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s4kura-tr3 · 1 month ago

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Snow day

Summary: the JJK men have a day off from work because of the snow

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Sukuna, Toji, Megumi, Yuji

Gojo satoru

The snow is falling thick and fast outside your window when you wake up, a rare silence blanketing the usual city chaos. You squint at your phone, scrolling past a string of notifications until one catches your eye—work is canceled. A snow day. You barely have time to process this before the bed dips beside you.

“Guess who doesn’t have to be an adult today?” Gojo’s voice is smug, even as his arms wrap lazily around you from behind. His hair’s a mess of white, almost blending into the snowstorm outside, and his grin is somehow brighter than the sunlight streaming through the curtains.

You mumble something about wanting to sleep in, but Gojo has other plans. “Oh no, no, no, no,” he says dramatically, tugging the blankets away. “We’ve been granted a day of pure, unadulterated freedom! This calls for celebration. Come on, lazybones, get up!”

Despite your groans, you’re soon bundled up in layers and dragged outside. The cold bites at your nose, but the sight of Gojo spinning in the falling snow—arms outstretched, head tilted back like a kid seeing snow for the first time—melts your initial reluctance.

The day unfolds with Gojo’s chaotic energy as the driving force. First, a snowball fight. It starts off tame until he begins bending the rules, using his Infinity to block your throws and conjuring impossibly large snowballs that he somehow claims are “fair game.” You manage to catch him off guard, pelting him square in the back, and he dramatically collapses into the snow like he’s been mortally wounded.

Then comes the snowman-building competition, which quickly devolves into Gojo attempting to sabotage your progress while insisting his lopsided creation has “character.” By the time you both admit defeat, your cheeks are flushed and your gloves are soaked through.

Back inside, the warmth is heavenly, and Gojo insists on making hot cocoa. It’s overly sweet—because, of course, he dumps half a bag of marshmallows into your cup—but it’s perfect. You curl up on the couch together under a blanket, your feet tangled as you watch the snow continue to fall outside.

“Days like this are rare,” he murmurs, his voice softer now. He presses a kiss to your temple, his hand finding yours beneath the blanket. “We should make it snow more often.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes at his absurdity, but you can’t deny it—you wouldn’t trade this day for anything.

Geto Suguru

The morning starts with an unusual stillness. You’re lying in bed, half-buried under the warmth of the blankets, when you notice the faint blue-gray light filtering through the curtains. Snow. Lots of it. You reach for your phone and find the notification waiting: work is canceled. You sigh in relief, sinking deeper into the mattress.

Beside you, Geto stirs, his long, dark hair spilling over the pillow. He opens his eyes just enough to look at you, a lazy smirk curling on his lips. “What’s got you smiling?” he murmurs, his voice husky with sleep.

“Snow day,” you reply, tilting your phone to show him the screen.

He hums, eyes closing again as he pulls you closer. “Then there’s no reason to get up, is there?”

For a while, neither of you moves. His steady breathing and the muffled quiet of the snow make it easy to stay curled up together, his arms wrapped loosely around you. Eventually, though, the outside world calls. “We should do something,” you say, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Something like breakfast?” he offers, his voice teasing.

The two of you make your way to the kitchen, where Geto puts together a simple but satisfying breakfast. He moves with an easy confidence, brushing his hair into a loose bun as he hands you a steaming mug of tea. The two of you eat by the window, watching the snow drift lazily to the ground.

Afterward, Geto pulls on a coat and convinces you to do the same. “Come on,” he says, lacing his fingers through yours. “Let’s go see what it’s like out there.”

The streets are quiet and blanketed in pristine white. The city feels transformed, the usual chaos muted by the snow. Geto leads you to a nearby park, where the two of you walk along the snow-covered paths, your boots crunching softly with each step.

At one point, he stops to brush the snow from a bench and gestures for you to sit. “Stay there,” he says with a small smile, before gathering an armful of snow and rolling it into a ball. You watch as he builds a snowman with meticulous care, crafting its features with the same precision he brings to everything.

When he steps back to admire his work, you can’t help but laugh. “It’s… interesting,” you say, noting the lopsided grin he’s given it.

“Artistic,” he corrects with mock seriousness, his dark eyes gleaming.

You join him in the snowman-making endeavor, and before long, you’re laughing and throwing snow at each other. Geto isn’t one to start a snowball fight, but he doesn’t hesitate to retaliate when you toss a handful of snow at his back. His throws are deliberate, always landing close enough to make you yelp but never enough to truly soak you.

Eventually, the cold drives you both back inside. Geto sets about making hot chocolate, insisting on doing it properly—none of that instant stuff. The scent of melting chocolate fills the apartment as you wrap yourself in a blanket, watching him work with quiet appreciation.

When he finally hands you a mug, he sits beside you on the couch, pulling the blanket around the both of you. The snow continues to fall outside, but the warmth of his presence makes everything else fade away.

“You know,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face, “we should have more days like this. Just us. No work, no distractions.”

You smile, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Agreed.”

The rest of the day passes in cozy contentment, the snowstorm outside making your shared warmth feel all the more precious.

Nanami Kento

You wake up to the soft patter of snow against the window and the unmistakable stillness that only comes with a snowstorm. For once, your alarm isn’t the thing pulling you from sleep. Instead, it’s Nanami gently nudging your shoulder.

“It’s snowing,” he says quietly, his voice low and even. “And work is canceled.”

Your eyes flutter open to see him sitting on the edge of the bed, already dressed in his usual crisp manner, though his tie is noticeably absent. He’s holding a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, the other resting on your shoulder.

You groan, rolling onto your side. “So why are you up already?”

“Old habits,” he replies with a faint smile. “But since we have the day off, I thought I’d make us breakfast.”

The promise of food is enough to pull you out of bed. By the time you join him in the kitchen, the smell of fresh coffee and something sweet fills the air. Nanami is at the stove, flipping pancakes with the kind of precision he applies to everything. He hands you a plate as soon as you sit down, topped with golden pancakes and fresh fruit.

“Fancy,” you tease, drizzling syrup over the stack.

“I don’t believe in wasting time,” he replies simply, though there’s a softness to his tone.

After breakfast, the two of you linger at the table, sipping coffee and watching the snow pile up outside the window. It’s peaceful, and for once, there’s no rush to go anywhere or do anything.

When you suggest going outside, Nanami raises an eyebrow. “You know it’s freezing, right?”

“Exactly,” you say with a grin. “That’s what makes it fun.”

It takes some convincing, but eventually, he relents. Bundled up in scarves and gloves, the two of you step into the snow-covered streets. The neighborhood is quiet, and the fresh snowfall makes everything look almost magical.

Nanami is hesitant at first, but he humors you when you start gathering snow for a snowman. He helps you pack the snow into firm, perfect spheres, muttering something about “structural integrity” that makes you laugh. When it’s done, you declare it a masterpiece, though Nanami gives it a critical once-over.

“It’s lopsided,” he points out, but there’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

You stick your tongue out at him, and just when you think he’s about to argue further, he surprises you by scooping up a handful of snow and lightly tossing it at your shoulder.

“Did you just—?”

Before you can finish, another snowball lands near your feet. Nanami is already walking away, but you catch the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “You started this,” you say, gathering your own ammunition.

The snowball fight that follows is short-lived but full of laughter, and by the time you both head back inside, your cheeks are flushed from the cold and exertion.

Nanami insists you warm up properly, so he brews a fresh pot of tea while you change into dry clothes. The two of you settle onto the couch, wrapped in a shared blanket, with steaming mugs in hand.

And for the rest of the day, you enjoy the quiet comfort of each other’s company, the world outside forgotten in favor of the warmth you share.

Toji fushiguro

The day starts with the sound of excited little footsteps racing down the hallway. You barely have time to register the noise before Megumi bursts into your room, his cheeks pink with excitement and his hair sticking up more than usual.

“It snowed!” he announces, pulling at the blankets. “A lot! Come look!”

You groan softly, still half-asleep, but the sound rouses Toji, who’s sprawled beside you, his arm draped lazily over your waist. He opens one eye, glancing at Megumi with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“It’s too early for this, kid,” Toji grumbles, though there’s no real bite to his tone.

“It’s not!” Megumi insists, tugging harder at the covers. “You promised we could go outside if it snowed!”

Toji sighs dramatically but finally sits up, ruffling Megumi’s already-messy hair. “Alright, alright. Go get dressed. And wear that coat I got you, not the thin one.”

Megumi bolts from the room, and you chuckle as you sit up, stretching. “Looks like you’re on snow-duty today.”

“Not just me,” Toji says, smirking as he leans over to press a kiss to your forehead. “You’re in this too.”

After breakfast—a quick affair of toast and hot chocolate, because Megumi can’t sit still long enough for anything else—you all bundle up and head outside. The snow is pristine and untouched, and Megumi’s eyes light up as he surveys the sparkling white blanket covering the yard.

Toji starts off by helping Megumi build a snowman, though his version involves packing the snow so tightly it could probably survive a hurricane. Megumi insists on adding little twigs for arms and a crooked smile, and when you laugh at the result, Toji smirks. “It’s got character,” he says, echoing Megumi’s words.

Once the snowman is done, Toji takes it upon himself to teach Megumi the “art” of snowball throwing. He crouches low, showing him how to pack the snow just right. Of course, the first snowball Megumi throws hits you square in the arm, earning a triumphant cheer from the little boy and a low chuckle from Toji.

“You’re supposed to aim for me, kid,” Toji says, scooping up a snowball of his own.

But instead of throwing it at Megumi, he tosses it gently at you, a teasing smirk on his face. “Gotta defend yourself, sweetheart.”

What follows is a chaotic snowball fight, with Megumi enthusiastically teaming up with Toji against you. You hold your own for a while, but eventually, Toji sneaks up behind you and lifts you off the ground, giving Megumi the perfect shot. Both of them laugh as you pretend to be defeated, and Toji sets you down with a satisfied grin.

Eventually, the cold starts to seep in, and you all head back inside. Toji insists on making something warm, so while he heats up soup in the kitchen, you help Megumi out of his snow-soaked layers and wrap him in a cozy blanket.

The rest of the day is spent in comfortable warmth. Megumi curls up on the couch between you and Toji, his head resting on your arm as the three of you watch a movie together. Toji’s hand rests lazily on your leg, his thumb rubbing small circles absentmindedly.

As the snow continues to fall outside, you glance over at the two of them—Megumi, fighting to keep his eyes open, and Toji, looking more at peace than you’ve seen in a while.

Sukuna Ryomen

The snow falls steadily outside the wooden shutters of your Heian-era home, blanketing the courtyard in pristine white. You watch from the veranda, wrapped in layers of silk, as the delicate flakes settle on the trees and roof tiles. The world feels quieter, slower—a rare reprieve from the usual hum of life.

Behind you, Sukuna lounges lazily against the wooden frame of the door, his dual eyes watching you with a mix of amusement and curiosity. He’s draped in his usual attire, though he’s added a thick haori over it, more for style than warmth. The cold never seems to bother him, but you’ve noticed he enjoys the aesthetic of snow days as much as you do.

“You’ve been staring out there for an eternity,” he drawls, his voice a low rumble. “What’s so fascinating about frozen water?”

“It’s peaceful,” you reply, glancing over your shoulder at him. “Don’t you think?”

He snorts, pushing himself to his feet with a grace that belies his size and presence. “Peaceful isn’t exactly my style.” But he steps onto the veranda anyway, his sharp gaze sweeping across the snowy courtyard.

You stand together for a moment, watching the snow fall in companionable silence. Then, without warning, Sukuna smirks. “Let’s see how long your ‘peaceful’ moment lasts.”

Before you can react, he’s scooped up a handful of snow and hurled it at you, the cold shock of it catching you entirely off guard. You gasp, stumbling back, and he laughs—a deep, rich sound that echoes through the still air.

“Did you just—?” you sputter, brushing snow from your sleeve.

“Of course I did,” he says, entirely unapologetic. “What will you do about it?”

Your reply is swift: you gather a handful of snow and toss it back, aiming for his shoulder. He doesn’t even dodge, letting it hit him as his grin widens. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

The courtyard quickly becomes your battlefield, snowballs flying back and forth as Sukuna alternates between playful teasing and outright mockery of your aim. When you manage to land one squarely on his chest, his expression flickers with surprise before morphing into approval. “Not bad,” he concedes, though his retaliation is immediate—a perfectly formed snowball that sends you running for cover.

Eventually, the game winds down, and Sukuna strides over to where you’ve taken refuge beneath a snow-covered tree. His hands are empty now, though his smirk remains firmly in place. “Had enough?”

You huff, brushing snow from your hair as you glare at him half-heartedly. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he says, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your chilled face, “you still choose to stay.”

He pulls you back inside, where the warmth of the brazier offers relief from the cold. Sukuna settles beside you, pouring tea with surprising care, his claws handling the delicate porcelain with ease. He hands you a cup, watching as you sip, your hands still trembling slightly from the cold.

You huff, brushing snow from your hair as you glare at him half-heartedly. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” you say, echoing his earlier words, “you still choose to stay.”

For a moment, his expression softens, the corners of his mouth lifting in something almost resembling a smile. The snow continues to fall outside, but the warmth of his presence fills the room, chasing away the chill of winter.

Megumi Fushiguro

The soft glow of morning light filters through your window, accompanied by the faint sound of snow tapping against the glass. You stir, glancing outside to find the world covered in a thick, pristine blanket of snow. The usual chaos of the city seems muted, as if the snow itself has called for a pause.

Megumi is already awake, sitting cross-legged on the floor by the heater, a book balanced in his hands. He glances up when he notices you stirring.

“Snow day,” he says simply, his tone calm but his gaze lingering on the window.

You sit up, stretching with a small smile. “Guess we’re both stuck inside today.”

He hums, turning his attention back to his book, though you catch the faintest flicker of interest in his expression.

After a quick breakfast, you’re the first to suggest stepping outside. “We should enjoy it while it’s fresh,” you say, tugging on your coat.

Megumi raises an eyebrow. “You do realize it’s freezing, right?”

“All the more reason to appreciate it,” you counter, grabbing his scarf and tossing it to him. “Come on, I’ll even let you stay grumpy about it.”

With a resigned sigh, he pulls on his coat and follows you out. The cold air nips at your cheeks as you step into the snow-covered yard, your boots crunching softly with each step. Megumi’s hands are shoved into his pockets, and his dark hair is dusted with snowflakes almost instantly.

“You know,” you say, bending down to gather a handful of snow, “you could try to have a little fun.”

He glances at you, unimpressed, until you toss the snow at him, the powdery flurry landing harmlessly on his arm. He blinks at you, his expression unreadable.

“That’s how you want to do this?” he asks, his tone flat.

You grin. “Absolutely.”

What follows is a snowball fight you’ll remember for a long time. Megumi, true to form, doesn’t hold back once he decides to participate. His throws are calculated and precise, leaving you scrambling for cover more often than not. You manage to land a few hits of your own, but his sharp reflexes make him a formidable opponent.

At one point, you’re hiding behind a tree, trying to catch your breath, when you hear him approach. Before you can react, a snowball lands squarely on your back.

“You’re predictable,” he says, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“And you’re annoying,” you shoot back, though you’re smiling, too.

Eventually, the two of you call a truce, retreating to the house to warm up. Megumi sets a pot of tea on the stove while you drape a blanket over your shoulders, both of you still laughing softly from the morning’s antics.

The rest of the day passes in quiet comfort. You sit by the window, sipping tea and watching the snow continue to fall. Megumi joins you, his book in hand, though he seems more interested in the view than the pages.

“You’re not bad at snowball fights,” you remark after a while, breaking the silence.

He glances at you, his expression neutral but his tone light. “And you’re not bad at being a target.”

You roll your eyes, but the warmth in his voice makes you smile.

Yuji Itadori

The morning starts with Yuji shaking you awake, his excitement barely contained. His grin is as bright as the sunlight reflecting off the snow outside.

“Wake up!” he says, his voice bubbling with energy. “It snowed overnight! Like, a lot!”

You groan, trying to pull the blanket over your head, but he’s persistent, tugging it away and practically bouncing on the bed. “Come on, you can’t waste a snow day! We have to go outside!”

His enthusiasm is contagious, and soon enough, you’re bundled up and stepping out into the winter wonderland. The world feels quieter, softer, as if the snow has wrapped everything in a cozy, white blanket.

Yuji immediately runs into the snow, stomping around like a little kid, his breath fogging up in the cold air. “This is awesome!” he exclaims, spinning in a circle and throwing his arms out wide.

You laugh, watching him with fond amusement. “You act like you’ve never seen snow before.”

“Not like this!” he says, already scooping up a handful to pack into a snowball. “Besides, it’s more fun when you have someone to share it with.”

Before you can respond, the snowball hits you gently on the arm. You gape at him, feigning shock. “Did you just throw snow at me?”

He grins, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “What? It was an accident!”

“Accident, huh?” You bend down to grab your own snowball, and his eyes widen.

“Wait—no, no, no!” he laughs, dodging as you throw it at him.

What starts as a simple snowball fight quickly turns into an all-out war. Yuji is surprisingly agile, darting behind trees and ducking under cover with ease, but you manage to land a few hits. His laughter echoes through the air, warm and infectious, as the two of you chase each other around the yard.

At one point, you trip and fall into a soft pile of snow, and before you can get up, Yuji flops down beside you, both of you breathless and grinning.

“You’re ruthless,” he says, brushing snow off his coat.

“And you’re too competitive,” you reply, nudging him playfully.

He sits up, gazing out at the snowy expanse with a soft smile. “This is nice,” he says after a moment. “Spending time like this, with you. Feels… peaceful.”

You smile, leaning into his shoulder. “It is. Even with you pelting me with snowballs.”

He laughs, wrapping an arm around you to pull you closer. “Hey, you started it.”

The rest of the day is spent in a mix of playful chaos and quiet moments. Yuji insists on building the “ultimate snowman,” which ends up being a slightly lopsided creation with a goofy face that makes both of you laugh. You take breaks to warm up inside with hot chocolate, sitting by the window and watching the snow fall in comfortable silence.

By the time evening comes, you’re curled up on the couch together, a shared blanket draped over both of you. Yuji’s head rests against yours, his usual boundless energy replaced by a quiet contentment.

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carnatus89 · 1 month ago

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Shen Qingqiu triple trouble!

So, System Possession AU of @artsarasp is going through, stuff let's say. Angsty stuff. So of course my mind was like.

Let's make shen triplets!

The situation is, Shen Jiu has his fatal Qi deviation, Shen Yuan dies by choking on food and all is normal. But, some error occurs, and both Shen Jiu’s and Shen Yuan’s souls are in danger of disintegrating from the Qi deviation. The System notices this and tries to fix it, forcing the soul to generate a body to occupy from basically thin air. But there’s a problem, since there’s two souls that are now generating a body, meanwhile the original body is still functional, though has been metaphorically dragged through the mud. Thus, both Shen Jiu and Shen Yuan materialize with new bodies while the System is absorbed into the spare body.

So now we have three Shen Qingqius. And the System is Not Happy.

Neither is Shen Jiu to be honest.

Shen Yuan somehow convinces both the System and Shen Jiu that they should pretend to just be brothers, make some bullshit about trapped consciousness to fool the peak lords, while he wacks his brain to try to avoid death or punishment from the enraged System. Which can still give both points and punishments. The problem is that since he got the short end of the stick in the body lottery, he has to be very careful of exerting the body’s limits, so he can’t get agitated. And giving punishments is very agitating. Shen Yuan is basically trying to make the System care. If Wall-E can love, so can the System, wouldn’t it be better for the story if he becomes an active member? It would also be better to leave the story to develop itself organically, think about all the character development! So the protagonist can have a more round support cast! If he read something like that, he wouldn’t have criticized so much the papapa scenes since he could just focus on that! What do you think System-bro?

Meanwhile Shen Jiu is very conflicted, since these, what, fakers? Clones? Some type of demons? Are stealing his face and seem to have some ulterior motive, but both seem eager to ‘help him’ somehow. Granted, the blue eyed freak is creepy as fuck, a fake cherfulness that all his instincts scream to get away from, but he’s mostly… nice. The definition of the word, at least. The other fake is snarky, doesn’t really back down from a verbal dispute, and, while infuriating, it’s more real. Safer, in a way, more honest. Besides, the blue eyed one is useful when trying to find synonyms while writing or finding the name of a song he couldn’t remember well. They can stay, for now.

System is actually scared. They saved the scum villain character, but made a bigger problem while also becoming… vulnerable. How could they make sure the story functions if they have a weak and frail body? They are forced to play along, become a more direct support to the characters to make sure they stay in line. But [User02] seems to have other ideas, and while they must punish him, they really can’t without suffering themselfs. The original scum villain for the most part follows the script, but he also seems perturbed by their presence, which is fine. All is fine, they should be able to fix it.

Somehow.

The three of them are mostly the same in appearance. The major difference that the peaklords catch on is the mark on the forehead (I don’t remember what it is called). Shen Jiu has a lotus flower painted, Shen Yuan has a dot while the System has an empty circle, resembling a zero. Both Shen Jiu and the System have their clothes correctly, while Shen Yuan doesn’t really know how any of his layers of clothes work, so he fastened the belt around everyone, even the outer robe. Finally, the System has their hair tight to their head, Shen Jiu has it a little loose to let it flow but staying neat and clean. Shen Yuan just, tries his best. Finally, the System’s face is kinda cartoonish, they make faces that shouldn't be possible, stretching his smile wide and making their eyes a little too big. Both Shens don’t mention it much, they just say they’re special.

I don’t know what came to me to do this shit, but now’s here, deal with it.

Spanish rambling when this idea just came barreling through my brain.

#system possession #svsss au #svsss #shen qingqiu #shen jiu #shen yuan #This was all made in like an hour #don't judge me

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grandline-fics · 11 months ago

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love you have given me mihawk brain worms ong, please i need to spend the rest of my days having lots of domestic but sweet moments with him

i just know that beneath his aloof demeanor he is just smitten with his s/o

DESCRIPTION: Domestic life with him

WARNINGS: none, just fluff

CHARACTERS: Mihawk

WORDS: 640

A/N: I know this wasn't an actual request but my health has been bad and I've been waiting over two weeks for test results so needed some indulgent fluff to feel better. Hope you enjoy

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST

———————

With what he does taking him away from you so often, the times he does return to you means he enjoys every second he can with you. While you sleep, you’re kept protectively and lovingly in his hold; one arm around your waist and the other cradling your head with his fingers through your hair. Mihawk keeps his head pressed into the crook of your neck and his lips against your skin, not just for indulgence but to also feel your steady pulse. He always wakes first, to enjoy the warmth of your body and the soak up the feeling of calm your presence grants him. He’ll lie still and relaxed in the blissful silence. It’s rare for Mihawk to open his eyes first. He likes to wait for you to stir and turn in his hold and press a gentle good morning kiss against his lips before he’ll pretend to wake because if it’s not your face he sees first thing, what’s the point?

Mihawk has no sense of personal space when you two are together. He’s practiced and aloof enough to be subtle. When you are out in town shopping together he’ll stand close, the back of his fingers just close enough to graze against the small of your back. Or sometimes he’ll stand with his arm against yours. You’re used to it and will always gladly lean into him so to the untrained eye it looks like you’re the one responsible for the lack of space between you two. However if they looked for long enough they’d notice how Mihawk would casually follow you when you hurried to the next stall or store front to browse the wares and how he would always come to a stop beside you once more.

When you’re lounging together, him with a glass of wine and a book and you with the paper in your hands, you like to inform him of the news that he wouldn’t think to look into otherwise. Most of the time though you’re looking for old rivals of his or acquaintances with a smile, already awaiting his dry commentary on their activity.

“Love, look. Your son’s bounty has gone up!” You tell him with a genuine bright grin as you hold up Zoro’s updated bounty poster. Mihawk’s eyebrow always quirks at your affectionate term for someone he would at most call his student. Still he can’t help but feel some sort of satisfaction at seeing the other swordsman’s bounty gaining higher and higher amounts because he knows most of that is down to his instruction.

“They grow up so fast.” He notes and you grin, setting the poster aside to put proudly on the fridge when you get up later.

Mihawk will do anything you ask of him even if it’s something he would avoid. Introducing you to the Cross Guild for instance was something he would have sooner never seen happen. You understood that he was private by nature and neither Crocodile or Buggy really needed to know about his relationship with you. Still all you’d mentioned was that it would be nice to properly meet the men he was working with and as a result he took you to them. Crocodile was more surprised that you ‘deemed someone like Mihawk worthy of your time’ and Buggy couldn’t believe that someone as notorious and dangerous as you had actually settled down and were with Mihawk of all people. Now that they know about you, you do make it a point to visit Mihawk more so he isn’t always coming to you all the time. However with every visit you have to constantly refuse Buggy and Crocodile’s proposition for you to join as an official member as you’re still having fun doing your own thing and being independent from Mihawk makes your reunions so much sweeter.

#one piece #one piece imagines #one piece x you #mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk x reader #one piece fic #one piece x reader #one piece scenario #one piece fanfiction #hawkeye mihawk #dracule mihawk #one piece mihawk #op mihawk

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eintausendschoen · 5 days ago

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They grow up so fast.

Rhea's and Cronos's kids. Yes, all together for one pic. No, they didn't fight, I didn't bribe them, no one was hurt this was a peaceful affair I am totally fine and I totally did not stitch single portraits together because it was less of a hassle.

Oh, a few of them transitioned their appearance growing up. They have their reasons.

👀 Detail below from left to right (with a few shoutouts) 👀

Poseidon Enosichthon (Enesidaone) Themeliouchos — The pale, lively kid with the always busy hands. What happened to him? A younger brother and his detached father, basically. He's excited about life in general, but still very bad at saying no to his family (or anything else), so he'll end up doing everything at once and trouble always finds him. Being the middle kid ain't always easy.

Big shoutout to @rin-solo for the huge inspiration her Poseidon design was for his clothes and armour pieces. My Poseidon doesn't believe in clothes, usually.

Demeter Sito Thesmophorus — Though she isn't technically the big sister, she always took to the task of keeping her arms open for her siblings, no matter the grief it brought her. Always will she be singing songs, in part to forget the lot bestowed on her by her brothers and her father and keep on – but also in part to give the joys of life to gods and mortals who walk her realm and feel at ease with her. As Rhea's kid she'll uphold tradition gently and firmly, and feed everyone who comes to her table, even if it costs her.

Hestia — She might be gentle, but she can never be forgotten. To all that come to her hearth she will listen and grant them protection, even if this sacred solemnity cost her the arms of a lover. She is a lover to none, and loved by all, first she receives sacrifice. Herons gave her their wings to stoke flame, brush out cold cinders. She would rather her skin be stained white by flour than black by soot, though. Her baking is still the very best.

Zeus Olympios Panhellenios — Wide are the shoulders of this son of titans, and they carry burdens of judgement across all Greece. Over the years he aquired a thick skin on them, but never do the troubles of his family wear him down for long, although the same family has brought him to the brink of constant paranoia. The jewellery he chose to wear on the day Typhon cleared out Olympus is something he will never again take off, like the memory and fear of defeat it is part of him, conductor to lightning and passion.

A big grateful nod to @justcommander for the long and wonderful talks about Typhon, he is part of all my thoughts about Zeus now.

Hera Syzygia Alexandros — The sharp eyes of this queen of queens will trace you through darkest night. By her fathers sickle and her great veil she safeguards and upholds sacred laws and traditions and unions, and as protector of men her word triumphs. A guardian of women, she neither tolerates betrayal nor does she hold the cutting edge of her jealousy back for the sake of those who must obey discriminating law against those who the same law allows to overstep a hallowed bond of two. The shade of Baphomet suits you, honey.

Hades — In form and might and character he outgrew his father by far. He is still the same quiet and thoughtful person, but despite the darkness, he, too, is a guardian of life, a keeper of flames. In his gentle hand rests the light of life, on his other arm coils the means to give it, to take it away. Fiercely he rules over the line between realms, allowing hardly any crossing, but on a late summers evening he'll walk the golden shaded groves among the company of all flowers of the earth, too.

See, lovely @ruthlessness69 , how confident he has grown? The kindness of your Hades helped him. A lot! Ask Persephone, though, she'll tell you that he can solve his beloved crosswords without extra light, because he is still a big glowing kid in his heart.

All designs by me. Rhea's aspects come with a broader frame, more pronounced colours and animal traits, and no fear to show skin. Cronos shows in matters of lines, contrast and temper, and a certain tendency towards introversion.

So, what do you think? Next level eldritch? 🖤

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kpopfanfictrash · 2 years ago

Text

Until Death (M)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Creative Contributor:@baebae-goodnight for this unbelievable moodboard truly, like, WHAT

Genre: Green Bone Saga!AU || Organized Crime / Forbidden Romance / Suspense + Action

Author’s Note: This one shot is set in the Green Bone Saga universe, written by Fonda Lee. You do not need to have read this series in order to read this one shot (I explain concepts/terms), but I do HIGHLY encourage you to read this series at some point because it’s absolutely amazing!! Anyways, Yoongi dropped the Haegeum MV and I was like.... did he read Jade City lol. Further disclaimer this is not a retelling of the books, nor does the Kaul family exist in this version of Kekon (although the No Peak clan does)

Pairing: Yoongi / Reader

Synopsis: Jade has always shaped the island of Kekon. Mined from the mountains, it enhances the abilities of Green Bone warriors who wear it and allows them protection from outside harm. No one understands these threats better than you do, second-in-command of the mighty No Peak clan.

When a new danger appears, seeming to come from within, everything you once took for granted is called into question. Including the bonds you’ve made, some more dangerous than the others. None more so than Min Yoongi, head of No Peak and the only one capable of destroying your heart.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: graphic violence, fight scenes and mature content (character dies in the story; not main character)

NSFW Warnings: dirty talk, nipple play, fingering, spanking, oral (female), multiple orgasms, possessiveness, unprotected sex (couple is monogamous), spit, hand job

Word Count: 17,650

[ Cross-posted to Wattpad here ]

“There’s a rat in our midst,” Jungkook growls, slamming his fist to the table.

No one in the room flinches, although several glance fleetingly in the direction of the Pillar. The typically mild-mannered head of No Peak frowns, clearly disturbed by the recent attacks. Only a madman wouldn’t be.

Still, his voice remains calm while answering your second Fist. “That remains to be seen,” Yoongi says. As though the current situation could be perceived as anything but a threat.

Subtle, you flick a glance towards him, then away. In the corner of your eye, you see Yoongi’s lips curve before smoothing to nothing. Lowering his palms to rest on the table, the ends of his sleeves rise to reveal solid jade.

Leaning back, you survey the table before you. As the Horn of No Peak, it’s your job to defend the clan’s territory – by force, if necessary. Several levels of Green Bone warriors report into you, including your Fingers (the lowest of soldiers) and Fists, your direct reports.

Jungkook became Second Fist only a month prior but already, he’s created a name for himself. An impulsive, somewhat violent name for himself.

In this case though, you happen to agree with him. Not one, but two Lantern Men – commercial patrons of No Peak – have turned up dead in the past week, tortured beyond recognition. Over a week has passed since the first murder and still, there’s no suspect. Neither man was wealthy nor wore jade beyond a single piercing. Each was killed in a different part of town with no family in common. For a week, you’ve been racking your brain for motive and coming up empty.

Peeved by the thought, your fingertips dig into your leather jacket. Perceiving the shift to your aura, Yoongi starts to turn – catching himself just in time and facing forward.

An assortment of Lantern Men, Fists and Luckbringers (the money-making side of the clan) sit around a worn table. All watch the Pillar warily, as though uncertain how this meeting will end.

Tilting his head, strands of dark hair fall across Yoongi’s forehead. Studs of green line his ears, a single bolt of jade threaded through his right brow. Since the Academy, Yoongi has preferred to wear his jade as piercings – except for the clusters on fingers and wrists. He flexes these now, a visual display of power.

Jade from the island of Kekon is powerful; toxic to all but the Green Bones trained to wear it. To them, it grants unique power in each of the six disciplines: Strength, Steel, Perception, Lightness, Deflection and Channeling. Being from Kekon is no guarantee a person can wear and use jade, though. Individual tolerance varies, with most not able to withstand more than a few pieces.

No one in No Peak wears more jade than the Pillar – no one but you, that is.

This thought brings little comfort in a room such as this. Most of the sycophants seated around the table would turn on Yoongi – and No Peak – in a heartbeat. If it’d enrich their coffers, they would switch sides, honor be damned. You trust your Fists and Fingers but find it hard to extend the same grace to Namjoon’s side of the clan.

Kim Namjoon, known as the Weather Man, heads No Peak’s monetary ventures. Ranking as highly as you, he reports directly to Yoongi. Turning to face Namjoon, you make no attempt to hide your suspicion.

Although he doesn’t meet your gaze, his annoyance flares. Namjoon’s jade aura is weaker, fueled by one or two jade rings on his fingers. More would be unnecessary in his line of work. Namjoon’s lips tighten, able to Perceive your attention.

Perception is one of the more interesting skills of a Green Bone. Wearing jade creates an aura and through it, other Green Bones can sense emotion and intention. For example, you sense that Namjoon is annoyed, but you don’t know why. You can hazard a guess, based on the context.

Although you both graduated from the Academy at the same time, you barely knew Namjoon in your youth. The Kim family is legendary, having fought alongside Yoongi’s grandfather to dispel the Shotarian occupation of Kekon. You, on the other hand, moved to the city of Janloon when you were ten and joined the Academy as an outsider.

Not only were your social circles different, so were your interests. Even as children, Namjoon preferred brains over brawn, while you – well, you don’t enjoy violence, but you understood its necessity in protecting those you love. Ever since your father’s death, what you love has been No Peak.

You suppose Yoongi could’ve picked a worse person for Weather Man. Namjoon is shrewd, if occasionally withholding. He has the best interests of the clan at heart, even if you often disagree about what those interests are.

“Min-jen,” Namjoon says, the respectful title flowing from him like water. “I share your frustration with the current situation. My men are, of course, at your disposal.”

Your gaze narrows on his profile. Namjoon loves to offer help but when push comes to shove, it’s your side of the clan on the front lines.

“And what will your men do?” you inquire, drawing heads your way. “The entirety of their green couldn’t be seen in a desert.”

Someone down the table coughs, although they swiftly fall silent when Yoongi clears his throat. Disappointment radiates from him, turning his head.

“One’s worth to the clan isn’t measured in jade,” he says levelly. “You’d do well to remember that, in the future.”

Sitting back, you school your expression to nothing. Shame swirls in your stomach though because Yoongi is right. His sister is a stone-eye; someone unable to use or wear jade. Yejun feels nothing of jade’s effects – either positive or negative – but serves the clan in her own way. Kekon is superstitious about such things though and, when Yejun was born, rumors ran rampant it boded ill for Yoongi’s leadership. Rumors the Pillar has done his best to stamp out.

“Yes, Min-jen,” you acquiesce, inclining your head.

“My Luckbringers are reviewing financial statements of the victims,” Namjoon says, as though you haven’t spoken. “If there’s any monetary connection between them, we’ll find it.”

“My Fists are also investigating,” you add. “We’ll keep the clan updated.”

A scoff from the lower end of the table. Turning your head, you find Mr. Hu, a wealthy Lantern Man, watching you with a scowl. Middle-aged, with a portly belly from hoji, the man has never accepted you as his Horn. As the first woman bestowed the honor, you expected there to be some resistance.

Not that it endears him to you. Sweetly, you smile and lean forward. “Did you have something to add, Mr. Hu?”

Briefly, his gaze drops to the jade around your throat. Forcing a swallow, he forces his gaze to lift. You must give him credit; the man continues, despite the visual reminder you could kill him in seconds.

“Investigating what?” he asks, puffing out his chest. “I saw the second victim being brought in. There was… well. There was little to see. Tortured,” he adds, addressing the muttering around the table. “The man was mercilessly tortured before he was killed.”

Perceiving the shift in Yoongi’s emotions – edging towards fury – you hasten your response.

“Mr. Hu,” you say, lightly resting your hand on a Talon knife. “I thank you, for having the foresight to raise such an important issue.”

Frowning, he glances left and right, but his fellow Lantern Men avoid him. Likely, they understand this won’t end well. Indeed, Jungkook is already eyeing the man with barely concealed malice, thumb stroking slowly over the hilt of his sword.

“The fact that both victims were tortured,” you continue, conversational. “Almost as though the killer were looking for something.”

“Or someone,” Namjoon adds.

“Or someone,” you agree, focusing on Mr. Hu. “My men are searching the murder sites for more information now. While they do that though, are there any other details of an active murder investigation you’d like to know? Perhaps whether the victims pissed themselves before death, or left money behind?”

Paling, Mr. Hu seems to realize how this sounds. “N-no,” he says. “Thank you for sharing what you have, Horn-jen.”

Ignoring him, you glance in the direction of Yoongi. “We’ll find the traitor. I swear it.”

His aura flares, full of emotion unrelated to the conversation at hand. “Of that, I have no doubt,” Yoongi says lowly.

Heat floods your face, sensing his intent and swiftly, you look away before others can notice.

“While the Horn and Weather Man conduct their investigations, I ask for everyone to remain on high alert,” Yoongi says, surveying the table. “No Peak will increase Green Bone presence in the border districts. If you see anything of interest, contact the clan.”

Several Lantern Men relax at the mention of Green Bones. You know business has been hard as of late, with so many customers shaken by the violence. Hopefully, this will convince the people No Peak has the situation in hand. Otherwise, why would the Lantern Men continue to pay for your protection?

Glancing at the bloody photographs laid out on the table, you can hardly blame them for their skittishness. Whoever killed these two victims was skilled. Their torture tactics are pristine, better than most graduates from the Academy. A skill you also possess, although you choose not to use it outside of last resorts. Even then –

Your fingers cease tapping against your leather jacket. Straightening, you realize the skill displayed is exactly that of the Academy. The cuts, the angle of the blade and depth of the wounds – all of it, textbook. A Green Bone did this, you’re certain.

Sharply, you glance up and allow your distress to show. Voicing your suspicion aloud would only end badly. Above all, the Pillar must appear in control. If a Green Bone – even a disgraced one – is murdering citizens of No Peak, it would be a disaster. Better to discuss your suspicions in private before airing them to the entire group.

Perceiving the shift in your emotions, Yoongi stiffens. “We’ll update you with any new information,” he says, dismissal clear in his tone. “Thank you for coming.”

Chair legs scrape floorboards, patrons filing out as they murmur to one another. Asha, your First Fist, hovers by the door until you give a discreet shake of your head. Nodding, she slips out and you see Jungkook follow.

To one side, Yoongi converses tersely with his Pillarman, Hoseok, until Hoseok exhales and swiftly exits the room. Kim Namjoon stays, drinking a glass of water at the opposite end of the table. Once you three are alone, Yoongi holds up his hand. He waits, utterly still until the last jade aura fades.

Only then does he turn. “Well, Y/N?” he drawls. “What did you realize?”

Not wasting time, you pluck a photograph from the pile and toss it before him. “These cuts,” you explain. “They were made by a moon blade. So precise – so even. Exactly the length taught at the Academy. Which means–”

“Shit,” Namjoon mutters. He sets down his glass. “We’re fucked.”

You give him a look. “Precisely.”

Yoongi frowns, his distaste palpable. “This is the work of a Green Bone.”

“I think so.”

Pushing his chair back to stand, Namjoon grabs a photo and turns it sideways. “Why would a Green Bone go after a Lantern Man, though?” he wonders out loud. “He wasn’t even wearing jade when he died – it’s against aisho.”

Yoongi’s lips press tightly together.

Aisho refers to the strict code of honor governing all who wear jade. There are many tenets, but first and foremost is that those who wear jade don’t harm the jadeless. Aisho also limits retaliation following honorable duels, ensuring the clan lines remain intact.

A Green Bone who follows aisho would never attack a citizen.

Which forces you to draw an unsavory conclusion. “Unless they didn’t care,” you say, voicing the worst possibility. “The killer could have been trained as a Green Bone and left.” Stiffening slightly, you glance at Yoongi. “You don’t think…”

“I do,” Yoongi mutters. His jaw clenches, then unclenches. “Maro.”

Namjoon swears softly.

Maro – known to most as Toh Marosun – is a traitor to No Peak. He grew up in the same circle as Namjoon, Yoongi, and other high-ranking Green Bones. Maro attended the Academy in the same class as Yoongi, and everyone expected him to become the Horn. Brilliant, swift, and vicious in battle – not to mention one of Yoongi’s closest friends.

Despite this fact, you never liked him. Having grown up the only daughter of an unremarkable Lantern Man, you experienced Maro the way most people did. Toh Marosun was cruel. Saccharine, willing to say whatever people in power wanted to hear. Maro knew exactly what to do, what to say to manipulate followers. From the beginning, you saw Maro for who he was – a bully.

He joined No Peak’s ranks as a Finger, but swiftly rose to prominence. By the time you graduated, Maro was the youngest Fist in No Peak’s history. What he lacked in jade tolerance he made up for in cunning. Maro was always more sensitive to jade, but he was also smart. Talented, with the skills he did have.

In Green Bone society, there are two ways to gain jade – gifted or earned. Green Bones win jade through physical duels, taking the green from those they defeat. Recklessly, Maro began to challenge rival clans and often, he won despite not being able to wear his spoils. He displayed his jade often, which you suppose should’ve been the first warning sign.

Maro cared too much for personal glory. In Kekon, glory is achieved through the clan. Even the Horn and the Weather Man only exist to further No Peak’s prowess. The Pillar themselves is the embodiment of the clan, not their own person.

Even now, you recall the day Maro’s crimes were exposed.

Seven years prior, you were a Finger on routine patrol when Sain, your Fist, was commanded to return to the Min property. He brought you along, stationed by the front gate to ensure no one left.

You guarded with another Finger, one whose name you don’t recall. What you do remember is the utter stillness of the day, the unnatural calm which comes before a storm. The sun was bright overhead, a thick bead of sweat sliding down your neck when the door behind you at the main house banged open.

A man tumbled down the steps, landing in a heap in the billowing dirt. Coughing, he struggled to right himself, but both his hands were bound. From your spot at the gate, you couldn’t see clearly but you scented his blood. Heard the bruised rasp of his breath.

Yoongi prowled down the front steps, his famed Da Tanori steel glinting in his right hand. His gaze never wavered from the man bound before him – Toh Marosun, his former friend.

“Do you deny it?” Yoongi asked, his voice soft but deadly. Despite this, you Perceived conflicting emotions within.

Toh Maro stayed silent. Eventually, he exhaled.

“No,” he said sullenly.

Unable to stop it, you turned and saw Maro staring unflinchingly up at the Pillar. Yoongi stood over him, his lips a thin line of displeasure. You didn’t know what had happened but feared the worst from Yoongi’s expression.

In that moment, you didn’t envy the Pillar. Yoongi had become head of No Peak only a year prior; in many ways, he was as untried as you were. He was a silent, intelligent man and many people thought they could take advantage of him.

They were wrong, of course, but it would take time to prove that.

On that day though, you felt the dull grief to his aura. “Then I am sorry,” Yoongi said quietly. “For you leave me with no choice. Toh Marosun, you stand accused of smuggling jade from No Peak – one of the worst crimes a Green Bone can commit.”

The entirety of your blood drained as you turned around.

Spine steeling, you gripped your knives tighter. There were few crimes so awful they couldn’t be forgiven, but stealing from the clan was one of them. Cutting off Maro’s ear would be too light a punishment, especially with Yoongi so untried a Pillar. Death would be acceptable. Expected, even.

It would be the Pillar’s call – the clans weren’t run as a democracy. Straining Perception, you listened closely behind you. Although you’d interacted little with the Pillar, the man behind the mask couldn’t help but intrigue you.

Broken sobs filled the clearing, and you heard the sudden thud of knees hitting the grass. No jade aura accompanied the sound.

“Yoongi, please,” gasped a voice – feminine, young. “Brother, please spare him. Don’t kill him, he –”

“Silence.” Yoongi’s voice echoed over the courtyard. The newcomer obeyed with a lone, stifled sob. “You’ve been found innocent, sister,” he said, sounding weary. “But that does not make you innocent.”

The threat of his words hung overhead and although Yejun continued to sniffle, the sound of it muffled. When you glanced sideways again, you saw her face in her palms.

Yoongi watched dispassionately, although you sensed his inner turmoil. Rumors had reached your ears by then that Maro was dating Yejun. It seemed to be true, based on the way she pleaded.

Returning to face the gate, the yard remained silent until Yoongi exhaled. “Toh Marosun,” he declared, his sword sheathing. “From this day on, you are banished from Kekon. Return your jade to the clan and go. If you return to Janloon, your life is forfeit. Take him,” he said, speaking to someone you couldn’t see.

You didn’t dare turn, but tugged your knives a half-inch from their sheathes. If Maro decided to fight, you’d be expected to protect the Pillar. For whatever reason – disbelief, or respect – Maro didn’t attack, and no violence took place. He left in the waiting car, but you’ll never forget the look on his face when he passed.

Despite your young age, you recognized the glint in his eye. Fury, tempered by disbelief. He’ll be back, you thought grimly. It was only a matter of time before someone like Maro declared vengeance.

Your gaze slid to Yoongi, wondering if he felt the same. He watched Maro leave, his expression carefully neutral before he turned around and entered the house. Yejun had already disappeared, likely leaving upon Maro’s banishment.

The expression on Yoongi’s face now is similar, staring down at the photograph. Another moment passes before you realize something else.

“They knew each other,” you say, glancing between the victims. Reaching out, your hand lightly touches a photo. “Icho Retubin. He worked for the Weather Man after the Academy. And this man here” – you touch the other – “Niru Roluan. A low-ranking Finger who quit after a year.”

“He was friendly with Marosun,” Namjoon recalls.

“Yes.” Eyes wide, you look up. “After Maro’s scheme was uncovered, both of them quit and began working as Lantern Men.”

“Interesting,” Yoongi muses. “So. Toh Marosun returns. He tortures and kills his former friends – why?” he murmurs, speaking more to himself than either of you.

Brow lowering, you search for the easy answer. “He’s torturing them for something,” you say, glancing at the wounds. “Information, maybe.”

Yoongi tilts his head. “Which begs the question – has Maro found what he wants, or is he still looking?”

“Does it matter?”

Namjoon shrugs at your question. “If Maro hasn’t found what he wants, he’ll strike again. If he did find it – well. We might be out of time.”

Yoongi considers. “He didn’t find it,” he says, turning around to stride for the door. “Call it a gut feeling.”

Your gaze narrows on his backside. “Let’s call it more than that.”

Yoongi turns around, lips twitching in a smile only you see. “I can think of two reasons Maro might return. One – jade.” The Pillar lifts a finger. “Or, two – revenge.” His second lifts.

You and Namjoon exchange a look. “Maro could find jade on the Shotarian black market if he wanted,” you say.

“Exactly.” Yoongi drops his hand. “Which is why I’m inclined to call this revenge.”

“Maro could want revenge on anyone, though,” Namjoon points out. “Most likely whoever sold him out in the first place.”

“Well, that makes this easier.” Casual, Yoongi tucks both hands in his pockets. “I sold him out. I discovered details of his jade smuggling in Yejun’s apartment.”

“Yejun?” Sharply, you look at him. “Your sister knew?”

Yoongi’s gaze hardens. “Yes, she knew,” he says. “I’m sure you understand why I kept that piece of information to myself until now. Yejun wasn’t involved with the smuggling, but she knew it was happening… and didn’t tell me,” he adds, his voice grim.

Mind reeling, you attempt to digest this piece of information. Betrayal lodges deep in your gut, although you do your best to dispel it. It’s pointless to expect Yoongi to tell you everything – especially events which occurred before you became the Horn.

Namjoon also looks troubled. “That’s… but that means–”

“Careful what you say, Namjoon.” Although his tone remains soft, Yoongi’s body tenses. “The matter is done. I punished Yejun as I saw fit, within my right as Pillar. Trust me,” he adds, his façade cracking a little. “Her deception was dealt with.”

Silently, you wonder if this is why Yejun studied in Espenia. As a stone-eye, she can’t serve the clan as a Green Bone, but could have taken other paths. She could have become a Luckbringer on Namjoon’s side or begun a career in government. Instead, Yejun left Janloon for a foreign University. It was only recently she returned to start her residency at Jan Royal University.

Curious, your gaze flicks to Yoongi. If what he says is true, then surely, he knows Maro is coming for him. Yejun might not have betrayed him, but Min Yoongi did. It’s only a matter of time before Maro discovers what happened.

Blood simmering, you do your best to hide your frustration. Your role as Horn would be much easier if the Pillar would be honest about all his enemies. Suppressing your scowl, you ignore the heat of Yoongi’s gaze on the side of your face.

“Namjoon,” he says, turning away. “I want a list of potential targets. People Maro has worked with in the past or knew at the Academy. Assuming he doesn’t have the information he wants, Maro will strike again.”

“On it,” Namjoon says, already heading for the door.

Although faint, you can feel the cool brush of his aura passing. You envy the Weather Man’s ability to ingest information and remove partiality. Even after something like Yejun’s betrayal, he remains unflappable. Namjoon simply absorbs and executes, doing what needs to be done.

Left alone with your thinking, you can’t claim the same. Namjoon’s jade aura fades when he exits, footsteps receding to leave you alone with the Pillar.

You refuse to look at him, casting your Perception outward. A Green Bone with as much jade as you have can Perceive a beetle crawling through the tall grass outside. Feel the rumble of cars on the distant streets. Hear Yoongi’s heart beat from across the room.

Wearing jade results in a dizzying expansion of knowledge. You’re used to it by now – years of training and genetics lessen the risk of being overwhelmed. Without either, it’s all too easy to lose control.

It’s one of the reasons jade-smuggling is a serious crime. The other being that jade is the main source of income funding the clans. Selling jade through non-regulated channels increases the risk of it falling into the wrong hands. Hands which could bring negative consequences to other people or themselves.

Aisho outlines a strict Green Bone code of honor. It states Kekon first, clan first, family first. Occasionally, all three are tied and occasionally, one outstrips the other. Maro disobeyed every rule by selling jade to the Shotarians.

Maro knew all this and chose to continue, blinded by greed. He placed his personal glory above that of the clan, something which must be dealt with. To a lesser degree, Yejun chose Maro over No Peak, as well – which is why you’re surprised Yoongi said nothing.

“Y/N.”

Yoongi speaks your name softly, forgoing your title.

Stiffening, you force yourself not to turn. “Don’t call me that.”

“What?” he asks, his voice moving closer. “Your name?”

Hand brushing your elbow, Yoongi turns you to face him. Against all better judgement, you obey – and find your first mistake. Meeting his gaze, a ripple of familiarity – of home, a voice whispers – goes through you.

Shutting all this down, you lift your chin. “You lied to me.”

Yoongi’s expression flattens. “I couldn’t explain.”

“You could have. You chose not to.”

“I couldn’t,” he insists. “I’m still not sure I didn’t make a mistake. I showed mercy, Y/N.” Yoongi pauses, then swallows. “I exiled my friend and sent my sister away – and now, look what’s happened. Two men have been killed, and it’s my fault. How could I have told you,” he adds, the words desperate, “when I knew it’d result in that look on your face?”

“I’m looking at you like this because you lied. Not because of a decision you made in the past. Mercy isn’t a weakness, Min Yoongi.”

“Some would say that it is,” he murmurs. Fleeting, his gaze drops to your lips.

Yoongi drops all restraint so his emotion, so often concealed, smears through his aura. Longing, anger and fear, mixed with worry.

White-hot electricity jumps over your skin. Seeing the normally reserved Pillar undone in your presence is a heady knowledge. Knowledge that terrifies you, even as everything in you aches to move closer.

“It’s not,” you exhale, meeting his gaze.

Something falters in his expression and Yoongi stares at you, heated. You Perceive his intent – a rough flare to his aura – a moment before Yoongi bends and crushes your mouth to his. His kiss is thorough, intent, his body curving with yours while walking you towards the wall.

You instantly cave, unable to withstand the desperate sweep of his tongue. “Yoongi,” you groan, fingers gripping him tighter. “People will hear.”

“Let them,” he says, his voice undeterred.

Before you can respond, his lips fall upon yours with increasing urgency. Hand slipping beneath your jacket, Yoongi cups your waist to pull you taut against him. Eyes falling shut, you swiftly scan the building for lingering Green Bones. Finding no one, you return your attention to Yoongi and bite down on his lip.

He growls, grip tightening when you tug him towards you. Breaking away, Yoongi lowers his head to suck the curve of your throat. He lingers at your jade, tongue darting out to lick the skin underneath. Your entire body shudders, aroused by the sensation.

Touching another person’s jade is intimate. Most wouldn’t allow their own family the honor, let alone someone they sleep with. Skin contact with jade imbues power, and the swift rise and fall of it can be dangerous. Only Yoongi is brave – or foolish – enough to risk the effects.

Spine on the wall, you inhale at the rush. Yoongi’s length presses against your core, already hard through the confines of his pants. It seems unfathomable that this man, a stranger to you for so long, can inspire such potent emotion.

When you first met him, you were ten, and he was fourteen. You didn’t know who Yoongi was at the time – a fact which now seems unthinkable. Raised in southern Kekon, you came to Janloon after your mother’s death with little understanding of clan politics. Likely, you would have remained so if your high jade tolerance hadn’t pushed your father to enroll you at the Academy.

Walking through the gates that first day, you found nothing but apathy. The best-case scenario was your classmates left you alone. Worst-case, the other children were brutal. You attended school with the sons and daughters of high-ranking clan members. Although your father joined No Peak as a Lantern Man eventually, he could hardly be called successful. The Academy had no patience for a rural girl whose jade tolerance far outstripped their own.

It wore on your classmates’ pride when the teachers praised you. You began to get noticed, and not in a good way. Fed up with your presence, one of the students attacked you at the end of your first year. Even then, you knew how to defend yourself and flipped him on his back. Stunned, he stared up at you before yelling to anyone within earshot that you’d regret this. His father was a powerful Lantern Man of No Peak and he said you’d be banished before graduation.

Fear gripped you, sensing the truth to his words. Based on your own experience, you knew No Peak wouldn’t believe you over one of their own.

Despair filled your thoughts as someone entered the corridor. Your attacker instantly froze, which should have clued you in this was someone important. Still, you refused to look, reticent to turn your back on an opponent.

The newcomer cleared their throat, further stoking your ire. After a moment, you dragged your attention to them.

Min Yoongi stared back, his expression mild. “So,” he said. “Who can tell me what happened?”

Looking him up and down, you chose not to respond. You didn’t trust a stranger – a fourth year at that – to intervene on your behalf. Most likely, Yoongi was a member of No Peak and had only arrived to harass you further.

Seeing your hesitance, your attacker jumped in. He accused you of treachery, saying you jumped him in the corridor and threw him on the ground. Silent, your fingers curled into fists, but you remained quiet, even when Yoongi turned.

“Well?” he asked you. “Is that right?”

Your lips dropped into a scowl. “He deserved what he got.”

Subtle, his brow flicked upward.

To your dismay, you saw people had gathered as whispers broke out. A sinking suspicion occurred to you that something was wrong. Not with your attacker, but whoever this was.

Yoongi stared at you for a long moment before, to your surprise, he chuckled. “I agree.” Turning to face the boy, a dangerous light entered his eye. “I’d suggest not telling your father what happened, Heike. Because then, I might feel honor-bound to confess what I saw. Which was his son ruthlessly attack a first year, lose and then lie about it to his future Pillar.”

Color bled swiftly from Heike’s skin. “Yes, Min-jen,” he whispered, head bowed in shame.

Panic-stricken, you stared as realization sunk in you’d been flippant to the future Pillar. Steeling yourself, you waited for Min Yoongi’s response – likely anger or worse. Based on your experience, most men in power liked this fact to be known.

Instead, Yoongi merely turned and looked you up and down. His gaze traveled you slowly, unreadable in his scrutiny. At last, he glanced up.

“Your father owns the tea shop by the docks, yes?” he said, waiting for you to nod before he continued. “He joined No Peak as a Lantern Man last year.”

“Yes, he did.”

His lips twitched. “Well, then,” Yoongi said as he turned away. “I can’t help but be grateful he chose No Peak to patron. It would’ve been shame to lose you to another clan.”

Stricken, you watched as he strode from the courtyard. Minutes passed, and eventually you realized the crowd had dispersed. Heike skulked off to nurse his wounds and the future Pillar had gone, giving them no reason to stay.

If you weren’t loyal to No Peak before, you certainly were after. Yoongi had that type of effect on people.

After that day though, you rarely interacted. Yoongi was four years your senior and the future Pillar, while you were nobody. Albeit a talented nobody who graduated at the top of their class from the Academy. At your graduation, people whispered you’d make a strong Fist. No one ever imagined you’d rise higher than that.

You joined No Peak as a Finger, starting from the bottom. Yoongi continued to remain out of reach, the newly named Pillar struggling to earn his own title. It didn’t take long though, before you rose in the ranks. You spent two years as a Finger, then two as a Fist – you were twenty-two years old when promoted to Horn. The youngest in history, and a woman to boot.

Yoongi was adamant in the choice, defending you calmly to the entire clan. He said he’d rather have the right person at a young age than the wrong person at the right age. His support was the only reason you didn’t strangle him that first year. It was the beginning of working together and as it turned out, Yoongi drove you mad.

He micromanaged, overseeing all decisions to ensure No Peak ran smoothly. You two bickered often, the fire eventually dissipating to begrudging acceptance. Ultimately, you realized you saw the world the same – No Peak first, followed by everything else.

Back then, Yoongi dated but none of them stuck. No one understood the sacrifice necessary to remain head of No Peak. Couldn’t comprehend the ruthlessness, the dedication it took to lead the clan. Yoongi could never let his guard down, could never relax with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

You understood, though, because you shared this burden. Yoongi could be honest with you in a way he couldn’t be elsewhere. To the rest of the clan, he was the infallible Pillar, but to you, he was only a man.

Proof of said manhood hardens against your thigh, and Yoongi’s lips curve gamely at the base of your throat. Head lifting, his smile is sharp enough to carve the remaining bit of your heart.

“You left early this morning,” he observes, his gaze dimming. “Why?”

Your eyes trace his lips before lifting to his face. “Hian called in sick, so I replaced his watch. My Fists are spread thin, Yoongi.”

A wrinkle forms between his brows. “You should’ve woken me.”

“Why?” you tease, your hand sliding lower to rest above his hip. “To watch me go? You needed your sleep.”

“I needed you more.”

Yoongi’s words still your fingertips, struck by his honesty. Min Yoongi is nothing if not blunt, leaving you often speechless. What began as just sex, mounting frustration between friends, has become something almost too tenuous to name. The idea of having him scares you nearly as much as the prospect of losing him.

“You had me last night,” you murmur.

Yoongi’s fingers drift across your cheek. “And yet,” he says, unwilling to let you off the hook. “I woke up ravenous.”

Multiple meanings layer his words, some of which you purposefully choose not to hear. Instead, you glance past him to search the grounds. Several Green Bones cross the lawn, none of them close enough to overhear. Still, it reminds you of what’s at stake.

Exhaling gently, you pull from his touch. “I should go,” you tell him.

Head tilted, Yoongi’s dark hair conceals the jade in his brow. His brow wrinkles when he Perceives your tumultuous emotions.

“You’re worried,” he says.

“Of course, I am,” you say with a frustrated laugh. “I’m your Horn, Yoongi. It’s my job to protect the clan – to protect you – and right now, it feels like I’m failing.”

His gaze on you sharpens. “First off, I can protect myself. Second – it’s my job as Pillar to protect the clan. How can you protect us from something I can’t see?”

“How many times do I have to say you don’t shoulder that burden alone?”

The lines around his mouth deepen. “In good times, I’m lauded. It only follows that in bad times, I’m the one at fault.”

“Oh, if that’s all,” you say drily. “I, for one, have never lauded you.”

“Oh, really?” Stepping closer, his expression shifts from frustration to carnal. “I seem to recall differently last night.”

Electricity catches each place his gaze lingers, shivering its way down your spine. Refusing to let him notice, you lift your chin higher. “You’d have to remind me. It all blurs together.”

Yoongi bares his teeth, and you can’t help but smile. If there’s one thing the Pillar of No Peak can’t resist, it’s a challenge. The start of your relationship is proof enough of that.

After your promotion to Horn, you spent most waking hours by Yoongi’s side. Working with him was exhausting. Every decision turned into an argument. How many Fists you should have. How many students to admit to the Academy. Whether you should train with the Kekonese military or not.

Yoongi constantly occupied space in your thoughts, and not in a good way. He frustrated you, forcing you to second-guess and slow down your thought process. Maddeningly, he was often correct, which only served to further your irritation.

Eventually, things began to shift. Bickering turned to acceptance and finally, understanding. Yoongi trusted you more often to make the right calls and in turn, you snapped at him less for his input. Your arguments dwindled, then disappeared altogether.

Three years passed as Horn, and soon your frustration gave way to a different kind. You started to notice when Min Yoongi entered the room. At first, you brushed it off as nothing. Yoongi had an undeniable presence, this was true. Soon though, you realized your thoughts breached the border of friendship.

His absence could be felt like a phantom limb. Yoongi’s jade aura comforted you despite its fierceness – so at odds with the calm way he carried himself.

Idly, you wondered what it would take for him to snap. To release his infamous self-control and fully give in. Thoughts of what Yoongi would feel like left your body scorched. On more than one occasion, you awoke with an ache between your legs and a dream of his face slipping away.

Such thoughts though, were dangerous. Yoongi was the Pillar, and you were his Horn – a relationship couldn’t happen and what’s more, he’d shown no interest. You began to withdraw out of self-preservation. Prior, you sparred with Yoongi every morning but soon found yourself making excuses to skip.

What was once daily practice turned into every week and then, once a month. Yoongi was a distraction you could ill-afford, disarming you with his laughter as easily as his sword.

Instead, you forced your attention on training your Fists. Firstday through Fifthday, you met Asha and Jungkook at the gym before dawn. This went on for months, training in secret until one day you exited and saw Yoongi’s car at the curb. Stomach sinking, you watched as he reversed and sped down the street.

Perceiving tumultuous emotion, you knew confrontation was inevitable but hoped Yoongi would give you time to process.

He did not.

Instead, Yoongi pounded on your door the very next morning. When you finally answered, he tossed a practice sword your way and demanded you dress.

Shaking free of your stupor, you glared at Yoongi a moment before slamming the door. Stalking inside, you threw gear in a bag and returned to the hall. Stomping past him, you refused to acknowledge Yoongi, throwing open the door to his Duchesse Priza.

Yoongi sped to his place in silence, tension churning between you like water beneath a ferry. At his gym, you stormed out and ripped the sword from its sheath. Yoongi followed closely behind, barely leashed emotion rolling off him in waves.

You flew at him first, your body Light, and then Strong while swinging towards his head. Moving through the various jade disciplines, you relied on training hammered into your bones. Yoongi caught a blow on his forearm, Steeling his skin to avoid any damage. The two of you entered a familiar rhythm, understanding the other in ways no one else could.

It must’ve been hours before you threw down your sword and declared the match ended. Yoongi simply stared, his chest heaving with a wild spark in his eyes.

You were turning to leave when he dropped his blade, strode across the clearing and crushed your mouth to his.

Five months have passed since. Your relationship has been kept a secret, with you unwilling to place any labels. People would talk if the Horn and Pillar were dating. You don’t want that for yourself. Not when you’ve worked so hard for credibility.

Pressing his thumb to your lower lip, Yoongi drags it lower before he releases. “I’ll have to remind you, then,” he says before stepping away. The heat dissipates from his gaze, leaving you cold. “But you’re right. I should go.”

Somewhat dazed, you feel yourself nod. This is what you wanted, you remind yourself. This is exactly what you asked for, so you have no right to feel abandoned.

“Send me the list Namjoon makes,” you say, forcing lightness to your tone. “I’ll send Green Bones to watch their houses.”

Yoongi opens his mouth, then seems to think better of it and merely nods. He stays silent when you leave, brushing past him to the hall. Outside, you pause on the landing before you continue.

His jade aura fades as you exit, letting you know he remains. You do your best to ignore him, flipping your keys as you stride towards your car – not as nice as Yoongi’s, but serviceable nonetheless. Yanking open the door, you slide onto the sticky-warm gray leather seat.

Exhaling, you stare at the wheel before shifting to drive. Lowering the windows, you allow a slight breeze to drift over your face. As much as you pretend to be happy with the current situation, you’re not. You aren’t stupid – you know your feelings for Yoongi extend beyond those of a Horn to their Pillar.

When you first became Horn, you respected Yoongi. He was a good leader – still is – and you were proud to be the person strengthening No Peak by his side. Now, he’s the closest thing you have to family. Deep down, you understand his pardon of Yejun. If you were in a similar situation, there’s nothing Yoongi could do that you wouldn’t forgive.

Especially now, with your father dead. It happened soon after graduation, a sudden collapse of his heart no one saw coming. Yoongi attended his funeral. It was held on a rain soaked Seventhday after the Autumn Festival. Late in the season for a deluge but fitting for the occasion. It felt like the world was wiped clean, along with your prior life.

For the Pillar to attend was unusual, but not unprecedented. You recall him standing near the back, his Pillarman, Hoseok, at his side. The funeral was short – your father wasn’t garrulous by any means – but rain soaked your dress by the time it had ended. It surprised you when Yoongi came to express his sorrow, even more so when he seemed to mean it. Most people didn’t. Most people came for the spectacle, or to say they were there.

Yoongi though, gripped your hand tightly while meeting your gaze. His calluses were as rough as your own when he said the clan would support you. Oddly enough, you believed him.

With both parents dead, and no siblings, No Peak is the only family you have. Yoongi’s life is similar to yours, apart from Yejun. His father died of cancer when he was twenty-one and his mother soon followed, unable to cope. Yoongi knows what loss means, what it feels like to be alone.

Lips tightening, you imagine what it’d feel like to lose him. Worse than a Horn should feel when they lose a Pillar. Silent, you curse yourself for having poor foresight. There’s a reason the Horn and Pillar don’t date. A reason why such a relationship would be forbidden. It’s your job to protect the clan – not just Yoongi – but if it came down to it, you’d choose him every time.

Weaving through the bustling streets of Janloon, your speed is forced to slow. Janloon, the capital city of Kekon, is full of contractions. The latest car models pass beneath flashing billboards, coupled with street stalls and sprawling temples. Scents of the city mingle with stale AC from your car.

No matter how much time passes, Kekon stubbornly clings to its roots. Portions of the outside world may infiltrate, but they’ll never replace. This is something Green Bones and the clans understand.

Traffic forces you to park a block away from your destination. Striding towards the Twice Lucky, you nod at a few Lantern Men idling outside. Asha and Jungkook wait for you in a private room, lounging in seats around the square table. The second floor of the Twice Lucky has been reserved for Green Bones; a privilege No Peak ensures is well-compensated.

Jungkook sits in his usual spot, arms crossed and feet up. Asha is restless, fingertips drumming against the hilt of her blade. Food and water are laid out, half-eaten as though there were others here before.

Sensing your presence, your first Fist looks up. “Y/N-jen.” Asha straightens. “Any news?”

Crossing the room, you scan the building but Perceive no other Green Bones. Sinking into a chair, you pull a plate closer and pick up red chopsticks.

Jungkook turns towards you. “What’d you discuss with the Pillar? Seemed important.”

Asha gives him a warning look, to which he only shrugs.

Ignoring them both, you stab a dumpling. “We suspect the killings were done by a Green Bone. Do you remember Toh Marosun?”

Asha’s head whips in your direction. Jungkook was at the Academy during Maro’s betrayal, but Asha was there and remembers how it went down. If Maro has returned, it’s only a matter of time before things get worse.

“Of course, we remember.” Her eyes narrow. “So, it’s really him? Maro came back?”

“Maybe.” You hesitate another moment, then finish the dumpling. “It’s only a guess.”

“A pretty good guess, if you’re telling us,” Jungkook muses. “Why come back now, though? Returning to Kekon is a death sentence.”

“Is it?” Asha fights a smirk. “Everyone knew Yejun had a thing for Maro.”

Casual, you retrieve a talon knife from its sheath. You begin cleaning the blade, the weapon a natural extension of your wrist, and feel Asha and Jungkook’s gazes follow.

“I don’t think that’s relevant, do you?” you say calmly. “Not unless you’re questioning the Pillar’s judgement.”

Asha looks away, miffed. “No, jen,” she mutters. “Of course, not.”

“Good.” You pause, allowing your fury to seep into your aura. “The Pillar deserves nothing less than your respect. Which means Jungkook is right – coming back here is a death sentence, begging the question of why.”

Jungkook considers. “Maybe he left something.”

Asha turns back, the moment of tension forgotten. “He could be after his jade,” she offers. “Maro was always thin-blooded, so if it’s jade he wants, this could get bad. He could come down with the Itches.”

Sheathing your knife, you look up. “I agree. Maro might not be in his right mind.”

“What should we do?”

“Nothing for now,” you tell her. “Namjoon is compiling a list of people Maro knew. If he hasn’t found what he’s after by now, he could strike again.”

Asha nods and accepts this. Pushing aside a twinge of regret, you wish you could explain the rest. If Yoongi is a target though, it’s best to keep that fact quiet. And as much as you’d like to blame the Luckbringers, you have no way of knowing who’s helping Maro – either by will or by force.

A phone rings on the lower level, barely audible over the din. The Twice Lucky restaurant doesn’t have the best food in Janloon, but the quality is good, and its owner is loyal. The same can’t be said for other places.

Footsteps pound on the staircase, and Jungkook springs to his feet. Before you can warn him, the door opens and Mr. Une, the proprietor, freezes in place.

“Put that away,” you demand, waving for Jungkook to lower his knife.

Eyes wide, Mr. Une stares while your Second Fist sheaths his weapon. Seating himself at the table, Jungkook kicks both feet up like nothing has happened. The third-highest amount of jade in the clan lies coiled about his neck, polished stones resting against his tan skin.

Mr. Une continues to stare, wary until you pointedly clear your throat. “Uncle,” you say, adopting the deferential. “What can we do for you?”

Somewhat placated, Mr. Une turns his head. “Phone call for you, Horn-jen. The Weather Man said it’s urgent. You can use the phone in my office if you’d like.”

Smile disappearing, you stand. “Lead the way.”

Mr. Une blinks, and you realize you’ve crossed the room in less time than it took Jungkook to draw his knife. Inwardly, you sigh and attempt to appear harmless. The citizens of Janloon are used to living with Green Bones but sometimes, your power is a reminder of what they are not. Of the inherent danger of living amongst latent gods.

Following Mr. Une, you head towards his office. Asha and Jungkook walk close behind, with Jungkook at the rear and Asha by your side. Mr. Une hovers awkwardly at the door before turning around and pushing into the kitchen.

Once he’s gone, you lift the phone. “Hello?” you say.

Namjoon’s voice barks in your ear. “Get back to the Min property. Now.”

Your stomach drops. “What happened?”

“Maro struck again,” he says tightly. “It’s definitely Maro – and the victim is still alive.”

“Who is it?” you ask, expecting the worst.

“Jio Reubin. He managed to escape and made it here, but he’s injured. This is our best chance to get information.”

“On my way,” you say, and hang up.

Taking a deep breath, you allow the reality of Namjoon’s words to wash over you. Jio is hurt, meaning you need to interrogate soon in case he dies. Nausea curdles your stomach, and you try to dispel it.

Guilt wars with relief from knowing Yoongi is safe. You’ve met Jio several times, having attended the Academy with his now-wife, Lula. She never took to the bloodier side of the clan, deciding to enter the medical profession instead. If you remember correctly, she’s in the same resident program as Yejun.

Leaving the office, you nod for Jungkook to follow. He falls into step beside you. “I need you to do something for me,” you say to Asha. “Head to Jio Reubin’s and search the area for Maro. Call me if you find anything.”

She nods and turns, disappearing out the side door.

You and Jungkook exit the front, squinting when you emerge in the golden hour. “Follow me to the Min property,” you say grimly.

Jungkook nods as he turns, aura pulsing with adrenaline while growing fainter. You should warn him to be cautious but know it’d be hypocritical. Your own car’s speed is nearly twice the limit as you rush through the streets of Janloon, returning to the gates of the Min property.

Screeching to a halt, you yank keys from the ignition and sprint across the courtyard. Namjoon’s aura pulses from the main house, so you follow the trail and shove open the door.

Namjoon doesn’t look up when you enter, and you immediately see why. Jio lies splayed on the sofa, right arm dangling listlessly from a red cushion. At first, you think that’s the color before you notice the blood darkening Jio’s chest.

Kneeling at his side, Namjoon’s jaw clenches while attempting to Channel. Usually, Channeling is used to rend the body apart but in certain circumstances, it can be used to hold it together. Namjoon doesn’t wear much jade though and wasn’t trained as a healer.

“Allow me,” Jungkook says from behind you.

Dropping to his knees, he replaces Namjoon to clasp Jio’s hand in his. Closing his eyes, a thick vein pulses in the side of his neck. Despite Jungkook’s wish to enter the bloodier side of the clan, he would’ve made an excellent healer. His ability to Channel is better than anyone else in No Peak.

Jio’s aura, previously guttering, gradually smooths. Namjoon sits back on his heels, clearly spent from the effort. Wiping sweat from his brow, he turns to see you.

“Close the door,” he says faintly.

Reaching out, you obey and cross to stand by his side. Staring at Jio, you take in his bloodied state. Whoever tortured him was thorough, cutting just deep enough to let him slowly bleed out.

It’s a miracle Jio escaped, no matter how slowly his chest rises and falls. When you cross your arms, he coughs and cracks open one eye. Dazedly, Jio registers your presence.

“Horn-jen,” he rasps.

Briskly, you nod. “You’re going to be fine, Jio.”

Straining Perception, you sweep the ground for Yoongi but find him far away. Good. The further he is from this carnage, the better.

Glancing back, you seek Namjoon. “What happened?”

“Maro was waiting when Jio got home from his night shift. His wife had already left for the hospital. Maro knocked out Jio, tied him up and when he came to, started torturing him for intel. Jio managed to escape but hasn’t said how. Couple of Fingers found him in the Temple District.”

Your gaze moves to Jio. “Maro escaped?”

“Yeah,” he responds.

Stomach tight, you consider the options. Either Maro is still searching for whatever he’s after, or he found out from Jio and –

From across the property comes a surge of fury. No one else seems to notice, but that doesn’t surprise you. You’re more attuned to Yoongi’s aura than anyone present. Keeping your expression neutral, you know you don’t have much time until Yoongi arrives.

“What did he want to know?” you demand. “Did he –”

The door to the room flies open and hits the wall. The Pillar strides in, adjusting his cuffs as he goes. Yoongi’s dark hair is slicked, clothing immaculate as always. Heat curls in your lower belly, and you do your best to stamp it out.

His gaze flicks towards you, sensing your need before his expression shutters. Facing forward, Yoongi surveys the scene.

“What happened?” he asks, low and deadly.

His Pillarman steps inside and shuts the door. Hoseok leans to the wall, jacket falling open to reveal the handle of his Sig Sauer. It’s odd for a Green Bone to carry a gun but Hoseok’s job is to protect Yoongi from all threats. Although Green Bone warriors render bullets obsolete through Steeling, there are other threats best deterred by firepower.

On the couch, Jio coughs and attempts to sit up. Grunting, Jungkook grabs his shoulder and forces him down.

“Don’t be an idiot,” you say to Jio. “The doctor is coming, but if you die before they get here, you’ll be no help to anyone.”

“Are you sure it was Maro?” Yoongi asks, tension radiating from every line in his body. Even if you couldn’t Perceive him, you’d know.

Weakly, Jio nods. “It was Maro. Looks different now – leaner and wearing new jade. Scabs up and down his arms. But yeah, it was him.”

You and Namjoon exchange a look. Arm scabs could be a sign of the Itches, an illness caused by jade overexposure. Jade overexposure can happen gradually, or it could be caused by a single instance. For example, if someone were to go without jade for years and then put a lot on.

Green Bones are taught the symptoms from a young age. Severe mood swings, sensory distortion – shaking, sweating, anxiety, paranoia, and heart palpitations. When left untreated, the Itches can lead to madness and eventually, death. Better soldiers than Maro have succumbed to it, the lure of more jade greater than self-control.

The possibility flashes before you – Maro, unable to stomach being cut off from Kekon. He seeks out new jade, expecting to stomach as much as he used to. Instead, Maro breaks, paranoia and fear dragging him under. He starts to blame others, including the clan who took everything from him. A man in such a state might consider revenge his only option.

The hypothesis fits, though it means nothing good for No Peak.

“What did he say?” Yoongi asks. “Tell us, word for word.”

“He…” Jio breaks into a coughing fit. “Knocked me out. When I woke up, I was tied to my kitchen chair. I asked Maro what the fuck he was doing.”

“And?” Namjoon prods. “What did he say?”

“Said he’d been gone for too long. That it was all a mistake – leaving, taking off his jade.”

“Is that why he came back?” you press.

Jio’s head lolls. “He asked who betrayed him. Said he only told a few people about the smuggling, so one of them must’ve done it. I didn’t know,” he rasps, shaking his head. “I wasn’t one of the people Maro told. He didn’t seem to remember – or care.”

Paranoia. Another unmistakable sign of the Itches.

“What else?” Namjoon asks. “How did you escape?”

“I don’t know.” Jio frowns, blood trickling from a cut above his eye. “Maro seemed confused. He kept asking who betrayed him, and then mentioning treasure? He wanted to know where his treasure was. I don’t even know what he meant,” he admits, glancing between you and Namjoon. “His jade? I dunno.”

“It could be,” you say slowly.

“He’d ask about his treasure one minute, then accuse it of betraying him,” Jio says. “He said he went where his treasure was, but it wasn’t there. Or they weren’t there? He kept mixing up tenses. Wasn’t sure he knew where he was, half the time.”

Off to the side, you feel a sudden surge of emotion – there and gone before you can dissect. Startled, you glance in the direction of Yoongi but find him unharmed. Eyes narrowed, you watch a moment longer before you turn back.

“If Maro wants his old jade, maybe he meant his apartment. He could have gone there to search first,” Namjoon offers.

“A waste,” you say with a frown. “Maro forfeited his jade to the clan before leaving.”

Forfeited to the Pillar, more accurately. You glance once more at Yoongi, who doesn’t react. He continues to examine Jio, a slight wrinkle between his brows.

“All roads lead to me, it would seem. How did you escape, Jio?” Yoongi adds, casually changing the subject.

“Didn’t, really.” Jio coughs, the sound wet. “Managed to get an arm free, lunged for Maro and fell on the floor. Maro… didn’t really notice. He swore something fierce, stabbed my fridge with his knife and ran off.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “He stabbed your… fridge?”

“Yeah.”

“That makes no sense.”

“If he has the Itches, it doesn’t have to,” Namjoon murmurs.

“True,” you say.

This feels important though, in a way you can’t pinpoint. Maro didn’t have any trouble killing before – the only reason he’d leave was if he found what he wanted. Frustration gnaws at your thoughts, certain you’re missing something.

Outside, you hear someone enter the driveway. Gravel skitters beneath tires, the car coming to a stop as someone exits.

“That must be the doctor.” Yoongi turns around, seemingly lost in thought. “I’ll go let them in.”

Pulling open the door, he exits with Hoseok. You watch them leave, returning your attention to Jio.

Looking weary, Jungkook sits back on his heels. “I’ve done what I can,” he says. “Stopped most of the internal bleeding. He should live.”

The door behind you opens. “I’ll be the judge of that,” says an unfamiliar woman, striding in. Setting down a black bag, she looks around. “Anyone without medical training should leave. Now.”

Brows raised, you obey and take your leave. In the hallway, Jungkook mutters something about readying the car and disappears. You remain in the house, pacing and waiting for Yoongi’s return.

Namjoon’s eyes follow your tread. “What are you thinking?”

Shaking your head, you stop to examine a portrait of Yoongi’s father. “I don’t know,” you admit. “Something about this feels off. Why would Maro leave so abruptly?”

“He wouldn’t,” Namjoon muses. “Not unless he found what he was looking for.”

“Maybe Jio is lying. Maybe he told Maro it was Yoongi who betrayed him. If that’s so though, why wouldn’t Maro come directly here?”

“Here?” Namjoon scoffs. “It’d be suicide to attack the Pillar in his own compound. No way – Maro is smarter. If I were him, I’d set a trap. Draw the Pillar out.”

A terrible suspicion dawns as you freeze, mid-stride. This is the moment the landline rings and, crossing the hallway, you yank down the phone.

“Hello?” you answer.

Asha’s voice fills your ears. “Y/N? Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me,” you say, turning around. “What’s wrong?”

“I have… well, I don’t know what I have.”

“What do you mean?” you press. “What’s wrong?”

Noticing your expression, Namjoon frowns and pushes himself from the wall.

“I went to Jio’s like you asked. There was no sign of Maro, so I went back to the house and… it’s strange. Maro tied Jio up in his kitchen, and there are signs of a struggle, but…”

“But what, Asha?”

She pauses. “Did Jio tell you what happened?”

“Yeah.” Your gaze flicks to Namjoon, who listens to every word. “He said Maro swore, stabbed a fridge and ran off.”

“Oh. Okay.” Asha exhales. “I was worried you’d think I’m crazy. The thing is, Maro didn’t just stab a fridge – he stabbed a photo. A person, to be exact.”

“… Who was the person he stabbed?”

Namjoon goes still, and your grip on the phone tightens. Pieces of the puzzle slide into place, leaving a picture which turns your stomach. Dread fills you, knowing what Asha will say before she says it.

“Yejun,” she says, and a loud ringing fills your ears. “She works at the same hospital as Jio’s wife, and there’s a photo of them at some ceremony. The knife… it’s straight through Yejun’s head.”

Heart pounding, you close your eyes and frantically sweep the grounds. Deep down though, you already know what you’ll find.

Yoongi is gone.

Fury boiling over, you realize this was the epiphany Yoongi had earlier. It must have something to do with the word treasure – likely a nickname between Yejun and Maro. Maro was looking for Yejun, not his jade or revenge. Or maybe it is revenge – stomach sinking, you realize what this must seem like. Maro told Yejun about his operation and soon after, Yoongi found out.

Maro wants Yejun, which is something you should’ve seen from the beginning. Yoongi realized before you and now, he’s run off to play hero.

“Stay here,” you say, turning to Namjoon. Feverish anger burns your blood. “Get Jio to the hospital once he’s stable. Thanks, Asha,” you say before hanging up.

Namjoon’s eyes narrow. “Yoongi went after Yejun, didn’t he?”

“Maybe,” you say, pushing past. “If he did, I’ll find him.”

You don’t remember reaching your car, only that once you do, you drive faster than you ever have through Janloon. The hospital is a logical starting point since that’s what Maro saw from the photo.

Shutting down your thoughts, you continue to weave through traffic. Thinking begets worry, which can lead to mistakes. Tightening your grip, you push the car faster. Roaring down the next street, you recall Yejun is working early shifts this week. She mentioned it the other day, saying how glad she was to be home in time for dinner.

Glancing at the clock, your jaw tightens. After a moment’s hesitation, you make a sharp turn, car skidding a little on the next street. If Yejun is already home, better to first check that she’s safe.

Yoongi’s sister lives near the hospital, an allowance granted with the understanding that your men keep tabs. While it’s unlikely Maro knows her home address, he could have followed her there from the hospital.

Parking swiftly, you leap from the car and sprint inside. Someone on the street protests, all bravado disappearing when they notice your jade. You skid to a stop in the lobby, zeroing in on the doorman.

“Floor ten,” you say flatly.

Open-mouthed, the man stares. When you start to move forward, he snaps to attention. “Elevator is out,” he blurts. “You’ll have to take the stairs, like the rest.”

The rest.

Teeth gritted, you pivot and take the steps three at a time. The climb upward is steep, and you use a burst of Strength to reach the top. Shoving open the door to floor ten, you come to a sudden halt.

Chaos greets you.

The hall before you is narrow, barely two meters in width. Yoongi and Maro face each other midway, moon blades drawn and locked in combat. Lunging, Maro’s blade slices Yoongi’s shoulder and blood splatters the floor. Hissing, Yoongi doubles his Strength to kick Maro in the chest, sending him flying.

Maro slams into a window, glass raining around him. Rolling Light, Maro jumps to face Yoongi, unscathed. Stomach sinking, you notice the amount of jade Maro carries. More than he ever had while part of the clan. Clearly, Maro is past the point of caring about things like the Itches.

His aura feels wrong where it touches yours, jagged and pulsing. Leaping and whirling with unknown motive, withdrawing to expand in nonsensical patterns.

Face contorted, Maro unleashes a series of blows which nearly has Yoongi buckling. Clearly, Maro has continued training in exile. He looks similar and yet different – his hair longer, beard unkempt to hide the scar on his cheek. His body is lean, that of a wild wolf after winter who fights more desperately because of it.

Steeling himself, you feel Yoongi pull his aura inward, readying for the next blow. Maro slips beneath Yoongi’s blade and slashes – and Yoongi releases, Channeling his energy outward in a deadly wave. The invisible strike hits Maro dead-on, making him stumble.

Gaze bright, Maro’s head whips upward. Sensing murderous intent, a growl slips from your throat as you rush in. Swifter than breath, you wrench knives from your belt, thrusting them upward to catch Maro’s blade.

He shudders to a halt, teeth bared in your face.

Yoongi skids to a stop beside you, disbelief warring with his panic.

“GO!” you yell, glancing at Yejun’s door. “Now!”

Yoongi hesitates before nodding, lowering his sword to dart inside. Maro seethes when he escapes, shoving with all his weight to send you backwards. Dropping into a crouch, you brace yourself with one hand and kick outward. Maro leaps to avoid the blow, landing Light with a fierce glint in his eye.

Bright studs of jade – some red and oozing – dot his chest, clearly done in haste. Maro doesn’t seem to feel pain as he walks towards you.

“You?” he taunts, half-laughing. “You’d barely graduated when I was chosen for Horn. Must be nice,” he muses. “A reward for fucking the boss.”

Biting your lower lip, you hold back your retort. When you do this, Maro smiles, lips pulled from his teeth.

Before he can speak, you lunge forward and Channel. Energy jabs Maro’s chest – enough to stun, but not kill. Grunting, Maro’s smile disappears as he Deflects. Bringing his sword down overhead, he leaves no room to dodge. Swiftly, you Steel and hope for the best.

Maro’s blade slams against skin, though he fails to draw blood. Springing forward, you strike hard enough to rend his shirt’s fabric. Pulling back, Maro seethes.

Your next series of blows are fueled by Strength, fast enough to elude normal vision. You rely on muscle memory and Perception, countering each of Maro’s strokes with your own. He’s not as fast as you are, but his additional jade gives him an edge.

His next Channel is clumsy but strong, enough to leave you winded and miss his next blow. You don’t Steel in time, his blade catching your jacket to cut your torso. Hissing, you stumble and press a hand to the wound.

The cut feels shallow but stings, nonetheless. Fury building, you hone your Perception to a narrow cone. Maro’s aura ebbs and flows, erratically bursting as he walks towards you.

“I don’t know why you’re bothering to fight,” he says, adjusting his grip on his sword. “If anything, you should join me, Y/N – I’m your future.”

Refusing to let him continue, you rush forward and exchange a flurry of blows that end in a stalemate.

Panting, Maro withdraws. “You have to understand I loved her,” he hisses. “I loved her, and she betrayed me. She deserves to die.”

“Who did?” you ask, although you already know.

Behind Maro, you see Yoongi rush from Yejun’s apartment. He holds her, unconscious, Yejun’s aura silent without jade ability. Fervent, you wish you could gauge her vitality. As it is, all you can do is buy them time to get help.

Sinking into a crouch, you draw Maro’s gaze.

“Yejun?” you prod.

“Yes,” Maro breathes, his gaze bright. “I trusted her, and she turned me in. Do you know what I thought about every day while in Shotar? Her. Do you know what she thought about? The clan,” he spits. “He’ll betray you, too, in the end – you’ll see. Killing them both now would be a mercy.”

“Yejun didn’t betray you,” you say to buy time. “She wasn’t the one who told Yoongi – he found out on his own.”

Maro blinks, his surprise evident for a moment before vanishing under fury. “That’s just as bad,” he snaps, his voice rising. “Yoongi and I were like brothers. Under aisho, doesn’t family come first?”

“Even family is bound by honor,” you say grimly. “Should I ever be disloyal to my brother, may I die by the blade,” you add, reciting the Green Bone oaths. “I won’t join you, Toh Marosun. Take me by force if you must.”

His nostrils flare but before he can act, you rush in. Dimly, you register Yoongi’s retreating aura and hope he’s managed to escape the building. Lightness and Strength blur as you move, Maro’s Deflection flung hastily forward.

You keep your blows unpredictable, swift enough that Maro struggles. Rage cloaks your intention as you whirl and slice in erratic patterns. Sweat beads on Maro’s forehead, Steeling wrongly for your knives to draw blood.

Sensing victory, you push harder. Gathering his energy inward, Maro lashes out suddenly in a Channel you barely Deflect. Energy rips through you, searing your bones in a silent attack. Wincing, you leap back and Channel a blow. Maro stumbles, barely shielding and you recognize a flaw.

There are few Green Bones in Shotar, which must make it difficult for him to practice Deflection. Pressing the advantage, you move forward in a quick flurry of blows. Although Maro’s sword is larger, your knives gain the advantage in the small space. He can’t move when you duck underneath, stabbing upward to pierce his soft underarm.

Howling, Maro whirls and swings at you rashly. Leaning backwards, you Steel and catch the blow on your forearm. Vibrations clang through you, rattling the teeth in your skull. The two of you lock together, Maro’s energy clashing with yours. When he doubles his Strength, you feel your Steel buckle.

Lips split in a grin, Maro keeps his sword steady. Further increasing his Strength, he’s focused on winning he doesn’t notice the shift in your aura.

Dropping your Steel, you draw everything inward and let his sword slice your arm. Maro’s laugh is manic – until you Channel outward. The last of your energy shatters his Deflection, piercing inner organs with deadly precision. You feel the moment Maro’s heart stops, his arteries rupturing from the inside out.

Forgoing any mercy, your knife slashes his throat in a clean line.

Blood mists from the wound, coating the wall behind you in red. With a gurgled gasp, Maro lifts a hand – only to go limp and fall, face-first on the floor.

Silence descends, broken only by your ragged breathing. Not far off, sirens wail, and you sense Green Bone auras closing in on the building. Eyes closed, you force yourself to breathe in and out.

No matter how often you do it, killing another person never gets easier. Even when necessary. Even when said person threatens your life and others. You fortify yourself with the knowledge that Yoongi is safe, and Yejun will live – she has to.

The cost to your soul is too high for anything else.

“Is he dead?” asks someone behind you.

Swiftly, you turn as you open your eyes. You were so focused inward, you failed to notice Yoongi’s aura approach. The Pillar’s gaze snags, stopping on the man before you.

“Yes,” you say, bending to clean your knives. Heart hammering, you wonder what Yoongi feels at seeing his former friend dead. Wonder if he’ll blame you, as Maro said.

Setting your jaw, you sheath both your knives before standing. Immediately, you see you needn’t have worried. Yoongi isn’t looking at Maro, but at you. A lone muscle tics in his jaw, observing the crimson blood staining your clothes.

“The police are on their way. They’ll clean up the scene. You’re hurt,” Yoongi adds, his voice thick.

You glance down at your arm. “It’s nothing.”

Bending again, you begin to gather Maro’s jade. You’ll be expected to wear it the next time you’re in public, but right now, the touch of it is nearly overwhelming. Minor wounds and injuries pulse with each movement, already healing from your current jade.

“I’ll take it.” Yoongi suddenly is beside you, right hand extended. “Let me help.”

Relinquishing some of the jade piercings, you slide the rest in your pockets and push yourself to stand. Turning to face him, you stride down the hall. A roiling ball of emotion settles deep in your gut.

Worry about Yejun. Fury at Yoongi’s lies. Relief, that he’s here and unharmed.

Entering the stairwell, the door hits the wall with a satisfying thud. Yoongi follows closely, wisely choosing to remain silent. Two stories lower, you find the words to speak.

“Is Yejun okay?” you ask.

You feel Yoongi’s gaze on the back of your neck. “She’ll live,” he says, sounding weary. “I left her at the hospital with Namjoon and Jiro. She has a concussion. Maro got here a few minutes before I did and had already roughed her up.”

Something about this snaps the hold on your fragile self-control. Picturing what might have happened had you arrived a few seconds later, you whirl around and grasp Yoongi by his suit jacket.

“Never,” you blurt, yanking him closer. “Never do that to me again.”

Gaze burning, you stare him down and Yoongi watches warily. He doesn’t move an inch, allowing you to manhandle him. “I know that you’re angry,” he says carefully.

With a harsh laugh, you release him. “Of course, I am! You shouldn’t have come here alone.”

“I know that.”

“Well?” you demand after a long moment passes. “Aren’t you going to apologize?”

Yoongi lifts a brow. “I’d do it again.”

You stare at him, aghast. “Well, then.” You pause. Shake your head. “If that’s all you have to say, I think this night is over.”

Wiping your palms on your pants, you turn away. You only make it one flight before Yoongi’s hand finds your elbow.

Spinning you towards him, Yoongi pulls you closer. You manage to avoid eye contact until his fingers slip beneath your chin, making you face him.

“I know you want me to apologize, but I won’t,” he says lowly. “I refuse to apologize for trying to keep you from danger.”

Most people would swoon, hearing this from their lover but you aren’t most people. You’re the Horn of No Peak, sworn to protect the clan – and Yoongi – from any threats.

Your gaze narrows on his. “That’s a problem, then. I’m your Horn, Yoongi. It’s my duty to protect No Peak – to protect you. The Pillar is the spine of this clan and, once severed, No Peak can’t survive. It can survive without me, though.”

Yoongi’s nostrils flare. “And what about me?” he asks. “If you don’t survive, how do you expect me to continue?”

You go still. “Yoongi… I…”

“And for that matter,” he adds, his hand on your chin sliding to the back of your neck. “If you’re so intent on following the rules, who are you to give me orders? I’ll fight to protect the clan if I want to, Y/N.”

Fury expands from the spark in your chest. “You didn’t make me your Horn to follow you blindly,” you seethe.

“No.” His gaze softens. “I did not.”

You stare at each other for a long moment, each passing second draining some of your fire. You’re left with smoke on your tongue, a heaviness in your heart and the ever-growing certainty the time for rule-following has passed.

“You… can’t think like that,” you say eventually.

Yoongi’s brow sketches upward. “Like what?”

“Like I’m worth more than the clan. More than you, as it’s Pillar. That’s dangerous precedent.”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, I do,” you say, frustrated by his nonchalance. “The clan is my blood, and the Pillar is its master,” you add, reciting your oaths again. “You are the Pillar. Your life is that of the clan.”

Yoongi’s lips twist with displeasure. “It seems we’re at an impasse, since I refuse to place my life before yours.”

“Yoongi,” you snap, exasperated. “You can’t just… just –”

“Just what?” His eyes blaze. “Love you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, voice breaking.

Something in his face gentles. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”

Perceiving this truth, the last bit of fight drains from your body. Sensing it, Yoongi draws you closer and pulls you against him. Eyes shutting, you lean into his chest. Yoongi’s aura swallows you whole, an oasis of calm against the onslaught of night.

His breath warms your ear. “It was my problem to fix,” Yoongi murmurs, sounding reticent. “She… Yejun didn’t betray Maro, but she was going to – that’s how I found out. She was writing a letter to me on her kitchen table. I walked in and saw it.”

Lifting your head, you regard him. “You don’t have to explain to me why you spared your sister. I understand.”

“Thank you. You should know, though,” he adds, his voice fierce, “I will do anything to keep those I love from harm.”

You can’t help but smile, though it quickly fades. “I know you would, Yoongi. That’s a burden you can’t carry alone, though. It makes you weaker, not stronger.”

“This was my fault, though,” he says. “Not yours – nor anyone else from the clan. It was my decision to let Maro go free.”

“You aren’t responsible for Maro’s actions. And it’s not weakness to show mercy.”

A muscle jumps in his jaw.

“It’s not,” you press on. “Who’s to say what the right choice was? If you’d killed Maro back then, maybe something worse would’ve happened. Yejun might not have forgiven you. It’s impossible to rewrite the past, and you’ll go mad if you try.”

Yoongi looks away, unconvinced. “What type of Pillar does that make me, though?”

“One who hesitates before killing their friends.”

“One who balks at making tough decisions.”

“Min Yoongi.” Steel layers your voice and you reach up, turning his face to yours. “I would never swear oaths to someone who killed without question. Who made decisions in anger, then regretted them later. You question me when you question yourself.”

His gaze roams your face. “And what if others betray me?” Yoongi murmurs, voice lower. “Would you continue to support me if I was forced to kill Asha? Or Jungkook?”

“I’d trust you did what had to be done.”

“And what if I become corrupt?” he murmurs, his gaze flicking lower. “What if I’m the one being selfish, betraying the clan?”

“Well, that’s easy.” Reaching lower, you wrap a hand around the hilt of his blade. “I’ll kill you myself.”

Not looking away, Yoongi’s hand covers yours. “You could try,” he murmurs, some of his tension dissipated.

“Oh, I think I’d succeed.”

Releasing your hand, Yoongi finds your knee and hitches your leg against him. “If it came to that,” he murmurs, nose skimming your throat, “I’d let you.”

Inhaling softly, you close your eyes. “Promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

Perceiving the truth to his words, you open your eyes. Yoongi stares back, letting you see the starkness in his gaze. It’s no small thing for the most powerful man in Kekon to promise you anything.

Similarly, it’s no small thing to admit he holds your heart in both hands. Which is why you need to say what you do next. Without Yoongi’s next promise, this can’t go any further.

“Don’t make these decisions without me,” you whisper. “Let me decide for myself when a job is too dangerous.”

Yoongi’s lips flatten. “You give me an impossible choice, since nothing is too dangerous for my lovely Horn.”

“Trust that I love you, then,” you say, your hand trembling as you rise to cup his face. “And that I’ll do what it takes to come back.”

Yoongi goes still at your declaration. His pupils dilate so far, they seem to swallow the light. Four years, you’ve spent fighting together. Five months of knowing him this way, and never have you uttered those words to his face.

The transformation is quick, his expression shifting to desire in barely a breath. Bending, Yoongi drags your mouth to his. “Say it again,” he growls against your lips. “Tell me you love me.”

“You’ll become greedy,” you say, breathless.

“I’m the Pillar of No Peak.” He gives a half-laugh. “I will always want more.”

“Then, take it.”

Opening your mouth, Yoongi walks you backwards until your spine hits the wall. You lose yourself in his touch, his taste, the fatal heat of his body. Fingers tangling in hair, you’re rewarded by the basest of groans from his lips. Yoongi’s hands find your body, grasping and searching to pull you against him.

Far below, the faint pulse of jade auras brush yours. “Yoongi,” you moan, nipping his lower lip. “We should go.”

Pulling away, his thumbs indent your hips. “Go where?”

“Your place. My place. I don’t care.”

“I do,” he says with a grin. “Want to wake up with you in my bed.”

You can’t help but laugh. “You’re so needy.”

“I am.” His lips curve. “I need many things, Y/N. You in my bed. Eventually, in my house. Your vows exchanged for mine. But first” – his brow lifts – “I need to fuck you. Need to bury myself inside you.”

Lips parting, you attempt to digest this information. Everything Min Yoongi has laid on the line. The last sentence catches your attention though, heat curling in your belly and replacing all sentient thought. The rest can come later – first, you need him inside you.

“Let’s go,” you declare, pushing yourself from the wall.

He chuckles, low in his throat as he follows your lead. Halfway down, Yoongi’s arm finds your waist to pull you against him. His teeth scrape the skin beneath your ear, pausing to nip the highest jade hoop.

“Where will you put your new jade?” he muses, pressing his erection to you from behind. “You’re running out of places on your body.”

“I’ll think of something,” you murmur, Yoongi’s tongue on your neck proving extremely distracting. “Wrist cuffs might be nice.”

“If you wanted to be cuffed” – his voice dips – “all you had to do was ask.”

“That is not what I was referring to,” you say, although a shiver traces your spine.

“Pity.”

A second before exiting the stairwell, Yoongi releases you and takes a step back. You ignore the disappointment this brings, forcing your expression to neutral. Already, police cars are arriving to hold back the crowds.

From across the lobby, you spot Asha and Hoseok in deep conversation with uniformed officers. Moving towards them, you’re surprised when Yoongi takes you by the elbow.

“I ran into Hoseok in the lobby,” he says, steering you sideways. “He and Asha will clean up and meet us back home.”

Hoseok nods when you pass, his jaw tight in a way that implies displeasure. Swallowing laughter, you push open the door and immediately, your smile vanishes. Many people have gathered, huddled in groups around the yellow caution tape.

Catching sight of your reflection, you stifle a groan. You look terrible – sweat and blood mar your forehead, the rips in your jacket showing your wounds. Before anything between you and Yoongi can happen, you need a hot shower.

“The situation’s been handled,” Yoongi says to the crowd, pulling you towards the car. “Green Bones are searching the area for remaining danger – you should be able to enter the building soon. No Peak will compensate for damages.”

With that, he opens the car door and watches you enter. Expressions shift in the crowd, a wave of relief washing over the people. Yoongi joins you in the backseat, leaning forward to instruct the driver to go.

The car rumbles from the curb, its speed slow to avoid the pedestrians in your path. Grateful for the tinted windows, you lean sideways and rest your head against the cool glass.

In the reflection, you watch Yoongi retrieve his car phone. “Namjoon?” he says after a moment. “It’s done – Maro is dead. How’s Yejun?”

Namjoon’s reply is muffled, and your thoughts wander. Once you return, you should find Jungkook and instruct him to search Maro’s former haunts. There’s a chance he wasn’t working alone and if so, you’ll need to catch his supporters.

Tonight has taken a toll though, no matter how much you’d like to pretend otherwise. Exhaustion settles while you stare out the window, watching the lights of Janloon flick past.

Yoongi hangs up the phone. “Yejun is fine,” he says, and you turn your head. “Namjoon said she lost a lot of blood, but nothing that can’t be fixed. She should be awake in a few hours.”

Relief floods your body. “That’s good.”

His hand rests beside yours on the seat, close enough to feel the heat from his palm. Exhaling softly, Yoongi shifts until his hand covers yours.

Going still, you stare at your entwined hands on the leather. The car slows beneath you, coming to a stop before the Min gates. Another moment passes before the gates open, the car rumbling forward as Yoongi speaks up.

“You can take us to my place, Galo,” he says. “No need to stop at the main house.”

Startled, you glance sideways, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to notice. Never mind the driver’s raised eyebrows, or the fact that Yoongi just told him you’re sleeping together. While it’s true, you’ve slept here before, you’ve never been obvious. It feels as though a bridge has been crossed without discussion of what that means.

The moment the car is in park, you exit the vehicle and slam the door. Striding inside the front door, you unzip your jacket to hang on a hook. If Yoongi thinks he can share your relationship with others, you have every right to act at home in his house.

Technically, the Horn has a house on Min property, but you’ve always preferred to keep a separate residence. Your apartment in the city has served you well – except for the nights you stay here and sneak out the next morning.

Removing your boots, you set these aside. “We just discussed this,” you fume as you turn. “Ask me next time before you decide–”

Your words are cut off by Yoongi’s mouth, pushing you back until your spine hits the wall. “Couldn’t wait,” he rasps, shutting the door with his foot. “Need you. Now.”

Exhaling, you melt and arch upward against him. Grasping your thigh, Yoongi yanks your leg higher to wrap around his waist. The thick length of his cock presses to your center and you nearly whimper. Fiery anger dissolves into need – the need to touch him, feel him and wash away tonight’s fear.

“Yoongi,” you moan, turning your head. “I need to shower.”

Grasping your wrists with one hand, he presses them above your head. “Do you?” he murmurs, kissing down your neck.

“I’m covered in blood,” you protest.

Glancing up, Yoongi smirks. “And?”

Stifling laughter, you push at his chest. Obedient, Yoongi releases your hands to take a step backward. “Not to mention,” you say as you move past, “I’d rather not have Toh Marosun’s blood in your bed.”

Yoongi’s next action is quick, happening in the same breath. Catching your wrist in one hand, he pulls you closer. “The next time you say a man’s name in this house,” he rasps. “It had better be mine.”

“We’ll see,” you say loftily. “Now, let me wash up.”

Releasing you, Yoongi lets you pass, and you don’t turn around. If you did, you know you might cave and fuck him right there on the floor.

Entering his bedroom, you flick on the lights. Soft, muted warmth fills a room of concrete. Bulletproof windows overlook dense vegetation, invoking the feel of a post-apocalyptic city. Pausing in the doorway, you inhale his scent.

Although you’d never tell Yoongi – it’d go to his head – this room has swiftly become one of your favorite places. Watching dawn break in his arms has brought you greater peace than any of the gods.

In his bathroom, you help yourself to his fancy products and step under the spray. Securing your hair, you do your best to avoid the strands getting wet. Cranking up the heat to high, steam fills the room as you scrub blood from your skin. The water beneath your feet turns red, and then pink before finally clear.

Once done, you turn off the spray and wrap yourself in a towel. Straining Perception, you find Yoongi showering across the house. You’re momentarily surprised he didn’t try and join, although grateful he didn’t. After five years of knowing one another, Yoongi understands when you need time alone.

You’re washing your face when the bedroom door creaks. Drying your skin, you cross to the closet and withdraw a robe. Securing the tie, you wipe steam from the mirror before opening the door.

Yoongi sits on the edge of his bed, damp hair curling at the base of his neck. He’s freshly washed and changed into a plain shirt and trousers. In one hand, he holds a crystal glass of hoji, swirling it once before taking a sip.

Leisurely, his gaze drags down your body. When Yoongi looks up, his face brims with unsaid desire. Silent, he sets down his glass and pushes himself to stand. Watching him eagerly, you Perceive his intent when Yoongi prowls closer.

Coming to a stop before you, Yoongi lifts his hand to cup the back of your neck. Tilting your face upward, he strokes your damp skin with his fingers.

Silent, he lowers his face until your lips nearly touch. “What was it you said?” he murmurs. “About the clan being your blood and the Pillar, its master?”

Your breath catches in your throat. “You know the oaths as well as I do.”

“Yes.” Bending, Yoongi uses Strength to lift you against him. Gripping you tightly, he carries you to his dresser and deposits you there. “Well,” he says, lowering himself. “Allow me to show you who I get on my knees for.”

You stare at him, mesmerized when he parts your legs. Pulling your hips to the edge, Yoongi grips your thigh with a veined hand. The sight of him like this is downright sinful. Desire courses through you, setting your skin ablaze.

Yoongi leans forward, gaze meeting yours at the first brush of his tongue. You groan with relief, thighs spreading further. Lifting his other hand, Yoongi tugs at the tie of your robe. You inhale when it opens, fully bared while Yoongi’s tongue curls against your dripping sex.

He pulls away, eyes dark and casually spreads your folds. Muttering something that sounds like a swear, he stares at your cunt before lowering his head and sucking your clit. A dark moan escapes, weight shifting to get him even closer. Forcing your thighs open, Yoongi begins to flick his tongue against your swollen mound.

He doesn’t rush this, taking his time while eating you out. Yoongi flicks, and then swirls before sucking your clit. His tongue drags to your cunt, already dripping with arousal. Humming in satisfaction, Yoongi shifts on the floor and slips his tongue inside. Gasping his name, your fingers curl in the dark strands of his hair.

His tongue slowly fucks you, barely a taste of what’s to come. “Yoongi,” you groan, moving against him. “I need more.”

“Anything,” he says, pulling back to spread you with his fingers. Yoongi’s thumb finds your clit, casually stroking until your body quivers. “Take off the robe,” he demands, looking up. “I want to see you.”

Wordless, you push the supple silk from your shoulders.

“Fuck,” Yoongi breathes, staring at rounded breasts and hard nipples. Lowering his head, he sucks your clit again. Sliding a hand under your ass, he drags you close to the edge.

Gasping out loud, your hand fists his hair to anchor your body. In the mirror behind him, you watch your chest heave, hips undulating while he licks your pussy. Head tipping back, you lose yourself in sensation, each stroke of his tongue further coiling your tension. Yoongi is patient; he knows what you need and takes his time getting there.

Cupping his head, you move your hips while starting to ride his tongue. When Yoongi strokes your entrance and slips a finger inside, you nearly convulse.

“Yoongi,” you gasp, legs shaking.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, lifting his head. Curling that finger, he strokes a dangerous place. “Come for me.”

When his tongue resumes motion, you feel your walls convulse. Tighter and tighter until – everything snaps, a wave of pleasure cresting through you. Thighs trembling, you hold Yoongi’s hair while you cry out his name.

The pleasure slowly subsides, leaving you slumped on the dresser. Yoongi pushes himself upward, cock straining eagerly against the seams of his pants. Cupping the back of your neck, he kisses you deeply, allowing you to taste yourself. Parting your lips with his tongue, he dives into you eagerly, one hand slipping to slide into your pussy.

Groaning his name, you fumble with the buttons holding his shirt together. “This,” you demand. “Off.”

Using Strength, you send the buttons flying. Yoongi smirks, withdrawing and pushing his shirt to the ground. Touching his chest, you stare at him, unabashed. The lean lines of his torso, the indent of his v, the jade lining his fingers where he grips you tightly.

His moon blade is absent, likely the first thing he cleaned upon entry. Still, the hum of Yoongi’s jade is a potent weapon – nearly as much as the need in his eyes.

Lowering your hand, you palm the bulge in his pants. Jaw flexing, Yoongi lifts your leg to wrap around him. The roughness of his pants against your sex makes you hiss.

“Yoongi,” you moan. “Want to touch you.”

“I want that, too,” he murmurs, hair falling into his gaze. “More than that, I want to be inside you.”

Breath catching, you remove your hand as he presses forward. You feel his cock through his pants, rock-hard and straining against your needy pussy. Swallowing thickly, you managed to undo the last button and shove his pants down. Stepping free of their confines, Yoongi palms his own cock.

Replacing his hand, you give him a squeeze. Yoongi lowers his head to close his lips around a waiting nipple. A whimper rises when he tugs, switching to the other breast and repeating the motion. Arching upward, you lazily drag your thumb over the tip of his cock.

Eventually, Yoongi looks up and hisses, “Enough.”

Reaching lower, he guides his cock to your entrance. Leaning back on your palms, you lift one knee to allow him better access. Yoongi pauses, gaze traveling your face to your chest, landing on your cunt. Exhaling softly, your head tips back as you widen your legs.

“You’re perfect,” Yoongi rasps, flicking his thumb over your hooded clit.

Inhaling, you tremble from oversensitivity. Bending, Yoongi slowly spits to land moisture on your cunt. It drips down your sex, mixing with arousal while Yoongi pushes the tip of his cock inside. He pauses, watching your face, then adds another inch.

You arch upward, trying and failing to take him in deeper. “Is that all you have?” you challenge, goading.

Yoongi merely smirks. “Do you think,” he murmurs, refusing to move, “you can make me give you what you want?”

When he starts to withdraw, you tilt your hips, and he slides in a bit deeper. Yoongi groans as he fills you, hand tightening on your waist.

“Yes,” you gloat, brushing your breasts to his chest. “I do.”

Yoongi’s gaze flares, and he pushes in a bit more. “I know you, Y/N,” he murmurs, moving one hand to your neck. Thumb brushing your collarbone, he hauls you upright and keeps your thighs spread. “I know you want this pussy filled nice and slow. I know you want me to tease you. I know you want to feel in control but have someone else do the work. And I want – no, need,” Yoongi corrects, aura flaring, “to be the one giving it to you.”

Before you can respond, he thrusts forward and fills you with his cock. A cry leaves you, unable to do anything but take it. With your legs spread, hips tilted, the thickness of his length presses to your g-spot. And when Yoongi withdraws and leaves your body empty, you think you might cry. Think you might beg to have more of his cock.

Luckily, Yoongi doesn’t want this. Thrusting into you fully, he starts to move. Filling you up with his thickness, he goes harder and harder until you can barely think straight. His hips pound yours, filling you to the brim, making you take it. Fingers brushing the jade on your throat, he spikes your arousal and drenches his cock.

“Fuck,” Yoongi breathes, staring at the place he disappears inside you. “You’re amazing.”

“Yoongi,” you groan. “I need… need…”

“Yeah?” His gaze lifts. “Tell me what you need.”

“Deeper,” you plead.

His aura flares briefly before he pulls out. Before you can speak, his hands find your waist, setting you on the floor to turn you around. Spreading your legs, he presses a hand to your back to push you lower.

Gripping his dresser, you look over your shoulder while he positions himself from behind. “What about now?” Yoongi asks, slipping inside with one thrust.

Lips parting, you bend further and stick out your ass. Yoongi starts to move when you spread your legs, fucking you harder. His thrusts become rougher, hips slapping your ass while your breasts bounce.

“That’s it,” he says, leaning forward to lace one hand with yours. His other slides between your thighs, flicking over your clit. “So wet and tight for me. Taking my cock like you own it.”

“Don’t I?” you groan.

“Mm,” he agrees, rubbing circles on your clit. “It’s yours – I’m yours.”

Before you can respond, he pulls out again. Draping you over one shoulder, Yoongi carries you, Light, to his bed. You scowl, hitting his thigh but Yoongi responds with a firm smack to your ass. His fingers slip briefly between your cheeks, wetting himself with your slick. Before you can moan, he deposits you on the bed.

Kneeling between your legs, Yoongi repositions himself at your entrance and pushes in.

“Oh,” you groan, heading tilting back.

You love sex with Yoongi in every position, but this is your favorite. Feeling his callouses slide over our skin, his weight heavy while filling you with his cock. Yoongi’s length slides inside, rocking into you slowly while his hair brushes your forehead.

Reaching up, you push this from his face when he starts to move. If there’s one thing you’ve learned from tonight, it’s that these moments are precious. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you hold him tighter.

“Marry me,” Yoongi says.

You go still underneath him. “I… what?”

Sliding his hand under your hips, Yoongi tilts them to get deeper. “Marry me,” he repeats. “I’m tired of pretending. Tired of waking up without you. Living my life without you.”

“You have me,” you say, unsure whether he’s serious.

Slowly, he thrusts in and out of your body. “Not the way I want.” His eyes flash. “As not only my Horn, but my wife. I want to be your husband. I want the entire world to know I belong to you.”

Taking your other hand, Yoongi moves this to the bed while continuing to thrust. You arch against him, chasing his hips and words with your own.

“People will talk,” you say, breathless.

His gaze sparks. “Do you think I care?”

“Maybe I care,” you say. “They’ll call me a distraction. And don’t give me that bullshit about my life being worth more than yours.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Yoongi chuckles, teeth scraping your neck. “What I will say is that I’m better with you. And if I’m better, the clan is better. Not that you should marry me because of that,” he adds, almost an afterthought.

You lose your breath when he circles his hips, driving into you deeper. Thighs parting, you lose yourself in the feel of him in you. His body moves as his soul does, completing you fully. In truth, you’ve avoided this conversation because you know how it ends.

It ends with Yoongi. He’s it for you. From the first time you kissed, you knew it would end up here – it was only a matter of when. Your remaining barriers crumble as you meet his gaze.

“Yes,” you exhale, your hips chasing his.

Yoongi’s aura sharpens. “Yes?” he repeats. “Is that… agreement or acceptance?”

“Yes – as in yes, Yoongi, I’ll marry you.”

Yoongi goes completely still, ignoring your protest. A second later, he’s consumed by a wave of emotion. Need – fiery and stark – sweeps through him as he bends, crushing your lips to his. Yoongi’s kiss burns, searing and marking you for one another.

Slipping an arm beneath your knee, Yoongi pushes upward to get even deeper. You gasp with pleasure, his cock hitting a spot that makes you incoherent.

“Soon,” he adds, adding Strength to his thrusts.

Breathless, your fingertips dig into his skin. “Don’t be greedy,” you chide, losing some credibility when a moan leaves your lips.

His upper lip curls. “I am, though,” Yoongi grunts, pushing you close to the edge. “I’ll never have enough of you, Y/N.”

“Good,” you say, holding him tightly. “I’m yours, Yoongi.”

A groan escapes him, burying his face in your neck. The muscles in Yoongi’s shoulders strain, fucking you harder. “I could die hearing those words.”

“Don’t. That’s an order.”

Yoongi looks up to lock gazes. “Whatever you want. I need it, Y/N. Need this – want to feel you come on my cock.”

Already close to the edge, his words leave you trembling. Clutching him harder, you widen your thighs and feel your walls shatter when you come undone. Pleasure consumes you, vision going dark as you throw back your head. Yoongi’s lips brush your throat, continuing to thrust through your orgasm.

Swearing when you tighten, Yoongi goes harder to chase his release. On his last thrust, he breaks, your name on his tongue as hot cum fills your body. Slowly, he lowers himself to the bed beside you. Yoongi slips partway out, your bodies still intertwined.

Lifting a hand, you drag this down his side. Yoongi smiles at you before pulling out, reaching to grab a tissue from his nightstand. He cleans you with care, then rises from bed to throw it away. Slipping beneath the covers, you wait for his return.

Yoongi does so quietly, dimming the light before he joins you in bed. Slowly, your eyes adjust until Yoongi’s moon-limned face becomes visible.

“Did you mean it?” you say, barely more than a whisper.

“I’ve never meant anything more in my life,” he says roughly. “And you? Did you also mean what you said?”

Slowly, you nod.

Joy floods his aura, sharp and bright. “Anything you want,” Yoongi says, determined. “You have only to ask. Cities burnt. Villains vanquished. My own name, forsaken – ask, and it’s yours.”

You can’t help but laugh, your whole body shaking. “Villains vanquished?” you tease, pressing closer. “There are some who might call you the villain of this story.”

His lip twitches. “Then, I’ll defeat myself.”

“Seems like an easy fight.”

Mock growling, he rolls to pin you underneath him. You laugh louder, the sound muffled when Yoongi bends to kiss you. By the time his head lifts, the two of you are breathless.

“I apologize,” you murmur, cupping his face. “Most fearsome Pillar.”

Baring his teeth, he nips your thumb. “That’s better.”

“Truly, though,” you tell him. “There’s no need to get me anything. Whatever I want, I can get for myself.”

Somewhat amused, Yoongi settles beside you. “Oh, I’m aware. My heart, for instance,” he says, placing your hand on his chest.

“That, I’ll accept,” you say softly, staring at your hand on his skin. Your gaze lifts. “As long as mine belongs to you, in turn.”

“A heart for a heart,” Yoongi agrees, moving closer.

Skin pressed to skin, you feel your hearts settle. No Green Bone magic ties two souls together. Instead, that magic lies within the bounds of normal humans. And yet, as you breathe and listen to the blood in his veins, you can’t help but feel something greater is at work.

Something even death could not part – although you’d dare it to try.

Author’s Note: thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Go read Jade City by Fonda Lee. LOL

#bangtanarmynet #yoongi fanfic #yoongi smut #bts fanfic #bts smut #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfiction #bts fanfiction #bts fic #yoongi organized crime #bts organized crime

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roomtemperaturesuperconductor · 1 year ago

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The world of scavengers reign is a world of pure mutualism. The show never asks “should we isolate ourselves from nature or connect with it” because that’s a false question; there is nothing BUT connection, there is no form of life outside of the ecosystem. Whether they can see it or not, every character becomes part of the planet the second they touch down.

The question then is what their connections will look like: if it will be mutually beneficial, parasitic towards one side or the other, or harmful to both.

I’ve seen people read Kaimen and hollow’s relationship as either kaimen “corrupting” hollow or hollow “manipulating” kaimen. But the truth is their relationship is just a noxious, unstable feedback loop. Neither party is really “in control”, they’re following the guidelines of an evolved relationship that was never meant for creatures as large and emotionally complex as humans to be part of. It’s the same process that occurs with the introduction of any invasive species: simple relationships shift in unstable ways, niches swap places and gain unexpected importance, and the health of the whole ecosystem is put in jeopardy through the lack of sustainability. The truth is that the strange, lovecraftian nightmare Kaimen and hollow create together is bad for BOTH parties. It’s the worst case scenario of the introduction of humanity onto the planet; not humanity “corrupting” some ideal, static image of perfect nature, but the relationship between the two making things worse for everyone.

It’s why one to stop Kaimen/hollow has to be Levi. Whose mutual relationship with the fungus in their circuitry has created something new and beautiful. Something we see has LONG TERM affects on the planet itself with the little baby planet Levis now growing from the flowers. This isn’t the case of nature “claiming” Levi. This is a collaboration, a partnership, something that utterly transforms both sides. It really seems like the death flowers form in some way the “mind” of the whole planet. And Levi has given that mind the artificial circuitry to think on a far higher and more active level than it was ever able to previously. It’s why hollow wasn’t able to control them. Trying to wrangle levis mind is like trying to hold a whole planet in your hands. Something wild and new and beautiful has been created here.

But these transformation can be scary! Sam’s fight with the parasite, paired with his prior skepticism at trying to “understand” the planet the way Ursula was, leaves him unable to adapt. Forced to either lose himself in the process of assimilation, or die separated from it. And again, the show doesn’t take for granted that these mutual connections are “good”. They’re necessary. Sam cannot live separate from nature. But for him, that death was still better than allowing it to change him so fundamentally. His strong willed nature makes him unable to let go the way Levi or Kaimen do, and the result is he doesn’t experience good OR bad results. He’s to brittle to allow for change. He simply ceases.

And so they you have Ursula and Azi. Who are both forced to learn and grow with the planet. Forced to follow the flow of nature even when it takes them places they don’t quite want to be. While at the same time finding little ways to exert their own agency, to not get swept away in the tide. And it’s a complicated balance. One that takes constant effort and isn’t guaranteed to end how they want. But they still have to do it. Because there’s nothing but connection.

#scavengers reign #scavengers reign spoilers

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writing-in-sin · 10 months ago

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KAISHIN OPINION: COUSINS REVEAL?

Since I haven't watch the movie yet, I can neither confirm nor deny the whole cousins spoiler thing. Whether or not its true, 20+ years is a long ass time and I've ignored canon before so this won't stop me.

If they truly are cousins in the movie and it ends up being canon in the manga too? Then fuck it. It won't be my canon. Especially when Aoyama is also the one planning to make Toichi alive after literally putting Kaito through horrific trauma of witnessing his father's murder and mourning him

No. Just NO

I respect that its his manga and his characters, and I as a fan, I am only borrowing his creations. But even so, as a fan, I have the right to chose what I wish to do with whatever happens in canon in my FANWORKS

Either I acknowledge that they're cousins and continue shipping them (I'm asian so the whole cousins being lovers thing isnt anything new in my culture nor is it a crime in my country...or a number of asian or southeast asian countries if I'm not mistaken. Granted, it doesn't usually happen simply because people tend to fall for friends or colleagues but cousins marrying dont raise any eyebrows here)

Or I ignore canon entirely and they stay unrelated in any way

However, if those who followed me for my kaishin content then dont worry, I'll still post anything of kaishin that comes to mind

Most likely, I'll ignore them being cousins if it ends up canon. Because honestly? There's a lot of things in canon I dont agree with so ignoring them as cousins won't be the first thing I've ignored or changed in canon. In that same vein, I'll ignore Toichi being alive too because while something like that is usually something to rejoice in any other situation or story, the whole thing is unnecessarily cruel and borderline an inhumane thing to do towards your own child. In my opinion, Toichi should not be written in such a way so for my fanworks, he will not be

To those who want him alive, thats okay. Go ahead but I will not acknowledge that canon

Also, for those who are uncomfortable at the possible canon cousins reveal then thats more than okay. You are free to unfollow or block me or any kaishin posts

So....yeah, I'll ship kaishin whatever the outcome is because in the end, the characters and manga are FICTIONAL so I can change, acknowledge or ignore canon as I wish

_____________

Anyways, thanks for reading this far. Also, here! This is my twitter side-account for all things DCMK & KaiShin moonlit_death because I'm a petty couch potato and will NEVER stop shipping KaiShin dammit!

#kaishin #dcmk #kuroba kaito #kaito kuroba #kaitou kid #kaitou 1412 #kudou shinichi #shinichi kudou #kudo shinichi #shinichi kudo #detective conan movie #detective conan movie spoilers #dcmk movie #dcmk movie 27 spoilers #meitantei conan #case closed #magic kaito

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alwayscorvus · 8 months ago

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"Morning hun" - Mortefi short

malereader x Mortefi, fluff; warning! 18+/21+ topics hinted;

Just a quick short about daily life with Mortefi. He can be completely out of character. Because premiere is on Wednesday. And I'm just so excited that I want to write something about wuwa. But at the same time I don't want any spoilers sooo…. this is a results of reading 3 sentences from official website and looking at his appearance.

There he was. Sitting on a bed leaning against the headboard. He was wearing a loose white shirt. Unbuttoned, with sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Your shirt.

The one you had worn during yesterday's official event, from which you and Mortefi had left earlier than you should.

Man must have been troubled by a morning chill.

Mortefi's red hairs, were slightly messy. On top of his nose, you could see a reading glasses. With thin frames, typical for any scientist. He furrowed his eyebrows gently. With focused gaze he stared urgently at the screen of a laptop on top of his lap. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of a thing that was occupying man's attention at such an early hour. You managed to spot a document of some sort and a few open windows with research that you couldn't really understand. However, bright screen hurt your still sleepy eyes enough for you to quickly return to looking at you partner.

If you could even call him that.

You shifted slightly on his bed. Careful not to let go of your lying position.

You approached Mortefi and kissed him gently on his exposed forearm. His skin was pleasantly warm.

-Morning hun -you greeted in a husky voice to which he only nodded.

That was exactly your problem. Or rather, yours only. Officially, your relationship was titled as "friends with benefits". Or at least that's how it all started.

Mortefi, born in an upper class, couldn't initiante "inappropriate" contacts with anyone other than his future spouse. And even after abandoning family obligations, as a great genius and scientific research, he had neither a time nor desire for such things.

Years later, however, he began to lose concentration and felt frustrated. His scores dropped. And that silly friend of his, gave him an idea of finding another type of "friend". And in fact, Mortefi just agreed to this.

Two of you were never particularly close. But Mortefi felt a sense of trust in you. You gave off a strange kind of aura that implied that you were a proper one for this “task.” And it's not that Mortefi even liked guys. He just wasn't looking for an emotional experience, but rather a quick and stress-relieving one. And the first person that came to his mind was you. You were sort of larger than the rest, bulkier, taller. It gave an illusion of responsibility and protectiveness. After all, Mortefi couldn't give himself into an arms of just anyone. And at the same time he didn't want to play a role where he had to do all the work. He had enough duties on his mind.

Despite this, you acted almost like a couple. Your meetings didn't end only after finalizing one activity, you spent more time with each other. You addressed each other with cliche nicknames. You took care of each other. You made favors for each other. And you attended almost all important meetings together. Even though you majored in two different fields.

Mortefi, however, was probably not ready to give you both a second label. Or he didn't even think about it at all. Anyway, why would he? You were his. He was yours. He took it for granted.

You planned to change that in the future, but you still had plenty of time to do so.

You reached out your free hand (the one not crushed under your head) and placed it gently on man's chest. Slowly making your way down to red crystalline peeking out from under a white, sloppily wrapped bandages. Petite, pretty, like little feathers. Or almost petals like. They always fascinated you and puzzled. But you never had a courage to ask. You weren't afraid of his reaction. You just didn't want to pry into his private matters.

You carefully touched a gorgeous crystalline. After a longer contact, they seemed sharp and began to burn. However, it wasn't unpleasant. You remembered that from previous occasions.

You liked it. Like everything about Mortefi.

However, you moved your hand away, because although man didn't say anything. His face began to dangerously match a color of his hair.

-Mortefi

Man hummed at your call, giving a sign that he is listening.

-Are you up for breakfast?

Mortefi nodded vigorously and began tapping with his fingers faster on a keyboard. As if he had found some new solution to his problem.

-Something specific?

-Coffee - he replied casually, to which you snorted.

-Coffee is not a breakfast

Right corner of his mouth gently lifted up.

-I'll eat whatever you eat

You pushed yourself off the mattress with both hands, moving to a sitting position. Out of a corner of his eye, Mortefi glanced at your flexing muscles. Exactly the same like when you do push-ups.

But he didn't let it show and kept on working.

-I better do something good

With a smile, you kissed him briefly on the lips and headed to the bathroom.

#fanfic #fanfiction #scenarios #tmr #x reader #x male reader #wuthering waves #wuthering waves x reader #wuthering waves x male reader #x top male reader #wuthering waves imagines #mortefi #mortefi x male reader #mortefi x reader #mortefi wuthering waves #top male reader #male reader #mxm

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bobohu4eva · 3 months ago

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Golden

Part 2/2

Characters: Reader x Baekhyun

Genre: College AU, Baekhyun as an adorable art student and campus heartthrob, shy OC, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, angst, smut

WC: 8.8k

Warnings: smut

Masterlist

Sobs shook your body as you walked the darkened streets on your way back home.

You felt so stupid. He wasn’t even your boyfriend, just a cute boy who was nice to you, yet you’d grown so attached that just seeing him kiss someone else was enough to send you spiraling.

When you got home you told Heejin everything, and she did her best to comfort you, though it didn’t help much. You were so bitter, too, that of all people, it was Sumin. She was friends with him, and obviously had a thing for him, but ever since that first day it seemed he wasn’t into her like that. Maybe he’d been drunk, but even then, it stung more than you ever could’ve anticipated.

It was early morning by the time you cried yourself to sleep, granting you some peace, at least until you woke up.

Of course Baekhyun didn’t see any issue with what had happened, and kept texting you throughout the rest of the weekend, but you didn’t have the heart to respond to anything. It was mostly just memes, he would often send you things he thought were funny, and usually you loved it, but now, it made you feel even worse.

Sunday evening when you still didn’t feel any better you finally did text him back, though it was only to tell him that he didn’t need to walk with you the next day. You’d have to face him later during class, but hugging him and walking with him didn’t feel like something you could handle.

You expected him to sit with Sumin when the time came, but he didn’t, taking his usual seat next to you.

“Is everything okay?” He asked, “Why didn’t you want me to walk you today?”

You just shrugged, trying way too hard to steady your voice despite the lump rising in your throat. “I've kind of missed walking and listening to music, and there's some albums I've been wanting to catch up on.”

It was an obvious lie, but it was all you could come up with in the moment. He nodded, but by the look on his face, he could tell something wasn’t right with you. From your seat next to him you could sense the uneasiness, the tension, now that he knew you weren't being truthful. Concentrating on the lecture wasn’t possible, and Baekhyun, too, seemed disengaged, lost in thought. Thoughts about you, without a doubt.

For an hour you both faced the professor, knowing well that neither was paying any real attention.

When he asked if he could at least walk you home, you made up another lie, saying that you were meeting Heejin elsewhere on campus later.

He was quieter than usual for the rest of class. You knew he'd be at your dorm again in the morning, and you wanted to make something up to keep him away, but you just couldn't do it. He was still your friend, and already seemed plenty bummed with how things were.

You kept waiting for him to turn around and say something flirty to Sumin, but he didn't speak to her at all for the entire class. It didn't make much sense to you, but it was a bit of a relief. At least you wouldn't have to see them constantly doting on each other. Maybe it really had just been one drunk kiss, but even then, the mental image of it was burned into the back of your mind and brought with it an unbearable ache in your chest.

Every time he'd ‘flirt’ with you, it just reopened the wound, so you decided that you would avoid even giving him the chance.

That next morning was what did it for you. Maybe he’d already sensed the way you were starting to withdraw, because he was even sweeter than usual. The hug was tighter and lasted longer, and he told you how pretty your hair looked, that he loved your sweater, and even the perfume you wore. You didn’t say much, since you were too busy trying not to cry in front of him.

His hand would often brush against your own, as it always did, only that morning, he actually held on for a second. Until you pulled your hand away, crossing your arms over your chest. After that, he was quiet. He didn’t hug you when you got to class, and the absence of his arms surrounding you made the early morning air feel empty and dull.

You made up more excuses as to why he didn’t need to walk with you, and eventually, he stopped asking.

He still sat with you during class, though he wouldn’t say much, not unless you talked to him first, which rarely happened. It was weird to you that he didn’t talk to his friends, either, Sumin included.

A week passed like that, and finally you thought that maybe you were starting to get over him. That same day, however, he stopped you when you were about to leave the building on your way home.

He’d been walking just a few steps behind you when you felt his hand on your wrist. He stopped, and so did you, giving him a confused look. He tugged you down a hallway, where there was a bit more privacy.

He gazed down at you, swallowing, his concerned frown making your heart lurch into your esophagus.

He took a deep breath before asking, “Why are you pushing me away? Did I do something wrong?”

His voice shook slightly as he said it, which didn't help your condition at all. You continued to stare, wordlessly.

“I miss you.” He added.

I miss you too!!

You wanted to scream it, but nothing came out. You missed him so badly, you could hardly get yourself to class anymore, dragging what felt like a hollow shell from one campus building to the next, until finally collapsing back into your dorm, day after tiresome day. You were miserable, and it was written clearly on his face, he was too.

“Sorry, you didn’t do anything, I just.. Want to focus on studying. I’m sorry.”

Somehow, his face fell even more. If he was miserable before, you’d somehow managed to make him feel worse.

He knew you were lying, for whatever reason. He wanted to call you out, to demand you just be honest, but the desperate way you looked at him told him not to. The weight of so many unspoken words hung thickly in the air, until it became too much. You turned and walked away, leaving him standing there, alone and confused.

Part of you had wanted him to press on, to insist you tell him the truth. Maybe if he made you say it, it wouldn’t be so bad, but you also imagined the rejection. He would be extremely nice about it, of course. He’d probably apologize for making it seem like he was more interested than he actually was, that he just liked complimenting people and making them smile, but it was nothing more than that. Somehow, though, that would be even worse. If he was an asshole about it, at least you’d be able to get over him quicker.

The walk back home was bleak, silent, and lonely, with neither him nor your music lending you some company. Most of the songs on your playlist were likely to make you cry, and keeping the tears at bay was all that seemed to matter.

As soon as you were back in your room you let it all out, sobbing into your pillows at how broken he’d looked. Ruining your friendship with him, without being able to tell him why, was cruel, and you knew it. The guilt that came with that might’ve been the worst part of all.

The next day in class, he sat with his friends again.

But as the days went on, something about him felt different. He wasn't his usual bright, bubbly self that you'd fallen for so easily. He didn't joke around as much, or even really talk unless someone asked him something.

You did your best to just focus on class, but he always made his way back into your thoughts, given the proximity. You still missed him, and occasionally at the beginning or end of class you'd meet eyes. He always smiled, and so would you, but that was the extent of your interactions.

Days turned into weeks, and you expected him to lighten back up again eventually, but he never did.

On your way to and from classes you listened to music, usually songs that reminded you of him and how he made you feel, both during the good times, and more recently. Whatever it was, it entered your brain through the speakers of those amazing headphones he’d so generously gifted you.

You’d see him outside of class every now and then, and he would still smile and greet his friends, but he always looked a little down. The light in him that had always shone so brightly now dimmed to a mere flicker, as if a small rain cloud permanently hovered over him.

You wanted to ask him why, worried that he could be going through something terrible. He never said much about his family, but you assumed it had something to do with them. You wanted to be there for him, even if just as a friend, but the heartbreak you knew you’d feel kept you away.

Others noticed it, too. Heejin told you about her friends, and how they worried about him, wondering why he didn’t talk to and flirt with them the way he used to. They all insisted that he must’ve been hung up on another girl, which only made you feel worse. Heejin often insisted that it must be you, but you didn’t believe her. If he really had feelings for you, he wouldn’t have kissed another girl, knowing you were at the same party.

Whatever it was, you hoped he'd be able to get past it. You still only wanted the best for him. Even if only from afar, you kept an eye on him, wondering what was wrong and when he'd finally be able to return to his former self, the bright, shining artist you fell for so easily.

Though finals were still a few weeks away, you threw yourself into your studies, needing something to distract yourself. Getting over Baekhyun was proving to be much much harder than you thought possible. Your grades came first, and it did help, at least until you were done for the day and had nothing better to ruminate about. Falling asleep had become a chore, and when possible, you slept on the living room couch, passing out to some movie or show.

It was during one of your usual afternoon study sessions that a loud voice pulled you out of it.

“Y/n!” Heejin shouted.

“Yeah? What is it?”

“Come here!”

You groaned, having just gotten settled in at your desk with a good snack.

You dragged yourself into the hallway where you stared at her unnervingly excited expression, before she ran to her room, leaving you standing there perplexed as you stared at her door.

You heard someone clear their throat, and stepped into the common area. The front door was open.

It was Baekhyun. He stood in the doorway, a bouquet of flowers in hand, and a nervous look on his handsome face.

A sharp intake of breath. Disbelief crept its way through your body, making its way into every last piece of your psyche.

You couldn't move, let alone speak.

“Hi, Y/n.” He spoke in a voice so soft, it almost got lost with the warm breeze that flowed in from behind him.

“Wh- What are you doing?” You finally got out, barely above a whisper. Unlike his, your voice, however soft it may have been, was clear, too sharp to miss. With trembling hands, and legs you feared could give out at any moment, you stepped closer. You moved slowly, worrying that if you were too quick, you’d disrupt the mirage of him in your doorway, that he would disappear into thin air.

He didn’t disappear. The closer you inched, the more vivid he became.

His eyes were glued to the flowers he held, hands fidgeting with them tirelessly.

“I know you've been ignoring me, for whatever reason, and I probably just look like a huge idiot to you right now, but I like you. A lot. Even if you don't want to talk to me anymore, I want you to know that.”

It didn’t make sense, but you knew you’d heard him correctly.

“You… like me?”

Finally his eyes met yours and he nodded, extending one arm to hand you the flowers. “A lot. And I thought you liked me back, I’d been thinking about how to tell you how I feel, but then you stopped letting me walk with you and wouldn’t text me back, or talk to me, and I just really, really, miss you. I still don’t understand why or what happened, but I know how I feel and I had to tell you, on the off chance you might still feel the same way.”

His voice was shaky, as was his breathing. The threat of tears in his eyes brought about your own, heart shattered to pieces at the sight of his fragile state. The same features you’d grown to love for their kindness, their lack of rude judgements, now appeared so unsure. You took the flowers.

“But.. What about Sumin?”

“Huh?”

His expression changed completely, brows furrowed in confusion. He was caught off guard, without a doubt. Still, you wondered if he really didn’t know what you were talking about.

“I saw you kissing her, at your friend's birthday.”

His eyes went wide, face pale, and after taking some time to register and process your words he began to try to explain himself. “I don’t remember that, I mean- I don’t remember a lot of that night, I blacked out, not that that’s any excuse, but I don’t like Sumin like that at all. I don’t know how that happened, seriously.”

“Really?”

He quickly nodded, “You’re the one I’d been looking forward to seeing that night. I kept telling myself that I’d finally confess how I felt, and I ended up drinking way too much cause I was so nervous. When you stopped talking to me, I thought that I came onto you too strong while I was blacked out or something, and you didn’t feel the same way so you cut me off. At first I thought maybe I could eventually get over you, but I can’t, you’re all I think about. I just miss you so fucking bad.”

He was rambling, out of breath, eyes glassy. You were crying too, though they weren’t entirely tears of sadness. You hated to see him so hurt, that was half of it, without a doubt, but the euphoria of knowing he liked you back bubbled up with force, tears of joy mixing themselves into a mess of confused happiness and grief.

You couldn’t think straight anyway, so you let your heart take over. The flowers were tossed aside, and you tugged on his hand, arms wrapping tightly around him.

“I missed you too, I just like you so much, when I saw you kiss her back that night, it wrecked me. I didn’t want to push you away, I just couldn’t stand how sweet you’d be, thinking you could never see me that way.”

You felt him relax into your embrace, all of his fear and doubt melting into nothingness now that you finally told him what he’d been hoping to hear. He held you tighter, repeating your words to him over and over in his mind, savoring them best he could.

“Of course I like you, though. I thought I made it so obvious. I can’t possibly walk everyone to class, or buy them new headphones, or fall asleep on the phone with them, or-”

“Okay, okay, but you’re always so nice to everyone, I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

He pulled away to look at you, those soft brown eyes holding every bit of reassurance you could possibly need.

“I’ve had the hugest crush on you since the second week of class.”

When he blinked the tears spilled over, though now they signaled nothing but happiness. Still, you were quick to intercept them. His cheeks beneath your hands were soft, red and hot with the evidence of everything he was feeling.

“Baekhyun…”

He showed you a hint of a smile, and you laughed, knowing now that there was no more reason to hide, to lie about what you felt. As you both moved closer, the rapid pounding of your heart rang loudly through your skull. But that didn't matter, nothing mattered, because Baekhyun was inching closer and closer and finally, he was kissing you.

When your lips met, you both came alive. Months of unspoken affections were conveyed effortlessly, and the knowledge hit both you and him, that something more than friendship was beginning, something you’d both been holding out for so dearly.

He was soft and bright as he always was, even in the way he kissed you. He was an artist, and he painted every ounce of desire he’d hidden from you onto your lips without as much as a moment of hesitation. It was needy, the way you both clung to one another, feeling that no amount of physical touch was enough to convey what you truly felt.

The touch of his hands at the nape of your neck and small of your back were everything you'd been craving for so long, and you only sank deeper into him. Somehow you both made it to the couch, the warmth of his body pressed to yours as the kiss deepened.

Still, neither of you did anything to take it further. It was already so much, just being able to kiss and hold each other. The taste of him was sweet and somehow familiar, with every touch of his tongue and lips to your own blurring the world around you into irrelevance. You could've stayed like that forever, sandwiched between him and the couch without a care for anything else in the world.

That was, until Heejin left her room again.

She laughed a little and cleared her throat. Baekhyun quickly detached himself from you, both looking back at her, embarrassed.

“I'm happy for you two, don't get me wrong, but do you think you could take this into your room or something?”

You nodded sheepishly, grabbing Baekhyun’s hand to lead him towards your room but he interjected.

“Let's go to my place.” He whispered, only for you to hear.

You looked back at him for a moment, surprised, but nodded.

On the walk over he held your hand, squeezing a little too hard, but he couldn’t help himself. It still felt surreal, he feared if he didn’t hold on tight enough, you'd run away, or vanish like he never even knew you.

He’d mentioned that he had his own place, so there wouldn’t be any roommates to interrupt. It would be your first time being truly alone with him, and the possibilities urged your feet to move faster.

Luckily it wasn’t too far of a walk, and you soon stood at his front door. He put the key in the lock, and looked at you before moving any further. “I’ve wanted to bring you here for a while now, but never knew how to ask.”

Your lips pressed themselves to his cheek, and you smiled your most reassuring smile. You weren’t sure why Baekhyun seemed to be getting shy now, but you just wanted to reassure him, to be close to him.

He unlocked the door, pulled you inside, and you loved the place, right away.

Canvases bathed in colorful whirlwinds lined every wall, many of them familiar to you, but he didn’t give you the time to fully appreciate them. A gentle hand on your chin brought your attention back to him, guiding your lips back to his own.

He was smiling so big now, barely able to keep up with your kisses because of it. Of course you noticed, and soon he did too, pulling away just enough to meet your eyes.

“I’ve never invited anyone else here,” He told you, “so I’m sorry if it’s kind of chaotic, I didn’t think I would get this far.”

Your hand found comfort atop his warm chest, looking up at him quizzically. “Not even your friends? Why?”

He pulled you down onto a nearby couch with him, and somehow your head ended up in his lap. You smiled up at him when you felt him start to play with your hair.

“I… don’t actually like showing people most of what I paint. Of course plenty of people see the stuff I do for my classes, but that’s different. Usually I just try to paint what I see in my brain at any given time, like putting what I feel on the canvas. It's a bunch of abstract nonsense, but for some reason it still feels way too vulnerable to share with the world.”

As you looked around, most of the paintings were, in fact, completely abstract. Though you still found them beautiful. Most used similar color schemes as the works you’d seen prior, they just didn’t contain any clearly discernible figures, just lines and shapes. Sometimes they were more flowy, sometimes sharp, sometimes dark, sometimes bright.

“They don’t look like nonsense to me.”

Without saying a word he got up. You pouted at the loss of contact, but he returned soon enough, holding a stack of canvases he’d picked up from the corner of his living room.

You leaned your head on his shoulder, looking down at the swirls of red, pink, and gold that covered what he held on his lap.

“I painted these while thinking about you.”

You looked at him, not knowing what to say, as he laid them all out on his living room floor.

“This one is the first day I walked you home.”

The bright colors all flowed into each other beautifully, effortlessly. Peachy pinks were most prominent. Overlaying it all were slivers of shimmering gold, the same color that speckled much of his clothing. It looked joyful, bright and full of hope.

“This was one of the nights we were on the phone.”

Dark blue, golden stars, and red shapes that swirled about like wind. It reminded you of what a nonsensical, more lust-driven version of Starry Night might’ve looked like.

“And this was a few weeks ago.” He said, quieter than before.

No gold, dark blues and reds. Sharp edges. A shape like a tunnel, with no light at the end.

He went on to show you several more, but your mind kept falling back to that dark tunnel. Uncomfortable pangs of guilt crept their way in. You’d really hurt him, even worse than you originally thought.

“What about now? What do you see in your head right now?”

He closed his eyes, leaning back into you.

“You. Just you.”

You brought your lips back to his, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way you were starting to get choked up again. This time you ended up atop of him, straddling his waist on his paint stained couch as his hands gripped your waist.

You both took your time, wanting to learn every tiny nuance there could possibly be about the other's lips. He liked to trap your bottom lip between his teeth every now and then, mirroring the way you’d smile when he did. You liked the soft, non intrusive touch of his tongue, giving you just a little taste of him at a time. You loved how his hands wandered, from your waist, to your hips, ass, and eventually, chest. You loved the intimacy, and he loved the softness. Despite his wandering hands, he never made any other effort to take things further. He was keenly invested in just mapping you out, needing to know how every inch of you felt beneath his palms.

It was unclear how much time had passed by the time you realized you wanted more. When you asked him to take you to bed, he pulled away with a surprised look.

“Are you sure?”

You grinned at his sweetness, and nodded.

Your legs remained wrapped around Baekhyun’s waist as he carried you the short distance, strong hands steady on your thighs. His lips, still smiling, peppered kisses onto every inch of your face.

Baekhyun sat at the edge of his bed, keeping you perched atop his lap. His eyes held your own with a newfound seriousness.

“Y/n?”

“Hmm?”

“What happens after this?”

You stared for a second, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, with us. What will we be?”

Since the moment he’d appeared in your doorway, that one simple question had somehow slipped your mind. Now that he’d said it aloud, the answer seemed obvious, yet you still remained silent.

“I’d like to be your boyfriend, if you’ll let me.”

Your cheeks rose into a wide smile, and you nodded, “I’d like that a lot.”

He let out a long, shaky exhale of relief, and his hands began to wander again. His lips soon traveled from your lips to your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin. He claimed you, possessive in his need to leave his mark, to leave a physical sign of his time there. Meanwhile you let your eyes roam the expanse of his room, taking in all of the art. Both his own pieces and the famous prints he had on display, all fit him so well. Just looking around gave you a better understanding of the man who was taking ownership of your body, and made you want to give yourself to him even more.

“Have you ever done paintings like that?” You questioned, nodding your head towards one particular picture on his wall.

It was a rather famous piece, one you’d seen before while googling Gustav Klimt in that first week you met him. The woman was naked, a common theme for the artist. It was a little odd to you at first, seeing that on Baekhyun’s wall. For half a second, you thought of frat guys who put playboy posters on the walls of their dorm rooms. You knew better than to equate it to anything of the like, though it still caught your attention.

Baekhyun turned and looked at the picture in question, then back at you, confused, mostly wondering why you’d interrupted his kisses.

“You know, nudes.” You pressed on.

“Oh..” he was so quiet, you almost missed it. “Well, Klimt, he had real life models to use for reference. I’ve never- I mean, no ones ever been willing to do that for me, not that I’ve asked.”

“You could ask me.”

His eyes widened, holding your own, trying to find some semblance of trickery. “You’d really let me do that?” He muttered in disbelief.

You nodded, biting your lip at the mere thought of laying yourself out before him in that way, knowing you’d have his undivided attention.

When he realized that you were being completely serious, something inside of him sparked to life. His lips on yours were far more feverish now, holding your face to his own while he let you taste the intensity of his neediness.

The second he pulled away for some air, you abandoned your place on his lap. He turned to observe as you sat in the middle of his bed, and began to pull off your shirt.

“Wait, you mean right now?”

He was just so cute, you couldn't get over it, laughing as you confirmed, “yeah, why not?”

You took your time as you peeled off one item of clothing after another, and all the while Baekhyun stared, almost as if he was in some sort of trance. His mouth hung open slightly, skin turning a lovely shade of pink.

As excited as he was to paint you, he was starting to worry that he wouldn’t have the patience. Just watching you, on his bed, as you took off all your clothes for him, turned him on a little too much for comfort. But you asked, so he would deliver. He just hoped he would be able to focus enough to do a good job.

Your underwear were the last to go, and once they were off, you let your eyes meet again. He held them for a few seconds, but naturally, they began to wander. It did make you a bit shy, knowing that he could see every piece of you, even the parts you were insecure about.

Baekhyun couldn’t understand why, when you began to pull the blanket over yourself. He knew he’d been staring, but was that not to be expected? You’d been beautiful to him before, but now that he could see all of you, there was even more for him to become infatuated with. In his eyes every curve, every inch you slowly began to conceal again, was perfect.

“Don’t” He said, taking a handful of the blanket. “I swear to you, there is nothing you need to be shy about, you’re beyond gorgeous. Truly.”

You hid your face in your hands, but allowed him to remove the blanket, throwing it off the bed entirely. When you looked at him again, he wore a small reassuring smile.

He came closer, the sight before him too good not to try and touch. When you stopped him, he pouted, confused.

“Don’t you need a canvas? And, I don’t know, some paint?”

He blinked a few times, already having forgotten the reason you’d undressed in the first place. “Right!”

Tearing his hands and eyes away from you to get up and find his supplies felt like a special new form of torture. After what felt like a lot longer than a few minutes, he finally positioned himself a few feet away from the bed where he could comfortably sit in his desk chair with a full view of your body.

You moved up his bed a little, resting your head on his pillow and bringing one arm over your head, posing yourself for him. “Is this okay?”

Without saying a word he came to you, the light touch of his hand on your arm causing a sharp inhale. A chill ran down your spine when he gently took hold of one thigh, just above the knee, making you bend your leg. He so badly wanted to keep touching you, to trace his way further up the soft skin. His hand lingered, before finally tearing himself away.

Before sitting back down, he asked, “Are you comfortable?”

You nodded. It wasn’t a lie, but with the tsunami of overwhelming emotions brought on by your nakedness and his fleeting touch, it still felt like a silly response.

You kept your eyes on him, watching how he scanned every inch of your body as he started putting the brush to the canvas.

Being so exposed in front of him was even more of a rush than you'd anticipated. You’d experienced intimacy before, you’d had sex with other boys, but now, without Baekhyun even touching you, it reached a harrowing intensity you weren’t yet familiar with.

Baekhyun felt it course through him in waves, having to pause every now and again to calm himself down. He was certain that he’d never wanted to touch someone that badly in his entire life. Committing to memory every curve that you so generously showed him, and putting them onto the canvas, felt like a dream. The best kind, perfectly weightless and disorienting in its intensity.

You noticed the way he occasionally squeezed his eyes shut and took deep breaths, “Are you okay?” You asked teasingly.

His smile was bashful, cheeks somehow growing an even deeper shade of pink. “I am fantastic, I just really, really want to touch you. It’s making it kind of hard to focus.”

“Well hurry up so you can join me, then.”

Again, he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply before letting it all back out. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

He seemed to pick up the pace after that, his hands moving impatiently as he did his best to finish the painting so he could finally get his hands on you. Still, he tried his best, deciding to simply go with a slightly messier, more abstract approach.

The minutes kept ticking by with him only losing his cool even more, and he told you, “There's no way I can take my time with this right now, do you think we could do this again sometime? Maybe when I feel a little less crazy?”

You beamed back at him, “Of course.”

He shifted around in his chair and you saw it, the obvious bulge in his pants. Seeing how he was watching you as closely as you watched him, he knew by your smirk that you'd gotten a good look.

He huffed a small laugh of embarrassment, moving once again, this time bringing one hand to his crotch to properly readjust.

You smiled even wider, and he looked bashful as ever.

“Stop looking.” He whined, soon bringing the brush to the canvas once again

“Hm?” Your eyes snapped up to his, and you had to laugh, “You want me to stop looking at your dick, when you still have pants on, and I’m literally naked on your bed?”

“Well… It sounds dumb when you say it like that.”

“If anything, I’d be a little offended if you weren’t hard right now.”

“Then you definitely shouldn’t feel offended in the slightest.”

His hand continued its fevered motions, and you devoured the sight of him, now sitting with his legs spread, the obvious bulge straining against his zipper. His skin was coated in a damp sheen, giving him a gorgeous glow. His neck and clavicle bone, his strong forearms, the way his hand held the paintbrush. Every little piece of him was so alluring, your own patience was disappearing with unnerving speed.

“How much longer do you think?” You blurt out, feeling hotter by the second, struggling to keep your eyes off the line in this pants.

“Almost done.” He says, and you breathe a sigh of relief.

You wonder if he’s noticed the labored rise and fall of your bare chest, and the way you now struggle to keep a consistent rhythm. His thighs looked so strong and firm, it would be easy to sit yourself onto him and rub yourself into an embarrassingly quick orgasm. You knew that the slightest touch would set you off.

At long last he put down the brush, sitting back and tilting his head, observing his work.

“Done?” You asked, and he nodded.

He picked up the canvas, keeping his eyes fixed on you as he moved closer. You sat up to meet him halfway, letting him curve a hand around your jaw and pull you in for a long awaited kiss. He whined when you pulled away sooner than he wanted, still too curious about the painting.

At last he took a seat on the bed next to you, and showed you the canvas.

He chewed on his bottom lip as you got your first look, a little embarrassed that he hadn’t been able to produce something more refined. “I know it’s kind of messy, but I swear I did my best given the circumstances, I’m not usually so distracted.”

You exhaled a small laugh. The picture in front of you was beautiful, you were beautiful, in a way no photograph could ever capture. He didn’t paint you from the point of view of a camera, or even just any other person. What he put on the canvas was how he saw you, through the lens of his own admiration, and it was impossible not to feel beautiful when he captured you in such a generous way.

It was a bit messy, but that didn’t matter. You loved the way it captured the hurried lust of the moment.

“This is amazing.” You told him, “You’re amazing.”

He watched as you stood, leaning the canvas against a bare stretch of his wall, where it would be easily visible from his bed. Your eyes were still on the painting, but his remained fixed to your nude body.

You slowly came closer, watching how his legs parted to make space for you between them. His hands were delicate on your waist with their first touches, soon taking hold to drag you in closer, letting his face meet the skin beneath your breasts.

“Fuck” He murmured, “You even smell perfect.”

His arms wrapped around you tightly, hugging you against him from where you stood between his legs. Your hands were in his hair, tugging just a bit, to bring his attention back up to your eyes.

He stood, and you moved in quickly for a kiss, letting your hands push beneath his shirt.

“Wait.” He said, lips turning up into a hint of a grin at the way you pouted. “I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything. Whatever you’re ready for is okay, don’t worry about me.”

“I want you to fuck me.” You told him without hesitation, taking hold of his shirt to start dragging it over his head.

“Oh thank god.” He sighed, and allowed you to start undressing him.

When your hand moved to his pants he helped you get them undone, pushing them down and stepping out of them. After what felt like ages he finally pressed himself to you, bare chests relishing each other's labored breaths, and he began to lay you down.

Seeking more contact, you wrapped your legs around his waist, sighing at the relief of his weight above you as you settled into the cloud of pillows beneath. The first thrust of his hardness between your legs conjured up a small gasp, though you welcomed it, pulling him impossibly closer. His kisses became more desperate, all tongue and breathy moans while his hands wandered, exploring every inch that you’d laid out for him.

Finally getting to touch after only having his eyes on you for so long brought some relief, but it also heightened the increasingly inconvenient need for more. He wanted to take his time, to savor you, but the unbearable tension pushed him close to his breaking point.

The touch of your hand when it snaked its way between your bodies, stroking him over his briefs, nearly did him in. The moan he let out came from deep within, a sound of pure and uncontrolled bliss.

He leaned up slightly, catching your wrist to pull your hand away. “Fuck, I can’t- It’s too much, too quick.”

You watched in awe as he held himself back, but you didn’t want that. You didn’t care. If he was going to cum already, you wanted to watch him, to feel it, to revel in how badly he needed you.

One hand tangled its way into his hair, bringing him into a kiss, before parting just enough to whisper, “You can cum, we have all night.”

This time you tugged his underwear out of the way, and he didn’t stop you when you wrapped your hand around his length. You could feel the throbbing, the moisture already pooling at the tip, and when you slowly began to move your hand up and down, he did his best to muffle his sounds of delight in the crook of your neck.

His lips smashed themselves into yours, moving in a hungry, adrenaline fueled haze, until seconds later, he shuddered above you as he let go. Your belly and hand were coated in his release, still moving as you indulged in the sounds he made. When it came to be too much, he rolled off you, chest moving rapidly as beads of sweat trickled down the sides of his flushed face.

“Fuck..” He muttered, mainly to himself, finally prying his eyes back open when he felt your lips on the side of his neck.

Without another word he got up, finding a damp towel to clean you up with. As he did so, he wouldn’t look you in the eyes, his expression regrettable.

“What?” You asked, sitting up to close some of the distance.

“Embarrassing,” He mumbled, but you could make out a hint of a smile. “I swear I can last longer, I’m not used to sitting and staring for an hour before getting to touch. I also just really fucking like you.”

The second he was done cleaning you up, you pulled him closer, reassuring him with a long, needy kiss. You smiled into it, too taken with him and the moment to feel anything but joy.

“I really fucking like you too, Baek.”

With determined grace he laid you down, his lips exploring every bare patch of skin within reach. He kissed down your jaw, gentle at first, but as he moved, he grew bolder. When he reached your clavicle bone, he took the delicate skin between his teeth, biting, sucking, soft enough to keep you wanting more, but firm enough to make your heart race.

His hands, which had remained at your sides, joined his lips when he reached your breasts. The softness was too tempting, he couldn’t help himself.

As he showered you in his affections, your mind wandered, thinking back on the many times you’d imagined exactly this as you lay awake at night. Now that it was real, he was real, his weight between your legs pinning you to his mattress, you wondered how you ever ignored him, how you possibly could’ve been so cruel, both to him, and yourself. This was perfect, and the fact that you’d nearly ruined any chance there had been to get here, was a sad reality to face.

The sensation of his mouth as it tugged on one of your nipples, a hand diligently taking care of the other side, pulled you back into the moment, but only temporarily. You didn’t even know it was possible to feel this good, to need someone else’s touch so deeply. Again, you cursed yourself for nearly pushing him away forever, and this time, your pain and the pleasure built into a confusing and blinding cocktail that had tears blurring your vision.

Baekhyun didn’t notice at first, too caught up in the feeling of your chest in his hands and mouth. When the first sob shook you, he assumed you were reacting to his touch, which you were, but not in the way he expected.

The second time you let out a small cry, and now he detached himself, staring in wide-eyed shock and confusion at the tears streaming down your face.

“Y/n? What’s going on? Why are you crying? Did I do something wrong?”

Did I do something wrong?

It was the same thing he asked you that day after class, after you’d started shutting him out, the day you lied to him about wanting to focus on school. You remembered how hurt he’d looked, how guilty you’d felt, and it had all been for nothing. The tears came faster, harder.

Baekhyun didn’t know what to do, and started to panic when he realized you were in fact crying, and whatever he’d said had made it worse.

His hands both quickly reached your face, frantically wiping away tears as he continued to ramble.

“What’s wrong? I’m so confused, please, say something, anything, I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what I did, please-”

You pulled his face closer, making him kiss you hard, needing something to show him what you were feeling before gathering your thoughts.

“I’m so sorry.” You blurted out, “This is perfect, you’re perfect, and I almost ruined everything, I was so mean to you, I’m such an idiot.”

“Huh?” Baekhyun tried to get his thoughts straight, still too turned on to think clearly. You put a hand over his heart, and it was pounding.

The bewildered look in his eyes gradually softened as he realized what was happening, and he continued wiping away the tears.

“Why are you sorry?”

After a deep inhale, you explained, “I ignored you, I lied to you, I tried to cut you out of my life completely. That was just so stupid, I feel terrible. This feels so good, so right, I’m so mad at myself for being so dense.”

“None of that matters anymore though, we’re here now, everything turned out okay, it’s okay.”

The tears had slowed down, but the look on your face still worried him. Not knowing what else to say, he just kissed you, first on the forehead, then on both cheeks, before finally reaching your lips.

“I was an idiot too,” He whispered, “But right now, I just want to show you how much I’ve wanted you, how special you are, how I haven’t stopped thinking about you in weeks. You’re literally a dream come true.”

When his lips met that one spot on your neck, the spot that always makes your eyes flutter shut, that pulls a soft gasp from your lips, you sank back into it, back into him. He did all the right things to keep you there, dedicating himself to keeping your full attention

“Just focus on me, yeah?”

You nodded, and his wandering hands were the final pull, keeping you securely in his embrace, an embrace that didn’t allow any doubt, any grief in such a wonderful moment.

Originally he’d wanted to take his time. He wanted the first time with you to be special, unrushed. He wanted to indulge completely, and yet his patience was running out. His lips kissed down to your chest once again, lingering for a little while, until he moved further. Each kiss was feather light, barely making contact, but driving you insane nonetheless. When he reached the skin just below your belly button, he paused, this time kissing you a little firmer, but it was his face that did it for you. The way he smiled up at you, almost innocently, as he finished moving down your body, set every nerve ablaze.

The need was mounting quickly. Your hands laced themselves into his fluffy black hair, trying to tug him the rest of the way, but he resisted. Instead, he began to nip at the skin of your inner thighs. Each time you would tense up, squirm, and tighten your grip on him, and he fucking loved it. No part of him could care even the slightest bit about the sting of your hands tugging at his scalp. It told him that you wanted more, that you wanted him, and that was all he craved.

Laid out before him like this, him between your legs, he felt the first waves of possessiveness crash through. You were his. His girlfriend. He was the only one who got to see you like this, and he hoped it would stay that way, for as long as he was around.

Fueled by his blinding lust and need, he let you have it, diving in with greed. The way you arched at the first touch of his tongue on your clit had him smiling into you, pleased by the tremendous effect he had. He knew then, you were just as fucked for him as he was for you.

Just like him, you found yourself dancing on the edge far sooner than what felt normal or right. Still, you let him take you there, lost in every little motion of his perfect mouth. He ate you out like he’d known your body for years, like he'd always been meant to be right there, between your thighs.

His hair was soft between your fingers, now fully intertwined, tugging carelessly. He moaned into you, delighted by the sting on his scalp, and the taste on his tongue.

“Cum for me.” He mumbled, hardly taking his mouth off of you.

You nodded, frantic, and when one finger slowly slid inside you, it was closer than ever. Only a few pumps later you shuddered apart, releasing into his mouth with a gasp and a sigh.

He smiled, still keeping up the rhythm of his tongue and finger, pulling you through it until you couldn't take it anymore. Over sensitivity set in, and you pushed him away with the little strength you had left.

Still panting, you met his eyes, and his smile was instantly contagious. Both hands grabbed onto his shoulders, pulling him closer for a long, messy kiss.

As he pulled away he kept your face in his hands, just admiring you. His thumb was barely there, so gentle as it touched your cheek.

“You're so beautiful.”

Your smile grew even further, but as his eyes remained glued to your own, you became shy. Ever so slightly, you started to shake your head. He stopped you.

“I could paint every little part of you, from every possible angle, in every possible light, and still never get enough of you, that’s how beautiful you are to me. I didn't know it was possible to be this obsessed with just looking at another person.”

“I want you to do more than just look at me, Baek.”

His eyes sparkled, “I know.”

Again, he kissed you, but this time he didn’t stop. He guided you up the bed, until your head was comfortable among the pillows and he could lay between your thighs. An involuntary push against you let you know he was hard again, and he only pulled away to take off his last remaining clothing, holding your gaze with intent as he came close.

The first bit of pressure from his tip as it slipped through your folds set you ablaze, needing him more than ever. One more kiss was pressed to your lips before he pulled away to look down at you, keeping your eyes fixed to his own, and then, he was pushing inside.

Finally, you both achieved that last bit of closeness, relieved at the connection, the skin pressed to skin. He filled you up so well, like he’d somehow always been missing, and with every further push as he started to move, that feeling grew. Time blurred into a meaningless haze, just him and his hips on your mind as they pleased you so expertly. You clung to him, legs wrapped around his waist, nails digging into the toned muscles of his back.

Baekhyun made love to you the way every girl dreams of. His hips were steady and precise, listening to you, learning how your body reacted, and making sure he brought you every possible bit of pleasure he could. Amidst his intoxicating thrusts his kisses brought you even further towards heaven, filled with uninhibited passion and hunger. Baekhyun, too, was feeling the intensity, the way the shared pleasure bonded you to him, and him to you.

“My beautiful girlfriend, so perfect, so good to me.” He whispered, his hot breath on your ear sending jolts of excitement down your spine. You just nodded, urging him to keep going, knowing that the edge was again inching closer. Every time he filled you, reaching the furthest possible depths, before pulling out almost completely, his length hit just the right spot. Each push got you closer to the feeling you now chased desperately, and Baekhyun wouldn’t rest until he got to see you cum for him, and around him.

Seconds later you half moaned, half sighed with delight as your orgasm took hold. He didn’t stop, and every additional thrust made your high that much more overwhelming. Baekhyun let out breathy moans of his own at the way you squeezed him, still rolling his hips to pull you all the way through your pleasure.

As he watched you, red faced, sweating, completely at his mercy, and so lost in ecstasy, it hit him, too. As your pussy throbbed in the aftermath of your high, he reached his own, filling you with his release.

Only then could you register the sticky, sweaty mess of limbs you’d become entangled with, and yet when he rolled off you, you still immediately kept clinging to him, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. Even the smell of him like this was massively comforting to you.

You only detached yourself when he softly called your name, his smile easily reaching his eyes as he beamed back at you, brighter than you’d ever seen before, like golden sunshine spilling out around him and illuminating the room in a gorgeous, warm glow.

“You’re finally mine.” Baekhyun spoke, and you nodded.

“All yours.”

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