#bts ot7

i can’t stop watching his performance videos the choreo is infectious

cr. sugajk_db

(Song: Truth of Pursuit, Sarah Kinsley)

Made this edit a few days ago while thinking about my DR and I think it perfectly captures how I feel about shifting as well (and not ONLY Bangtan): the meditations, the excitement, the symptoms etc.. I realized that the journey of it is so precious to me and not only the moment when I will shift (trust, we will shift tonight!!) and I think, personally, the journey is also what keeps me going. It’s so much FUN. Meditating is fun, preparing for a shift is FUN. I think so many people try so desperately to get to their DR bc they are mentally in a very bad place (I was like that too so I get it) that they forget that this is supposed to be something that fulfills you and not give you a headache.

And honestly this is what keeps me going, not only my s/o and my friends and family but also the happiness that comes with shifting.

Pirate!Taehyung x Noblewoman!reader

mentions ; Slow Burn, blood, violence, arranged marriage, forced proximity...

Chapters ;

(soon..)

Author's note ; Most people don't know but English isn't my first language so if you see a mistake feel free to kindly correct me, also I tried writing a fic using a different point of view from what I usually do, I hope you'll like it

CHAPTER ONE

The Bride of Asteria

The kingdom was not yet at war.

That was what the royal proclamations insisted.

There had been no formal declaration, no armies marching beneath unfurled banners, no bells tolling from the towers of the capital to summon men to battle. The markets remained open. Noble families still held their banquets. Musicians still played in candlelit halls while courtiers drank imported wine and spoke of peace as though repeating the word often enough might make it true.

But along the eastern border, villages were already burning. Merchant ships had begun disappearing in the Narrow Sea. Coastal fortresses were gathering provisions, blacksmiths worked through the night, and every week another royal messenger arrived at Y/N’s father’s estate carrying sealed letters from the king.

The kingdom of Asteria was not yet at war.

It was merely standing at the edge of it, staring down into the abyss.

And Y/N was expected to pull it back.

She stood beside the tall windows of her father’s study, watching rain slide down the glass in thin, silver streams. Beyond the panes stretched acres of land belonging to House Valenne: dark forests, hunting fields, vineyards, mines and villages small enough to disappear beneath the morning mist.

Her father owned nearly everything the eye could see.

According to some, Lord Valenne possessed more gold than the royal treasury itself. His ships crossed every sea. His iron supplied the king’s army. His timber built half the vessels docked in the western ports.

When crops failed, the crown borrowed from him.

When rebellions rose, he funded the soldiers sent to suppress them. And now, when war threatened to tear the kingdom apart, the king had come to him once again.

This time, however, Lord Valenne did not intend to be repaid with interest. He intended to be repaid with a crown.

“You understand what is at stake” her father said.

Y/N did not turn from the window. She had been standing there for so long that the cold from the glass had settled into her fingers.

“I understand what you want me to believe is at stake.”

The silence behind her sharpened.

Her father sat at the centre of the room behind an enormous mahogany desk. He was a broad-shouldered man in his late fifties, with iron-grey hair and a face that rarely revealed anything he had not deliberately chosen to show. He disliked defiance.

He disliked it even more when it came from his only daughter.

“This is not one of your philosophical debates” he said. “Thousands of lives may depend upon this alliance.”

Y/N finally turned.

On the desk between them lay the marriage contract. The parchment was thick, the royal seal dark red against its folded edge. It contained several pages detailing the lands, ships and funds House Valenne would provide to the crown once Y/N married Crown Prince Adrian.

Somewhere among those conditions, Y/N’s entire future had been reduced to ink. Her name appeared at the bottom of the final page.

There was an empty space beside it, waiting for her signature.

“The king needs your fleet” she said. “He needs your gold. He needs your mines and your weapons. This is not an alliance. It is a purchase.”

Her father leaned back in his chair.

“All marriages between great houses are purchases of one kind or another.”

“And I am the payment.”

“You are my heir.”

“I am your daughter.”

“Today, those things are the same.”

Y/N’s jaw tightened.

She hated the calmness of his voice. She hated the way he spoke as though he were explaining an unavoidable law of nature rather than a decision he had made on her behalf.

“You will become queen” he continued. “Women across the kingdom would give everything to stand where you stand.”

“Then let one of them marry him.”

His palm struck the desk. The sound echoed through the room. Y/N did not flinch, though every muscle in her body went rigid.

“You have been given every privilege” he said. “The finest tutors. The finest gowns. Jewels women twice your age would envy. You have never known hunger, cold or fear.”

“And therefore I owe you my life?”

“You owe your house your duty.”

The rain beat harder against the windows. Her gaze dropped to the contract again. She had met Prince Adrian only twice.

The first time, she had been sixteen. He had kissed her hand and told her she was even more beautiful than the portraits suggested.

The second time, three years later, he had spent an entire dinner discussing the changes he would make once she became his wife.

She would wear the royal colours.

She would stop visiting village clinics.

She would no longer study medicinal plants, because a future queen had physicians for such things.

She would give him sons.

He had spoken of her future as if she were not seated across from him.

Since then, he had sent her six letters. Each had been polite, distant and strangely possessive. He never asked what she read or what she thought. He asked whether her gowns had been prepared and whether her hair would be worn according to court tradition.

He had never once asked whether she wanted to marry him.

Neither had her father.

“I do not love him” Y/N said.

Her father gave a humourless smile.

“Love is a luxury for people with nothing important to lose.”

“What if he is cruel?”

“He is the future king.”

“That was not my question.”

“It is the only answer that matters.”

Something inside her seemed to go still. For years, she had believed there might be a limit to her father’s ambition. Some boundary he would not cross where she was concerned. She realised now that she had mistaken possession for love.

Lord Valenne rose and walked towards her. When he reached her, he lifted one hand to her face. His fingers rested beneath her chin, turning her towards the light as though inspecting a valuable jewel before a sale.

“You were born with gifts most women could never dream of possessing” he said. “Beauty. Blood. Wealth. Do you imagine those things were given to you for no purpose?”

Y/N pulled away from his touch.

“My face is not a duty.”

“In this world, everything of value has a purpose.”

She looked at him for a long moment.

“Is that all I am to you? Something valuable?”

For the first time, his expression shifted.

Not with guilt.

With impatience.

“You are behaving like a child.”

“I am asking you a question.”

“And I have no time for childish questions. The kingdom is moving towards war. Our enemies control the eastern ports. Pirates attack our ships. The crown cannot protect trade routes without money, and without those routes, the cities will starve.”

He returned to the desk and placed one hand upon the marriage contract.

“This union gives the king the resources he needs to restore order. In return, our family becomes part of the royal bloodline. When Adrian takes the throne, you will rule beside him.”

“I do not want to rule.”

“You do not know what you want.”

“I know exactly what I want.”

He studied her with open disbelief.

Y/N looked past him, towards the shelves lining the walls. Most held ledgers, maps and histories of conquest. But on the highest shelf, half hidden behind a row of financial records, stood three old books on anatomy and medicinal herbs.

They had belonged to her mother.

“I want a small house” Y/N said quietly. “On a hill, perhaps. Somewhere far from court.”

Her father’s expression hardened.

“I want a garden filled with lavender and rosemary. I want to learn medicine properly, not merely from books I am forbidden to read. I want to help children in villages where no royal physician would ever bother to go.”

“You want to waste your life among peasants.”

“I want my life to belong to me.”

A bitter laugh escaped him.

“You imagine freedom is a cottage and a handful of flowers?”

“No. I imagine freedom is waking without knowing that another person has already decided everything I will do.”

Her father turned away.

For several moments, the only sound in the room was the rain. Then he picked up the marriage contract and held it out to her.

“The ship leaves in three days.”

Y/N stared at the parchment.

“You have not given me a choice.”

“Choice is another luxury.”

She did not take the contract. Her father stepped closer and lowered his voice.

“The kingdom needs this alliance. Our house needs this alliance. You will sail to Elaris, you will marry the prince, and you will perform the duty for which you were raised.”

“And if I refuse?”

Lord Valenne’s face became unreadable.

“Then every soldier who dies in the coming war will be placed at your feet.”

It was a cruel answer.

It was also a clever one. Her father knew precisely where to strike.

Y/N could endure his anger. She could endure gossip, scandal and exile. But the thought of villages burning and children starving because she had refused to sign a piece of parchment lodged beneath her ribs like a blade.

Her father extended the contract once more.

This time, Y/N took it. His smile was small and satisfied.

“Good.”

She looked down at her name.

The ink waited.

Three days later, the harbour bells rang at dawn. The royal vessel Dawn’s Glory rested against the pier, its white sails marked with the golden crest of Asteria. Soldiers guarded the gangplank while servants carried trunks, crates and wedding gifts aboard.

The harbour was crowded despite the early hour. Some had come to witness the departure of their future princess. Others had come simply to see Y/N.

She was accustomed to being watched. Whispers followed her wherever she went. Poets compared her skin to moonlight, her eyes to precious stones, her hair to silk. At court, women studied her gowns while men forgot their conversations when she entered a room.

Her beauty had never felt like a blessing.

It was another thing people believed entitled them to possess a piece of her.

That morning she wore a travelling dress of pale blue, embroidered with tiny silver flowers. Her hair had been carefully arranged beneath a matching hat, though the sea wind had already pulled several strands free. The crowd sighed when she appeared. Y/N wished she could disappear.

Her father accompanied her to the foot of the gangplank. He had not embraced her before they left the estate. He did not embrace her now. Instead, he adjusted the clasp of her cloak and examined her as he might examine one of his ships before a long voyage.

“You will arrive in Elaris within twelve days” he said. “The prince’s representatives will meet you at the harbour. The wedding will take place a week later.”

“So soon?”

“The longer we wait, the weaker the alliance appears.”

“I see.”

“You will write to me upon your arrival.”

Y/N looked at him.

“Will you miss me?”

The question seemed to surprise him. He glanced towards the watching crowd.

“You are going to become a queen.”

“That was not my question either.”

His mouth tightened.

“Do not embarrass me in Elaris.”

Then he stepped away. Y/N climbed aboard without looking back. The first days of the voyage passed beneath a grey sky.

The coast remained visible until the afternoon of the second day, when the last line of land disappeared behind them. Y/N stood at the stern and watched until there was nothing left but water. She had always imagined the sea would feel like freedom.

Instead, it felt endless. Her cabin was spacious, almost luxurious, furnished with a narrow bed, a writing desk and a small sitting area. Her father had sent gowns, jewels, silver brushes and enough embroidered linen to furnish a palace.

Y/N had brought only one thing herself.

A leather-bound medical book hidden beneath her dresses. Every night, once her maid had gone to sleep, she read by candlelight. The pages smelled of dust and lavender. Some passages were written in her mother’s hand, delicate notes filling the margins.

Y/N traced those words whenever homesickness became difficult to bear. On the fourth evening, she found the ship’s surgeon treating a young deckhand whose palm had been split open by a rope.

The surgeon was an impatient man with red cheeks and unsteady hands. He poured spirits over the wound while the boy bit down on a strip of cloth.

“You have not cleaned beneath the skin” Y/N said.

The surgeon looked over his shoulder.

“My lady?”

“There may be fibres from the rope inside the wound.”

“I assure you, I know my work.”

The boy’s face had gone pale.

Y/N stepped closer.

“If you close it now, the flesh may rot.”

The surgeon stared at her as if she had suggested taking command of the ship.

“This is hardly a suitable place for Lord Valenne’s daughter.”

“His hand does not care whose daughter I am.”

The boy made a strangled sound that might have been a laugh. The surgeon did not look amused. Nevertheless, perhaps because refusing her carried its own dangers, he allowed Y/N to examine the injury.

She found two small fibres embedded inside the torn skin.

By the time the wound had been properly cleaned and bandaged, several sailors had gathered nearby. Y/N could feel their surprise.

Noblewomen were expected to faint at the sight of blood.

She had never understood why.

Later that evening, while she stood alone near the bow, an older sailor approached her. His name was Mr Park, though everyone called him Old Park. His beard was white, his back slightly bent from years spent hauling rope and cargo.

“You have your mother’s hands” he told her.

Y/N turned sharply.

“You knew her?”

“Only once. She treated sailors during the fever outbreak in Valenne Port. Most highborn ladies would not come near us.”

Y/N looked down at her hands. Her father rarely spoke about her mother. When he did, he described her as delicate, beautiful and obedient.

No one else seemed to remember her that way.

“She wanted to become a physician” Y/N said.

Old Park nodded.

“She wanted many things.”

There was something in his voice that made Y/N look at him more carefully. Before she could ask, footsteps sounded behind them.

Captain Moreau approached with two officers. The captain was a stern man, loyal to Y/N’s father and suspicious of anyone who spoke to her without permission.

“Is everything well, my lady?”

“Perfectly.”

His gaze shifted towards Old Park. The sailor bowed and moved away.

Captain Moreau waited until he was gone.

“You should not spend too much time among the crew.”

“I was speaking to him.”

“Yes.”

The single word contained a warning. Y/N rested her arms on the railing.

“Are conversations dangerous at sea, Captain?”

“Some conversations are dangerous everywhere.”

She followed his gaze towards the horizon.

For the past two days, the crew had seemed unusually tense. Men remained in the rigging long after sunset. Armed soldiers patrolled the deck at night. Each time a distant sail appeared, Captain Moreau reached for his telescope.

“Are you expecting trouble?” she asked.

“No.”

“You are a poor liar.”

His jaw tightened.

“These waters have become less secure.”

“Because of the war?”

“There is no war.”

“So everyone keeps telling me.”

Captain Moreau said nothing.

Y/N studied him.

“Is it the pirates?”

His expression changed almost imperceptibly. That was answer enough. She had heard the name long before the voyage. Everyone in Asteria had.

Kim Taehyung.

Captain of the Black Dahlia.

To the crown, he was a murderer, thief and traitor. Royal notices described him as the most dangerous criminal on the Narrow Sea. His face appeared on wanted posters in every major port, though the drawings differed so greatly that Y/N doubted any of the artists had actually seen him.

Some depicted a scarred brute with wild hair and blood on his hands. Others showed a shadow wearing a black coat. The reward offered for his capture was enough to purchase an estate.

Her father spoke of him with particular hatred.

“A monster” Lord Valenne had called him. “He attacks without mercy and leaves no survivors.”

Yet the servants told different stories. They whispered that the Black Dahlia never attacked fishing boats.

That its crew had once stolen grain from a royal ship and delivered it to a starving island.

That prisoners held aboard slave vessels had been set free after black sails appeared on the horizon.

According to the crown, those were lies spread by criminals. According to the people, Kim Taehyung stole only from men who had already stolen from others.

“Have you ever seen the Black Dahlia?” Y/N asked.

Captain Moreau’s hand tightened around the telescope.

“No.”

“But you believe the stories.”

“I believe enough of them.”

“That he leaves no survivors?”

The captain looked at her.

“If that ship appears, you will return to your cabin immediately. You will lock the door and remain silent until I come for you.”

Y/N smiled faintly.

“Now I almost hope it does appear.”

“This is not a tale to amuse you, my lady.”

“No. Tales usually have more convincing villains.”

Captain Moreau stepped closer.

“Kim Taehyung is not a charming rogue from one of your books. He is a dangerous man who has built his reputation upon blood.”

“Whose blood?”

“What?”

“Whose blood has he spilled?”

The captain stared at her.

“Does it matter?”

“It usually does.”

“You sound very certain for someone who has never met him.”

“So do you.”

Captain Moreau left without answering. That night, Y/N dreamed of black sails. She stood alone on the deck while the sea burned around her. A man waited at the opposite end of the ship, his face hidden in shadow.

In one hand, he held a sword.

In the other, a book.

When she woke, the candle beside her bed had gone out. The following morning brought clear skies and a hard wind from the north.

By midday, the unease among the crew had become impossible to ignore. Sailors spoke in hushed voices. Soldiers checked their weapons repeatedly. The captain altered course twice without explanation.

Y/N found Old Park coiling rope near the mainmast.

“What is happening?”

“Nothing yet.”

“That is not reassuring.”

He glanced towards the officers before lowering his voice.

“We passed wreckage before dawn.”

“From what ship?”

“No name left on it.”

“Was it attacked?”

He hesitated.

“The wood was burned.”

Y/N felt a chill that had nothing to do with the wind.

“The Black Dahlia?”

“Perhaps.”

“You do not sound convinced.”

Old Park looked towards the open sea.

“Fire does not always belong to the man blamed for it.”

Before Y/N could ask what he meant, a shout came from above.

“Sail!”

Every head turned. A sailor high in the rigging pointed towards the western horizon. Captain Moreau raised his telescope.

Y/N followed his line of sight but saw nothing at first. Then a dark shape emerged between the waves.

One ship.

Far behind them. Its sails were black.

The deck erupted into movement.

“Full sail!” Captain Moreau shouted. “All hands to position!”

Men raced towards the ropes. Soldiers ran below deck and returned carrying rifles and powder. The royal flag was raised higher above the mast. Y/N remained where she stood.

The distant vessel seemed too far away to be dangerous.

Then it grew larger.

Far too quickly.

The Black Dahlia cut through the water as though the sea itself carried it forward. Its hull was dark, almost indistinguishable from the waves. No royal colours flew above it. Only a black flag marked with a pale flower snapping in the wind.

A dahlia.

Captain Moreau seized Y/N by the arm.

“To your cabin.”

She pulled free.

“You are hurting me.”

“Go below. Now.”

Another shout came from the rigging.

“Second sail to the east!”

The captain turned. A royal warship appeared in the distance, approaching from the opposite direction.

For one hopeful moment, several sailors cheered. Then Old Park swore beneath his breath.

Y/N looked at him.

“What is it?”

“They are not coming to help us.”

Before she could understand, smoke burst from the royal warship. A cannon fired.

The shot struck the water beside Dawn’s Glory, sending a tower of spray across the deck.

The cheering stopped.

Captain Moreau’s face drained of colour.

“Why are they firing at us?” Y/N demanded.

He did not answer. A second cannon sounded. This time, the shot tore through the rear railing.

Wood splintered. Men shouted. One sailor fell. Chaos followed. The Black Dahlia changed course, moving between Dawn’s Glory and the royal warship. Its cannons fired—not at Y/N’s vessel, but at the ship bearing the king’s own flag.

Y/N stared in disbelief. The pirates were shielding them.

Or shielding her.

“Below!” Captain Moreau roared.

Two soldiers grabbed her arms. Y/N fought them, but they dragged her towards the stairs. Then something struck the deck beside them.

A grappling hook.

Another followed.

Black ropes stretched across the space between the two vessels. Figures moved over them with terrifying speed.

Pirates landed upon the deck.

The first wore dark clothing and carried curved blades, but they did not attack the unarmed sailors. They moved with precision, knocking weapons aside, forcing soldiers to the ground, cutting ropes and securing the ship.

No wild slaughter.

No senseless bloodshed.

The stories had been wrong.

Captain Moreau drew his sword.

“Protect Lady Y/N!”

At the sound of her name, the battle seemed to shift. Every pirate on deck looked towards her. The soldiers tightened their grip.

Then the crew of the Black Dahlia parted.

A man stepped across the plank connecting the ships.

He wore a long black coat, its edges moving in the wind. Dark hair fell across his forehead, damp from the sea. A sword rested at his side, but his hand remained loose beside it.

He was not the scarred monster from the wanted posters. He was younger than Y/N had expected.

And far more beautiful.

That was the first dangerous thing about him. The second was his stillness. Around him, men shouted, blades clashed and cannons thundered. Yet he moved as though none of it could touch him.

His gaze travelled across the deck.

Then it found Y/N.

He stopped. For one strange, suspended moment, neither of them moved. His expression revealed nothing, but something changed in his eyes.

Recognition.

Not of her, perhaps. Of something she represented.

Captain Moreau stepped in front of her.

“Kim Taehyung.”

The pirate captain’s attention remained fixed on Y/N.

“Captain Moreau.”

His voice was deep and calm.

“You know me” Moreau said.

“I make it a habit to know the men who transport valuable cargo.”

Moreau lifted his sword.

“You will not touch her.”

Taehyung finally looked at him.

“I did not come here to negotiate with you.”

“This vessel is under the protection of the crown.”

At that, Taehyung smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. Behind the Black Dahlia, another cannon struck the royal warship.

“The crown appears occupied.”

Captain Moreau glanced towards the battle, and Y/N saw fear pass across his face.

“Take the gold” he said. “There are twelve chests below deck. Jewellery, silver, gifts for the prince. Take everything and leave.”

Taehyung did not even look towards the cargo hold.

“I have no interest in your gold.”

“Then what do you want?”

The wind pulled at Y/N’s cloak. Taehyung’s gaze returned to her. Slowly, deliberately, he walked forward.

The soldiers raised their weapons, but his crew moved at once. Blades appeared at throats. Rifles were torn from hands.

Still, Taehyung did not draw his sword.

Y/N’s heartbeat became painfully loud.

He stopped several feet away. Up close, she could see a faint scar near his jaw and another disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. His eyes were darker than the sea around them, unreadable and fixed entirely upon her.

She lifted her chin.

“If you intend to demand a ransom” she said, “you will be disappointed.”

Something flickered in his expression. Amusement, perhaps.

“You believe I came for money?”

“That is generally why criminals abduct noblewomen.”

“And what do noblemen call it when they exchange their daughters for armies?”

Her breath caught. Captain Moreau lunged.

Taehyung moved faster. He caught the captain’s wrist, twisted the sword from his hand and forced him to his knees in one clean motion.

The entire exchange lasted no more than a heartbeat.

Y/N stepped back.

One of the soldiers beside her dropped his weapon and fled. Taehyung released Moreau and looked at Y/N again.

She reached beneath her cloak. Before anyone could stop her, she drew the small dagger hidden against her thigh. Several pirates laughed, Taehyung did not.

Y/N pressed the blade to her own throat.

The laughter died.

“If you come any closer” she said, “you will leave with nothing.”

His gaze dropped to the dagger. Then returned to her eyes.

“You are holding it incorrectly.”

Her grip tightened.

“I know enough.”

“No” he said softly. “You know how to threaten. That is not the same as knowing how to kill.”

He took one step forward. The blade pressed against her skin. A thin sting burned beneath her jaw.

Taehyung stopped. For the first time, his calm expression cracked.

Only slightly. But she saw it.

“Do not” he said.

It was not an order. It sounded almost like fear. Y/N swallowed carefully.

“Tell your men to leave.”

“I cannot do that.”

“Then I cannot promise what happens next.”

His eyes held hers. Behind him, smoke darkened the sky. The royal warship burned along one side, its soldiers still firing desperately towards the Black Dahlia.

Taehyung seemed to make a decision.

He removed his sword.

The soldiers tensed.

But instead of drawing it, he unfastened the entire weapon belt and let it fall to the deck. Then he raised both hands.

Unarmed.

“I am not here to kill you.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“No.”

Another step.

Y/N’s breath trembled. He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

“If you truly wished to die” Taehyung murmured, “your hand would not be shaking.”

Anger rushed through her, hot and immediate.

“My hand is not shaking.”

“It is.”

“You are insufferable.”

“So I have been told.”

He moved again. Y/N reacted without thinking. She pulled the dagger away from her throat and slashed towards him.

Taehyung caught her wrist. In the same motion, he turned her away from him and brought her arm behind her back. The dagger fell to the deck.

Y/N struggled violently.

“Let me go!”

His arm tightened around her waist, holding her against him without crushing her.

“You have made your point.”

“I have not begun to make my point.”

“I believe that.”

She drove her heel towards his foot. He moved before she could strike.

One of the pirates laughed again. Taehyung turned his head, the laughter stopped immediately. Y/N felt the warmth of his breath near her ear.

“You may fight every step of the way” he said quietly. “But you are still coming with me.”

“Why?”

His grip loosened slightly. For one brief moment, she thought he might answer. Instead, his gaze moved towards the gold crest embroidered upon her cloak.

The symbol of her house.

The symbol of her father.

When Taehyung spoke again, every trace of amusement had vanished.

“Because your father has owed me a debt for a very long time.”

He released her wrist only to lift her into his arms when she tried to run. Y/N struck his chest.

“Put me down!”

“No.”

“I will kill you.”

“Perhaps after I teach you how to hold a knife.”

She stared at him in outrage. He carried her towards the plank connecting the ships. The crew of Dawn’s Glory watched in terrified silence. Captain Moreau remained on his knees, a pirate’s blade at his throat.

“Do not hurt them” Y/N said.

Taehyung looked down at her.

“You believe you are in a position to give orders?”

“No. But I am asking.”

Something unreadable passed through his eyes. Then he looked towards his crew.

“Take the weapons” he ordered. “Leave the supplies.”

Captain Moreau’s head snapped up.

“And the gold?” one pirate asked.

Taehyung did not glance at the chests.

“Leave it.”

A murmur spread across both crews. Y/N stopped struggling. For the first time since the attack began, fear gave way to confusion. Her father had said Kim Taehyung would slaughter them.

Captain Moreau had said he would steal everything. Yet the crew remained alive, and the gold remained untouched. Taehyung stepped onto the plank. Below them, black water struck the ships’ hulls.

Y/N looked towards the Dawn’s Glory, towards the vessel that was supposed to carry her to a prince and a crown. Then she looked ahead.

The Black Dahlia waited with its dark sails stretched against the sky.

A ship from every nightmare she had ever been told.

A ship that had just protected them from the king’s own guns.

Taehyung carried her across without hesitation. When his boots touched the deck of the Black Dahlia, the pirates began cutting the ropes between the vessels.

Y/N watched the distance widen. Her old life drifted away with it. Taehyung set her down but kept one hand around her wrist.

She turned towards him.

“If you do not want money” she said, “what do you want from me?”

The wind moved through his dark hair. For a moment, he said nothing. Then his gaze settled upon her with an intensity that made her forget the cold, the smoke and the sea.

“Not from you” he said.

His thumb rested against the pulse in her wrist.

“Your father.”

The Black Dahlia turned towards the open water. Behind them, Dawn’s Glory grew smaller.

Ahead, there was nothing but the endless sea. And Y/N understood, with sudden, terrible certainty, that the man holding her had not taken her because she was the future bride of a prince. He had taken her because she was Lord Valenne’s daughter.

Whatever debt her father owed Kim Taehyung, she had just become the price.

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

i went back and reread the 17th date chapter today and i genuinely think i have accidentally written one of the quietest and most devastating things in this entire fic.

because the chapter is literally just them sending flowers to an empty penthouse.

that's it.

there is no reunion. no conversation. no dramatic confrontation. no one even sees anyone else.

it's just the 17th of the month.

and all seven of them, separately, still remember.

which is. actually. fucking horrible of me.

because when they were together, the 17th wasn't just a date. it was the date. their monthly group date. something that belonged to all seven of them. one of those tiny routines that gets established so gradually that you don't even remember deciding to have it anymore.

and now the penthouse is empty.

but the tradition hasn't disappeared completely.

it has just fractured.

they're all still doing some version of what they used to do together, except they're doing it alone.

and i think that's what gets me about this chapter more than anything else.

because breakups in stories are so often defined by the big things. the argument. the moment someone leaves. the silence afterward. the realization that something is over.

but sometimes i think the saddest part is all the tiny things that just quietly stop existing.

the things nobody announces are over.

the little routines that belonged to them.

the stupid inside jokes that don't make sense anymore because the seven people who made them aren't in the same room.

the restaurants they used to go to.

the places they used to visit.

the specific things they bought because someone always liked them.

the way they celebrated birthdays.

the way they checked in.

the traditions they probably don't even consciously think of as traditions until suddenly they're not happening anymore.

and i think that's something i've been thinking about a lot while writing this story:

even if they eventually find their way back to each other, they cannot get everything back.

and i don't mean that in a “they will never be together again” way. that's not what i'm saying at all.

i mean that even if they rebuild their relationships, even if they eventually become seven people who are happy together again, there are things from the life they had before that are simply going to be gone.

some traditions might survive. honestly, the 17th probably will because i love it way too much to let it go 😭

but there are going to be others that won't.

and i think that's such an important part of what rebuilding means.

they aren't going to wake up one day and magically become the seven people they were before everything happened.

they're going to have to become seven different people who know each other again.

they'll build new traditions.

new routines.

new ways of saying “this is ours.”

new ways of celebrating happiness.

new little rituals that might eventually become so normal that they forget there was ever a time when they didn't have them.

and i actually love that.

because i don't want them to get their old life back exactly as it was.

i want them to build another one.

something that belongs to the people they've become after all of this.

but god.

there's something so quietly devastating about knowing that some things will still be missing.

there will be a restaurant that they never go to again.

a date that stops meaning what it used to.

a tradition that nobody remembers to restart.

a stupid little habit that belonged specifically to that version of the seven of them, and that version of them is gone.

and i don't think that makes their future happiness less real.

if anything, i think it makes it more real.

because happiness isn't always getting everything back.

sometimes it's accepting that something mattered enormously, that it was beautiful while you had it, that you lost it, and that you can still build something beautiful afterward.

the seven of them had a life together.

they had all these tiny ways of loving each other that probably felt completely ordinary while they were living them.

and now some of those things are just gone.

no grand ending.

no final ceremony.

just an empty penthouse on the 17th.