

You followed him down the hallway and stared at the planes of his back. The suit jacket he was wearing hugged his shoulders perfectly, and despite yourself something in your stomach swelled.

You were his wife now, weren’t you?

Did that not come with certain expectations?

You wondered if Jungkook even found you attractive. Surely if he wanted you in any capacity, he would’ve come looking for your company on your wedding night.

You bit back the tears. Now was not the time for this.

The master bedroom was big of course, but basically empty. Jungkook cleared his throat as you stood in the doorway to the room, observing your surroundings.

“I don’t spend a lot of time at home,” He started by way of explanation, “So urm… That’s why everything’s quite bare.”

You nodded slowly, “I understand.”

“You can do whatever you want in here,” He waved his hand noncommittally, “Within reason, of course.” The joke was weak but you pushed out a soft laugh nonetheless.

“Is that all you have with you?” He pointed at the small piece of luggage you were holding.

You shrugged, “My mom insisted she’d have the rest sent over to me,” You dropped the suitcase at the end of the huge bed you’d be sharing with Jungkook for maybe the rest of your life.

“So what’s in there then?” He cocked his head to the side, confused.

You felt your cheeks blush, brazenly, and you cleared your throat, more than a little uncomfortable.

“She told me to pack some things for the wedding night,” You answered, finally lifting your gaze to meet with his, “It’s not a big deal.”

But you knew that was a lie. Your heart was beating rapidly at just the thought of Jungkook knowing you’d brought intimate clothing along with you, and you knew that the only reason you’d told him it was because you wanted him to think about you scantily clad in lacy underwear.

You wanted him to be attracted to you, despite the fact this marriage was born out of duty for him. You thought that maybe if he wanted your body, you could find a way to open up his heart as well.

“They still do that?” Jungkook’s voice was painted with disbelief.

You quirked a brow, “Do what?” “The whole wedding night lingerie thing,” He laughed tightly, “My hyungs all told me about it but it just sounds… Kind of outdated to me.” Another stab in the heart. You tugged a hand through your hair.

“Oh.” He frowned carefully and sighed, “I’m sorry. Did that hurt your feelings?”

It pained you how easily Jungkook saw through your armour. How would you survive a lifetime with him? How could you hide from his gaze when he knew you so well?

You felt stupid and useless suddenly.

“No.” You replied, voice catching slightly at the end, “You’re right. It is outdated.” You thought of the racy red number your mother had insisted Jungkook would love. He would never see it of course - but part of you had hoped he would. Part of you had hoped he’d not only see you in it… But love you in it, too.

It was a foolish hope.

“Is it alright if I rest?” You asked him after a moment, smiling despite the tears that crawled up the back of your throat, “I’m really quite tired. It’s been a long week.”

Jungkook’s eyes searched your face and you forced your expression into one of neutrality. Just because he knew how you felt - just because he knew you loved him - didn’t mean you always had to be the vulnerable one.

You could learn to protect yourself. You’d grown up around monsters. Around people who manipulated and hurt others.

You just had to learn how to navigate this new reality.

This marriage.

“Yes of course,” Jungkook told you once his eyes had searched right down to the very depths of your soul, “Dinner will be served at around seven, okay?”

You nodded, tightly, “Fine.”

He watched you for a moment more, before finally slipping out of the door and allowing your facade to finally relax. You crawled onto the king sized bed, and pulled the blankets up around you - finally giving way to the tears that had been scratching the back of your eyelids since the minute you woke up this morning.

And as you lay in the bed you’d share with your husband - crying once again over the man who had your heart but didn’t deserve it - you promised yourself that this would be that last time.

That you wouldn’t cry over Jeon fucking Jungkook again.

And even though you were lying to yourself, you repeated that mantra to yourself all night. Over and over again.

Until finally you fell asleep.

And even then you dreamt of him.

The days passed through your fingers like sand. You spent more time than ever pining after Jungkook - qua though the two of you now shared a bed, nothing had changed.

During the day your husband was barely home. And even when he was he was always too busy to pay you any attention.

And at night you slept as far away from each other as possible. Most nights were spent falling asleep to the sight of the planes of his smooth back.

Jungkook wasn’t cruel. He always spoke to you kindly. He smiled whenever he saw you, and occasionally laughed at any jokes you tried to make.

But he was distant. Always held you at an arm’s length.

He never searched out your company, and you wondered if maybe that was because he knew how you felt. He knew you loved him - he knew you’d loved him for so long - and maybe he didn’t want to make matters worse.

He had never promised you love. In fact… He had almost promised you the polar opposite.

And so you spent most of your time alone.

Today was no different.

You tugged on the thread you were using to patch up one of Jungkook’s suit jackets - no doubt he’d created the tears during one of his many business meetings - and sighed heavily to yourself.

You’d seen the jacket earlier that morning, hanging in your shared closet, when you’d noticed the hole. Perhaps it was a need to make Jungkook happy, or perhaps it was boredom, but either way now you were sitting with a needle and thread, fixing it.

A knock at the door pulled you out of what you were doing.

“Come in,” You said softly, expecting Jennie to be on the other side. When the portal opened and it was actually Nayeon you stood excitedly, dropping Jungkook’s jacket and rushing over to her.

“Did you miss me?” She smiled widely as you rushed into her waiting embrace, squeezing her tightly.

“Oh my god, so much,” You pulled back and felt your eyes well up with tears, “Sorry. I’m so emotional these days.”

She grinned and ran a hand through your hair, “Nothing to apologise for.”

You led her over to the small couch that sat in the corner of your bedroom, and the two of you sat down together.

“How have you been?” She asked after a moment.

You wiped at a tear that had unceremoniously tracked down your cheek, “He barely talks to me.”

The words were not accusing, but there was sadness in them.

Nayeon frowned, “He’s acting like a real jackass.”

“No,” You shook your head vehemently, “It’s not his fault. This whole situation… It’s fucked up.”

“Still. He shouldn’t be mean.”

“He isn’t,” You insisted, “We just… He’s hardly at home as it is… And when he is the last thing he wants to do is talk to me.”

“I’m sorry Y/N,” She really did look sorry too.

You shrugged helplessly, “How many marriages in Bangtan are loveless?”

“Whatever. I just hope he’s not…” She stopped herself abruptly and clicked her tongue, “Never mind.”

You quirked a brow, “No…What were you going to say Nayeon?”

”I don’t want to upset you more,” She answered honestly, eyes shifting across your face carefully.

“There’s next to nothing at the moment that could make me feel any worse.”

It was a terrible sentiment, but it was the truth. Things seemed so bleak that you couldn’t imagine any information would cause a further rift in your already distant marriage.

“It’s just…” Nayeon tugged a hand through her hair and pursed her lips, “You know what Jungkook is like. He’s always dated lots of women at the same time. I’m just - I hope he’s ended those relationships.”

Your heart sank.

Immediately his words from earlier that month rolled across your mind.

I’m not a man of commitment.

Did that mean he didn’t want to be faithful to you? Was he warning you of his inability to keep to just one woman for the rest of his life?

You hadn’t even considered the possibility that Jungkook would cheat on you. Sure, he’d told you he might never love you… But an affair would be too much, wouldn’t it?

“I don’t - we haven’t spoken about that.” You felt your voice shake.

“I know my brother can be a bastard,” Nayeon shook her head, “But if he cheated on you… I would never forgive him.”

Her words fell on you like concrete.

Would you be able to forgive him?

In a sense, Jungkook didn’t really owe you faithfulness did he? In fact… He might have very well warned you against it.

You swallowed thickly.

“You should ask him about it,” Your best friend’s words were resolute, “If he cares for you… Even a little bit, then he’ll give you that respect.”

She was right of course.

Arranged marriage or not, he still owed you basic decency.

You nodded gently, “You’re right.” Your chest was tight as Nayeon reached over and squeezed your hand, “I will.”

Now you would just have to work up the courage to do it.

Nayeon’s words played over and over again in your mind for the following week. You had thought you were strong enough to bring it up to your husband but the truth was every time you wanted to do it, the words had slipped into the back of your throat. Just one look into Jungkook’s dark brown eyes and you had found yourself rendered helpless.

“Y/N.” Jungkook’s voice caused you to look up as you finished working on his suit jacket, “Hi.”

“Oh.” The word left you in a rush, “Sorry. I didn’t realise you would be home so early.” It was a Friday afternoon - sometime after four - and he was standing in the doorway of your bedroom, watching you the way he always did.

“What are you doing?” Your fingers faltered and you pulled the jacket up slightly, “Fixing this for you. It’s been my pet project for the last week.”

“Oh.” He mirrored your expression of surprise from earlier, taking a step towards you, “I see.” There was a beat of silence and then, “Why?” You tightened your grip on the jacket and felt your stomach roll over in anxiety.

“Why what?”

His eyes flickered, “Why are you fixing it for me?” Because I love you.

Of course you couldn't say that, so instead you opted for a shrug.

“Something to do, I suppose.”

After another long moment of watching, Jungkook smiled softly.

“Thank you,” He said, words warm, “That’s very kind of you.” You blushed at the compliment, however small it may be, and returned his smile, “It’s nothing.”

“I uh…” He cleared his throat and shook his head, “I realised that I forgot to tell you something quite important.” You cocked your head to the side, “What is it?” “Tonight. There’s a gala. One of Jimin’s things…”

You felt something akin to excitement swell inside of you. It was sad… But any reason to spend time with Jungkook was something to be celebrated.

“Right.” Your smile widened, “What time?”

“Eight pm,” He told you carefully, “And you’ll need to dress up.” “I know that don’t worry. I’ve been to Jimin’s galas before,” Your voice was slightly teasing and you almost reprimanded yourself for it.

Perhaps once upon a time you could joke with Jungkook like that, but things were different now… Weren't they? Except Jungkook didn’t seem annoyed.

He chuckled and rolled his eyes, “How could I forget? You and Nayeon love causing trouble at the expense of my poor friend Jimin.” You giggled, “We both know Nayeon is the mastermind behind any and all trouble caused,” You shrugged, “I’m a helpless bystander.” “Helpless my ass,” His lips fell into a smirk, “Just because you look like an angel doesn't mean you always act like one.”

Your heart flipped.

An angel?

Jungkook must have noticed the change in your demeanor, because he suddenly seemed awkward himself. He coughed slightly and tugged a hand through his dark hair.

“Anyway. Just uh… be ready at half seven, alright?” His face had slipped back into that infamous Bangtan mask, but you were still warm from his earlier words.

“Okay. I will.” “And uh… Will the jacket be fixed for tonight?”

You felt slightly dazed. Jacket?

“Huh?” His smile was small but he nodded towards the piece of clothing you were gripping so tightly your knuckles had turned white, “Your pet project.”

“Oh right.” You turned the jacket over in your hands and nodded, “Yes. Yeah. It’ll be ready.” “Great. I’ll have Minhyuk prepare the matching trousers for me, then.”

He smiled once more before leaving, and you realised you were holding your breath.

God.

It felt like you had been punched in the stomach.

But you sort of liked it.

“You look beautiful Y/N.” Your maid Jennie tugged the brush through your hair one last time, “The red is striking.” You ran a hand down the bodice of the dress you’d chosen to wear - something stupidly expensive and incredibly tight - and smiled at her nervously.

“Thank you.”

“Jungkook isn’t going to know what to do with himself,” She giggled and your grin widened.

The two of you had always been close, despite the gap in social status.

You didn’t care what tradition dictated, Jennie was your friend - employee or not.

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” You chuckled, biting on your bottom lip, “What time is it?” A knock at the door caused your head to turn and Jennie smirked.

“He’s right on time.” Your stomach fluttered at the thought of your husband, and when your maid moved to throw the portal open you almost fainted.

He looked… so good.

“Hi,” He smiled gently, “Are you ready?” You knew you were checking him out but you couldn’t help yourself.

The suit jacket you’d fixed for him fit him perfectly… And the trousers he was wearing only served to accentuate his perfect thighs.

“Y/N?” He cocked his head to the side and your heart twinged as a lock of hair fell precariously across his forehead.

Damn it.

Jennie pinched your arm and you realised how obvious you were being.

“Sorry,” You cleared your throat, “Yeah. I’m ready.”

You weren’t ready at all. Not to spend the rest of the evening in close quarters with the man who made you feel like a lovestruck teenager, anyway.

But what choice did you have?

Jungkook led you towards the garage, where his very expensive Porsche was parked, and when he held the door open for you, your pulse squeezed.

“Thanks,” You said, cheeks blazing.

Jungkook’s eyes flickered as he watched you climb inside, “No problem.” He answered tightly, clicking the door shut and sliding into the driver’s seat.

It wasn’t until you eased onto the main road that Jungkook spoke again.

“You look nice,” He said, his eyes meeting yours in the rearview mirror.

You turned to face him, your heart thumping uncomfortably against your ribcage, “What?”

“Oh come on don’t act like I’ve never said anything nice to you before,” He groaned, “You’ll make me feel like an asshole.”

“Oh I uh…” You blushed hotly, “Thanks. I guess.”

“You guess? Wow, way to take a compliment, Y/N.” His tone was teasing and you felt yourself falling back into the friendship you’d shared with him before the two of you had been forced into marriage.

This was the Jungkook you fell in love with.

“I just didn’t expect you to say that,” You clarified, turning to look at this side profile.

God he was so handsome, it almost hurt.

“Well it’s true,” He shrugged and shot you a small smile, “You look nice.” “Well so do you.” The words slipped out of you eagerly, “The uh… The suit jacket looks great.”

His smile grew, “It does. Thanks to you, of course. My little seamstress.”

Your heart skipped.

His little seamstress?

“Right,” You choked out, “Well. If you ever need anything fixed then just send it my way.”

“I will.”

A comfortable silence fell between the two of you but all you could think about was the fact that he’d called you his. Sure, it was in jest, and yeah maybe it wasn't the most romantic of things to say… But still.

It had to count for something.

When Jungkook pulled up in front of the same hotel Bangtan always used for social events, your heart was still fluttering wildly in your chest, but you forced yourself to remain calm.

There were paparazzi milling around the front entrance of the hotel of course, like there always were whenever Jimin organised a gala. Suddenly you felt inadequate.

You’d never been photographed before - your family was not famous enough… You were not beautiful enough for the media to give a shit.

But you knew that Jungkook was well loved by the media - not only was he Bangtan’s resident casanova - but he was also the most open of the special seven. He smiled for photos and had even occasionally bantered with the paparazzi. He dated celebrities - models, singers… Actresses. He was the media’s golden boy.

He was everyone’s golden boy.

Jungkook must have noticed your nerves because he turned to give you a soft smile.

“It’s alright Y/N. Just hold my hand and ignore them okay?”

You nodded, wordlessly, as he stepped out of the car and after a minute opened your door for you. Immediately you felt the buzz of flashbulbs, and you were almost blinded by the light. A warm hand enveloped your own and soon Jungkook was tugging you along.

You blinked against the flashing and watched your husband’s sturdy back, as he led you towards the front entrance determinedly.

“Jungkook! Jungkook! Is this your mysterious new girl?” “Jungkook! Is it true you’re married?”

“Jungkook! Smile!”

Jungkook didn’t stop for any questions and you were thankful for that, holding tightly onto his hand until he finally slipped inside the lobby of the hotel and the paparazzi was behind you. He dropped your hand and you immediately felt cold.

“Here,” He offered his arm, “This is the way Jimin’s always telling me to enter a room.” You nodded and slipped your own arm through his, ignoring the buzz that flitted through you at the contact.

God. You loved him so much.

“Was that as bad as you thought it was going to be?” He asked, eyes sympathetic as he led you over towards the ornate marble staircase.

You bit your bottom lip and sighed, “It was tough.”

“I’m sorry,” He frowned, “Really. It will get better.”

“Jungkook-ah!”

You would recognise that voice anywhere.

Jihyo.

She was coming towards the two of you, beautiful face donning a wide smile. Her eyes flickered between your linked arms for a moment, before she reached you.

“Hello Jihyo,” Jungkook nodded his head politely, “How are you?”

“I’m great Jungkookie,” The nickname caused a hot flush of anger to roll through you. You knew exactly what game she was playing, “How are you?” “I’m fine,” He turned to give you a smile, “You know my wife Y/N, don’t you?” Jihyo’s body froze at the word wife. She was Taehyung’s cousin.

Surely she had to know the two of you had gotten married.

“Yeah, yeah.” She gave you a sharp look, “Nice to see you Y/N.” But her words felt anything but nice.

Immediately you were reminded of Nayeon’s warning.

Your heart thundered against your chest.

What if Jungkook and Jihyo were….

You felt like you were going to be sick.

“Anyway Jungkook I was going to ask you if you were free next weekend,” Her smile was coy as she fluttered her eyelashes up at your husband, “It’s my birthday and-” “We have plans.”

The words surprised you as much as they did Jungkook and you’d been the one to say them.

Jihyo’s gaze flickered over to your own and she raised an angry eyebrow, “What?”

“Me and my husband have plans next weekend,” You pasted the fakest smile onto your face, “Maybe next time.”

And with that you pulled Jungkook away from Jihyo pulse roaring in your ears. You had no idea where that bout of courage had come from but just who did she think she was anyway?

Just because she’d always had everything she wanted, didn’t give her the right to act like a brat.

After a moment, Jungkook turned to give you a smirk, “What was that?” You tried to act nonchalant.

“What was what?”

“That.” His smirk grew, “Were you jealous?” You felt something hot split across your cheeks.

“I don’t want you dating other women.”

The words fell like stones between the two of you.

Jungkook stopped, his eyes raking over you. He frowned.

“I wouldn’t… I would never do that.” “You told me you weren’t a man of commitment,” You told him sincerely, feeling irrational tears crawl up your throat, “But I can’t… I won’t be able to deal with it if you have an affair.”

Jungkook’s eyes softened. He shook his head.

“I didn’t mean I would see other women Y/N.” He pressed a hand to your cheek and you wilted at his touch, “You’re my wife and I respect that. Alright?”

You nodded, eyes boring into his. You wished he would just open himself up to you.

“Okay.” You whispered, not caring that you were surrounded by people, “Thank you.” He pulled his hand away and nodded gently.

Something in his gaze flickered. Whether it was genuine affection or desire or something else entirely you weren’t sure. But it wasn’t that cold indifference he wanted you to believe.

“Let’s go. The others are waiting.”

Your heart turned as he slipped his hand into yours.

If only he could learn to love you, then maybe you really could be happy.

If only.

#jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook x reader #fanfic #mafia au #arrange marriage #unrequited love #one sided love #bangtan #bts #fanfiction #angst #smut #fluff

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babyboy-cody · 3 years

Text

unrequited (PART THREE)

PAIRING: Michael/Fem!Reader, Roman/Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: When Michael leaves for a business meeting, Y/N finds comfort in Roman’s presence.

WARNINGS: michael being an absolutel dick, roman being an absolute sweetheart, subtle flirting, bad thoughts, brief anxiety attack

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

“What do you mean you’re leaving? It’s our anniversary this week, Michael. You expect me to celebrate alone?” You weakly protested as he hurriedly packed his bags without sparing you a glance. “I made plans for us..”

“I don’t know what you want me to do, Y/N. This is a very important business trip and I need to leave in ten minutes. I’m not going to coddle you and have you change my mind, sweetheart. It’s not that big a deal,” he huffs and rolls his eyes. “Where the hell did you put my ties?”

You sighed softly and went into the walk-in closet that had Michael’s clothes on one side and yours on the other. You reached into a box and opened the lid to show him the neatly folded ties. “They’re where they’ve always been, Michael,” you quietly told him. You crossed your arms over your stomach as a defense mechanism when he stalked closer to look inside the box. He never once laid a hand on you or Aurora, but just his presence makes you uneasy. You had never felt this way before until now when he stood a few inches away from you.

“You know I hate when you touch my shit, Y/N,” he snapped and grabbed more of his things and went back out to the bedroom to continue packing. “From now on, leave my things alone. Got it?” He stared you down, nearly burning a hole into your soul when you meekly nodded.

Almost on cue, Aurora started whimpering in the little monitor you kept on the dresser. You breathed out a sigh of relief and hurried out into the hall, walking down a few doors away and into the little angel’s room. She’s holding onto the bars of her crib, bouncing happily when she sees you. You cooed gently and picked her up, cradling her in your arms as you breathe in that baby scent.

“Hello, my love,” you gently told her and kissed her cheeks, relishing her quiet giggles as she grips onto your necklace. “Did you have a good rest, hm? Mama’s got some new fruits waiting for you.”

“I’m leaving,” you hear Michael’s voice from behind you, causing you to gasp and hold onto Aurora tightly as you turn to look at the emotionless man. “I’ll.. walk you out then.”

You both walked down the long spiral staircase while Aurora babbled incoherently, mumbling “mama” every now and then. You hushed her softly and kissed her head, loving the smell of the faint shampoo you used on her this morning. Michael opened the front door and sat his suitcases on the top step.

“I should be home on the 23rd. I expect everything to be the way I left it. Do not go into my office. I will find out, okay?” He stared at you with such intimidation that it made you feel uneasy. You hesitatingly nodded and leaned up to give his lips a kiss, but he subtly turned his head so your lips would kiss his cheek. You felt a pang in your heart and sucked in a shaky breath. Michael’s motion almost felt like a punch in your gut.

“Let me know when you land,” you softly told him and took back into your home, not looking at him as you hold onto the knob. “I love you, Michael.”

“Don’t do anything stupid, Y/N,” he tells you before picking up his suitcases and walking down the steps to the car waiting for him outside the gate.

You swallowed down a whimper as your eyes instantly filled with tears. Aurora whined quietly and looked up at you with a distressed look at the sight of seeing her mother so distraught and sad. You sniffled and shut the door gently, making sure it was locked before you pressed your back against it and finally letting the dam break. You’re not sure why it hurt so much after being so used to Michael’s actions. But not heating those words you so desperately needed from him was like a stab to your heart.

“Why?” You blubbered and shook your head at yourself. “W-Why?”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

It was almost midnight when you had put Aurora down for her sleep. You watched her for a few moments, not having the heart to leave her just yet. She was the only good thing out of your marriage. She keeps you busy - keeps you on your toes. With her rosy cheeks and soft eyelashes, you’re almost glad that she looks like a mini vision of yourself rather than Michael. With one last brush of your fingers on her stomach, you left the room with the baby monitor in your hand. Now, you were left in a house of silence.

You can hear your heart thumping loudly in your ears as you shallowly breathed in and out. You shakily walked down the steps while grasping tightly onto the banister. You went into the kitchen, your vision blurry from the overflowing of tears filling your eyes. You grasped onto the counter and slow sunk down to your knees, desperately pressing your back onto the cupboards behind you. There was a faint ringing in your ear and your hands trembled so viciously that it was hard for you to grasp onto your knees to keep you grounded.

“No, no, no, no,” you whispered to yourself and covered your ears as you rocked back and forth. Your fingers gripped onto your strands of hair. The burning pain of your roots being pulled was enough ot bring you back to a sense of calmness. You hiccuped and struggled to take in a steady breath. You counted to ten in your head and finally became aware of your senses. Five things you can see, four things you can physically feel, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, one thing you can taste.

Five things you can see - the smoky maroon cuboards, the freshly watered plants on the windowsill, the hanging kitchen lights, your bright red painted toenails, and the little pile of notes on the counter.

Four things you can physically feel - the cold tiled floor under your thighs, your hair tickling your shoulders, your fingers interlocked with each other, and a small tear rolling down your flushed cheek.

Three things you can hear - the kitchen clock quietly ticking, Aurora’s soft snores on the baby monitor, and the neighbor’s dog faintly barking across the street.

Two things you can smell - your rose water facial spray and the cleaning spray you used to wipe down the counters.

One thing you can taste - your strawberry lip balm.

Your frantic heartbeat steadied and you were able to breath again. Your rest your head back and breathed in through your nose and out through your mouth a few times. The tears have now dried and your hands were no longer shaky. Aurora’s snores still sounded on the monitor and you had a small smile as you imagiend her lips to be parted with a small dribble of spit on them. But then, that feeling of loneliness soon hit harder than before. You stood up with a small groan, an ache in your joints after sitting on the hard ground for a few minutes. You opened the drawer next to the fridge that held notepads, pens, tape, scissors, takeout menus, and written notes. Rifling deeper and further inside, you pulled out the familiar napkin that Roman had written his number on a few weeks ago.

You looked around the kitchen to find your phone, letting out a small noise of triumphwhen you spotted it amongst the numerous books you laid out. You nervously bit your lip and played with the locket around your neck. After dialing the numbers, you listened as it rung. You felt the nerves again in the pit of your stomach. You swallowed and was about to hang up when you heard his voice.

“Hello?” He asked on the other line.

“Um, is this Roman Godfrey?” You softly asked him.

“Who’s speaking?” He sternly asked, now more alert than before. “How did you get this number?”

Completely caught off guard, you choked up a response. “Um.. this is Y/N.. from the coffee shop? We met a few weeks ago, I’m so sorry for calling you this late.”

“Oh!” He eased up again, and you can almost hear his smile through the phone. “I apologize, Y/N. I’ve been receiving a lot of spam calls and it’s been driving me nuts.”

“It’s alright,” you laughed smile. “Again, I’m sorry for calling you so late. I just.. had nothing better do to and you popped into my head.”

“Oh yeah? You been thinking about me?” He cheekily asked you, causing you to snort and roll your eyes as you felt a blush creep up on your cheeks. “I had nothing better to do either. I’m trying to find a good show to binge watch on Netflix.”

“Oh really? I have a few suggestions if you’d like?” You told him excitedly and grabbed the baby monitor before hurrying over to your comfy couch, grabbing the remote and immediately turning the tv on. “I think you’ll my wide variety of movies and shows.”

“Oh yewh? We’ll see about that,” Roman laughs quietly, smiling wide in the other line when he hears your laugh. “I like that laugh... hehehehe.”

“Oh God, please do not imitate that Justin Bieber meme,” you covered your mouth to hide your laugh. “You’re really funny, Roman. I never thought of you to be a man of humor.”

“I am incredibly insulted,” he gasped mock offended. “What kind of man did you think I was, hm?”

You shrugged to yourself, remembering that he couldn’t see you. “I don’t know.. a man of serious business.”

“A man of serious business,” he repeats softly. “Well if by serious business, you mean making you laugh and smile, then yes, I am a man of serious business.”

“Oh hush, Godfrey,” you sucked your teeth and blushed. “But thank you. I haven’t laughed like this in.. a while. It feels good.”

“I’m glad,” he quietly told you. “They say laughter is the best medicine.”

“I heard,” you laughed quietly and looked at the red Netflix logo on the television. “Okay, now the Netflix recommendations.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

TAG LIST: Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed <3

@lathraios @heda-mikaelson @queencocoakimmie @hecohansen31 @masterlaluri @bluebirdbts @kaetastic @midrunner3202 @henrysqueen @duncvns

#i really missed this series 🥺🥺#michael langdon is a certified PRICK #but it gets really good later on 😏#michael langdon x reader #roman godfrey x reader #michael langdon imagine #roman godfrey imagine

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angellesword · 3 years

Text

MAGIC SHOP | JJK (06)

Description: You and Jungkook were best friends who were in love with each other. What would happen when Soojin, your half sister who you’re trying to impress, told you she’s in love with Jungkook too?

Alternatively:

“Would you believe me if I said that I was scared of everything too?”

Genre: childhood best friends to lovers, family drama, angst, fluff, idiots to lovers, pining, slice of life au.

Pairing: Architect!Jungkook x Architect!Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: mention of sexist behavior, (old men being trash) forced marriage.

SERIES: CHAPTER 5 | CHAPTER 7

Jungkook never imagined that he would be spending his Monday with a bunch of men he didn't like.

"I'm sorry for dragging you into this..." Taemin smiled apologetically at Jungkook, but he didn't seem apologetic at all. It was as though your father planned all of this to happen.

Taemin didn't even ask Jungkook if he wanted to be a part of this. The head architect was actually surprised when right after he dropped you off to work this morning, he was escorted by Taemin's bodyguards to the parking lot, saying that your father needed to talk to him.

"No worries, as long as I'm still getting paid today. My hourly rate is not a joke, you know..."

Taemin laughed. This time his smile didn't seem fake, like he truly appreciated Jungkook's assurance.

"I can double your pay today. It's Monday after all."

Jungkook nodded because he was pleased. The double pay was just a bonus. The fact that he got to spend the day away from the construction site was already a breath of relief.

Mondays were the busiest time of the week for Jungkook. This was why he didn't understand why Taemin and some shareholders of Castle decided to play golf today.

They just mingled at the party last Saturday. Wasn't it enough? What more did they need to talk about?

"Architect Jeon! Come play with us!" When one of the shareholders called Jungkook's attention, he realized that the party was indeed not enough time to talk about business.

This was an extension of that party. Jungkook just wasn't sure why he was suddenly included. Was it because he got to talk to Mr. Wang last week? The latter was a prospective investor after all.

Maybe these men wanted to know what Jungkook thought about Mr. Wang. Admittedly, he was the only one who got to talk to the older man. Mr. Wang was hard to read. They were surprised that he spared the head architect some time.

Perhaps this wasn't about Mr. Wang at all. Maybe Taemin and the shareholders just wanted to know Jungkook's secret and charm.

"Be right there," Jungkook nodded at them before turning to look at Taemin.

"Let's join them?"

Your father nodded as well, standing up and grabbing his golf club.

Jungkook enjoyed golf. He was a decent player. He was told that this game somehow revealed the personality of a businessperson. He usually met with different clients so he figured that it's best if he could at least get an idea how people in this industry acted.

This was Jungkook's first time to play golf with Taemin and the shareholders though. He normally played this with his business clients.

"Congratulations again for closing that deal with Mrs. Lee, Architect Jeon..." Shareholder Kang said while scanning the course map.

"Ah," Jungkook momentarily stopped setting up his swing upon hearing that. He stood up straight, scratching the back of his head while smiling awkwardly at the older man.

"Thanks, but it won't be possible without Architect Soojin. It's her team's idea after all..."

Mr. Kang snickered, causing Jungkook to raise his brow.

"Why? Did I say something funny?"

"Not really." Mr. Yoo was the one who answered Jungkook's question. "But we feel like you are the sole reason why Mrs. Lee accepted the proposal."

The other shareholders hummed in agreement, smiling. Jungkook did not find this amusing though. In fact, Mr. Yoo's take only caused your best friend to raise his brow even higher.

"I don't understand. It is not my idea. I'm barely assisting Architect Kim and her team."

Jungkook's tone was edgy. He wanted these men to realize that their belief was bull. However they continued to justify that they were right and he was wrong.

"You're too humble for your own good, head architect." Mr. Song teased, knees slightly bended as he leaned forward at his hips.

"Ms. Kim Soojin's idea is..." He paused to look for the best way to describe the project.

"Unrealistic, unconvincing, shallow." Mr. Lim supplied.

Mr. Han laughed mockingly.

"In short, her idea is lame."

"Exactly. It's better to file for bankruptcy if all the architects in Castle are like that." Mr. Yoo playfully swung the gold club, waiting for his turn.

Shareholder Song was taking so long in hitting the ball.

"I mean, come on!" Mr. Kang groaned. "A luxury spa? Who wants that when there are saunas everywhere? Hell, I'm a millionaire but I'll choose a public bathhouse. It's cheaper."

Mr. Han shrugged off.

"Me too. I'm just glad you're part of the project, Architect Jeon. You can fix Ms. Kim's lapses."

Mr. Lim agreed.

"It's also a good thing that Mrs. Lee is stupid enough to agree with the proposal. Ah, women..." He shook his head. "They have big ass and tits but they lack this!"

The men cackled when Mr. Lim pointed at his brain, implying that women had small brains.

Jungkook was starting to think that the double pay wasn't worth it if it meant he had to spend time with these imbeciles. Would it even be enough to cover the medical expenses he would incur if he beat the shit out of them?

"That true! Have you seen Ms. Kim's ass? Taemin!" Mr. Song turned to look at Soojin's father.

"I just have to say this, man. Your daughter is so sexy, especially when she's wearing those tight skirts. Damn!" Mr. Song continued, twisting his shoulder to bring the club all the way up. "Tell her I'm willing to buy all skirts for her—"

Jungkook couldn't take it anymore.

"Shut your mouth." He barked at Mr. Song, but his eyes were focused on Taemin, wondering why he was quiet when his own daughter was being treated like shit.

Jungkook thought that his threat was taken seriously by them. They actually stopped laughing, some of them even cleared their throat like they regretted opening their mouth in the first place.

Mr. Song didn't say anything for a while either. He just swung his golf club, finally hitting the ball.

It went straight to the hole.

The men cheered, but Mr. Song wasn't smiling, just glaring daggers at Jungkook. The latter didn't feel intimidated at all.

If Soojin's father wouldn't do right by her, then Jungkook would. He couldn't just stand here and let this sexist piece of shit blabber.

"What?" Jungkook squared his jaw, inhaling. Mr. Song was standing too close to him, almost hitting his chest.

Mr. Song's jaw clenched. Jungkook readied himself to throw a punch, but he was surprised when the older man chuckled loudly.

"Good, good, little Jeon!" He patted Jungkook's shoulders, the smile on his lips was still apparent.

"You know how to defend your woman, huh?"

Jungkook parted his mouth to speak. He wanted to tell Mr. Song that Soojin wasn't his woman. She was her own person. He also wanted to say that he would defend any woman who was being harassed by someone like him.

He wasn't able to do it though. Mr. Song cut him off.

"See, this is the attitude of a true king." He patted Jungkook's shoulder again before turning to Soojin's father.

"Am I right, Taemin? Architect Jeon is fit to be the next chairman of Castle..."

"Yes." Taemin smiled tightly. The other men approved, saying that Jungkook had their votes when it was time to elect for the next chairman. Kim Taemin wasn't getting any younger. Sooner or later, he had to give up his position.

"Architect Jeon will surely be my successor."

"Sir." Jungkook said pointedly, flickering his irises at Taemin. What the fuck was he talking about? He was not the successor. It was Soojin.

"Oh, look at the time!" Taemin beamed, glancing at his Rolex and purposely ignoring his adopted son. "It's getting late, isn't it? Shall we have lunch together?"

"Ah, right." Mr. Lee caressed his stomach. "Diabetic men are not allowed to skip meals."

Lunch with Taemin and the shareholders was torture. Jungkook didn't know how many times he had to stop himself from punching these men.

Seriously. He couldn't count how many times they talked shit about women and people who weren't as wealthy as them.

They also complained about literally everything. Mr. Yoo smacked the head of one of the waiters for getting his order wrong.

"I said I want a well done steak! Not this garbage!" Mr. Yoo stabbed the medium well steak with a fork, causing the poor waiter to flinch.

"Ah. We should've eaten at home! You dogs should try my wife's steak. Hell, she's really perfect in my kitchen."

Jungkook wanted to say something, but Taemin subtly shook his head, silently telling the younger that it's not worth it.

But it is. Jungkook was dying to say. Keeping quiet implied that he was okay with this even when he was not.

"Let it go. We'll talk about it later." Taemin assured Jungkook when the latter looked like he was on the verge of walking away.

This was the longest hours of his life. He couldn't stand up, couldn't take a break from listening to them. These men took their time, just mocking people while drinking coffee and blowing cigarette smoke.

Jungkook stole a glance at his wrist watch. It was already 4:42pm. Shit. He was supposed to pick you up at five o'clock. Guess he should just rain check on that dinner date he promised you tonight, huh?

He was about to send you a text message when he realized that he left his phone inside his car, his car that was in the parking lot of Castle. Damn it.

Jungkook wished he could just head home and kiss you, however it wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

"Where are we going?" He asked Taemin who took a left turn, direction away from the office.

The shareholders called it a day, saying they had to head home and sleep.

"You'll see," Taemin didn't reveal much, causing Jungkook to get more annoyed.

"No. Tell me." He was having none of it. Jungkook was exhausted. He didn't understand why Taemin had to drive and send his bodyguards home.

The older man didn't like talking when he was driving, saying he had to 'focus," because safety was their first priority.

Jungkook was pretty sure this was only an excuse. Perhaps Taemin didn't know how to explain his behavior when he was with the shareholders. He probably knew that he sucked for not defending Soojin and for lying about Jungkook being his successor.

"I'll tell you when we get there."

For the nth time, Jungkook wasn't able to do anything. He gave up. There was no point in arguing with Taemin because he would only be met with silence or dismissal.

Fortunately Jungkook and Taemin arrived at their destination before the former lost his patience.

The drive wasn't long, distance-wise, but the traffic jam in Seoul was getting worse.

"We're here." Taemin announced, stopping the car right in front of the columbarium where the urn of Jungkook's father was stored.

Jungkook's creased his forehead

"Why are we here?"

"I miss him." Taemin simply shrugged, getting out of the car and heading straight to the building.

Jungkook followed him. He visited his father as often as he could. He was sure the flowers he brought not more than a week ago hadn't wilted yet. Still, he felt bad that he came here today empty handed.

Taemin brought a flower though. It was a piece of orange geiger that he probably plucked at the golf course.

The flora was already crushed because Taemin kept it in the pocket of his slacks. It didn't stop him from putting it right beside Jong-in's urn.

"He hates the color orange." Jungkook reminded, snorting as he stared at the polaroid film placed against the urn.

It was a picture of him and Jong-in when he won first place in Taekwondo. He was only ten years old that time. You were the one who took the photograph, supporting him all the way.

"He hates cowards too." Jungkook added.

"I know, me too..." Taemin was also staring at the photograph. "That's why I hate myself."

Jungkook balled his hand into a fist.

"Then why be one?" He almost snarled at your father. "Why did you let those men say those...stupid things to Soojin? Why let them get away with it?"

Jungkook was fuming. The frustration he felt was too much that he couldn't hide it anymore. Tears brimmed his eyes.

It pained him to hear them talk about Soojin like that. He didn't love her in a romantic way, but she was his family. He treated Soojin like his little sister.

"Your father..." Taemin spoke after a short while. He still couldn't face Jungkook.

"Your father loved Castle. He poured his time and energy in the company. I am aware that you know this too. You sometimes joked about it, right? You asked him if he loved Castle more than he loved you..." Taemin smiled.

Jungkook couldn't help it. He giggled as well. Yeah. Those were the good old days. Jungkook could never forget the face his father would make whenever he asked that question.

"When he was still alive, he would always say that he wants me to take good care of you and the company if ever something happens to him."

Jungkook's smile immediately turned into a scowl. It had been many years since his father passed away, yet this was still a sore topic for him.

"That's what I'm doing right now, Jungkook-ah. Those filthy men are the lifeblood of our company. We have to be careful around them."

Jungkook shook his head.

"Does that mean we have to keep silent even if what they're doing is wrong?"

"Yes." Taemin didn't even bat an eyelash. Those men had big shares in the company, they were part of the board of directors too.

"Business is a game. You can't win if you don't have resources. Better build an army rather than collecting enemies."

"What's the point of building an army if they can't respect you?" Jungkook scoffed.

"People will only respect you if you don't go against them. You will never be respected if you don't have power." Taemin retorted. "So stay in power, Architect Jeon. That's when you'll be able to really control people."

Jungkook attempted to ponder about what Taemin told him. The older man was his mentor for years. Admittedly, he had learned a lot from Taemin. What happened today was probably the only lesson he didn't like and understand.

"Can you drop me off at the office, uncle? I left my car there..." Jungkook blurted out, heart beating fast upon realizing that he hadn't called you all day.

It was already 6:22pm. Did you wait for him? Did you call him? Were you mad? God. You're probably pissed at him.

"I'll ask my secretary to take care of it. We need to go home. Family dinner. Everyone's waiting for us."

"Everyone?" Jungkook hiccupped. Did it mean that you would be there too?

"Yes. My children and my wife. All of us."

Jungkook simply nodded, choosing to conserve his energy because he knew he still needed to apologize to you. Maybe this would also be the perfect opportunity to finally tell Soojin what he felt for her.

They arrived at the mansion at exactly seven pm. The house was usually quiet, but tonight was different.

Everyone seemed to be in a hurry, causing Jungkook to think if he had missed something. Was today someone's birthday?

"Are we celebrating something?" This was what Jungkook said the moment he took a step inside the dining area.

There was a feast.

Taemin was right. Every member of the family was present. Jungkook's eyes shifted to you, like it was natural for him to find you whenever, wherever.

You were not looking at him though. Your eyes were trained on your empty plate.

"Are you kidding me, Jungkook? It's your engagement—" Taehyung who was seated on your right, tried to speak, however he was cut off by Sin-ae.

"You two are right on time! Come! Sit!" Sin-ae grinned nervously, helping to remove her husband's coat.

Soojin tried to do the same with Jungkook.

"I got it..." Jungkook stopped Soojin from latching on his arm, his eyes were still focused on you.

He wanted to ask if you were alright. You seemed down and you hadn't spared him a single glance.

"Sit beside me, JK," Soojin still managed to hold onto his biceps, pulling him to sit right across from you.

"What are we celebrating again?" Jungkook was talking to Taehyung but his gaze was still on you.

Your youngest brother turned to Jungkook, a playful smirk was plastered on his lips. He looked amused.

"Why don't you ask my lovely sister Soojin?" Taehyung was munching a piece of pickled radish. "Or my mom? I'm sure they'll be happy to tell you since it looks like you don't have any idea what's happening..."

"Let's just enjoy our food first, shall we, huh, Kim Taehyung?" Sin-ae gritted her teeth, giving her youngest son a pointed look.

Jungkook shrugged. He wasn't that interested anyway. He only went here because you were here. He wanted to apologize to you.

It was clear to him now that you were pissed. You liked shrimps, but hated peeling them so he did it for you. Using his chopsticks, he picked up the two shrimps and transferred it to your plate.

Instead of thanking him or smiling at him, you just pushed the seafood to the corner of your plate, like you didn't want to eat them.

"You're awfully sweet to her, aren't you, JK?" Namjoon who was sitting on your left, voiced out, noticing how Jungkook treated you.

Your flinched, heart skipping a beat.

"You just gave her shrimps." Namjoon said again when Jungkook just creased his forehead.

"Ah. She likes shrimps." He shrugged, failing to notice that the act was a big deal. He had done this many times already. Jungkook always peeled shrimps for you ever since you two were kids.

"Careful there. Soojin might get jealous."

"Why would you get jealous?" Jungkook asked your sister directly. "We're not dating."

Seokjin and Taehyung choked. Namjoon dropped his fork. Sin-ae was flustered while both Soojin and his father sighed: the former in exasperation while the latter did it in exhaustion.

You remained silent despite the fact that everyone seemed surprised because of what Jungkook said.

"What?" The head architect raised a brow, confused. "You're all acting weird."

Except you, but Jungkook already knew you were damn good at hiding your emotions.

No one was aware that you were shocked and confused too. Why was Jungkook acting like he had no idea what was happening?

Could it be because....it's the truth? Was he really clueless?

Your assumption was confirmed when Taemin awkwardly cleared his throat, shifting his attention to your best friend.

"Remember when I told you earlier that you're going to be my successor?"

Jungkook raised his head slightly.

"Well...it's the truth. You're going to be the chairman of Castle after marrying my daughter—" Taemin gulped. "—Soojin."

"No." Jungkook stated, so fast he didn't even blink.

"Jungkook—"

"I said no." Jungkook's voice was full of authority, his eyes were dark, jaw and fist clenching.

"But we have already announced it publicly." Sin-ae mumbled. She didn't realize that Jungkook would react this way. He was always so kind, sweet, and level headed.

He was different tonight. Truthfully, he looked terrifying as he glowered at Taemin.

"I get it now," Jungkook cackled, wetting his lower lip. "Meeting with the shareholders and bringing me to the columbarium? These were all part of your plan."

Huh. He was so stupid to fall for your father's trap. Taemin didn't give two shits about his 'promise' to Jong-in. He was only doing all of this for his own interest.

"You need me to marry Soojin because it's what the shareholders want, right?"

Taemin didn't deny Jungkook's accusation.

"They will withdraw their shares in the company if Soojin becomes the chairperson. They want a man to be in power, Jeon."

"Then let them go. It's their loss."

"You know very well that it's not. Our empire will fall without them."

"Then let the empire fall." Jungkook threw the napkin on his plate. He was done. He lost his appetite. "I don't care. I'm not marrying Soojin."

He said it with finality that Soojin couldn't help but gasp.

"Yah, Jeon Jungkook!" Her fist landed on top of the table. "Does the idea of marrying me so bad that you're willing to let our company fall, huh?"

"Yes." Jungkook didn't hesitate. "It's bad because I don't love you like that, Soojin. I can't love you the way you want me to."

"Nobody said you two need to love each other." Seokjin took part in the conversation. He only said this because he and his wife didn't marry for love. It was for business too.

"Then why get married? I don't believe in marriage for convenience. I will only do it for love." Jungkook switched his gaze at you the moment he said the word 'love'

He was surprised to see you already staring at him. You looked away when he caught you though.

"So sappy, JK." Taehyung teased. "Why? Do you love someone else?"

"I do." Jungkook was very honest and it was starting to annoy you. You wondered if he ever processed his thoughts first. It looked like he just kept saying things that entered his mind.

"Who is she?" Soojin demanded. She wanted to scream.

Jungkook looked like he was about to say something without thinking again, but before he could do that, you interfered.

"Oh no!" Your eyes dilated, elbowing the glass of champagne and letting the sticky drink stained your dress.

"Oh, for God's sake!" Sin-ae rolled her eyes, snapping at you. "You're so clumsy! You're ruining our night!"

"Eomma..." Taehyung warned. He was about to grab a napkin so he could hand it to you, but Jungkook was already on his feet, going near you.

"Are you okay?" He leaned closer to you, dabbing the napkin onto your dress.

You took advantage of his close proximity.

"Don't say anything about us. Please." You whispered and then you slightly pushed him away.

"I'm okay. Thanks, Jungkook." You stood up quickly, almost stumbling in doing so. Fortunately your best friend managed to grab your wrist.

"Careful..." He said softly, hands grabbing your waist.

You pushed him away again, trembling.

"I-I'll just change." You didn't wait for their approval.

You just left with your heart still beating fast.

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #ficswithluv #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #armywriterssupport #jungkook x yn #jungkook x oc #bts fic #jungkook best friends to lovers #best friend jungkook

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tetralea · 3 years

Note

Hey heyyy I love ur writing!!!

Could u nah e write a fluffy oneshot either for Tom or Harrison whatver u want where maybe they are over at the readers house and the readers parents are like the worst ever, and just real mean to her and as soon as they either go into her room or at home he’s really sweet and caring and tells her sweet things

Sorry I’m in need of fluff xxxx

Hi! Thank you, I’m happy you enjoy my writing! :)

So my turnaround time is usually not this fast but last night I had a bit of extra time to do this. I decided to go with Tom for this and it’s kind of college AU.

On another note I hope you’ll like it, it was a tough one for me for several reasons, mostly the parents aspect. I hope everything is okay with you tho. 😘

Bringing Tom to your parent’s house was never an easy task. Being at your parent’s house wasn’t an easy task in general. Somehow, for some reason, you couldn't do anything good lately. It was the worst, and you couldn’t wait to get out of there. It was only two weeks now until your semester ended and that was the only thing you could think of. At the end of it you could move out again. You lived in a dorm before sharing a small room with him and a small apartment like space with another couple. It was before he left to a semester abroad and you were left with no roommate, so you decided to move home and save up a little for the rent for an apartment for just the two of you. It seemed like a logical decision, but it was hell. Now with Tom back already occupying the tiny, cosy flat it was even worse, but moving with all your exams, homework and essays going on were impossible.

‘Lunch is ready.’ Your dad stepped into your room without knocking or announcing himself. After his grumpy grunt he closed the door faster than you could have started to complain about the invasion of your privacy.

It shouldn’t have been this difficult, right? Just to knock on the god damn door. Not like you two were doing anything like that. Tom was lounging on your bed softly massaging your feet until you sat in a rather odd position at your desk trying to finish you essay in time. Studying together was your thing, you got used to it very fast in the dorm and you missed it terribly until he was away.

‘Why he is like this?’ It didn’t take much to you to slam the computer down, flopping onto the bed next to Tom, looking at him pouting.

‘I don’t know, love.’ He pulled you closer, circling his arms around you, holding you flush to himself kissing the top of your head trying to soothe you. ‘Maybe it’s weird for them too.’ His soft murmur and the gentle circles on your back helped a little.

‘Weird to lift his hand and knock?’ You sat up with a huff, still pouting and looking down at the brown haired boy.

Tom’s apologetic grimace and little gesture made it obvious that he was as clueless as you were.

The lunch was like a carefully orchestrated torture. After your dad criticizing your home attire, saying something about covering up more, your mom complained about the shift in your taste.

‘Now you are not eating this either?’ She squeaked rolling her eyes. ‘I swear to god, nothing is good enough for you anymore. Always on a diet, or not eating diary, when you were a kid, you had no problems with diary.’

‘I’m lactose intolerant mom.’ You sighed trying to explain it for the thousands time. ‘I can’t eat diary; it makes my stomach hurt.’ The answer was only partly true trying to spare everyone on the other details of your intolerance.

‘Nonsense! How come you never had a problem when you were a child?’ She pushed her own agenda a bit more. ‘You are just becoming a picky eater, what’s next?’

‘I don’t know, mom.’ Your tone was calm and tired, trying not to freak out and make a scene. ‘I’m not a doctor, if you want to know we can ask them.’ With a bit of an aggressive stab at your meat you took a bite on your fork trying to finish the part of the meal which you could eat.

Tom remained silent during the whole conversation, his eyes fixating on the plate like there was something very fascinating there. He didn’t dare to reach out and grab your hand or rest his hand on your thigh to reassure you, so trying his best he slid his foot to yours, crossing your calf over his shin, rubbing it up and down slightly.

To your relief there was a bit of silence after this, it was awkward but still better than the hurtful comments you sometimes got, unluckily to you it didn’t last long.

‘So, you two are going to get married too?’ Your dad’s voice was muffled by the food in his mouth, not even looking at you when he asked the outrageous question.

‘Dad!’ Your head shot up, looking at him with a sharp, angry look. ‘We are just moving together; marriage will be another step.’

You tried your best to remain calm, quickly glancing at Tom after your answer not wanting to look obsessed or greedy or talk about marriage without talking to him first about it, but he was on your side, as always. Silently. He nodded murmuring a quiet, yes, before showing another bite into his mouth.

The sound your dad made gave you the feeling like it wasn’t over yet and that it will just get worse. ‘Maybe that should come first, if something would happen during the living together.’ He commented, taking another bite, and gesturing around with it a little, still not looking at you, being visibly annoyed and frustrated by the very obvious fact that you were in fact sleeping with Tom and he hated even the thought of it.

You felt the blood rush to your face, not only from the anger now, but there was also a huge amount of embarrassment in there too. It was always an awkward and taboo topic in front of your parents. Surely you have slept with Tom multiple times during the course of your relationship, you loved him after all, but your parents getting to know about it and at the sheer fact being so obvious to them was another level which no one handled well.

‘Nothing will happen.’ You tired to gain back your cool, slowly sliding down on your chair with Tom in union.

Thank God this last encounter was brutal, ridiculous and embarrassing enough to make everyone just quietly finish their meals. The two of you were done first, quickly cleaning up your plates and running back to your room.

‘This was horrible. Why are they like this, Tom?’ The question was more rhetorical than anything as you fake sobbed.

Tom only sighed and tried his best to get over the horrid comments while slowly wrapping you in his arms. ‘I really don’t know, darling.’ He kissed the top of your head, tightening his grip when he felt you sigh. ‘But I love you, you know that, right?’ He asked with a small smile, trying to angle the two of you to finally be able to look you in the eye.

The puppy dog eyes you gave him and the pout was almost too much together, he hated seeing you like this.

‘I love you. Okay?’ He asked and said again when you didn’t answer. ‘And the faster we get to pack your stuff the faster we can get out here and can start our weekend together. Only you and me.’ He pulled you back to his chest, slowly rocking the two of you.

‘I love you too.’ Finally, a muffled mumble come from the direction of his chest where your head was reasting. ‘I love you so much, and I can’t wait to finally live with you again.’ Just saying it out loud made you happy, a small laugh erupting from your lips, breaking your tense demeanour finally.

‘That’s it, that’s the smile I fall for.’ Tom purred, his smile reaching his eyes, the small wrinkles you loved so much appearing as he was beaming at you. ‘I love you so much.’ He repeated it again, like he couldn’t believe it was all true either, like you were too good to be truly his.

With a giddy laugh you leaned to him pressing your lips to his for a small kiss. He was quick to reciprocate it, chasing your lips when you pulled away, taking them between his, sighing into the kiss when he felt you melting against him. He was kissing you slowly, like he wanted to savour every second, every little movement, every heartbeat of the kiss. It was longer than you expected but neither of you had it in you to pull away just yet. When the kiss ended, he stayed close, his forehead pressed to yours. ‘Let’s pack fast, I can’t wait to leave and have you all for myself finally.’

Tags: @frenchfrostpudding, @dreamsarecloserwithyou, @terrifictomholland @we--are---not--afraid @annathesillyfriend @thegirlintheswivelchair @hazofmyheart @tomsrebeleyebrow @worldoftom @sinisterspidey @greenorangevioletgrass

#tom holland #tom holland reader insert #Tom Holland x reader #Tom Holland fluff #fluff #tom holland fanfiction

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comfyswitcherblanketfort · 3 years

Text

A Good Deal

lets not talk about what day it was bogizens... 👀 this is part of the hallmark june weddings event we did in the bog!

it’s also on ao3 here!

Warnings: insecure eskel, stressed triss, honestly its pretty fluffy., could be classified as mild emotional whump.

_____________

Triss was frantic when Eskel trudged up the stairs to the back door in the kitchen. He paused for a moment, leaning against the railing where he could just see her through the window in the door, box braids falling out of her loose bun, some sort of sauce smudged on her forehead, her arm muscles standing out and furiously beating the ever-loving shit out of whatever was in her bowl. Fuck, he thought she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. A little scary too, but that was his type.

“Afternoon, Gorgeous,” he called through the screen door, waiting for her to unlock it.

Instead of her normal ‘Afternoon, Handsome,’ he got a snappy, “If any bit of your clothing has been at the fire station, take it off out there. I just got the floors clean, and I don’t have time to do them again before the wedding.”

“If you wanted a striptease you could have just asked,” he chuckled, pulling his shirt over his head and kicking his boots off. All of him had just come from the station.

“Eskel, please,” her voice was about an octave higher than when he liked to hear those words normally, and the tightness at the end of her words made him worried.

“I’m clean, ish, can I come in?”

When she let him in she only gave him a quick peck before it was back to what Eskel could now see were egg whites.

“What’s wrong?”

That was apparently the wrong question. Triss dropped the bowl back onto the counter and braced herself against it, hanging her head. Her shoulders looked so tense Eskel thought the muscles might snap, “Fucking everything. Yen’s parents are getting in tomorrow and I only have the middle floor flipped because Annalee called in sick and Taylor is nowhere to be found, and I have to get this breakfast prepped because I have to make sure there’s food for the girls to eat while they get ready. Then I still have to call Jaskier and see when he’s bringing the cake and décor over and I have to run into the store to get the food for the next three days while they’re here and one of Yen’s aunt’s is allergic to everything under the fucking sun! Oh! And I also need to tell Jask to do everything last minute as far as the cake goes because I don’t have the fridge space and-and there’s still a goddamned molehill in the backyard where they’re having the ceremony and-“

Eskel wrapped his arms around her from behind, placing one hand over her sternum and one over her stomach, and held her tight while he whispered, “It’s gonna be okay. We’ll figure it out. Just take a minute to breathe for me?”

She took a shuddering deep breath and let it out as she rested her head back against his chest, brushing a stray braid out of her eyes, “…and I have a headache…”

“That,” Eskel mumbled, pausing to press a kiss to her forehead, “we can fix quickly.” He pulled them over to her medicine cabinet and handed her some ibuprofen and a large glass of water, also insisting she sit and eat something.

After a minute or two of Triss picking at some leftover pasta salad she groaned and shoved it away, “ and my mother called.”

“How’re Sheila and the dogs?”

“Fucking unbearable,” she grumbled, pitching her voice up and scrunching her nose to imitate her mother’s nasally voice, “ When are you settling down? I was so excited when you said wedding! Haven’t you hired an inn manager yet? Why do you still clean rooms? Did you read that diet book I sent you?”

Pushing her pasta back towards her after the last question, Eskel did his best to remain casual and calm, “I thought she hated me?”

“She hates all of my partners on principle, but you’ve made the top spot for ‘least hated’,” Triss shot him a little smirk as she aggressively stabbed some more pasta, “I told her I’m quite settled and we’re happy for now and to get her nose out of other people’s business- yes I see the irony .”

Eskel forced a bit of a laugh and tried not to bite his lip. He’d been thinking about this since Yen and Renfri’s engagement party. The way Triss looked at him while the couple gushed about how they were so excited to spend the rest of their lives together (and torment some relatives with making it official) had settled in the back of his mind and refused to leave. Every day, he flip-flopped on whether there was a little hope there or if she just thought it was sweet. And every day he berated himself for not bringing it up, but he had never even entertained the idea of marriage. Hell, his main relationship had been a friends-with-benefits arrangement with Geralt, and the few before that had been rocky at best. He wasn’t cut out to be a husband. Certainly not to someone so kind and gentle and fiercely loyal and sharp as Triss. What did he have to offer? A dangerous job and nasty burn scars for their wedding photos?

She must have sensed his hesitation and pushed her pasta over to him, “Eat. I need to keep cooking… and clean the top floor.”

He hooked an arm around her waist as she walked around the little kitchen island they sat at, pulling her close and stealing the keys out of her pocket, “I’ll go get groceries after I clean the top floor. Is the laundry started?”

“You’re too good to me, Teddy Bear,” she sighed, placing a kiss on his forehead.

“Not good enough.”

She frowned, resting her palm over his jaw and searching his eyes, “We’ll come back to that when the inn is ready.”

As he stood, he stole a quick kiss and darted up the stairs, “You’re taking a nap when the inn is ready!”

It had all come together in the end. Triss even got some impressed looks and glowing reviews from Yennefer’s family when they arrived. The periwinkle went beautifully with the gardenia Triss had woven through the lattice around the backyard and Eskel had managed to make the moles disappear and patch the grass so even she couldn’t tell where they’d been.

Eskel watched Triss dart around the property, even after her job was done, making sure everyone was comfortable and everything ran smoothly for the girls and as much as he tried to push it down, he was just reminded of how she deserved so much more. More than a scarred, overweight firefighter with a killer therapy bill and a studio apartment that looked more like a hotel room than a home.

As he was watching the different couples swooping around the tiny courtyard dance floor, hands materialized on his shoulders, immediately digging in right where he held tension.

“Now it’s really over,” Triss whispered in his ear.

“Oh? Will you take that nap now?” Eskel shot her a grin over his shoulder as he covered one of her hands with his.

She smiled at him as if he’d said something adorably cute and inaccurate, “I’ll take a dance ?”

Standing up and spinning Triss once before pulling her close to his side, Eskel sighed, “I guess I’ll have to settle for that then.”

Giggling a tad bit deliriously, they made their way onto the dance floor and snuck into a space between the other couples. Eskel did his best to relax and stay in the moment. He took deep breaths and mentally listed little observations about his surroundings, most of which revolved around Triss, and he even tried to distract himself by making some rather suggestive advances, but no matter what he tried, he was still thinking about what she deserved and how it was everything he wasn’t.

Triss rested her hand on his cheek and gave him her trademarked wide-eyed worried look, “Are you alright? Is your knee acting up?”

“M’fine,” he lied, “Just the champagne.”

“Bullshit.”

He should have known she’d call him on it, even in the middle of a wedding she wouldn’t let him get away with anything. Just another reason he wasn’t good enough for her.

Glancing around nervously, Eskel whispered in her ear, “Can we do this later?”

“Absolutely not. You’ve been acting strange for weeks now and it’s making me crazy,” Triss tapped on the point of his chin firmly, calling his attention back to her as they swayed and stepped in a small circle like everyone else.

“Been making me crazy too…” he mumbled, only receiving a furious glare that urged him to continue, “You’re… Triss you’re perfect. I love you more than anything and anyone I’ve ever loved before…”

Tears welled in her eyes as Triss brought them to a standstill, gripping his arms for dear life, “But?”

Eskel couldn’t help tucking her long thin braids behind her ear and caressing her cheek, “But I don’t know why you’re with me. Every time this wedding gets brought up I think about how you deserve someone so much more… whole than I am. Someone who can give you what you want and who doesn’t have a horribly dangerous job and doesn’t look like the Pillsbury doughboy…”

“First off,” Triss started, almost growling as she dragged him off the dance floor and in through the back door to the kitchen, “I thought you were breaking up with me so please lead with what you’re nervous about next time,” Eskel followed, absolutely dumbfounded as he was sat down on a stool like he was in trouble with the principal, “Second, I find your extra weight sexy as hell- no arguments! That is my opinion and it is final . Third- and this one is important- you are the most thoughtful, caring, kind, and gentle person I have ever had the absolute pleasure to share a room with, let alone sleep with. I decided you’re what I wanted a long time ago. No one else has ever told me to take a nap before” she giggled, pausing to hold his face between her hands, “You don’t need to be anything other than you for me to be happy.”

She wiped a tear from his cheek with her knuckles, a fond smile playing on her lips as she drew him in, hugging him tightly so his head rested on her shoulder. His arms wrapped around her waist and squeezed like he was scared she might disappear if he didn’t hold her tight enough.

“Thank you,” He whispered.

“You’re welcome,” Triss whispered back, trailing her nails over his scalp and through his soft hair, “Anytime you need a reminder you tell me. Deal?”

Eskel sniffed and pulled himself back together, leaning back to give Triss a quick kiss, “Deal.”

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randombtsprincessa · 4 years

Text

Blackthorn Creek

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Park Jimin x Reader (2nd POV)

Words: 24.1k

Genre: Beauty and the Beast AU! Fantasy, Angst, Fluff, Smut!

Rating: NC-17 ranging till 18+ during the last scene, just to be safe.

Warning: Curses, magic, violence, conspiracy for treason, heavy insecurities, imprisonment of sorts, animal attacks, description of blood and injuries, mob mentality, invasion, stabbing, falling from heights, death, marital sex, first time, kissing, fingering, unprotected sex (be careful folksies!) And a whole lotta cheese cause it’s Jimin and I love him.

A/N: The following work is part of the Twisted Fairtytales: Members in Distress for @ksmutclub I had the idea for this story sitting in my WIPS and thankfully, the project came at the perfect moment! I hope you all like it as much as I loved writing it!

A major thank you and a glomping hug to @cuziloveyou7 and my amazing best friend for all their support for the fic!

The night was chill.

Pale, gossamer links of snow knitted across the glass of the castle, the granite of the stairs seeping the cold through to the skin.

A light chatter was interrupted when the front doors thudded – once, twice and then another time.

It was late, after all; much too late for any visitors, too rude for guests to show up…

The King, a benign man, stood from his seat near the fire, guards surrounding their liege. The Queen looked up at her husband, worried but the King patted her shoulder, beckoning for the doors to be opened.

It would be rude to leave the doors barred too, of course. It could be someone in need.

He watched, curious, as his Maitre D’, Seokjin, walked slowly to the doors. His arms flung the heavy oaken doors open, a flourish to his actions.

“Welcome,” Jin spoke in his exaggerated voice, “to the Castle of Blackthorn Creek. To what do we owe the pleasure, and to whom, may I ask?”

There was silence, much too thick, much too tense to be someone in need, to be a friendly visitor.

“I am here, to see your King. Bring me to him.”

Seokjin stuttered in his vigor, an unnerved stance taking him over as he glanced back to the royal couple, a question to his eyes.

The King cast an eye to his right corner, where his trusted advisor sat, his shoulders visibly tight. Namjoon cleared his throat, a warning sound. “I will see him.” The King said instead, knowing it would be better to see what the stranger wanted.

His guards circled him, his wife remaining behind as he approached and stood behind Seokjin.

“You are in the presence of our Lord and King.” The man announced, drawing away with a stiff bow – unlike any he had performed before.

The King stepped forward, and looked at the man who stood at his doorstep. The man, in turn raised his head, allowing for the dark hood atop his head to fall back. His head was cast in shadows, the whites of the eyes visible as he spoke.

“Your Majesty, I have come from far lands for the pleasure of your company.”

“Consider the pleasure ours, please do come in. What can we do for you?” The King waved a hand, dismissing the surrounding guards as the stranger tilted his head, walking in with his head still held high. He stopped right inside the threshold, as the inmates of the house gazed with wonder and some horror at his visage.

His head was shaven, dark marks etched into the near blue-white skin of his face. His arms bore similar marks, sheathed in crimson robes that were certainly not the fashion of those times.

“Well,” The King pressed.

The stranger slowly blinked his unnerving eyes, a flash of green lighting them. “I hear tales of your kingdom, your generous reign in my homelands. I must say I am not disappointed.”

He finally turned his head to where the Queen sat. “I also hear tales of a beautiful daughter. Your little Princess,”

There was a ringing silence. Guards shifted in their positions, Namjoon and Seokjin drew closer to the Queen and the King froze. To all but the mysterious stranger’s eyes unknown, a small figure crouched at her mother’s skirts, face turned curious to the sudden tension in the air.

“What do you want?” It was the Queen who spoke. Her crown glinted in the firelight, her body clenched on her chair. The stranger didn’t look at her when he answered the question.

“I come with a proposal. I offer my hand in marriage with the Princess.”

There was another pause, albeit much less tense as movement started.

“Preposterous; she is but a child.” This came from Namjoon.

“I am willing to wait.” The stranger said coolly.

“Then you will be waiting forever. I will not give my child to any godforsaken man who happens across my door and throws around absurd ideas. You will never have my daughter.”

“I will be a good husband, and a good king.”

“My Liege; do we have permission to draw arms?” The guard closest to the King asked, his hand already drawing closer to his sheathed sword.

“Nay, no bloodshed; just throw this madman out to the snow.” The King spat, his cloak whirling as he turned to go back to his family.

Behind him, his men converged, arms raised to push the stranger out the palace gates.

Time seemed to slow as the men gathered around his form, which had straightened to as tall as he could get.

“You’ll find you’ve made something of a mistake…Your Majesties.”

A cruel smile curled his lips, hands cupping near his stomach. His large sleeves gave way, revealing the etched marks and even as they pulse green, his form erupted in green light, exploding out till it engulfed the entire estate.

The King buckled, his arms wrapping around his wife and child as the men began to shout, and darting away from whatever it was the demon man unleashed.

“Hear me, O great King; for your impudence, I place your most beloved under this curse. You will be reduced to nothing but a fixture; your entire household will be mere pawns to be used by commoners. And your daughter,” The smirk widened, finding the small girl who still hid, now visible to everyone as their horrified gazes found the young princess.

“Your daughter will be left all alone. Her beauty will now be gone, her temperament destroyed. She will be feared, loathed, a monstrosity that will live with your enchantment.”

“She is a child! You are hurting a child!” Finally, an anguished wail escaped the Queen but the wizards over spoke her, drowning her words.

“At the age of twenty and three, she will be rendered thus permanently. Not a thing but the truest of love can rescue her and break my curse. Only the one who will look past her form will win that honor.”

The light faded with the man’s silhouette, the only thing that remained in the blazing glimmer of the settling curse. Movement ceased, the fire died into its embers…

“You will soon find that I am the only man who is merciful and worthy enough.”

These last words echoes in the halls, sealing through the stone and glass until another sound replaced it.

The screams of a terrified little girl…

Time seemed to flow like water after the screams died.

Nobody took courage to go up to the Palace, find their rulers…the town forgot they even had rulers. Administration moved into common hands, spread to the citizens and the legend of the lost royal family became a ghost story.

The path to Blackthorn Creek remained abandoned, silent, and derelict.

In the town of course, the ghost story didn’t matter. Life had moved on, become busy, become full of bustle.

Park Jimin threw the doors of his father’s work room open, sticking his head in to check once on the aging man.

“Father, I’m out to the baker’s. Shall I bring back something?”

There was no answer from his father, just a distant sigh that said there was nothing that could be brought back that would satisfy him.

Jimin drew back, unable to curb his rising disappointment. There was something in the slump of his father’s shoulders, ever since they’d moved into the developing town of Blackthorn Creek that, as much as the exuberant Jimin tried, he simply couldn’t shake.

Perhaps, it was his mother’s death that took their house and worldly belongings. Perhaps it was the sinking of his father’s patent ship, causing such debt that there was no hope to pay it back with nothing to put up for interest.

The Park family had to relocate from their luxury in France to the eastern countryside, to this small place. It had taken all the merry from his father’s life.

Jimin, however, worked hard to keep his spirits up. This was a setback yes, but his father was a genius. He was sure to come up with another pitch that would work out. And even if he didn’t; well, Jimin would always be there to take care of his beloved father.

A basket in hand, Jimin cocked his hat, setting out for the day.

The town, as small as it was, was full of life around midday. The market bustled, the streets running with people and the pub was always open, till as late as it could get.

But even through the color, there were shades of grey. The cheerful Creek had one mighty legend; one of the local royals’ disappearance. There was a long winded street that was barred from the public, leading up to a small hill, behind which there was said to be the palace.

He had taken these myths with a small smile, aimed at the person trying to call for his attention with these stories.

But even he had to admit, such tales of mystique piqued his fancy in the most delightful way. France had been exciting, especially for a young man such as himself. Plucking him out and placing him in a much smaller world where things were…stagnant, did cause something of a blow to his vigor.

Jimin stopped, contemplating the bookshop that lay just at the edge of the forbidden path. He had a few books still remaining back home, left to be read – but perhaps, he could squeeze in another couple?

“My boy,” The shopkeeper chuckled at the frown on the young man’s face. “Are you done with those piles that you took already?”

“Not quite, sir,” Jimin grinned. “I might just pop by again soon enough.”

The shopkeeper gave him a toothy grin, watching the man glance in some wonder at the blocked off road. The mountains had already started to grow slick with frost – sign of another passing winter. “Here,” he said suddenly.

Jimin stuttered in his forward steps, retracing back to where the stooping elder held out a pale bound tome from the front window. “Sir,” he raised his eyes in puzzlement.

“It’s a little something special I had lying about collecting dust. It was surprising that this one hasn’t caught your eye as of yet but I’m sure you will enjoy it.”

Jimin gave the friendly man a smile, letting the soft book fall open upon his palms, sifting through the delicate pages. “What’s it about?”

“The very thing you’re so curious about; lost princesses, brave knights, curses, fairies…” The book keeper burst out laughing at the soft blush that crept along Jimin’s cheeks. “You don’t need to be coy, son. Our little legend is bound to attract someone.”

“I must thank you sir. I will return it as soon as I’m done.”

“Oh by all means, keep it. It’s better suited to your hands than the shelves in this old place.”

Jimin blinked. “That’s a generous gift. I hope I do it justice.”

“I’m sure you will. Now off with you; the market isn’t going to stay open all day.” The man waved Jimin off, returning to his shop.

Jimin found himself quickly immersed in the fantasy, the short stories of courage, chivalry, sacrifice and fire keeping his nose well buried in the musty pages as he found the daily shopping that he was required to do.

All was well, until the book was snatched out of his hands, a giggle soon to follow.

“Hello stranger.”

“Hyebin,” Jimin sighed, looking around to where the young girl had snapped the book shut decisively.

Hyebin had been the girl to whom Jimin owed most of his knowledge of the town. Raven haired, slim and tall, she was the beauty of the town, sister to one of the most renowned hunters in the nearby vicinity – Kai. He and his sister had taken over most of the social scene of the town, near to becoming the law itself.

And Hyebin had her eyes set on Jimin ever since he set foot within the pub; by proxy, leading her brother to pester him with offers of her hand.

“May I have my book back?”

Pale glimmering lips pouted at him, the book still clutched in her hands. “You never pay attention to me, Jimin. Not when you have books about,” she said.

“Of course that’s not the case.” The man said smoothly.

“It is so. What’s so special about books anyway?” Hyebin took a step further back, too quick for Jimin’s reaching fingers. She pried the book open rudely. “They don’t lead to too much around here.”

“There’s more to books than just material gain, Hyebin.” Jimin was becoming impatient – his eyes fixed on the way her nails dug into the delicate binding.

“If you say so, when we’re married; would you still pay more attention to books than me?”

Jimin dearly wanted to say that that would never happen but he settled for resignedly bouncing on his toes. “What if I read to you?”

“I’d fall asleep.”

“I see.” This time Jimin moved fast, hands grabbing the book from Hyebin’s distracted hold long enough to fall back a safe distance. “I need to go back home. Give your brother my best.”

By the time he got home, his father had put away his new working equipment, instead pacing about in the handkerchief living room.

“Father,” Jimin greeted, putting up his hat.

“Son, how…how was the day?” His father stopped marching, coming up to take the basket of shopping from him.

“Normal, had to dodge Hyebin as usual,” he muttered, making his father chuckle.

“One of these days that girl will marry you still.”

“Such a horrifying thought,”

“Then let me put you to ease.” Mr. Park put his hands on Jimin’s shoulders, making his son look him in the eyes. “There has been some development. The ship that I lost at sea, a year ago, has been heard from. I have been called to attest to it.”

Jimin took a moment to process the news, watching his father’s eyes light up with something that was fearfully hopeful. “Do you mean that --?”

“Possibly; if it is true, we can go back to our old lives again! Think of it, Jimin! Paris, France, the beautiful sprawling house that we had to give up. Your education…” The man smiled affectionately, “We’ll have to find you a lady to wed who is at par with you.”

“Father,”

“I set off tonight! It will be a day’s journey but I know you can watch over things here.”

Jimin watched as his father hurriedly moved to the door, a coat and hat finding their way on his body and his cane and horse whip clasped to his breast. “Wish well for us, my son, our lives could be soon close to change. Do you wish for me to bring you anything back?”

“No father, just you,” Jimin bid farewell to his father, watching him disappear within the small stable to gallop away.

When Mr. Park had set out for the harbor, his spirits had been up soaring in the clouds, visions of his life returning to him in his previous splendor. Now, stood at the wooden ledge, watching crestfallen as merchants, traders, moneylenders, once his friends but now…now they had gathered around his returned goods and scavenged and distributed everything among themselves.

“Your debts are clear, Park.”

“Jimin won’t have to be in debt to us anymore, sir.”

“Go back home sir,”

Just words…nothing more, no comfort found his heart when he straddled his horse again, starting the long trek home.

The horse wouldn’t gallop, possibly sensing its master’s indolence and Mr. Park was overcome with a sudden wave of gratefulness for the animal. After all, he would have to strengthen his bones; he had to deliver the news to Jimin.

The idea of disappointing his son was probably more harrowing than that of losing his wealth yet again.

At least now they were free from debt.

There was a small whinny, attracting the older man’s attention as he looked up to see which path he was on. It was long, thin, winding up a hill he had never seen before in his life.

“Hey boy, I think we took the wrong way.” He patted the horse’s head, before getting off, grabbing the reins. “Let’s find a way out.”

A few miles in, Mr. Park stopped, short of breath.

“Where in the world are we?” He growled low, ignoring the shuddering animal behind him as he trudged on when a high, pitched sound made them both freeze.

A wolf’s howl…

There were wolves around. Mr. Park was alone with no weapons and no idea of where he was. His horse let out a sound of protest again.

“Damn it all too hell,” Mr. Park quickly climbed the horse, kicking it to speed. “Take off, boy; we don’t have any time to lose.”

His ride raised back its front legs, before racing down the way they had come.

Jimin had been anxious all day, toiling in the small garden that his father had managed to build in the front of their house. Sweat had gathered his dark hair into clumps, matting his eyes so when he hear the familiar whinny of Geureum, the horse, he smiled naturally – relieved that his father was finally back home.

“Ah father, nice to –,” he turned, his smile vanishing slowly when he saw the horse alone, pawing his hooves into the dirt, snorting impatiently.

“Geureum, where is he?” Jimin grabbed for the horse’s reins, pulling it closer to soothe it. “Where is Father?”

All Geureum did was shake his head roughly, stepping back and forth.

“Can you show me where he is, huh, boy? Come on,” He slipped his foot in the stirrup, hauling himself into the saddle. “Take me to him, Geureum.”

Geureum stopped only once when he reached a huge, wrought iron gate, roses and swans intricately welded to the metal, now rusty from disuse.

Something had prickled Jimin’s hairline when Geureum had approached the blockaded hill up to the legendary Blackthorn Creek palace but the horse had circumvented it, riding up a much thinner path up.

Jimin slipped off of the horse, patting Geureum on the side. “Stay here, boy.”

And then…with a creek that echoed through the cold night, he entered the palace, walking through huge oaken double doors to find his father.

He had to admit, for a second, standing in the atrium of the castle, he was struck by how grand it must have been. The ceiling peaked, now broken in with many of the granite slabs gone, the starry night sky clearly visible. Dirt and mud had accumulated on the marble floors, muffling the clicks of his boots just a bit.

“Father,” he called loudly before cursing to himself.

What if someone heard him? He wasn’t exactly supposed to be here.

Jimin shook his head. Who would hear him? It was a deserted castle with its family long gone. There probably had never been a family; the town had probably spun a yarn to make it special to tourists.

He crept up grand staircase, sticking close to the rails.

“Father,” he called again.

“Jimin…?”

He whirled, looking around for the source of the sound. “Yes, father it’s me.” He ventured, noticing a hand slipping out from the bars of a door. “Father!” He dropped to his knees in front of the door.

“Jimin, what are you doing here? You can’t be here, you have to leave!” His father was wailing from within, his hands grasping air in search for Jimin.

“What are you saying? Of course, I had to come! Who did this to you?”

“No! Don’t you see, Jimin? It’s true, the legends, the stories, they’re true!”

“What is true? Father, tell me who did this to you?”

“The monster; there is a monster in this castle!”

Jimin paused in trying to pry the door open, widened eyes swiveling to his father’s outstretched hands. “What?”

“It’s true! Please you have to leave! It’s dangerous!”

“Father, that can’t possibly be true!” Jimin said adamantly only to be proven wrong the next second.

A roar that sent Jimin’s hair rising to its ends erupted, echoing around the cavernous halls. A heavy weight landed on his shoulder, throwing him away from the door.

“What are you doing here?”

If there was a god, Jimin had better start praying to it, he thought, cowering away from the hunkering shadow that loomed over him. All he could discern were bright yellow eyes, slanting dark pupils glaring at him and the appendage his father had left hanging out the bars.

“Jimin!” His father chose to shout at the very moment.

Jimin watched the – the – thing – rise upon its legs, prowling further in but still remaining in the dark corner. “What are you doing here?” It asked again.

Jimin blinked slowly, trying to make sense of what was happening to him. Here he was, in an allegedly cursed castle. His father was locked up, raving about monsters and now he was face to face with what appeared to be a huge animal…only, it talked like a human.

“I…I came for my father.” Jimin stuttered, trying to push himself back up.

The yellow eyes flickered, between Jimin and his father, before creeping back into the shadows. “You came in vain. The prisoner will not be released.”

“No wait!” Jimin called, shuffling to his feet as the figure began to draw back. “You can’t keep him here like this! He’s an old man, he’ll die!”

“THEN HE SHOULDN’T HAVE TRESPASSED IN MY HOME!”

Jimin froze at the sudden roar, managing to grab onto his father’s hands finally. This was real. The legend was true. The people living in the castle were monsters, cursed.

“Your…please – I’ll do anything.”

“No! He’ll stay here, locked up because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself.” The monster began to disappear.

“Take me.” Jimin took a step forward.

The figure paused.

“What, Jimin, no – no, listen, you can’t do this!” His father yelled.

“I mean it. You take me, let him go.” Every word strengthened in his throat, conviction pushing him forward till he was barely a meter away from the monster.

“You – You’d do that? You’d stay here, in exchange for him?”

Jimin met its eye. Bright yellow to Jimin’s deep brown, when it stepped finally into the small lighted part.

Coarse, shaggy fur coated a huge, lumbering form. The bright yellow eyes that seemed so unnerving were set in a canvas of a ferocious face, the fur streaked with grey and black, a huge snout for a nose and huge fangs that protruded from its mouth.

A lesser man would’ve burst a lung screaming at the horrifying sight but Jimin managed to hide his face, backing up till he could feel his father trying to clutch at the back of his shirt.

“I…I would. Let him go and you can take me.” Jimin finally said and he was proud to say that his voice remained steady.

There was a ringing moment of doubt, flickering in the golden orbs of the monster, before with a growl it raised its paw. Jimin flinched, cringing away from the blow but it never fell. Instead, he heard a dull, metallic thunk and the heavy padlock fell to his feet.

Mr. Park fell out; the door giving way under his weight and he clung to Jimin. “No, no, please, don’t take him, keep me – I have nothing to live for anymore but my son has a whole life.” His father begged to the monster but the only reply they got was a ferocious roar. “GET OUT! If you value your life and your son’s, leave; or I will kill you both!”

The monster turned on an enormous heel, stomping back into the darkness.

The tower that Jimin was pushed into had one small window, a little too high for him to reach, but he managed to hike his nimble body up till he swung from the ledge. His fingers reddened from the strain but when he finally peeked through the window, he just barely caught the end of a huge cart, led by a snorting and neighing Geureum.

He dropped from the ledge, landing squarely on his feet upon the uneven flagstone and cursed, running two hands through his ruffled hair.

“Hello sir,”

Jimin jumped, whirling around at the smooth voice that sounded nothing like the awful grate of the monster’s growl.

“Right down here.”

Jimin backed up as far as he could against the wall before casting his eyes downwards. There was nothing on the floor, soft moss growing within the cracks with one slightly buffed up candelabrum left behind.

“Hello,” the voice said again.

“Where are you? Look, I’m not scared of anything anymore so you’re doing nothing,”

“Of course not, sir, it’s me…Kim Seokjin, the…” a sigh, “the candle holder.”

Jimin took a shuddering breath, before very slowly diverting his eyes to the golden instrument on the ground.

It wasn’t very huge, just barely above average but the sweeping extensions made it seem bigger than it needed to be. Dripping wax clung to its arms where the candles stuck, the gold sheen pale yet glinting in the bare light. Just on the handle, there was an etching…just like one of a face. Even as Jimin watched, the candles lit up, making him flinch.

“Please follow me, sir.”

Jimin gulped.

“Follow you where?”

The candelabrum, to Jimin’s astonished eyes, seemed to turn on the base.

“The Mistress is installing you in a room of your own. The household doubts you want to stay in the tower.” There was something caustic about the smooth tone of the thing. It made Jimin almost bristle and refute before he looked around the tower he was put in.

It was one of the spindle shaped ones, too thin and a little rickety. The window that he had tried to peek out was the single one allowing light in and he could feel some vertigo setting in already, if the nausea was anything to go by.

“Fine – lead the way.” He said.

Jimin had already gauged that the palace had been luxuriant in its time but now, walking quietly through the long hallways with…an animate object bouncing along in front of him, he had to admit; that the ruin that now faced him didn’t seem adjacent to what the palace must have been before.

The stone, now greenish grey had gnarled carvings etched into them. The statues that stood at corners had most of their heads broken or missing and the small beam that the candles gave off only made him all the more unsettled.

“We know it’s a little…dull – around here but we hope you’ll like it.” It was as if the thing knew what was going on in Jimin’s head.

“You said ‘we’…and ‘household’ before…but except for you…and…well, the monster,” Jimin stopped talking when the candelabrum winced.

“You…might want to be careful about that. The Mistress is sensitive and none of the people in the castle will appreciate you calling her that.”

Jimin nearly tripped on his feet when he finally processed something. “That…that thing is a she?”

He was ignored. The candelabrum stopped in front of one of the doors, double door, handles of glum silver. “This is going to be your room, sir.” Jimin didn’t answer, quietly reaching for the handle and turning it, letting himself in cautiously.

The room wasn’t lighted, most of the darkness only marred by the light streaming from a glass window. He could spy a bed at best.

Jimin was about to step in further, squinting his eyes when he heard a loud creak, possibly a considerable weight upon a floorboard and then the clink of metal.

“If you don’t like the room, we can move you.” He heard but instead of the smooth, cool voice of the candelabrum, it was gruff, low and sullen.

He whirled to see a huge part of a shadow standing well back into the room. A heavy cloak wrapped up the body, concealing it further within the darkness.

Jimin didn’t speak as the form lumbered to the open door.

“Your needs will be seen to here. My servants will attend to you.” There was a pause before it took hold of the door. “And you will meet me for dinner; every night.”

The slam of the door made Jimin jump; his immediate reaction was to run to the door and look through the keyhole. There were footsteps and a murmur of conversation but aside from that, the entire palace seemed silent.

Jimin huffed, walking over to the window to open it, casting a furtive look outside and letting out a scornful laughter. He was a good way up the ground. Jumping from the window would mean certain death and even if he only escaped, it would be with broken bones and with no horse.

He doubted the ‘Mistress’ would nurse him back to health.

“My sweetest sister,” A finger brushed under the supple cheek of Hyebin, turning her attention to her brother who loomed over her at the counter of the pub. “What has you down?”

Hyebin pouted, throwing Kai’s hand off. “I went by Park Jimin’s house this evening to see if he would take a turn with me. He wasn’t there. The house was empty.”

“Maybe he went off with that father of his.”

“Why would he? There is nothing to do for him.”

Kai cast a glance at his grumpy sister, feeling the brewing of an odd emotion that he had had for her for months now. It was a mixture of pity, annoyance and yet the unyielding need to present whatever she wanted on a golden platter. He knew that Jimin did not return even half of a quarter of affection that his sister had and while he was annoyed at her overzealous devotion, he knew that she would never falter.

She got her stubbornness from him, after all.

Now, there may be better men for Hyebin than Jimin, but she wanted him and Jimin would marry her – Kai would see to it.

“Sister,” he began.

“You promised, Kai! You promised me you would make him marry me. You don’t love me. You can’t even do this much for me!”

“Now, now, dearest,”

Hyebin’s face had reddened; her hair crackling as she swelled like a bullfrog, ready to rail at her brother when the doors on the pub crashed open, with Mr. Park falling, raving against it.

“Help,” he panted, grasping at whatever was close at hand to heave himself up. “Help, my son, my son please.”

Heads turned, eyes falling to the soaked man as snow melted and pooled around his boots, the cloak wet and snug around his head. His eyes shifted from one astonished face to another, growing more restless.

“Please! I need help. My son has been taken by a monster!”

Behind him, Kai heard Hyebin’s squawk of indignation die down, releasing instead a dainty gasp. He watched the loony man walk around, trying to clutch at the sleeves of the patrons who shook him off with scoffs until he neared the siblings, finally tumbling at Kai’s elbow.

“Please, Kai, my last hope – you…have to help. My son, my only son – gone! – taken! – I can’t take this.”

Hyebin shrunk away from the delirious old man, bundling her dress to her knees even as Kai shook his arm free. “What’s the matter, Mr. Park? Be a little clear.”

“The monster of the palace took Jimin! Trapped him in the big castle on the hill…I couldn’t do anything!”

There was a pause as Kai furrowed his brow, before a patron shouted. “Leave him, Kai. He’s probably mad with the cold!”

“I am not!” Mr. Park immediately protested, wringing roughly at the coat before slumping his head and walking out the pub, defeated. They could hear wails of anguish in the cold winds outside but none were met with sympathy.

“He ran away!” Hyebin finally screeched, sinking her nails in her brother’s arms, ire flaming again.

Kai didn’t answer, letting his arm lax while his thoughtful expression slowly merged into that of a smirk. “Hyebin, my sweet; you might just get to marry Park Jimin after all.”

Jimin didn’t know when he’d dozed off. It must have been the exhaustion of the day, the pressure, the sorrow but he had curled up in one of the dusty armchairs, closed his eyes for possibly a second, only to gather his thoughts. Now he woke up to a pitch black room, stars visible from the window and he knew it was very late into the night.

His back had cramped in his position, obliging him to get off when he heard the gentle knock on the door. He took a wary stance, waiting for the doors to be barged into but to no avail. It was probably Seokjin the candle holder, Jimin decided, going to open the door.

“My now, I thought you’d wait for all the milk to go cold before you opened the door.”

Anticipating it, Jimin was already looking to the floor, only to be met by what looked like a tea set. He watched eyes boggling as the tea pot, a tall, sleek work with a rotund belly hobbled into the room, followed by a cup, and a sugar bowl.

“Um, what…who – are you now?” He asked.

“I’m the head cook, boy. Min Yoongi’s the name, also known as the best damn teapot in the kingdom. This right here,” the snout of the teapot tipped down to the cup, “is Taehyung, the assistant cook but not the best cup even in the room because he can’t keep himself on one stupid shelf.”

“Yah Hyung,” the cup opened at its seam, as if they were lips. “Don’t be mean.”

“I wasn’t going to come at all but I can’t leave you alone. Now then to business, boy; the Princess is taking a late supper so you can eat with her. You can have some milk before you go. You look like you’ve been crying and you’re just going to upset her.”

“Upset her?” Jimin glared, as the tea cup, filled with milk jumped into his reluctant hand. “I am the one trapped here.”

“Look on the bright side.” The teapot waved its spout and all the tea materials gathered in one line, heading out the door. “There’s a splendid welcome supper to be had. Come Taehyung.” He called as he exited.

“Oh but,” the tea cup sloshed some of its content onto Jimin’s hands when it jumped down, skidding across the stone before the door shut again. The sounds of the tea cup’s protests reached Jimin even through the heavy door.

Jimin wiped his hands of his trousers, grumbling at the way he made a mess when he backed against something large.

“No need to worry, young sir. Wardrobe is always here to help!”

Golden but dusty doors banged Jimin on the face, nearly tossing him onto the floor as the wardrobe advanced, rows and rows of pristine, shiny outfits ready to be worn. Jimin gasped, clutching his nose in pain as he shook his head.

“Many apologies! It’s been a while since I’ve been opened for any event at all. I am Jung Hoseok, the royal master of robes. Please do look through the selection to pick something out. I daresay you’ll want to change out of your outfit for dinner.”

“No thanks,” Wincing, Jimin managed to get to his feet. “I’m not going to dinner with Princess Monster down there.”

“Oh dear,” he heard the wardrobe as he crossed his arms, turning to the window to glare out of it.

The long dining table had been decked out for the first time in fifteen years. Silk cloths had been draped over the mahogany, candles put up, torches wiped and lit, plates and tableware sparkled in the dancing flame of the fireplace.

Yet, none of the chairs had been pulled back.

Seokjin and Yoongi, watched, anxious as the Mistress of the Castle, their Princess prowled in front of the table, each paw taking further weight from your animal bulk.

“Your highness, perhaps…you should sit and wait.” Seokjin suggested.

“No; I will wait for the man.” You said. Your voice had dipped down to a warning growl but your household items…your staff had never been very afraid of you.

Maybe they had, once, when you had first transformed and not taken to what you had become. A monster, a huge, hunkering loathsome thing which wanted to claw and destroy anything that stood in its wake…

It had taken years, but you had somewhat been ‘tamed’ since then.

“Princess, please, do consider that if we play our cards right, this man could be your salvation.”

“You think I don’t know that? I do…I know that but…how can he be if he won’t even come to dinner?”

“Perhaps also take into consideration that the boy is trapped here. He won’t see his father or his previous life again.” Jin’s statement wasn’t met with any geniality, instead the candelabrum found himself in the vice grip of his Mistress.

“Then what should I do? Do I throw him out? Let him leave so he can bring back a mob? No! I won’t do anything and if he wants to be difficult, I can be too.”

“We know that, your highness.” Yoongi said, his spout quivering. “We just have to remember to keep our tempers in check.”

The last statement was spoken pointedly and the monster blinked its huge yellow eyes, looking down to where you were almost squeezing your Maitre ‘D. You dropped the candle holder, Seokjin bouncing back a few steps when the door to the dinner room opened.

“Ah, there he is.” Yoongi’s belly turned, the porcelain splitting into a smile.

You turned, eyes trained in anticipation but what peeked in was an ornate long grandfather clock, its rose gold arms clasping the door in trepidation.

“Namjoon, where is the boy?” Seokjin asked immediately.

The royal advisor hemmed, glancing anxiously at the bunched up bulk of the Princess. “He says, he won’t be coming, your highness.”

There was a ringing silence, torn by the groans of Yoongi and Seokjin before you stood up, your clawed feet digging into the stone floor so hard it hurt.

“Fine, if he wants to be so stubborn then let him have his consequences too. Yoongi, you will bar the kitchens. He will not eat anything unless he first comes to me.”

“Princess, we can’t woo a dead man.” Namjoon said calmly but you were already dropping down from an upright position to what you were used to, on all four feet, crouching.

“I don’t care! Just…just let him starve! I don’t care if we find bones in his room.”

The three items converged, all talking together and you slammed a paw on the table, shredding the cloth. “Enough; let me go!” You roared before taking off, leaping over their heads so you could head and lock yourself in your quarters.

The silence that brushed up and closed around you as soon as the doors shut behind you and automatically locked was bliss. Yet your mind was anything but.

Hateful thoughts swirled in your mind, mostly aimed at yourself, some at the enthusiasm that your staff seemed to show for this new addition to your home and finally, venom spilling out to the man who had now entombed himself in one of your best rooms but couldn’t even show the decency to come down for dinner.

What was so difficult about dinner?

And why was he allowed to shut himself in his room when all your life you had been told to never hide yourself from the rest of the house?

Granted, all your people were now objects, magical but still just objects. Your parents had been turned to statues, forced to weather out in the overrun gardens and you had been raised by Seokjin, Yoongi, Hoseok and Namjoon mostly. Children your age; Taehyung and Jungkook had hated you in the beginning and you had never sought them out yourself.

Over time, Taehyung had forgiven you but Jungkook turned to a Duster never saw you, working quietly where you would never tread.

The rest of your household never came forward and said it; having never witnessed the event that had transformed you all but the malice was palpable. The rejection hurt, you were a child shunned and you sprouted claws much too early for anybody’s liking but you had tried.

You had tried, before giving up. You gave up because nothing happened. Fifteen years and no prince came; no fairy godmothers pointed their wands at you. The wizard never came back to see if his spell wrecked you.

All the stories that showed that Princesses would be rescued fell short at one crucial juncture.

No one told the story about the cursed princess who was ugly, who was a monster, who wasn’t the pale skinned beauty in a glass case or silk bed.

No, nobody came to save the ugly princess and over time you learned to see yourself just that.

This man – this Jimin, would be no exception.

“After all, what’s to love?” You muttered.

You vowed not to weep. Not for a man, not for the humanity that judged who was worthy of love.

Jimin had dozed off again. When he woke, it was with a start, groggy and fumbling in his movements. This was a bad habit. He needed to collect his wits about himself. Maybe it was the magic of the castle but he had to remember that he wasn’t safe in here, no matter how friendly and polite everyone…everything was being.

Somehow, in his slumber, the torches in the room had been lit, casting the place in a dazzling golden glow. The chair he had fallen asleep in again was pushed right to the edge of the room, near the window. He spied that the bed had been made with brocade bedding, surfaces had been dusted and to his surprise there was a pool at the very centre, filled with clear, almost glittering water.

Jimin’s stomach, having refused dinner with the Monster out of pride was already protesting, tossing him out of the chair in the direction of the pool. Maybe a cool drink would cheer and lift his spirits.

He sat at the engraved stone border, looking down at his haggard expression in the water, running a hand through the pool, cupping the soothing liquid up to his lips.

The minute the water passed his lips, a new sense of relief and rejuvenation passed his body, coursing through him as though adrenaline itself. Jimin got to his feet, looking about if he could ask the Wardrobe – Hoseok – where he could go to find food.

He found the spot empty, instead there stood a mannequin. On it, hung was a brand new outfit; a white spotless shirt, black trousers and blue silk coat. The mannequin stood lifeless even as Jimin stripped it, and then with apprehension brewing at his belly at accepting the gift, himself. However, unease had to wait; he was soaked, cold, and soiled. He would fall sick at that rate and then all his plans of escape would shatter. He also didn’t want to be indebted to the castle in any way.

So with a bite at his pride, he put on the outfit before pressing his ears to the door, listening for any movement. He couldn’t hear the pounds of the Princess’s paws, the clatter of any objects moving, no conversation, nothing at all.

Wary in his gait, he stepped out, keeping a light foot to lead him on when something whimpered from his side.

Jimin jumped, whirling in anticipation of roars, of overwhelming friendliness but instead a small pair of eyes beamed up at him from behind a moth eaten curtain. Running a hand over his panicking heart, Jimin’s lips tugged into a soft smile.

“Hello there,” he cooed at the pup that ventured out the curtain with three more at its tail.

“Oh, wow, puppies.” Jimin wanted to laugh at the simplicity, at the adorableness but the pups only let out soft gurgles, wrapping paws around Jimin’s legs, trying to nudge him along.

“What is it? Where are you taking me?”

Jimin allowed him to be prodded and nudged along by four small dogs, along the hallway, down the stairs and through another until he was pushing open a door, clearly the kitchen.

“Oh my,” his eyes fell first to the teapot on a wooden table, followed by the grandfather clock and candle holder he’d seen already. “What are you doing here? How did you,”

The teapot stopped when he saw the four puppies cuddling around Jimin’s feet, something of a softness melting the intricate seam of it. “Ah, of course,”

“Forgive me, I didn’t know. I was just hungry.” Jimin shyly dipped his head, knowing he was probably trespassing on some late night gossip among the staff.

“No, no, of course you’re hungry, you did show some nerve. It must’ve made you ravenous.” Seokjin bobbed towards him, wrapping a gold arm around his coat tails, dragging him to the table.

“Don’t worry, sir. We’ve spoken with the Mistress. She’s going to show some leniency. She won’t come down to dinner the same time as you do…unless you request it.” Namjoon the clock lied smoothly.

Jimin was sat at the table by Seokjin, a napkin pressed at him by the teapot as dishes and plates of food began to dance around the length of the table, piling upon the plate presented to him to eat.

“I…thank you.” Jimin frowned, unable to think of anything more to say.

“You may also wander the castle and grounds as you wish. One of us will always be found around and the Guides,” Yoongi pointed its spout at the four pups that stood lined near the door, “will be your companions mostly.”

Jimin looked down at the hearty meal in front of him before digging in. “That will be very nice. Thank you.” He said around a mouthful of potatoes.

True to their words, the castle and grounds were left wide open for the curious Jimin. He woke up to a wonderful outfit slung on the mannequin; suits, coats, wonderful silks and soft cashmeres to drape over his body. The wardrobe – Hoseok, had returned, helping Jimin dress for the day’s adventures.

Jimin would eat breakfast in his room, sitting at the edge of the pool where – he wondered if it was his imagination – the water seemed to move to entertain him. He would climb over stiles; sniff the glowing flowers, count stars and fireflies if he stayed out too late. The castle, upon inspection was vast. Huge statues imposed upon him, Grecian, roman and baroque architecture worked itself seamlessly in the palace and he had fun listening to Namjoon talking about each was worked in or acquired.

He was very rarely alone.

The Guides, as the staff called the small pups were always with him. He had learned their names from Taehyung, the tea cup. The fluffy brown one was Holly, a pair of small Pomeranians that shaded darker was Mickey and Yeontan and then finally a pure white one named Monnie.

They led him in and out the lands, sometimes through a grotto where the only thing that nestled was a pair of entwined huge statues. He had stopped and stared up at them for quite a while. They were probably the biggest in the entire castle, both wearing a pained, sorrowed expression that bore Jimin’s own heart down. He didn’t venture in that particular grotto again. It felt too…private somehow.

Jimin was given dinner in the main dining room, the long table decked out only for him. He would sometimes cast a look upon the opposite chair, feeling lonely even if he had multiple entities to talk to.

The Princess never came upon in Jimin’s presence for days. He could sometimes hear the paws of her feet on the floor when he was roaming about, but she never once tried to impose herself on him. It was almost as if she watched him watch her home from afar.

Something in Jimin tugged when he thought about home, how he had completely left behind his straggly little town for this palatial world. He missed his father terribly yes, but here in the estate that he was free to roam, with people whose knowledge he was free to peck at, the silence had turned blissful very quickly.

Thoughts of escape never strayed further from his mind but for now, he wanted to stay cocooned in this silence.

It was almost two weeks till he was made aware of the very real presence of the mysterious Princess. He was used to her being a phantom by now so when the Guides playfully nipped at each other, chasing down a corridor, Jimin followed at ease, not feeling the pricks of unease until he reached the darker end of the corridor.

It was a whole quarter, possibly belonging to one of the royal family. He peeked into the empty bath before venturing further into the darkened opening.

The palace that had been warmed by fire for their new guest – or prisoner, however Jimin wanted to look at it had failed here. There was an odd chill running through the walls, as if someone had sucked the temperature and doused the room in ice.

The furniture was all dusty, clearly not attended to, and silver and cream paint peeled from the walls. He could almost spy the moss that collected in the cracks of the walls before he came to stand in front of the wall of paintings.

Each and every face on the walls, Jimin noted had been slashed. It was a brutal mutilation, clearly from the Princess’s claws. There was one painting that remained, of what had to be the royal couple. A tall, regal man stood at the side of an equally prim lady who sat on an armchair. One of his hands clasped her shoulders while hers held on to a young child, poised delicately upon her knee.

The child, a girl wasn’t having it though. He could tell the struggle of her flailing arms and kicking feet yet her face was void of distress. Instead he stared at the laughing, playing child, baby curls fluttering around her ears, thick fingers and chubby cheeks – the full deal. A small golden tiara nestled upon her head, crooked from her movement.

The picture was so happy; it brought a catch to Jimin’s throat, looking back up at the couple, tearing his eyes from the once human Princess. There was something hauntingly familiar about the faces yet Jimin couldn’t put his finger on it.

So engrossed he was, in staring at the pictures, moving on to where he tried to put together shredded pieces of the painting together that he failed to notice the silence. There was no yapping of the puppies to be heard and this silence was anything but comfortable.

When the door squeaked open, Jimin turned, coming face to face with the monster who had been diligently avoiding him. Half her furry face was shadowed, but he could tell from the single wide open yellow eye that he wasn’t an expected sight.

The eyes darted from his face to his hands, placed upon the paintings. Jimin had barely opened his mouth, to apologize, to explain, perhaps to snap but the Princess had already dropped to her haunches, a low growl ripping through the back of her throat.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING? HOW DARE YOU COME HERE?”

Jimin stumbled back, pressing against the wall as the monstrous Princess leapt, scrambling towards the paintings and covering them up.

“I…I was just,”

“LEAVE! I WANT YOU OUT. GO! NOW,”

Jimin had heard enough and it presented a brilliant opportunity to him. She wanted him to leave. He could leave.

So quick he was, sidestepping the crouching girl that he had no time to see her fall to the floor, the cloak that covered and hid her body wrapped protectively around as a whimper replaced her roars. The Princess’s sobs never reached Jimin’s ears.

He didn’t wait to find any of the household staff. He knew that they would ultimately attempt to stop him, try to make sense of the Princess’s commands. So he hurried down the stairs and out the side to where he’d found the stables.

His own Geureum was gone, with his father but he yanked on the reins of a white stallion; titled Jjangu on his crest. Jimin saddled the panicking horse blindly, patting it only once to soothe it before he was mounting and taking off in the distance of the town.

Your roaring yells had reached the ears of the household, of course. Namjoon was the first to respond, sliding into the royal quarters; his wooden stand skidding as he found you curled up under the one painting that you couldn’t bring yourself to destroy.

It was your family portrait, commissioned just two years before your lives would change forever and while you had torn up every picture of your face that hung up, you couldn’t destroy your parent’s.

Namjoon could tell from the shudders that shook your form that you were just finishing crying. Propriety dictated that he wouldn’t trespass on a royal in distress but you were his charge, he had raised you, taught you, attempted to feed you since he could bring your fear and panic at being transformed into a beast to heel.

“Princess…Y/N,” He coaxed, golden bars running through the shaggy mass where your hair would be. His heart ached at the soft sniffles that sounded too loud because you…you weren’t human after all.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. And it’s okay to not be, you won’t be less of a person for your troubles.”

You raised your head with a deep scoffing laugh. “I am not a person, Namjoon. I’m a monster; a loathsome creature.”

The clock ticked angrily but didn’t prod the issue. “The boy -,”

“Left; I scared him off. That’s that then.”

Namjoon shook his head, casting a glance out to where the snow had become wilder, until only white could be seen. “Your highness, he left in a terrible condition. He’ll get lost.”

“I don’t care.”

“Princess, Namjoon,” Two heads turned to where Seokjin rushed in, candles burning on his many wicks. “The boy, Jimin, he has taken off on your horse! He’s taken Jjangu.”

“WHAT IN THE WORLD?” You screeched loudly enough for both grown men…objects to flinch. “MY HORSE…HOW COULD HE DARE, HE -,”

“Princess, the wolves, if the wolves find them, it will be too late,” Seokjin murmured softly.

There was a heavy pregnant pause in which Namjoon and Seokjin stared at their Mistress, holding her shaggy head aloft as if she was praying for pity. Finally, under the gaze of your caretakers and advisors, you slumped, admitting defeat.

“Alright, alright, I suppose we can’t leave him to die in the blizzard.”

When you had first transformed, a howl had been the first thing that had scared you. Your small hands and feet had turned into paws, huge claws protruding from the nails. Your hair seemed to grow everywhere until you were taught that it was fur, too coarse and too matted to be what had been a well taken care of head of hair.

Your first memories after the transformation had been running away, tripping and falling multiple times because you weren’t used to your new body until Namjoon and Yoongi had found you, cowering under a broken branch. Howls had pushed you into a scared ball and when they’d found you, they’d spoken. You could still remember a clock and a teapot trying to act brave as a single wolf, too big and gleaming in the moonlight curled back its lips, issuing the threat that had locked you in your castle forever.

Of course, with age and your guardian’s patience you had honed your new abilities; speed, agility, strength and keen senses.

It was easy finding your fearful horse and Jimin, running on all fours as if a wolf yourself. Your ears pricked, picking up the yells of the man and whinnying as wolves surrounded your charges on all sides.

It was stupid to charge in head first, but when you saw a wolf snap Jimin’s weapon, a single stick in two between its jaws, it was exactly what you did.

Your first powerful spring, landed you clean behind Jimin’s now buckled body. The wolves immediately halted, intelligent eyes darting from the curling boy at your feet back to you, tongues rolling perversely.

You felt rather than saw Jimin raise his head, wondering why the wolves hadn’t ended him already. When he felt the larger presence behind him, he turned, gaping up at you as you placed one paw to the front, marking a line, marking a territory.

Loud snaps surrounded you, the wolves reorganizing till they circled you now, ready to attack from every direction.

Your eyes, however, sought one wolf out, finding its way back, sitting on its hind legs, tail wrapped around them. You snarled at it, the wolf obviously smirking at you before it rose up, stalking over to the head of the pack. It gave a short yap and the wolves, in once sleek, collective move, pounced.

You only had time to jump over Jimin, drawing the attack away from the human and your precious horse before you felt the first swipe of claws at your back. You whirled around, your own paws frantically hitting and lashing out, trying to bat away as many wolves as you could with as much force as you could muster.

You knew you couldn’t kill them, of course but it wouldn’t be for the lack of trying.

The wolves landed as many blows as they could on you, punishing you, sinking in teeth around your wrist, snapping around your ankles until you could smell the warm, metal in the air, from mostly your wounds.

“Enough,” You finally heard the one wolf, it’s comrades backing away with one word until you were left, swaying, eye to eye with its imperious gaze.

“Back off.” You growled but the only reply you got was a rough snicker, animalistic and feral.

“We would, just to see you fail in this attempt, Princess. We still wait for our master, and the day he becomes King, we shall have the boy for dinner. Another time,” The wolf tipped its tail at you, before turning and trotting off.

Jimin only raised his head when the sounds he could hear was the stamps of the horse’s hoofs, the whistling of the wind through his hair. When he peeked through slatted eyes, he could see you, tall, bulky, standing up to your full height as he caught the wolf farther away, dainty steps carrying it till it melted in the snow.

Jimin’s black robes that he hadn’t changed when he rushed out where wet, dirty again and he picked himself up, trying not to make too much sound lest you turn and put him through the same assault as you had the wolves.

He had heard the heavy thuds of your paws, the throwing around of the wolves as they banged against trees and rocks. He knew you could shatter his skull with one paw but then he’d also heard your screams of pain, each singing through him as you tried to keep the wolves away from him and your horse.

He reached the reins, about to climb on when he saw the horse’s eyes for the first time. They were wide, the neck bobbing as it tried to free itself from Jimin’s holding.

Jimin frowned, turning from the horse to where you stood and for the first time, he saw the damage inflicted upon you. Your heavy cloak had been ripped to tatters, hanging off of you in ribbons that exposed him to you. You wore pants, to contain the large hind legs, a simple men’s shirt. It was now smeared in stark red, the crimson pooling from your feet and arms into the pure snow below.

He watched as you tilted to the side, your weight finally tipping extreme and you collapsed, snow and blood flying from the impact.

Jimin turned to the horse again, reading the pain in the horse’s eyes.

It loved you.

Jimin once again turned to where your body lay, shivering just so slightly.

You were just a child, a cursed little baby girl.

Jimin’s mind flooded with images of a small girl in the painting, phantom giggles in his ears.

You saved him. He couldn’t leave you to die.

Jimin dropped the reins, his feet sinking into the inches deep snow as he ran over to you, kneeling down to turn your face towards him.

Your eyes were long closed, your mouth parted just enough for him to see the fangs within but he looked past that. Your fur was wet, both from the melting snow but also from your blood and as he cupped your huge head, he knew you wouldn’t last in this cold. Already, your breathing was erratic, your chest falling further with each exhale.

He looked to the horse that trotted closer, responding to the man who was helping his owner. It took severe effort, hefting the Princess but Jjangu was unexpectedly strong. The Princess lay across the horse, feet and head dangling and swaying as Jimin took the reins again, deciding to walk as he made his way back to the Castle, your home.

If the household staff was surprised to see Jimin back again, especially with an injured Princess lobbed across her horse, they didn’t express it. Instead they swarmed, concerned around where Jimin heaved and unceremoniously dropped the Princess at the base of the stairs.

While a coat rack took a shivering Jjangu back to the stables to be fed and warmed, Jimin helped the rest of the objects drag their Mistress to the sitting room.

“Great, what’s she gotten into now?” He heard as he unbuttoned his coat, rolling up his shirt sleeves.

“Not now, Jungkook; she’s injured badly, near death. Either help, or stay out of the way as always.”

Jimin tilted his head towards the sullen reply, straining to hear. “Gladly, if I never see her face, it will be too soon. She’s the reason we’re like this, or have you forgotten?”

“Jungkook, that’s enough!” He heard the low angry rasp of Namjoon’s voice when there was a shuffle in his eyesight.

The Princess seemed to be able to tell that she was safe again, grunting and whining as she sat propped up in a huge winged armchair. Her tattered robes had been shed off, her modesty preserved by the fact that she was entirely covered in fur but Jimin kept his eyes averted respectfully anyway. Her large legs were drawn up as she clutched her wounded, slashed appendage close to her body.

As Yoongi hobbled over, full of hot water, followed by medicine bottles on a spidery tray that clattered, Jimin ripped bandages. He filled up a golden bowl with the steaming water, dipping medicine and cloths in it.

The moment he stood up, intending to nurse the Princess, she flinched, surprising Jimin as she cowered away from him. She turned her back, and he could hear a distinct whimper, as she licked at her injuries.

She’s not used to being vulnerable, Jimin realized, his slack frame pushed to movement with the fear that her licking and prodding would infect and worsen the slashes.

“Now, now, don’t do that.” He moved too fast, grabbing a hold of the Princess’s shoulder and was immediately met with a wide open maw, her ferocious roar shifting his hair back.

Jimin dropped his hand, scowling at the stubborn slump of her arm, drawn back to her tongue. “You’ll make it worse. Just let me help.”

“It hurts.” She snapped when Jimin leaned right over her, attempting to wipe at the mangled arm.

“If you hold still, maybe it won’t.” Jimin tried to keep his voice steady, not wanting to snap at the already pained girl. Her screams at the biting and slashing wolves were still too fresh in Jimin’s mind. He wanted to show some kindness but she was just so…pigheaded.

“Maybe if you hadn’t run away, I wouldn’t be hurt.”

Jimin raised his eyebrows at her petulant tone. If he wasn’t already aware, he would’ve believed the Princess to still be a child at the sullen note of her voice. Something tugged at the corners of his lips as she attempted to cross her arms; the clawed up one still dangling in his hold.

“You told me to leave, remember?”

“I didn’t mean the castle.”

Jimin dropped the bloodied cloth in a waste bowl. “I suppose the lesson here is that you should watch your temper, isn’t it?” He made an exaggerated show of dipping another cloth in the medicine bowl, ignoring the Princess as she huffed and dropped her huge head on an equally huge paw, distinctly pouting.

“Please hold still now, this is going to pinch some.” He used the same tone as he would on his father, concentrating at digging out some remaining bits of grime from the claw marks. A few of his swipes made the Princess cringe and try to pull away but not once did her strength win against his sharp glances and sudden tightening of grips as he repeated the process on her feet.

Finally as he did the bandages he spoke again.

“Thank you, for saving my life.”

The Princess was quiet for so long that Jimin had to chance a look up, catching her quickly smoothening her expression into one of nonchalance. “You’re welcome.” She growled lowly.

But Jimin had already seen the bitten lips, the downward slope of her brow and the glassiness of her eyes.

He stayed right there, on the floor at her feet for a while, until the Princess, who had been staring into the fireplace had her eyes drooping. He stood when he was sure she was asleep, snores shuffling the fur near her mouth and nose.

Jimin folded back the sleeves on his muddy shirt. He knew he needed to change his clothes if he wanted to stay well, if he was sick as well, who would take care of the Princess? He hardly thought Seokjin’s candle hands or Namjoon’s golden bars would be able to change soiled bandages and he could already feel a chill coming.

Placing a huge blanket on the sleeping Princess, he went up to his room to change.

“How is she?” Hoseok asked immediately, as he shuffled inside for something to wear.

“She’ll have a few days with that bandage. It’ll probably scar.” Jimin answered tiredly, dropping his clothes and entering the bath where Yoongi was already pouring hot water in the tub.

“Thank you,” Yoongi said as he stood by. Jimin turned his head to look at the gleaming pot in question. “For not leaving her to die,” Yoongi clarified.

“Of course not…I will admit I had the thought but, I couldn’t. Not after she’d risked hers to save mine and Jjangu.”

“Jjangu was a gift foal from her father. She loves the animal more than anything.” Jimin heard before with a click of the bathroom door, he was alone.

He sighed, laying his head back along the porcelain edge. He was desperately exhausted, aching and needed to sleep, but there was a gnawing in his chest. He knew the Princess was in good hands now; he would only be needed when she needed her bandages changed and he knew she could manage that herself but he found it difficult to not be worried for the girl that somehow seemed so small and scared in all her ferocious enormity.

“Maybe…maybe I could try to be her friend.” Jimin mumbled, more to himself than anything as he closed his eyes.

Jimin took his vow seriously.

The first thing he did when his eyes popped open and fell on the customary outfit left for him; a simple powder blue shirt and black trousers – was to jump up and get dressed even before Hoseok had opened the eyes on top of it.

Quietly, he made his way down to where the Princess was still snoozing in the chair, flinging open curtains and inching closer just in case she woke up and panicked.

“Princess,” Jimin called gently, her head moving just so. “Your highness, wake up.”

With a groggy groan, her head fell towards his direction, yellow eyes blinking open in the filtering morning light.

And to the Princess’s dawning wonder and shock, Jimin gave her a beautiful, wide grin; possibly the most beautiful sight she had ever witnessed in her life.

From then on, both Jimin and Y/N tried to make an effort.

Y/N still felt her temper flare up quick as a snake’s attack but she quelled it in fear of the look on Jimin’s face. Jimin learned that despite her age, the Princess was still just a sheltered child who knew only what had been told to her.

Jimin tried to get you to participate in various activities. He taught you a few card tricks with a very old battered set that Seokjin unearthed, he told you stories of France, his life, what the world had to offer outside of the small town that had forgotten and abandoned her, he even tried to paint with her – although that ended in a disaster that had Yoongi steaming from his spout, Taehyung quickly sent to supervise the cleaning.

You, on the other hand, took Jimin outside.

Even though, Jimin had had the Guides to lead him places, no one knew the Castle and its grounds like you did, having spent fifteen years prowling and growing in it.

You allowed him to ride Jjangu while you walked, sometimes raced him. He had to change your bandages multiple times during these rides, noting with some joy that you healed faster than a human.

With four wild puppies and Jjangu, you took him to the top of a stile where in the falling night; he could count a multitude of stars and constellations. You threw Jimin in fountains; let him sift through flowers in the crumbling greenhouse, taste the fruits from the Grottos.

“My parents,” you pointed with a clawed finger, up at the huge entwined statues that had haunted Jimin before. He looked, focused on their faces more now, recognizing them from the portrait.

“Are they…gone?”

“No, just left frozen, to watch over what happens to me,”

Jimin turned to see you staring down at your palms, the story of the curse now making him enraged for your sake rather than sad. However, he kept mum, afraid of upsetting you rather than providing comfort. Instead, he took your huge gnarled hand, leading you quietly back.

Jimin and you took meals together now, lunches and dinners. He had unintentionally grimaced when he saw you simply lower your face and devour the food directly from the bowls and plates. In time, once he saw you try for him sake, he realized that your hands were simply too big for the dainty silverware and fragile glass goblets that fitted so perfectly in his.

So the next meal, Jimin surprised you by asking Taehyung to simply not provide any at all, raising his own bowl to his lips to eat as you did.

Your smile, huge, fanged, fur creasing in the corners of your mouth yet so happy, golden hue shining in your eyes, made him make it a habit to accommodate you, rather than ask you to change for him.

“Can I open them now?”

Jimin followed the trail of your cloak, sight barred by his hands as you attempted to lead him off for a surprise. You had been excited, the morning you simply strode into his room before he was even dressed. He had rushed behind Hoseok, who laughed at the pink of his cheeks and flustered backing away from you, until you claimed that ‘it was ready’ as he hurriedly put some clothes on.

“Not yet,”

Jimin heard the creak of doors, the clangs of curtain rings and felt the warmth of the sun on his skin.

“Okay, open them.”

Jimin dropped his hands with an indulgent smile, first looking at where you stood at the window, paws clasped together, and a nervous grin on your animal face. Your ears stood on point, waiting for his reaction as Jimin’s eyes wandered…and then widened till they were ready to pop right out.

It was a library.

A wonderful, glorious library, better than the dingy bookshop in town, better than any he’d seen in Paris. This was better than anything anyone could create in the whole world. Towering till the eye could see, with ladders and actual staircases leading up, his neck strained trying to fathom just how many books there were there.

“Oh my god,”

“Do you like it?”

Jimin looked down at where you were nearly vibrating with nervous energy.

“I had it cleaned, that’s what took so long. Seokjin told me you loved reading so I thought you should have this. I don’t know if everything is alright, but I checked last night and,” You stopped rambling when Jimin said your name. It was just a soft whisper but it tore a shiver through you at the tenderness, the fondness in it.

You had never heard anyone speak to you like that – not even your caretakers.

Jimin was practically aglow. His eyes shone as if someone lit coals underneath, his teeth blinded with the power of his smile, before his eyes turned to invisible slits.

“I absolutely love it, Y/N. Thank you; no one has ever done something like this for me before. This is perfect.” He strode forwards, his hand reaching for your face where his fingers nestled within the shaggy fur on your cheeks. He kept his smile fixed, nails gently scratching as your breath caught at the affection.

Jimin stared up at you, his own eyes and face sobering at the wide eyed look on your face. His fingers slowed till they just rested there, the both of you staring at one another.

“Ahem,” Jimin finally cleared his throat, removing his hand from your face. Was that disappointment he saw across your face? He turned to the shelves. “What shall we read first?”

Something thudded in Jimin’s chest, racing his blood with adrenaline as you and he sat on the floor in the sitting room, books strewn around you and the fireplace bathing you in heat.

“…and they lived happily ever after.” Jimin finished, closing the fifth book.

He had laughed and placed his head on yours when he discovered that you loved stories as much as he did. You had demanded him to read for you with one, two and the next three books. Jimin had happily obliged, enjoying the way you now sprawled on your front, arms cradling your head, looking at him with such a rapturous expression, he could melt.

“Read…one more…?” Jimin looked down to where you slid another book in his lap. Your eyes were big, hopeful and the rush of emotion that swirled in Jimin’s stomach was nowhere polite. He thought back to Hyebin, wanting to be married to him and yet knowing that she would fall asleep at the one thing Jimin was so passionate about. He cursed himself for the comparison. There was none. Hyebin wouldn’t even occupy the shadow of who you were.

“Y/N…I’m tired. How about you read for me now?” he leaned back on his arms, nudging the book back at you.

You paused, sitting up slowly before taking the book in your huge hands.

“I…I’ll rip it.”

“I’ll fix it back for you.” Jimin said immediately.

Your face fell as you opened the book, taking some time to flip it to the first page. Jimin watched; somewhat concerned as you slowly read the first of the fairytales.

“Once…up – on, a time…”

“Y/N, love,” Jimin had no time to worry about the endearment that slipped his mouth. “What’s wrong?”

“I…I can’t,”

“Can’t…read…?” He guessed.

You nodded quickly, fearfully.

“Oh, I thought Namjoon taught you.”

“Alphabets, a little book of stories and history…but I…I can’t read big literature. I can’t even hold books.”

Jimin’s heart cracked as you glared fiercely at your hands again.

“No matter, I’ll teach you, here, come now. I’ll hold the book for you.” Jimin grabbed the book, holding it open for you as he slowly, pronounced the words, you following him.

Behind you, unbeknownst to both of you, Yoongi, Namjoon, Seokjin and Taehyung sighed dreamily.

“Think they’re in love yet?” Jungkook drawled from behind them.

“Not just yet, I suppose, but they’re getting there.” Namjoon said.

“They need one more push.” Yoongi muttered.

“And what better than…a ball,” Seokjin glanced at Taehyung, wearing identical smirks.

Hyebin lay on her front, draped along the chaise in a manner that would have most men in the town be willing to do her bidding. The one she wanted, however, hadn’t even gone past the town in ages. She was bored; dejected from the lack of attention and her brother – she cast a venomous look to where her older sibling paced in front of the fireplace – hadn’t done a thing for her.

“Don’t look at me like that, Hyebin. I’m thinking.” Kai said, catching her eye.

“Well, perhaps you could think later. Isn’t this the time for action?” Hyebin cupped her face.

“Not yet; your impulse is what ruined your chances with the boy in the first place.”

Hyebin scowled.

“But don’t you worry your pretty head, darling sister, for your brother has a wonderful plan in mind.”

“Which is…?”

“Never mind you, you will go about ruining things and Jimin won’t marry you as well. You will only blame me.”

Hyebin slammed a small fist on the chaise. “Kai…tell me!” She whined but Kai only walked to the door, opening it as he tossed her a cloak. “Come on, we’re going to play nice and talk it out with Park Jimin.”

Much to their disappointment, however, and to Hyebin’s rage, when they arrives at the cottage of the Parks, it was completely dark. Not even one candle had been lit on the porch.

Kai knocked; once, twice, thrice even yelled for both Jimin and Mr. Park but the only thing to reply was the keening silence.

“They’re not here.” He mused.

“You don’t think they…left, do you?” Hyebin whispered.

“All their things are still here.” Kai’s eyebrows creased, flickers of annoyance and true anger flaming in his own eyes. “Well, we won’t stop. They have to come back some day. We’ll be ready.” He ignored the smack of his sister’s hand at his back, striding back towards the pub.

He needed a drink.

When you entered your quarters after a day of playing in the gardens with Jimin, watching him weave a crown of roses and dandelions which he placed on your head, you weren’t expecting to see Seokjin standing there with a bunch of standees and mannequins that used to be ladies in waiting for your mother.

“Um…Seokjin,” You queried even as you were swarmed with too many ceramic hands.

“’Tis the day, your highness, it is the day of your birthday! We have to have a ball in the honor!” Seokjin exclaimed.

You were shoved in a tub full of hot water and bubbles, the soap soaking into your fur. The words were enough to shoot a tendril of doubt through your heart, snaking till it looped around and squeezed. Your breath deepened as the mannequins began to scrub at you, rubbing in the water and soap till it reached the skin underneath.

It was your birthday already? No, it couldn’t be. You would remain a monster for all eternity otherwise. You would be condemned to live like this. Loveless, because who would look at you and feel anything but disgust and terror?

“Seokjin, my birthday isn’t till one another day.” You reminded the Maitre D` from behind the screen.

“The actual day isn’t of import, Princess. Besides,” He lowered his voice, “the day of your birthday will be the last day of the curse. It is make or break for us. You have to tell Jimin of your feelings for him and he has to return it. We simply cannot leave these things till the last minute.”

You remained silent, watching the mannequins use huge metal buffers to file and shine your claws.

“You…you do – you do have feelings for him, don’t you Your Highness?” Seokjin asked, misreading your silence.

You sighed, dipping further down into the water. Of course you had feelings for Park Jimin. Only an idiot would have a man like him around and not fall for his kindness, his generosity, and his open mind. Also, the small slants of his eyes, the way his lips split to reveal a gleaming smile that could halt an army, with shiny dark hair that fell into his eyes.

He was an angel.

And you were a hideous beast…

“It’s not my feelings that are a problem, Seokjin. How can someone like him ever feel for me, unless it’s fear? Maybe I haven’t earned his affection still.”

“Ah phish-posh, you forget, dearest Princess; we have all watched you and him very closely. We have seen the way he looks at you. Only a man that loves someone will have such a beam to their face.”

You sunk down further, Seokjin’s words easing the nervous grip in your chest a little. Perhaps…you did stand a chance. You could tell him of how you felt, he would tell you what he felt, and maybe you and your people can become human again.

You held the hope close as you were ushered to your own wardrobe, gowns that you had never once had the occasion of wearing, now shoved against your body and you into them, made to twirl in front of a huge mirror to check for anything to improve.

The time had come.

The gown that both Seokjin and the lady in waiting had chosen was approved by Hoseok finally, him making you swish the skirt and twirl in front of it, while pins and needles were floating around you, just in case things needed to be loosened or tightened anywhere.

You, who for almost all your life had only donned on the left behind clothes of your father of the male staff had almost giggled at the fancy attention, enjoying the feel of silk and gossamer curling around you and pooling out from your waist.

The dress was a pale gold and silver, shimmering with crimson jewels strewn about the skirt. A heavy diamond brooch glittered to where the bodice and neckline fell in a waterfall of fabric and your hair had been lifted from the mass of fur at your neck, rolled up elegantly till it lay in a soft mass on top of your head.

“Your highness,” Seokjin said finally and you were surprised at the sniff he let out discreetly. “You look beautiful. Come, your gentleman waits.”

You followed the candelabrum, exiting the room as Seokjin led you to the ballroom, to where the stairs led up to where royals made their grand entrance. You could hear light conversations down below and if you close your eyes, you could almost imagine that it was really a ball of people come to wish you good fortune on your birthday.

Maybe, if you could put aside your doubts and the harsh truths that crushed hope in your chest, you could have it someday soon.

You heard the Maestro, now transformed into a sprawling Organ, strike up a tune and Seokjin swished a golden bracket, gesturing you to walk down.

You lifted up the enormous skirts, praying to anything divine that your claws, now shortened down and sparkling, wouldn’t rip the dress anywhere and walked down the stairs, seeing everyone gathered at the base of the staircase, smiling up.

Mostly, though, you only noticed Jimin.

It was true, you hadn’t paid much attention to what kind of clothes Hoseok had been putting on Jimin for the duration of his stay here. Before, it used to be rich fabrics and embellishments that glimmered with his movements. The moment of your friendship and he began to step out had caused for simple cloths, sans coats and cloaks unless it was snowing.

Now, Hoseok seemed to have pulled all stops.

The suit that Jimin wore was all black, form fitting with studded rubies along the lapels and buttons the same shade as yours. Gold lace wound around his neck and his hair shone with the same effort, as if he’d undergone the treatment you had as well.

He smiled widely when your eyes met his, stepping forward till he reached you.

“You’re stunning.” He said and you could only muster a shaky smile, fluttering from the sincere compliment. “Happy Birthday, Y/N,” he whispered, bowing as he extended a hand for you to take.

You let your paw rest gently on his, deliberate and careful not to let him feet the real weight of it. “Thank you,” you managed a smile as wide as his, before the rest of your household gathered around you, wishes poured out and rushed words carrying you off to the cake.

Jimin was excited to see the cake, three tiers of it. Y/N’s eyes popped open wide, gaping at the sheer size of it but even as he grabbed her hand, leading her to cut into it; she was looking down, trying to muffle a smile.

He had to commend Yoongi and the entire kitchen staff. The cake was rich, fudgy and even he was rushing after that very last crumble. Finally, he felt the nudge of Taehyung, the cup around his ankle and he moved into action.

“Could I request for the birthday girl to bestow me a dance, your highness?” He stood up from his chair, slyly winking over to where Y/N put down her plate quickly, looking almost as if she was going to laugh.

“Of course, kind sir but I should warn you – I may step on your toes.”

Jimin chuckled, pulling her onto the glittering marble dance floor. “I don’t mind; you can step on my toes anytime.”

Y/N blinked down at him, Jimin could feel her breath catch at the way he would his arm around her waist and clasped her hand and couldn’t help but smile. She tried not to, moving slowly along with the way he led her, her attention focused down mostly to keep from actually crushing his feet when he stopped moving.

“Come on, let’s go look at the stars. Tonight, they’re as much more gorgeous than ever, as if they’re shining solely for you.”

He walked back with Y/N in tow, opening the balcony doors and letting her go out first before he shut them again, turning to see her stand at the rails, looking up where the stars mirrored in her golden eyes, twinkling in the sky and on the earth alike.

“So,” Jimin cleared his throat, gaining her attention again. “Are you enjoying your early birthday festivities?”

Big eyes blinked yet again at him, something shifting beneath as they were lowered. “I am, much more than I would usually, I suppose. I haven’t had a birthday in fifteen years.”

It was Jimin’s turn to blink, only in horror. “Not one in fifteen years?” he asked.

“Well, Taehyung tried, for the first two years, but then…I had no one to share it with. I had no one.”

Jimin closed in to where she stood with her back to him. His hand ached to rest along her cheek, turn her so he could look at her face but he resisted. “You have me now.”

She still didn’t turn. “Jimin…” A breath was drawn, as if steeling her for some deep resolve. He watched as your shoulders, clad in golden shimmers he wasn’t used to seeing her in slumped finally. “Are you happy here, with me?”

Jimin’s first instinct was to blurt out a simple ‘yes’. Was he happy here? Yes, he had everything he could possibly dream of and more here. He had the library, the gardens, the long winding hallways, the grottos…the silence, oh god, the blissful silence where no one bore down on him, no one judged him for not eyeing girls, not being interested in hanging out around the pub, not being Kai’s lackeys.

Was he happy with you? Of course, he, for the first time, felt someone was completely understanding and kind to him. No matter that he was perhaps the first to show her human kindness too but she let him be when he needed, listened to him read, asked him questions and challenged him. She fulfilled him in a way no one had.

No, they were two whole people. They had just found fulfillment in each other, and he was happy to call her home as much as the castle. He was happy. He was content.

Y/N didn’t seem satisfied. Her head turned fractionally, peering at him in such a fashion as to confuse Jimin. “Wouldn’t you ask for anything else, if you could? There must be something more you could ask for.”

Jimin hesitated, once again hand hovering over her but unable to touch. “I…yes,” he sighed, dropping his hand. “I would ask to see my father again but,” he quickly rushed on, lest she be upset. “I know I can’t, so I won’t press for it.”

She turned finally, too fast for him to not be startled. “There is a way. You can see your father.”

Jimin frowned, crossing his arms, more to protect himself against the temptation than defiance. “How?”

The Princess quietly walked by him, opening the doors and carrying on, Jimin taking a moment to follow hurriedly after her, still confused and a little worried before he realized that they were tracking a familiar path to his room.

“You had a way of seeing your father all the time.” Y/N spoke, stopping by the pool in the centre of the room. She bent down over it, gesturing for Jimin to join her. “You can call out for the waters to show you what you wish for. The waters even have healing abilities. The Wizard’s token, left behind to torment me with everything I can’t see but still so that I wouldn’t be able to harm myself in any way.”

Jimin heard it all; unnerved by the way someone could hurt a little child. Yet, the allure of seeing his father was way more than the urge to console the Princess. He sat at the edge as Y/N drew away to give him space.

“Please, show me my father.” Jimin said, his voice sounding desperate even to his own ears.

The water swirled clear, one turn, two turns before deepening into a whirlpool. Images swirled at the very bed of the pool, bubbling up till they hovered over the spin of the water. Jimin watched eyes tearing from horror as his father stumbled from one tree branch, to another, panting, struggling to stay on his feet.

“Oh no, father.” He nearly shouted, before remembering his father couldn’t hear him.

“Jimin, Jimin, Jimin,” his father chanted before finally dropping down into the snow, shuddering and curling up in the frigid ground.

“No!” He sprang to his feet, the illusion breaking with his movement, subsiding into the waters again, still and clear. “My father, he’s sick. He’s alone, wandering the woods, looking for me. He could be dying. Y/N, the wolves…what if the wolves find him?”

Jimin turned around to look at you, facing the window, silent as before. He wondered if you had heard him at all.

You had heard him.

Your ears pricked, flattening against the side of your head as you processed the frantic desperation to Jimin’s voice, your mind racing with a million thoughts.

You thought back to your childhood, soft smiles and misty words now fogged with time…and then all you remembered was pain. The pain of changing and growing too many sizes too big, the eruptions of the fur, claws, having to get used to them. The pain of being unable to eat and the consequent process of starvation until Namjoon figured out how to feed you – like a dog.

The fear of being hunted mingled with the uninterrupted loneliness that no matter how much your staff tried to ebb, would never cease.

You remembered back to spending hours upon hours with the statues of your parents, wailing when it got too much, with even your own people afraid to approach you.

Then you thought back to the first day you’d met Jimin; brave and strong and so sacrificing, martyring himself for his father to stay here…with you; showing you kindness, helping you, teaching you, and even saving your life.

He’d sparked companionship for you.

How were you repaying it?

By holding him captive here? You had seen the devastation on his face that first night, the same pain that had been your constant. How could you claim to feel anything for him when you were hurting him?

You had lost everything as a child, and you had grown up used to it. You couldn’t put Jimin through the fresh agony of it. He had a life to get back to, loving people to help him.

He was human. He didn’t deserve to live with a paltry princess living in a curse.

And with that came the final blow…

How could he love someone who had torn him apart from his father? How could Jimin be fond of someone who had basically subjected his father to a pitiful, lonely death?

So you quelled the cry of your heart, steeling bands of iron around it until you could nurse its break alone. You made the decision simply because it was already set in place.

“You should go. Go back to him.” You said quietly.

There was a pause.

“What did you say?” You heard him, too close to you and you flinched away from his proximity.

“I grant you your freedom. You’re no longer my prisoner.” You turned to face him, grateful for the fur that absorbed any stray tears before they were obvious.

Jimin’s eyes were shiny as well, but you knew they were tears of joy. He gaped, his breath catching before he spoke, choked up – “Thank you.”

You watched, leaning against the window as he hurried to take off the heavy coat, instead shrugging on a simple, heavier cloak. He pulled on boots, easier to wade in the snow.

You, on the other hand, went to one of the dressers, unearthing a vial and moving to the pool, dipping and collecting the water in the shimmering glass.

“I’ll be back before you know it, Y/N. I think I’ll have to bring my father along sometime – convince him that you’re actually a big softie, none of the roaring monster that you were so kind enough to act as.”

His voice was teasing; light, even jovial as he eagerly approached you. You remained silent, handing him the vial.

“Here, take this. It’ll be useful to you. If you need to be healed…or it can help you remember me.”

Jimin’s smile faltered, looking from the proffered container back up to your eyes, now obviously dripping.

“I’m not going to be very long, Y/N. At least, not long enough for me to forget you.” He laughed, still pocketing the vial when you didn’t withdraw it. Sighing, you shook your enormous head.

“No…you can’t come back. You have to stay away. Stay with your father.” You refused to meet his eyes.

“Wait, what…what are you saying? What do you mean I have to stay away?”

“It means that you shouldn’t come back to the castle.” Your voice broke. “You have to stay in the town, maybe even go back to Paris. Live your life, Jimin; you have the rest of it. You deserve much better than living in a dilapidated castle with a monster.”

“No! No, I can’t…Y/N; you’re part of my life. I can’t…I can’t just, let you think that of yourself and your home. Y/N, you’re so important to me.”

He was reaching for you, his hand going to wrap around yours but you backed away quickly, unable to let him touch you lest you break down and beg for him to come back, to stay with you. You wouldn’t do that. You couldn’t subject him to that.

You loved him too much for that.

Instead, you fled, turning on your heel and exiting the room on all fours, ignoring his rough calls of your name. You knew he wouldn’t waste time chasing you, not with his father in that state, not with the threat of the wolves hanging about his head.

When you entered your room, your whole staff was already present, with expectant beams on their faces. You even spied Jungkook in the midst, the feather duster nearly reeking of disdain.

“Well, how did it go? Did he say it back?” Seokjin nearly shook from excitement.

You dropped your head, already dreading their reaction. “I…I let him go. His father is sick. He needed to go back.”

There was a silence so deep, so disappointed; you inwardly cringed even when Jungkook broke it with a caustic snicker.

“But…but we were so close. Why would you do that, Princess?” Namjoon asked.

You walked to the window, throwing them open to see the last vestiges of hooves vanishing in the snow. “Because, I love him,”

Y/N had been right. There had been no time for Jimin to process what had just transpired in his room, not when the cries of his father echoed through his head. He mounted Jjangu and sped off in the direction he’d gleaned his father would be. He had to be single-minded for his father for now, he decided. He couldn’t take care of the old man if his thoughts were littered with questions, with confusion, with hurt as to why it was so easy for Y/N to just tell him to leave. Did she not feel the same for him as he did her?

He knew he couldn’t disrespect her by showing up with his sick father at her doorstep after she’d told him to leave. Perhaps, after his father was healthy, he would map the course again, ask for answers, and plead to stay with her. Perhaps, he’d hurt her somehow and this was her way of protecting herself…?

Jimin sighed, laying his father back before warming water, laying thick cloths soaked in hot water along his forehead to fight the cold back. It took him back to when he’d patched Y/N up after the wolf attack and he had to shake off the thought when his father stirred, looking blearily up at him. “Jimin…you’re back!” His father sat up too quickly, holding his son at arm’s rest to check him before pulling him to his breast.

“Ah, son…I never thought I would see you again. But how…how did you escape the monster?”

Something tugged in him at his father’s tone, making him pull away from the man. “She’s not a monster, father. The legend of the Castle is true. She’s the cursed Princess…” Jimin sat at the edge of the bed, his eyes taking on the sheen of reminiscence as he recounted his journey with her till he was told to go back to his father.

He hoped perhaps, that his father would encourage him to go back, but he needed him to be stronger first, so once his tale was over, his father still gaping at how Jimin made the monster who had imprisoned him and his son sound so human, he fell asleep.

Jimin, however, didn’t. He paced back and forth from the fireplace to the bed, interrupted only by a quick, sharp knock on the door.

Scowling at the late hour, Jimin opened the door, not too pleased to see who it was on the threshold.

“Jimin,” Kai beamed, almost too familiarly as Hyebin tipped her hood back, studying Jimin as if she was planning to gut him. Her nails were digging into her brother’s arm and Jimin wondered how strong Kai had to be to not wince.

“Kai,” Jimin modulated his voice coolly. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Entirely too late, my good man,” Kai turned his head to his sister. “Didn’t I tell you it would be rude to show up right now?”

Hyebin didn’t answer.

Jimin ran a hand through his hair, frustration making him further annoyed. He needed time and space to think, to process things. His father was sick, he had been a prisoner in an enchanted castle where he had found more solace and acceptance than he had in freedom, he had fallen for a cursed Princess who might or might not return his feelings but had forbade him to return to her. He needed to make plans for his future.

He couldn’t be discourteous though, not when they’d taken the trouble of coming by.

“Come in please; my father is ill and sleeping so if you could keep your voices down and be quick about this…” He let the door fall open further. Kai and Hyebin walked in as if they weren’t going to take no for an answer anyway, shedding off their cloaks and making themselves at home.

“Well Jimin, I must say it’s a relief to see you. Your father had been by the pub, you know, raving on about you being kidnapped and all by some monster and imprisoned. We dropped by a few times later to see the house empty.” Kai said. “We all thought he’d gone mad, or you’d run away and he was just lying to make us all look for you.”

Jimin didn’t look at the taller man, feeling the pinpricks of anger flare again at the accusation. “I…yes, I’ve been away. I was at the castle. My father wasn’t lying, neither is he mad,” He said coldly.

There was a silence in which unbeknownst to Jimin, Kai and Hyebin exchanged looks.

“Wait, you’re talking about the palace? The royal palace on the hill…that’s where you were and the monster is real?” Hyebin asked, bug eyed.

“Yes, the monster is your Princess and she’s not vicious or anything, Hyebin, unlike how you described her when you told me the story. She doesn’t devour children and she doesn’t make their bones into furniture.” Jimin snapped, crossing his arms before sighing as he glanced into the fireplace, eyes and voice softening. “She’s a little short-tempered, yes but she’s kind hearted and caring and intelligent and curious. She’s my friend.”

Kai watched Jimin calculatingly, while Hyebin clenched her jaw.

“It sounds like you like her.” She said finally.

“I do. Also, it’s really late. I think I should go to bed as well.” He said. His voice left no room for argument.

Kai gave him a tight smile, his too white teeth glinting almost maliciously in the firelight. “You think…it wise to harbor such feelings for a monster, Jimin? Need I remind you this…thing is cursed and is a bad omen in our town?”

“No Kai, she isn’t. Now please, I am tired.”

For a second, he thought that Hyebin would refuse flatly but even as he steeled himself to assert himself yet again, she was standing and with Kai in tow, moved out without another word.

Jimin puffed a breath of relief, moving to douse the fireplace. The swab plunged the living space in darkness and he stretched his arms above his head, arching his back, already looking forward to his bed when he heard the hushed conversation not too far from the house.

The one thing about living so far from the town and right in the middle of a disused farm was that there was nothing to absorb sounds. Each and every noise reverberated and echoed loudly in his house, enough for him to never be startled.

He went to the window, keeping back enough to see Kai, now holding his torch above him and Hyebin, talking. While Hyebin didn’t bother to lower her voice, Kai was trying to shush her, low and hissing but even his voice carried back to Jimin’s focused ears.

“…you didn’t see his eyes, Kai. He doesn’t just like this bitch. He loves her. He won’t even hear any truths about her!” Hyebin screeched.

“You sure know how to pick them, sister. A man who’s into bestiality,” Kai snidely replied, stopping when Hyebin grabbed his collars.

“This isn’t funny. You have to talk sense into him…or…I don’t…I don’t know, we have to kill this Princess of his.” Hyebin said.

“Keep your damn voice down, will you? Is that all you can think of in your pea brain? Jimin, Jimin, Jimin; all the time…it’s annoying.” Kai snatched away his coat from Hyebin. “Think of it like this, little sister. This girl is a Princess. She is our Princess, a royal. We cannot truly establish a government because a monarch is alive.”

“What the hell does that matter?”

“Darling sister, do use sense. Jimin is here, which means this Princess doesn’t have a man around right now.”

“So…?”

Jimin heard Kai snap his jaw. “So, sister, I go and I marry her. Simple, and effective; I become King, all powerful and she is out of your way. I will command Jimin to marry you and since you will be royal; he cannot hope to refuse.”

“You…you cannot be serious, Kai. I mean, are you really going to do that? She’s an animal.” Hyebin’s shock was palpable even to Jimin.

“Well, of course I don’t intend to honor the marriage wholly. I’m a hunter, aren’t I? Think of it like my greatest hunt, one that makes us the most powerful pair here. Plus, who’s to know…? Maybe the Princess meets a little accident a few days after our wedding. At least the kingdom will have a king they know and trust; they will only see it more as a sacrifice on my part.”

“You’re…despicable, brother.” Hyebin’s lips trembled before stretching into a cruel smile that looked odd on her beautiful face. “But a genius,”

“I know that. Now hurry up, we need to go to the pub and collect a mob. I cannot go alone in case the Princess tries to get aggressive. I’m going to need witnesses just in case we need to come back and convince Jimin his lovely Princess was actually a monster after all.”

Jimin was moving even before the fleck of light completely vanished from sight.

All thoughts and feelings of exhaustion melted from his body, arms and legs regaining energy as he burst into his father’s room. The old man started awake from the sound, jolting and clutching the sheets as he looked at the manic light in Jimin’s eyes.

“Son, what – what’s the matter?”

“I have to go father. I have to go back to the castle. Y/N is in danger.” Jimin rushed his words, tossing things from dressers till he found a bag, throwing some matches and a torch into it. He patted his pockets for the vial of pool water Y/N had given him, about to turn for the door when his father clasped his shoulders.

“No! I just got you back; I cannot let you go back there!”

“Father, you don’t understand. Kai…he’s taking a mob to her! They’re going to kill her, all because I opened my mouth.”

Jimin’s father wavered, his grip loosening only slightly.

“Come with me, then. See for yourself.” Jimin moved past the old man, not waiting for him to follow. However, when he reached Jjangu, who raised his head quizzically, his father, was right there, climbing on behind his son.

Praying that he wouldn’t be too late, he leaned over to Jjangu’s ear.

“Come on boy, we’re going home to our Princess.”

Jjangu whinnied, rising up on his front legs and then they were racing from the stable, in the direction of the palace.

Jjangu thankfully took the way that they were most familiar with, through the woods. Even as they surpassed the town, he could see the lit fires, domestic weapons of all sorts raised as cries and shouts filled his ears. They were breaking down the blockade; he realized when he saw the closed bookshop, going only the way they knew.

His fault…his fault…

Jimin shook his head, nudging Jjangu to go faster. He had to reach Y/N before Kai did, or he would never forgive himself.

The fire leapt high and powerful, licks of warmth flaring out against where you sat with your back to the muttering and mourning gossips of your royal staff.

You knew that the moment you’d spilled out the truth about how you’d sent Jimin away, even forbidding him to ever set foot back in the castle, you’d basically condemned your entire household and yourself to a grim fate, but could you condemn him to one as well? No, you couldn’t. Besides, you were used to this now, used to living like an animal. Jimin shouldn’t have to live in company of one for the rest of his life.

Behind you, Jungkook led most of the ranting. “I’m telling you; this was the plan all along. Get the Mistress all soft and mushy so he could get out of here first chance he could get.”

“Jungkook,” Yoongi sighed. “His father was sick.”

“So, all our families are probably dead now. We won’t ever get to see them now, or even to see their gravestones.”

You knew he was right. Maybe it was ok to live with yourself like this, but sacrificing your own people to this curse made guilt creep up your throat tenfold.

“Perhaps, we shouldn’t have gotten as attached to him as we did, even before knowing what his obligations were.” Seokjin said.

You were about to turn to snap at them all to get back to their chores when Namjoon suddenly squeaked, the clogs of his clockwork chiming anxiously.

“Wait, wait, there’s someone coming…OH lords above! Princess, Princess, it’s the townsfolk, invading the castle gates. It’s a mob!”

“Wait, what…?” You nearly fell off the chair, confused when the doors to the sitting room were flung open again, a squad of soldier armor leading a panting Jimin in.

“Y/N…mob, people are coming for you…run!” He managed to puff out before leaning his weight on his knees, drawing heavy breaths.

You blinked quickly. Didn’t you tell him not to come back? But he was here now, come to warn you about the mob…worrying for your safety.

“Jimin…” You breathed, “You came back.”

You drew closer to the wheezing man, a paw running along his smooth cheek.

“Of course, I did. I had to warn you.” Jimin looked up at you, time slowing as your gazes remained suspended. He placed his own hand on yours, squeezing it even as Jungkook broke it in his rasp.

“Well now, that’s sweet. So, are we to assume you led the mob here before promptly losing courage?”

You and Jimin both turned to look at the feather duster now propped up on a dresser, eyeing Jimin with as much disdain as you had seen him do you. Jimin gaped, flabbergasted while you were ready to rip out all his feathers.

“Jungkook, he came to warn us. Don’t be an idiot.” Namjoon said roughly.

“I can’t believe you’d lap that up, sir. He left here, went back home to tend to his ill father, so he said, and now he’s back…with encroachers on his heel. Why would you believe him? Because of the pool; the waters are also subject to imagination, Namjoon, or have you forgotten?”

“Enough, we cannot fight amongst ourselves, we have to protect the castle and our Princess.” Yoongi said. He turned to the soldiers, ordering for them to gather the rest of the household up and prepare for defenses.

“Ask him, Princess. Ask your dearest if he told them or not.”

You rolled your eyes at Jungkook, turning, however, to Jimin. It was better to put this to rest. “Tell him, then, tell him you didn’t.”

Jimin was still looking at Jungkook, a peculiar expression of conflict gathering his eyebrows together.

“Jimin…” You prompted.

“I…” He looked at you then, and just the look in his eyes – wide, pleading, had your hand slipping from him.

“See,” Jungkook said, as Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi and Taehyung gaped at their friend. “I told you, he told them.”

“Jimin, tell me you didn’t.” You whispered.

“I – I did, but I had no idea -,”

“That they were going to take advantage of the fact that a whole castle was left unattended and come to loot it? Or that they were going to come to kill and behead the Princess so they could mount her head upon their walls?”

“Why…how could you?”

Jimin looked at you again, away from the brewing anger and distrust of the staff. “Y/N, try and understand. I only told the truth, I told them you were harmless.”

“You’re lying.” Jungkook hissed.

You watched his hand try to reach for you, pull at you, but you drew away, cringing away from his touch. He stuttered in his steps, looking at you, beseeching.

“Princess,” Namjoon called softly, “what are your orders?”

You looked away from Jimin, reminding yourself you had duties to perform. “Keep safe the castle. My parents…they shouldn’t have to see their home seized in front of their eyes.” Your anger flared as you glared at Jimin finally. “Remind them that there still is a monster in the castle.”

Without another word, you dropped down on all fours and leaped clean over Jimin’s head, bounding for the roof from where you could see everything and lead stray invaders away from your people and home.

Your orders were followed to a tee. Thousands of household goods launched an attack on the people who were mostly comprised of men, having no idea how to operate the basic home wares.

Drawers smacked into jaws, hot water and oil were poured on head, knives and burning torches chased men around until they thought it better to just leave the castle alone and crawl away, defeated.

You stood on top of the parapets, watching your subjects nurse and curse over their bruised and burned extremities, retreating from your home. Perhaps, there would be no reason for the monster to show up after all. No legends would pass around; no one would spread talk to lure hunters and thieves to your home.

You didn’t go down though, instead, curling into yourself on the edge of the roof.

As happy as you were about the prospect of people leaving you alone, you had to contend with the fact that it was Jimin, the man you trusted, the man you loved who had ruthlessly allowed people to come hunt for you. You had mattered nothing to him. It would’ve been better to have someone draw a knife through your heart now, it might’ve hurt less than the betrayal.

“Oh Princess,”

Your ears pricked.

“There you are. You know, when I didn’t see a huge, hunkering monster down below I was worried Jimin might have lied.”

The voice was unfamiliar, nasty and it grated on your nerves so you stayed still, hoping the person would mistake you for a statue and pass by.

“Apparently, the poor boy hadn’t lied. He was so in misery you see, had to come back, leaving his little lady behind. Someone had to convince him that a princess needs a real man around for a husband.”

You frowned, feeling it draw closer.

“So I have a proposition. You marry me and we live happily enough. I’ll even throw in a wedding kiss.”

The footsteps behind you stopped, and you hoped that your silence had fooled him enough until they started again. “Now, Princess, it’s rude to not acknowledge a man talking to you. Turn around; let’s see what got Jimin so dewy eyed. I have to see if you’re worth all the talk.”

You remained still.

“Turn around now.”

You ignored him.

A sharp, plunging pain ripped through your back, making you gasp and seize up. Something pinched at the centre of your back, protruding out and you knew it was an arrow, turning to see the tall man, draw another from his quiver, placing it on his bow.

“Well now, looks like we’ve found our communication link. Are you going to be nice, now?”

You flailed, clawing behind to draw out the agonizing spike from your body.

“No use. I have perfect aim. Now, stop dancing and listen unless you want another to keep it company in your chest.”

He drew back the bow string.

“KAI, STOP!”

You stopped as well, seeing the man – Kai – turn around to look at where Jimin stood on the top most balconies, leaning almost all the way down. You took advantage of the momentary distraction of the hunter, throwing your full weight at him.

Your muscles and joints screamed at your movements, huge as they were, weighing you further down as the man turned quickly to you, trying to aim the arrow towards your body. You gripped his hand, twisting it out of the way.

“This is a nice surprise! Seems like you really are a monster, and here you were hoping for a human companion!” The Hunter laughed maniacally, shaking hair out of his eyes.

You growled, pulling the hunter close enough to snatch his bow, snapping it with a simply pinch of your fingers. “Get out of my house.” You gripped his throat, squeezing just enough for him to be able to tell. “Never come back…or I will kill you.” You flung the man away from him as the disgusting being that he was, backing away.

Adrenaline fading, the fatigue of blood loss raised its ugly head again, faltering your steps and blurring your vision.

“Y/N, here, come here, you’re hurt.”

You turned once again to where Jimin stood, his hand extended for you and stumbled towards him, shaky feet nearly throwing you over the edge more than once. You reached near him, raising your hand to grasp his and began to climb.

“You’re still here.” You choked.

“Of course, I had to clear things up.” Jimin smiled, eyeing you carefully.

You made to return the smile when another scream of pain tore through you, making Jimin jump before he saw the knife embedded deep in your side.

“NO!” He roared, feeling you slip from his fingers when he saw Kai’s added weight clinging to your cloak.

Your back curved backwards; Kai gripping the back of your cloak and hair in a tight fist. His lips split in a wide, sinister smile. “Go on Jimin, pull us up. You save her, you save me.”

Jimin snarled a curse at Kai, eyes darting from your drooping eyes to Kai’s bright ones. He couldn’t save Kai, he knew that. Left alive, he’d keep coming back again and again. You would never truly be safe with Kai alive.

“It’s okay…”

Jimin’s eyes snapped to Y/N, narrowing at the small smile tugging at your lips in puzzlement.

“It’s okay; you have to let me go…”

“What, no, I’m not going to -,”

“It’s better this way.”

“Y/N, no, Kai let her go!”

“I love you, Jimin. I’m…I suppose this is goodbye.”

Jimin opened his mouth to shout for you to hold on when all sound stopped short. You opened your paw, his own hand too weak to hold up all the weight of your body and Kai together. He watched, too slow to move, too stunned to understand as your eyes closed, still smiling while Kai’s eyes widened, almost comically, smile fading and mouth opening in a silent scream as you both fell.

There was no time for Jimin to even scream for you.

Everything was numb. Everything was silent.

Well, in all actuality, a battle had waged around him, promptly won by the small but mighty objects of Y/N’s household. Cheers of victory and joy could be heard from the lower rungs of the Castle. It was just that Jimin’s eyes could only see Y/N’s last smile, hear her last confession and feel her hand slipping from his.

All he knew was that Y/N was down here somewhere – ironically, falling right into her parent’s grotto – and he had to reach her. Nothing else mattered.

The soft grass of the grotto crushed and crumbled under Jimin’s boots, as he walked and broke into aching jogs as he spied the huge mass of fur on its side, reminiscent of when he’d seen Y/N topple over after saving him from the wolves. The memory stung his chest now.

“Y/N,” he gasped seeing Kai’s body almost completely trapped under hers, his fist still closed around her clothes.

He bent over, ripping his hand away and rolling his dead body away till it lay feet away, open eyes dead and unseeing, his laughter finally fading into nothingness.

Falling to his knees, he heaved Y/N’s head onto his arms, propping it against his shoulder. Her eyes were closed as well; smile gone and he could spot a trickle of blood running from the corner of her mouth into the fur. His hand trailed down to the knife in her side, slowly, gently easing it out and tossing far away from her as both arms came to wrap around her, rocking.

“Y/N, hey, it’s okay, come on wake up. He’s gone. Kai’s dead and every one fled. You’re safe now.” He hushed.

She lay still, too still, not even shifting a little in answer to his voice.

“Y/N,” Jimin vowed now to give up so soon. She had to be alive, she was probably just unconscious. He tapped her cheeks, ran his fingers through the mass of her hair and fur.

“Y/N, please, I’m so sorry.” He buried his head against her neck, taking in a whiff of the musk that he was so used to now. There was a change now; it smelt too metallic, too…sodden. “Please, wake up.”

She couldn’t be dead…she couldn’t leave him like this; not after saying she loved him and pulling off such a ridiculous stunt.

His body shook, feeling the chill settle in. Somehow, Y/N’s body that radiated so much warmth normally wasn’t enough to keep the cold away now. Jimin shuddered, drawing her closer before closing his eyes finally. A sob choked its way out his lips, followed by a sound that was too close to Y/N’s own agonized ones.

“Please, come back, Y/N, please, I love you too. So much, so much, please,” he rocked faster, more to keep himself moving than to shake her awake. He couldn’t stop moving, it would only mean for him to accept that Y/N wasn’t moving as well and that she was…she was.

His tears soaked through her fur.

“Now, this is quite the unfortunate situation.”

Jimin hiccupped, looking up to where someone new had joined them in the grotto. For a wild second he thought that it was Kai but no. This man was much taller, skinnier, even unhealthy looking.

A snap echoed from behind him and he jumped, looking about to see a very familiar pack of wolves surrounding him, grinning and tongues lolling. He pulled Y/N closer but the wolves didn’t seem to intent on attacking, instead collecting behind the new arrival.

Jimin squinted, wiping off the blurring tears to see the man was known to him.

“You,” He said at the bookseller who peered down at the cursed Princess with something akin to bitterness.

“Me,” The old man hummed, turning to face the wolves and Jimin was astounded to see that a wave of this man’s hand was enough to line them neatly up.

“How…I thought you never left the bookshop. Did you come with Kai?”

“Kai?” The bookseller laughed, caustic casting a cursory glance at the dead man feet away. “That pathetic excuse for a human and you think he’d have any sort of influence over me?”

Jimin watched as the man drew himself to full height before light erupted out from somewhere in his chest, blinding Jimin and making him feel colder than he did before. Once he felt the light fade from his screwed up eyelids, he peeked through, gaping in disbelief.

Long black robes swirled around the now, considerably younger man, almost as if it was sewn directly from the shadows around him. Long sleeves fell back to reveal tattoos in a language Jimin had never seen before, glowing even till the skin of his bald head and face.

“Not quite who you expected, I see.” The man said.

Jimin was still trying to put together the old bookseller who had been so friendly to him transformed into this being when with a clatter and loud clangs they were surrounded with more things – this time on Y/N’s side.

Namjoon’s clock chimed angrily, Seokjin’s fiery wick gleaming in the dark as they caught the man standing over Jimin and Y/N. “The Wizard,” They gasped, followed quickly by Yoongi and the others who skid to a halt.

“Be gone, monster! You have killed our Mistress!” Yoongi clattered.

“You’re the one who cursed Y/N.” Jimin said, realization dawning over him like a pot of cold water. However, there was no fear in his voice. After all what was the use? Y/N was dead, neither she nor he could be hurt any further.

“Now, now, calm please. Is that any way to greet the man about to grant you salvation?” The Wizard raised his palms.

“You cursed us too swine!” Namjoon yelled.

“I did. And I fully intended to come back on her birthday to remind her that she owed herself to me if she wanted to have her life and loved ones back. It seems,” He looked down at Jimin cradling her body and again there was strange bitterness to his gaze, “I have been rendered useless. She has found love…I didn’t think it would’ve been possible.”

He looked up.

“So now, here, my word means something in the world.” Light shone again, only this time it was blue.

Jimin watched the light move out from the Wizard, creeping slowly to where Y/N lay against him. The light cocooned her, moving forward till it had surrounded everyone present in the grotto and on and on till all he could see was blue.

Jimin’s proximity helped in seeing Y/N, and he clasped her protectively, worried the light was going to further cause her harm. Only, it didn’t. Instead, her weight began to ease up off of Jimin. Fur receded and fell off from her body to reveal smooth skin, wet and smeared with visible blood, fangs shrunk back, and ears flattened and became smaller.

The huge mass of a creature began to slowly shrivel, until all that remained in his arms could no longer pass off as an animal. No, this was laughably, astonishingly, human.

Jimin raised a hand inquisitively, running it through the strands of hair that were now free from the matting of fur, his hand coming back red.

“She’s…”

“Back to normal…or rather what she would’ve grown up to be; that’s about as normal as I can make her.” The Wizard snorted at his own joke.

“Is…your highness,” Jimin turned to see that there were people in the grotto, no longer just objects.

A tall tanned man stood foremost, dimples poking out as a wondrous smile lit up his face, hands running over his suit. “I…I’m a man again!”

“Or how much you were before,” Another spoke, taller than the first, golden hair falling into his eyes.

“Gentlemen, calm down!” A shorter man barked.

These were strangers to Jimin, or maybe not. He looked back up at the Wizard, ignoring the joyous reunions behind him. “She’s…still dead.”

“Yes, but then, the way to bring her back to life is with you, isn’t it?”

Jimin was about to ask what he meant when he remembered the vial. The vial full of the pool water, that Y/N had said had healing abilities.

He delved deep, bringing out the mercifully intact vial before upending it completely into Y/N’s open mouth.

He waited, with bated breath as moments passed. And then – skin knitted back together, the grey pallor of her face smoothed till a healthy glow seeped in her cheeks.

With a huge shaky breath, Y/N opened her eyes again, fumbling with her body as if it scratched at her.

“Y/N, hey, Y/N,” Jimin grabbed her hands, much smaller and claw less, fitting into his easily.

Big, wide, fearful eyes met Jimin’s. “J-Jimin?”

“Yes, it’s me.” Jimin placed his head against hers, taking in a deep inhale that wasn’t of musk but of bloodied skin, of sorrow, or uncertainty. Closing his eyes and hoping for the best, Jimin turned his head to place his lips swiftly on yours.

There was no reciprocation at first, worrying Jimin that perhaps, he’d pushed you too far too fast. However, he felt your small hand move past his neck into his hair, entwining with the strands to hold him against you.

He moved away from your face, reminding himself that you still needed time and space to learn physical love when your eyes, now bright with unshed tears landed on something behind him.

It took him a bit to register the utter silence, hushed conversation behind him and he turned to see that the huge statues that used to be the only decorations in the grotto were no longer there, instead right behind him stood a couple, too familiar.

“Mama! Daddy!”

Y/N fled Jimin’s arms, instead throwing herself into her parent’s arms. Jimin fell back from the impact; quickly picking himself up to see the pair wrap their tight arms around their daughter, tears streaking through dirty, muddied faces.

The man was tall, his wife regal as they still retained the glow of youth, having spent their lives inanimate. Their daughter may have grown in front of their eyes but there was near to no difference in ages, Jimin noticed. He turned his head, but the Wizard and his pack of wolves were long gone.

Y/N shirt and pants were also now tattered, too huge on her now smaller body. Jimin tugged off his coat, wrapping it delicately around her shoulders when a hand stopped him from moving away. He looked at the queen, small crown still perched into her mussed hair who smiled at him.

“Thank you,” she mouthed, tugging him closer till he was hugging Y/N from the back as well, and Jimin couldn’t be more grateful at the gesture.

The moments, hell, the days after the…incident, or rather your birthday had been all muddles and stumbling through time. As a cursed monster, time had seemed to stretch, with you craving love and companionship simply because you’d been told that they would break your curse. The very notion of these emotions had become a means to an end.

You had so much to learn, you realized when you stepped back into a castle that had no broken ceilings, no gaping holes, no smears of dirt and growing moss. The stones gleamed, jewels sparkled, sculptures loomed, just as they had in your distant memories.

Everyone stared, even the members of your household who had lived with you forever. You supposed you weren’t the only ones in need of reacclimatizing.

Chamber maids and maids in waiting dragged you and your mother away almost immediately. You were washed, scrubbed, hair oiled and washed and scented, similar to the ball but only this time the gown they put you in felt too big, too airy for you. Your skin, used to being protected by masses of fur and hard muscles shuddered at the gauzes and weightlessness of your new things.

Mirrors and portraits, previously smashed or torn by your claws had been reinstated and you had spent hours just staring at the unfamiliar face in the reflection. You weren’t a child anymore; you weren’t the beast you were used to seeing in cracks of glass and shards of mirrors. You had grown into a young maiden and you had no idea who you were.

The resurgence of a bustling royal palace, with many of the staff setting out to locate their families had created a buzz. Kai, the hunter had been dragged away and Hyebin, his sister as Jimin told you had been tried for conspiracy for murder.

Of course, things hadn’t become hunky dory fast. Things still needed to be sorted out, a monarchy had to be established because the so called government that had put Kai in charge in the first place was found now corrupt, seeing how easy it had been to rile up the public on the word of one man with no proof at all.

You left your father to handle these matters. Your mother had something much more stressful for you to think about.

Whether or not you wanted to marry Park Jimin…

You knew he was in the palace somewhere, along with his father. He’d come seen you but there hadn’t been much conversation. You had been too unsure of your own self, of your new or rather old body and you wondered if Jimin liked you as a human as much as he had when you were a creature.

“Don’t be silly,” Jimin had said, once on a slow walk around the garden. Your steps were much slower now, smaller feet tended to do that but none of you were in a hurry. It seemed Jimin was as eager to know the new you as you were. “I loved you when you were covered in fur and I love you now, even though I must say I was hoping to introduce a few of my friends to my beastly fiancée.” You had smacked his arm, unsettled at the joke even though he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Don’t worry so much about this. The curse is past. No one and I mean it, will ever hurt you now. They’ll have to go through me.”

The burning sincerity in his eyes and voice left no room for you to argue or doubt.

And so, you shyly visited your parents that very evening, hand looped in your lover’s, asking for their blessing to marry him.

Your engagement to Jimin lasted longer than any a royal was supposed to have, stretching out for months as you relearned human life. You were taught to walk properly on two legs, carrying things with a tiara affixed to your hair. For days you would bat at your hair when the pins keeping it in place pinched or pulled at you.

You learned how to dress yourself, how to put on various forms of jewelry, how to take baths and resumed your studies and royal duties.

Suffice it to say, you were now missing your animalistic life at times, you were so exhausted.

However, Jimin was a constant, learning with you, talking you through the harder aspects, supportive, encouraging, and absolutely perfect. It was also getting hard to keep your hands to yourself when it came to your private moments.

Physical love was one aspect that you absolutely dreaded touching upon. You wondered if you would be good enough, if Jimin would find pleasure in you or if you would find pleasure in him. He did place chaste kisses against your skin and lips when he thought it was okay to do so and you had only found him losing control once. It had been late at night when he visited you and had read to you till you were drowsy. With only a mind to gently kiss you goodnight, he had leant in only to be trapped by your hands, trying to get as close as you could to him.

He’d gripped at you, trying to pry out of your touch but had melted fast, molding and pressing you to your mattress. You had felt him growing aroused against your pelvic bone, rutting against you, gasping when he pulled away, blinking and shaking hair out of his eyes.

“Now now, love, we have time.” He’d pecked your cheek, disentangling himself from you before almost limping out.

Soon enough, it was time for the main event of your life.

Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Taehyung and Jungkook returned in days time, bringing what was left or added to their families and they stayed on till after your wedding took place.

Jungkook had mellowed in the face of his parents being alive, fifteen years older of course but delighted to have him back. He’d wished you well, but not apologized for his earlier behavior – you didn’t expect him to either.

Your parents had gone above and beyond for the wedding, throwing the lavish event for the entire town and further to come attend. Your gown was created for weeks, Hoseok personally supervising the process so that when you walked down the altar finally, upon your teary eyed father’s arm; you erased all thoughts that you had been a monster for most of your life prior.

You left the palace for your honeymoon, following Jimin’s advice to leave the royal duties to your still young and hearty parents while you took some time with your husband, so you could acquaint yourself both to him and to the world that he wanted to show you.

You knew where to start the journey of course, with your groom’s lips twitching at the very first words that tumbled out during the ceremonial dance.

“Please,” you’d whispered, laying your head close to his heart.

“Anything for you, darling,” Jimin had whispered back, smile obvious in his voice. “Paris it is.”

Jimin might not ever get used to the feeling of you fitting into his arms, you thought to yourself, glancing at your now husband, ever so often.

He’d lifted you up into his arms the moment you’d stepped off the carriage, beaming about something called the threshold ceremony, carrying you through the doors of the French villa carefully.

“Satisfied?” You asked when he stood still, eyeing the windows in contemplation.

“I’m wondering if I’m missing something but I can’t think of anything as of yet. So yes, here you go.” He placed you down, letting you walk through the house while he watched over the servants who carried through your luggage.

A late meal later, you stood at the mirror in the bedroom, painstakingly pulling out the multiple pins from the up-do your hair had been twisted in, your husband peeking in with a mischievous grin.

“Having fun?”

“No,” You grumbled, your arms dropping from the strain. Jimin walked up behind you, beginning to quickly pull out the multitudes of metal from your hair that would make a magnet drool. “Why are there so many?”

“Look on the bright side,” Jimin muttered, delving deeper into your scalp, “For the rest of our honeymoon, you could be completely free from all of this, until of course we have to go back.”

You glanced up at him quickly, seeing the darkening expression brooding on your husband’s face as he dropped the final pins on to the dresser.

“I was thinking.”

“Yes,” you squeaked out embarrassingly.

“Well, we’re all alone now, so we don’t have to be worried about anyone walking in on us.”

You turned around completely, confused. “That’s what you were worried about?”

“Of course,” his smile flickered. “What else would I be worried about?”

Your eyes fell, feeling all sorts of stupid now. “I just thought…maybe you didn’t…you know, feel that way about me now.”

A finger brushed under your chin, tilting your face back up. “Love, I married you.”

“Yes but,”

“Mm, but nothing, come on; let me show you what I feel for you.”

Jimin’s arms, much stronger than you had given him credit for swooped under your thighs, lifting you up to wrap your legs around his waist swiftly. As a monster, you had never given thought to how powerful Jimin really was, but now when you were human, much more fragile than you were used to, he was blatantly flaunting his strength.

You couldn’t fault him for that.

Your husband dropped you onto the centre of the massive bed, arms balancing his weight over you. “Are you okay about this? I don’t want to force you into anything that you’re uncomfortable with.”

“No,” you reached for him, winding arms around his neck. “I’m fine, I want to feel you. I want to learn this with you.”

Your eyes closed automatically when he kissed you, sweetly but strongly, tongue laving over your lips, slipping between with less to no battle from you. Your mouth parted easily for him, letting him plunder moans from you.

“Fuck,” Jimin breathed, pulling away before his eyes were widening. “Oh, I’ve never cursed like that before.”

His cheeks were so red, you couldn’t help but laugh. “No worries, I’ve never made someone curse like that before either.”

Jimin’s fingers trailed to the ties of your night shift. “Perhaps, we’re a bad influence upon one another.”

“Perhaps,” your breath caught in agreement, Jimin’s fingers pulling at a peaking nipple while his head lowered to suckle on the other. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, my darling wife,” his lips were curved wickedly when he resurfaced; sitting up to remove the cotton night shirt he wore and tugging off the gown from your body right after.

You lay naked under him, open for his perusal and taking. Your hand shifted up, trying to pull the sheets up to cover some of your modesty until Jimin caught up, taking your hands to place them right there.

“There,” His mouth opened, tongue rubbing over his swollen bottom lip. “Do you feel that? That’s what I feel for you. You don’t need to hide from me love, never ever. I have loved you before, I love you now and I will continue to love you more for all our days to come. Do you understand?”

You meekly nodded.

Jimin’s eyes flashed down your body, knees parting yours before his hand touched your bare core, running over the nub in circles. “Am I understood, love?”

“Yes-yes,” you gasped, neck falling back for him place kisses even as a finger slipped through inside of you, thick but gentle, stretching you just so.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“Good,” Jimin removed his hand, placing the digit in his mouth, eyes still firm between your legs. Normally the lecherous look on any man would have you burst with rage but Jimin had you nearly quivering in anticipation, especially when he finally pushed down his trousers.

You had never seen a cock before, never having any contact with a human male, but you had to say Jimin’s was an impressive specimen. Thick in girth and flushed a sensuous red, the head throbbed in need before he was guiding himself to your body.

“Ready, love, I need you to breathe with me.”

Jimin dropped low on you, lips tugging and pushing at yours, his spare hand clasping your breast to distract you as he pushed in. your knee bent, curving over his hip as you gasped, eyes watering at the sharp pinching sensation deep within you. Your husband halted, waiting for the expression of discomfort and pain to pass from your face, fingers brushing away any stray moisture from the corner of your eyes.

“I…I’m okay, please move.” You told him, Jimin studying you carefully before he drew back, thrusting in experimentally. The first drags of his hips, followed by the slow plunges still made you bite down your lips, screw up your eyelids before you found your rhythms.

Jimin ended up with his hand at your nub, rubbing it in gentle circles, lighting sparks in your nerves with the motion of his lovemaking, your nails digging into your lover’s back and shoulder, trying to get as close as possible.

The first jolt of climax nearly made you cry out, burying your face in his neck to muffle the sounds when he followed, heavy grunts falling unabashed from his lips, hands twining with the strands of your hair to seal your lips in a clumsy kiss as he spilled deep into you.

Rolling over, with your head safely clasped in the nook of his arm, Jimin sighed contentedly, warm hand against your back.

“Jimin,”

“Yes, love.”

“So…what happens now?”

Your husband turned his head to give you a sleepy grin.

“Now we’ll live happily ever after.”

#ksmutclub #notyourdamsels #btsbookclub #smutcentralnet #ficswithluv #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #jimin smut #bts smut #jimin angst #bts angst #jimin fluff #bts fluff #jimin #bts #park jimin

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mldrgrl · 3 years

Text

Broken Things 20/24

by: mldrgrl Rating: varies by chapter, rated R overall See Chapter 1 for summary and notes

The incident breeds awkwardness between them for the rest of the morning. Katherine moves out of his arms eventually and he helps her to gather her clothes. She keeps her eyes down as she dresses, leaving things unbuttoned and untied, and doesn’t look at him.

“I just need a few minutes to put some fresh clothes on,” she says. “And then I’ll see to breakfast.”

“Take your time. I’ll need to check on the boys and see if the storm did any damage.”

She nods once and then she slips out the door. He wonders if he should go after her or say something, but he doesn’t know what to say that he hasn’t already. He sighs and then dresses for the day.

Melvin and Trevor already have the barn open when he makes it outside. Richard is repairing a fencepost in the hog pen. The ground is muddy, but the sky is blue and the sun is bright.

“How are things?” Mulder asks.

“Everyone pulled through,” Melvin answers. “Trevor said that them sheeps were noisy little buggers. Queenie was fit to be tied over their restlessness, but they settled once the rain let up.”

“How did George do?”

“Just fine. We actually moved the goats into the stable before it got bad and I put ‘em in with George. They kept good company for each other.”

“Roof held up?”

“Just fine.”

“Good, good.”

“Everything alright with you?”

“Just fine.” Mulder rubs the back of his head and looks away from Melvin.

“Mmhm.”

With Jesse and Jimmy away, there is just too much to be done for Mulder to dwell on Katherine’s reluctance to let him in. Whatever happened this morning, it doesn’t change the closeness they shared the night before, that he now knows is possible to have. He’s not angry, he’s just sad for her and for them. Whatever Jack Willis did to her, if the man wasn’t already dead, Mulder would kill him.

It takes some time to relocate the livestock back to their pens. The hogs romp and roll in the mud, ecstatic, ignoring their slop initially in favor of getting dirty. Katherine rings the breakfast bell as they’re mucking the stables and Mulder sends them in ahead of him. He doesn’t have much of an appetite anyway.

Katherine jumps up from the table when he comes in and rushes to the stove. He puts his arm around her and takes the spatula from her hand. “Go on and sit down,” he says. “I know how to fix a plate up.”

“The eggs might be cold. I covered the bacon to keep it warm.”

“That’s my fault. I’m late.” He kisses her cheek and sends her away.

Melvin scrutinizes them the whole meal. He can feel the older man’s eyes on him at times and he catches him looking at Katherine as well.

“It’s already starting to dry up out there,” Mulder says. “I think we should send the horses out to pasture today, what do you think? Let them run off any residual nerves and they might enjoy a nice roll in the mud, though probably not as much as the hogs.”

“You want to run the curry comb through the lot of ‘em at the end of the day, go on ahead,” Melvin says.

Mulder chuckles. “It’s Saturday. You boys planning on heading down to the bath house tonight? Faithful Jenny and Blondie would probably like a nice ride. That black stallion from the postal team, he handles well with a saddle.”

“Why do you call the horse Faithful Jenny?” Katherine asks.

Richard laughs. Mulder chuckles around a mouthful of eggs. Trevor turns a shade of red that would make a ripe tomato jealous. Melvin coughs into his fist.

“Have you ever heard of Old Faithful in Yellowstone?” Mulder asks.

Katherine shakes her head no. Mulder takes another stab at his eggs and then wipes his eyes and sits back.

“Old Faithful is a geyser,” he says. “Some members of an expedition were camped nearby and noticed that she erupted with predictability every ten minutes or so.”

Richard pounds a fist on the table and laughs so hard he doubles over off the bench. Mulder shakes his head, but has to laugh with him.

“We got Jenny from a rancher nearby that couldn’t take it no more,” Melvin continues where Mulder left off. “He come ‘round with her and asked if we could just buy her off him for a fair price because he was at his wits end.”

“But, she’s a lovely horse,” Katherine says.

“Oh, yes,” Mulder says. “She’s a good old gal, she was just also foraging in the wrong places and got herself a bad case of the colic.”

“You’re not gettin’ to the best part,” Richard says.

“Why don’t you go ahead,” Mulder tells him. “You sure do enjoy the tale.”

“The best part is that when Mr. Miles dropped her off he said, ‘I tell you what, you can set your watch by that horse’s farts, I reckon. Probably gives Old Faithful a run for her money.’”

“Oh, my.” Katherine’s cheeks redden for a moment and then the corners of her mouth pick up and her lips quiver like she’s trying to suppress her amusement, but she can’t hold it for long. Her giggles almost sound like hiccups and she covers her mouth with one hand. Her shoulders are shaking and she lets go with a full belly laugh that has the whole table roaring in no time.

“She’s on a special diet now so her, uh, troubles have passed,” Mulder says, when the laughter has died down. “But, we got used to calling her Faithful Jenny and so the name just carries on.”

“Poor Jenny,” Katherine says.

“You’re lucky you never stood downwind of her some years ago,” Richard says.

The table breaks up into laughter once more.

↭

She’s felt anxious and embarrassed for most of the day. The hilarity at the breakfast table eased some of her tension, but by noon dinner she had a knot in her stomach. Her misery is self-imposed. She knows this. Mulder has been nothing but gentle and tender with her all day and she returns his kindness with silence.

While the men tend to the horses and get ready for their Saturday trek into town, she launders the sheets and the week’s dirty clothes. There’s a stain on one of Mulder’s undershirts and she realizes it’s the one he used to clean her hands last night. The thought of what they did makes her breathless. She has to grip the side of the washtub to keep upright she feels so faint.

She wants so badly to erase the past and move forward. She wants so badly for this new marriage she has to feel real. Last night was as real as it could be, but she had to ruin things this morning. Perhaps she’s mistaking Mulder’s kindness for pity, and she wouldn’t blame him for it. She’s pathetic and weak and doesn’t deserve all the nice things he’s done for her.

She refuses to dwell on this now. She has chores to do and meals to prepare. It’s why she’s here. Not to fall in love with her own husband. She gasps and for the second time, has to grip the side of the washtub. Is she in love? No, she can’t be. She hardly knows him. She only knows that he’s kind, he’s generous, he laughs easy, he has a slight temper, but isn’t violent. He’s patient, he’s good to his horses and the men that work for him. He’s good to her.

She hears the back door close and she startles at the sound and automatically jumps to start scrubbing the undershirt in her hand. Mulder knocks softly on the side of the washroom door and smiles at her.

“The boys are heading into town,” he says. “I told them to go ahead and set out early and I thought I’d go ahead and make supper for us tonight.”

“You can cook?”

“I’m hurt that there’s doubt in your tone.”

“I’m not doubting, I’m just…”

“Naturally skeptical, since I have not yet proven my worth to you.”

“You’ve more than proven your worth,” she says, softly, taking the teasing tone out of the conversation.

Mulder smiles at her and reaches out to cup her cheek. She wants to believe that she is worth the trouble if he can still touch her so fondly and make her feel so cared for.

“Need help with the laundry?” he asks.

“I’m nearly done, just need to get these shirts scrubbed and hang up this last basket to dry.”

“I can do that.” He squeezes past her to take the basket of damp clothing and then hoists it up over her head to squeeze back out. “That pulley you had Richard install is just about the most genius thing I’ve ever seen.”

Mulder takes the laundry away and she finishes with the shirts. She goes out to the back to pin them up and he lets her take over the line. She gets fresh linens on the beds, does some dusting, and cleans up the washroom. Before she’s through, she can smell the hearty aroma of meat cooking and hear the sizzle of the skillet.

“Pork chops?” she asks.

“I confess it’s about the only thing I can cook, but I do it well.”

“Should I chop anything?”

“No, Ma’am. I’ve had potatoes baking for some time and I brought up a jar of applesauce.”

“There are a few corn fritters leftover from dinner that I wrapped. We could heat those as well.”

“I think that sounds perfect.”

Katherine sets the table for two. The pork chops are delicious. He shows her how to garnish a baked potato with chopped bacon and bits of chives and cheese, which she’d never seen done before. She tries to imagine an easy life with him and what it would have been like if only they’d met four years ago.

“Have you given any thought to what you’d like in the expansion?” he asks.

Katherine shakes her head. “There isn’t anything in particular that I can think of. I would like...well, I would like the porch to stay the way that it is. Facing west. I like watching the sunset.”

“I wouldn’t dream of changing that. I was thinking I might convert the bunkhouse into a guest house. And I’d like to have an office built on the other side of the kitchen. There must be something you’d like though. A parlor? Sewing room? Laboratory?”

She shakes her head at him and then laughs. “A laboratory?”

“Some place for the science things you enjoy.”

“No, thank you.” Her smile fades a bit as memories fall on her. “When I was a little girl, all I used to want was my own bookcase, filled with books, but my father said that reading novels was unladylike and would rot my brain and fill it with uppity ideas. I had a schoolteacher that did not agree, fortunately, and I did most of my reading in secret, with her help.”

“Is that the same teacher that got you interested in sciences?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a favorite novel?”

“Moby Dick always resonated with me.”

“Dense material for a young person, lady or gent. How did it resonate?”

“The ship’s captain, Ahab, reminded me very much of my father.” She closes her eyes for a few moments and then shakes the memories of her childhood from her head. Her family is not a subject she wishes to think about right now. “Do you think we could put in a magnolia tree somewhere?”

“I’ve never seen a magnolia out in these parts, but we can find out if the soil is right for it.”

“That’s all I want.”

“I’ll do my best to give it to you.”

She stands then to start clearing the dishes and to clean the kitchen. Mulder lays a hand on her arm, very gently.

“You could have your own library,” he says. “A room full of all your favorite books and all the ones you never got to read, but always wanted to.”

“The porch and the tree will be more than enough.”

He lets her go with a bit of reluctance and she goes on with her cleaning. He heads out to do the evening chores in the barn and stables. She doesn’t see him again for the rest of the evening. She is already lying in bed when she hears him come in by the soft tread of his boots on the wood floor that she’s grown accustomed to. She hears him open his door and there’s a long pause before he closes it.

She twists the wedding ring on her finger around and around. When she catches herself, she shakes her hands and then starts to do her rosary, but stops that as well. For nearly her entire life she’s been told that trusting in God and saying her prayers will bring her comfort and peace, but she’s never known it to be comforting at all. Certainly not in the four years when she could have used it the most. And she never knew peace until last night when she was with Mulder, so close with him, lying in his arms.

Maybe God led her here, or maybe He didn’t. Maybe it was fate, like Mulder said. The point is, if she wants peace, if she wants comfort, she knows where to find it. All she has to do is get up and walk across the hallway. Can she really ask him to do this for her though, when he’s already given her so much? And what has she given him in return?

Katherine sighs and twists her ring again. Finally, she kicks the sheets away and gets up from the bed. She unties her hair and shakes it loose before she goes to her door. It takes her some time to open it and then she stands in the dark for a few moments more before she tiptoes to his door. The floor creaks softly under her. She can see the lamplight shining dimly from under the bottom of his door. It takes her another few moments and a few deep breaths, but she knocks.

Mulder opens the door. He’s bare-chested and bare-footed. His suspenders are slung down by his thighs and the top button of his trousers is undone. He cocks his head in question and she drops her eyes for a few moments, but then looks back up at him.

“Could you hold me?” she asks.

He opens his mouth and then purses his lips and nods. “Yeah, I can do that.”

#i wrote this #broken things #chapter 20 #MSR #AU

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girlboss-molina · 3 years

Text

Be Who You Are (No Compromise)

A Julie and the Phantoms Modern Royalty AU

Chapter 6: Growing Pains

AO3 Link

Words: 16340

-----

Alex POV

…

Alex was surprisingly calm. The pressed white dress shirt was cool against his skin, the slim-fitting blue vest with subtle gold embroidery a calming pressure over his chest. He was anxious, of course, but not nearly as much as he would’ve expected, given the situation. He felt free, light…

And then he was drowning.

His lungs closed, refusing the air he tried to gulp down, throwing away a lifeline. Everything burned, like fiery needles stabbing into him at the speed of sound, not enough to bleed but somehow even more painful. His vision blurred, dizziness or tears, he couldn’t tell. He couldn’t hear his own breathing, or lack thereof, over the pounding of his heart in his ears. Everything was wrong.

Then, the pounding of his heart silenced, his head felt lighter than air. He couldn’t move. He felt like he was in a cloud, no, like he was a cloud, floating in the sky but losing parts of himself as he passed, unable to control what happened, a bystander left helpless to watch havoc.

Alex tried to move, tried to think, but his brain felt like ice, flaming with shivers as he shook, his lungs leaving no room for air between the panic.

Something is going to go wrong, he thought. He had a feeling in his gut that fueled his panic, telling him that someone would get hurt tonight, or that something horrible would happen, a feeling he couldn’t shake no matter how unrealistic it might’ve been. He knew Caleb wouldn’t try anything at the ball. It was a huge event, and tons of people would be there.

He couldn’t sort out his thoughts, though, so he had no choice but to let this panic attack run its course. It felt surreal but painfully there, like when you’re so cold that you feel like you’re on fire. His hands shook, and he barely registered the salty tears coating his lips as he paced across the floor, back and forth until there was a groove in the rug.

He made his way back to his bed, shaking, barely able to get the breath to fake three sneezes. He almost worried that it didn’t work, but then his door opened, Luke abandoning his post and sinking down next to him. He felt Luke’s arms wrap around him, and the touch immediately grounded him. Rather than a helpless cloud, he was the icy snow crusting the tops of the mountains behind the palace, unable to do anything but laying a foundation for something. And as Luke’s hands traced circles on his shoulder blades, he became the water rushing down the cliff sides, rapid and unpredictable, his breathing quickening but the panic subsiding. And when Luke pressed a gentle, calming kiss to his temple, Alex’s breathing finally slowed, his lungs letting in the air they so craved, and he calmed as the rushing water flowed into a clear pond, each reassuring touch from his best friend like a lily floating on the surface.

He could hear, finally aware of Luke’s soft whispers of “it’ll be okay,” and “just breathe.”

“Sorry,” he choked out, seeing Luke shake his head out of the corner of his eye.

“Don’t be,” he said. “This is a nerve-racking thing. I’m super nervous too.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Alex said dryly, wiping his tears.

“Really?” Luke challenged, a quiver in his voice, extending a hand in front of Alex, which was trembling. “You’re not alone, I promise.”

“Thanks.” Alex tore a hand through his hair, taking his turn to wrap Luke in a hug and let him let out his emotions. He felt him shake against his chest, but his breathing stayed relatively even. Alex was never great at the whole physical contact thing. His parents were never touchy, to the point where hugs were always a rarity. But Luke was a touchy person, and soon Alex was comfortable with his spontaneous embraces and casual, platonic affection.

“Okay,” Luke finally said. “It’s almost time. Let’s get ourselves fixed up.” Alex nodded, squeezing him tighter before letting go. They both wandered to the bathroom, gently wiping their faces of tears and fixing their hair. Alex tugged on his sleeves, eliminating any wrinkles, and readjusted his snug vest.

“Okay,” he breathed. “I’m ready.”

“Me too.”

They both knew it was a lie. But their steps were steady as they walked to the ballroom.

…

The food was delicious, especially the dessert, and Alex’s cheeks flushed as he wondered if Willie had made it. The expertly piped frosting seemed familiar, and he was almost sure that it was he who had carefully crafted it.

And if he got emotional over a beautifully piped flower because of the slight possibility that it was made by his crush, no he didn’t.

Eventually, the dancing started, and Alex had to suffer through. He plastered on an unconvincing smile and did his best to waltz around the ballroom with random Nobility who were chatting non-fucking-stop about how excited he must be for the marriage, and how was he liking it in Dahlia, and did he mind the cold, and what his relationship with Julie was like. Soon, he’d had it, and made some lame excuse about feeling a bit light-headed. Thankfully, he’d been able to ditch them and sit down along the side of the room.

Reggie plopped down next to him, sitting sideways with his arm draped over the back of the chair.

“Tired of the Nobles prying?” he assumed. Alex nodded, snorting.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that they have no gaydar, but it’s still super annoying being asked about my supposed girlfriend,” he added. “But playing heterosexual is still a pain in the ass.”

“Tell me about it,” Reggie agreed. “Every time I have an interview, it’s all, ‘any special lady in your life?’ or ‘have you taken an interest in any ladies of different kingdoms?’ but never ‘what’s your favorite pizza topping’ or ‘why are you the amazing bisexual that you are?’” Alex nodded sarcastically.

“Of course.”

“I know I joke,” Reggie added, “but I feel for you, man. It must be super hard.”

“Yeah. And I do appreciate the attempts to lighten the mood, too.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

…

It was nearly eleven when the screaming started.

Alex’s heart jumped to his throat, his stomach plummeted, and he simultaneously felt like everything was happening at once, and like it was moving in slow motion.

He remembered the sound of people running. Cries of the few children in attendance. Shouts of furious Nobility. Hushed, terrified breathing of the council members. Caleb’s velvety, disgusting voice as he lounged on Ray’s throne. The pounding of his heart in his ears.

But what he remembered most vividly was the glint of the daggers pressed against each of the council members’ throats.

“Why?” someone asked. It took a few seconds for Alex to realize that he was the one who’d spoken. Caleb quirked an eyebrow and gave him the side-eye.

“Why what?” Alex was shocked by his sudden swell of angry confidence.

“You know damn well what I mean. Why are you doing this? We’ve been allies for a century, and you’re going to try to overthrow us and put daggers at the throats of our council members?”

“You know, Alexander, it really is adorable how you talk about Dahlia as if it’s your country. You are, until the wedding, the Tamborian prince.” Caleb twirled an extra dagger around his fingers.

“That doesn’t change the fact that what you’re doing is wrong, and you know it. You just want more power, clearly, but do you really think people will stand for this and accept you as their leader? Do you really think that anyone with half a mind will be okay with this?”

“Alexander, the beauty of youth also comes with naivete. I wouldn’t expect you to understand yet. But the fact of the matter is that, in life, you must deal with growing pains. This will all be for the better.”

“No,” Julie interrupted, “it won’t. There is a huge difference between growing pains and whatever the hell you’re trying to do, and you know it.”

Before Alex could add to what she said, he saw the back door of the ballroom open silently, revealing Lilian - the tall, dark-haired woman he’d met when looking for Willie - stalking in, a gleaming knife in her hand. She was followed by a short, plump woman with purple hair, a line of various chefs and bakers, each armed with metal frying pans, and-

No.

He tried to hide the fear in his eyes as Willie walked in, his brow furrowed and hands steady, wrapped around the knife in his hand. But when their eyes met, and Alex tried to give him the tiniest of head shakes, Willie mouthed something that Alex couldn’t make out before Caleb spoke again.

“I can see you’re all a bit tense,” he said silkily, “so here’s how this will go. Ray here is going to surrender, and I’ll let your precious council members live.”

Alex watched as the group behind Lilian - thankfully not including Willie - silently lined up behind the seven Kryptonians holding daggers to the council. They made eye contact with one another before simultaneously bringing their frying pans down on their heads as hard as they could, causing everyone to erupt in shouts and screams, some of joy, some of rage, some of fear. Caleb’s head snapped over, and then Lilian spoke.

“Or,” she said smoothly, “you could surrender, and go back to your own country.” She had the knife trained on his back, the blade gleaming in the lantern-lit room. Willie was in front of Caleb, popping out from behind the throne. Alex’s heart couldn’t decide if it wanted to pound louder or silence itself completely as he saw the terror in Willie’s eyes that he tried to mask.

“Don’t hurt these people,” Willie said, his voice steadier than Alex would’ve expected.

A bomb.

“That’s right,” Caleb said over the terrified screams, people running for the doors. “If any of you here have any sense, you’ll run. You shouldn’t have to, of course, but if your leaders continue to be stubborn, it might be for the best.”

“You’re bluffing,” someone called from the audience. “You’re in this room too.”

“Am I?” Caleb challenged, and Alex’s face warped with confusion, until he saw a flicker.

A hologram.

“Yes,” Caleb remarked. “You probably didn’t notice my brief trip to the restroom earlier, but that wasn’t actually a restroom trip. I’m far away by now.”

“But what about your representatives?” Reggie asked.

“You might notice that your king is not in the room,” Caleb added, and Alex’s face reddened with fury.

“What did you do to my dad?” Julie shouted, her hands clenched in fists, shaking.

“He’s alive, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Caleb said. “But I guarantee that, should I press this button, he’ll be in the line of fire.”

Furious shouts echoed in the huge room, and Alex watched as Julie stepped up to the royals’ table.

“Leave my people alone.” The words were cold, harsh, but clear and steady. “Get out of our kingdom. You have no place here.”

“Yeah,” Reggie interjected. “We’re not going to abandon our people, no matter how much you want us to.”

“You can’t make us surrender,” Luke informed him. Alex nodded, standing as tall as he could.

“I truly hate to do this,” Caleb said, without an ounce of sorrow in his voice. “But you leave me no choice.”

“NO,” Alex yelled, his eyes flicking from Luke to Julie to Carlos to Willie to Reggie, trying to find all of them and get them out of here.

“I’m sorry, everyone,” Caleb added maliciously. Everyone was running and screaming, bustling through the doors,

“Everyone get out of here, now!” Luke’s voice echoed throughout the ballroom, and Alex barely saw him run after Julie. Reggie ran out another door, and Alex searched for Willie.

At least thirty seconds had to have passed, searching the ballroom and crowded hallways, ushering people out.

“WILLIE!” his voice was louder than he’d ever known it could be, and he shouted a couple more times, finally meeting a dark brown gaze, panicked and full of all the words they’d left unsaid. Everything moved in slow motion, his legs like lead and air as he sprinted towards him.

The shockwave knocked him backwards, leaving him deaf and blind, barely registering when his back hit the ground, not even noticing the air forced out of his lungs. Alex felt like he was floating, every nerve in his body stretched along a cloud of light.

If this is dying, he thought, it’s not so bad. People don’t need to be so scared.

His mind was trapped in a void of dark brights, blinding and comforting at the same time, like he was hovering in an endless state of between. Between fire and ice, ground and sky, life and death. He floated, wondering just how long it had been. It felt like minutes but it couldn’t have been, because that was only the shockwave.

Because then came the fire.

The heat licked at his skin, and Alex was snapped back to reality.

He wasn’t sure if he was burning or if it was just the air around him, which was now thick with smoke and dust. Bits of debris scattered all around, and he only saw Willie��s face one more time before falling into oblivion.

…

When Alex awoke, the sky was dark, twinkling with stars, but the faint light of sunrise teased the horizon. He was on his back, next to a giant slab of concrete, his face covered in dust. He did his best to sit up, a sharp pain on his arm. He winced, grabbing his bicep, grimacing when his palm came away soaked with blood. And his ankle hurt when he tried to stand. He tested it, but by some miracle, it didn’t feel broken.

He stood, shaking the dust off of him and limping around, searching for other people.

For survivors.

Alex’s breath caught when he saw a group of people farther down the hill. He ran to them, ignoring the pain in his ankle as he bounded down.

He saw Reggie first. His wrist was wrapped in a bandage, and a streak of red adorned his pale forehead, but he was alive.

“REGGIE!” he shouted, running, tears blurring his eyes. Reggie’s head snapped towards him.

“ALEX!” he cried, standing and dashing closer. They met in a hug, collapsing in each others’ arms, sobbing into their shoulders.

“When we didn’t find you with the survivors we thought-”

“Shh, no, I’m okay,” he said. “A little roughed up, but I’ll live.” He turned his head to the palace, hundreds of feet behind him. He had a clear view of the destruction.

He’d really underestimated the size of the palace. The ballroom was in the bottom right corner, and was blown to bits. More of the palace was scorched and crumbling, but it appeared the left half had been preserved, somehow.

“Where’s everyone else?” he asked, refusing to give in to the panic rising in his chest. “Are they okay?”

“Julie’s with Carlos and Ray over where I was,” Reggie said.

“Wait, Ray survived?” Relief washed over him. “But I thought-”

“I’m not sure how, but he made it,” Reggie said with an incredulous laugh, more tears running down his soot-covered face. “And Erik, Mira, Flynn and Carrie are also okay, same with Luke.” Alex sighed, smiling despite himself. They’d survived.

“ALEX!” his head snapped to Luke’s voice, and he ran to him, once again ignoring the pain in his ankle. Luke tackled him with a hug despite the sling around his arm. “We thought you were-”

“I’m okay,” he said. “I’m okay.”

…

Alex ran through the gardens, offering quick aid to anyone he could. But he was only half-paying attention, which might’ve made him the worst prince ever. But he needed to find Willie.

He searched, tears blurring his eyes as he made his way to the last place he needed to search, but also the one he was dreading.

As he ran into the park, he searched the lawn and sidewalks, nearly dying of relief when he saw Willie, sitting in the middle of the field, his knees hugged to his chest…

Shaking with sobs.

“Willie!” he called, racing over. Willie’s head snapped up, his eyes red and puffy. His face went from shock to happiness to confusion to incredulity within half a second, and he stood, shaking and walking to Alex.

A swell of confidence, probably tied with a huge rush of adrenaline, sent Alex running forward, wrapping Willie in a hug, who sobbed into his shoulder. Soon, Alex was crying too.

“I’m sorry,” Willie whispered shakily. Alex shook his head.

“No,” he said. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was doing, I should’ve grabbed you and ran…” His eyes met Willie’s, and he leaned a little closer, his heart racing until he was just a hairsbreadth away.

Then, when Willie didn’t pull away, he pressed their lips together.

Willie’s lips tasted like chocolate and salty tears, chapped and warm. He kissed back almost immediately, Willie’s hands tangling in Alex’s hair, Alex’s arms around his waist, pulling him closer. It might not have been a movie-worthy kiss, between the sobs, soot, and blood, but Alex couldn’t think, too caught up in the euphoria of Willie being alive, and of kissing him.

It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds when they came up for air, foreheads pressed together.

“When you weren’t with the survivors, I-” Willie choked off into another sob. “I thought I’d lost you,” he finally whispered. Alex shook, hugging him tighter.

“You’ll never lose me.”

-----

Julie POV

…

Julie smoothed the front of her violet ball gown, letting the layers of tulle float gently to the floor. Straightening the silky bodice, her hands shook with anxiety, but she didn’t let herself succumb to it. The gown was identical to the one she’d worn to the welcome feast a week ago, only rather than navy blue, this one was violet. Otherwise, though, it was the same; a silky, strapless dress with layers of tulle, one layer going over her chest and collarbone in a halter neckline. However, while the blue one had tiny starlike diamonds sewn into the skirt, this one had no jewels, but the tulle halter was embroidered with dahlia designs.

She walked to her vanity, twisting her hair into two braids, tying them together and letting the rest of her hair poof at the base of her neck. She drew her eyeliner into a small, sharp wing, brushed on mascara, and painted her lips with a shimmery gloss. She massaged a bit of lotion into her arms and spritzed some perfume into the air, walking through the mist so that it was subtle.

Her low heels made quiet tapping noises as she walked across her bathroom, examining her reflection to make sure she looked perfect.

Once she’d made sure her dress wasn’t crooked and that her eyeliner was even, Julie sat on the foot of her bed and grabbed her phone. The time read 19:44. 16 minutes until the ball.

A knock on her door drew her attention.

“Come in.” She gave a weak smile when her dad walked through the doorway.

“Hey, mija,” he said, “you okay?” Julie shrugged.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I’m nervous, but also just anxious to get this over with. With any luck, it’ll go well, and Caleb will revoke his declaration.”

“That’s the plan,” Ray agreed. A wistful smile spread on his face, and his eyes turned glassy.

“You look beautiful,” he told her. Julie smiled.

“Thanks.”

“Your mother had a dress just like that,” he added. “You look just like her.” Julie stood, blinking back a tear as she hugged him. He squeezed back, finally letting go with a sigh.

“Everything will be okay.”

“Here’s hoping. And if not, we’ll make it.” Ray nodded, his expression unreadable as he left, closing her door, almost seeming like he wasn’t sure if it was true.

Right at that moment, Julie decided that it would be. If things went south, no matter what, she would fight to make sure they all made it out alive. She would fight in any way she had to if it meant her family stayed safe.

She would fight, and she would win.

…

As she walked into the ballroom, she found her assigned seat, in the center of the long royal table, just beside her father. To her right was Luke, then Alex, Carrie, Flynn, Erik, Mira, and Carlos. To her left, after Ray, was Reggie, Councilwoman Noah, Councilman Richard, Councilperson Aster, Councilwoman Mei Lin, Councilwoman Anika, Councilman Ryan, and Councilman Trevor.

The council members weren’t technically royalty, but they were the next tier of leaders in Dahlia, and the royal table was very long, so they got to sit there as well.

Around the perimeter, circular tables were arranged with white tablecloths draping over them, and as the Dahlian Nobility flooded in, many of the seats filled. Soon, though, King Covington arrived.

He was dressed in a black three-piece, a black and violet cloak over his shoulders. His top hat was still perched on his expertly-styled hair, and his blue eyes pierced Julie’s before travelling to Ray. Ray stood, his face neutral. Covington took off his hat and pressed it to his chest, dipping in an elaborate bow.

“It is an honor to be here, King Molina,” he purred. “I do hope we can resolve this quickly.”

“As do I. Hopefully it will be easy. We have been allies for over a century, after all.” Covington’s smile morphed into a sneer.

“Indeed.” He flourished to his table, Kryptonian representatives right behind him, as they arranged themselves. Ray cleared his throat, and Julie took a deep breath.

“Welcome,” he said, “to the ball. This event is a celebration of allyship, a hope for peace, and a symbol of unity amongst our people. I hope all of you in attendance will find yourselves comfortable. Please, do not hesitate to speak up if you are not. Now please, enjoy the feast.”

Soft chatter echoed in the grand room, the clicking of cutlery on plates ringing in Julie’s ears. She did her best to focus on her food, but her eyes kept flicking to Covington. He was very shady. She couldn’t decide if he was always like that, or if something was off tonight, but he spoke in hushed tones to his representatives, glancing furtively around the room. Julie turned back to her food.

“How are you holding up?” Luke’s voice snapped her out of her daze.

“Alright,” she said after a moment. “You?”

“Alright.”

It was a lie, of course. Neither of them were alright, but they had to pretend to be.

Julie noticed Luke’s eyes flicker to Caleb.

“Something seems off,” he murmured. “I’m not sure if he’s always like this, but my gut tells me something’s wrong.”

“I had the same feeling,” Julie admitted, looking at her food so people wouldn’t notice her occasional glances to Covington and Luke.

“Hey, dad?” she asked after a moment, her voice hushed. Ray looked at her.

“Something’s wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, my gut is telling me that something bad is going to happen. Look at Covington,” she added when he looked skeptical. “He’s glancing around like he expects someone to sneak up on him, and he’s hunched. He looks so secretive, but he’s usually flamboyant.”

“Hmm,” Ray murmured. “You’re right, he is acting strange. But I’m sure everything’s fine, mija.” He patted her hand. “Your dad’s got this.” Julie offered half a smile in reply, but met Luke’s eyes nervously.

“I’m sure it’ll be okay,” he finally said. “He’s probably plotting what ridiculous outfit he’ll wear tomorrow.” The joke lightened the mood, and Julie giggled. Luke smiled, biting his lip to hold back a laugh.

They finished their dinner, and then, the mingling began. Dessert would be brought up soon, but this was an opportunity for everyone to stand and walk around to see other people. Julie roamed the room, shaking hands and speaking cordially with the Nobility, exchanging a couple jokes with Lady Cadence.

When butlers brought dessert from the kitchens, Julie gave a friendly curtsy to the people around her before making her way back to the table. The dessert was a mixture of mini red velvet cupcakes, piped with cream cheese frosting, and beautifully decorated cakes. Thin layers of fondant gave them warm pastel coloring, and frosting had been piped into flowers and swirls.

She helped herself to a slice of cake, but didn’t finish it. Nerves were taking up more room in her stomach than she’d thought. So, she opted to sip her water, scanning the crowd. She noticed Lady Amara holding hands with Lady Sierra and smiled. She’d known they’d liked each other, so that warmed her heart.

Soon, everyone had finished dessert, and the music volume increased, slow and rhythmic. People made their way to the dance floor with partners, waltzing around gracefully. Julie smiled as Carrie dragged Flynn over, spinning her around and catching her. Flynn protested but laughed.

Soon, Julie was twirling around the dance floor, making idle chatter as she slowly waltzed with kind Nobility, talking cordially about political affairs.

As she sat down on one of the free chairs at the edge of the ballroom, she sighed. Thankfully, everything seemed to be going well. She smoothed the tulle of her dress, fixing a curl back into a braid, when Luke’s voice caught her attention.

“My lady,” he said with a grin, dipped in a bow. “May I have this dance?” Julie stifled a laugh. He was such a dork. But she nodded, putting her hand in his and letting him pull her closer, hoping she hid her shiver when he gently placed his hand on her waist, the other holding her hand up as they danced.

“I’m surprised at how well this has gone so far,” he told her. She couldn’t help but nod, making sure nobody was paying attention.

“I half suspected Caleb would’ve tried something by now.”

“Same.”

“But I still have a nagging feeling in my gut,” Julie admitted. Luke nodded, quiet for a moment. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, though. They held each other's gaze, and Julie’s hand felt right at home on his shoulder as she swayed.

“There’s nothing to do about it now, though,” Luke reasoned, and Julie smiled, grinning wider when he twirled her. Her heart fluttered, but sank when Luke frowned. Half of his smile returned.

“We should probably trade off, now,” he sighed. Julie nodded disappointedly. Nobody could suspect that they didn’t want to go along with the arranged marriage. And besides, Luke might like her, but probably not how she liked him. He just cared about people’s reputations.

She gave half a smile and twirled again, before someone took her wrist.

“Your highness, may I have this dance?” The sickening voice of Caleb Covington filled Julie’s ears, and she wanted nothing more than to rip away from his clammy clutch and walk away. But this was for diplomacy, so she suppressed her shudder and offered a smile.

“Of course.”

“You know,” Covington said silkily, “this is a beautiful palace.” Julie nodded.

“Yes, I believe your grandfather helped my great-grandfather design it once we became allies,” she pointed out. “It has architectural properties that were inspired by Kryptonian styles, but was also its own thing.”

“Yes, one might say that,” Caleb agreed. “But, isn’t it ironic that my own grandfather, who was the king of the most prolific country in the world, held no reservations against designing a palace for a new ‘country’ that never should have existed?” Julie bit back a sarcastic remark.

“With all due respect, your majesty”- she twirled, grateful for the moment without Caleb’s hand on her waist -”At that time, Dahlia had already been founded over a century earlier, and relations had stabled. Our resources were significant, and our citizens had settled in an unoccupied land. The Dahlian revolution was a revolution purely because Krypto’s king at the time was too stubborn in the years before his passing to let go.”

“You’ve studied your history, I see,” Caleb remarked.

“I have been raised for this,” Julie agreed with half a smile, but it wasn’t genuine. “Your grandfather ascended over a century ago, and his goal was always peace, which was why he worked so hard to forge an allyship between Krypto and Dahlia. Relations have been stable between us ever since. We would rather keep it that way.”

“You know,” Caleb said with a click, “the funny thing about running a country is that you must always aim for growth. In that growth lies certain… growing pains, shall we say? Krypto is destined for greatness, and Dahlia is the rebellious teenager who was once an obedient child, and will soon be the respectful adult with familial ties.”

“Or,” Julie countered smoothly, “if you’re so set on growth, you could expand on uninhabited land. More resources means more wealth, and more land means more growth for your borders and space for your people. Holding onto a grudge that was resolved before you were born will only hold you back.”

She knew the words were risky, and might be perceived as disrespectful, but Caleb’s smirk grew into a laugh.

“My dear Julie, you are too smart for your own good. And yet,” he added, “there is still so much you don’t understand. You’re so young, I wouldn’t expect you to understand it in the first place.”

“Sir, with all due respect, I am just as qualified as anyone else in this room.”

“But you don’t know what it’s like to lead a country on your own-”

“And I’ll never have to, because I have the sense to not distance myself from my people.”

“You’re marching into dangerous territory,” Covington warned, but Julie didn’t care.

“Like I said,” she said with finality, “our goal is to resolve things peacefully and go back to our allyship. Please enjoy the ball.”

…

Julie had taken her chance to escape Caleb, and she was grateful that she did, because she got room to breathe, and got to hang out with her friends.

She danced with Alex, chatting idly about the ball, and about a certain baker with whom Alex was absolutely smitten. She grinned to herself, asking questions to make sure that this baker was actually worthy of Alex. She knew he could be a bit… simpy, so she had to make sure she had the brain cell, and then approve of his future boyfriend. But, if Alex was to be believed, the baker - Willie, as she learned - was one of the sweetest people to ever walk the Earth, just shy of Reggie. So, Julie took his word for it.

She twirled, letting the skirt of her dress flare outwards.

“Okay, bro, that dress is amazing,” Alex noted. “It looks like the one you wore last week.”

“That’s because it is! Well, the same style at least. It’s a different color.”

“Well, same or different, it looks great.”

“Thanks,” she said with a grin. She noticed Alex’s eyes flicking around the room, scanning the people as if he was searching for someone.

“Looking for someone?” she asked, a shit-eating grin on her face. Alex’s face turned bright red as he stammered in denial. Julie laughed.

“You know what? We’re done dancing, you can come back after you quit being an asshole,” he decided, flicking his wrist. Julie snorted; his gay panic was hilarious.

She found herself dancing with Flynn, who gave her The Look, glancing at Luke, who was playfully dancing with Alex. They weren’t even dancing, it was more just… messing around in a rhythmic formation. But when Luke’s eyes caught Julie’s, she quickly looked away. Flynn rolled her eyes as she twirled Julie.

“Jules, I know I can’t yell at you about this since we’re at a ball, but come on. You have to know he’s absolutely smitten with you.” Julie sighed.

“Or he’s just a dork. Which is very, very possible. I mean, have you met him?”

“Then tell me why he doesn’t act like that around anybody else?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But even if he does like me, there’s nothing we can do about it. It would be a disaster.”

“Jules, you have to go for what you want!” Flynn took a breath as she twirled, giving an awkward smile to anybody looking their way. “Talk to your dad,” she added quietly.

“What? Flynn, are you fucking insane?” Julie looked around; it was her turn to give an awkward smile. “I can’t tell dad about this.”

“Can’t tell me about what?” Ray’s voice was in a normal tone and volume, but he looked concerned as he walked towards them. “Mijas, are you alright?” Julie opened her mouth, trying to speak, glancing to Flynn.

“We’re fine,” she said at last. Ray quirked an eyebrow.

“Honey, you know I would never judge you, right?” Julie sighed, letting Flynn hand her over to dance with her dad.

“I know. It’s just…” she couldn’t find the right words.

“Is this about Caleb? Did he do something to you?”

“No, no,” she assured him, “it’s not about that. It’s about something else.” Her heart sank when he looked down.

“The marriage?” he asked quietly. She sighed.

“Yeah.”

“I know.”

“No, that’s the thing, dad, you don’t know. You know that Alex and I don’t want to get married, and I know that you tried to get us out of it, but it just hurts so much more now that…”

“No, mija, I know. You aren’t as subtle as you think.” Julie’s jaw dropped, and she stuttered for words, refusing to glance over to Luke.

“I’m sorry,” she finally sighed, “I’m so, so sorry. This isn’t something you need added to your plate.”

“Julie, you have nothing to apologize for. I know you can’t control feelings. I’ve tried. Did I ever tell you how your mother and I met?” Julie shook her head.

“She was about your age,” Ray began. “I met her at a cafe, while she was out in the city taking a break from being a princess. I didn’t even know it was her. But as soon as I did know, I immediately tried to ignore my feelings for her. But every time I saw her, I remembered her smile, and how kind she was when we spoke.

“Well, I would occasionally see her in person. We got to know each other, and no matter how much I tried to repress how I felt and insist that I just wanted to be friends with her, it didn’t work. But it all worked out in the end.”

“Yeah, well, Mom wasn’t in an arranged marriage. Her falling in love with you wasn’t treason.”

“Maybe, but…” Ray trailed off. “I’m still trying to get you out of it, I promise.”

“Thanks, Papá.”

“Of course. But you have my word that, should you choose to stand up and face these feelings, I will do everything in my power to keep you safe. I can’t promise that if people find out there won’t be trouble, but I’ll do anything I can.”

“Only if you extend the same courtesy to Alex,” Julie told him. “As well as whoever either of us might love.” He nodded.

“Of course, mija.” He pulled her in for a hug. “It’ll all be okay.” She nodded against his shoulder.

“Thank you.”

…

Julie was exhausted. She must’ve danced with everyone in attendance, plastering on a smile and talking about whatever. But now, she could’ve collapsed and fallen asleep.

That is, until she heard the screaming.

Adrenaline coursed through her veins, her heart pounding in her ears as she ran to the end of the ballroom, stopping in her tracks when she saw Covington dramatically sitting in her father’s thronelike chair. He sat sideways, leaning on one armrest with his legs over the other, looking very pleased with himself. And next to him…

Next to him, all seven council members were trapped in their chairs, with daggers pressed to their throats. None of them made a sound, but the fear in their eyes was heartbreaking. Everyone in the ballroom shouted, screamed, and cried for justice.

“Like I said,” Covington shouted over the din, “you will either surrender peacefully to Kryptonian rule, or we will take it by force.”

…

A bomb.

Julie could barely think.

She took a deep breath, her hands shaking as she clenched them into fists and released, finally clearing her head. Normally she worked well under pressure, but this? This was something else entirely.

The chaos of people shouting and running, trying to escape the ballroom gave her a chance to run for Carlos.

“JULIE!” he shouted, tears running down his face. Julie grabbed his wrist, running out the door of the ballroom.

“I’m going to get more people out,” she said. “I want you to grab whoever you see on your way and run straight out the front gates as far as you can, okay? But-” Carlos shook his head, inhaling to interject, but Julie cut him off -”No, Carlos, listen to me. Do not try to be a hero. I want you to run as fast as you can, okay?”

Carlos finally nodded, wrapping Julie in a hug and leaving the chest of her dress soaked with tears.

“I love you,” he choked out before running.

“I love you too,” she told him, never having meant the words more than she did in that moment.

“Julie,” came Luke’s voice from behind her, his eyes filled with panic.

“What are you doing?” she asked, traitorous tears finally leaking down her face. “You should be running, you should get out of here, get Alex, get Reggie, get anyone you can and get out!”

“No,” Luke said firmly, “I’m staying with you. But please, just-”

“No! You need to get out of here! I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.” Luke grabbed her wrist and pulled her into a supply closet as more people ran by. Julie gasped in the dark.

“Please,” he said as her eyes adjusted. “Please, Julie. In case I don't make it, there’s something you need to know.” He took a breath, but Julie cut him off.

“No, don’t even go there.” She shook her head, letting her curls fly in the air.

“Please,” he whispered. Julie couldn’t speak, just shaking her head. More shouts and screams echoed from the hallway. Luke’s eyes met Julie’s, and she couldn’t find the right words to describe the intensity and swirling, indescribable emotions in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said, a single tear sliding down his cheek. Then, Julie met him halfway.

When her lips met his, they tasted salty from tears, and her arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer. His hand cupped her jaw, and she sank into the touch.

“I had to do that,” he told her when they pulled away, another tear rolling down his face. “At least once.”

Then, he ran out of the closet, nobody noticing within the chaos. Julie chased after him, running back into the mostly-empty ballroom. The Kryptonian representatives - or criminals - had let the council members go, and were running as fast as they could. A few Nobles were also running, but one line of Caleb’s kept echoing in Julie’s mind.

“I guarantee that, should I press this button, he’ll be in the line of fire.”

Caleb was about to press the button.

He was about to kill her father.

“DAD!” she screamed.

“JULIE!” it was Luke who shouted it, and Julie’s eyes blurred, spilling tears as she sobbed into his shoulder.

“We have to get out of here,” he told her, and she nodded, running as fast as she could, her hand clasped in his. They’d made it to the front gates before the shockwave hit them, quickly followed by fire which licked at their skin, the heat making it hard to breathe; not that they were able to breathe, the shockwave having knocked the wind out of them. They flew down the steps, and Julie was barely able to roll in time to not break her neck. Luke was behind her, and she did her best to catch him as they scrambled, making it to the hill before blacking out.

…

When Julie awoke, it was to her father’s voice, blinded by light and grief and hope.

I’m dead, she thought. But the grass under her back was cold and wet and very much making a bruise form on her spine, and the whooshing air in her ears felt real as well, and the sound of people crying and talking was heartbreaking but brought her back to reality, however horrible it might’ve been.

She blearily opened her eyes, seeing her dad and Carlos, ashen, dirty faces streaked with tears. They wrapped her in a hug, and she sobbed into their shoulders.

“Dad-”

“I’m here, mija.”

“But I thought you were dead! Caleb said-”

“I was able to make it out,” he assured her. “I’m a little beaten up, but I’m alive.”

“Where’s Luke?” she asked, choked up with smoke and fear.

“Right here.” Luke’s voice was choked up, and he wrapped her in a gentle hug. She cried into his shoulder for a moment.

“He’s okay,” Carlos said. “We’re okay.” Julie cried harder, standing and collapsing into Luke’s arms, running to Reggie and Carrie and Flynn and Mira and Erik and-

“Wait,” she said, trying to convince her eyes that she’d seen wrong.

“Where’s Alex?”

“He’s okay,” Reggie said. Julie hadn’t even noticed that he’d walked away. But now, his face was covered with happy tears, and he had Alex’s arm wrapped around his shoulder, helping him walk with a sprained ankle. Julie rushed to him and hugged him as tightly as she could, finally letting her tears break free.

They were okay.

-----

Luke POV

...

When Alex’s breathing quickened, Luke had a feeling this would be one of the worst panic attacks yet. So, it was no surprise when three fake sneezes echoed in the room, Luke was prepared to walk in and sit next to his best friend.

He wrapped his arms around Alex, trying to calm his trembling.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, but Alex didn’t hear him. Luke kept holding him, trying to stay steady for him, letting Alex bury his head in his shoulder. He traced circles on Alex’s shoulder blades, thankful when he calmed a bit, but his breathing was rapid and shaky.

“Everything will be okay, Lex,” he said. “I promise.”

Luke leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Alex’s temple, tracing gentle circles along his shoulders.

“Just breathe,” he whispered. “It’ll be okay.” Alex hugged him tighter, and Luke patted his back.

“Sorry,” he choked out, and Luke immediately shook his head.

“Don’t be. This is a nerve-racking thing. I’m super nervous too.” It wasn’t a lie. Luke had always been good at holding himself together when he was scared or anxious, but he was still trembling.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Alex said dryly, wiping his tears.

“Really?” Luke challenged, hating how his voice quivered, even though it proved his point. He showed Alex his shaking hands. “You’re not alone,” he reminded him. “I promise.”

“Thanks.” Then, it was Alex’s turn to wrap him in a hug, and Luke was surprised but comforted by it. He let himself sink into the embrace, sure he was shaking, but he didn’t care. That was his best friend, and he was warm, and Luke needed a hug. He held him tighter, shaking, finally letting go, his heart protesting the lack of hugs.

“Okay, it’s almost time. Let’s get ourselves fixed up.” Alex nodded, squeezing him tighter before letting go. Luke followed him to the bathroom, fixing his heather grey vest and readjusting his sleeves, fixing a loose strand of hair.

Neither of them were ready, but they nodded to each other and walked to the ballroom.

…

Luke was rather surprised when he saw that his assigned seat was between Julie and Alex. It would’ve made more sense for Julie to be next to Alex, since they were supposed to be getting married. Not that Luke was complaining, of course.

“How are you holding up?” he asked quietly.

“Alright,” Julie replied after hesitating. Luke knew it was a lie. “You?”

“Alright.”

Luke’s eyes flickered to Caleb against his will. Something in his gut was nagging at him that something was wrong.

“Something seems off,” he murmured. “I’m not sure if he’s always like this, but my gut tells me something’s wrong.”

“I had the same feeling,” Julie admitted, confirming Luke’s anxieties. He did his best to calm the swelling bubble of worries in his stomach, taking another bite of his food. He heard Julie whisper to her dad, mentioning that she felt like something was off. Luke kept glancing at her, never lingering for more than a moment before looking away, usually to see if Caleb was still acting sketchy.

Of course, he was.

Julie caught his eye, and he couldn’t ignore how nervous she looked. He bit his lip, hating how anxious this was all making her. She didn’t deserve this distress. Luke had to fight the urge to reach and take her hand; even under the table, it would be a super risky move.

“I’m sure it’ll be okay,” he finally said. “He’s probably plotting what ridiculous outfit he’ll wear tomorrow.” Luke grinned when she laughed, for once not minding the butterflies in his stomach and how his heart started doing flips when she smiled.

When the dancing started, Julie went to the large floor, speaking cordially with Nobles, and Luke was entranced. She flitted around the room like a butterfly. Her sparkly dress caught the light as she twirled, and the violet coloring made her look like she’d been dipped in twilight, with the softness of the clouds but the ferocity of a raging hurricane, the strength of a rushing river but the gentle touch of a feathery breeze.

Luke stood at the edge of the floor, dancing with many people, including an overeager middle school girl who was both shy and enthusiastic. He gave her a smile and moved on to the next person.

At some point, he ended up dancing with Mira, whose shimmery aquamarine gown had flecks of gold sewn in, glinting in the light. But he kept trying to subtly spot Julie in the crowd. Mira laughed.

“Dude, you’re killing me,” she said with an exasperated grin. “Go find her and ask her to dance!” Luke shook his head.

“We’re in a public setting,” he reasoned. It definitely wasn’t because of the nerves swelling in his chest. The eye roll Mira gave him was legendary.

“And? It’s a ball! People dance! Alex has had to dance with a ton of people already, but nobody suspects him of treason, right? So who’s to say you can’t dance with Jules?” Luke sighed.

“I know, I know, it’s just…” he trailed off, searching for the right words as he twirled Mira. “I feel weird,” he told her. “I’m normally really confident and can just go for things, but for some reason I just… can’t. I hate this feeling,” he added. “Nervousness does not fit me.”

“It doesn’t,” Mira agreed. “But it is sweet. And I can guarantee you that she wants to dance with you too.” Luke’s eyes widened.

“How do you know? Wait,” he said, a huge grin spreading on his face as he lowered his voice, “do you think she likes me like I like her?” He shook his head, trying to get rid of those horrible, treasonous thoughts.

“I’m not going to betray Julie’s trust,” Mira said, “but I am going to call you an oblivious, pining dumbass.” When Luke didn’t respond, she added, “get it together! Go tell her how you feel!”

“I can’t do that,” he sighed. “Even if I really, really want to. We both know what would happen, Mira.”

“I know, I just…” Mira sighed. “I hate seeing her so doubtful. She’s confident in herself, and she doesn’t need a guy to tell her she’s amazing. But watching one of my best friends wonder whether someone she’s totally gone for feels the same, asking herself why would he be, when the answer is so obvious… I just hate it. You make her happy, Patterson.” Mira twirled, giving him a knowing look. “And I know she makes you happy, too.

“Things are happening, and the situation is awful,” she told him, giving a smile and encouraging nod to the other side of the ballroom. “Make sure it’s worth it.”

And then she was gone, having vanished into the crowd, leaving Luke with a goal and a pounding heart.

But he wasn’t a quitter, so he made his way across the room, his heart fluttering when he found Julie.

“My lady,” he said with a grin, dipped in a bow. “May I have this dance?”

He heard Julie laugh, briefly saw her head bounce in a nod, and then her hand was in his. Everywhere she touched felt warm and cold at the same time, and Luke smiled to himself as he pulled her closer, gently putting his hand on her waist as they danced.

Julie’s eyes shone in the light, deep brown with flecks of inky black and shimmering gold.

“I’m surprised at how well this has gone so far,” he said. Julie nodded, glancing around.

“I half suspected Caleb would’ve tried something by now.” Luke agreed.

“Same.”

“But I still have a nagging feeling in my gut,” Julie admitted. He nodded, smiling at her. The butterflies in his stomach were steady but light, and the small pressure of her hand on his shoulder kept him grounded. He had a feeling he would’ve floated away otherwise.

“There’s nothing to do about it now, though,” Luke reasoned, and Julie smiled, grinning wider when he twirled her. Luke noticed Covington staring at him, a frown on his face and one eyebrow quirked. Luke’s face fell.

“We should probably trade off now.” He hated the coldness in his hand and on his shoulder as she let go, hated Julie’s disappointed frown, and most of all, he hated Caleb’s slimy smile as he took Julie’s wrist, and how pleased with himself he looked when she danced with him out of politeness. Luke could see how uncomfortable she was. Her whole body tensed, and her smile was extremely forced. He wanted nothing more than to get him away from her, to get him to stop touching her when she clearly wasn’t okay with it. But that would’ve caused a huge spectacle, and Julie wouldn’t want him to cause drama. So he walked away.

…

When the screaming began, Luke’s stomach dropped.

Then when he turned and saw all seven council members with daggers pressed to their throats, he nearly vomited.

And when Caleb pulled out a small remote, threatening to detonate a bomb, anger contorted all of his features, his fists shaking, fingers tracing the outlines of two daggers inside his vest. His eyes flicked to Reggie, then Alex, then Julie, all of whom were terrified, confused, and angry.

“You’re bluffing,” someone called from the audience after Caleb made his threat about the bomb. “You’re in this room too.” Luke nodded.

“Am I?” Caleb challenged, and it took Luke a moment to realize that he was a hologram. A terrifyingly real one, too.

“Yes,” Caleb remarked. “You probably didn’t notice my brief trip to the restroom earlier, but that wasn’t actually a restroom trip. I’m far away by now.”

“But what about your representatives?” Reggie asked.

“You might notice that your king is not in the room,” Caleb added, and Luke gasped, running to Julie, whispering that it would be okay. She barely noticed him.

“What did you do to my dad?” she shouted, her hands clenched in fists, shaking, a couple tears running down her face.

“He’s alive, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Caleb said. “But I guarantee that, should I press this button, he’ll be in the line of fire.”

Furious shouts echoed in the huge room, large in part from Luke himself. Jule shrugged his hand off her shoulder, stepping up to the royals’ table.

“Leave my people alone. Get out of our kingdom,” she instructed. “You have no place here.”

“Yeah,” Reggie interjected. “We’re not going to abandon our people, no matter how much you want us to.”

“You can’t make us surrender,” Luke added loudly, squaring his shoulders.

“I truly hate to do this,” Caleb said, without an ounce of sorrow in his voice. “But you leave me no choice.”

Luke sprinted towards the doors next to Julie.

“I’m sorry, everyone,” Caleb added maliciously. Everyone was running and screaming, bustling through the doors,

“Everyone get out of here, now!” Luke’s voice was louder than he’d ever known it could be, or maybe it was the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He ran out the door, ushering people away, directing them to the nearest exit and telling them to run as far as they could. But his mind was still on Julie.

He searched the crowd, craning his neck before he found her talking to Carlos and hugging her. He raced towards her.

“Julie,” he said quietly.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “You should be running, you should get out of here, get Alex, get Reggie, get anyone you can and get out!” Luke shook his head.

“No,” Luke said firmly, “I’m staying with you. But please, just-”

“No! You need to get out of here! I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.” Luke grabbed her wrist and pulled her into a supply closet as more people ran by, hating the way he was shaking.

“Please,” he said, blinking as his eyes adjusted, and blinking back tears. “Please, Julie. In case I don't make it, there’s something you need to know.” He took a breath, but Julie cut him off.

“No, don’t even go there.” She shook her head, but Luke couldn’t think.

“Please,” he whispered. He looked at her, trying to take in every beautiful detail; the deep brown of her eyes, the curls of hair draped over her shoulders, the small gap in her teeth, the curve of her collarbone, the beautiful melody of her voice.

“I’m sorry,” he said, a single tear sliding down his cheek. Julie leaned forward as he did, and then his lips were on hers. The kiss was brief and tasted like chocolate, full of all the emotions he couldn’t find the words for. She kissed him back, and he couldn’t explain how much it hurt knowing that it might be the last time.

“I had to do that,” he whispered when they pulled away, another tear rolling down his face. “At least once.”

Then, he ran out of the closet, right into the mostly-empty ballroom to get everybody out and search for Ray. Caleb’s hologram smiled maliciously at him. Luke ignored it, running and helping people up as they fell, before Julie’s voice pierced the air.

“DAD!” she screamed. No! Why was she here? She was supposed to run!

“JULIE!” he shouted, running to her.

“We have to get out of here,” he said, and thankfully she didn’t protest. She took his hand and he ran with her as fast as he could without pulling her over, making it to the front gates when the shockwave hit him. Heat from the raging fire burned the air and made it impossible to breathe, and Luke did his best to land steadily as Julie caught him after rolling. He ran as fast as he could, and everything seemed to move in slow motion as he looked back at Julie, her hand slipping from his, the final shockwave blasting him backwards.

He was blacked out before he hit the ground.

…

When Luke awoke, he coughed, pain in his chest from the smoke and debris. His head was pounding, a drop of blood rolling down his cheek. As he sat up, a sharp pain in his shoulder told him he’d dislocated it. He grimaced, testing it; thankfully it wasn’t severe, and he bit down on torn fabric of his vest as he popped it back into place, using the rest as a sling he hastily tied.

He stood, running down the pile of debris as he found Reggie.

“REGGIE!” he shouted, running as fast as he could. Reggie’s face was streaked with tears, and he ran to him. Luke wrapped him in a one-armed hug, a sob escaping his lips.

“Are you okay?” he asked. Reggie nodded.

“I’m okay,” he choked out. “Sprained my wrist, but I’m okay.”

“Where’s Julie?” he asked, looking around.

“She’s okay, don’t worry,” Reggie told him, another tear streaking down the dust on his face. “But we haven’t found Alex yet.” Luke’s stomach dropped.

He was supposed to be Alex’s guard. He was supposed to protect him, and now he might not even be alive. Luke’s eyes blurred with tears and his chest heaved with sobs.

“That doesn’t mean he’s…” Reggie trailed off. “We haven’t searched all of the grounds yet, so there’s still a good chance he’s alright and we just haven’t found him.” The words helped, but Luke couldn’t stop crying. Alex was missing.

“Ray’s also alive,” Reggie added, and Luke was shocked enough to dry his tears.

“But I thought-”

“He made it, somehow.” Reggie’s laugh was incredulous. “Everyone else is okay, too.”

But not Alex.

…

Luke practically flew down the hill to Julie, who was still passed out, her gown tattered and skin covered in soot and dust. A few streaks of blood marred her arms, but she seemed okay other than that, and Luke was too relieved to explain when he noticed that her breathing was steady.

Ray wrapped him in a hug, which took Luke by surprise, but he hugged back.

“I’m so sorry, mijo,” he said. “I should’ve-”

“No,” Luke said. “No, you did everything you could’ve. And we just need to find Alex.” He willed the words to be true, but Ray shook his head.

“There were four casualties,” he whispered. “Four of my people, gone, because I couldn’t…”

“That was not your fault,” Luke told him sharply. “You hear me? Not. Your. Fault. It was Covington who did that, not you. You did everything you could.” Ray nodded.

“Okay.” He shook more, but stood, patting Luke on the shoulders, looking back down to Julie. Flynn was knelt next to her, holding her hand and whispering for her to please wake up.

“She’s okay,” Luke whispered to himself. Then, he noticed Reggie was gone, and-

When he looked up the hill, he saw Reggie with a familiar tall, blonde boy in a torn blue suit.

“ALEX!” Luke ignored the pain in his shoulder as he bolted, running and tackling his best friend in a hug. He choked back sobs, but some tears still made their way through. “We thought you were-”

“I’m okay,” Alex said. “I’m okay.” Luke nodded into his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, man, I should’ve been with you, I should’ve-”

“No,” Alex said. “We’re okay. You have nothing to apologize for.” Luke nodded.

“Everyone else is okay, too,” he said. “Come on.”

Luke ran back down the hill, followed by Alex and Reggie. But Luke sprinted as fast as he could when he noticed that Julie was stirring. He blinked back tears, a huge grin on his face.

“Where’s Luke?” he heard her ask.

“Right here.” He leaned down and gently wrapped her in a hug, helping her up. She was shaky but didn’t fall, finally tackling him in a huge hug, crying into his shoulder. Luke cried into the top of her head, pressing a kiss to her hair, not caring who was watching. He let her to the others.

“Where’s Alex?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“He’s okay,” Reggie said from a few feet away as he helped Alex, who seemed to have sprained his ankle.

“We’re all okay,” Luke told her, wrapping them all in a giant hug.

We’re okay.

-----

Reggie POV

…

Reggie’s hands shook as he fastened the buttons on his silky red vest, adjusting and readjusting the dark sleeves of his shirt. He took a deep breath, stretching and grabbing his bass to calm him down. He ran through the notes for Icarus, sliding down the A string and adding in some extra notes for funsies. He grinned to himself as he spun, tapping his foot with the music.

Humming to himself, Reggie glanced out the window. The sun hadn’t set, but it was going to soon. It was retreating west, preparing to dive behind the mountains. And the time on his phone told him that he needed to be in the ballroom in ten minutes. He sighed and decided to go now. It was on the other side of the palace, and he might as well go early.

…

When Reggie had settled into his seat next to Ray, Councilwoman Noah soon sat next to him.

“Hi, Reggie,” she said with a smile. “How are you?”

“Pretty nervous,” he admitted, “but excited. I love balls. They’re so fun, even if we have to dress all fancy.” Councilwoman Noah laughed.

“Well, you look wonderful,” she told him. Reggie beamed.

“Thanks! You do too!”

“Thanks, hon.” She shook her head wistfully. “You’re so young. You shouldn’t have to deal with such a stressful situation,” Noah said. “None of you should.” Reggie knew she was thinking about Flynn.

“Flynn’s strong,” he reminded her. “And she’s Julie’s best friend. Plus, she knows that she doesn’t have to deal with all of the stress. She does it because she can handle it, and because she wants to.” Noah nodded.

“Plus, she probably likes being able to say she’s best friends with the princess,” he added as an afterthought. Councilwoman Noah laughed, and Reggie felt very accomplished.

“Thanks. I always have to remind myself that she’s grown up,” she admitted. “It feels like only yesterday her hair was just long enough to braid.”

“I know,” Reggie said. “Even though Julie’s only a year younger than me, every time I see her in the meeting room, I worry that she’s going to get too stressed. I don’t know how she handles it.”

“She’ll make a great queen one day,” Noah said softly. Reggie nodded.

“Yeah. She will.”

…

The food was delicious. Reggie couldn’t help but smile as he finished, leaving room for dessert. He might’ve been a prince, but he had his priorities in order. And dessert was very high up there.

As people began mingling before dessert, Reggie wandered around as well, chatting with random Nobles. Lady Cadence asked how his music was going. Sir Blake quipped about the ironic circumstances of such a wonderful event. Mx. Genevieve brought up some interesting points about constitutional technicalities that Reggie would be sure to bring up when they met with Covington; something about allyship and unnecessary tension. Xe’d suggested that Reggie write it down; xe was one of Ray’s close friends, so xe knew about Reggie’s ADHD. It was probably a good idea, too, so Reggie took xer advice and jotted it down in his notes app.

Then, dessert was served, and Reggie was in heaven with the mini cupcakes. They were red velvet with cream cheese frosting, and he probably ate more than he should’ve, but if he did, that was nobody’s business but his.

That’s code for, yes, he did eat too many cupcakes.

Soon, the dancing began. Reggie loved dancing. Didn’t matter what kind, either; he would waltz in the ballroom, jump around whilst playing the bass, twirl around the studio as Julie played the piano, or dance by himself in the middle of the night with his earbuds in.

Reggie made his way to the open floor, cordially waltzing with random Nobles who wanted to know more about the current political situation, dancing with Alex to hype him up and reassure him everything would be okay, twirling Julie to give her a break from stuffy Nobles who kept pestering her, and letting Carlos stand on his toes as they danced, chatting animatedly about Minecraft and Star Wars.

Carlos eventually left to go dance with Nick’s younger sister, Annie Danforth-Evans. They were the same age, and Reggie definitely didn’t miss Annie’s blush when Carlos twirled her. He grinned to himself and kept dancing around the ballroom.

…

When the shouting started, Reggie’s mind flashed back to the day he ran away.

It was a cold, rainy day in October. Reggie’s parents had been fighting more and more for months, and it had gotten so bad that he couldn’t fall asleep at night without wondering when he would be woken up at some early hour by shouts and screams. A stray piece of stuffing floated in the corner of his eye. It was from a small stuffed penguin he’d had, one that he hadn’t seen in weeks after one of his parents’ fights.

It was early evening, though the dark, cloudy sky and pouring rain could’ve fooled someone into thinking it was night. His parents were screaming at each other again, and Reggie was wrapped in a blanket and huddled in the corner of his bedroom, surrounded by pillows from his unmade bed, trying to focus on the sound of the rain instead of the cruel words from the living room.

He blinked back tears and sucked on the inside of his lip. There was a swollen patch of skin next to his teeth. He never bit it, just sucked on it to give him something to do instead of trying to speak. His ear was pressed to the window, sending a numbing chill through his head and making his ear hurt, but it made it easier to let the sounds of the torrential storm drown out his parents’ argument.

When the sound of a shattering glass caught Reggie’s attention, he jumped and whimpered, his tiny hands clutching into fists. He couldn’t take this.

Gathering up a drawstring bag, he stuffed in the tattered blanket, a small first-aid kit, his favorite book, and an extra hoodie. It was a little small, but it was warm. He put on his bigger hoodie, a thick grey one with a big pocket over the stomach, put up the hood, and shoved earplugs into his ears. He struggled to tie his beat-up converse and peeked out the door, running out the front door when they started shouting especially loud. He doubted they heard the quick, quiet opening and closing from the entryway, but if they did, they didn’t bother investigating.

Reggie ran. He wasn’t quite sure where he was going, but he knew the city well enough to find a familiar bench that was shaded by the roof of a cafe. He sat, grateful for the dry area, ignoring the cold wind on his nose. Huddled with his knees to his chest, earplugs making him deaf to the world, he didn’t notice the old woman handing him a small bag with a cinnamon roll inside of it until she tapped his shoulder. He jumped, flinching but quickly recovering. He mumbled a quick ‘thank you’ to her, digging into the sweet pastry. Looking back on it, it probably wasn’t a good idea to accept food from a stranger, but the pangs of hunger in his stomach said otherwise.

He’d dozed off, using the drawstring bag as a pillow as he laid across the bench, when a gentle hand on his shoulder startled him awake.

‘Are you okay?’ the man asked. ‘Where are your parents?’ Reggie looked down.

‘I ran away,” he whispered.

‘Why?’

‘They kept yelling,’ he sniffed, ‘and I hated it. They never stop.’ Worry and confusion and a little bit of anger showed on the man’s face, and Reggie retracted a couple inches, before the man knelt down.

‘Is it okay if I give you a hug?’ he asked. Reggie nodded, hesitating for a moment. But when the man’s arms wrapped around his shoulders, his own skinny arms bolted up and wrapped around his neck, and before he knew it, he was crying into his shoulder, letting the man gently pat his back.

‘Do you know who I am, mijo?’ he asked. Reggie shook his head. He looked familiar, but his head was too muddled to place him.

‘I’m King Ray,’ he said. Reggie scrambled into a bow, but Ray’s hands immediately steadied him. ‘Everything’s okay,’ he assured him. ‘If you don’t want to go back to your parents, I could bring you to the palace,’ he offered. Reggie’s eyes lit up.

‘Really?’

‘Yeah! You could meet Queen Rose and my daughter, Julie. She’s about your age. You’d love her.’ He stood, offering his hand. Reggie hesitated but took it, a slow smile on his face.

Ever since that day, he hadn’t heard his parents shouts, because he hadn’t actually seen them. But Ray was the best father he could’ve ever asked for.

These furious shouts from the ballroom brought back that one memory, and even though it happened in a split second, he felt every effect in its whole, and it struck him like a well-aimed blow. But he was distracted by the sight before him.

All seven council members with daggers to their throats.

Reggie wasn’t sure what he was feeling at that moment. It was a mix of confusion, anger, fear, and resolve, though that might’ve just been the adrenaline.

“Like I said,” Covington shouted over the rising screams of everyone in the room, “you will either surrender peacefully to Kryptonian rule, or we will take it by force.”

More shouts echoed throughout the huge ballroom, arguments and cries of fear, anger, and betrayal. Some bakers and chefs snuck in from the kitchens and saved the council members, which was a huge relief. But when Covington pulled the small remote out of his pocket, and revealed that he was a hologram, everything silenced in Reggie’s ears.

Reggie had heard of seeing red, but this wasn’t the passionate scarlet of anger. This was pure, black, hate. Covington was threatening his people, including the people he cared most about in the entire world. Julie and Carlos, Luke and Alex, Erik, Mira, Carrie and Flynn, and the entire council. His hands clenched into fists.

“But what about your representatives?” Reggie finally asked. Surely Covington wouldn’t be willing to kill his own people of such high ranking.

“Acceptable losses. These aren’t actually representatives, they’re criminals who have been offered the chance of a full pardon if things don't go south. They have, however, been made very clear of the other possibility.” Reggie’s stomach dropped. Nobody deserved a death penalty, and given his impressions of Covington, he doubted their crimes were even that severe.

“You might notice that your king is not in the room,” Caleb added, Reggie’s heart plummeted. Tears welled in his eyes.

Ray.

“What did you do to my dad?” Julie yelled, being held back by Luke.

“He’s alive, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Caleb said. “But I guarantee that, should I press this button, he’ll be in the line of fire.”

Furious shouts echoed in the huge room, and Reggie was one of the loudest among them despite his aversion to raising his voice. Covington didn’t get to waltz into Dahlia, declare war, and threaten all of these people and just get away with it. He didn’t get to threaten Reggie’s own family without facing consequences.

“Leave my people alone. Get out of our kingdom,” Julie instructed angrily, her voice clear and sharp as a dagger. “You have no place here.”

“Yeah,” Reggie interjected. “We’re not going to abandon our people, no matter how much you want us to.” It wasn’t a lie, either; Reggie was a sincere person, but he’d never meant anything as much as he meant those words. He would not give up on his people. Not ever.

And he wouldn’t give up on his family, either.

“I truly hate to do this,” Covington said, and Reggie was pretty sure his stomach was at the bottom of the Mariana Trench. But he sprinted to the doors, hauling them open and helping people out as they ran.

“Everyone out!” he called desperately, tears rimming his vision. “Get as far away as you can.”

“Your highness, where should we go?” Lady Sierra asked, her voice terrified.

“Run out the front gates,” he instructed, “then through the city. It’s late, but it isn’t raining. Just be careful.” He patted her shoulder and rushed past her, picking up a small child, barely older than six, who was struggling to hold on to his mother’s hand in the chaos.

“I’ve got him,” he called to her, calming her frantic shouts for her son. Reggie cradled him as gently as he could, bearing a few bruises as he guarded the child from the stampede of terrified Nobles. He ran as quickly as he could and handed him over to his mother, sprinting along the side of the hallway and opening more doors, yelling into the kitchens to any chefs still in there to get out. He did the same as he passed the guards’ quarters, gesturing wildly and helping people out as they jumped from their beds.

Reggie found Carlos as he ran to the front gate, wrapping him in a huge hug and picking him up over his shoulders, his legs carrying him as fast as he could possibly run. Bounding out the front gate, Carlos over his shoulder, he made it down the hill and put him down.

“Lead the others as far away as you can, okay?” Carlos nodded, wrapping him in a quick hug.

“I love you,” he said. Reggie nodded.

“Love you too. Now go!” When Carlos took off, Reggie bounded backwards towards the hill.

“Run through the city,” he instructed as loudly as he could. “Just go straight but keep the palace in view, then wait for further instructions.” People nodded as they ran, and Reggie directed them in the way Carlos had gone.

“It’ll be okay,” he assured a sobbing woman as she jogged past him. But the tremble in his voice probably wasn’t very convincing.

Neither was the shockwave that knocked them backwards.

Reggie’s ears were both ringing and silent. He couldn’t tell when or even if he hit the ground, though he had to have, if the sudden blast of cold on his back was any indication, same with the sharp pain on his wrist. It took a moment, but he was finally able to open his eyes, quickly shutting them as a tiny piece of concrete flew over him and sliced open his forehead. He groaned, reaching up to test the wound. It didn’t feel that deep, thankfully, but his dusty fingers still came away streaked with blood. And when he looked back up the hill…

He’d been lucky enough to avoid the fire. His clothes were torn but not singed like so many others. Reggie stood shakily, jumping over bits of debris as he raced back up the hill.

“JULIE?” he shouted, looking around. “ALEX? LUKE? ERIK?” His shouting didn’t seem to be of any use until he heard a familiar voice to his right.

“REGGIE?” it called. His head whipped around, worsening his headache, but he didn’t care, because Erik’s tarnished but handsome face was visible across the hill.

“ERIK!” Reggie sprinted to him, tackling him in a hug, trying to choke back his tears. “I’m so sorry, I-”

“No,” Erik whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “Everything’s okay, I promise.” Reggie nodded into his shoulder.

“Guys?” someone called. When Reggie’s eyes snapped open to a familiar redheaded girl in a tattered aquamarine dress, a grin broke out on his face.

“Mira!” They both ran to her, picking her up in a hug and spinning. Reggie pressed a kiss to her hair.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Erik told her, and Reggie nodded his agreement.

“Me too,” she whispered, smudging the soot on her face as she wiped away tears. “We should look for others.” Reggie nodded, blinking back more tears as he let go, scanning around him. Dozens of battered but breathing Nobles were littered around the field, sitting, standing, and walking, helping each other.

“Are you okay?” Reggie asked Mx. Genevieve, helping xem up.

“I think so,” xe coughed. “My head hurts, but I guess that’s to be expected after a bomb.”

“Probably.” Reggie made sure they were steady. “Make sure you’re alright, then try to help anyone else you find, okay? I’m doing the same.” Xe nodded, patting his shoulder.

As he searched more rubble, he found Flynn and Carrie, clinging to each other and shaking behind a huge piece of debris. They were rattled but uninjured, thankfully. And soon, he found Julie, passed out near the stairs, the violet tulle and silk of her dress torn and dirty. He scooped her up as gently as he could, brushing a curl off her face. She coughed, and Reggie half-hoped she would wake up, but she stayed asleep.

“REGGIE!” His head whipped towards the familiar sound of Carlos’s voice, as well as the voices of the other Nobles who’d escaped in time, rushing back to the palace. He gently set down Julie, leaving her with Mira, and took off towards Carlos, who jumped into his arms.

“Are you okay?” he asked worriedly. Reggie nodded.

“I’m okay,” he confirmed. “And hey, if Han Solo can survive it, so can we.” Carlos laughed, but there were still tears streaming down his face. And they just quickened, until they heard an impossibly amazing voice behind them.

“Mijos?” Ray asked, coughing up dust.

“DAD!” they shouted, running to him, hugging him gently but tightly. Reggie sobbed into his chest.

“We thought you were-”

“I’m okay,” he assured them. “Just a bit rattled. Where’s Julie?”

“She’s over there,” he pointed. “By the stairs.”

“I’ve been around the back of the damage site,” Ray explained, “which is why I hadn’t seen you yet. Almost everyone is okay, which is a relief, but…” he waited until Carlos had walked out of earshot before adding, “there were four confirmed casualties.” Reggie’s heart shattered.

“No,” he whispered. “No, that can’t be right, everyone-”

“It’s nobody we knew,” Ray added, but his eyes glistened with melancholy. Reggie nodded, hugging him again.

“Can you take me to see Julie?” he asked. Reggie nodded, taking his hand and leading him to the small, clear patch he’d set her down in. Mira and Flynn were both by her side.

“Has she woken up?” Ray asked. Reggie noticed the looks of shock on the girls’ faces, but they didn’t say anything, just shaking their heads.

…

Finding Alex and Luke had been a huge relief, and when Julie woke up, something in Reggie’s heart clicked into place.

There were shattered pieces of hearts throughout their family, found or blood, but those pieces combined into a beautiful mosaic of people who were scarred but lovely, bruised but kind, and loved each other with a passion and gentle nature that would bring them closer.

-----

Willie POV

...

“Okay,” Lilian called through the large room full of bakers and chefs, “get to your usual posts and finish up any extra dishes for tonight. Then, Alyssa, Conley, Ever, Jenna, Mark, Tori, Aaliyah, and CoCo, you’re in charge of distribution and waiting during the ball. Everyone else, be on standby, but if things go smoothly, you should be able to have an early night.” Willie smiled, but his heart fell.

He’d really hoped he’d be chosen to go to the ball and wait tables. He knew it was stupid, but he really wanted to see Alex. Even if they wouldn’t get to interact, it still would’ve been nice. And he’d spent the whole time he was baking thinking through tons of what-ifs. What if Alex noticed him there? What if they got to chat? If he was lucky, what if they got to dance? What if…

Willie shut down the thoughts. It wasn’t happening anyway.

He redid his hair in the knot at the nape of his neck, sighing and heading back to the kitchens to make sure the cupcakes were perfect. They were, of course; he’d practiced piping cupcakes since he was little. Eva always loved cupcakes. Her favorite of his were the lemon ones, with the yellow and pink sprinkles. He’d made them on her eighth birthday, and her face lit up when he brought them out, complete with striped candles. Willie grinned at the memory of her trying to blow them out with her missing two front teeth, singing, ‘happy birthday to me, I’m a hundred and three, I’m getting tho old and thoon I’ll be wrinkly!’ It wasn’t the same song that a lot of kids sang, but it was Eva’s. She refused to sing it any other way. Of course, Willie still teased her about her then-inability to pronounce her S’s, and any time it was her birthday, he’d say ‘it’th your birthday, Eva! You’re getting tho old, thoon you’ll be wrinkly!’ It drove her absolutely insane.

Willie missed those days.

…

The ball seemed to be going smoothly, so Willie took it upon himself to make a batch of key lime tarts. He hummed to himself, letting his mind wander to all sorts of things (Alex, mostly), shaping the dough into the tins.

That was, until he heard the screaming.

His stomach dropped and he dashed to the other side of the kitchen, where Alyssa was standing in a defensive position as if someone was about to attack her. Willie joined her, before Lilian snuck back in through the back door. She didn’t say a word, but pointed Alyssa to the frying pan shelf and Willie…

To the knife rack.

Willie’s hands shook and a cold sweat dripped down his back, but he obeyed Lilian’s grim nod and took one, gripping it in his palm and watching light glint on the blade. He swallowed down the bile rising in his throat.

Lilian led everyone in the kitchens to the door, surreptitiously walking out in a single-file line, all the way down the hall to the ballroom. Willie never knew Lilian could be so silent; her steps were completely inaudible.

As Lilian pushed open the door, eyes flicked their way, and Willie silenced his breathing as he searched for a familiar blue-green-grey pair. And when he finally found them, they were fraught with terror, hope, confusion, and something else that Willie couldn’t quite place. Something lighter but heavier at the same time.

Alex gave him the tiniest of head-shakes, but he was too far in to stop.

I’m sorry, Willie mouthed. I care about you, Alex.

He wasn’t sure if he’d been able to understand what he so desperately wanted to tell him, but Willie did see a resigned nod and a plea for him to be careful coming from Alex’s direction.

Things seemed to move in slow motion. By some miracle, Covington, who was draped over King Ray’s throne, didn’t notice the nervous glances their way. He shouldn’t have been surprised, though; he was a very self-absorbed person.

Then, all hell broke loose when Alyssa and six other cooks brought down their pans on the representatives’ heads at once, knocking them out cold and freeing the council members. Willie’s heart raced as he hid behind the throne as Lilian trained her knife on Covington’s back. He was astonished at how steady her voice was, how tall she stood (not just because she was over six feet; she was scarily confident).

“Or,” she said smoothly, “you could surrender, and go back to your own country.” The knife in her hand didn’t waver, but Covington recoiled. He hadn’t heard her coming. Willie took his chance and got on the other side, his knife pointed at Covington as well. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to use it.

“Don’t hurt these people,” he instructed, proud of how clear and steady his own voice was.

“A few bakers trying to save their precious leaders,” Caleb purred, but the malice in his voice was like venom. “How sweet. Unfortunately for you, I have this”- he pulled a small remote out of his pocket -”and while I would rather not use it, I will if I must.” Willie’s heart leaped to his throat, and he was achingly aware of the sweat on his back, the curl of hair that had loosened from his bun, the pebble in his shoe.

None of that compared to what he would soon feel if Covington pressed that button, though. Willie had never seen one before, but he knew exactly what it was.

A bomb.

The next minute was chaos. His knife clattered to the floor, heart pounding in his ears, and he jumped backwards, hating his fearful reaction. Lilian, to her credit, held her ground nicely, but the tension in her shoulders had returned in full effect, and her eyebrows creased in the middle.

“You’re bluffing,” someone called from the audience. “You’re in this room too.”

“Am I?” Caleb challenged, and Willie could’ve sworn he’d seen wrong, but he didn’t. A flicker of transparency, proving that Covington was actually somewhere else.

A hologram.

“Yes,” Caleb remarked. “You probably didn’t notice my brief trip to the restroom earlier, but that wasn’t actually a restroom trip. I’m far away by now.”

“But what about your representatives?” a man asked. Willie recognized him as Princess Julie’s older brother, though he couldn’t remember his name.

“Acceptable losses. These aren’t actually representatives, they’re criminals who have been offered the chance of a full pardon if things don't go south. They have, however, been made very clear of the other possibility.” Willie’s hands curled into fists. Was he really willing to just… sacrifice those people? Criminals or not, Willie couldn’t stomach the idea of sacrificing seven people.

“You might notice that your king is not in the room,” Caleb added, and Willie’s stomach dropped.

“What did you do to my dad?” Julie shouted, her hands clenched in fists, shaking. Willie scanned the crowd, but didn’t find the king.

“He’s alive, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Caleb said. “But I guarantee that, should I press this button, he’ll be in the line of fire.”

Furious shouts echoed in the huge room, and Willie watched as Princess Julie walked towards the royals’ table, getting in Covington’s face. Willie ducked his head in a bow.

“Leave my people alone.” Her voice was cold, harsh, but clear and steady. “Get out of our kingdom. You have no place here.”

“Yeah,” her brother interjected. “We’re not going to abandon our people, no matter how much you want us to.” Willie nodded

“You can’t make us surrender,” another man informed Covington. Alex nodded, standing as tall as he could, and Willie tried to do the same, swallowing the bile rising in his throat.

“I truly hate to do this,” Caleb said, without an ounce of sorrow in his voice. “But you leave me no choice.”

“NO,” Alex yelled, and Willie’s stomach dropped. His eyes darted to Alex, wide with fear. If Alex…

Willie shoved away the thought.

“I’m sorry, everyone,” Caleb added maliciously. Everyone was running and screaming, bustling through the doors, and Willie did his best to get people out.

“LILIAN!” he screamed, rushing to her. “Grab Alyssa and the others, then get out as fast as you can!” She shook her head.

“No, you need to leave too,” she told him. Willie shook his head.

“I’m going to try to get people out of here,” he decided. “I can run fast, don’t worry.”

“What are the odds of getting you to listen to me?”

“Slim to none.” Lilian sighed.

“Be fast.” He nodded, patting her shoulder and letting her dash away.

Willie sprinted to the hallway outside the ballroom, shouting for people to get out of there, searching for Alex. Hopefully, he’d run, and would be far away by the time Covington made good on his promise.

But, of course, a familiar voice echoed through his ears.

“WILLIE!” Alex sprinted to him, and Willie’s eyes widened.

“GO! GET OUT OF HERE!” he said, trying to urge Alex out. “You need to get out before this place blows!” Tears streamed down his face but he ignored them, running to Alex.

When the shockwave hit him, he was a few meters away from the man he was trying to reach. Willie was pretty sure he’d phased into a different dimension when it passed through his head, leaving it fuzzy and burning but also clear, cold, and sharp.

He felt like he was floating. Maybe he was; there was no way to know. He felt disconnected from his body. The matter making him up wasn’t really his, it was just his turn to use it before he would inevitably die and be reabsorbed into the world, waiting for some other creature to be reborn from the ashes of his demise.

When his back hit the ground, Willie felt it, but in the way you feel a headache when you’re half asleep. He registered it, knew he was in pain, but didn’t feel it as much as he should’ve. He barely registered the bruises forming on his shoulders, the heat from the fire on his skin, the flecks of concrete bouncing across his face. He was feeling everything and nothing at all, like a frozen fire, a breeze barely detectable as it rushed against a hurricane.

Willie caught the faint glinting of a few stars in the sky before blacking out.

…

When he awoke, it was to shouts. They weren’t urgent, but searching, calling, asking, hoping. Blearily, he blinked his eyes open. It was still night, so he couldn’t have been out for long. What had even happened? Why was he collapsed in the middle of a field full of bits of concrete, wood, fabric, and debris?

Then, everything came rushing back in an instant.

Screams.

Knives.

The shockwave.

Fire.

Alex.

Willie bolted upright, ignoring the pounding headache between his temples. Standing shakily, he ran to the first person he could find, which happened to be Alyssa.

“Willie? Is that you?” she called, her purple hair caked with dirt. He nodded, tears blurring his vision as he wrapped her in a hug.

“Are you okay?” he asked. When she nodded against his shoulder, he sighed in relief.

“Thank God. Have you seen anyone else? Where’s Lilian?”

“She’s helping pass out medical supplies to anyone who was injured,” Alyssa explained. “I’m scanning the grounds for others.” He nodded.

“Has anyone…” he trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence. Alyssa looked away, nodding.

“Four people. But everyone else was lucky, as far as we know?”

“Has anybody found King Ray yet?”

“No, but we’re looking. It’ll be okay, I promise.”

“I know, I just… This is horrible.”

“It really is,” Alyssa agreed. “I’m so sorry you had to go through it.”

“You too.”

She reached up and patted his shoulder, and Willie dashed around the grounds, searching for people, taking extra time to look for a certain blonde prince.

He helped a mother and her daughter up out of a ditch where they’d fallen after avoiding a huge concrete slab, assuring them that everything would be okay. After he’d sent them on their way down the hill, he continued his search. But no matter where he looked, he never found Alex.

Tears blurred in his eyes, but Willie blinked them back. Now wasn’t the time to cry. It wasn’t the time to grieve someone who could be alive.

He climbed over piles of broken concrete and stone, stamping out small fires along the way, leaving nothing but crumbling, charred ash.

But no matter where he searched, he couldn’t find Alex.

He doubled back multiple times, scanning the grounds and looking in every nook and cranny he could find, even going as far as to search the other half of the grounds where the bomb hadn’t affected. But there was no familiar sweep of blonde hair, no sarcastic remark, no eyes that shifted from blue to green to grey, no golden embroidery on a blue suit.

Then, he found himself running through the gardens again, searching, and ending up all the way at the back end in the park where he’d tried to teach Alex to skate.

Willie brushed the petals of one of the roses between his fingers, the sweet aroma floating to his head and making him dizzy. The grass was cold and wet with dew, but he didn’t care, embracing the chill rather than the fire he’d been so close to. He sank to the ground, hugging his knees to his chest.

Alex was gone.

And there was nothing Willie could do.

He was heartbroken. He didn’t know Alex as well as he wanted to. He wanted to get to know every aspect of him, every quirk and flaw and edge, no matter what, but now he was gone, a memory floating away on a wind, gentle but cruel and unrelenting. Willie ducked his head into his knees, letting his emotions flow as he sobbed.

He was always a quiet crier, and it made him feel insignificant and forgettable. For once, though, he didn’t care. Let the universe forget him. Let him flow through the galaxy as nothing more than a speck, a dot on a timeline, a splash of color in an ever-growing sea of humanity.

He cursed himself for falling in love so quickly, for not trying harder to get Alex to leave before the blast. He cursed himself for ever having met him at all, maybe then they’d both be alive, and it would be better in the long run. But nothing could ever be perfect. Willie knew that. So why, why did it hurt so badly when the one thing he knew would never work out ended so abruptly?

He tugged on the key on his necklace, the familiar grooves indenting his skin. He was shaking, the cold darkness like a blanket, fading as the sky gradually lightened, barely noticeable even as the sun began to paint the horizon with streaks of gold.

Then, the impossible happened. At least, it should’ve been impossible.

He heard Alex calling his name.

He knew it couldn’t be real, but he couldn’t bring himself to care as his head snapped up, half-sure he was hallucinating. But Alex was running closer, and soon Willie was standing up, walking slowly, tentatively towards him, like if he moved too fast it might scare away the slim possibility that he was real, and not a cruel trick of the light.

It might’ve worked, too, because when he leaped into Alex’s hug, he didn’t phase through him, didn’t collapse back to the ground. Alex caught him, and Willie couldn’t tell if he was laughing or crying. Probably both, he decided as he wrapped his arms tighter around Alex’s back.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered shakily, feeling Alex’s head shake over his.

“No,” he said. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was doing, I should’ve grabbed you and ran…” Then it was Willie’s turn to shake his head. His breath hitched as he realized just how close they were. He could’ve counted the faint freckles dotting the prince’s nose, traced constellations into his skin, searched his eyes for answers he didn’t know existed.

And then, he kissed him.

Willie had always thought that, when people described sparks flying during a kiss, they were exaggerating, but in that moment he realized that it was incredibly, beautifully real. Sparks flew from his heart, leaving flecks of light and euphoria on his skin. Alex’s lips were soft and warm over his, slick with tears. It was broken and imperfect, but Willie wouldn’t change a second of it.

When they came up for air, Willie was smiling, but more tears were rolling down his face.

“When you weren’t with the survivors, I-” he choked off into another sob. “I thought I’d lost you,” he finally whispered. Alex shook his head, and Willie delved deeper into the embrace, memorizing every detail that he could, the way Alex’s hands felt on his back, the fabric of his suit, how his shoulder was perfectly level with Willie’s mouth.

“You’ll never lose me,” Alex whispered to him.

A few moments later, Willie breathed back, “I hope not.”

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adsosfraser · 3 years

Text

The Stone’s Toll - Chapter Three

Read on AO3

cw: depression, small references of dissociation/derealisation, suicide, dubious consent

Claire was constantly watched, monitored those first few weeks at the manse, waiting for Frank to pack up for Boston. Mrs. Graham and the Reverend had heard many horror stories of men and women in the throes of grief. Especially women with the ‘baby blues’. But she had no baby. There was no need for caution, she wouldn’t do anything drastic yet. Even if she wanted to she didn’t have the strength nor the energy to.

She never spoke their names, never let herself fully grieve, and was caught in this limbo of unfeeling. Some days she had fits of rage, just a general ire aimed at nothing in particular. Others her eyes watered so much it seemed her body would become dehydrated from their eagerness. Little things would release the rage of emotions. One day, the spoilt milk in the fridge had her curled up on the kitchen floor sobbing. But mostly, her days passed with such monotony that she was unnerved when forced to change it. Minutes blurred into days, days into months, they were all the same in her mind. What was time really, with nothing of interest to mark it? Her mind moved from one second to the next until she didn’t notice the present anymore. She couldn’t remember anything from the last few months if she could try. She numbed her mind with the muffled voices riding through the waves the radio emitted. She tried to grasp on to the world and the time slipping away from her by digging her fingernails into the flesh of her palm, but neither cared for her attempts. She curled her toes in her flats and heels and stabbed her fingernails into her palms to reassure herself she was there. That this was real. Before the rush of panic could sweep through her brain, and the lightheadedness that accompanied it, she bit the inside of her cheek to stay grounded.

She refused to cook, to clean, to do anything that would take her from her bed. Most days, she slept the day away, tired with no obvious source of affliction. Until her obligation as a wife forced her to make at least one meal a day for her husband, dinner. Frank usually made his own breakfast without complaint, a coffee and two eggs, and then ate lunch in the dining halls of Harvard. Claire nibbled on what the Americans passed as cereal occasionally.

On Frank’s birthday, September the 30th, the day was as boring and uninspired as any other. She was surprised when she asked Frank for the date for the first time since her return, and he had replied with his birthday. It had taken a few embarrassing silent moments for her to conjure the specific date in her mind, and fleetingly she thought of the First of May. Had it really been more than five months? Too much time had passed but yet not enough. She couldn’t remember a single thing from that time, save the blanketing numbness that followed her day in and day out. The dinner she made, the only thing she could successfully produce was presented on the table before he returned home. Stew that reminded her subconsciously of the many meals in the pitched tents of camps surrounding battlefields. Frank ate the meal without fuss and wasn’t surprised that his wife hadn’t remembered enough to buy him a gift. The only change was his effort in climbing into bed with his wife.

“It’s been years Claire, indulge me.”

Her body was stiff against his lithe actions. The movements were clinical, thought out like the process of stitching skin and cleansing the wound. A business transaction. Frank reeked of perfume. She was reminded of Versailles and the frivolous ruffles of a king’s linen shirt. The cold slender fingers pulling apart her thighs and the taste of chocolate on her tongue. She didn’t remember when her tears began to well up but they came down in steady streaks on her cheeks now. He quickly finished, rolling on to his side facing away from her. The feel of his seed, hot and sticky trailing down her leg felt like a betrayal. He sighed. Maybe a new baby would cheer her up.

It wasn’t uncommon for women to coop themselves up in the house due to their delicate constitutions. Their brief first neighbour in Oxford only ever left for the groceries because of nerves. Frank stopped pushing for her to join him in dinner with his colleagues. He would spend hours at work and then the bar to arrive home and immediately collapse onto his own twin bed across from his wife.

She didn’t care to celebrate her birthday. It marked how long she had been alone with a permanent stamp and made it feel more real. Not even the borrowed medical texts that she got from the library to feel anything at all gave her the rush of curiosity and excitement they used to.

Frank had another idea to brighten up his wife.

“You got me a puppy?!” She threw an ashtray, narrowly missing his head.

“A fucking puppy to-“ She sunk to the floor and her eyes stung with unshed tears.

It sat wagging its tail inside the box with a pink bow wrapped around its neck. The golden, almost auburn, cocker spaniel cocked its head at her expressing its interest in the chafed woman before it.

He lowered himself to kneel beside her but thought better of it and straightened up. The puppy eagerly tapped up at her master. He rubbed under her snout affectionately. Frank had never expressed interest in pets when he was with her and she was baffled at his open display towards the squirming beast. He scratched her ear, eliciting a shake of her leg in appreciation.

“Yes darling. Meet Brianna. Though we’ll shorten it to Bree. I was thinking Frankie but I feel Brianna suits her best. This little one was named for her sire, Brian.” Her heart dropped at the name and her jaw clenched in anger.

“Get the fuck out now! I don’t want to see you!”

She took off her flats and flung them at his face. One hit its target in the form of Frank’s face and flopped down to the floor. Brianna clumsily chased after it and began to rip into the shoe, oblivious to any frustrations around her. Bubbles of laughter rose in Claire’s chest as hysterics overtook her body. The front door clicked shut with a sure snap of the lock. She felt the sure weight of the creature in her lap. Suddenly, she was back in L'Hôpital des Anges. Buton keeping her company: pity for the baby she lost. Sharp laughs turned into breathy inhales at the intensity of her cries. Puppy Bree lapped at the salt on her hands and snuggled close. At one point while her mind was floating to the ceiling, dreams of birds and blue skies, she had nuzzled into her stomach with her snout which sent a new wave of hideous wails. Her arms squeezed the distraught little puppy close to her and she clung to the comfort of its ignorance. A puppy. A fucking puppy to replace the ache in her womb.

“I’m sorry, you must be a very lovely girl.” She choked out between sobs.

Brianna continued licking her tears off her cheek, provoking more tears to take their trek of doom down to the floor. The floor became wet and sticky from the dog’s excited piddle.

It was November, the month her child would have been born. Should have been born. But neither one of them had and that was the reality Claire was faced with. All the months before were a blur, the only indicator of time being Frank leaving work and arriving back home. He hadn’t pushed her much to do anything really, giving her time to adjust to her new role as a housewife. She was glad she didn’t have to look into his face often, to see the evil sneer of his ancestor beneath the warmth of his smile. Frank wasn’t supposed to be home for another hour. Bree was out in the garden chewing on sticks.

Claire gripped the sgian dubh, angling it over her heart. The tiny blade was all she had managed to keep, to hide from anyone but herself. It was a gift from Jamie. One given on the date that marked their second year of marriage. A beautiful handle crafted from one of the antlers of a stag he had triumphantly dragged back to her at camp. The meat was shared amongst the soldiers of course, but Jamie kept the hide and antlers for himself. He created a pair of mittens for her and himself and expertly carved the material of the antlers into two identical hilts. One for Fergus later for the day they had surmised his birthday to be and one for Claire. She glanced down at the handle now, forget-me-nots etched into its boned surface. The heat of her tears left trailed down her cheeks. She could almost pretend he was there.

“Sassenach. Dinna do this. Please.” Her heart ached at the pain in his voice.

Jamie stood before Claire, exactly as she remembered him when they parted. Two small heads of red hair, identical to Jamie’s colour, clutching his leg, stared wide eyed at their mother in a mixture of curiosity and fear. Faith and Brian. A soft smile played across Claire’s face but didn’t reach her eyes which were glossed over with fresh tears.

“Jamie.” Claire whispered, relishing in the feeling of his name on her tongue.

“Come home mo gràidh. Fergus needs ye.”

“Yes. Fergus, and all of you.” Her eyes drifted to the little boy whose lips pulled into a dimpled smile.

She steadied her shaking hands and squeaked out a laugh. Sobs and laughter joined together into a cacophony of near hysteria that Claire dryly forced out. She wouldn’t fail to be with her family this time. She would join Fergus. And Jenny, Ian, young Jamie, Maggie, and any other children her good sister managed to have. Even Murtagh, Rupert, Angus, Willie, and all the other men who had touched her heart during the war and her short days at Leoch. All of them were long gone but now moments away.

The door slammed and jolted Claire’s initial target away from her heart and more towards her shoulder. She cried out when the small blade pierced her flesh, and cried more when she realised the consequences of her failure. It barely missed its target. She scrambled for the knife, its handle wet with her thick blood and it fumbled out of her reach.

“Darling! The grading was much lighter tonight so I thought that we-“

Frank’s eyes widened and he choked out a sound. He quickly dove to the floor where his wife was encircled in her own blood, and the hilt of a dagger was poking out of her cream nightgown.

#outlander fanfiction #canon divergence #claire beauchamp #frank randall #jamie x claire #jamie fraser #adsofraser writing #claire fraser #craigh na dun #derealisation tw #depression tw #tw attempted suicide #outlander fanfic

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ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa · 4 years

Text

With Cherries On Top

Chapter 2: The Proposal & The Deal

Summary/Author's Notes: Oh.my.god. the response from part one was fucking WILD. I love you guys so so so much! As always, dedicated to @rae-gar-targaryen. She’s had a bad week, yall, go show her some love. <3 ITS WHAT MAX WOULD DO.

Max explains himself and gets down on one knee to ask the big question. Your trust is tested as he tries to pull a fast one, but he makes you an offer you cannot refuse.

Pairing: Max Phillips x Reader (The Proposal AU) Word Count: 3.3k Warnings: Language, flirting, SEXUAL TENSION, Max Phillips is a bastard man, vampire themes

Chapters [1] [MASTERLIST]

Max finally caught up with you and convinced you to go with him to the immigration office. The entire cab ride across town you were seething. Neither of you spoke, and when the cab parked in front of the Federal Plaza building you got out. Glad to leave him to pay for the cab and top it off with slamming the car door in his face. You heard him growl his frustration but didn’t stop as you stormed into the building and he had to jog to keep up.

"Will you slow down?" He snarled and you ignored him.

How could he be this egregiously shameful? You knew Max was cunning. That he would do anything to make the sale, to close a deal, but this--this was a whole other level, even for him.

In hushed tones, in his office, as you threw your items in your purse, he had explained that he was being deported. That the government had caught him in a technicality of his after-life status versus his human one, and although you agreed it seemed to be a petty place to draw the line, his way of kicking you into the fire with him made you not want to help. Did he deserve to be sent back to Romania? Probably not. But forcing you into marriage? Or an even better term for it would be forcing you into fraud. The two of you were breaking the law and he didn’t even have the balls to ask you first.

The immigration office was jammed packed with multiple lines of people waiting for a free attendant and dozens of others waiting in chairs, looking over reading material and playing on their phones. This was going to take forever. Apparently, Max had other plans, as he grabbed your hand and pulled you both to the front of the line. No one stopped him, no one questioned him as you tried to make your face as apologetic as possible to the people already in line that were giving you dirty looks. He asked for the fiancee visa application and the next thing you knew the two of you were being led into a cramped office in the back and looking over the desk at a very stoic, older, government worker.

“Sorry about the wait, folks,” the older man said as he pulled out a file folder filled with papers. “Busy day.”

“Of course, of course,” Max nodded, crossing his ankle over his knee and giving the man his best smile. “We appreciate you meeting with us on such short notice.”

The older man looked Max up and down slowly and smirked--whatever Max was selling, he wasn’t buying and the realization made you want to lean over the chair and vomit on the floor. Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Okay, so, I only have one question for you,” he continued to smirk as he closed your file and steepled his fingers in front of him. “Are you both committing fraud, in order to keep Mr. Phillips here from being deported back to Romania and losing his position as CFO at his company?”

“What!”

“Ridiculous!”

Max and you both scoffed at the same time and shook your heads as you waved your hands in front of you and he rolled his eyes, giving a good-hearted laugh.

“Mr.--” Max looked at the nameplate on the desk as he leaned forward and addressed the man. “Yates. That is an absurd assumption. We are just a couple that want to get married and I assure you, our case will be the easiest one you have all day. So, just tell us what we need to sign and we can get out of your hair.”

You wished more than anything you had the courage to grip Max’s leg and beg him to shut up. His normal bullshit was not going to get either of you any favors with this man and if he didn’t tread carefully, you both were about to be in a world of trouble. You knew you wouldn't last in jail, but Max really wouldn't last in jail. That mouth that never seemed to stop talking would get him stabbed...wait, maybe jail was a good idea after all.

"What makes you think we're lying, Mr. Yates?" You asked, crossing your ankles and moving your legs to the side comfortably.

"A tip that came in this afternoon from a concerned citizen--"

"His name wouldn't happen to be Evan, would it?" Max asked.

"As a matter of fact, it is."

"I knew it. He is nothing more than a very disgruntled employee who is out to get me." Max shook his head and waved it away as if that discredited the tip. "I fired him this morning."

The other man scribbled down a couple of notes and went back to pressing his fingertips together and leaning his elbows on the desk. He heaved a large sigh and suddenly looked very tired.

“Here’s what’s going to happen next, you two. I am going to schedule you an interview for next week. I am going to put you both in separate rooms. I am going to ask you a series of questions that real couples would know all of the answers to.” He said the term ‘real’ in a pointed way and looked directly at you, making your stomach fall to your feet. “And that’s the easy part--”

“Okay, seems fair.” Max started, but Mr. Yates ignored him.

“Then I am going to dig deeper. I’m going to check your phone records, your emails, talk to your friends and family--your coworkers. If anything, and I mean anything, seems out of order or does not match your story, you,” he pointed to Max. “Will be deported to Romania indefinitely. And you, young lady,” he turned and pointed to you. “Will be fined two-hundred and fifty thousand dollars with a minimum five year sentence in federal prison.”

You swallowed so hard it hurt as you felt your vision narrow, your body threatening you with the idea of passing out. You felt like you were sitting inside a vacuum, like a larger entity had sucked all of the air out of the already too small office space.

Prison. It wasn’t enough that you had been at his beck and call for the last five years. If this all went sideways, Max Phillips, in a last act of extreme selfishness was going to get you sent to prison.

“So, that being said, Ms. (y/l/n),” he smiled and crossed his arms as he addressed you. “Do you want to talk to me? Tell me what’s really going on here.”

“What’s really going on--” you started, your heart hammering in your ears so loudly that you were sure Mr. Yates could hear it.

You looked at Max and thoughtp about how you wanted to do this. Could you really throw him under the bus and let them ship him away from his home? Could you match his heartlessness and protect yourself above all else? No. Despite how much he deserved it, that wasn’t how you operated. He had insisted on dragging you into this mess and now it seemed, at least for the time being, you were going to have to play along. He looked at you with those soft, coffee colored eyes, so full of anticipation that you almost groaned. Instead you reached over the arm of his chair and patted his leg.

“What’s really going on is that Max and I are getting married,” you squeezed his knee and saw him give a full body sigh of relief out of the corner of your eye. “We just couldn’t tell anyone.”

“And why not?”

“Because he’s a vampire,” you shrugged. “And we were worried how my family would take it.”

“I see,” Mr. Yates leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms waiting for you to continue.

“And--” you, glanced at Max and back. “Because of the promotion.”

“Promotion?”

Both Max and the older man said at the same time and you steeled your resolve and continued.

“Yes, I am in line for a big promotion, and both of us felt if our relationship went public before that it would look unprofessional. Right, honey?” You looked at Max and although you were smiling, your eyes dared him to say otherwise.

“That’s...right, dear.” He nodded, putting his hand over yours on his knee.

Mr. Yates looked at the both of you for what felt like a very long time. You kept your smile even for so long, your cheeks started to ache. The hand you had on Max’s thigh offered a small amount of comfort and you allowed it to ground you, to center your mind as you did your best to look like the definition of truthfulness.

“Well,” he sighed and opened up a filing cabinet and pulled a very large binder full of papers for the two of you. “If that’s the story you’re sticking to. Here are the questions you could be asked, there are about three hundred of them--along with all of the forms that need to be filled out, references we will need, and copies of your identifications. As well as,” he paused and looked pointedly at the both of you. “The marriage certificate.”

“Thank you,” you said quietly as you leaned forward and took the binder from him.

“Have either one of you told your families about this, happy little arrangement?” he asked as he gestured between the two of you.

Max laughed and shook his head. “No, my parents are dead. Only child, too. It’s a real shame.”

Mr. Yates, chuckled dryly, not understanding how such information could be considered funny. “And what about you, Ms. (L/n)? Are all of your relatives dead as well?”

“Mine?” you put a hand to your chest. “No, no, they are alive--”

“We were actually going to tell them the news this weekend,” Max chimed in and you looked at him in surprise. “It’s grandma’s 85th birthday--we thought it would be a nice surprise.”

You stared at him like he had grown a second head. How did he know about your grandmother’s birthday? The idea that Max paid more attention to you than you thought was sitting uneasily in your stomach, but you continued to smile and nodded in agreement.

“We’re flying up to, (y/n)’s parents house.” Max took the binder as you handed it to him.

“And where is that?”

“Alaska.” You said simply, crossing your legs and adjusting the hem of your pencil skirt, reveling in the way Max’s entire face fell.

“Ah-ah-las-kah?" Max stuttered and glared at you. "Alaska." He cleared his throat and repeated.

You returned his intense look of malice with an overly satisfied smile. It felt good to ruffle those feathers, to catch him off guard and see him out of his element.

“Well, I wish you both a safe trip,” Mr. Yates stood up to show you the door and the both of you mirrored him. “I’ll call to schedule your visa interview after what I’m sure will be a lovely week.”

Leaving the federal office felt like you were walking in slow motion. You vaguely heard Max put his bluetooth on his ear and take a call, letting his boisterous voice echo in the too loud, too crowded lobby. Going out onto the street and feeling the cool air on your skin didn’t make breathing any easier as you thought about what just happened. In your trance you almost dropped the heavy glass door on Max’s face.

He hung up the call and started talking like everything was just a normal day back at the office, like the two of you hadn’t just been threatened with the American government absolutely ruining your lives.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he said as he put his sunglasses on to protect him against the already very overcast autumn sky. “What’s going to happen is we are going to run up to your parent’s place, act like we’re boyfriend and girlfriend--we can stay in a hotel and that will make it easier to fake. Make sure you use the miles for the tickets--”

“Max…”

“I will pay to have you fly first class, but only, and I mean only if you use the miles. If I don’t get rewards, then we aren’t going.” He pulled his sleeve up slightly and looked at his watch. “Also, please confirm they offer vampire accommodations, because I swear if they put me next to some old hag like last time and I have to smell her O-positive, diabetic, dustiness for six hours--I’m. Going. To. Lose. It.”

“Max--”

He stopped as he realized he had walked quite a ways in front of you and he turned around. “Why aren’t you taking notes?”

Your jaw dropped and you stomped over to him and shoved the binder against his chest with enough force that he stumbled back a step. “I’m sorry! Were you not in that room with me just now? Were you not fucking listening??” You were almost screaming and he looked around quickly before stepping closer and towering over you.

“You look crazy, calm down--”

“Calm down? You have some neve, Max. Some. Fucking. Nerve.” With each word you poked your manicured finger into the middle of his chest, on top of his stupid, yellow tie. He grabbed your wrist to stop you but you yanked out of his grip. “Don’t touch me.”

“Listen,” he took a breath and spoke to you like the ticking time bomb that you were. “You did well back there. That thing about the promotion? That was genius. He really bought that.”

Evan’s words rang back through your head and you took a step back looking at Max. He's never going to promote you. You know that, right? Five years. For five years you had done everything for him. You had done the work of an executive level salesman and made a secretary's salary. And for what? To constantly be missing out on important things in your life? Friends. Family. Dating. You couldn't remember the last time you had actually been on a date with anyone. Everything seemed to revolve around the man in front of you--and you had reached your limit. All of this was asking too much of you.

When you finally spoke, your voice was flat and even. “I meant it. I want that promotion.”

“To what? Evan’s job?” He raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“I’m the one that is facing a two hundred and fifty thousand dollar fine, and jail time--that changes things. I want Evan’s old job and a thirty percent raise.” You crossed your arms and planted your feet as you held his gaze.

Max moved his bottom jaw from one side to the other, a tick you had often seen and come to realize meant he was mulling over his options. “Fifteen.”

“Forty.” You counter offered the wrong way and he gave a hard bark of laughter. “Okay, fine. I’m walking. You’re screwed. Goodbye, Max--have fun in Romania.”

No sooner did you turn around did Max lunge forward and grab you by the upper arm. “Okay! Okay. Fine.”

“Fine?”

He looked at you pointedly and pulled you into the front of his body. His eyes shimmered for a brief moment and his lips turned upward into a small grin. “Unless--you’ll take something else? Plus, ten percent of course, I’m not a monster.”

You felt as if a small breeze was whispering against the nape of your neck, and you fought the urge to bat at it like a fly. The press of his voice worked its way into your ear and you could almost feel it trying to go deeper. When you realized what he was doing, you gasped and slapped him across the face. “Did you just try and hypnotize me??”

“Ah, shit!” he released your arm and put his hand to his cheek. “Did it not work?!”

“Go to hell, Max!” You turned once again and started walking down the sidewalk, ignoring the faces of the people that were nosily watching your heated exchange.

“Why the fuck didn’t it work--” he mumbled, continuing to rub his cheek and coming to his senses once he saw you putting more distance between the two of you. “Hey!” He jogged quickly and passed you easily in your high heels, turning around so he could look you in the eye. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean it. I couldn’t help myself.”

“Typical,” you scoffed and rolled your eyes.

“I can’t do this without you,” he held his hands up defensively and gave you an almost pleading look. “I’ll give you the promotion, and the raise. If I’m not at that company, they will get rid of you like that,” he snapped his fingers and you clenched your jaw. “I don’t want to go back to Romania. I didn’t have such a good trip the last time.” He smiled way too large, an action more for the purpose of pulling back his lips so he could gesture to his fangs. “So, will you do this?”

"I have a few conditions."

"Name them."

"We do this my way, and on my terms. This is my family that we are lying to, so we will tell them when I want, and how I want."

"Done. Next?"

"How did you know it was my grandmother's birthday?"

"You think I can't hear every time your family calls and begs you to quit? Even without superhuman hearing--you sit right next to my office." He made a gesture of his hand pantomiming a small distance.

"Fine."

"Fine." You both said one right after the other in shared stubbornness and mutual disdain. "Anything else?"

You crossed your arms under your breasts slowly and straightened your shoulders. “Ask me nicely.”

“Ask you what? I just--”

“Ask me to marry you.”

Max paused and leaned back a bit, rubbing a hand down his face and chuckling like your request was unbelievable. “Uh. Fine. Fine.” He nodded and cleared his throat. “Will you marry me?”

“Like you mean it,” you insisted. “On your knees.”

He gaped at you like a fish out of water. His large hand rubbed the back of his neck as he looked around embarrassed by the idea that any of the hundreds of people on the street could see what he was about to do. He looked at the ground to make sure there wasn't anything obviously sticky lurking on the pavement before slowly getting down on one knee.

"There. Happy?" He gestured to himself and you nodded.

"Oh, extremely."

He sighed and bit his tongue with what he really wanted to say as he looked up at you from his spot on the ground. "So, will you marry me?"

"I believe I said, ask me nicely. Sales. Is. Seduction. Right, Max?" You clenched your fists and brought them into your chest, mimicking his speech from earlier in a most obnoxious way. "Seduce me, then. Really sell it."

Max blew a heavy sigh in the form of a loud raspberry and cracked his neck. He shook out his arms in a dramatic display like he was getting ready to perform and finally looked up at you. His expression was genuine enough. His eyes were warm and his smile small, and he even took your hand and held it out in front of him lightly.

"Sweetheart--(y/n), beautiful, intelligent, decadent, sexy, vibrant--"

"Enough." You said with a frown. "Remember, I'm a person, not a dessert."

He continued as if you hadn't interrupted his string of praise. "Will you please, with cherries on top, marry me?"

You tapped your chin in mock contemplation and gave a single nod. "Okay. Yes. Although I don't appreciate the sarcasm." You let go of his hand and let it fall to his side as you adjusted your purse on your shoulder. "Get me a ring. If we break the news to my mother and there's no ring, she will go bezerk."

"Fair enough."

"See you at the airport, Max."

You walked passed him without another word, leaving the most powerful man you had ever met on his knees in the middle of the New York street.

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#max phillips #bloodsucking bastards #max phillips x reader #pedro pascal #pedro character fic #with cherries on top #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #max phillips x you #the proposal

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labyrinth-runner · 3 years

Note

“Are you scared? Don’t be. ‘ll protect you from today onwards.” For Obi x Reader please?

Title: King of Hearts

Summary: When you’re sent to a neighboring kingdom to marry the king, things do not go as planned. Warnings: None. Word Count: 5400

Tag List: @blackirisposts, @star-whores-a-new-hoe, @nerd-without-a-cause, @all-hallows-evie, @darthserling

As always, thanks to @the-mandalorian-clone-lover for being a low-key Beta.

You could hear the sound of the wheels running over the forest floor. It had been hours since your carriage had set off on its journey towards the kingdom that was to be your new home. Your legs ached from being in the same position for so long, but there was nothing you could do. Stopping now was out of the question, as you had driven into enemy territory an hour ago. Your guards had even advised against looking out the window. After all, the Princess of the neighboring kingdom would be a prime target for the warlord ravaging your kingdom. That was why it was imperative that you got to your new kingdom in one piece. Your marriage to the King would unite your two kingdoms and act as an alliance that would hopefully end the war.

Resting your head against the wall, you absentmindedly played with your pendant as you tried to picture the man you were to marry. You’d met him once, a long time ago. The two of you had both been young when his father, Qui-Gon, had come to your kingdom for a summit. You couldn’t have been more than ten at the time. You remembered meeting an awkward teenager who would talk you out of all the mischief you had planned. He was so serious, with those crystalline blue eyes that looked like they were wise beyond their years. Most of all, you remember he was kind, having an affinity for animals that led him to spend most of his visit in the menagerie.

Now, you wondered what he was like, having been King for a few years since the death of his father at the hands of a warlord. Would he still be kind? Or would years of a harsh life have turned his heart cold? A sigh breezed through your lips as you tried to stretch in the small space.

Thwip.

Thud.

Screaming.

You froze, hearing the unmistakable sound of an arrow being loosed into the air, and the carnage that it no doubt had caused. The horses were startled and strayed from the path, causing the carriage to run over a boulder. It started to list to the side until it was tumbling. You braced for impact as the carriage landed on its side. Peeking out of the window, you noticed you were at the bottom of a ravine.

“I’m a sitting duck,” you realized in horror as you struggled to get the door open, let alone crawl out of the carriage. Part of you wanted to stay put, to play dead, but you knew better than to trust your attackers with your body. If they were thorough, they would finish the job. With that knowledge to steel your nerves, you used all the strength in your arms to pull yourself up through the doorway.

Once on the other side, you closed the door so that it would take them a while to notice anything was amiss. Swiftly, you moved across the clearing towards the tree line. You could hear running water nearby. If you passed through it, then they would loose your trail. Your feet propelled you further and further, vowing to yourself with each step that you would not die here, that the hope of your people’s salvation would not die here, alone, in the forest.

The water was cold on your calves as you plunged into a running river. It was deeper than you expected, but nothing you couldn’t handle. Wading through the waist-deep water, you trudged to the opposite bank and pulled yourself up.

The foliage on that side of the river was dense enough to conceal you from your attackers. Your heart thudded in your chest as you listened to the sounds of footfalls. Through a gap in the trees, you watched as men in dark cloaks came into view, searching for you. When they passed by without incident, you released a breath that you hadn’t realized you were holding.

On the horizon, the sun was starting to set. You knew you couldn’t stay in the woods forever, but you couldn’t travel as you were either. Your clothes were much too rich for the area. No, you’d have to go back to the carriage and hope to salvage some of the clothes that your maid had packed.

Mary, you thought sadly. She had been riding on the front of the carriage when you were attacked. There was no way she would have survived. A pang of guilt washed over you, but you had to shove it aside. Your feelings, as valid as they were, would not enable you to survive if you dwelled in sadness.

Somehow, the water seemed colder the second time around. It felt like tiny knives stabbing into your skin as you made your way back, retracing your steps as best you could in the falling darkness.

Eventually, the carriage came into view, it’s dark form rising out of the shadows. Your luggage was strewn across the ground, with some crates leaking fabrics. Surprisingly, your treasure was untouched.

“So it was never about the money,” you sighed, “It was always about me.”

With a shake of your head, you started to root around for a plain outfit that would be warm enough in the cool night air. You found a blue servants gown and a brown wool cloak that would suit you nicely. Quickly, you changed into it.

Laying on the ground a few feet away was a crumpled body of one of your soldiers. With some care, you removed his dagger and attached it to your own body. You hoped you would never have to use it, but you would rather have and not need, than need and not have.

Lastly, you took your pendant in your hand, a wedding gift from your fiancé. On it was his crest along with your family’s motto on the back. Ad astra per aspera. You tucked it under the neckline of your dress before looking up at the stars. Giving the guiding lights a resolute nod, you started to walk.

You walked for what felt like miles with no end in sight until dawn started to break over the horizon. Streaks of light cut through the canopy overhead washing everything in a warm amber glow. The trees started to thin out and a small town could be seen past the fields and farms on the outskirts near the forest. To your dismay, you could see that the town was crawling with enemy troops. You pulled your cloak further down your forehead to hopefully obscure your face. As much as you just wanted to walk past the town, your stomach was growling and would not be ignored.

Trudging into the tavern, you slipped into a seat in the corner hoping to avoid detection.

The gods were not smiling upon you.

As soon as you sat, a group of soldiers sauntered over towards you.

“Well, sweetheart, aren’t you a new face?” one of them purred as the barkeep placed a bowl of soup in front of you.

You pointedly ignored them, hoping they would take the hint and leave.

Instead, another soldier sat across from you. “Are you traveling alone? You know that’s dangerous with a war on. Wouldn’t want someone as pretty as you to get caught in the cross fires.”

“You know, when a lass ignores you, that’s usually a sign that you should stop talking,” a man said from behind them.

“Yeah? And what are you going to do about it?” The soldier taunted back.

“This,” the man simply stated before punching him in the face.

A brawl soon broke out in front of you. With a sigh of annoyance, you picked up your bowl of soup and side-stepped the kerfuffle to finish eating your soup at the bar.

The men continued to brawl until the owner kicked them out. Then, the owner turned towards you, “And you, too.”

“But I-” you started to protest.

“Out! You’re bad for business,” he said sternly.

You sighed. At least you’d finished eating. It was time to move on from here, anyway. Pulling your hood back over your head, you made your way out of the tavern and into the street, seeing the man and a younger boy nursing their wounds as the soldiers stalked off down the road.

“Are you alright, lass?” the man called out. He looked like a farmer, based off his clothing. The boy with him must be his farmhand, you surmised.

“Yes, but you didn’t have to do that. I was capable of handling it myself.”

“Were you just going to sit in silence and suffer their presence?” he asked, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. He had a scruffy beard, but the most amazing eyes.

Your face felt hot as you looked away, “I suppose I should thank you, then. For saving me the trouble of their company.”

“You’re welcome,” he said with a kind smile. “Where are you headed, lass?”

“Stewjon,” you said before pausing. Thinking on your feet, you came up with a reasonable lie. After all, you weren’t sure how they would treat the princess of a neighboring kingdom, even if they had just defended your right to eat in silence. “I’m an ambassador from a neighboring kingdom looking to bend the king’s ear.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie. You technically were a representative of your kingdom, and you were hoping the King would listen and help his new wife’s homeland. You absentmindedly played with your necklace while you waited to see if he’d accept your lie.

The farmer nodded, “We’ll take you there.” He cast a suspicious look at the pendant in your hand, squinting at it slightly.

Quickly, you tucked it back into your neckline.

They started to walk and you followed them in silence, sizing them up. The two men seemed to have an unspoken language between them, knowing how the other would tackle the stumbling blocks in the road or which path to take to get to the right place. Their’s was an easy companionship from what you could see. Every once in a while they’d crack jokes when they tripped or slipped.

“No wonder you aren’t a knight, if a tree limb can trip you up,” the farmer teased.

“Better me than you,” the younger man quipped. “I don’t know if your old bones could handle a tumble.”

The man thwacked him up the side of his head.

“Ow!” the boy complained.

“Respect your elders,” the man simply stated, sending you a wink.

A chuckle breezed through your lips at their banter.

“See? Even the lady thinks you’re a fool,” the farmer smirked.

“Or maybe she just happens to find my antics amusing,” the boy straightened. “After all, she does have Anakin Skywalker at her service.” He affected a low bow, waggling his eyebrows at you as he looked up.

You giggled, “Lovely to make your acquaintance, Mr. Skywalker. And you, Sir?” you turned towards the farmer. “I should like to know the name of my savior.”

“Oh, should you now?” he asked, his smile slipping slightly. “It’s Ben.”

You nodded, “Ben and Ani.”

Ben looked up at the sky and cursed, “We’ll have to make camp.”

“But it’s midday,” you replied.

He pointed towards the horizon, “Those clouds spell a storm. We’ll want to find a nice, dry cave to stop in until it passes.”

“There’s a mountain ridge up ahead,” Anakin added. “There should be a cave there.”

“The river’s a bit to the south. If the lass wouldn’t mind getting some water?” Ben asked, handing you a canteen.

You nodded, taking it from him going off towards the direction he indicated. You could hear Ben ordering Anakin about as you left.

The stream wasn’t too hard to find, and it was significantly less cold than the one you had found yourself in the day before. As you dipped the canteen in the river to gather water, you caught sight of your reflection. There were trees in your once-neat hair, dirt was caked on your limbs, and bits of blood were dried here and there from where you had been nicked by brambles and branches.

Casting a look from side to side, you realized you were alone. You may not get another moment like this, and you certainly did not want to show up to the palace in such a state. In moments, you had undressed and waded into the running water. Taking a handkerchief from your clothes, you used it to scrub yourself clean, marveling in the fresh feeling of once again being spotless. You leaned back, floating for a moment as you let yourself relax.

“Lass, we found a cave,” Ben called out as he came trudging through the bushes. Then, he caught sight of the clothes on the riverbank and his eyes briefly flicked to your floating body before he averted his gaze.

You straightened immediately. “I’m sorry. I-”

“Please, don’t apologize. I should have been more discreet. I averted my gaze as quickly as I could,” he replied, keeping his back towards you as you got out of the river and dressed.

“How far is the cave?”

“Not very far,” he replied.

Gently, you took his hand to hide the look of embarrassment. His hand was warm around yours, comforting. “Lead the way.”

Soon you found yourself standing at the mouth of a cave. Inside, Anakin had started a small fire and spread out their cloaks to cover the ground to make it softer.

The three of you sat as the start of the storm could be heard outside.

“I guess you were right,” you murmured.

“He’s always right,” Anakin said pointedly.

Ben rolled his eyes, “I just had to learn this from my father at a young age.”

“Because of working in the fields?” you asked.

He blinked, “Y-yes.”

You stared out the mouth of the cave at the steadily growing storm. “Can you tell me a bit about the king?”

“Haven’t you met him before?” Ben asked.

“A long time ago,” you said wistfully. “It’s been a while. People can change. Life changes them.”

“He’s a hard ass,” Anakin smirked. That earned him another thwack from Ben. “Alright, I lied. He’s kind. He’s a real people’s man.” The younger man laid down on his cloak and turned away from you. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take a nap.”

That just left you and Ben.

At first, the silence was deafening, but then the ice broke and conversation became easy.

The two of you talked for hours about anything and everything under the sun, from childhood experiences to the things you did for fun. There was so much that you two had in common, and talking to him was so easy. You’d never felt more at ease. As you talked, you noticed little things about him. The crinkle near the corner of his eyes from smiling was your first observation. Then, it was how beautiful the color of his eyes were. In the back of your mind, you wondered how soft his beard was. Still, all the while you kept swapping stories and learning more and more about this handsome man who had rescued you. When you woke up on his shoulder later on, you didn’t even remember falling asleep.

“Morning, sunshine,” he murmured.

The rain had stopped, leaving a clean smell hanging in the air. Anakin was snoring softly across the cave. The fire casted Ben in a warm amber glow that you found entrancing. Gently, you reached up to smooth a piece of hair out of his face. His eyes softened as he looked down at you. He leaned into your touch, eyes closing as his cheek pressed into your palm. Your thumb caressed the edge of his beard as you found your eyes settling on his lips. In the back of your mind, a voice said you probably shouldn’t be doing this, but you found yourself leaning in anyway. Your lips connected with his, pressing firmly against him. He kissed back almost immediately, slipping his hand to your neck as his fingers snaked into your hair. The cave was suddenly warmer than you could handle and you pulled back, eyes wide at what you’d done.

Anakin stretched behind you, waking up. “Well, I suppose we should start walking again?”

Ben answered, not taking his eyes off you. “Yes, we should. Then we’ll at least reach the city limits by daybreak tomorrow.”

“We’re going to walk through the night?” you asked in dismay.

“It’s best that we make haste,” Ben replied, getting up and pulling his cloak back on.

“R-right,” Anakin seconded, his brow furrowed as he glanced between the two of you.

“If we make it to the city limits by dawn, then we’ll be able to rent a horse for the last leg of the journey,” Ben added, as a consolation.

You nodded, getting yourself together to follow them out into the late afternoon sun.

The walk was harder now, with the ground slick with wet grass and mud. It was slower going, and somehow you managed to hold onto Ben’s hand the entire time. He kept you from falling, and pulled you out of the mud when you got stuck. He barely looked at you as you went until you needed help. Then, there was concern in his eyes as he steadied you, an extra hand on your arm to make sure that you were in fact alright.

It confused you. You were to be married to a man you hadn’t known in a long time, and yet here you were falling for a farmer who couldn’t even look at you for longer that ten seconds since you’d kissed. Still, you knew that nothing you’d have with the King would ever be as easy as with this farmer, but there was nothing you could do. Your kingdom needed this alliance. However, that didn’t mean you couldn’t stumble or slip a bit more so that you could spend more time with the farmer. All you were doing was prolonging the inevitable, you knew that. Yet, you wanted to do it. You were enjoying this sense of freedom before being bogged down with the needs of a kingdom again.

As night drew nearer, you held his hand tighter, not wanting to get separated in the dark. Ben gave your hand reassuring squeezes intermittently. Once, although you could not see it, you felt him bring your hand to his lips and kiss it when you’d stopped at a fork in the road.

Somehow, they knew the way in the dark. It was almost as if they’d spent years traveling these roads, which you thought was odd for a farmer. Then again, he probably traveled to sell his wares. As it got darker, it grew colder. That was when you felt a cloak being dropped on your shoulders. You nestled into it, squeezing his hand in response.

Your feet were so tired you felt like they would fall off of your body and abandon you. At that point, you realized that you had been walked the majority of the way to the palace, a trip that took about six hours by carriage, but a day and a half on foot. You wanted to stop. You wanted to rest. But, you knew that if you were tired, then so were they. Yet, they kept going to get you to your destination. They didn’t give up, and neither would you.

Finally, dawn started to break. You’d broken out onto wide open road a while ago, but now in the early morning rays, you could see the city sprawling before you and the ocean beyond it. You nestled further into your layers as the sea breeze ruffled the fabric.

“Is that...?” you asked.

“Yes,” he said with a fond smile on his face as he looked at it. “That’s Stewjon.”

“It’s massive,” you breathed.

“Which is why I said we’d get horses to take you to the palace,” he winked. “Besides, the best way to tour the city for the first time is on horse.”

“You’re going to give me a tour?” you asked, unable to keep the giddiness from your voice. Perhaps you didn’t have to say goodbye so soon, after all.

“If that is alright with you,” he grinned.

“You two go on ahead,” Anakin yawned. “I’m going to go home.”

Ben shot him a glare.

Your brow furrowed. Home? But they were farmers. There were no farms around the city.

“I mean... I’m going to find some lodgings,” Anakin chuckled nervously. “You know, my brain is so tired I should get some sleep so I can start making sense again.”

You raised a brow as the boy awkwardly backed away.

Ben gently took your hand and tugged you towards the stables. “Wait here.”

Bouncing on the balls of your feet, you waited for him to return with a horse. He helped you up into the saddle before climbing on behind you. His body was warm against your back and you found yourself leaning into him, resting your back against his chest.

He set the horse into a slow pace, pointing out various businesses and places all over the town. People waved to him as he passed and he waved back.

“You’re quite popular,” you teased.

“Nonsense,” he murmured, “They’re just friendly here.”

“I hope I’m well received,” you sighed.

“I’m sure you will be, lass,” he whispered in your ear.

His voice sent a shiver down your spine in a way you’d never felt before. As you closed your eyes, you pictured what it would be like to have him whisper sweet nothings to you in the dark of your bedroom. His hands were warm around yours as he held onto the reins. They were large and calloused. You couldn’t help but imagine what they would feel like against your skin, fingers splayed as they trailed up your sides.

Reluctantly, you opened your eyes, severing your connection to your daydream. You couldn’t be thinking like this. Not now.

“Take me to the palace, please,” you said with a sad smile.

“Of course,” Ben replied, but you thought there was a slight twinge of disappointment in his voice.

The rest of the ride was silent. He put you down in front of the palace steps. Each step up them put more and more distance between the two of you in more ways than just physically. With every step, you tried to wall up your heart to protect you. You didn’t dare to say goodbye for fear of not being able to let go. You felt foolish, loving a man so easily and so quickly, but it felt like you’d know him for years, not mere days.

You placed your hand on the door, fingers spread and pushed it in to enter a grand hall. A woman quickly flitted over to you, giving you a hard appraisal.

“I’m sorry, but the King isn’t seeing to the townspeople today.”

“Oh, I’m not....” you trailed off, trying to think of the best way to explain yourself as the woman raised an eyebrow at you. “I’m the King’s betrothed. My carriage was attacked and I had to walk the rest of the way here.” You dug out the necklace that the King had sent you as a gift and showed it to her.

Her eyes lit up in recognition and she curtseyed, “Of course, your highness. My apologies. My name is Padmé Amidala. I serve as an advisor to the King. Please, allow me to show you to your rooms.”

“May I not see the King first?” you asked. “I’ve traveled all this way.”

“Wouldn’t you like to make yourself look....presentable first?”

You looked down and took in your appearance. “I suppose I ought to.”

Padmé nodded and led you towards your rooms. They were grand rooms, richly furnished with all the finest pieces and fabrics. Yet, they lacked the warmth and familiarity of yours back home.

Servants came to draw a bath for you. Once it was full, you dismissed them and sunk into the tub. It’s nice to bathe in warm water again, you thought as you leaned your head against the rim of the tub.

Your eyes cast a critical glance back and forth as you took in your surroundings. As nice as the rooms were, part of you wondered if it were only a temporary arrangement. After all, you’d have to move into the King’s room eventually once you were married.

Quickly, you sunk below the water at the thought. Sharing a room with another person? Hell, sharing a room with a man? The thought was overwhelming.

When you broke back through the surface, you noticed that the sun was starting to set. It was then that you realized just how much time you had spent with Ben around town. It had gone by in the blink of an eye.

Your fingers started to wrinkle from the water and you decided to emerge from the tub. Wrapping a robe around you, you padded back towards your bedroom to find Padmé waiting for you.

“Your highness, we must take some measurements for your wedding dress,” she informed you as a group of handmaidens swarmed into the room.

You were guided up onto a pedestal and turned this way and that as they draped a gown around you, pinning and stitching things in place.

“How soon will this be finished?” you asked.

“Don’t fret, your highness, I’ll have the dress finished in time for your nuptials tomorrow,” the seamstress said as she packed up her things.

“Tomorrow?” you asked incredulously. It was so much sooner than you thought.

“Of course,” Padmé smiled, “The King will want to marry you at sunset tomorrow, as is tradition.”

“Isn’t that... quite soon?” you asked.

“You’ve known each other for years, have you not?”

“Well,” you sighed as you pulled your robe back on. “May I at least speak with the King first?”

“I’m afraid not, your highness,” she said with a sad smile, “His majesty is in a meeting with the war council tonight. It’s to go over plans for reinforcing your father’s troops. I don’t think he’ll be out any time soon.”

“I see,” you said, a frown of disappointment apparent on your face. “I’d like to enjoy dinner in my room tonight, Padmé. There’s no sense in eating in the dining room if I am to be eating alone.”

“Of course, your highness,” Padmé nodded, ushering everyone out the door. She paused in the doorway before turning back to you. “If it helps at all, your highness, please know that his majesty is a kind man. He is just as nervous about this as you, but I can promise you that everything he will ever do is to protect you. When you were late in arriving.... well, I have never seen him more distraught. I was sure he’d scour the kingdom just to find you.”

“I see,” you murmured, looking out the window at the vast kingdom. “Thank you, Padmé.”

She left without another word.

When dinner arrived, you hadn’t realized how hungry you were, but then you remembered that you hadn’t eaten since the tavern fiasco. Regardless of whether or not it actually was the best meal you’ve eaten, your hunger made it so.

By the time you’d finished eating, the sky had turned into the indigo depths of a lightless ocean. You settled on the window seat and opened the window to feel the chill night air on your face. Your farmer was out there somewhere, with his eyes like the sky in the morning when you have a whole day ahead of you, bright and nary a cloud in the sky. As you closed your eyes, you pictured his face, his strong jaw, his beard as it brushed the shell of your ear during the tour of the kingdom, his strong arms as they wrapped around you. Never had you felt more safe.

You fell asleep on the bench, dreaming of your farmer. It wasn’t until much later that you woke up to a pair of arms carrying you to bed.

Fluttering your eyelids, you noticed a shadow holding you. Your first instinct was to push back as you gasped in fear.

“Shhhhh, lass,” a man murmured as he tucked you into the covers. “Are you scared?” He gently smoothed your hair out of your face, “Don’t be. I’ll protect you from today onwards. Always.”

In your heart, you believed him. You couldn’t make out any of his features as he retreated towards the hall, but when he opened the door, the candlelight reflected off the crown on his head. By then, you could barely keep your eyes open and let yourself succumb to sleep.

Padmé let you sleep in the next morning, having guessed that you had been through quite the ordeal and were thoroughly exhausted. When they finally woke you up, it was around noon and they started to get you ready for your wedding.

It was all a blur as you felt your nerves begin to rise, settling into your chest like a weight. You couldn’t eat, instead just allowing yourself to be taken over by the process and trusting your new handmaidens and Padmé completely.

Soon, you found yourself at the chapel as the afternoon sun started to set, swathing you in colorful light from the stained glass. Your hand came up to squeeze your pendant in your hand, wishing that your father could have been there. Ahead of you stood a man with his back towards you, a crown nestled in his auburn hair. Part of you wondered if you could really go through with this, but then you remembered that this was for the good of the kingdom. Your life was never just yours. You lived for your people, and what your people needed was for you to solidify this alliance. For your own sake, you hoped that love would come later, once Ben was long forgotten. If you could ever manage that.

You walked with a measured gait towards the front of the chapel, coming to rest next to the man that would be your husband. Your heart was thumping in your chest, but then he turned to you and time stopped.

He watched with a smile as your eyes widened and your mouth parted slightly. He was so very handsome. His beard looked incredibly soft. His eyes were a brilliant blue and you were certain that you’d drown in them someday. He was your farmer, and here he was holding his hand out for you to take.

“I don’t understand,” you murmured as you took his hand.

“When you didn’t show up as expected, I had to go searching for you. We traveled the main road and found your carriage. Then, Anakin and I broke off to find you,” he explained.

“But I thought-”

“That I was a farmer,” he grinned, “I couldn’t put a target on my back when there was already one on yours. Traveling the way we did was better for all involved.”

“You could’ve told me,” you replied, squeezing his hand.

“I hadn’t seen you in years. I wanted to know you just as you are, and for you to know me in the same regard,” he replied, kissing your hand.

“And the name Ben?” you asked.

“A nickname from an old friend who lives in a cloister,” he explained.

“I love you,” you told him earnestly.

His hand came up to cup your cheek, “I love you, too, lass.”

The bishop cleared his throat in front of you and you both shared a wide grin before turning back towards him to finish the proceedings.

For the entire ceremony, you were thinking of the man standing next to you and how you knew that no matter what, everything would be alright. You recited your vows, exchanged your rings, and turned back towards each other.

“I now pronounce you man and wife. Your majesty, you may kiss your bride,” the bishop grinned.

Obi-Wan’s eyes trailed down your face towards your lips as his arm wrapped around your waist to pull you close. His other hand came up to tilt your face towards his. Gently, he stroked his thumb across your cheek.

You swallowed the lump in your throat as you settled your hands on his chest.

He leaned down to kiss you, pressing his lips against yours. To your surprise, he dipped you back, causing you to chuckle against his lips as he straightened the two of you out. Then, he scooped you up and carried you towards your castle so that you could live happily ever after.

#obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan fanfiction #obi-wan x reader #obi-wan x you #Obi-Wan x Fem! Reader #arranged marriage fic

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