#I HAVE SO MANY FEELINGSSSS

[arvadthecursed]

needless to say. I finished Axiom's End this morning. AND AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[nongnaos]

Mhok's journey in this show has been so good, the way his life has been shaped by his protectiveness for others. He felt loyal to his friends so he fought with them to protect them and ended up in jail, where he couldn't protect his sister. Now he gets to not only care for and protect Day in a professional way but also as a boyfriend who just gets to cook and care for his partner. Being able to heal some part of himself through caring for Day in a way that he brushed off with Rung (not cooking her favourite meal) and now regrets. It feels like finding someone he is able to protect is paramount to Mhok's healing.

The contrast between Mhok and his love for his sister who raised him and Day and his strained relationship with his brother is so apparent in the last ep. We get to see how deep the hurt goes on Day's part and the last few eps will surely deal with them coming to terms with their anger, guilt and grief in relation to their siblings. That feeling of mixed emotions when dealing with tough relationships and the grief of suicide, it's such an interesting contrast, all the things you wish you could do differently versus the anger of the moment.

[kuwdora]

3x06 The Witcher Netflix Ciri screaming episode recap and reactions. I think it's been like 8 years since I felt so compelled to write a episode reaction that's 1k+ long and only focused mostly on one character. Ohhhhhhhhhhhh, my god. my brain is reeling. maybe I will feel differently after it's cooled down but anyway. under the cut 3x06 only, some minor references to book events but my brain is too squishy to really... yeah just. yeah. CIRI.

Before volume 1 of season 3 had dropped I was really concerned and curious how they were going to handle the Ciri narrative from this point on with Tor Lara and being tossed across the Continent.

I’m happy to say that my immediate reaction is that I am fucking impressed. And wheezing from the nuance and direct approach they’re taking in addressing a woman’s rage. but right now it's this prelude to the rage... I'm surely forgetting some things but here!! I!! motherfucking go!!!

Holy fuck, we are seeing Yen explicitly dreaming of Ciri and Ciri feeling her connection, waking and running off to find Yen. To know and feel that Yen is in danger and needs her. She fucks off without looking for Jaskier who is busy sleeping off an orgasm, I guess. Will Geralt end up having Ciri dreams too?? Or is this a mother-daughter thing?? I'm still really digging the Yen-and-Ciri dynamic they've managed to build up in 8 episodes, whaaaaaaat. I was for sure skeptical because of the whole fuckall Voleth Meir nonsense last season but. Huh. Huh.

I don’t know how much time Ciri spent running around the island but that reunion with Yen in the valley??? Brilliantly filmed, absolutely wonderful acting with Anya and Freya here. Their pain, their joy at finding each other again. Yen calling Ciri her daughter. It was beautiful.

And if that wasn’t enough, Yen sees the growing lightning storm from what they namecheck as Alzur’s Last Stand (or Alzur’s Legacy? Last Resort? One of them) — all that flickering lightning above Aretuza. Yen feels the magic, she feels Tissaia’s power, her desperation and she’s so fucking fraught and devastated and scared. Her heart is tearing into two pieces—her love and need to protect Ciri, and her love for her own mother-figure. Tissaia’s pain is Yen’s pain. That was the refrain we’ve heard for two seasons now.

Ciri crying and telling Yennefer that she needed to go to Tissaia because Ciri understood what Yen was feeling as a daughter. My god I was also crying. Outstanding. Emotionally resonant. I LOVE IT.

Geralt had found Ciri and Yen by then, so Ciri stays with Geralt while Yen returns to Aretuza. They end up roaming the island trying to find a way off… finally encounter Cahir together. Ciri ends up with facing her literal nightmare, a source of her pain. Geralt watches on while Ciri is sobbing and crying with the sword pressed to Cahir’s throat. I wasn’t sure I was ready to believe netflix Cahir’s turning point, but I’m fascinated to say that seeing the accumulation of shit he’s taken over the last two seasons and his choice to throw himself to Ciri’s blade as an act of justice for her? For forgiveness? For everything that he’s taken from her? He saved her but he also knows what was taken from her and how he contributed to that. And he’s made the choice to throw himself to her. That’s some good fealty stuff right there. Dang.

But what was interesting is that Geralt never raises a blade to Cahir, there’s no fight with him and Cahir like in the books. In fact, we see the Scoia’tel on the hills approaching and Cahir breaks free and goes off to fight them so Ciri and Geralt can get away. He tells her he's going to hold them off. Dang dang danggg OKAYYYY. “I’ll find you.” Last words Cahir says to Ciri. Ciri is not really in a headspace to probably want or accept this or to know what he truly means since he was ready to die for her… but now he’s like REALLY READY to die for her, omg. *Chinhands* We don't see Cahir anymore this season.

Ciri and Geralt on the beach. Geralt feeling the danger nearby with his medallion and telling Ciri to run. She runs off to Tor Lara while Geralt gets the neutrality beaten out of him.

MEANWHILE AT TOR LARA.

Okay this is where I have scratched my head in curiosity and wonder but I am ROLLING WITH IT. Is this why they made the Blood Origins show to talk about the power of the monoliths?? Because I can’t remember if anyone in the show has referenced the portal at Tor Lara explicitly in the show. But all the monolith talk and I'm still forgetting things probably.

Tor Lara is a monolith that is speaking to Ciri. She races to the tower and Vilgefortz comes after her...she loses her sword and holy fuck, he just wants to train her he says. And she’s running up the stairs to the top and there’s this reverberating energy and crystalline part of the monolith. Runes are glowing beneath the surface. A voice is speaking to Ciri. 👀

In this scene with the Tor Lara monolith I’m loving the double-image effect on Ciri (and Vilgefortz) as the power of the monolith swells. Who or what is seeing them? What kind of reflection is this? I’m neck-deep in symbolism brain right now cause I've spent the last month writing all my witcher philosophy fanfic... but oh my god, Ciri is going through trauma and will be dissociating and being Falka for a good long while… While Vilgefortz had spent a large amount of time hiding his True Self in order to advance his plans. He hated it, the hiding. It exasperated him. But it's what he had to do in order to see his work through. And Ciri will relinquish her powers and partition her mind and sink into her rage, and it will be a summer of pain and catharsis for her. Double images all around here. Both of these characters end up embodying two identities in this strange amalgamation of self and non-self that they construct in order to survive. Someone remind me later to talk about Jean Genet and the tapestry art The Lady and the Unicorn. Or maybe I'll just write another fic for that tapestry in particular.

So the show is making more textually apparent that Vilgefortz wants Ciri’s blood, and he says he wants to train her. That he is the best one to do it. Which is different than in the forced pregnancy books and it’s not a change that I hate at all, but I still find it interesting and want to know what he actually….wants out of it. Though I don't think anything implies that he wouldn't go with the forced breeding angle again but if the show doesn't go that way, I won't be mad.

Alright... briefly in 3x07 or 3x08 (can’t remember) Yen, Rita, Tissaia, Sabrina, Keira and Philippa ended up finding the Aretuza girls that Vilgefortz kidnapped and mutated with magic. There’s still no understanding from any of the characters what his ends might be with these experiments, and I’m still not sure where he’s going with it, other than to figure out how to use Ciri’s blood. And that there’s some connection to the power of the monoliths.

Anyway, back at Tor Lara Ciri ignores Vilgefortz who says she’s not ready for that kind of power yet. The power is reaching out to Ciri. And Ciri reaches back... and we get BIG SHATTERING EXPLOSION and the tower encasing the monolith of Tor Lara just disintegrates. Another one bites the dust. Vilgefortz gets knocked on his smirky fucking ass.

Ciri has the magic touch, yo.

This is HER STORY. Slams hands on table and kicks her feetsies oh my god oh my god.

Freya is impressing the hell out of me. I wasn’t… I wanted to be hopeful but I didn’t let myself. And now holy fuck.

holy fuck.

CIRI.

let me have another few hours to breathe and write about 3x07 and 3x08. holy fuuuuuuck.

[htchnr]

♰ my heart is a sad affair ༻ C. HOWARD.*ೃ˚ PART TWO.

➻ masterlist. ➻ buy me a coffee!

CW ➻ shouting ⋆ FEELINGSSSS ⋆ reader smacks the everliving HECK out of Cooper ⋆ he deserved it ⋆ kissing ⋆ mention of a Gulper ⋆ flashback to hunting deer in a forest ⋆ fallout canon violence/descriptions ⋆ if i missed anything, lmk!

PAIRING ➻ wife!reader x Cooper. (they were married before the war, but both of them believe the other is long dead.)

SUMMARY ➻ you were gonna strangle him when you got your hands on him. after shouting for Ma to come out and cut you loose you were livid. you had found him after all this time, alive, and he leaves like that? he was going to get the slap of the century, and then some. WC ➻ 3,2K.

© 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐇𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐍𝐑. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦, 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫!

you were gonna strangle him when you got your hands on him. after shouting for Ma to come out and cut you loose you were livid. you had found him after all this time, alive, and he leaves like that? he was going to get the slap of the century, and then some.

you were thankful now for the tracking or hunting skills he taught you while on vacation in the deep woods so many decades ago, teaching you how to track and hunt wildlife. but now, you'll make him regret it.

"you look for anything," he pauses pointing to some tracks, but also towards some leaves that looked half eaten. "tracks or signs, and try and gauge what direction they came from," he explains, rifle on his back as you two quietly walked through the dense forest.

"seems easy enough," you shrug, glancing around. you'd always been a quick learner, so this was gonna be a piece of cake.

he chuckles, a warm smile on his lips. "we'll see about that sweetheart," he gestures for you to head in front of him. "let's see how you do," he grins, throwing a cheeky wink your way. you snort, shaking your head with a smile as you step in front of him, eyes flitting around you.

though, with the heavy boot prints in the loose sand and dirt it felt too easy. you rolled your shoulder as you walked along the tracks, looking at the different sets of foot prints;

one set that would belong to Vault Dweller, another set which clearly belonged to Wilzig, a heavy limp clear in them (along with blood) — and the last set belonging to Cooper. you also noticed what would be the dog's prints, varying in pace. though, usually beside Cooper's.

the sun was unforgiving, beating down on you violently as you walked. your anger slowly dimmed down as your mind drifts to the memories you tried so hard to forget.

your eyes flit around the forest, looking across bushes, looking through the dirt, anything. but you were surprisingly stumped. you had tracked what seemed to be a deer for a little over half an hour.

you came to a halt and huffed as you roll your shoulders. "okay i give up," you turn around and find Cooper smiling at you with those lovestruck eyes. you laugh at his look, his smile only widens at the sound. "what?" you smile.

he shakes his head, "nothing honey," he walks over and pecks your cheek. "you got us really far, you're really getting the hang of this." he compliments, and steps in front of you to take the lead.

he looks around for a minute, before he taps your hand to get your attention. "see there?" he points to a shrub. "more bite marks," he says, and you huff. he smiles and gestures you to continue in front of him again. "c'mon, i've got the feeling we're getting close."

huh, you cocked your head at the sight before you. Wilzig's body, surrounded by blood, and missing his head. you swallowed, would Cooper have done this? or did the girl do it to lighten her load?

you hoped Cooper didn't do this, yet you also doubted the Vault Dweller would have the stomach for something like this. you look around, eyes meeting the tracks of the girl, then Cooper's along with the dog's. well, you sighed, let's keep this show on the road.

you missed Roosevelt now more than ever, his gentle patter beside you as he followed you around. he used to love following you around while you did chores around the house — laid beside you while you ironed clothes, politely sat out of the way while you vacuumed. his favorite thing was to run around the yard while you hung up your laundry outside.

your heart ached for your fluffy companion, you missed him so much. you wondered if Cooper missed him too, or more so how much.

Cooper and Roosevelt were inseparable, when Cooper was home Roosevelt rarely left his side. and when Cooper was away, Roosevelt never left yours, almost as if Cooper told him to guard you.

the thought made you smile, sighing as you walked along the trail of steps. you hated this fucking wasteland and it's violently cruel sun.

the lush surroundings a upcoming Hollywood Boulevard were a nice change of pace, it was good to see that while some areas were completely infertile and dead, other areas absolutely thrived.

the tracks showed slight panic on the Vault Dwellers side, quick dashes and marks where it looked like she had slipped or fallen. Cooper's were calm and collected as ever, and the dog's jumped around all over the place, before evening out beside Cooper again.

you walked along the waters edge, keeping a close eye on the lake beside you. you had heard stories of huge things jumping out, and being caught by something while this close to Cooper was not on your to-do list today.

you were close to them, you could tell by the depth and freshness of the prints. you let put a shaky breath, your original frustration bubbling up to the surface again. your hands shook a little beside you. you had some time to think of what you were going to say, but now that you were nearing them your brain was drawing blanks.

"honey look!" Cooper whispered, pulling you down behind a tree, pointing into the distance. you followed his finger, eyes landing on a deer grazing fifteen or twenty feet from you two.

your eyes lit up, "hey i did it!" you whispered excitedly. Cooper grinned, rubbing a warm hand across your lower back in a form of 'i'm proud'. and he was damn proud, it took him much longer the first time he went hunting.

"well," he takes ahold of his rifle, handing it to you. you grab it from him, positioning it the way he taught you. "breathe in and out," he muttered, his hand not leaving your lower back. he looked over your shoulder, seeing how you were aiming. "and well, you know what to do," he smiles.

you smile at his words and the warm hand inching towards your waist. you take a deep breath, looking down the sight as you aimed, your finger wrapping around the trigger. you exhaled slowly, and squeezed the cold trigger, letting your shot fly.

the sound of panicked shouting snapped you out of the memory, eyes snapping towards what looked to be an old dock. you swing your rifle off your back and hold it tight, stepping through the overgrown environment and closer towards the yelling.

the closer you got, the more clear the voice became, "i lost it! okay i lost it!" the Vault Dweller shouted, fear and exhaustion clear in her voice.

you neared the edge of the forest, the rest beyond flattening into a open space by the water. you could see the Vault Dweller and Cooper clearly now, as well as the dog who barked at the water with vigor. Cooper had is gun aimed no more than a few inches from the Vault Dweller's face.

the dog suddenly snapped it's head up, snout pointing directly to where you were. well, you thought, it was a matter of time.

Cooper looked at the dog, who had completely stopped barking now. the girl didn't turn to look at the dog, seizing the opportunity to kick Cooper's legs out from under him and shoot up and away from him, her gun now pointed at him.

"you better get that gun out of his face, girl, or you'll regret it."

Cooper's head spun around, wide eyes looking around. a small wave of 'oh shit' washing over him. the Vault Dweller turned to face you, eyes widening. "you, from back in Filly," she spoke, her voice sounding a little out of breath.

"what'd i say?" you cocked your rifle, "get that gun out of his face." anger boiling back up at the sight of him on the ground. he deserved that kick.

the girl blinked, reluctantly holstering her gun and stepping away from Cooper. your rifle remained aimed at him though, as you stepped closer to him. Cooper blinked, an awkward smile on his lips. "hey, fancy seein' you 'round here-" the thud of the butt of your rifle against his temple interrupting him. "fuckin' hell!" he shouted, a hand coming up to cradle his head. he looked up at you, and eyeing the rage in your eyes. "okay i deserved that,"

the Vault Dweller watched the exchange from a short distance, standing beside the dog who had returned it's attention to the water.

"get the fuck up." you seethed, rifle still aimed at his scarred head. Cooper inhaled, slowly getting up, then standing before you. you only swung your rifle over your shoulder once he stood at his full height, dark eyes watching your every move. 

his lips parted to speak, but you beat him to it with a smack that rang through the overgrown area. Cooper’s head reeling back at the force. he blinked widely for a moment before turning his head back to face you.

the Vault Dweller watched with her lips parted as you had smacked him, the sound sending a jolt through her. who the hell were you that he let you do this? if it were her she'd be dead as soon as she began to raise her hand.

you raised your hand again, this time jabbing a finger into his leather clad chest. "Cooper Franklin Howard, what the fuck were you thinking?!" you shouted at him, wild eyes staring into his gaunt ones. "fucking tying me up? are you out of your goddamn mind?!" Cooper looked pained, he regretted tying you up then, but even more so now.

he looked down a little, and you grabbed his chin and forced him to look at you. "what the fuck was one of our vows, huh?" your voice cracked a little at the volume. you let go of his thickly scarred chin to yank him down to your level by the lapels of his duster. "where you go, i go, Cowpoke!" you yelled at him, tears started to well up in your eyes.

Cooper swallowed, eyes flitting across your face. his heart ached at the thought of the wedding, the vows said and the love shared. it hurt.

you shook him by his lapels once more, "i don't care where the fuck you go, but unless you're dead i'm there with you!" your voice starting to falter as tears slide down your cheeks. oh how he hated to see you cry, it cracked his broken heart into even more pieces.

you stood there for a second, wet eyes watching his as you could just barely see tears starting to prick at his as well. you watched him closely as he pulled off his thick leather gloves and dropped them, calloused and scarred hands coming up to cover yours. Cooper visibly shuddered once his bare hands met your painfully soft ones.

the Vault Dweller silently watches, eyes wide as she sees the emotional love in Cooper's eyes. what the fuck happened to the terrifying ghoul that was about to shoot her?

your breath hitched as he held your hands, eyes flitting down to them. they looked exactly like the skin on his face, an angry red, completely blistered and scarred over. you looked at all his features, his gaunt eyes, his thinned lips, yellow teeth. and the blaringly obvious, his missing nose.

"oh Cooper," you rasped, your voice aching from the yelling. you pulled a hand free from his and pressed it against the scarred cheek you had smacked. he didn't flinch as you gently rubbed your thumb across his cheek. he whispered your name as though it hurt to say, a tear finally rolling down his skin.

you reach your other hand up, holding both sides of his face as you pull him down and press your lips against his. Cooper tries to step back a little, taken by surprise, but your hold on his face doesn't let him move far. it takes him a second, as if he thinks this is a dream, before his reaches one hand to hold your face and the other to pull you closer by your waist.

the Vault Dweller watches with slight disgust, but also with a small thought of awe.

you finally let go against him, tears rolling freely down your cheeks and wetting his as you cry against into the kiss. although he looks different and feels different, the waves of comfort and safety feel exactly the same as they always have as he holds you tight.

you reluctantly pull away, looking up at him with teary eyes. you press one last kiss against his lips before fully pulling away, his hand holding yours as if he can't let go. "what on earth did you get yourself into cowboy?" you sigh sadly, your hand returning to his cheek.

Cooper shakes his head, "you don't wanna know," he replies, the sigh palpable.

the Vault Dweller blinks as the dog starts barking like crazy again, "uh guys, i'd hate to interrupt this shockingly sweet moment but i think the Gulper's coming back!" she panics, looking at her pipboy as you hear the tell tale geiger counter sound picking up immensely.

Cooper looks back to you, hand on his gun. "you still remember what i taught you?" he asks, unholstering his gun.

you roll your eyes with a smile, "i'll make you wish i'd forgotten," as you swing your rifle off your shoulder, ready for a fight.

you'd have a long talk once you were in a somewhat safe shelter later..

TAGLIST ; @live-logs-and-proper @looonytooons @seeingstarks @thewastelandwriter @lacey-mercylercy @marina-and-the-memes @p4rsuade @anonymous-creep @likoplays @iceviolet11 @https-junebug @silverose365 @athanza @songbirdemerald-blog @justt-myth @looneylooomis @v3lv3tf0x

[goodeapple]

i had all and then most of you / some and now none of you

V

*speaking into my oversized megaphone* HELLOOOOO 2023, HOW Y'ALL DOING OUT THERE TONIGHT?

*crickets, someone coughing*

HELL YEAH, ALRIGHTY, ME TOO!

hi guys! did ya miss me?? because I sure missed all of you! apologies, apologies, apologies for the wait. two jobs, first Christmas in my apartment, and a new baby nephew makes a month go by like THAT but excuses excuses, blah blah blah and FINALLY, HERE IT IS.

*Sid’s voice from Toy Story* “It came, it finally came! The big one…”

this monster took it all out of me. I cried, I screamed, I agonized and I was the one writing it! what has this story done to me??

.

but on a personal, sappy, feelingssss note, thank you all so fucking much for reading this and enjoying this. never ever did I expect for so many people to love this story as much as I love writing it and the reactions have been overwhelmingly lovely. I can’t wait to see what this year brings and to have you all on the ride with me. I hope you all enjoy. don’t hate me <3

pairing : Aemond x Ysilla (Rhaenyra'sDaughter!OC)

warnings : no smut here today :(( just trauma

word count : 10,000+

masterlist

Ysilla’s cries strike the walls like lightning, threatening to crumble the stones and forcing the shadows to sink further into their corners.

The calming sonance of her handmaids’ voices, hushing her screams with sweet croons and encouragements, make Ysilla want to slice her ears off with a rusty blade. Her body is hot and cold all at once, legs shaking and muscles bunching. Fire streaks through her belly, painting flames of more pain yet to come as it travels between her legs. She keeps drawing big breaths in, stretching her lungs until they protest before easing out in an exhale, imagining she’s breathing out all the pain in her body with it. It doesn’t help- the stinging incessantly sharp and persistent, but it keeps her focused. 

Ysilla paces the length of her chambers, up and down, back and forth, her feet bare and padding a rhythm as she goes. Maybe she’ll carve a gulch out of the stone, a lingering reminder of her plight. Ysilla childishly hopes someone will catch it with their toe and spill out over the floor. 

Another breath out and the cramps ease, Ysilla sighing in relief as she rests an unsteady hand against a pillar for support. The swells of The Narrow Sea are blacker than the night, salt spray traveling to her on the breeze. The sun had set and with the moon’s rise, the calmness had drifted out alongside it. For days, as her misery climbed higher and higher, the winds had caressed her cheek, the sun cut through the ever present fog of the island to warm her down to her bones. Almost like nature was bidding her a fond goodbye before rolling in a storm that would topple towers in greeting of her new addition. 

Ysilla had swaddled herself in a plush, sheepskin throw that had found its way bunched into a ball at the foot of her bed as her temperature rose with her discomfort. Stripped down in clothing too, a silk shift is the only thing she can tolerate on her sizzling skin. Not as sheer as something she would wear to bed with Aemond- a bit more opaque in the threads. 

But around her midsection, the cream cloth is stretched so tight that the almond hue of her skin is visible. Her belly is so big now, it has pushed her toes out of sight for close to two moons. Such a change she’s undertaken to bring her little one into this world, her body telling a story of her babe’s journey to life. 

Ysilla stares over the waves, temple resting against the cool stone of the pillar. Her babe. 

“Boy or girl, you think?” 

Ysilla posed in the mirror, turning side face and pulling her nightgown tight over her barely-there-bump. She ran her palm over the budding swell, curious at how large she would grow in the coming months. 

Aemond emerged from the hall leading to their privy, a drying linen slung low over his narrow hips. His slick hair dripped a puddle over the floor, and Ysilla chose the more amicable route of watching a droplet race down her husband’s defined abdominals and into the tied cotton rather than chastising him like a mother for getting her floor slippery. Ysilla’s heart skipped a beat. Mother. She’s going to be someone’s mother. 

She wiggled her toes anxiously against the stone, twisting a loose thread from her hemline around the tip of her finger until it turned purple. 

“Hmmmm,” the familiar rumble of her husband’s hum soothed her spiking nerves better than any healing balm. 

“Maybe there’s two in there- you’ll give me one of each. A matching set.” 

Ysilla tried not to choke at his fantasy, a sudden terror winding around her throat at the thought of birthing not one, but two dragons from her body. 

“Neigh, Maester Gerardys said he only felt the one.” Ysilla busied her hands with pinning up her curls for the night, winding up the long strands and securing each methodically with a gold barrette. 

Her mind a whirl of babes with gold hair, lavender eyes, and slithering tails, her vision grew hazy as her thoughts wandered away. 

Tendrils of ice froze the skin at the back of her neck, cold fingers weaving through her roots and shaking loose all her hard work. The hair pins clinked as they fell to the floor. Gooseflesh pebbled along Ysilla’s chest, her nipples perked at the chill of her husband’s deft digits. 

“Then we’ll just have to try for another one then, won’t we?” The wet linen once around Aemond’s hips joined her accessories at their feet. Ysilla smiled, her hands drifting behind her, finding his wrist and sliding up the corded muscles in his forearms. She turned, pulling his hands from her hair to the skin of her chest, the thundering of her heart astride under Aemond’s hand. He stroked the softness there, pressing his hand forward solidly until Ysilla bowed under the pressure, hips flitting closer to him and back arching away. She slung her calf over his naked hip for balance, the thinness of her gown keeping the two apart. One hand left her chest, smoothing down her side until it found the dip of her waist, Aemond’s thumb brushing the edge of her blooming bump. The thought of her, full of him, growing proof of his claim on her, made him feral and needy. He wanted his wife naked and now. 

Ysilla laughed as he pulled her to him, melting into his skin, her lips finding his collarbone as she wound her other leg around him. He carried her to their bed, sheets already rumpled and astray from their earlier lovemaking. Their nest, soon to be joined by a hatchling. The thought just as frightening as it was thrilling. 

Ysilla knows it’s a girl- can feel it in her soul. A mother’s intuition, she presumes. 

Ysilla settles on her bed, her back once more tightening in protest at the position. Sitting, standing, lying, or squatting, her babe is set on causing her as much discomfort as possible. A parting gift from daughter to mother, a horrid thank you for sharing her body and then letting herself be torn apart to give her life. 

The maesters are whispering, every few words jumping out of their hushed voices. Stalled. Papers rustle on the table. Too long. A pestle grinds down into its stone mortar. The Prince. Old withered eyes glance at her over shoulders. Maybe pity is there, maybe sorrow but Ysilla’s eyes are so blurred with exhaustion that she can’t be sure. She rolls over on her side, wincing slightly at the disagreeing kick her sprog voices, rubbing at the spot tenderly. Ysilla needs sleep, rest. She feels like she’ll splinter apart if she doesn’t. 

Another word- words, jump out, clearer than a bell’s chime, seizing her attention and locking down with its jaws.

Certain measures. 

The Prince. Too long. Stalled. 

No, the babe is just taking her time. She will not be rushed- a Princess already, everyone waiting with bated breath for her arrival. There’s no need to worry. 

Her eyes refuse to shut. 

Ysilla swallows, mouth suddenly dryer than the Red Waste. She ticks the hours it’s been since her pains have increased on silent fingers. She thinks of all her reading, the texts that detailed pregnancy and birthing and motherhood that she devoured with voracity, and compares them to her situation. 

It has been a bit long, hasn’t it?

A soft knock at her chamber door breaks through Ysilla’s spinning thoughts, the brush of the wood along the floor calling her gaze to the newcomer. 

A white head of braids peaks in, a brilliant smile that glows brighter than the moon above casts away the darkness poking at Ysilla’s mind. The young mother-to-be can’t help but smile, rolling to a half-sit to welcome her guest. 

“Room in here for one more?” Rhaena ignores the disappointed looks from the old men, waltzing inside the familiar chambers and scurrying over to her cousin’s bedside. Ysilla finds her hand promptly, lacing their thin fingers together. 

“You are a most welcome sight, cousin.” 

Rhaena’s grin spreads even wider, delighted eyes taking in the roundness of Ysilla’s belly that will soon be absent. 

“Thought I’d check-in with the new muña, see how she’s coming along.” 

Ysilla smiles, a weak laugh croaking from her throat. 

“Nothing to report quite yet, I’m afraid. Zaldrītsos is a bit late to the party.” 

Rhaena chuckles, her dainty hand patting the bump with love.

“Just like her mother then- she runs on her own time.” 

Ysilla snorts but it’s a good-natured sound, rolling her eyes at her own bad habit. 

“Everyone else is simply early- a Princess is never late.”

Her cousin mumbles something along the lines of sure, sure but Ysilla can’t be positive. Her mind is being unkind once more, loaded words pinging between her ears. Late, late, late, why is she taking so long? Ysilla curses as another pain sparks up, Rhaena whispering words of comfort in their mother tongue as Ysilla shakes.  

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! Silly girl, why don’t you just come out already!” Ysilla begs, feeling absurd for arguing with her babe but she’s tried everything else, why not a little motherly encouragement? 

After a few minutes, the burn dissipates and Ysilla sags against the pillows. Her eyes are so heavy, it feels as if boulders rest upon her lids. Her mouth continues to move, half-formed thoughts slurring into words she barely registers. 

“Are you still in there, little one? Can you hear mother? Don’t make these mean old men come in there and get you themselves, that wouldn’t be too fun for me.”  

Rhaena’s grip tightens so hard that Ysilla feels the bones in her hand creak in protest. Her eyes draw open, mind catching up to mouth. 

Shit. 

“Ysilla,” there’s a haunt draped over Rhaena’s whispered word. Her eyes are wide and dark. “Don’t speak like that. You are going to be fine. This baby is going to be fine.” 

Ysilla wonders if Rhaena can hear the desperation in her own voice. Who is she begging more, Ysilla or herself? 

Who does Rhaena see when she looks upon her cousin?

Ysilla tries to wiggle her fingers and Rhaena relents with a frown, easing her hold. Her eyes, however,  don’t waver in their seriousness. Ysilla strokes the younger girl’s knuckles with her thumb, trying for a believing smile. 

“You’re right, sweet girl, I’m sorry. Don’t fret, I’m just… very very tired.” 

Rhaena stares at her, unblinking, and Ysilla grits her teeth. She won’t break her gaze first; Rhaena needs to believe her. Maybe Ysilla will believe herself too, if someone else does. By the Gods’ grace, her cousin finally relents and drops her eyes to the sheets. Ysilla exhales a relieved sigh. 

“You can do something for me though, if you wish.” 

Rhaena’s eyes brighten once more, and Ysilla’s heart bursts with love for the younger girl. 

“At once, Silli, anything you need.” 

“I yearn for a pot of tea- anything with berries if we have it. Bump likes the sweetness.” 

Ysilla will spew if she even catches a whiff of honey, her appetite long gone as the pain makes her nauseous and dizzy but whatever will get Rhaena out of here. Make her take her too-knowing eyes that pin Ysilla in place like a butterfly trapped by its wings. 

Rhaena is nodding before Ysilla finishes her sentence, rising to her feet and bouncing on her toes, eager to raise her cousin’s spirits. She departs with a brush of a kiss across Ysilla’s brow, holding her gaze until she swishes out the door, red skirts a waving goodbye that make Ysilla exhale a tightness in her chest.

“Princess, how are you feeling?” 

A moment of peace would be nice, thank you. Ysilla rolls her eyes to find one of the maesters at the end of her bed. The kindness in his withered stare doesn’t look the same as earlier. Ysilla tries to detect if there’s something malevolent lurking in those cerulean depths. 

“Fine, just tired.” Ysilla brushes her palm over the valley of her belly, the skin wiggling under the tickle. Her girl likes to dance. 

“And your pain?”

Ysilla’s stare is hard, unable to ease the clench in her jaw as she speaks again. 

“Manageable.” 

The man nods, mouth pursed in thought. His fingers are threaded through one another, and his thumbs tap together in a rhythm that irritates Ysilla greatly. She doesn’t care for small talk.

“I was thinking… we should send for the Prince Aemond to join us. He hasn’t returned here nearing a day and a half, and we would like to update him on your progress.” Or, lack thereof. The unfinished sentence swims in the stale air between mother and maester. 

Ysilla frowns. “I don’t want my husband in here, I thought my earlier actions made that quite clear.” 

The earlier actions Ysilla is referring to is when she hurled every Valyrian curse Daemon had ever taught her at Aemond, blaming him for her predicament and her pain, and forbade him from returning until she had brought forth their child. An iron candelabra aimed at his head struck the point true, and her doting husband had vanished from her sight. 

Ysilla loves him for understanding her rage. They make quite the pair, the two dueling dragons. Marriage suits them splendidly. 

The maester nods, but the smile he sends her is patronizing and Ysilla tries not to growl. 

“I am aware, Princess, however, I believe it best he returns so we can discuss some matters.” 

What ‘matters’? She wants to question but another spasm steals her air and an uncontrollable recoil rocks through her. Breathe, breathe, breathe. Sharp inhale through her nose, heavy exhale from her mouth. Rinse and repeat. 

The maester nods again, as if Ysilla’s reaction to her laboring is answer enough to his request. 

“Yes, yes, we’ll fetch the Prince at once.” 

He whispers something to the other, smaller man and the two exit quickly. Ysilla is finally alone, something she’s wished for since she first felt the telling cramp in her abdomen at supper earlier this week but now, the shadows of the candle flames lick up the walls. Creatures spring forth from the dark flickerings, dancing about the bed’s feet, nipping at the ends of her toes. 

Ysilla tries to focus and calm her nerves, staring out her windows towards the sea, the sounds of the growing swells drowning out childish hallucinations that only come from her frazzled thoughts. 

A twinkle of light catches the edge of her vision and Ysilla blinks, peering towards the table that the maesters have spread their tools over. 

Vials, powders, books, and herbs litter the sturdy wood; Ysilla spent her youth with her drawings and texts taking up every available inch of space that the lengthy desk had to offer. And now, means to help her firstborn into this life were there and Ysilla would warm at the parallel if not for one worrying setup placed innocently in the middle of the table.  

A row of small knives she hadn’t noticed before, tucked away in their leather binding had been unfurrowed, the top cover strewn back and displaying the sharps to her gaze. A flame glints off the metals, the blades slick and shiny with polish, glowing brighter than the jewels in her royal tiara.

They wouldn’t. 

They’re awfully sharp, as sharp as Dark Sister or even Aemond’s longsword. 

He wouldn’t. 

Aemond would be here soon. Ysilla suddenly found herself impatient on his arrival and with him, hopefully her returning sanity. 

Too long. Stalled. 

There are iron bars closing over the windows and the creatures are back, chittering and cackling, snapping at her ankles. Waiting to pin her down and hold her steady as the maesters and Aemond- no he wouldn’t, he would never-

Certain measures. 

Ysilla thinks of her grandsire, of his kind eyes and the love that was always there for herself and her mother. Of the crushing devotion that poured from them when he would speak of his dearly departed Aemma. Her grandmother, dead long before Ysilla’s time in this world, lost to her birthing bed and the loving hands of her husband. 

Ysilla swings her legs over the edge of the bed. 

She wanted to give birth on Dragonstone, her treasured home, the only place she felt comfortable enough to have her first child in. But it came with consequences. Alicent is in Oldtown, praying for a quick delivery and a healthy babe. She had sent Ser Criston by way of boat, bearing her best wishes detailed on a lengthy scroll and a cart full of gifts for her second son’s firstborn. Grandsire Corlys, along with her brothers and Baela are only across the way at Driftmark, but they might as well have been in the Iron Islands for how close they felt. But the greatest tragedy was the absence of her parents. Kept in the capital by duty of the crown, Ysilla thinks to regret her decision of birthplace. If she were in King’s Landing, her mother by her side and Maester Gerardys monitoring her labor, she would have her worries soothed. She would trust in the advice of those around her. She wouldn’t be battling the uncertainties manifesting from her own mind.

Frighteningly alone, the walls seem to press in further and further and further until Ysilla can’t stand it any longer and she staggers to her feet. 

Regrets aside, as it is much too late to do anything about it now, a silver lining cuts through the gloom of her decaying spirit as she realizes a benefit to her surroundings. 

Ysilla stumbles forward, pressing her palm to the furthest wall from the hearth, right underneath the huge talon of an illustrated Grey Ghost, etched deep into the stone wall by picks and chisels. She lifts up, and pushes down again, shoving herself forward until a timeworn click sounds, the stone wall shuttering as a small passage swings open. Stagnant air rushes to her, the secret door unused since her earlier years when she would sneak down to the beach and watch the stars shimmer, mapping out constellations until her eyes crossed. Ysilla gathers her shift up until it bunches high on her thighs, slipping through the dark entryway, closing the stone behind her. 

Starting down the steep steps, memories carry her feet down down down until tiny grains of sand bite into her heels and salt swims up her nose. Ysilla breathes in deep; a bit of fresh air will do her good.

.

.

.

A small kettle, mugs, and an elderberry scone balance precariously on the tray Rhaena holds in a tight grip. The stairs up from the kitchens were treacherous and she nearly tripped twice on the too-long skirts of her secondhand dress. Her mother's gray gown still needs to be hemmed to fit Rhaena’s smaller stature but everytime she tries to bring a needle to the garment, her hands shake so terribly she pricks her own fingers bloody.

It’s one of the only things she has left of her mother. If she were to ruin it, even by accident, Rhaena would never be able to forgive herself. 

She turns the corner carefully, finding Ysilla’s door open a tad, shadowed flames from her fireplace dancing along the floor. Hisses travel out from the ajar door. From her spot just outside the entryway, Rhaena has a clear view of Ysilla’s bed. Disheveled sheets, pillows sunken and imprinted from Ysilla’s body, but the most important thing seems to be unaccounted for- Ysilla herself. 

“Where is she?” 

“She can’t have gotten far, not in her state.” 

“The Prince will be here in minutes, we have to find her!” 

“Her labor has stalled- if she doesn’t return soon, the child will not make it and neither will she!”

Rhaena can’t breathe. 

No. She remembers her mother’s screams, worming their way through the walls, seeking out her ears and shredding her soul. 

No. Recalls peaking around the corner, dreading to see her mother in so much agony that it dared to upturn her stomach, only to find the bloodstained bed curiously absent. 

Not again. Her father, sallow and ashen, sand caked on his breeches, tears dried on his face, horror hollowed out in his eyes. Her mother, nowhere to be found. 

Rhaena feels a breeze brush over her face and she wonders briefly if she’s caught a draft in the lofty castle but it isn’t until she shoulder checks a poor maid with a basket full of linen out of her way that she realizes she’s running. Sprinting, winding her way through the halls towards… where? Where is she going? Her feet know something her brain does not. Her feet- they’re wet and she smells raspberries. The tea, she must’ve dropped it. Rhaena will have to remember to clean it up later. 

She rounds a corner, ducks into another hall, and there! The door! Her feet can’t stop, legs pumping her forward until she flings herself against the wood, fists slam, slam, slamming! so hard she’s sure it’ll splinter. 

“Aemond! Aemond, open the door! It’s Ysilla!” 

.

.

.

Ghosts of the women in her family guide the way, Ysilla’s feet carrying her on a path she has no knowledge of. The terrain is familiar, a beach she learned to walk on steady under her feet but her endpoint is unknown. The winds whip her sweat soaked hair around her face. The gusts are welcome, unobstructed by the castle walls, letting Ysilla feel the sheer force from the storm rolling in. Clouds a shade lighter than the night sky are fat and full of coming rain, thunder somewhere far off climbing in sound as the waves crash fiercely along the cliff’s steep incline. 

A contraction, stronger than any before it, bowls Ysilla over, a shocked scream wrangling itself free from her chest. Her nails sink into the sand, trying to cling to something, anything for dear life as agony reduces her to near madness. Fuck, it’s getting worse but there’s no pressure, no need to push that she’s been warned about. Ysilla snakes her hand between her legs, down on all fours in the sand and she tries to feel for a brush of hair, a bulging head but as she retracts her fingers, the moon casts the blood dribbling from them an inky mess. Nausea swims up her throat, and Ysilla moans as she pulls herself to her feet. Her arms wrap about her middle, drumming up a ballad with sand-laden fingers that she’s sang to her belly her whole pregnancy. 

She’s gotten her air, breathed in the freshness but Ysilla’s head spins faster than it did when she was in the castle. Her hopes are dwindling, fear tickling at her until Ysilla’s teeth chatter with its song as twinges of pain take root everywhere. 

What is she doing out here? She has to go back to the castle, she has to speak with Aemond. 

A deep rumble pulses through the air, a sound she had dismissed as the ocean breaks through her consciousness and Ysilla squints into the night. Her breath stutters- she thought he had left her on the other side of the island. 

Vhagar sleeps restlessly, growls and groans blending with her snores, curled in on herself with her tail slapping the sand with a loud boom whenever her dragon dreams grew too exciting. Ysilla’s feet have brought her straight here. This is her final resting point.

A sign. An omen. A miracle. 

Ysilla can’t go back. She knows she won’t make it. She’ll die in the hidden passage or on the start of the beach. But this… this is poetically fitting. What could be more Targaryen, then by departing by way of flame? 

“Vhagar.” Ysilla's voice is scratchy, barely audible over the sounds of the sea- not nearly loud enough to wake a sleeping dragon. 

“Vhagar!” She tries again, the dragon releasing an even louder snore, mocking the Princess’ measly attempt. A vice grip on her belly squeezes and Ysilla winds her eyes shut, screaming as loud as she can. “VHAGAR!”

A mammoth head raises dreadfully slow, coming to find the tiny form of Ysilla, collapsed on the dunes, shoulders shaking with her torment. 

“Vhagar…” Ysilla’s head meets the sand, bowing in her plea to the creatures of her blood. “Kostilus. Dracarys.” 

She begs her husband’s dragon, voice cracking like a log in the hearth. Her heart is so heavy she can feel it choke her throat- this isn’t what she wants. 

She wants life, long warm days spent in the Godswood, sunny trips on the sea, cold days bundled in the library. She wants Aemond to take their daughter on a ride with Vhagar, scaring Ysilla half to death. She wants to braid her babe’s hair with honeysuckle and sing songs of warrior women and their doting knights. She wants to see her brothers and sister grow tall and mighty, to see her mother and father rule fairly over their people and age to gray. She wants her husband, her Aemond, nights and days and months and years spent together, living as one and never parting, tangled in sheets and bored in court and it all inbetween. Ysilla wants it all so badly she can’t stand it. 

But that is not her fate.

Vhagar groans, the sound ancient and bone chilling. Her head raises, her dark green scales blending into the sky until two giant orbs of flaming yellow alight where her eyes are. They stare at each other, dragon to dragon, some unspoken thing spilling onto the sand between them. 

A delicate touch ghosts over her shoulder, first the left then the right. A tickle at first, that builds to a solid press after a few moments. Ysilla breathes out, the pain in her belly easing just so. Aemma’s hand, Laena’s hand, one on either side of her, a comforting weight that settles the race of her pulse and the barrage of her thoughts. 

Vhagar’s roar drums through the air, the stench of dragon breath and smoke wafting into Ysilla’s face. Her gaping maw stretches to its full capacity, rows and rows of jagged teeth putting the Iron Throne to shame. Ysilla sees an orange light bloom in the back of her mouth, like the sun peeking its head over the horizon to signal a new day. It feels like an ending, a final burst of light to guide the way from this life to the next. 

Ysilla closes her eyes. She sends a prayer to whoever may be listening that it will only feel like the burn from the sun after a day spent on the water, and that she will at last be able to hold her girl in her arms. 

She can’t wait to meet her.

Ysilla opens her arms wide, pain leaching from her breaking body as she gives herself over to the freeing flame. 

“NO!” 

The scorch of Vhagar’s fire whooshes passed her, singeing the ends of her shift. 

Twin steel bars in the form of Aemond’s arms are locked under her breasts and above her belly, unrelenting even as Ysilla wrenches her nails into his skin, blood bursting hot underneath her fingertips. He’s dragging her back from Vhagar’s massive form, her toes kicking up wet sand wildly as she flails in his hold. 

“No, no, no! Ilībōños! Release me! Let me do this!” Ysilla’s own voice is foreign to her ears; a desperate wail, broken and pleading, snot thick in her nose and a ball in her throat.

Aemond shouts at Vhagar to stay put, the answering grumble from the winged beast shaking the sands. Aemond is saying something against her ear but she can’t make it out over the plummeting of her thundering heart. Panic rises in place of the acceptance of her demise. 

“I won’t let you cut me open and drag her from my womb! I won’t die in that room, please, please, please just let me go!” Ysilla’s legs give out underneath her, Aemond’s arms sliding from her and her knees burrow into the beach. 

Ripping cries tear from her throat, her hands cradling her belly, stroking the bump, attempting even in her sorrow to blanket her babe in her love. She can still feel blood trickling down her thighs, bolts of tension lighting up her abdomen. Ysilla is so tired of the pain, exhaustion long settled into her muscles from the days rolling into one another. 

She feels someone crash to the sands beside her, a forehead bumping at her temple. Orange oil and leather drifts to her nose, the scent that she would catch first upon awakening and last upon falling asleep, one that brought her comfort and peace now makes her recoil, fear darkening her heart. 

“Ysilla, my love, my wife, please.” The defeated tone of Aemond’s voice makes her cry harder- she’s never heard him sound like this before. And the idea that he’s defeated, because he knows what he has to do, makes Ysilla scramble away from him. Her feet slip underneath her, and she turns over, nails clawing into the thick sand as she tries to right herself. 

Polished silver boots halt her escape, white gloved hands grip around her elbows and haul her to her feet. Ysilla gasps for breath, shaking herself free of Ser Criston’s hold. She stumbles back, arms cradling her belly defensively, the two men illuminated under the heavy moon. Aemond is still crumpled along the sand, waves coming up to lap at his boots. Cole has one palm raised to her, worry an uncharacteristic look haunting his face.

“Princess, calm down, please.” His other hand rests on the hilt of his longsword and Ysilla wonders what he would do if she were to run. Would he strike her down? Draw blade and cleave it through her leg? Her neck? They were already going to gore her like a trapped bore, did it truly matter if they pulled her babe from her after she was already dead? 

They would have to work fast but Ysilla has seen both of these men train; savage and bestial, they could slice clean through her in a blink. The rising tide could take her body into its caress within the hour, a true Velaryon burial for an untrue child of the name. If not flames, then by water. Ysilla could make final peace with that. 

“Do it here then, Cole.” Ysilla feels delirious from the agony and the terror, pleas falling from her lips without thought. “Slit my throat and take her after I am gone, just don’t do it while I’m awake. I am so tired of the pain. Be merciful please, just… just let me rest.” 

A green parlor tinges Ser Criston’s face, his dark eyes dropping from her unhinged stare and finding comfort in the grains of sand. Aemond staggers to his feet, stumbling closer to Ysilla. She fights the urge to flee- she has no more energy to run. She has accepted her fate. 

“Ysilla, please stop.” The pain lacing Aemond’s voice feels like a knife in the gut. Or maybe that’s another labor pain. 

“I would never, ever do that to you. I would sooner take blade to my only fucking eye than let anyone touch you.” Ysilla thinks she can see tears swimming in his silver orb but she can’t be sure in the dimness of dusk. 

He reaches her, a cautious hand finding the one gripping her belly tightly. Ysilla remembers just the other morning, the two of them lying in bed, Aemond’s fingers tracing drawings into the taut skin. This man is her husband. He loves her so much she feels like she could drown in it, feels all consumed by it. Aemond would never hurt her. 

Ysilla’s face breaks, swaying forward into his arms. He wraps them so tightly around her that it feels like he’s trying to force all of her fractured pieces back together. 

“She will not come, my love.” Ysilla sobs against his shoulder. 

Aemond shakes his head, hands stroking her back, weaving through her undone braid, feeling the kick of their babe against his stomach. She’s still here, still violently alive against him. He was so close to losing her. The heat of Vhagar’s breath had never felt so deadly as before this night. Terror he’s never known sinks icy claws into his heart and makes a home there.

“She will, she will, she just needs more time.” Aemond peels away strands of her hair sticking wetly to her face, her lids swollen and nose running. Perspiration soaks her brow and her hairline, the gauzy cream of her shift nearly transparent with blood and sea water. 

“A bit morbid, don’t you think, wife?” Aemond mused into her ear, Ysilla pausing in her humming to laugh at the uneasiness in her husband’s words. 

“Jenny of the Oldstones is as haunting as it is beautiful, husband. Our little sprog kicks up a storm whenever she hears it.” 

She turned in his arms, pecking his cheek and easing his worry. 

“Plus, her truly terrible father would slay any ghoul or goblin that would dare cast a shadow of fright on her in these Seven Kingdoms.” 

Aemond rumbles an agreement, lips finding his favorite spot at the curve of her neck and shoulder, the one that makes Ysilla shake so lusciously in his arms. 

“I would take on the Gods themselves for either of my girls.” 

Aemond realizes that he would be Jenny of the Oldstones, waiting for his spirit wife to find him in the night and twirl her about the stones. Would there be a babe in her belly still? Or would their child be wrapped in a crimson shroud, doomed for all of eternity to haunt the castle halls? 

It’s a nightmarish thought that pairs well with this nightmarish night. The helplessness Aemond feels is foreign and unwelcome. With a blade in his hand, the knowledge in his mind, and his dragon beneath him, Aemond has never felt lacking. Even with one less eye, he excelled past his brother, his nephews, his own teachers. He grew into a force to be reckoned with. 

But now, faced with something only the Seven can control, he’s once again a little boy with a pig with paper wings, trailing after his niece with lilac eyes and hair the color of Balerion. 

“Come now, ñuha vys, we have to go back.”

Ysilla whimpers, head shaking before Aemond’s voice can settle her. 

“You don’t have to return to your room. I’ll nail the door shut if you wish. But I have to get you back inside, Silla. We need to get her out- together.” Aemond cradles her face in his hands, thumbs mirrored on the edge of her temples. He is so gentle with her, always. 

Together, together, together. He won’t leave her, he won’t hurt her. 

Ysilla breathes, hanging on to her sanity by the skin of her teeth. And finally, she nods. 

Aemond scoops her up as if she weighs nothing and if it were any other time, Ysilla would blush and giggle and swoon like a young girl in love. But right now, she’s just thankful for the assistance. Her legs feel as if they’re made of sodden hay. Aemond starts the long trek back up the beach, Cole hot on his heels as they head for the winding cobblestone path leading to the castle. 

Ysilla gazes up at the sky, the clinking of Cole’s armor hurried behind them, Aemond’s breaths quick and short. She forms out the stories of the stars, remembering Harwin’s favorites that he would whisper to her as she was slung about his shoulders. Weightless and floating, Ysilla thinks if she were to reach out a hand, she could pull the glowing patterns from their aerial home and hold them in her grasp. She wonders if she’ll see Ser Harwin again, much sooner than she ever meant to.  

Unfamiliar pressure between her legs causes her back to bow, a yelp startling herself and Aemond as his muscles jump around her. 

“Aemond, fuck! What was that?” Ysilla stirs, wiggling in his arms, thighs tightening around nothing… something? 

“Hold on, love, we’ll be there soon.”

Ysilla thinks someone else might be too. Too soon, not soon enough before they’re back in the castle. Another press, this one insistent, somewhere from deep in her that feels like a knock. Ysilla curses her luck.

“No, no, no, shit, she’s coming now!” Ysilla kicks her legs wildly, squirming in Aemond’s arms, pounding on his back to let her down.

“Stop it, Ysilla, we’re almost there!” Aemond fights her, trying to adjust his arms around her twisting body but relenting at last when a solid punch lands against his collarbone. He winces, setting her on her feet. Ysilla bends in half, breathing harshly through her mouth and out her nose, bunching up her ruined dress to crowd along her hips. Her hand darts between her legs, head snapping up to cast a horrified look at her husband and his accompanying knight. 

“I can feel her head!” 

Twin looks, complete with the same bug eyed expression find their way onto her companions’ faces. Cole appears as if a stiff breeze could knock him over. Ysilla is not in the fucking mood. 

“Seven fucking Hells, you men will march off to war without a second thought but turn upside down at child birth. Get a godforsaken grip and help me!” Ysilla snarls, another strike of pain threatening to send her over the edge. She curses, hands braced on her knees as she battles the instinct to push. 

Cool hands find her elbows, a familiar leather-covered chest meeting her back as Aemond braces behind her. 

“I got you, come on. Lean back love.” Aemond’s breath is hot against the nape of her neck and Ysilla drops her head against his shoulder. Her eyes are so heavy, she feels like she could sleep for a thousand years. But a brash kick in her belly stirs her, and groaning, she lets Aemond take on her weight and lower them to the walkway. The stones are chilly through her shift but Ysilla can barely feel anything but the ripping pain coming from her lower body. The pressure is a new feeling and Ysilla won’t even let herself feel the bloom of hope at the thought of this being over. Of her child finally making contact with this world. 

They’re not in the clear yet. 

“Cole! You need to help me.” Aemond barks at the knight, breaking him from his still stature. Cole crashes to his knees, spreading Ysilla’s legs open, eyes going big in the dim moonlight.

“I can see a head!”

Ysilla wants to laugh. Ysilla wants to cry.

“She was waiting for you, my love.” Ysilla gasps into Aemond’s ear and he makes a wounded sound he smothers into her hair, his hands finding the dip behind her knees and pulling her in half. 

“Push, Ysilla, come on strong girl, you can do this.”

I can’t, I can’t! Ysilla wants to argue but she must. So she does. She pushes and strains and bears down until her head feels like it might burst. She relaxes, breathes, hanging on Criston’s direction, awaiting Aemond’s guidance. Then she does it again, and again, screaming to the heavens, cursing the Gods, begging her ancestors, for this pain to end. For her daughter to be alive. For herself to survive. 

And then finally, finally, when Ysilla thinks it will never cease, the crushing pressure eases and she can breathe with the lightness of a feather. She collapses back against Aemond’s unwavering chest, exhaustion casting its spell over her and threatening to send her down into a pool of comforting nothingness.

A cry, so clear and so tiny, similar to birdsong, breaks the trance and Ysilla’s eyes shoot open in a blink. 

There she is. Cole’s hands look gargantuan in comparison to her daughter, her tiny form wiggling in his palms. Ysilla sees little feet stretch in the air, kicking at the cool breeze and miniscule fists shake with rage. She wants to look at Aemond, see if their expressions match- the awe slackened mouth, the eyes swimming with tears. But Ysilla can’t break away from her baby girl.

“Criston.” The knight is frozen, gloved thumb caught in her babe’s grip, not even close to closing around the tip of his finger. He blinks at her. Ysilla doesn’t quite know what to call the expression that graces his face. She can’t dwell on that right now. 

“Criston.” He spares a look behind him, promptly ripping his cloak off with one vigorous pull, balling the billowing fabric up into a swaddle. He scoots closer to Ysilla, Aemond pushing her forward, hands tight and digging into her hips. Ysilla finds enough strength to cradle her girl in her arms. So tiny and yet so heavy- so alive. Ysilla is dizzy with it, the sudden shift from despair to elation, a drug all of its own.

Gods she’s beautiful. A sprinkling of blood speckles her skin, the dots black in the night but her eyes glow brighter than the stars. Little constellations dance in her gaze, and her form turns watery as tears of joy blur Ysilla’s eyes. She made it, they both made it. 

“Hello Daenerys. Welcome to the world.”

.

.

.

“I don’t quite understand how you lose an entire person.”

A comfort blankets Ysilla at the sound of her mother’s disbelieving voice. Ysilla can’t recall catching sight of either Syrax or Caraxes, however, she has been quite busy this last hour. Nearly greeting death face-to-face and birthing her daughter takes up a lot of one’s time.

Aemond rounds the corner to the hall leading to her childhood room, Ysilla swept up in his arms once again. 

Her mother and father are staring down the servants of Dragonstone with murder in their eyes and Ysilla feels a touch of relief that she’s arrived before anyone’s blood could be spilt. Rhaena is the one to catch sight of them first, a ragged gasp stunting in volume behind her smothered palm. The others spin at the sound, paling at the sight the trio must make. 

“Sorry muña, I just needed some fresh air.” Ysilla tries for a grin but it comes out more as a mangled movement of her mouth. Her mother’s horrified, wide eyed expression lets Ysilla know her joke didn’t land quite as well as she’d hoped. 

Daemon yells at the maesters and maids, springing them into action, the room suddenly a twister of bodies. The maesters rush to Ysilla, Aemond’s arms tightening around his wife, growling at the hands that start to poke and prod at her. He nearly bites a chunk out of the man who attempts to ease her out of his hold. They choose to usher him towards the bed after that. 

Rhaenyra flutters to her daughter’s side, all wet eyes and frenzied hands, switching between speaking to Ysilla in Valyrian honeyed words to ordering about the maesters in the common tongue. 

Daemon eyes Cole, stuck in the doorway like a stone statue. The knight is ignorant to the rest of the room, eyes fixated on the tiny squirming thing held in his arms. He’s shifting awkwardly, swaying in place and rocking from side to side, the bundled white cloak shielding her from her family. The Rogue Prince crosses the room in an instant, eyeing the Dornishman with unbridled disdain. Give me a fight. I dare you. I’ll give my grandbabe your head as a name day present, Ser Crispin.

“My grandchild, if you would, Cole.” Daemon’s voice seems to spook the knight, his arms tightening around the Princess until he realizes who's speaking to him. Cole stares at him and then back down at the babe, before gently lowering the swaddled sleeping girl into Daemon’s arms. Daemon quirks a brow at the lack of a fight, but aims his focus instead to his first grandbabe. He finds his wife’s side by Ysilla’s bed.

Rhaenyra cannot disguise the wobble in her lip as anything other than staggering, paralyzing love. Her very first grandchild from her very first babe. She is so blessed in this life, it rattles her to her bones at times. 

“Hello, my sweet.” The Queen paints the babe’s face with her teardrops. She leans into Daemon’s side, weak with bliss.

“What is their name, beloved?” Rhaenyra looks down upon her daughter, pride evident in the spread of her smile. Ysilla is sweaty and sandy, bedraggled and bloody, but her gazing eyes burn with the force of a thousand suns. A mother, blooming like a flower in the coming of her daughter. 

“Her name is Daenerys.” Rhaenyra coos in admiration and Daemon nods, grinning with approval.  

Ysilla looks at them all surrounding her, her family, with even more scattered throughout the realm and finds herself brimming with happiness. To think, she had nearly made final goodbyes with all of this… grief threatens to make her weep.

Ysilla locks stares with her mother, and the fire there stirs something in Rhaenyra, eyes alighting with a question. 

“Go, clean her up and bring her back to me. Let me collect myself and ready her bed. Rhaena,” the younger girl wavers before starting forward, coming to her cousin’s feet at once. Ysilla bores her eyes into her. 

“Downstairs in the Great Hall, by the hearth, I need you to bring up something for me. It’s right in front of the mouth of the fire- you can't miss it. Bring it to my mother once you have it and don’t spare a single second. She’ll know what to do from there. Listen to me Rhaena, this is very important. I would do it myself if I could but there’s no one else I trust to be fast but you. Will you do this for me, cousin? Please?” Ysilla teeters, shrinking back along the headboard as the adrenaline starts to wear off and the weariness starts to sink into her muscles.

 

Rhaena knows, inexplicably, that when the day comes, Ysilla will make a fine Queen. Even now, she fights the urge to bow before her request. 

“I will make you proud, Ysilla. Leave it to me.” Rhaena speaks with a quivering voice, going to Rhaenyra’s side as the two ladies make to depart from the room.

“Rhaenyra.” The Queen can’t recall a time her little brother has ever spoken to her so directly. Civilities, greetings, yes but he- just like the rest of his siblings- have been absent from her life for years. She pauses, awaiting him to continue. Aemond stares hard at her, before dropping to the babe cradled in her arms. 

“Stay with her. Don’t leave her side.” Rhaenyra thinks Aemond is trying to sound strong but the residual terror in his face takes away all power. He looks so young, every bit a boy and not quite yet a man. But her grandchild stirs in her arms and Rhaenyra nods at the new father’s demand. 

The duo starts down the hall, the screams of the storm raging somewhere beyond the walls, and Rhaenyra bounces Daenerys as the sounds aim to frighten her.

“Go, Rhaena.” The girl is off in a flash, dashing around the bend in the wall and down the stairs two at a time. Rhaenyra walks a bit further, coming to her old chambers and letting herself in. Her chests have been tossed haphazardly about, Daemon’s impatience once they had landed on Dragonstone manifesting in him tossing their belongings off of their dragons in quick haste to escape the whipping winds. It was just the two of them; she had opted to leave the Queensguard behind in King's Landing, much to the opposing vehemence of Rhaenys. Her Hand did not agree with her decision to come without protection, but once the raven had arrived announcing the breaking of Ysilla’s water, it would take the entire Seven and then some to keep her from her daughter.

She lays Daenerys, still wrapped in the silver surcoat, in the center of her bed, tucking her in tight before turning to her cold hearth. A chill seeps in from the chimney, shivers rolling through her as she takes flint in hand and works at starting a fire to warm her and her granddaughter. 

A timid knock at the door doesn’t distract from her task, keeping at the metal and stone until orange embers shoot from the collision. Another knock, maybe two, come a few minutes apart. Rhaenyra scoffs, tossing several pieces of wood onto the sparks before starting towards the door, wiping off her hands on her skirts before pulling it open. 

“Rhaena, just come in darl-” 

Criston stands in the doorway, shoulders hunched and wisps of black hair falling into his eyes. Rhaenyra blinks, half expecting him to vanish into the night like a conjured vision. 

The man looks ready to fall over, sea spray and sweat tacky on his forehead, Ysilla’s blood staining his gloves. They make a ghastly sight, even in the low light of the hall. Rhaenyra will make sure they’re torched before the light of day can touch them. His voice is a trembling imitation of his usual utterance. 

“You and I need to talk.” 

.

.

.

The maesters buzz around her like bumblebees in springtime, preparing her milk of the poppy, wiping away at the blood still trickling a thin stream from her nether regions, dodging Aemond’s fierce gaze anytime Ysilla dares to let a whimper slip out. 

He hasn’t looked at her since they returned to the castle. Ysilla has shot him a glance or two, the heaviness of what she had nearly done starting to weigh itself in the air between them. She has to speak with him, has to plead her plight and make him see what she had seen. 

“Leave us, please.” Her voice is soft and Ysilla doesn’t think the men would’ve heard her if they weren’t already hanging on every breath the two royals released. One of the maesters- Ysilla has no energy to remember his name- casts her a doubtful look, worry in the many wrinkles around his eyes. 

“Princess, I don’t think that wise. We need to examine you and prepare your healing.”

“Will I perish in the next ten minutes?” Ysilla raises a brow, sarcasm heavy in her tone. Aemond inhales sharply, fists tightening in the bed sheets. Ysilla winces, regret taking hold of her and she aims it in the look she sends his way but it is lost to him as he still won’t look at her.

“Just a few minutes alone; you may return shortly. That is an order.” Ysilla commands without breaking gaze from her husband. He’s pale, more gray than white. His lips are bitten and bloody and the bones in his fists threaten to split open the skin of his knuckles. 

The maesters and maids trickle out of the room, taking their time, edging about until a final look from Ysilla sends them behind the door. Daemon had drifted out shortly after her mother departed with Daenerys and Rhaena, dropping a kiss to her forehead with a promise to return later. Ysilla lets a minute tick by, she counts off the seconds in her head before releasing a breath shakier than she meant to. 

“Aemond, can you please loo-”

Aemond’s sudden grip on her jaw is pinching and it hurts but he doesn’t let up, not even at Ysilla’s insistent hand pulling at his wrist. His breathing is ragged, mouth snarled and mean.

“How dare you.” Venomous are his words and the dryness of her eyes is suddenly gone, replaced by a flood of wetness. 

“Do you think there is anywhere you could go that I would not follow? Do you think, if Vhagar would have been successful, or if I had been a second too late, that I would not have chased you into the afterlife? That The Stranger himself could keep you from me?” There’s no sadness in his eye, not even a fleck of it. Just cold, unflinching anger. 

“I was scared, Aemond. I thought, I thought she… I didn’t know if you would…” Ysilla doesn’t know what to say. The betrayal in her husband’s face is more agonizing than her daughter’s coming. Ysilla wants to look away from him but she doesn’t. She’ll force herself to bear this, too. She deserves it. 

“Scared of me, you mean.” It isn’t a question. Ysilla just keeps looking at him, a tear slipping down her cheek and mingling with the drying sweat on her neck. 

“Scared of everything.” She can’t bring herself to speak above a whisper, emotion thickening her throat. “Scared of losing her, of losing myself. Fucking petrified at being held down and ripped apart, and looking into your face while it’s being done.” The tears are too much to be held back as they race each other down her face. The headache behind her eyes is trying to split her skull, Ysilla is sure of it. 

Aemond stares back at her, emotions flickering like a flame in his silver depths. Ysilla feels as if she’s been flayed with a dull blade. Her emotions are fried and her energy has abandoned her, but still, she almost wants a fight. At least that would make her forget the horror of her actions. She’d feel a rush of something other than self loathing. If Aemond hates her instead, maybe it’ll feel better. 

Aemond releases her face, heat flaring where the worst of the pressure had been. “I wouldn’t have. Agreed to it. The fact that I have to make that clear to you tells me I’ve failed you somehow.” 

Ysilla swallows down a sob. She just wants him to hold her, to watch over her while she sleeps so she can finally get one minute of rest before they can properly meet their daughter. 

Their daughter. Ysilla wants her with her. Her breasts are heavy with milk, her womb feels like it's been turned inside out. Something inside her howls for her child, a vicious instinct to prowl room to room until she finds her little one and keeps her by her side forever. But she can’t fucking move, the poppy potion turning her legs to lead and causing her spine to sink into the bed. 

“You should’ve called for me. You should have… trusted me enough to do what was best for you and our daughter. All these months spent waiting for her to come, thinking of the day when she would finally arrive and this is what comes of it.” Aemond jumps to his feet, shaky hands raking through his hair, tugging painfully at the knots that formed in the blowing night air. Ysilla can feel him drifting away, leaving her afloat as he heads in the other direction. Her panic is muddled and fuzzy, the effects of the poppy starting to cloud her mind. She reaches for him, hand outstretched in an offering of apology. Ysilla knows it isn’t enough but it is all she possesses. 

“Aemond, please.”

The door doesn’t slam behind her husband but it might as well have. 

Ysilla bursts like a dam, sobbing as she circles her arms around her vacant belly, yearning for a weight she didn’t expect to miss so soon. She cries as her handmaidens enter on silent feet, shifting her around with gentle hands as they sponge her clean and change the bedsheets. She cries as one of the maesters checks her over, his soft whispers of her and her babe’s health doing nothing to soothe her aching heart. 

Ysilla cries until her eyes run dry and only then, when she’s so alone in her bed that she feels as if she’s the only star in a barren sky, does she let her eyes slip close and drift down into blissful blackness. 

.

.

.

Daemon watches his nephew from where he’s perched against the table. The younger man is a mess- hair matted from ocean air, sand crusted on his boots, a shock of blood smeared across his cheek. He’s a spitting image of Daemon ten years ago. A terrifying memory he’s forced to relive through the younger man’s torment.

They’ve found solace in the Chamber of the Painted Table. He’s pacing- no, stalking- wildly through the room, close to bouncing off the walls with furious energy. Aemond’s hand keeps darting to the hilt of the blade at his belt, then back to yanking at his collar and if he’s not careful, he might unwittingly draw the blade and pierce his throat in his mania. 

Daemon feels sympathy wash through him, an emotion he does not welcome. There is no love lost between him and his brother’s son; Daemon would have rather seen his stepdaughter marry a Lannister than marry the One-Eyed Prince… well, perhaps not a Lannister but Aemond was lowest on the list of potential good-sons and he was certainly not welcomed into his and Rhaenyra’s brood with open arms. But Dameon knew when the trio entered Ysilla’s room that something must’ve happened out on the dunes. Both men’s faces were haggard, more so than the girl who just birthed a child, and the burnt ends of Ysilla’s dress told a story that Daemon didn’t need to imagine. He had already lived through it. 

Lived, something Ysilla managed to do where Laena had done the opposite.

“You need to pull yourself together, boy. You have a wife and daughter waiting on you, they need you by their sides.” 

If looks could kill, Daemon would be ash in the wind. 

“Do you know what happened out there?” Aemond asks, a storm rivaling the one outside brewing in his voice and in his lone eye. 

Daemon grunts. “I have a good idea.” 

Aemond’s incredulous look is paired by a disbelieving laugh. “And what? I am just supposed to move past the fact that she almost killed herself, and our child?” 

“But she didn’t.” 

“But she would have!” Aemond snarls, eye wild and lit with anguish, with betrayal. 

“Laena!” Daemon cursed, trudging through the thick sand, searching for a white flame of hair in the darkness, the moon hidden behind the clouds. 

“She was scared.” Daemon states, too simply for Aemond’s liking as he scoffs at the remark. 

A figure blinks into his line of sight from the horizon, a shape of a person, the familiar frame of his wife coming more and more defined as Daemon draws closer. What in the Seven Hells is she doing?

“That is no excuse.” Aemond spits out a glob of saliva, missing the golden spittoon in the corner by inches. 

A searing river of fire scorched his eyes, not prepared for the glow to set ablaze the obscure night sky. 

“She is your wife, through all of her mother and I’s deterrence, all of our opposition, Ysilla has stuck herself in the mud and refused to budge when it comes to the matter of you. If you judge her for this one act of weakness, if you wash your hands of her because she was frightened of something happening, mind you, something that has already taken one of the women in her bloodline out of this world and… would have taken another.” Daemon swallows, wishing to be anywhere but in this room with this boy who, ironically, rides the same dragon as his late wife. It’s all too much.

“Then do it and be done with it. Release her now- her mother and I will care for her and her child, don’t fret. But if you are to be cold to her and never let her forget this night, be a man and spare her the suffering.”

Daemon stared at the pyre Laena had made for herself, the fetor of burning meat rolling his stomach, bile coating his teeth as his vomit splashed against the sand. He stared and stared, watching as Vhagar tilted her head side to side, snuffing at where her rider had once been, a broken whine braying from her throat. 

Aemond pulled back his thin lips, teeth glistening and tongue lashed at the ready, aching for a duel that would unleash every bit of his fury but Daemon simply glides past him, the Rogue Prince spent for the day, echoes of his daughters’ wails of heartbreak splitting through his memories. 

“I almost lost her, and there’s nothing I could’ve done to get her back.”

Aemond sounds so much like Viserys after Aemma, that Daemon has to battle the instinct to turn and bump foreheads with the Targaryen son. There shouldn't be so much pain on the day of his granddaughter’s birth. Fire and blood, even on the most joyous of days.

“But yet, you still have her. You still have them both. Center on that and hold that in your heart, and forgive her. It is the only way through.”

.

.

.

Ysilla’s face is serene and without the lines of worry for the first time in days. The sheets and her shift are clean, the smell of blood, sweat, and tears long gone, replaced by the medicinal sterileness of wormwood and poppy. A handmaiden readies a cradle at the foot of the bed, pulling out vermillion cloths along with pear-shaded linens from the trunks gifted by both grandmothers. Aemond sends her away with a tilt of his head, the young ginger-haired girl curtseying before bustling out.  

Aemond stares at her, his niece, his wife. He ghosts his palm over her hair, hesitant to even touch her, unwilling to rouse her from her rest. Alas, as if his mere presence in the room is enough to alert her, Ysilla sighs, angling up into his touch. 

“Stay with me.” Aemond does not know if Ysilla is even awake, for her eyes are still closed and her mouth barely shifts, but still, her hand finds his, pulling his knuckles to her lips so she can gift him a kiss. 

He’s still so angry, still so fucking scared, as if he’ll blink and he’ll be back down on that beach, staring at a pile of smoldering bones where Ysilla once stood. Mayhaps he was too late and all of this has just been a dream- wishful thinking of what could’ve been if he had run faster at the first sound of her terrible shriek breaking the repetitive cacophony of the ocean. 

She’s still here and he is still here, and that has to count for something. He finds a seat in a stool by her bedside, bringing her lax hand to his own lips and pressing his mouth to her palm. His eye is heavy with unshed tears and unshakeable anxiety. He breathes in her scent and grieves the loss of her in another life.

“Always.” 

.

.

.

In her cradle, sleeping soundly with her parents mere steps away, the Princess Daenerys is wrapped in a crimson blanket with delicate, seven-pointed stars embroidered in black thread. By her feet, tucked tightly by her warmth, is the egg Rhaena was sent to retrieve from the fireplace in the Great Hall. Ysilla’s dragon egg, the one she’s had since she was a babe herself, shares her firstborn’s bed now. 

A shock of white hair is dusted sparsely over her head, feathered pale lashes brushing bulbous buff-colored cheeks. Firstborn to the future Queen and King Consort, an ascension already written in her name, the little dove has a prosperous future laid miles and miles ahead of her. With her mother and father by her side, Daenerys will grow loved and cherished by all who know her. 

And when that navy emerald egg nestled by her covered toes begins to stir, splintering cracks forcing the hard shell to crumble away, a hatchling with a forked tongue, amber eyes, and scales the color of House Hightower peeks a little snout out into the world, the Targaryens welcome not one, but two dragons into their family. 

.

.

.

muña 

mother

Zaldrītsos

Little dragon

Kostilus. Dracarys.

Please. Fire.

Ilībōños

Bastard

ñuha vys

my world

.

.

.

*lights a match* alright, who's not dead, sound off.

if anyone would like to be tagged when i update, just lemme know!

[himemeiya]

Stumbled upon your blog yesterday and realised you were the one behind the Utena Bet On it AMV, plus all the other videos on that channel! I had a friend who had already watched RGU reccomend the show to me and when I finished the finale she sent me a bunch of videos, essays, meta, memes she really liked about Utena. Out of the videos your vine videos, your bet on it amv and your tiktok sounds utena videos all featured as Things U Gotta Watch. Top Tier. And they are! I cannot stress how good they are. I've got a friend I'm trying to get to watch utena and I'm already prepared to send your whole channel her way.

Like, your Bet On It amv is just crazy - to the point I associate the whole song with utena instead of high school musical. High School Musical Who? I have driven home from work with the song blasting and in my head I'm thinking of the corrosponding imagery in my head. listened to the song a LOT just thinking of the amv. 'blame the world but never blame you' and it focusing on anthy. the start 'everybodys tryna get in my head' with everyone who manipluates utena? the bridge speeding up through all their utena/anthys relationship until utena gets up again at the climax of the song? This video is a masterpiece.

The vines and the tiktok sounds are soooo spot on and hilarious. every onee. and seeing an upbeat version of 'empty chairs at empty tables' to the end of utena emotionally altered something in me oh my lordie. I got introduced to the song The Draw from your other amv, which is SO PERFECT for the black rose arc?

And as a Lizzy McApline fan the ceilings youtube short took me OUT! the way the details about the car, the lines about 'you dont exist' being applied to utena's prince/akio, 'story ive seen before' being the prince/princess/witch ohturi mythology and ending with anthy at the end....... !!!!

All this to say I love all your utena edits on youtube and will be watching them many times over, as well as showing them to other people. Great work. ╰⁠(⁠*⁠´⁠︶⁠`⁠*⁠)⁠╯

🥺 This message is so damn nice and I have reread it multiple times cause oh my god your appreciation of my videos just makes me so happy and I'm so glad you watched and enjoyed them!! 😭 The support I've gotten from the fandom is very heartwarming, I just love it!!!

Yes hehe I'm the one behind all those videos! The Bet On It video specifically was one that lived in my head for YEARS until I finally sat down and decided to make it everyone else's problem too 😂 I would just listen to the song on repeat while geting overly emotional imagining Utena's journey and the fact I was tearing up to a Troy mf Bolton song was so unhinged 💀 yet now look at me, I have spread my vision like a plague amongst the fandom and everyone else gets to be just as unhinged over the golf course disney movie meme song as I am ⛳️ I would have it no other way. My favorite comments on that video are the ones along the lines of "I clicked this thinking it was gonna be funny but now I'm crying" cause if that doesn't just sum up the experience of Revolutionary Girl Utena itself then idk what does 😂

RGU's tonal conflict is one of my favorite things so choosing goofy audios for the end of the show was such a treat lmfao. And ugh The Draw is just such a good and ominous song. I rlly love how the Black Rose arc is all about radicalizing character's emotions to the point where they'll do anything to get what they think will fix their lives. Reverse therapy with Mikage is a hell of a drug. 🦋☞

I rlly feel like Ceilings captures that self-sacrificial "first love" feeling so many girls go through (especially with men) where they're uncomfortable and can't be open but ignore all those red flags until it gets to a point where things crumble and they realize the relationship never existed how they were imagining it. GAH THE FEELINGSSSS.

Sheesh thank you so much again for this message, it really brightened my week and was so touching to read. 😭💜 If I may humbly offer some video suggestions (if you haven't already watched them) I really love the For Your Love amv by Mari F and the Utena in 7 Minutes amv by Akilice. The first rlly captures that melancholic yet hopeful tone of Utena & Anthy and the latter has the audacity to make me emotional over a goddamn acapella Hamilton mashup of all things 💀 (the It's Quiet Uptown part literally destroys me every time.....). Digi Story has an Utena Deep Dive Analysis that I really enjoy, he talks about how RGU is "prismatic" in it's storytelling where there's no singular interpretation because there's just so much to look at and analyze. And finally, the Therefore You and Me animatic by edsartfactory literally changed my life it's ridiculously good!!

AHH thanks once again and I hope you have a great weekend!! 💞

[asteria-edalyn]

the owl house for the future spoilers

AAAHHHH I HAVE SO MANY FEELINGSSSS

lol happy chinese new year new owl house episode dropped!!

loove eda and lilith’s new hair!! lilith looks so cute with that haircut omg!!

BELOS YOU FUCKING BASTARD NO NOT RAINE NO WHY WOULD YOU USE RAINE LEAVE THEM ALONE

THAT FUCKING BAIT AND SWITCH WITH ODALIA THO OMG

hunter you angsty boi bless u also lmao THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP boi went into SUPER MODE with Flapjack’s help (we miss him dearly)

one of the palisman guesses was definitely shapeshifter but SNAKEshifter tho!!

also not dana calling us out with all our guesses ahahahaha

everyone just crying just so many feels :”“““(

boscha and kiki were so fucking annoying tho like ugh

i wonder what the change in logo at the start of the ep means like the half and half owl face? i thought it was ref eda and lilith but maybe it was just ref the collector?

[littlebittyhollowbugs]

These two!!!!!!!!! I have so many feelingssss (I also have loving the baby hollow knight so much disease)

[theharrowing]

Revisit Thoughts:

i am racing against the clock to get these done while cleaning my house, doing my laundry, getting the cats situated, and getting packed, and doing fucking homework before my flight late tomorrow night haha. can i do it?!?!?! let's seee!!! (note: i did not do it lol. hello from exactly a week later!!! 🤪🤪🤪)

the worst thing that happens in this entire fic happens in this chapter, and it is a scene that i wrote back in march, which was 5 months before i actually sat down to write this chapter lol.

every time we begin a chapter with mc waking up i laugh at myself bc why do i do that so much lmao.

ACTUALLYYYYYY i think i do it because these are really sweet, domestic moments that may not happen if i start scenes in the middle of the day??????????? i'm gonna go with that.

also WOOF, THE FORESHADOWING:

"Awe, our little wolf is threatening us with murder," Namjoon teases, "as if she has it in her to kill another man."

idk if i even did that on purpose, tbh. but we can pretend that i did!!! (these domestic scenes are never part of the outline and are always written on the fly, so there is no way of knowing what the hell i was thinking at like any given point.)

messy messy feelingssss hahahaha. as someone who so easily becomes infatuated with people, i always write characters that do, as well. it is not that she is falling in love with Jungkook, but she is still very much in this honeymoon phase of wanting to explore whatever is happening, and being absolutely terrified of doing anything to upset her boyfriends. it is so very real to me haha. especially given her fear of falling in love....i think sometimes it's hard to separate the feeling of infatuation as just that because thoughts and feelings get so haywire.

the vines snaking between the ribs line was a shoutout to my fic Dollhouse, which i was just wrapping up a month or two earlier (after over a year of writing.)

The smile that graces his lips is pretty and loving, and he stares for a moment, catching his breath despite being the breathtaking one. 

yeah yeah, i'm a simp for Yoongi ok. i think this is the second time i call him breathtaking in this chapter lmaoooo.

man....................the shootout scene. i really did not write out any thoughts while i was reading it, and now i have no idea how to collect my thoughts. these scenes feel so important (minus major character injuries) because i am constantly trying to remind the audience what kind of lifestyle these characters lead.

i ran a poll 8 months ago (around the release of chapter 14 when the first big shootout/horrifying event happened that mc was in the middle of) asking what the readers thought mc's happy ending would be and out of 63 people, the results were...

31.7% voted for Yoongi and mc to get married

19% voted for MC to get a new identity and flee Korea entirely

12.7% voted for MC and Yoongi to continue a vague situationship with the others

3.2% voted for MC to get the fuck away from the mansion but stay with Yoongi long distance

3.2% voted for MC to get the fuck away from the mansion and not talk to any of them again

1.6% voted for MC to run off into Ryujin's arms

1.6% voted for other ideas left in the comments

and a whopping 27% hit "i don't know, i just want to vote" lmaooo.

i was honestly shoked by half of the voters wanting Yoongi and mc to get married (and disappointed by how many people just voted for nothing.) like??? i understand if that might be the reader's ideal ending, but i asked about mc's happy ending, and i genuinely expected more people to want her to get out of the mansion. i wonder if i ran the same poll right now if people's opinions may have changed at all. (considering they exchanged i love yous, it would probably result in about the same.)

writing out mc seeing Jimin get shot and freaking out with her gun and knife and being pulled back by Namjoon was written back in March, immediately after i wrote that first shootout scene. idk why i was so inspired to continue writing terrible stuff, but it sat in my docs waiting to be finished for 5 months. back then, she had taken the knife from Namjoon because i hadn't yet planned on JK being involved enough to gift her a pretty switchblade. and she was in boots originally, because i hadn't yet decided that this event would take place after a gala. (personally, i would wear my Docs to a gala, but i doubt Yoongi would allow mc to lmao.)

i remember the comments section of this chapter being overwhelmingly upset about Jungkook's behavior after the eye slicing incident, and being really worried for what mc is going to do/think once she realizes what she has done.

"friendly reminder: there is no major character death tag!!!" lolol no matter how many times i say it, nobody believes meeee!!!

alright. that's it for this one. it is a lot. take a nice deep breath. we only have one chapter left!!!

Collateral 19: The only lifestyle I have ever known

Your ex-boyfriend gets in over his head working for the local mafia, and Boss Min has come to collect his payment: You.

But was it simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or has he always had his sights on you?

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

🗡️ Yoongi x Female Reader x Namjoon, Jungkook x Female Reader, Jungkook x Taehyung

🗡️ word count: 18.5

🗡️ mafia au, strangers to lovers, graphic violence, major character injury, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit 21+ 

🗡️ warnings: tickling, semi-public quickie, handsy creep makes mc spiral, playful possessiveness, feelings as messy as mc's panties are after letting 3 men cum inside her, threats from a fresh face, graphic violence and gore (gun fire, mc wields a gun and a knife, man's head go boom-splat, major character injury, panic attack & blind rage, mc's body count increases from 1 to 2, yoongi gets his scar.)

🗡️ note: these warnings are serious!!! heed them!!! take them seriously!!! on a lighter note, pretend everyone's hair is correct in the mood board ok lolol also yes that is Bibi, who is called Hyungseo in this chapter.

🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin! and shout out to @colormepurplex2 for putting some blood on our kitten's face for this mood board!! i appreciate you both!!! 💜

🗡️ posted on august 2023 | read on ao3

Waking up between Yoongi and Namjoon again is akin to waking from a dream only to find yourself in an even better dream. You roll onto your side toward Yoongi, who sleeps on his back, and you nuzzle into him, wrapping every limb around his body as tightly as you can. Yoongi grumbles and tenses before he relaxes, and then he turns onto his side and tangles his limbs in response, reaching a leg and arm past you to the sweating body on the other side. 

You used to hate it when partners would try to hold you in the morning, ripping you from blissful unconsciousness into the waking world with their stinky breath and sweaty skin. With a grumble and a shove, you would always break free and twist to your side, wrapped in your blanket alone.

But Yoongi and Namjoon are your home. Their heavy bodies and warm morning breath ease you into the day, wrapping you in a loving embrace that you hate to have to break free of. 

And just when you close your eyes and sigh into the feeling of Namjoon curling against your back, outlining the shape of your body perfectly with his, a phone ringtone blares, causing the three of you to groan and sign in tandem. 

"Fuck," Yoongi mutters, leaning to kiss you on the forehead before slowly dragging his limbs away from the tangle, muttering lowly as his shrill ringtone disturbs the peace. 

"Who the fuck is already calling you?" Namjoon complains against your shoulder, wrapping around you tighter as Yoongi's warmth disappears.

Yoongi's response is incomprehensible raspy nonsense, and then the sound ends just as he mutters, "Yes?"

After a pause, Yoongi grumbles, "Seokjin-ssi, I am offended that you thought I would forget. Of course, we will be there tomorrow evening. Alright, talk to you later."

The sound of the phone clattering against Yoongi's nightstand follows a sigh, and Yoongi rolls back into his rightful place, wedging your face against nude pecs while he reaches over you to give Namjoon's lifted face a kiss. 

The two of them groan, squeezing you between firm, increasingly hot bodies, and you begin to shove at Yoongi's shoulders, fighting for your life, grumbling, "You're suffocating me, you idiots!"

"You're just jealous Joonie got the first good morning kiss," Yoongi teases, backing up before bending down to plant his lips against yours. 

"No morning breath kisses!" you attempt to complain through lips pulled tightly together, shoving Yoongi away despite loving the soft press of his mouth against you. 

"Was Seokjin reminding you of the gala?" Namjoon asks just as Yoongi decides to begin tickling you, which has you screaming and pushing him away with flailing limbs. 

"He was," Yoongi grits as you manage to plant both hands firmly on his chest and shove hard enough to topple him momentarily back. He pounces once more, flinging his entire body over yours, and Namjoon manages to get your left hand held down, then reaches over you to pin down your right arm, filling your senses with his delightfully stinky musk. 

"You monsters!" you scream with your arms awkwardly pinned beside your head, uselessly flailing your legs while Yoongi sits and dances his fingertips over your ribs. "I'll kill you both!"

"Awe, our little wolf is threatening us with murder," Namjoon teases, "as if she has it in her to kill another man."

"Especially two as handsome as us," Yoongi adds, lightning up on tickling enough to make you open your eyes and watch him waggle his eyebrows. 

As soon as Yoongi's fingers touch down on your ribs once more, your eyes squeeze shut, and you squeal, "Your looks won't save you from my wrath if you don't release me!"

"Awe your wrath," Namjoon teases, and his hot, stinky breath wafts as he leans close. "How adorable."

"I watched you torture a man, I know how to do it, now," you grit through your teeth, swaying your body left to right hard, hoping to throw Yoongi off. "Maybe Taehyung will teach me how to use his katana."

"Graduating from dagger to katana," Yoongi drawls playfully. "How quaint."

Namjoon adds, "But our sweetheart has never seen me with a sword before," piquing your interest despite how you fight for your life. 

Each breath heaves from your lungs, pained laughter coming out in exhausted bursts against your will; if you could control your laughter to not give these jerks the satisfaction, you would. Nothing about the hellish feeling of being tickled is actually funny. 

In a burst of genius, you scream, "Sakura!"

Yoongi sighs and halts his fingers, and when you open your eyes, he tongues the inside of his mouth. 

"That was a dirty move but also a wise one," Yoongi mutters, clearly as amused as he is annoyed. "Nice work, darling."

"So, did you forget about Seokjin's event?" Namjoon asks as Yoongi leans forward, caging your head with his hands and smiling sweetly at you. You attempt to catch your breath, still panting from the onslaught. 

"I did," Yoongi responds, grinning. 

You roll your eyes and begin to laugh, and Namjoon releases your hands finally and wiggles back into a laying position beside you, laughing as well. "I want to sleep more," he grumbles as he throws a leg over your legs and snuggles up to your side, close enough to your armpit to make you jerk when he speaks because every tiny sensation still tickles. 

"More sleep sounds nice," Yoongi mutters, leaning close, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then to your eyebrow, and to your temple, before laying back down. 

You begin to grumble that you would also love to sleep but that Yoongi has woken you up with all of his rambunctious behavior. But as limbs settle over and around you, and you become sandwiched once more between the two of them, heaviness claims your eyelids, and you begin to drift off. 

When you wake up again, it is from Namjoon peeling out of the tangle. You grumble and roll toward him, attempting to reach out and bring his warmth back to you. Yoongi wraps around your back, humming something unintelligible into the nape of your neck before his breathing evens out and he is back asleep. You close your eyes and allow yourself to drift once more, stirred only by the feeling of Yoongi peeling away. 

The sun is bright by the time you wake up for good, flooding into the room, causing you to squint as you stretch and yawn, slowly flailing your limbs in the large, empty bed. 

"Where is everyone going?" you grumble, peeking one eye open to find a tuft of dark, wavy hair sticking out from the closet. Yoongi's smile is almost as bright as the afternoon sun, tugging at your heart. 

He responds, "Work, darling," with a smirk, then disappears back into the closet.

"Ugh!" you complain, petulant. If Yoongi and Namjoon go to work, who will be around to hug and kiss and spoil you? "Work is stupid!"

"You should go to Paradise!" Yoongi calls from the closet. 

You should go to Paradise. It has been several nights since you last visited, and you miss Jimin and Hyejin. And, if you are being perfectly honest, you miss Jeongguk. Jeongguk will certainly give you plenty of attention to make up for what you are missing from the other two, but you worry just a little that desiring and receiving it from him may make you greedy. 

"You just want to shove me off onto Jeongguk," you whine, teasingly. 

Yoongi chuckles as he exits the closet, buttoning a black shirt that is tucked into black slacks. "Are you upset about that?"

With a pout, you sit up and whine, "I guess not," making Yoongi laugh so hard that he stomps one of his feet. Since coming home, there is a lightness to Yoongi that you are certain you have never seen before. He laughs so openly and with his whole body, sometimes flinging himself all the way to the floor, onto his knees. It is so nice; he truly seems happy. 

"Namjoon and I have a meeting today that may take several hours," Yoongi begins as he approaches, still smiling but no longer laughing. "Then I have to take one of our potential clients to dinner and for drinks. She is an old investor and was a good friend of my mother, and she has her sights on one of my hotels. After we schmooze and convince her to open her pocketbook, we will come by the club. Sound good?"

You hum and nod, considering what you might wear to Paradise while scooting toward the edge of the bed, wearing only one of Namjoon's oversized shirts. 

"What if Jeongguk seduces me?" you ask with a raise of your brow, biting back a smile when Yoongi gives you an incredulous little smirk of his own. 

He gets close, resting his hands on the edge of the bed, caging you in. Yoongi is musky and sweet, and you lean in close, holding firm eye contact and basking in his bouquet. 

"Do you want to fuck Jeongguk again?" he asks low and curious.

Goosebumps cover you, sending a thrill along your spine, and you bite your lip, batting your lashes while pretending to consider his proposition. 

"I don't know," you say, attempting to sound coy. "Maybe."

Yoongi hums, deep and slow, leaning close enough that his breath is warm on your face. "Well, then if he seduces you, you should let him have you." 

"You don't mind?" you ask softly, genuinely concerned about crossing some sort of line, should something happen while he is away. 

"As long as you are happy and communicate openly, I do not mind."

Unsure what to say, you hum in response. You want to kiss Yoongi until you are dizzy, but you worry about your breath being sour and keep your lips closed tight. Yoongi leans and kisses you on your temple, eyebrow, and cheek, then straightens out. 

"If you wanted to shoot me a text and let me know, I would not object," he says with a waggle of his brow, making you giggle. 

You lift a hand and gently shove at his shoulder, teasing, "You just want to picture me getting fucked, you pervert."

"Of course I do," Yoongi rasps, pressing one more kiss to your forehead before standing up straight. With a wink, he adds, "Don't be shy, pretty darling." 

The moment you step foot into Paradise, Jimin prances over with a warm smile and his arms open wide. He wears a satin black shirt tucked into black slacks, and his boots click-clack in a familiar song.  

As soon as he wraps his arms around your neck, he begins to jump, and you do your best to jump along with him, feeling stunned that he is this happy to see you. "I have a surprise," he sing-songs, drawing the word long and happily, and you do your best to reciprocate his hug before he pulls away. 

"You can't see it until your birthday, but I have been working hard on something," he continues, still hopping around now that you are no longer embracing. 

Although your approaching birthday has been in the back of your mind, this is the first time it has felt like a tangible event. You blurt out, "How did you know my birthday is coming up," feeling anxiety and excitement swell behind your ribs. 

"Oh, please," Jimin mutters, rolling his eyes. "Yoongi has not shut up about it for over a month. He has been very insistent that we throw you an extravagant party; why do you think renovations on this place happened so fucking fast?"

Stunned and so dreadfully in love, all you can do is stare at Jimin as the words sink. You cannot believe that Yoongi has been in cahoots with the guys for over a month, and he has not let it slip at all to you. This means that even before the trips to Paris and Hong Kong, he must have been beginning to plan something.  

"Renovations—" you mutter, mouth opening and closing until all you can say is, "Wait, what?"

"You silly little dove," Jimin teases, booping you on the nose with one of his manicured fingers. "You really have no idea what you have done to this man, do you?"

You knit your brow and slowly shake your head, and Jimin's smile widens. 

"Being with you has changed him. It's noticeable."

Stuck like a deer in headlights, you stand and stare at Jimin, attempting to process his words. Sure, Yoongi was a little gruff and not always the most friendly person to be around when you were first brought to the mansion—even in moments when he was being kind—but you had assumed he behaves that way any time new people are brought around. 

Jimin giggles, leans in, and plants a glossy kiss on your cheek. Then he walks away, clearly amused, and you continue to stare for another moment until a familiar floral musk breaks your spell, alerting you to the presence of a certain someone. 

Truth be told, you have been a bit nervous in anticipation of seeing Jeongguk again. Especially since Yoongi has given you the green light to play around with him—provided Taehyung has done the same. Rather than turn around and greet him, you take a fortifying breath and wait for him to make the first move; it never takes long for him to. 

"Dollface," his voice greets slow and deep and so close to your ear that you actually gasp despite already being aware of his proximity. "My, do you look ravishing this evening."

Warmth floods your cheeks; you dressed in a black mesh corset top tucked into fitted black slacks tonight specifically in the hope that Jeongguk would get an eyeful and want to bend you over Jimin's desk. The black material that covers your breasts is thin, and embroidered into the ribbed black mesh of the top are little black dragons that remind you of Namjoon's tattoo. It leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination.

Tilting your head toward his voice, you mutter, "Thank you," surprising yourself by just how shy you suddenly feel.

"There's something I need to discuss with you," Jeongguk says. The feeling of two warm hands gently gripping your bare forearms causes you to let out a shaky exhale. "Come to one of the private rooms with me?"

The private dance rooms are all equipped with cameras, making your anxiety spike higher, but you nod and allow him to give you a gentle push through the club, to the hallway. The sound of his and your black leather boots clacking against the floor is surprisingly loud under the bass-heavy club beat, ricocheting through your mind while the music thrums just under your skin. 

Once the two of you enter the hallway, you turn your head, finally getting a glance of black satin almost entirely unbuttoned, tucked into black slacks. You attempt to sound innocent as you ask, "What is it you would like to discuss?" 

The chuckle that greets you in response is sardonic and inviting, and you continue to look ahead until Jeongguk places a hand on your arm and guides you through a door on the left. 

The room is rather small, with a round mirrored table and metal dancing poll taking up most of the space. Surrounding the table is a deep green velvet horseshoe couch with thick, rounded arms and backrest. You walk over to stand near the side of the couch and lean against it while the door closes and locks behind you. Instinctively, you glance up at the camera and stare, wondering if it is a coincidence that there is no little red light flashing; it must not be recording, after all. 

"Don't worry, doll," Jeongguk says with a grin as he approaches, "I shut that camera off."

"Is that so?" you ask with a slight tremble in your voice.

Jeongguk is stunning with his dark hair coiffed off his forehead. He has a light dusting of black powder around his eyes accentuating just how dangerous they are, and as your gaze travels down to the mess of silver chains draped around his neck, and lower, to the exposed valley of his chest, you do your best not to swoon. 

"Yoongi hyung sent me a very interesting text this evening," Jeongguk responds with a lift of his pierced eyebrow. 

You attempt to sound as if you have no idea what he might be talking about as you ask, "He did?"

Jeongguk hums and closes in slowly, causing your pulse to quicken gradually with each step he takes. "He did."

You swallow thickly, tilting your head. "And what did it say?"

The grin returns as Jeongguk slides a tattooed hand into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He thumbs around one-handed for a moment, then reads, "Our little darling has the green light to play around with you," He glances up and adds, "Discreetly, of course."

"Of course," you mutter softly. 

Jeongguk slides his phone back into his pocket. "How are you feeling today?" he asks, voice sweeter than you expect.

Unsure exactly what he might be asking, you fumble, saying, "G-good. I feel good."

Jeongguk lifts his hands and places them on your biceps, then slowly rubs down to your elbows and back up. "Not too sore?"

Ah, of course, that is what he is asking. You did feel the aftermath of him fucking your brains out when you woke up this morning, but it eased throughout the day. Although you are certain that if he slid his thick, pretty cock back inside, your walls would ache. The thought alone has you fighting the urge to squeeze your thighs together. 

"No," you respond, wetting your lips and watching as Jeongguk's eyes follow the movement. 

Jeongguk's hands slide down past your hands, then he hooks both index fingers into the waistband of your slacks and says, "We have to be quick, but I could be gentle with you, just in case."

He leans in and stops with his lips so close to yours that the slightly sweet whiskey-hinted scent of his breath joins his already enticing fragrance. You want to close the gap and claim his lips, but you wait, staring into his deep, round eyes. 

"I don't want you to be gentle," you whisper, gaze falling to his lips in time for them to curl into a smirk and close in. 

You moan as Jeongguk kisses you, wasting no time licking over the seam of your lips, begging for entrance. As you open your mouth and dance the tip of your tongue over his, Jeongguk hastily undoes the fly of your slacks, yanking your hips to rock against him as he figures out the clasp and pulls down the zipper. 

He shoves the garment to the floor, and as soon as you lift your right foot to free it from the pant leg, he takes your thigh and lifts it, spreading you wide to rake his clothed erection over you. The friction is just enough to make you whimper, and you angle your hips in an attempt to press yourself against him even more. 

"Matching mesh panties," Jeongguk groans as he reaches between your bodies and cups your cunt with his palm, squeezing and rubbing in firm, long movements. 

"Fuck," you whisper, feeling a burst of arousal quake down your spine. 

He leans close once more, lips against yours as he grits, "You drive me fucking crazy."

In a rush, you reach for Jeongguk's pants and begin to undo his button and fly, swallowing every hiss and groan as your knuckles graze his erection. And as much as those sweet sounds urge you to drop to your knees and swallow him deep into your throat just to hear a symphony of his pleasure, you need him to fuck you right now.

Jeongguk takes over and pushes his pants and briefs down, and you shift around to sit back on the wide, velvet arm of the couch, leaning on your elbows and spreading your thighs wide. The look on Jeongguk's face is one of desperation, and you bite your lip at the sight of his pretty cheeks blushing. Knowing you have this kind of an effect on the man who had absolutely nothing nice to say to you for the longest time has your ego inflating to great heights.

"You are so fucking sexy," Jeongguk groans as he pushes your panties aside with one hand while dipping two fingers into his mouth and reaching down to rub the pads of his fingertips over your clit and down to your entrance. You gasp in tandem as he circles your hole and presses broth fingers inside. "Always so fucking tight."

"Please," you whimper, feeling just as needy as he looks. "Please, Jeongguk."

Jeongguk nods and removes his fingers, then spreads your arousal onto his length as he pumps himself a few times, closing the gap between you. Without a word, Jeongguk sinks his cock in deep, giving you no time to adjust to the stretch as you bow your back with a moan and take every inch he has to offer. Your walls ache just slightly enough for the pleasure-pain to make you dizzy.

"Fuck, doll, that's it. You take this cock so well."

You mutter, "Holy shit," punch-drunk from how good he feels, letting your head loll back. 

"Eyes on me," Jeongguk instructs, and you lift your head and meet his gaze, watching his mouth fall agape, mirroring yours, while he pulls his hips back and slams them forward. 

Jeongguk spears you open so deliciously, you struggle to keep your head lifted and eyes open. And he wastes no time picking up a pace that has you moaning and crying his name. 

"Probably shouldn't be so loud," Jeongguk groans as he places the fingers that had been shoved inside your cunt moments ago in front of your lips. You open your mouth and accept his offering, sucking your taste from him as you attempt to stifle your moans. 

He fucks you hard and fast, and you squeeze around him, matching his rhythm and working yourself toward orgasm quickly. Eager to cum—knowing that there is no way this quick and dirty hookup will last too long—you reach your hand between your legs and begin to touch yourself. The velvet of the couch feels rough against the one elbow that anchors you, but the hint of pain adds to the overwhelming pleasure, pushing you closer to the edge. 

"That's it, cum on this cock," Jeongguk urges, sweat glistening over every inch of skin that you can see. 

The twirl of your fingertips matched with the unrelenting drive of Jeongguk's hips has you plummeting past the edge of sanity. And his words certainly help. All you can do is whimper and sob around his fingertips, and your eyes flicker closed before widening as pleasure trembles and quakes through each inch of you. 

"Want to fill you with my cum," Jeongguk groans, pressing his fingers against your tongue hard enough to make drool pool in the edges of your mouth. "Want you to walk around feeling me drip out of you. Want my hyungs to find your panties soiled and sticky. That sound good to you, dollface?"

Although you know you will come to regret this choice as soon as the afterglow fades, you do love the idea of Yoongi and Namjoon touching you and feeling Jeongguk's dried cum in your panties. It is filthy in the best possible way, and you yearn for it. 

You mutter, "Mmhmm," and attempt to nod your head while sucking greedily on Jeongguk's fingers. 

Jeongguk fucks impossibly harder, attempting to stifle his moans through grit teeth, sounding absolutely heavenly as his low voice lilts high and pretty. You should not feel so smitten by Jeongguk when he is balls deep and filling you with his cum, but he is absolutely stunning, and it is impossible to ignore. 

As his hips tremble and still, he drops his fingers from your lips and leans close, supporting your legs with both arms as he lays you back and kisses you deep and hungrily. The two of you moan and whimper, gnashing lips, teeth, and tongues as if your lives depend on this exchange. 

Jeongguk breaks the kiss and leans his forehead against yours, panting heavily. His skin is warm and glistening with sweat, and you lift your arms to wrap them around his shoulders. 

"This is dangerous," Jeongguk mutters, and you tilt your head ever so slightly, humming a curious, "Hmm?"

"How will I keep my hands off you now that I know how amazing you are?"

This soft, sweet side of Jeongguk still takes you by surprise, and you find yourself feeling shy once more as you mutter, "Shut up," at a loss for anything else to say. 

"I mean it," he says, pressing his lips to yours and moaning when you lean into the chaste kiss. "I don't want anything as serious as Namjoon has with the two of you…this is strictly physical. But you really are amazing, doll; you know that, right?"

"Stop," you respond, attempting to shove Jeongguk away. He remains firmly nestled inside you and crowding your personal space, and although you enjoy his presence, you are beginning to feel somewhat claustrophobic. 

You know that this is strictly physical—you wouldn't want it any other way. So why does him saying it aloud make your heart feel just a little too heavy? 

The fact is, you are only in a romantic relationship with Yoongi and Namjoon, and you know that you would not be able to handle it if you and Jeongguk became anything more than two friends who bicker and fuck. But in these moments when he is caring and sweet, there is a tiny part of you that thinks you would like a little more between the two of you. 

"Alright," Jeongguk says with a soft chuckle, standing straight and pulling his softened cock from inside you. "I have to get to work."

Jeongguk looks absolutely disheveled and fucked out with blush-reddened cheeks, covered in a sheen of sweat, and you cannot help but laugh as you imagine him returning to the club with a straight face, going about his business as if nothing has happened. You wonder if he cued Jimin in on the fact that he would not be on the floor for however long this little tryst lasted or if Jimin might be searching for the two of you at the moment. 

"Good luck with that," you tease, sitting up and immediately attempting to stand, doing your best not to allow any of Jeongguk's and your cum to drip onto the velvet couch. 

Jeongguk reaches out and lightly grabs your elbows, steadying you as you bend out of his grasp and begin shuffling your leg back into your slacks. With a series of small hops and wiggles, you are back in your clothing, and you clasp and zip the fly, then run your hands down the front of the tight mesh corset top. 

"What are you wearing to Seokjin's event?" Jeongguk asks, stepping close and using the pad of his thumb to wipe under your right eye, where you assume a little makeup has smudged. 

"I have no idea," you admit, imagining Yoongi will want to shop for something bespoke tomorrow morning. "I usually let the boss dress me. He seems to enjoy it."

"Gross," Jeongguk responds with a playful crinkle of his nose, muttering to add, "Please tell me you do not call him boss in bed."

You swat away Jeongguk's hand, which has hovered beside your cheek as you break out into laughter. Jeongguk pretends to be affronted, holding his hand close to his chest as if you have wounded him. Once the laughter dies, Jeongguk reaches both arms to drape over your shoulders, forcing you to step close. 

"Well tell the boss I request something with a nice long slit up the thigh for easy access. Maybe something that really hugs all your curves."

With a scoff, you search Jeongguk's face for a hint that he is joking, and although he is behaving playfully, he truly does seem serious. 

"So bossy. You forget who I am supposedly engaged to, hmm?" you tease, cocking your head to the side and batting your lashes. "Because it is not you, Jeon."

Jeongguk steps closer, forcing you to tilt your head to look at him. He leans until his lips are a hair's width away. 

"I'm aware of who you are pretending to be engaged to, dollface," he spits in a tone that could be mistaken for anger if you could not see the smile and glimmer in his eyes, even this close. "That does not mean I won't be pulling you into some secluded room to fuck you while your boyfriends have to stand idly by and wait for us to return."

"And why would you do that?" you ask, already knowing the answer. 

Jeongguk gently sucks and nibbles at your lower lip, causing you to gasp and whimper, then he pulls back with a smirk and says, "For fun."

You roll your eyes and shove Jeongguk back, causing him to lose balance just enough to stumble. Then he opens the door and mutters, "Ladies first," holding his hand out as your invitation to exit. 

The music playing in the club is loud and upbeat, and although it had been coming through the speakers of the private room, you had been too distracted to really notice it. As you make your way down the hallway, past the dancer's green rooms and Jimin's office, the bass reverberates through you in a rhythm that is intoxicating and overwhelming. You would love a drink right now.

Although you are sure it would not matter if you returned to the main room with Jeongguk, you decide to hang back a few paces and then veer off toward the ladies' room in the opposite direction of the bar, not looking back to check whether Jeongguk notices. And as soon as you step into the small brightly lit space and check your reflection, noticing small tell-tale signs that you definitely just had sex, you take in a deep breath. 

This whole situation with Jeongguk is fun, but there is a sense of trepidation that surrounds it, now that you have had a little time to let this entire situation settle. Both Yoongi and Namjoon have given you enthusiastic consent to fuck their best friend, yet you still fear that eventually, at some point, they might change their minds. And although you know that you would absolutely, without a doubt, agree to stop fucking Jeongguk if they asked you to, you already fear that emotionally, it could tear you apart. 

You definitely crave Jeongguk's attention. You appreciate how different it feels to be flirted with by him than it feels with Yoongi and Namjoon. You enjoy the thrill of knowing that all of it has to be done in secret when it is not done at someone's home—and Jeongguk has already proven to be the type to like secret, semi-public sex. Being claimed and used by him is thrilling in a way you have not experienced much before.

As you dry your hands and exit the restroom, you curse yourself for continuing to have the same train of thought stuck on repeat. You are far too sober to ignore the fact that already the thought of being something more than a fuck buddy for Jeongguk has begun invading your mind. Already you are asking yourself why you are so dead set on trying to talk yourself out of even humoring the idea. 

And it is not as if you can walk into the main room—or anywhere, for that matter—and fully ignore his presence, or try to block what just happened out. With each step you take, you can feel the mix of body fluids squelching just inside your cunt, threatening to drip out. Even if you tried to wipe yourself off, there would be no way to fully cleanse yourself of him. 

Perhaps it is not even him you would wish to cleanse yourself of; perhaps you are simply reconciling the idea that you are capable of becoming attached to people rather quickly, and you know just how fucking dangerous that can be. 

You make your way to the bar for one whiskey sour and then two. Hyejin is out sick for a few nights, meaning Jeongguk is busy. Jimin seems to know what the two of you were up to just based on the judgmental upturned-eyebrowed gaze that follows you whenever the two of you are even briefly within proximity of one another. 

By the third whiskey sour, two familiar men walk into the building. You spot Namjoon first, wearing his black shirt unbuttoned to the center of his chest. His short brown hair is styled off his forehead, and he wears a thin black choker around his neck. Rather than wearing his standard black slacks, he has black skinny jeans that almost appear shiny, outlining each curve of muscle in his thighs. 

And then Yoongi follows, and something in the air feels as if it shifts. Yoongi on a normal day is breathtaking—pretty in ways that make you stop what you are doing to watch him. But tonight, his hair is messy and wild, and he wears a shiny bomber jacket with hints of gold and burgundy that shimmer in the club lights. A leopard print scarf is tied around his neck, and he wears a black shirt with a low, rounded neck, tucked into very tight black jeans. 

Yoongi scans the room, eyes landing on you first, and you clench tightly to the cold, damp glass in your hand as he makes his way over slowly, like a beast on the prowl. Namjoon follows, dimples creasing his cheeks as his gaze rakes over your form. As they approach, you catch hints of black ink on Namjoon's honey skin peeking from his shirt, and notice both of them are wearing a dusting of black eyeshadow. 

"Darling," Yoongi greets with a smile, lifting his arms up, beckoning you to hug him. You shift to the side just enough to set your drink on the bar behind you and to your left, and then you step forward and allow Yoongi's arms to engulf you. With his lips pressed to your temple, Yoongi softly rasps, "You look absolutely stunning, tonight."

"Thanks," you mutter as your heart pounds, and you lift your hands to his hips. Yoongi's musk is more floral than usual, and you close your eyes and bury your nose against his neck and the scarf tied around it, then drag your lips over the soft, warm skin. 

When you finally take a step back, you rub your hands over the fabric of his jacket, which appears almost metallic, feeling rough tiny sequins lightly scratching against your palms. 

"I like your jacket," you say as your eyes move from the pretty, inviting material to Yoongi's even prettier, even more inviting face. 

"Then it's yours," he responds with a smirk, causing warmth to flood your cheeks. 

"I like it on you," you clarify with a lift of your brow, then you push at the material enough to lift it and have a peek at his bare shoulders, realizing that he has a tank top on, adding, "Although I suppose I would like it off of you, as well."

Namjoon approaches on the right and leans an elbow on Yoongi's shoulder. His gaze is dark and hungry—piercing, almost—and there is a bloodshot quality to his eyes that suggests he is either high or he has been drinking. 

"This jacket truly does look lovely on the floor," Namjoon says with a wink, turning in time to watch Yoongi roll his eyes and crack a smile that shows off his gums. Namjoon chuckles, and the sound is deep and pretty and makes your heart pound. 

You are curious about so many things, including what drove them to get so dressed up tonight, and how their meeting went with the possible hotel sale. But you open your mouth with the intention of finding one of those topics to ask about when Jeongguk steps into the peripheral and wraps an arm around your waist. 

"Hey, hyungs," he greets in a playful tone that gives you goosebumps. 

Yoongi and Namjoon nod to Jeongguk, but their gazes flit between the two of you, and to the hand that holds you just under the ribs. 

You expect one of them to tease you—it must be obvious that you fucked, or that you have become closer in some manner—and you are a bit surprised when Yoongi cocks his head toward Namjoon, eyes still on you, as he says, "Aren't the two of them gorgeous together?"

Namjoon hums and nods, and suddenly, you want to squirm away and create space between you and Jeongguk. You feel scrutinized in a way that is unfamiliar but that you liken to parents meeting a romantic partner for the first time. It is not Jeongguk's presence that embarrasses you, but the way they acknowledge his presence, making you feel like an insect trapped under a magnifying glass. 

Namjoon keeps his elbow on Yoongi's shoulder as he glances around the space, eyes slowly trailing around. "You, Jimin, and Hyejin are doing well, it seems."

"Business is booming," Jeongguk responds as his hand gently rubs small shapes against your side, fingertips playing lightly with the threading and ribbing of your corset top. "Jimin is the genius of the operation; Hyejin and I merely do what he tells us to."

"Well you seem to be doing it well," Yoongi says, holding his chin high with a proud glimmer in his eyes. 

The hand on your side tenses then relaxes, and you turn your gaze to Jeongguk, who looks at you with a shy smile, then turns back to Yoongi to mutter, "Thank you, hyung."

"You seem happier," Namjoon adds, dropping his arm to his side, then stepping in to play with Jeongguk's satin collar. "This style suits you, and your attitude has improved substantially."

"Hyung," Jeongguk whines, attempting to step away from Namjoon but hitting his elbow against the bar. 

This makes Yoongi chuckle, who teases with a playful, "Our little Ggukah is all grown up."

"Ugh," Jeongguk complains, dropping his hand from your side before walking away, making the three of you laugh. 

"He's so easy to rile up," Namjoon jokes, to which Yoongi says, "Too easy."

The three of you settle at the bar with drinks. You finish your third, and they slam a few shots to catch up. By the time you are setting down the fourth drink and excusing yourself to the restroom, both men are handsy and whining about letting you go.

"I have to pee," you complain, yanking your wrist from Namjoon's eager grip. 

"Fine," he groans with a pout and puppy dog eyes that have you scoffing and shaking your head. 

You are surprised by how much you stumble through the club on your way to the ladies' room. To be fair, you were more excited to dress up and get pretty this evening and barely touched any food before heading over here—something the three of you will need to remedy before heading home. The light of the bathroom is too bright, and you sit just a little too hard on the toilet, squeezing your eyes closed to try to focus them a little better when they open, causing the stall to be nothing but a tan and red blur. 

After washing up and checking your drunk but agreeable reflection, you make your way back through the club. But before you can reach the bar, a customer—some older man you have never seen before—grabs you by the bicep. 

"Are you available for a dance?" he slurs, filling your chest with anxious trepidation, which you attempt to swallow down while yanking your arm uselessly. "I see you here all the time, but you're never on stage."

"I don't work here," you respond through grit teeth, pulling your arm from his grasp and stumbling two steps backward.

The man frowns and opens his mouth to shout something slurred and incomprehensible, and in a blink, you are surrounded by Yoongi, Namjoon, and Jimin. 

"Do we have a problem?" Yoongi asks in a firm, direct tone that is as intimidating as it is sexy.

"Boss M-Min," the man stammers, eyes moving between Yoongi, you, and the others. "No, sir. S-sorry."

Jimin pipes up, "If I see you lay a hand on another woman in this club—employee or not—I will have you kicked to the curb," causing the older man to stand tall, suddenly appearing offended. But he does not respond with words; he merely nods his head and turns away, returning to his seat at a small round table facing one of the side stages.

"Sorry about him," Jimin says, stepping close and placing his hands on your shoulders. 

Only now, when you finally have a chance to breathe, are you aware of the panic that fills you, squeezing at your chest like thorny vines snaked between your ribs, threatening to make you collapse. 

"I need some fresh air," you mutter quietly as you turn out of Jimin's light hold toward the back exit and struggle to move your feet more than three steps. 

Namjoon wraps an arm around your waist and assists you with walking to the exit. "Does that happen often?" he asks low and sweet, voice as comforting as it is concerned. 

"No," you mutter, shaking your head. "Never."

Frankly, you are shocked that it has taken this long for a man to accost you—a thought nobody should reasonably have. But considering the atmosphere and your proximity to it, you have come to expect some of the customers to be a little sleazy. Sure, men have whistled, shouted, and made lewd gestures before, but nobody has ever grabbed onto you. 

Once the back door is open and the cool night air hits you in a somewhat uncomfortable burst, you tense up and curl into Namjoon's chest, having to somewhat waddle sideways as you fully step out and maneuver both bodies beside the door. You shiver, but a second and third body close in on you. 

"Want me to throw him out?" Jimin asks, burying the other side of your face against his chest. 

"No," you mumble.

"Alternatively," Namjoon suggests, "I could bring him out here and gut him like a fish. Paint the street with his blood and fill the night with his screams."

The tone in Namjoon's voice is so dead serious that it makes your stomach churn. "No thank you," you mumble, burying your face into his soft shirt and softer skin in an attempt to block out the mental image. 

At moments like this, you remember the men you love are part of a no ordinary civilian men. Has Namjoon gutted someone before? Does he enjoy the way it feels to pierce and slice flesh with a blade? Can he stomach the smell?

"I have to get back in there," Jimin states with a sigh, hugging the group of bodies tight and practically suffocating you in satin before backing out of the bunch. "If you change your mind about that guy, let us know."

Jimin steps back, and you hear the door open, followed by the loud burst of upbeat club music before it closes, muffling the noise to nothing more than bass reverberating through the walls. Yoongi wraps himself over your shoulders, chest pressed into your back, and you rest against Namjoon, closing your eyes to the gentle sound of the two of them kissing. 

"Jeongguk mentioned he left us a gift," Yoongi drawls after a quiet moment, and you gasp. 

You had somehow forgotten all about what transpired between you and Jeongguk earlier, but now that it is at the forefront of your mind, the damp cloth between your legs feels somewhat cold and uncomfortable. 

Before you can say anything, one of Yoongi's hands begins to travel down between the press of your and Namjoon's bodies, fingers grazing over the thin material covering your breast, making you shiver as your hard nipple is lightly touched. As his hand moves lower, you take a slow, fortifying breath and hold it, eager not to give yourself away too much. 

Just the gentle graze of Yoongi's fingertips passing over your waist and hip has your eyelids fluttering. And when he reaches between your legs, presses against your soiled slacks, and groans, you let out the breath in a shaky exhale, gripping onto Namjoon's shoulders, lest you collapse. 

"My, my," he groans, making Namjoon hum in question. "She's soaked, Joonie. Is this all you, darling? Or is it him, too?"

You huff an embarrassed sigh and attempt to relax your grip on Namjoon as you mutter, "It's him, too."

Namjoon reaches between your legs and touches eagerly—almost roughly. You whimper and take a dizzy step back; if it weren't for the tight proximity of bodies, you may have fallen into Yoongi. 

"Naughty, naughty," Namjoon teases, cupping his hand over both your clothed cunt and Yoongi's wandering fingers. "What do you think, hyung? We can't just let some runt stake claim on our pussy without having it for ourselves." 

Yoongi chuckles deep and sardonic, and you bite back a smile of your own. If it weren't for their eager touches and inviting tones, you would be laughing over the mental image of three dogs pissing on the same hydrant to claim dominance. Only, instead, they are your sexy boyfriends and their equally sexy best friend, and their little rivalry involves wanting to fill you with their cum. 

"I know a spot," you all but moan, looking up to find Namjoon staring at you hungrily. 

"Oh?" Yoongi asks playfully, pressing his fingertips against you in a slow circle. 

With a nod and a whimper, you say, "Just so ha-happens there are rooms in this very building, meant for that very thing."

Yoongi steps back, taking his warmth and hand away, and your skin feels almost shocked by how cold it is. 

"Lead the way," Yoongi suggests, and you fumble a couple steps back, still holding onto Namjoon's shoulders, before turning toward the door.  

As soon as you walk back into the building, the music is loud and overwhelming. You take Yoongi's hand and lead him to the hallway, making a pit stop at Jimin's office door, which is ajar just an inch. You knock, and hear his soft, "What is it?" then peek your head in. 

"Anyone in the executive suite?" you ask nervously, biting your lip. 

Jimin squints then grins and shakes his head. "It's all yours, dove. Have fun!" 

The sing-song manner of Jimin's tone makes your cheeks warm, and you mutter, "Thanks, Jimin," as you step back and return the door to its almost closed state. 

Namjoon takes your other hand and rubs his thumb over your knuckles, and it does very little to calm your pounding heart, but you are still a bit on edge, unsure of what to expect. Neither of them seems upset, but there is still that fear in the back of your mind that it could change. 

You know that you should give both men a little more credit; Yoongi and Namjoon have been nothing but open, curious, and honest with you about their desire to share and experiment. This threesome only exists because of their experience and eagerness to have this kind of relationship. So why do you worry so much?

Past the private dance rooms, the hallway takes a left turn. Changbin sits on a chair in a small enclave that is black from floor to ceiling and looks like a dead end. At your approach, he straightens out and stands, then bows. 

"Boss," he says, standing tall and strong and stepping aside to pull back a curtain to reveal a black door with a small keypad. "All rooms are empty, so you can take your pick."

"We plan to use the executive suite tonight," Yoongi says with a gentle squeeze of your hand. "Jimin has already been made aware."

"Of course," Changbin responds with a bow of his head. "Enjoy."

Everyone who has access to the lower level has their own eight-digit code for the keypad. This way, Jimin is able to track who goes where, and stragglers cannot simply find their way down there. Not that the door is ever left unmanned. 

You punch in 19931994 and listen for the mechanism to whine and click, then you press the door open with your palm. It is heavy, and the moment the three of you are through, it closes tightly behind you, though Yoongi reaches back to push against it anyway. 

The stairwell that snakes you down under the building is lit in fuchsia, and the music is slower and more sensual—some R&B track you cannot identify with a singer whose voice alternates between soft and breathy, and quick and raspy. As you reach the bottom of the stairs, a long fuchsia hallway greets you, and Namjoon releases your hand and walks ahead to the end of the space. When he reaches the door just a few paces before you, he turns and crosses his arms over his chest. 

With a stern voice and sterner expression, Namjoon says, "I want you to undress and position yourself exactly how Jeongguk had you, understand, baby?"

You respond, "Yes, daddy," without hesitation, and although Namjoon's eyes widen ever so slightly, his stern expression does not falter. 

Namjoon steps aside, and you enter your passcode on another keypad and walk into the dimly red-lit space, past the bed, to the white leather sofa. The arms of this sofa are not quite as wide as the ones on the green velvet couch, but they are wide enough.

Wordlessly, you strip your slacks off but keep the left leg still hooked in the fabric, then you sit on the sofa arm and rest back on your elbows. 

"Didn't bother to undress you," Yoongi practically snarls as he takes his place before you and undoes his belt buckle and fly. "Just a quick and dirty fuck, huh?"

"Yes, sir," you respond through a somewhat shattered breath. 

"I'm guessing no foreplay?" Namjoon asks, taking his place beside Yoongi with his arms once more crossed over his chest. 

"No, daddy."

Yoongi tsks and shakes his head. Namjoon chuckles. 

"Poor girl," Yoongi teases with a pout, sliding out of his pretty shimmery jacket, which Namjoon takes and places neatly aside, on the bed. "I was really looking forward to tasting you."

The thought of being denied Yoongi's tongue fills you to the brim with frustration, but you let your eyes rake over his toned, bare arms as a distraction. Yoongi is far more muscular than he appears under the long-sleeved shirts he wears, and even a glimpse of his bare skin drives you wild—has you thanking the fashion gods for tank tops. 

"He groped me over my panties," you inform Yoongi with an innocent smile. "Cupped his hand over me, rubbed and squeezed a little."

Yoongi steps forward and grabs your cunt firmly with his palm. "Like this?" he asks, and you gasp as your head lolls back, whimpering a soft, "Just like that."

"What else?" Namjoon asks. 

"He spread and lifted my legs," you mutter as Yoongi palms roughly at you, pressing moist mesh against eager nerves. "He held my right leg with his arm."

Yoongi removes his hand only long enough to lift and spread your legs, yanking slightly to get you into position. Although Jeongguk is a little taller, you line up with Yoongi just right, and you attempt to swivel your hips in search of friction, but Yoongi's palm returns. 

"He pushed his pants and briefs down, and pulled my panties aside," you continue. "Then he licked two fingers and touched me a little."

With a lift of his brow, Yoongi brings two fingers to his doll lips and wets them with his tongue. 

"He only touched my clit briefly, but he did finger me," you specify.

Namjoon wraps his arms around Yoongi's hips and finishes unzipping his pants, then he pushes them, along with his briefs, to the floor. The sight of Namjoon's arms around Yoongi, while Yoongi stands hard and leaking, makes you dizzy, and you lick your lips, watching Namjoon step back and pull his arms away, wishing Namjoon would continue to touch him—longing for the way Yoongi falls apart just for him. 

Yoongi reaches between your bodies and pulls your panties aside, then swirls over your clit once, twice, three times, building your arousal quickly, only to make it dissipate before his fingers dip inside, and you groan from the feeling. 

"Messy, messy cunt," Yoongi teases, lips parted as he plunges deep inside. "But still so fucking tight."

"Please fuck me, sir," you beg, absolutely needy for Yoongi's cock.

"Is that how you begged him?" Yoongi asks, pulling his fingers out and stroking his hard length. 

"Yes, sir," you admit, panting. 

"And did he fuck you, darling?"

"Yes, sir. He fucked me hard and deep."

Yoongi closes the minuscule gap between you and sinks his cock all the way in one fluid motion, pushing a moan from deep within your chest and lighting your body on fire. Yoongi feels thick and familiar in the most dizzying way, and you scrape your fingernails against the sides of the leather armrest in an attempt to hold on. 

"Did he kiss you?" Yoongi asks, leaning close and pulling his hips back, only to slam them forward. 

Some part of you wants to lie and say no, he did not kiss you, but you swallow thickly and admit, "Not during sex."

"After?" Yoongi asks with a smirk, pulling back and slamming forward once more. 

You sob through the word, "Yes!" and Yoongi's sharp smile grows bigger. 

"Did he do anything else?" Namjoon prompts, and you huff out a sigh, wishing Yoongi would set a pace and fuck you, already. 

"While he fucked me, I was being too loud, so he put his fingers in my mouth," you admit. 

Yoongi pulls back and slams forward again. "Being too loud, hmm?"

You whimper and nod, saying, "We weren't down here. We were in one of the private dance rooms."

"He couldn't even bring you down here to fuck you?" Namjoon teases, cocking his head. "Aren't there cameras in those rooms?"

Finally, Yoongi sets a pace and begins to fuck you, and as you attempt to say he turned that camera off, all you can do is moan a broken, "He t-turned," losing the rest of the sentence. 

Yoongi lifts his hand and slots his fingers between your lips before you can attempt to say another word, and you suck hard, doing your best to keep your eyes on him. The taste of your arousal on his fingers is different from the taste you left on Jeongguk's—a bit subdued but still just as heady. 

You whimper and babble uselessly around Yoongi, drool falling from the sides of your lips while you suck. Although this is meant to be just a quickie, Yoongi does not rush; he has nowhere else to go. By the time you lift your hand to touch your clit, you are already fast approaching orgasm.

"Did you touch yourself while Jeongguk fucked you?" Namjoon asks. 

You nod, and Yoongi removes his fingers for you to say, "We had to hurry, and I wanted to cum."

"Greedy girl," Namjoon teases with a wink and a smile, making you smile in return.

Your head bobs as Yoongi fucks you, and he says, "Well, then, touch yourself, darling," before returning his fingers to your lips. 

Just one pass over your clit has you crumbling, and you suck hard, squealing. Yoongi's pace quickens, and the hand on your hip grips bruisingly. 

"That's it, darling; cum for me."

As you clench around him, chasing your high, Yoongi's head rolls back, and he groans deep and pretty. The sight of his dark, messy hair and sweat-slicked neck is so inviting, you continue to clench just to push him over the edge as your high begins to crash. 

You reach for Yoongi's leopard print scarf to pull him close for a deep, hungry kiss—much like the one you shared with Jeongguk, only softer. Yoongi does not gnash and nip as if this is the last kiss you will ever share; Yoongi sucks gently and licks firmly, filling your mouth with his sweet, needy moans. 

It is not long before Yoongi's hips are trembling and stilling. And your grip on him is so tight that you feel him twitch and empty inside you. 

"Fuck, baby, your pussy is heaven," Yoongi groans against your lips. "Absolutely perfect."

Overcome with emotion, you continue to grip tightly to his scarf and lick into his mouth. Yoongi chuckles lightly and hums as you tease his lip, indulging you before pulling back and straightening out. 

"Did you kiss him like that after?" Yoongi asks, cheeks tinted with blush and hair messy. 

"No, sir," you admit, letting your head dip downward while keeping your eyes up and on him. 

The smile that graces his lips is pretty and loving, and he stares for a moment, catching his breath despite being the breathtaking one. 

Yoongi bends to pull up his pants and get himself situated, then steps back. You feel his release dripping from your cunt, and you almost begin to sit up when Namjoon approaches and begins to undo his belt.

"Think you can handle one more?" Namjoon asks with a grin that dimples his cheeks. 

"Don't think I have much of a choice," you respond with a bite to your lip, eager to feel him inside you.

Namjoon's smile falls, and his hands drop to his sides. "Of course you do," he says sadly, making your heart clench. 

"I know that," you insist, sitting up quickly, instinctively reaching your hands toward him. "I was just being cheeky; I know you would never do anything that I don't want."

Every feature on Namjoon's face is sweet and soft, and his lips tug into a smile once more. "Sorry," he mutters as he steps close and leans forward. "I get in my head sometimes."

You reach out and take Namjoon's shirt just as you held Yoongi's scarf, and Namjoon stumbles forward before bending closer. "You're sweet," you say as you slot your lips together and hum. Namjoon is pillow soft with hints of whiskey, and you sink into the feeling, eager to drown. 

Slowly, you pull from the kiss and say, "Fuck me, daddy," watching as his lips upturn. 

"So bossy," he teases as his hands reach for his slacks and begin working open the button and fly. 

"Please," you add, releasing Namjoon's shirt and leaning back on your elbows, spreading your thighs wide. "Make me forget what Jeonggukie did to me."

Namjoon practically snarls as he shoves his pants and briefs down, and he somewhat forcibly cups your wet, used pussy, sending a shiver of arousal through you.

You hardly have a chance to breathe with the way Namjoon kisses you—hot and rough and demanding. And although he follows the same formula Yoongi had, with very little instruction given, the pace and ferocity with which he fucks you has you momentarily forgetting even your own name. 

For Seokjin's event, Yoongi has bought you a simple black satin evening gown with a plunging v-line and spaghetti straps that cross over your exposed back. The back v-line dips dangerously low, and, much to Jeongguk's excitement, there is a high slit up the right thigh. 

You stand in Yoongi's closet, staring into the mirror along the far back wall while Jimin finishes getting all of your hair pinned up. Yoongi wraps various delicate silver necklaces around your neck in search of the perfect one while Namjoon and Jeongguk chatter lowly in the bedroom about something or other, and you swear you hear Taehyung's deep voice at some point, as well. 

Yoongi finally decides on a dainty silver chain with no charm for you to wear and begins to search the drawers in his closet's island for a matching piece for himself. Meanwhile, Jimin exits the closet, and Jeongguk steps in. 

"I hope you don't mind, but I wanted to give you your birthday gift early," Jeongguk says.

Surprised, you glance at him through the mirror before turning to regard him fully. Jeongguk is in his typical Paradise garb—in fact, all of the family men wear black satin and black slacks, with black and silver accessories. Jeongguk's hair is styled away from his forehead with a freshly short chop and sharp undercut. 

"After that guy touched you at Paradise, I thought you should have it," Jeongguk continues. "Especially since we'll be at the casino tonight; there's no telling what kind of seedy characters might be there."

Taehyung pops around the corner, holding onto a small, rectangular box, and Jeongguk nods for you to take it. You reach for it, and Taehyung says, "From both of us."

"Of course," you respond with a smile, feeling your heart burst as your fingertips rub over crushed velvet. You have a feeling there must be some kind of weapon inside, based on Jeongguk's hint—a knife, judging by the size of the container. 

As you open the box, Yoongi leans in close, and Namjoon takes a step into the space, glancing over Jeongguk's shoulder. 

"I, uh—"Jeongguk begins as you crack it open, and you halt your movement to look at him. "I hope it's not too insensitive, given…well…you'll see."

You hesitate a moment, then continue opening it, gasping at the sight of the gift. Nestled against what appears to be black lace is a switchblade. The handle is black lacquer with mother-of-pearl decorations of flowers and birds. It is gorgeous and dainty, and when you lift it, the weight is surprisingly heavy. The blade that springs out is thin and appears to be very sharp, and you twirl it in your fingers as your eyes well with tears. 

"This is beautiful," you say, finally looking at Jeongguk, then to Taehyung. "Thank you so much, you guys."

"It's sharp as fuck," Taehyung says with a grin. "And if you ever need it to be sharpened, just stop on by."

"There's a strap, too," Jeongguk adds somewhat shyly. "Hence why I thought…"

When he trails off, you giggle. Clearly, Jeongguk knows about your method of killing Seungri all those years ago, and it is a sweet thing for him to consider. 

"I love it," you say before he can spiral, and when his features turn soft and his smile brightens, warmth rises to your face. Somewhat sheepishly, you add, "And I like it a lot more than a gun." 

"Well," Namjoon urges from over Jeongguk's shoulder, stealing your attention. He winks as he says, "Try it on."

You set the box down on the island and pull out the bundle of lace, which happens to be a thigh garter. With a scoff, you turn to Jeongguk and teasingly ask, "Is this why you wanted me to have a thigh slit tonight?"

As everyone's attention turns to Jeongguk, he visibly balks, rolling his eyes. "I can have many reasons for wanting the things I want," he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. 

You unfurl the thigh garter and step into it, attempting to ignore all the eyes that watch as you bend and hike it high up your leg. Once it is in position just under the top of the dress slit, you grab the knife and attempt to decide where on your leg it might be most secure. 

Taehyung steps in and asks, "May I?" holding his hands toward your thigh, and although you cannot begin to fathom what he is asking for, you are flustered enough to nod and say, "Yes."

"There is a little piece of elastic inside," Taehyung says as he squats and delicately begins to snake two fingers under the band and feel around. Thankfully, he finds it quickly at the front of your thigh, and he gently begins to rotate it until that part is resting on your outer leg. Holding his palm out, he says, "Knife."

You hand Taehyung the knife, and he slides it into the band, securing it in the elastic bit. As he stands, you reach down to feel it. It only takes a few adjustments of the band's height and position on your thigh before it is perfect. Granted, when you look in the mirror, the entire weapon is visible in this particular dress. 

"Stunning," Yoongi says in a tone that is dark and rich with desire. 

"I agree," Namjoon adds, and you glance up to smile at everyone through the mirror before turning your attention back to your reflection. 

"And a perfect accessory for tonight," Yoongi adds, making you look up at him. "That paired with the engagement ring will tell everyone loud and clear just how deadly our little darling is." 

Ah, yes. The engagement ring. 

You look down at your empty hand and mutter, "Right, I should go get the ring," before turning and waiting for the wall of men to part and let you pass. 

At the thought of the ring—and Yoongi's statement about you being deadly—your heart feels heavy. Anxiety fills you as you pad barefoot through Yoongi's room, past Jimin, who sits on the bed, scrolling through his phone, glancing up with a soft smile. 

In the mansion, there is a light clattering of voices. Members of the family security team are downstairs waiting to escort you to the event, and Yoongi’s cooking team is in the kitchen finishing something sweet and full of carbohydrates, the smell of which wafts throughout the large mansion. 

Time seems to slow as you walk to your room—a room you hardly visit anymore. The familiar and unfamiliar sights and sounds are as comforting as they are daunting, and all the connotations of being part of this gentle but looming chaos fills you with dread. 

Do you want to be deadly? The prospect feels heavy. 

And after Yoongi's heroin relapse and stint in rehab, you worry about the prospect of being more entrenched in this lifestyle than you already are. Getting further involved in this business can only put you more at risk. And if Yoongi plunges off the deep end over losing one of his men, what could become of him should something ever happen to you?

Sure, you are merely playing a role tonight—dressing in a way that sends a message, and wearing a ring that symbolizes something fake. But your position at Yoongi's side is anything but fake, and standing there publicly is a huge hazard to your safety. 

You heavy-blink and realize you are standing in your dark bedroom, staring toward the bed. Light filters in through the windows, but it is the faint and golden glow of a setting sun. A particularly loud laugh echoes through the mansion, snapping you fully out of your trance, and you gaze around for the ring box, which sits Tiffany-blue on your bedside table. 

With a sigh, you approach and grab the ring box, snapping it open and stopping to stare at the giant rock inside before pulling it out and listlessly tossing the open box onto your bed. The ring is heavy as you slide it onto your finger, and your heart clenches at the weight. There is a part of you that hopes one day for this weight to support something real. But can you really become a mafia wife?

Although you hear soft footsteps approach, your gaze lingers on your hand and the ring that adorns it. Yoongi's soft voice asking, "Darling?" causes tears to well in your eyes, and you take a deep, fortifying breath before turning to regard him. 

Yoongi is gorgeous, leaning against your door frame with his brows gently tugged into a concerned frown. As he studies your eyes, he stands straight and slowly steps forward. Both of your hands are clenched in front of your stomach, and he takes them in his, rubbing his thumbs against your palms until your grip loosens. 

"Care to tell me what you're thinking?"

A chuckle works its way from your tummy, and you gaze down sheepishly at your conjoined hands, then back at Yoongi's face. "I don't know where I would even begin," you admit, feeling the urge to cry and swallowing it down.

"You look a little overwhelmed," Yoongi says, and you scoff, nodding. 

"I think I am."

Yoongi licks his lips and hesitates before asking, "Does it have to do with the ring?"

You swallow thickly. "A little," you admit. 

Yoongi's grip on your hands tightens then releases, and he wraps you in a hug, pinning your arms to your sides. "Well, you do not have to tell me right now if you don't feel comfortable, but just know that I always value whatever is on your mind. Especially if it is stressing you out."

"I just…" you begin, closing your eyes and nuzzling your forehead against his neck, doing your best not to rub away any of the makeup on your eyes. 

With a sigh, you change your path, voice weak as you say, "I love you. And Namjoon. You're both amazing and you have been so good to me."

As you swallow thickly, feeling anxiety rise, Yoongi prompts you, saying, "But…"

"But this lifestyle terrifies me," you admit, voice trembling. "And this ring is so heavy and what it symbolizes is so huge, and I…I don't know, Yoongi. I don't know if I can handle all of this."

Yoongi says nothing, but he does sigh. His arms squeeze tighter, and the silence that drags causes you to ramble. 

"I know Namjoon said that the only way out of this lifestyle is death. And I can't…my heart aches imagining all the horrifying possibilities."

"Namjoon told you that," Yoongi mutters, sounding as disheartened as you feel. 

"He wasn't trying to scare me," you insist, lifting your arms to return Yoongi's hug and forcing his arms to slide up to your shoulders. "We were just discussing you, and us, and…all of this."

"It's true that there is a target on my back," Yoongi says, sighing, sounding more resolved than before. "But I am protected. I employ the strongest and smartest on this peninsula. I don't want you to worry about me, or Namjoon, or yourself."

"How could I not?" you practically sob, feeling tears rise and squeezing your eyes closed. 

"Shhh," Yoongi whispers, rubbing his hands on your back and taking a step out of the hug. "We should talk about this soon, but now isn't the time for worries like these, darling. Jimin will kill you if your makeup smears, and Seokjin will kill both of us if we arrive late."

The playful tone makes you laugh, and you sniffle, nodding your head and looking Yoongi in the eye, taking in his warm, almost sad expression. You know that Jimin would be nothing but sympathetic to your tears, and that Yoongi is only joking, but the image of Jimin's angry little snarl flashes in your mind anyway, making you laugh more. 

As if on cue, Namjoon arrives, looking over Yoongi's shoulder with a wide smile that falls into a concerned frown. "Everything okay?"

"As a matter of fact, everything is not okay," Yoongi says, turning to Namjoon with a faux glare that makes him widen his eyes with worry. "Why are you filling our darling's pretty little head with images of us dying."

Namjoon gasps, looks at you, and then back at Yoongi, asking, "When did I ever—"

"You told her the only way out of this lifestyle is death."

Recognition hits, and Namjoon sighs, stepping in and slinging an arm over Yoongi's shoulder, forcing him to turn and face you once more. Namjoon leans to the side, low enough to say softly into Yoongi's ear, "I told her that while you were in rehab and she was lamenting over how badly she wishes you could leave all of this behind."

When Yoongi blinks, his gaze hardens and then drops. "I can't just do that," he says with bitterness in his tone. 

"I know," you respond. "It was selfish of me to—"

"Loving someone is never selfish," Namjoon interrupts nicely, then he squeezes Yoongi's arm. "And you know damn well that she has every right to find what you do horrifying, Yoongi. Be gentle."

"I am gentle," Yoongi pouts, eyes still on the floor.

"Alright," Namjoon says, "Shall we? Seokjin will kill us if we're late."

Unable to hold back a smile, you nod and say, "Let's go."

"This conversation isn't over," Yoongi says in a tone that makes you nervous before softening as he says, "but I appreciate you telling me what is on your mind. And I don't mean to get defensive, this is just…well, it's the only lifestyle I have ever known."

To a certain extent, it is also the only one you have known. Only you were at the behest of powerful men and used as a plaything, and even a weapon, in lowly ranks, hoping for a way to escape to a better life. Sleeping in the bed of powerful men and standing at their side is something else, entirely. 

The casino is packed, and you already regret having to wear high heels on the carpeted floors, feeling each step sink slightly. Cigar smoke and the stench of an amalgamation of types of alcohol permeate the air, and the barrage of sounds from various betting machines blaring over shouting voices overwhelms. 

Yoongi leads you through the center of the casino, and you attempt to keep your head held high and your focus on nothing ahead of you, allowing all the flashing lights to bokeh into spots. When you finally blink everything back into focus, Seokjin is at the center of the room surrounded by a crowd of men. 

Try as you might, you have no idea what the hell this event is for. Each time you ask, you are met with a vague response and conclude that this must simply be a celebration of Seokjin and his beloved House of Cards. 

About an hour in, you are buzzed from whiskey and champagne and find yourself stumbling to the restroom near the bar. Although you are not quite intoxicated enough to be bumbling around, these heels are doing you no favors, and you find yourself griping about it under your breath. The stalls are all empty, and you sit longer than necessary on the toilet just to have a breather somewhere quiet and off your feet. 

When you exit the stall to wash your hands, a woman in a blood-red evening gown with her hair tied high on her head smiles at you through the mirror. You smile back, mostly just to be polite, and wash your hands before turning toward the exit. 

"Quite the rock you got there," the woman comments, making you stop in your tracks. Her voice has a sort of practiced shrillness to it, like she is only pretending to care. "What kind of man can afford a ring like that one?"

Unsure whether you are interested in having this conversation, you turn your head, smile softly, and respond, "A powerful one."

The woman hums and says, "I guess so."

You turn back toward the door and exit. 

As soon as you return to the bar, you notice that Yoongi and Namjoon are no longer there, but Jeongguk is, so you approach him. His eyes brighten instantly, and he downs his drink, then stands up straight and approaches, taking you by the elbow and spinning you in the opposite direction. 

"What are we—"

"Boss Min asked me to escort you to the second floor," Jeongguk responds a little too loud, and you bite back a smile. 

"Right," you respond, not buying his ruse. 

But he does lead you to the elevator, up to the second floor. Only everything is locked and dark, and there is no one around. 

"I can't take it anymore," Jeongguk mutters as he leads you into the banquet room—which he has the access code to—and through the long, vacant space, to the coat check closet where Yoongi first dropped the bomb that he was going to propose to you. "The dress, the knife…you are so fucking hot, dollface."

You say nothing as he closes the door behind you and then switches on the light. There is a low wooden countertop below a partial door, which is closed, and you kick out of your shoes and lean against it. If you are going to let Jeongguk fuck you, you need to do it in a position that is comfortable for both Yoongi and Namjoon to do the same. 

Jeongguk is on his phone, thumbing around while smiling, and you almost berate him for giving someone else your attention while you are standing here waiting for him. But then he turns off the screen and slides the device into his pocket with a devious grin.

"Let's see how far we get before my hyungs arrive," he mutters while sinking to his knees. 

You are drunk by the time you leave, used and satiated, feeling the squelch of cum between your legs. Jeongguk stares longingly at Taehyung from the passenger seat, but occasionally his gaze flits back to you, making your cheeks warm.

Yoongi sits to your right with Namjoon to your left, and although the vehicle is spacious, Taehyung had insisted on everyone strapping into a bulletproof vest, adding bulk to your bodies. Being that this event was widespread and it is likely that Ryujin's team could have caught wind, he rambled about being safe rather than sorry. Plus, there was mention of someone showing up to the event…some woman whose name you do not remember, who made everyone suspicious. 

Ahead of you is the vehicle containing Seokjin, Hoseok, and Jimin, as well as two members of the security team, one of whom resembles Changkyun, though you are unsure whether it really is him. They are leading the way to Paradise, where Jimin insists on having an after-party. 

As you drive through the city, a plume of dark smoke rises into the air, causing you to sit up and bend to better look out the windshield. "There's smoke ahead," you mutter, feeling worry in the pit of your stomach.

Just then, Yoongi's phone rings, shrieking and anxiety-inducing, and you sit back, staring ahead at the billowing smoke. 

"Yes?" Yoongi says as he answers, then says, "Jimin, speak slower."

"Is that Paradise?" Jeongguk asks as you get closer, and you feel panic rise. 

"She what?" Yoongi asks at the same time Taehyung says, "Looks like it's right across the street."

As the vehicle approaches, you realize that Paradise is not on fire, but the building directly across from it is. The building in question is part of a group of warehouses that, as far as you know, have recently been vacant.

"We're right behind you," Yoongi instructs. "Fire workers should be on their way, but we'll assess Paradise for any damages." 

The street is eerily empty as Taehyung pulls into the alleyway beside Paradise and shuts his lights off. Although this area is somewhat recently developing nightlife, slowly tearing down all the warehouses like the one currently in flames, there are still usually people littering the streets. Seeing nobody is concerning, even with Paradise closed for the night. 

"Strap up just in case," Yoongi instructs, and Jeongguk opens the large glove compartment and begins pulling out handguns. 

As everyone removes their seatbelts, Namjoon turns and gets onto his knees on the seat. He reaches back into the trunk, and you hear the sound of velcro parting. Then he hands you and Yoongi handguns, which you take with shaking hands. 

"Remember what you learned," Yoongi says as you stare at the weapon in your trembling palms, feeling its cold steel and familiar weight. "Take in a deep breath, line up your shot, and squeeze the trigger as you exhale."

At a loss for words, you nod, then swallow thickly. This is the absolute last thing you want to be holding in your hands tonight. Luckily, you switched your heels for ballet flats once you got to the vehicle, at least. 

Taehyung and Jeongguk exit the vehicle first while Yoongi and Namjoon stay put. You sit forward anticipating having to leave, and are a bit surprised when they do not. Through the rearview mirror, you watch as the two of them walk to the street with their guns tucked into the waistbands of their pants and glance around. Then Taehyung turns and waves for the rest of you to join him. 

"We should take the side door inside," you say, and Namjoon hums in response, though you are unsure what the nature of his hum is, exactly. 

Yoongi opens his door first, and Namjoon follows suit. "Go with Namjoon," Yoongi instructs, and you shift, then turn slightly to your left, waiting for Namjoon to exit.

Yoongi walks toward the street and Namjoon follows, but you hesitate. You do not want to be on an eerily silent street in the middle of the night while the building across from yours is billowing with smoke. This matter should be left to the fire department, and your family men should get the fuck home.

"Sweetheart," Namjoon softly calls, making you gasp, realizing the space between the two of you as you scurry ahead to catch up.

"I don't like this," you mutter, shoulders scrunched to your ears as you glance around the street. The sides of the bulletproof vest are rough and scratchy against your bare arms. "We should leave this to the professionals and go home."

"We are the professionals," Namjoon responds as you turn the corner and begin to walk toward the entrance of Paradise where Seokjin, Hoseok, and Jimin are all congregated. Jimin tenses as you approach, then sighs and relaxes when he sees that it is you. 

"Suited and strapped?" Seokjin teases, despite having a handgun tucked into his waistband. Hoseok has a fucking shotgun resting against his shoulder, and his smile is so blindingly bright that you struggle to reconcile the sight. Beside them, Changkyun and another man stand with what appear to be semi-automatic rifles in their hands.

"Safety first," Jeongguk slurs, clearly wasted despite how steadily he stands. 

"Any whispers?" Yoongi asks, and Seokjin blinks a few times then shrugs, saying, "None."

"Hmm," Yoongi taps his fingertips to his bottom lip, long fingers dancing as he speaks. "This is certainly a tactic to get our attention…but why? Where are they?"

You are not eager to find out who the message comes from or where they are, and you approach Double Seok and Jimin, sliding in close beside them. 

"Do we think this has anything to do with the sudden appearance of Hyungseo?" Taehyung asks. "There had been whispers of her helping in Busan."

Yoongi shrugs. "What could it mean? Unless she really is working for Ryujin, I can't imagine what her place in any of this would be. And why would she be setting one of Lady Choi's buildings on fire just to get our attention?"

"Why don't I take our dove inside?" Jimin suggests, and Yoongi turns his attention to you. 

You must look as terrified as you are, because Yoongi nods and says, "May as well. I don't need either of you getting hurt."

"Why don't we all get inside?" Jimin suggests. "We can assess the situation at a safe distance."

"Through what window?" Hoseok asks, and he is correct to do so; Paradise has no windows. 

"Stand in the fucking door, then," Jimin snaps, "I don't know."

From the distance, the siren of a fire truck screams, and you sigh with relief. The sound is piercing as it approaches, but it is a reprieve from the haunting silence and it fills you with hope

As soon as the truck pulls up, workers pile onto the street and begin to put out the fire, minding your group no business. It takes a while, and everyone watches as hoses hooked to hydrants do their work. 

Although it probably lasts around a half hour, you and everyone stand transfixed. Once everything is under control, the workers pack up and leave without a word to any of you, as if they were never here at all. 

Eerie silence returns and is met with the smell of burnt wood and plastic. You feel sick to your stomach staring at the corpse of the building before you, partially caved in while bits of a frame stand amongst the wreckage, scorched black. 

"What is the message?" Yoongi asks. 

"Shall we go inside and wait it out?" Namjoon asks. 

"I'll stay and stand watch," Hoseok says, dancing his fingertips over the handle of the shotgun. 

"Me too," Jeongguk slurs, and you feel the urge to insist that he does not. 

Jimin turns and pulls a ring of keys from his pocket and uses several to open the various locks. Then he opens the door wide, holding it for you to approach and step inside. Namjoon begins to follow suit, for which you are thankful, and he looks over his shoulder to say, "Yoongi. You should join us."

Yoongi takes two steps toward the building, and the sounds of heels loudly clacking against concrete can be heard, pulling everyone's attention. You look up to find the person approaching is the same lady who commented on your engagement ring at the casino restroom, and she is coming from beside the building to the right of the one that had just been on fire. 

The woman has changed from the blood-red evening gown to what appears to be an equally blood-red leather bikini top and denim mini skirt. Her hair is down, hanging to her breasts, and it looks wet, as if she were among the flames as they were being put out. 

"Now, now, gentlemen," the woman calls from across the street. "Retreating so soon?"

"Hyungseo," Yoongi calls, crossing his arms over his chest. "What are you doing here?"

The woman, who you surmise is called Hyungseo, walks across the street, swinging her arms loosely to her sides as if to a song that nobody can hear. As she gets closer, you can see that her makeup is smeared in black smudges, and there is a somewhat crazed look in her eyes. 

She pouts as she approaches Yoongi, fixing him with a curious stare. In her heels, she is nearly as tall as he is, but there is an intimidating aura to her otherwise lithe frame that makes her presence feel gigantic. 

"I come on behalf of my team, asking for a truce."

"Your team?" Yoongi scoffs, cocking his head. "What team?"

"Didn't you hear? Your pretty little ex has stepped down."

At this, Yoongi and all the other men straighten their posture. Yoongi is the first to respond, asking, "She what?"

Under his breath, Taehyung mutters, "So the whispers are true."

The smile that graces Hyungseo's lips is sharp and devious, and she glances around at all ten of you, then back to Yoongi. "You're outnumbered," she drawls in a teasing tone, elongating each syllable as she cocks her head slowly. 

"What kind of truce? What do we care if that building is burnt?" Yoongi asks. 

"That building," Hyungseo somewhat mumbles, rolling her head listlessly to the side to glance at it, "belongs to a very powerful woman who will no doubt have your head on a pike when she finds out you burnt it down."

"We didn't burn it down," Namjoon responds angrily.

Hyungseo shrugs. "Sure you did. And she is going to be very confused as to why you did, considering you so generously high-balled her for ownership of one of your less flashy hotels."

"Go on," Yoongi says with a sigh.

"You see," Hyungseo continues, "Lady Choi is very well-connected and has family in our organization. I wouldn't be surprised if she wanted to buy a hotel in Seoul in order to keep an eye on you guys. A keep-your-enemies-closer kind of situation, if you will."

"So she owns some shitty, vacant buildings, and you set fire to one of them to frame us?" Seokjin asks with a laugh in his tone. "You realize this building is covered with security cameras, and that your little ruse will be easily discredited."

Hyungseo shrugs and says, "We'll see about that."

Jimin already appears to be pulling the footage up on his phone, and you watch as his brows knit. "Boss," Jimin says nervously, "this man…he looks a lot like you from behind."

"Except I was at the casino all night," Yoongi responds, rolling his eyes.

"Hmm," Hyungseo responds, "are you sure about that? Because my team noticed there was about an hour and three minutes during which you were nowhere to be found. You and your right-hand man, in fact. And how strange that this fire happened to start around the exact same time. She smirks as she adds, "Where were you, Yoongi?"

Yoongi sighs. "I was fucking my fiancé."

"Your fake fiancé," Hyungseo corrects, causing Yoongi's shoulders to square once more. "And what about Namjoon? Was he also fucking her?"

"The nature of our relationship is none of your business," Yoongi responds, to which Hyungseo holds up a hand as if telling him to stop. 

"Don't worry, darling. Ryujin has told me all about the nature of your relationship. And the thirty-seven minutes during which your pretty little whore and Jeongguk went missing before you and Namjoon disappeared? Should I not question the nature of their relationship, too?"

Jeongguk pulls his gun and cocks the hammer, filling you with fear and dread. As he lifts it level with Hyungseo's head, you gasp and squeeze your eyes closed. 

"Down, boy," Hyungseo mutters listlessly, rolling her eyes. "No need to get so defensive."

"I think we've heard quite enough," Yoongi says, holding out a hand to Jeongguk and lowering it. Jeongguk follows the command and drops his arm down, pointing the barrel of his gun to the ground.

"So…" Hyungseo drawls, appearing bored. "Truce?"

"Fuck your truce," Yoongi responds sharply. "You're just trying to frame me, and I am not playing your games; we can arrange a meeting with Lady Choi and settle this like adults. She happily set the price she wanted for the hotel, but I can always ask her for less. And I can buy that burnt mess your team made if it assuages her worries. Regardless of the so-called family she has on your side, she and my mother were old friends; I'm not afraid of her or of you."

"Hmm, I'm afraid we can't do it that way," Hyungseo says as she scratches her head and begins to walk backward to the street. "Lady Choi may have had an allegiance with your family back in the day, but now your mommy and daddy are dead. She could give a fuck about the Min runt—her words, not mine."

Jeongguk lifts his gun again, and this time, a shot is fired from across the street, appearing to narrowly miss him as he ducks out of the way. You gasp, feeling terror take over so abruptly that your legs tremble and you nearly fall, gun gripped uselessly in your fist.

Everyone but Jimin reaches for the guns they have holstered just as another shot is fired and the men begin to scatter, taking cover. You run into Paradise, making way for Jimin, but he hesitates by the door, calling for Yoongi, who rounds the corner into the alley. 

Men charge from around the burnt building across the street, and although it is safe to say your men are outnumbered, if this really is everyone, they are not outnumbered by a lot. Still, fear quakes through you, and you nearly sink to the floor, holding the door cracked open.

"Jimin!" you whisper-shout until he finally snaps out of his daze and enters the building, closing the door tightly behind him. 

"What the fuck are they doing?" Jimin mutters, trembling fearfully. "Why didn't any of those idiots take cover inside?"

A fist pounds on the door, causing you to scream. From outside you hear, "It's Kyun. Let me in." 

Jimin holds his gun up with a shaking fist and cracks the door, then steps back, pulling it open wide. 

"You two retreat," Changkyun instructs. "I'll watch this door. Is there an alley door you can watch in case the men try to enter from there?"

"Yes," Jimin says, nodding his head somewhat maniacally with a distant look in his eye. "I can go to the back door."

Jimin turns and runs toward the back exit, and you stand in place, unsure whether you could will your legs to move if you wanted to. Despite calling it the back exit, it is along the nearby left wall, just past the main floor.

Gunfire is heard outside, along with shouting. You walk to the left wall and stand with your back against it, attempting to take deep breaths. Each exhale comes out in a sob as tears begin to pour. You cannot fathom anything happening to one of these men, and the prospect is horrifying. 

You wish they would have all come inside when you could take cover in a back room or even in a basement, but even you are not foolish enough to think any of those men would turn down the chance to kill their opponents instead.

Changkyun opens the door, and you watch with wide, horrified eyes as he rapidly fires bullets through the crack, then slams the door shut. Some shots from outside are much louder than others, making you flinch and jump with each sound. Gunfire rages on, causing tears to spill as your shoulders are held high and tense around your ears, making them ache. 

And then, suddenly, it is quiet. 

"Do not open this door for anyone," Changkyun instructs. "I am going to get the men back into their armored vehicles and return for you." 

"Okay," you mutter softly, nodding. 

"Lock it behind me and then get away from it, just in case. Everything is armored, but the walls are safest."

You nod some more, humming in understanding. Changkyun exits, and you shuffle over quickly to turn all five locks, then back away before turning toward the back exit. 

Each breath you take is loud in the large, empty building. You turn to locate Jimin, who should be standing near the back exit, and fear spikes when you do not see him. Had he gone outside? You feel a pull to go investigate but stand still, eyes wide and staring toward the closed door. 

And then, it flings open, and you watch as a man you have never seen before comes charging in, weapon drawn. You begin to back up but hit the wall, and he spots you, lifting his weapon. 

Panic pulsates through you, and you lift your gun far slower than you should to defend yourself. The man smirks and opens his mouth to speak when suddenly his head jerks to the left and explodes, sending blood and brain matter flying against the hardwood floor and a nearby round wooden table. You scream at the top of your lungs and fall against the wall, sliding to the floor as Hoseok steps in, shotgun still lifted. 

"We gotta get out of here!" Hoseok shouts, but try as you might, you cannot lift yourself from the floor, and you shake your head, feeling your body tremble so hard it makes your head ache.

"Sweetheart," Namjoon's voice calls. You search for him, but the edges of your vision are black, and all you are able to make out is a form of black that is vaguely human-shaped approaching in the dim room. "Come on. We gotta go."

Strong arms lift you, and you scream, struggling to comprehend anything but horrific fear. You are stood onto your feet and hugged tightly. Slowly, the scent of Namjoon's cologne comes to the forefront, but so does the brassy scent of blood, making your guts churn. 

With Namjoon's help, you begin to walk, and as you step past the man who has painted the floor red with his blood, you close your eyes tight. Cool night air hits you and snaps you harshly back to reality. You have to swallow down the urge to vomit, shivering violently in your scant evening gown, feeling sweat that has pooled beneath the thick vest start to cool.

"Jimin, just get into our trunk," you hear Yoongi insist, and you gasp happily at the sound of his voice. 

"Fine," Jimin sighs. "I don't want to walk back to our car, anyway."

Bodies litter the street, sidewalk, and alleyway of men dressed in black and holding guns. On the hands of those you can see is a tattoo of a black dagger, the tip of which is red, dripping with a single drop of blood. You wonder if they belong to a gang that marks all their participants in this manner. 

The trunk of the sedan is opened, and Jimin rounds the vehicle to get inside. Just then, Seokjin pulls up in his vehicle, and Hoseok runs over, jumping into the front seat. Jimin hesitates and must decide that, since his ride is here, he will just get in with them, because he closes the trunk and takes off running toward the vehicle. 

Jimin reaches the sidewalk and abruptly turns to the left, pulling his hands over his head and ducking. Hoseok shouts, "Fuck!" as he flings his car door open, but he is too slow. You hear a gun fire just as Jimin jerks and then crumbles, hitting the pavement. You are so filled with rage and fear that you begin to run toward Jimin. 

All you can hear is your own heart pounding in your ears as you turn the corner and find a man standing with his gun lifted. Hoseok and Seokjin stand from the open vehicle doors and raise their weapons, and you do the same. 

In a flash, every ounce of fear in your body transforms into anger, hate, and adrenaline. The world seems to screech to a halt as you pull the trigger in tandem with the other two and shoot. The man whose smoking gun points to you—to where Jimin stood—falls back, crashing to asphalt seconds after his brains splatter, and you advance, unconcerned about your surroundings. 

Voices shout around you, and you fire one more shot into the man’s head, which lurches uselessly from the ground and then crashes back with a squelch of blood and brain matter. And then another shot, walking until you are straddling his ribs with your ballet flats, firing again, turning his head into bone and sinew mush. Again and again, until click, click, click, your gun is out of bullets, and you scream bloody murder—enraged, as if one more bullet wound will undo the harm this battered corpse has caused. 

You raise your arm high in the air, intent to smash the butt of your gun into what is left of his face, but are stopped by a strong, immovable force. You hardly register the solid, warm arms that wrap around you, and as you are pulled from the man, you kick your legs and scream, furious with the world. Your heart continues to pound dizzying and loud, and you are certain that you would rip every last man to shreds with your bare hands if you could—god, if only you could. 

Incensed screams rip from your chest as you are dragged backward, feet hitting the asphalt, unable to keep up with the movement. The scent of flowers and springtime greets your nose in waves, bringing Namjoon’s calming voice into the forefront for only a moment, though you cannot, for the life of you, make out what he is saying; shouting and the overwhelming scent of blood takes over too strongly, tugging you between heaven and hell. 

In a surge of anger, you reach for the switchblade at your thigh, grip onto the handle, and pull it free. You know that the man is dead—there is nothing recognizable left of his face—but the urge to slice him open and tear out his insides is palpable and unforgiving. You will not be satisfied until his bleeding fucking heart is in your fist. 

Namjoon's grip on you loosens, and he shouts something incomprehensible as you attempt to lunge forward, only to be caught again in his grasp. You press the small lever on the side of the knife as hands reach for your weapon, and in a fit of panic and rage, you flail your arm, desperate to keep a tight hold of the knife and continue on to your battered target. 

And then, things blur and slow down. Your arm is yanked back, and as you rip it forward again, you feel the knife catch, but you are too caught up in the movement that you do not stop—all you can comprehend is blinding rage at the man whose brains are splattered on the ground. Screams and shouts are deafening, and although you can make out certain words—Yoongi…face…blood—nothing fully makes sense. 

The knife is ripped from your hand at the same time the arms around you release, and when you turn to scream at Namjoon for keeping you from attacking the man whose bullet stole something precious and sacred from you, you find Yoongi standing a foot away, hands up to his face, with blood seeping from between his fingers. 

"Sweetheart, don't—" Namjoon begins, blocking your view with his arms held out around your sides. But you are frantic, and you do not understand what has just happened; how the fuck is Yoongi injured?

Taehyung wraps an arm around Yoongi and spins him, ushering him away to a sedan, and you panic, desperate to go with him. Faintly, you think you see Jimin on some kind of stretcher with his neck and head braced, and you wonder where that came from. Did Taehyung have something like that handy? Can it actually fit in one of the vehicles? 

The fighting all around you was so chaotic that now, even as it seems to be over, your adrenaline is too high for anything to make clear and perfect sense; no sound registers and every light trails in a dizzying spell before your eyes. 

"Yoongi!" you scream, and Namjoon holds you tighter, keeping you from the one other person you need to be with the most. You scream, "Let go of me, fucking let go of me!" attempting to claw Namjoon's arms away from your middle as Yoongi is helped by Hoseok into the back of the same large black vehicle that Seokjin and Taehyung are lifting Jimin into the back of. 

Jeongguk steps in front of you, face stern and streaked with tears, and he firmly—roughly—grabs onto your shoulders, gritting his teeth as he holds you steady.

"You've done enough," he says sharply, piercing into your heart, and hot streaks pour down your face and cloud your vision as you fail to make sense of what the fuck is happening. 

"Yoongi—" you mutter, jaw clattering as your body trembles in the cool night air, shaking your head and getting onto your toes in an attempt to see over Jeongguk's shoulder. "What happened, where is he going? I need to go with him, please, I need to go with him!"

"You need to calm the fuck down and breathe," Jeongguk retaliates angrily.

"Jeongguk, what happened?" you ask, quaking with adrenaline and searching his face for answers. His anger is understandable, but you cannot figure out why it seems to be directed at you.

Behind him, Namjoon's face falls to his hands, and gripped tightly in his fist, pointing outward, is your open switchblade. 

"Namjoon," you whisper, finding your voice wrecked and unable to project. 

"Let's get you into this vehicle," Jeongguk sternly says, steering you toward Seokjin's sedan. 

"But they—" you begin, watching as Namjoon walks away and climbs into the very back of Taehyung's vehicle. The seats appear to be down, and Yoongi is sitting beside Jimin's stretcher with his head tilted upward, holding something over his face. 

"They have to receive medical attention," Jeongguk says. "And you need to go with Seokjin hyung."

Changkyun and the other man are in the back seat of Seokjin's vehicle, and Hoseok sits staring ahead as Jeongguk ushers you into the one empty seat, behind Hoseok. 

"You're—" you begin to ask, and Jeongguk interrupts, saying, "I'm going with them," before slamming your door shut and walking back to Taehyung's vehicle. 

You attempt to open the door, but the handle moves uselessly, keeping you trapped inside. 

"Seat belts!" Seokjin sing-songs with a hint of exhaustion in his tone. 

"What happened to Yoongi?" you ask, frantically watching Seokjin, who glances into the rearview mirror with a frown. 

"What do you remember about everything that just transpired?"

Searching your memory, you shake your head. It all happened so fast, and Yoongi was behind you, so there was no way to see how he was injured.

"After we sh-shot…" you stammer, unable to finish the sentence, "I pulled out my knife to stab…" you trail off once more and squeeze your eyes closed, realizing now how ridiculous it is that you wanted to continue attacking a man who was already dead. When you open your eyes, Seokjin is still frowning, eyes on you through the rearview mirror. "And then Namjoon took my knife away. So then…what happened to Yoongi?"

Seokjin continues to watch you for just a moment, then he sighs with a light shake of his head, turning his gaze from you to the road. And you want to demand answers, but when he puts the vehicle in drive, the words die on your tongue. You still do not understand, and you spiral, asking yourself the same questions over and over. How could Yoongi have gotten injured? What could have happened to him?

"Seems you got a little carried away and don't fully remember everything," Hoseok says from the passenger seat directly in front of you. "It happens, especially during emotionally intense situations like this. Let's get you home and prioritize the others getting taken care of, and then we will all touch base with what happened." 

"Wh-what do you mean by got a little carried away?" you ask, shaken.

Hoseok hums and responds simply, "The rage you seemed to experience, shooting the man repeatedly despite him already being dead and then attempting to turn the brunt of the weapon on him, followed by pulling out your knife…it was a very irrational but very typical drive to continue punishing the man for what he had done." There is a chuckle on his voice as he adds, "I remember my first blind rage."

"Me too," Seokjin responds calmly, eyes on the road.

The unnamed security guard hums mmhmm as Changkyun says, "Me too."

Your eyes well with tears as you attempt to recount everything, but you only remember it in fragments. Jimin crumpling to the ground, you running and lifting your gun, Namjoon lifting you kicking and screaming, and, finally, Yoongi bleeding. 

"I don't…fully remember…" you mutter, eyes unfocused on the black leather seat ahead of you. 

"Although we do not recommend charging into battle around a corner like that, you may have saved me," Hoseok says with a chipper tone. "My shotgun was empty, and I had been reaching into the glovebox for another gun, but you were quicker on your feet than I was with my hands."

"You only had one gun?" Seokjin asks, turning briefly to Hoseok before looking ahead at the road.

"I know," Hoseok responds with a laugh. "Uncharacteristic, huh? I came out with a glock on my thigh but gave it to Namjoon mid-fight when his clip ran out. Seems none of us were fully anticipating what was to come."

"For once, I had no insider news," Seokjin laments, and you think you hear a pout in his tone. "I miss having someone on the inside."

Although you are sure Seokjin means no offense, there is a very blasé manner in which he seems to be mentioning the death of Hyunjin that makes you stiffen—makes your stomach churn. 

Conversation dies down, and you close your eyes with your head tilted against the window. And suddenly, you are coming over the hill with the mansions in view. Yoongi's home has its lights out—save for the security lights outside—and there are no vehicles in the drive. You assume that everyone is at Taehyung's place, and the thought of going home to Yoongi's cold, empty bedroom is daunting. 

"Would you like to come with us for the time being?" Seokjin asks, and it takes a few seconds for his words to sink in. You glance up with a start. "I'm not sure how long the others will be, but we have a spare bed you can rest in."

"Or you can attempt to distract yourself with some television," Hoseok suggests.

You nod, unsure whether either of these options sound good, but eager to do anything but return home alone. "Alright," you mutter, swallowing down the overwhelming urge to cry.

"We'll make some hot cocoa and give you a change of clothing," Seokjin recommends, and you nod listlessly, heavy-blinking.

With a sigh, you stare out as Seokjin pulls into the very start of Yoongi's driveway and does a u-turn. Although you have never been to their home, you remember Namjoon telling you that it is on the opposite side as his, meaning their driveway would have been before Yoongi's. And, sure enough, when they pull into the driveway, past the loud metal gate, it is nearly a picture-perfect replica of Namjoon's home.

Hoseok is gentle as he guides you out of the sedan to his front door while Seokjin walks ahead and unlocks it. Although you are surprised by how gelatinous your bones seem to have become, Hoseok appears to have anticipated it, holding you steady around the waist. 

Their home décor is nothing like you would have imagined, and you wonder what Victorian-age vampire prince decorated. Everything is crushed velvet with hand-carved accents and gold leaf, similar to Yoongi's home but with more tones of blood red and emerald green. The wainscoted walls are littered with paintings and sconces, and everything is dark wood with upholstery in he same deep shades.

Hoseok runs up the stairs two at a time and quickly returns with a set of black pajamas—a button-down shirt and pants. You change in the downstairs bathroom, which is all gold and black marble, then return to the living room to the smell of hot chocolate and find Hoseok on the nearby chaise clicking through streaming services. 

It is not long before you curl up and fall asleep to the soft sounds of low chattering while some drama you have never heard of plays in the background. Twice you wake up screaming to the sight of watching a man's head explode before giving up on sleep and continuing to watch TV while the sun slowly begins to rise.

i'll keep it a secret 비밀로 할게

your corruption and sin 네 부정과 죄

reveal everything 전부 드러내

friendly reminder: there is no major character death tag!!!

only 3 chapters left 😬😬😬 how are we feeling??? everything is going to spiral to the end, and then there will be a sequel (i know i say this a lot but it seems i need to remind some!!! this is not the end the end, but we are building to an end.)

if you would like a laugh, while searching for an ot7 pic that includes yoongi with long hair, the only one i really found with everyone's hair almost correct (jk and sj aren't quite accurate) all i could find was this years festa pics:

imagine the collateral family men in pastels hehe.

also, yoongi wore this outfit to Paradise:

woof woof bark bark bark imagine him in this fit with his long hair and current muscle bulk.

anywayyyyyyyyy thank you so much for reading!!! comments and reblogs make the world go 'round!!! and likes are appreciated!!! stay hydrated, i love you!!!

tag lists will be on separate reblogs! they've gotten too big to contain as one!

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Collateral is copyright 2022-2023 theharrowing, all rights reserved.

[vakonawaa]

at least in this lifetime we're sticking together

komahina week day 6: post game | marriage

[mc-i-r]

NEW EPISODE SPOILERS

Based off the last shot u h

I've got a lot of t h o u g h t s

[spookyspecterino]

Just finished reading this and I have so many feelingssss. This work of art!!! A dark pirate Sam that's ruthless and still says 'Honey' and 'Darlin'?? Fang you have me ON MY KNEESSS. THANK YOU for this AMAZING gift. I'm going to print it out and staple it to my walls and act like I'm presenting a prized possession to anyone who comes over. ❤️❤️❤️❤️

And don't👏even👏get👏me👏started on the spicy factor. You could bottle this up and I'd go broke trying to buy it all 🥵🥵🥵😩😩😩

Tear You Apart

This is a one-shot dedicated to @spookyspecterino for her birthday!

Minors DNI, 18+

TW: CNC, Facefucking, bondage, light forced voyeurism, it's very explicit and it's a pirate being a pirate so just be wary. This isn't your Sam Coe from Kansas anymore.

word count: 5, 139

You are now Starborn in search for the remnants of what you have left behind in your new current universe. You rush to be reunited with a new version of those you cared deeply but things go awry.

I am extremely excited to share this for my wonderful mutual @spookyspecterino who was one of the first writers on here to inspire me to start writing again in the first place! I wouldn't have 37k of Delgado fanfiction if it wasn't for your fic New You.

Thank you @thatsgoodsquishy0 for being my Editor in Chief and @bearlytolerant for giving it a go and providing the fantastic gameshot!

I hope this is well received and that you enjoy it Spooky! After all it is for you!

Not all of it will be posted here due to it's explicit nature. The rest will be on Ao3. If you would like to go straight there: Tear You Apart Ao3 comments and kudos are appreciated but never required!

Playlist to accompany it

Tear You Apart

Your eyes open slowly to the sound of a crackling fire. Your memory is foggy as you come back to consciousness trying to remember how you passed out in the first place. The last thing you remembered was coming to the Lodge after joining this universe. It was an emotional toll leaving your world behind but it was something you and the Constellation agreed upon before entering your ship one last time to make your journey to Unity. The first mission your heart was set on was to find your friends again, no matter the version of them you may meet. 

You lift yourself and feel your hands tied behind your back. The tight rope was creating a hot friction that rubbed at your wrists creating mild discomfort. There was a deep sense of anxiety that creeped into the pit of your stomach, wondering who could have done this to you. Did The Hunter possibly beat you here? Was it an enemy you had not met yet? Or worse did a version of the someone you once knew have tied you down like this? 

The sound of footsteps against the wood floors interrupted your thoughts and worries and you felt yourself hold your breath in anticipation of your captor. Whoever it was you knew you had the chance to use your wits and persuade them to let you go and to see reason, even if your reasoning sounded straight out of a sci-fi novel. The footsteps were heavier and closer, echoing within the room, as they circle behind you till the boots owner was within your view. Your eyes widen as you look at the man in front of you. He was so familiar yet so alien to the version you knew so dearly. His blonde hair was chopped down to just below his ears and it was shaggy around his face. His leather brown adventurer's hat had a lovely crimson ribbon tied around the base. His eyes were steely blue portraits of the arctic planets you once traveled together. There was even a scar on his left cheek that mimicked lightning that was nonexistent on the version that you knew and once loved. 

“Sam” You breathed, giving yourself away accidentally. His appearance was shocking and what caught you by surprise the most was the crimson skull that anointed his baggy black sweater. He cocked his head to the left and a smile curled at his lips in curiosity. 

“How do you know my name?” His ragged voice was rougher than you remembered and the tone of it sounded amused, like a cat that played with its prey. This version of Sam had a voice that was an octave deeper and it was raspier as if he smoked. You feel yourself shrink to his question unsure of how honestly you should answer him. 

“Are you….part of the Fleet?” You asked him unsure of how to react. What could have made this Sam join the Fleet? Better yet, was he the one who tied you up? His blue eyes glance over to his shoulder where the Crimson Fleet skull patch was and back to you less amused than before. 

“You didn’t answer my question but anyone could have guessed that, darlin.” Sam said lazily as if he was starting to get bored with this conversation. He moved closer to where you sat bound on the couch and with a swift move he had his pistol out, cocked it back and pressed it gently onto your forehead. “I suggest you start answering my questions if you plan to see tomorrow.” 

“I knew another version of you.” You spat out quickly as your heart pounded from the cold touch of his gun. You were so confused and stricken with the sudden turn of events. The face before you was a near perfect replica of a man who used to hold you so tightly at the end of long days, who wouldn’t dare point his gun at you. You felt your chest become heavier with each second as the anxiety crawled up your throat. 

“I don’t appreciate liars.” He growled as he pressed the gun harder to the center of your forehead threatening to pull the trigger. His eyes narrowed and he tilted his head down to demand your eye contact. You feared to look away, unsure what he would do. 

“I’m not, I swear! There’s another version of you that I knew from the universe I came from.” You said quickly trying to defend yourself trying to use your eyes to plead him to trust you. If this man was anything like the Sam you knew perhaps, he could believe the unbelievable too. You wiggled your wrists around in panic because in this moment a part of you knew you needed to play along to make it out of this position. “We used the artifacts to go through Unity together.” 

“What did you say? Artifacts?” He bent over to get closer to your face as his gun still was positioned to shoot at any moment. 

“You must be another member of Constellation.” His eyes examined you top to bottom as he slowly removed his gun and put it back in its holster. He took a step back to stand straight and had one boot pointed directly at you as he fixed himself into a comfortable stance. Sam looked past you and made a nod. That was when you heard more footsteps and there were other men who circled around the couch and took their place on each of his sides. They were men you didn’t recognize but each had an unsavory look about them and hunger in their eyes for something yet to be seen. 

“We thought we had already dealt with all the Constellation members but it seems they were hiding one. Maybe you are more willing to share some answers. They didn’t and unfortunately ended up in unsavory places around New Atlantis.” There was a dark chuckle that escaped his lips and something caught in your throat after he admitted to killing this universe’s versions of your friends. You wondered if this Sam was even a part of Constellation at all within this universe or if he killed his friends in cold blood. There was a chill that crawled down your spine and the pounding of your heart now echoed within your ears. You couldn’t tell if it was from the light of the fire or because of the men around him but you started to see more shadows upon his face and the menacing nature of this Sam was all too clear. 

 “Y-you didn’t?” Your words stammered out in disbelief and in horror and you felt tears fill little pools into your eyes ready to crash down your cheeks. It was unthinkable that this world existed. A world where Sam was a bloodthirsty pirate and someone who killed off members of Constellation one by one. He laughed at your horror filled reaction and that’s when he was directly in front of you again, resting his boot on the couch beside you, crouching down to be on your level. You couldn’t tell if he bent down to mock you or to make sure you could hear him. 

“Oh honey, we sure did. They refused to give us what we wanted and well we live by a very strict motto. Fleet First. Not like we didn’t give them the chance.” His voice was laced with fake sympathy as he showed his sharp teeth in a wide grin. He thought he was hilarious and so did his men who laughed behind him. “Now tell us, where are those Artifacts?” 

“I don’t know.” Your lips trembled and your breath escaped you. There was a part of you that regretted the fact that you could bring nothing with you to this universe and didn’t think to stop anywhere to arm yourself. It was obvious now, this Sam wasn’t your friend and the last thing he needed was access to Unity. He would most likely be just as horrible, if not worse as The Hunter. 

Continue reading here

[lunima]

*softly but with feeling* vhenan

[mazojo]

Which troupe do you like most in A3 and why? ❤️

YESSS I LOVE EVERY SINGLE PART OF THIS ASK BLESS YOUUU

Lmaoo i am sorry A3! Has come to consume my life the past two weeks xDD Once I am all up to date I want to do a big post with all my thoughts and fav chatactrersss

A little disclaimer it being that I havent really met much of the Winter troupe apart from meme videos I've seen and a few scenes so I wont take them into account for now cos I haven't played their chaptersss ;w;

I think up till now my favorite troupe is Summer troupe because I just......... really love....... all my bois........ so much................

Like Tenma as the leader?? Being able to bond with the boys and really learn how to become a leader, poetic.

Yuki and all his struggles, acting like he doesn't care what others say but in reality he isn't made of stone and of course what others say hurt, finding a group of chaotic dumbasses to support him, amazing.

Muku just being the most adORABLE CINNAMON ROLL TO EVER WALK THIS PLANET? Yes ma’am.

Misumi........ please everyone........ give him his triangles....... ;w; in this household we stan one (1) triangle boi

And finally Kazunari is one of the bois I loveeee the mosttt!! He is such an energetic idiot who looks out for others and he really cares and the nicknames and...... I love him

Their whole dynamic is pure gold and I live for every second of itttt

I am just meeting some of the autumn troupe bois so this may change once I finish the whole game that’s out for now but for now........ stan Summer troupe or perish y’all

[earnmysong]

the fabulously terrific @firstaudrina detailed her top five favorite fics from her repertoire! i’m also paraphrasing her invite: ‘[passing this to] all my writer mutuals! yes, you. you too.’ mine are as follows:

try and grab the spotlight (a dollop of fame) [schitt’s creek; alexis/ted; the extended rose fam]: i regularly have feelingssss about a duo, but? this? my crowning glory! it’s absolutely the ending i envision for my beloved babies and i regularly reread myself, like a complete nerd.

set my midnight sorrow free [the newsroom; sloan/don]: the comfort we saw in the series finale immediately spurred me to imagine tons more, so. this is that!

hush, my darling (don't fear, my darling) [stranger things; eleven+hopper, et al.]: the father-daughter pre-fight patch-up job that wouldn’t leave me alone until i’d written all the details over the course of three days!

superman's got nothing on me [mcu, ant-man movies; hope/scott, extended fam]: i came out of ‘ant-man & the wasp’ wanting to sob joyously. this emotion extended into navigating legacies and many familial shenanigans.

what’s so amazing that keeps us stargazing (what do you think we might see) [in the heights; vanessa/usnavi, tinyyyyy human iris]: i had an extremely clear vision/headcanon here ... part of me wishes the length could’ve matched my attachment level? 5K wasn’t meant to be, though!

number six would’ve definitelyyyy featured wanda maximoff!

[trashcatsnark]

NGL I love how much you have embraced the silverv stuff here - its so nice to read. I submit for consideration, Rogue notices the tattoo while on the disaster date and both Johnny and V play it off as a joke and holy shit poor rogue stuck in a room with two morons.

Also - V getting dressed for that date and realizing they just MIGHT be a little jealous with a side of some thoughts of "Oh God Johnny Would NEVER Feel That Way About Me Gotta Bury This Deep So He Doesn't Know"

Johnny notices the anxiety but is very dense about the cause.

Oh hell yeah, I have fully embraced it and this ship; I was writing SilverV porn before the game came out, like I knew what my ship for this game was gonna be from the second I saw gifs of

“You’re a dick, Johnny” 

“And you’re a cunt, so maybe we’ll fit together after all.” 

That banter sealed my fate and I’m fairly sure I had named and created my V then wrote porn of her with Johnny literally a week later. The devil works hard, but my brainrot works harder and faster. 

Spoilers! 

Okay, so I’ve thought a lot about that date in both a silverv context (and largely how it fits with my V, Aidan and her fic) I’ll try to stay general though. 

Firstly, I whole heartedly believe Rogue sees through their bullshit. Not only is she just good at that, but Johnny even states she has MRE’s (?) and can see through people, like her eyes can pick up on signs of lying. And usually, thats not an issue for when V talks to her, but when she asks about Johnny and their relationship with him. Its a mess. And when Rogue asks Johnny about it, its a mess. 

And when Rogue notices the tattoo it’s like Oh... I get it . And Johnny is of course like, “hahaha, yeah I thought that’d be so funny, the kid hates it.” But Rogue isn’t stupid, she knows a lovey dovey heart with their names, something that looks like someone doodled it on their third grade notebook about their crush, is not really typical of Johnny’s “joking” She knows that if Johnny is not really the kind of guy to hahahaha its so funny to make it look like we love each other; he’d be more likely to get a dick tattooed on V’s arm if it was just to mess with them. For gods sake, look how many people didn’t pick “the other one” because they were convinced it was gonna be a dick. That’s a Johnny just trying to fuck with someone move. So, she doesn’t buy it, but doesn’t push it...with him. 

She asks V about and of course they play it off as “Yeah, Johnny thought it’d be funny, what a fucking asshole, its so fucking dumb, I totally fuckin hate it.” 

“So, why not get it removed?” 

“Uhhhhhhhhhhh, well you see what had happened was, um, I, just uhhhh, never been enough time, I guess yeahhhhhh.” 

Cause lets face it, in cyberpunk universe, getting a tattoo removed should be easy. If you can get blades in your arms and can have a completely newly reconstructed body in like an afternoon; you can get a tattoo removed in like twenty minutes. So, V still keeping it, says volumes about how they really feel.

Now, V’s jealousy and the date. 

I do absolutely agree that any anxiety or ill feeling V might have up until the date; Johnny is gonna feel, but not realize where it’s coming from. I think if anything, he’s gonna chalk it up to V being anxious about giving him control again and he’s gonna be like worried that maybe V doesn’t trust him as much as they let on. 

And I do think a V who has feelings for Johnny, would not be able to help feeling some jealousy regarding Rogue and Johnny. Just because jealousy is natural thing to feel and while you can debate if they were ever a good or healthy couple, you can’t debate they shared very real feelings for one another. And I think a lot of V’s jealousy would come from just how much Johnny seems to first think of/go to Rogue. When he needed to save Alt, first person he turned to, Rogue. When he wanted to bomb Arasaka tower (going by his memory of it and ignoring that the event was probably actually planned by Morgan Blackhand), who’d he go to? Rogue. When he becomes determined to get Smasher, who is he determined to get him with, Rogue. When he first decides to atone for his past mistakes, who’s the first person he wants to make up with, Rogue. When at the rooftop, who does he want to go grab to help him save V, Rogue. 

If you got feelings for someone, that’d hurt, I think it’s impossible for that not to spark some jealousy. And V if anything is also mad at themselves for having those feelings, because they like Rogue, she’s a badass, a legend, they respect the hell out of her. And of course they have feelings for Johnny and they wanna help him make shit right and they wanna give him a chance to enjoy himself. But this stupid reptilian part of their brain is screaming but i want to be the first person he goes to, the first person he thinks about, which they know is also stupid cause for fucks sake the man literally lives in their brain, they’re as close as two people can be and literally when Johnny has the power to go to someone for something, he can’t go to V because they’re reduced to sleeping essentially until Johnny hands back the reigns. Yet, feelings aren’t aren’t always, rational, sadly. 

And to Johnny’s credit, he probably doesn’t even give it that much thought. Rogue is a badass, someone he cares for, someone he can depend on and someone he hurt really badly. The two people he can and always has been able to depend on the most (other than Alt prior to her death) have been Kerry and Rogue. And, bless his heart, the fuck is Kerry gonna do? Kerry ain’t a merc, Kerry isn’t gonna bust into Arasaka Tower or plant a bomb. Kerry doesn’t have the connection to Smasher. So, of course, Rogue is gonna be his go to. And in terms of making things up to people...he literally cannot really do much to make things up to V, not the way he can for Rogue or Kerry. Cause, when him and V are both conscious, he can’t do much beyond touch and talk to them. Hell, even with Rogue and Kerry, he relies mostly on V to help him do anything. Even with people he can interact with and do something for; V is doing all the nitty gritty work for him. V drives Rogue to the theater, V breaks into the theater, V gets the projector going. V breaks into Kerry’s house, V disables the security. V gets in contact with Nancy. V gets Nancy out of Totentanz in one piece. 

Which probably if V actually thought about it critically, does mean he’s going to them and relying on them more than Rogue, but they’d probably dismiss it out of it being for necessity and not because he cares about them and feels he an depend on them. 

Anyhow, Johnny would probably love to do some nice gesture to make up for his bender to V, hell they probably were the first person he wanted to make things up since they are his catalyst for changing. But what feasibly can he do for them? Anything he’d want to do with/for them, would just be asking V go do this thing and i’ll also be here. Anything that would put them in public interacting is out, unless they want MaxTac called on V for looking cyberpsychotic. He can’t even do an at home date, because he can’t cook (engram or not) and he can’t buy them anything nice he has no money and also doesn’t technically exist. He could try to do so sneakily while he’s in control...but he’d be using V’s money so they might as well just buy it for themselves. he can play music for them,,. but that doesn’t seem too special and more than a little egotistical to think it’ll make V feel better about what he did... So... all he can really do, is prove he’s worth trusting by being on his best behavior and more importantly do what he can to save V’s life. 

Then there’s the date. And as usual, I have some opinions and feelings about a thing.  Like, okay, I’ve seen some people (aka Gamer Bros on Twitter) being like, Rogue is Johnny’s girl. Wanting to date either of them is wrong because they like each other. (then you also get the BUT ALT crowd, but rants for another day.) And I can’t help but ask, did we play the same date? Their entire date is about how they’re both desperately clinging to the past. Rogue is trying to reclaim 2013-2023 Rogue and Johnny just wanting for a night to feel like the world and his place in it haven’t been completely rearranged. And it ends with Rogue telling him, she is not that girl anymore, she can’t pretend to be, and frankly she doesn’t want to anymore. She wishes she could be, wishes she was still that tall haired street punk who’d never dream of working with corps or being a fixer, but she’s not. Her and Johnny are no longer the same people who met back in to 2010’s. Doesn’t mean they don’t care about one another and doesn’t mean what feelings they had weren’t real or important; but they’re just not those people anymore. Rogue more so than Johnny since he’s freshly on the course of change.   

Something else in regards to the date, that I think is important to talk about and how it relates to silverv and its something I personally have very conflicting feelings about. The fact that Johnny can initiate some physical intimacy with Rogue. See, I have never chosen the option to kiss Rogue during the date and actually did not learn until relatively recently, that if that choice is made it goes a biiit further than a kiss. I have watched the scene now.

And god I have mixed feelingssss. Like, I get it, but I’m not sure I like it. And I know full well, my silverv bias impacts my feelings on the matter, it’s be disingenuous to say otherwise. But I don’t think the ship is purely my reason for having these feelings. But at the end of the day, its all opinions. So, I get from a character perspective that Johnny and Rogue are trying so hard to reclaim their past and what they use to have that they get caught up in trying do what they would do if this was the 2010’s. And Johnny’s relationships as we’ve seen are very physical, sexual chemistry and attraction are major factors in his relationships because he kept things very superficial most of the time. He even says part of the issue with his relationship with Rogue is at the time he didn’t realize he could let her see the true him and still hid behind walls, kept things at a distance. So, the idea that’d they fall back into the old habit of trying to just be physical and ignore their feelings, isn’t out of character. 

However, and Johnny even seems to acknowledge this issue when Rogue interrupts it, they’re doing this with V’s body. V...who did not consent to sexual contact. They consented to a date and while one could logic that this would mean everything a date could entail up to and including physical intimacy; I would argue that that is something that would need further conversation to have clear consent. And like again, this might come down to boundaries and personal feelings. Because I go back to the bender and what’s been interesting to me is too see different opinions on it; some people weren’t actually bothered at all by Johnny’s bender in V’s body, some people were bothered by the drugs and alcohol specifically cause their V is straight edge. Me, personally, it was the sexual content and the endangering of V’s life. Like, it was mostly funny and oh yeah, I expected that it’s bad but eh I’ll move on, to me, until he started getting sexual with people in V’s body. Like that to me is not just crossing the line, it’s catapulting over it. 

And like I said, Johnny even responds to Rogue’s “this isn’t fair” with “what, you mean it’s not fair to V?” which she says she meant it isn’t fair to Johnny. (Which viscerally upset because you nearly used V’s body for sexual gratification without their consent and you’re worried about Johnny, which tbf Rogue has no way of knowing what V has and hasn’t consented to, so its not on her but that was my knee jerk thought). So, he has some awareness that maybe that was a bad move. 

And yeah, it definitely to me and my V would be a very bad move (unless he explicitly talked to them beforehand and got consent). And in general, it made me feel like, dude, you just promised you’d be better and not break V’s trust but again not a day later you’re nearly using them to have sex. It felt like a backslide, which isn’t necessarily unrealistic, cause change and growth is not always linear, people can commit to changing themselves and still fuck up and not get it right; in fact it’s rare for them not to have any sort of backsliding or repeating of mistakes. 

Again, I will also give credit that he could have been assuming that given V consented to the date, they assumed or were cool with their being physical intimacy between him and Rogue. He also generally, might not have really planned for it to happen, because I don’t think Johnny plans a lot of anything. It very well might have just sort of happened. Also, V doesn’t clearly communicate if the sexual component was an issue in the bender. All V really seems to have an issue with in game is the very general thing of; he misled them and used them. So, he might have assumed that wasn’t ever an issue. And hell, if you wanna go full meta, the player is technically the one who makes that choice and V is largely an avatar for the player, so that alone could be seen as whether or not V would/does consent. 

But, from a story perspective, removing the player choice element. I think how that’s handled would have a huge impact on silverv and where it goes from there. 

Because if V and Johnny did talk about consent prior and V did consent while having feelings for Johnny, god I’d have to imagine they’d still feel pretty hurt, but feel it’s irrational to feel that way and have put their own feelings aside because clearly Johnny cares about and wants Rogue and they should ruin what could be his one chance to make things right. 

If there like in game was no talk of consent and Johnny ends up kissing and touching on Rogue and V finds out or has memories of it surface,that could be devastating for them. Not only from their own feelings for Johnny, but this since of betrayal and hurt. Was the oil field conversation just a lie? A manipulation? V might feel like they were used; that Johnny never gave a shit about them or how they feel. And Johnny would have to deal with the realization that intentionally or not; he earned back V’s trust just to destroy it again. He fucked up again, he ruined everything again, he got his second chance and destroyed it…. And he doesn’t know how, if he can, or if he should bother trying to ask for a third. In general, I do think, V would come out of the date assuming (naturally so) that Johnny really only has romantic feelings towards Rogue, that they’re just a friend at best, a host to be used at worse. I even in my own universe with my V have them after everything is better, everyones got a body, expects Johnny to start pursing Rogue and trying to swallow their own feelings and be a supportive friend, try to encourage and push him to do it and Johnny’s just like please stop, Rogue is this close to murdering us both.

I was gonna add more funny stuff to this and include a shitposty interaction he has with my V over them dressing up for the date and shit, BUT HOLY FUCK THIS GOT LONG AND SAD????? I’M SO SORRY.