#I can only get out under a death shroud

[chaosordoffl]

I just think it's soooo funny how I get treated as a threat when I get emotional after holding back the vast majority of the time even though I'm more likely to hurt myself instead of other people or even things

[sp4ceboo]

Within the Storms of Giedi Prime: Feyd-Rautha x Reader

A/N: the long awaited part two of upon the sands of the arena is hereeee

tw: 18+, smut (more than last time hehehe), p in v, swearing, Feels™, death, assassination, use of the Voice (not on feyd), less violence but still violence, i lack faith in my sequel writing abilities, blowjobs, SUB FEYDDDD, also DOM FEYDDD, sex Outside, lightning and thunder (it says storms in the title what do you expect)

wc: 4.2k

part 1

Giedi Prime is a miserable planet.

It’s evident in the choking, black smog from the factories in the dense air fused with the anguished cries of overworked slaves and the distant rumble of the still active volcanos. You’re near the Harkonnen’s palace grounds - you’re heading towards them, actually, and the promise of a… pleasant night; to your left, you can just about glimpse the looming silhouette of the great arena, squatting like a hulking beast on the horizon, waiting to swallow any poor soul that gets too close to its gaping maw.

Tonight, roiling storm clouds reign the sky, sending sheets of furious rain pounding down upon anyone who dares to be out at this hour - including you. Harsh bolts of lightning spear down, hurtling towards the ground like incensed, condensed moonlight and casting freakish shadows.

Moonlight: the colour of Feyd’s skin. If it weren’t for him, you’d already be off this sorry planet - alas, you must stay a little longer, your body already a little warm at the memory of his skilled fingers and scorching gaze. You haven’t been back since the encounter with the na-Baron in the arena months ago, and you can’t help but feel the sting of doubt in your chest, wondering if he’ll still want a second time, or if you’ll sneak into his room only to find yourself replaced by a concubine.

Not that you occupy significance to him anyway, you remind yourself. Feyd-Rautha could not replace you, because there would be nothing to replace, just ashes of a once bright fire.

Irked by the weakness of your own mind, you pull the hood of your cloak lower over your face, tightening it across your shoulders. The hem is sullied by browning blood: you disposed of your quarry just this morning, and delivered the decapitated head during the early afternoon.

Conveniently, the Bene Gesserit have left you alone for now, most likely tangled in the politics regarding the Kwisatz Haderach while trying to predict the next movement of Jessica Atreides - word is that she has burrowed her way deeper into the desert, surrounding herself and her son with the more fanatic of the Fremen as she bides her time, ready for her next strike.

It means that you’ve been granted enough time to establish yourself as a bounty hunter. For a highly trained Bene Gesserit, the work is easy, and earns you coin a plenty while keeping you on the move and as in shape as assassinating sloppy idiots attempting to run from debt and petty disagreements can.

Slipping through the palace’s perimeter proves easy enough. You use the Voice on a few guards, preferring it to cutting their throats: instructing them to keep quiet and forget you passed by causes much less of a commotion. The scaling of the ramparts that make up the circumference of the inner palace is the most challenging, due to the stone being slick with moss and rain - your fingers dig into the cracks between the weathered blocks of stone, the wind snapping and tugging at your cloak, fiercer now that you’re higher up.

There’s a narrow battlement ringing one side of Feyd’s room. You land on it silently, padding over to the window sill; curtains made of heavy black fabric layered on a dark, wispy privacy layer shroud most of your view of him. His pale skin is almost luminescent under the jagged flashes of lightning bathing his quarters, the blanket having slipped half off him during the night. He lies with his bare back facing you, although it’s hardly a vulnerability - you doubt anyone would be able to creep up on him easily enough to bury a knife into his exposed back without him tearing their throat out first.

Apart from you - hopefully.

Carefully, you ease the window open. A frigid gust of air rushes in as you climb through, and you witness the exact moment that Feyd awakens and becomes aware of your presence; imperceptibly, the muscles in his back ripple before he settles again - you posticipate the feel of them under your palms, hard, lean, perfect for sinking your nails into.

A thrill rushes through you at the sight of him, a sort of wondrous feeling, keen as a knife and just as cutting. You want him all over you, you want him to consume you until all you can remember is him and his smouldering eyes and sensuous touch.

Shrugging off your cloak, you let it pool to the floor around your feet before toeing off your shoes too; breath caught in your throat, you steal over to his bedside, your hand ghosting over the solid curve of his shoulder blade before you grip his shoulder, turning him so his back is flat against the mattress and straddling him in one fluid motion.

The cold kiss of metal meets your neck.

You almost moan at the look on his face. His lips are pulled back in a snarl, his eyes wild, frenzied almost, glittering with the same danger as before. Running your hands up his hard, sculpted chest, you smirk down at him, watching as ever so slowly, his gelid gaze defrosts with recognition, the ice giving way to those all encompassing flames, flames that you surrender to unequivocally.

‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you,’ you murmur, fingers circling his wrist.

Feyd blinks, watching you as if he’s going to eat you as always. Slowly, the hand not wielding the knife roams waywardly down your spine, grabs a harsh fistful of your ass and lingers before gliding upwards and settling on your waist. He huffs, an abrupt, amused sound, but you don’t miss the way he greedily drinks up your figure with his eyes.

‘I thought I scared you away, little witch. Presumably, it was not too much for you?’

‘For me?’ You muse. ‘We’ll see.’

Knocking the blade from his hand, you ignore the screeching noise it makes as it skitters across the stone floor, instead enjoying the subtle inhale, loaded with expectancy, that Feyd takes as you lean in close to him. You hover above him for a prolonged moment, arms boxing him in, before he lurches upwards, connecting your lips with his.

A growl sounds at the back of his throat when he tastes you, licking into your mouth as his fingers press at the small of your back, bringing your lower body to meet his. Rolling his hips against yours, he tangles his fingers in your hair; you feel giddy with the feel of him against you, solid and warm and wanting, so real beneath you, so fucking insatiable.

You can’t get enough of him.

Slowly, you pull away, ablaze with the ravening craving in his eyes. The muscles in his well shaped chest flex as he tips his face up, following your lips, and you smile disarmingly at him, hooking your fingers in the waistband of his trousers and pulling them down.

Taking his chin in your palm, you tilt his head so you can look him in the eyes before swiping your thumb over his lower lip, savouring the way he’s putty in your hands: a man destined to be the Baron of one of the most influential, powerful Houses in the Imperium, a lethal, strikingly skilled warrior, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, humbled by your touch.

‘Let me taste you,’ you breathe - it’s almost a command.

‘Please,’ he chokes out, imploring you with his eyes.

Laughing, you press a hand to his sternum and push. He sinks back into the mattress, compliant, and you trail your lips down his neck and sternum, leaving hickeys in your wake. You're seized by the need to make him shake and beg and cry; you want to devour him.

Dragging your nails cruelly down his thighs, branding him with livid red scratches, you tilt your head to the side, a smile playing upon your lips as you listen to the groan that leaves him, the pricks of pain setting him alight with longing. There’s a devout look in his eyes - a fervent, zealous sort of lust that stirs within you with the impulse to make him forget his own name.

Curling your fingers around his hard length and giving him a few pumps, you watch him under your lashes, something akin to a power rush spinning your head around and around. Feyd is wonderfully sensitive, and a sneer pulls at your lips when his fingers scramble for purchase, fisting in his silky sheets as you press a chaste, loitering kiss to his cock head - a pearl of jet precum sits at the apex of it, dark against its rosy, delicate flush.

Dipping your hand into your pants, you collect your slick on your fingers and use it to jerk him - when you glance up, his pupils are blown wide; lips parted, he stares at you, transfixed.

Eyes locked on his, you take him in your mouth: his thighs tighten, every muscle taut as you run your tongue along the veins wrapped around the underside of his cock. His head tips back, displaying the strong lines of his neck as you hollow your cheeks, rubbing your thighs together to ease the increasing ache between them. Jaw slack, you gag when he hits the back of your throat, and he growls at the sight of your hungry eyes growing watery.

You toy with him, teasing him with your tongue and grazing your teeth lightly over his length until he’s gasping your name; the way the syllables leave his tongue is almost pleading, his chest heaving and covered in a sheen of sweat, his thighs shuddering, wracked with tremors.

It’s evident that he’s close, the voracity in his eyes so hot that it melts your bones, sending heat pooling in your core - you’re going to let him wreck your cunt after this; ruin you for any other man. Trembling, his pale fingers hover near your head, splaying over the expanse of your shoulder, his eyes fucking begging for permission, so you pull off him, laughing as his hips jolt forward at the loss, his cock twitching when your fingertips graze his balls.

‘Go on, Feyd,’ you coax. ‘Do as you wish.’

A tender, honeyed noise rips from low in his chest, almost a whimper, a sound you know no one has extracted from him before. It’s the only warning before he fists his hand in your hair, hips bucking as he fucks into your mouth, his eyes rolling back as you gag around him, the debased moan that escapes you sending vibrations down his cock.

You almost black out when he comes down your throat. You’re not sure if it’s the lack of air reaching your lungs or the sweet pain of Feyd’s hand yanking at your hair, but you’re sure that you’ve never taken so much pleasure in someone else’s release. Slowly, you sit up, moving to lie beside Feyd, and he smiles dumbly at you, maybe a little fucked out as he leans in to kiss you, sighing as he tastes his own come on your tongue.

‘I could spend hours exploring you, my little witch,’ he says, pressing his lips to your jaw.

Feyd flips you over with only an echo of ferocity from your previous fight, disrobing you and gripping your thighs, spreading them. Your hands find his shoulders, his back, your fingers resting in the dips of muscle there, trailing down the length of his spine as his own find your slick, yearning cunt.

Outside, the storm blows harder, rain pounding down upon the planet’s surface in sheets, lightning lancing through the thick billows of clouds; it is during one of these strikes that you glimpse that Feyd’s eyes are not as dark as they seem, but the colour of glaciers and blue fire. Within them, just beneath the keenness of his electric gaze, lurks something else - something that makes you hesitate. He senses it immediately, fingers pausing their movement, so you fit your lips to his.

You kiss him to avoid the emotions roiling in his stormy eyes.

He responds immediately, and you easily dismiss the thoughts clouding your mind; he barely knows you, there’s no room for the feelings you just saw in his gaze. You seek his body, not his soul, and it is the same both ways.

‘Fuck me,’ you mumble against his lips.

All coherent sentences leave your mind when he flips you over again, this time with your stomach pressed to his bedsheets as he kneels on the mattress behind you.

‘Ass up, my little witch,’ he commands.

Something within you goes molten at the sound of his voice. You can feel his gaze straying all over your skin, greedy, so you tuck your knees beneath you and arch your back, biting down on your lower lip as his palm presses against your lower vertebrae. He chuckles; it warms your bones.

‘You’re so filthy, little witch, displaying yourself for me.’

Bolts of ecstasy shoot through you as Feyd slides his cock head through your folds, his broad hands gripping your hips so tightly that you’ll be left with bruises. Your breath is punched from your lungs when he sinks himself inside you, balls deep, white hot pleasure rocketing down your spine - it tears a wretched cry from you, more so when he starts a brutal, near sadistic pace, the angle destroying you with vicious bliss.

The drag of his searing, velvet cock on your walls makes your toes curl. You think your body might shatter into a million pieces, the way he plucks the euphoria from it so agonisingly, so beautifully. One of his hands finds its way between your thighs, his thumb rolling endlessly over your clit; you find yourself teetering on the edge, suspended there a moment before you fall.

The way your cunt convulses around his cock as you come doesn’t stop Feyd. Unforgiving, he ploughs into you, his fingers still working on your clit, not breaking his rhythm even as you writhe beneath him, trying to jerk your hips away from his to no avail. It’s too much, the pleasure melting delectably into pain and still he can’t stop, won’t stop, his low snarl a warning in your ear as he pins you to the mattress with a hand between your shoulder blades, leaving you helpless to do nothing but take him.

Tears well up in your eyes, soaking into the sheets beneath you as he rails into you, his fingers speeding up on your clit until you’re begging him, tremors shooting through you from the aftershocks of your orgasm. His grip on your hips is unrelenting, and you sob as his pace increases, the savage friction sending you over again.

For the second time, you come hard around him, pussy clenching and fluttering, ragged cries wracking your body. This time, you bring Feyd with you, the sound he makes sharp and almost pained. He pulls out, and you mewl at the sharp tug of friction, panting as he comes on your back and ass, claiming you with his dark seed.

Breathless, he sits back on his heels as you straighten your legs until you lie full stretch, revelling in the post orgasmic rapture. Dimly, you hear his footsteps on the stone floor, but you pay them no mind, instead letting your eyelids droop as you rest your chin in the crook of your elbow.

Gentle hands encircle your ankles, carefully opening your legs. A second later, you feel a warm cloth at the apex of your thighs, and you whine, flinching away from the overstimulation. You hear Feyd’s chuckle, and the comforting sweep of his thumb against your skin as he cleans you up, pressing soft, open mouthed kisses on your back as he does; barely a moment after, the mattress dips, and strong arms pull you into a warm chest.

‘How are you, my little witch?’

You hum in response, not wanting to use words. Something niggles at your brain, even through the haze of pleasure. It’s got to do with the na-Baron’s gentleness after he fucks you; it unsettles you, the sweetness of him, and now these words, as if you’re a lover, and not… whatever this is.

One of his wide palms runs up and down your ribs, and you shove those thoughts to the side, instead enjoying his touch, the way your body fits into his, his chest pressed against your front as he traces patterns on your skin with his deft fingers; his lips brushing the nape of your neck, leaving soft kisses there. You find yourself curling away from him a little - his hands on you make something deep in your chest stir to life, something that shouldn’t be there. It’s -

A blinding flash of lightning, followed by the deep, throaty growl of thunder illuminates the room. You’re facing the door: in the crack between its solid masonry and the floor, you glimpse a shadow.

Hastily, you turn, one hand meeting Feyd’s chest, fingers falling into the dip his collarbone makes as you search his eyes, urgent. He stares back at you, not quite guarded, but not quite open any more, and you’re filled with the urge to protect.

‘Give me your knife,’ you hiss.

He sits up halfway. ‘What’s - ’

You push him back down, glaring at his resistance. You can sense the change in the air, hear the subtle scrape of someone’s boot across the stone floor and the swish of clothing behind the door - or maybe it’s just the building storm outside, the escalating charge in the sky as another bolt of lightning is generated.

‘Feyd. Give me your knife.’

Eyes quizzical, he produces it from somewhere behind him, handing it to you hilt first. It’s just in time, because the door swings open, a masked figure silhouetted there. You whirl around, covering Feyd’s body with your own.

They’re holding a knife.

It doesn’t take you a moment longer to send your knife hurtling towards them. The blade seethes through the air before embedding itself with a thunk into the assassin’s shoulder, and as they drop to the floor, you’re up in another second, poised in case there’s another. A flash of movement catches your eye - the dropped knife, retrieved and held in blood soaked fingers.

‘Stand down,’ you snap.

The Voice echoes through the room, and you pluck the knife out of the now frozen assassin’s grasp and slit his throat. Turning, you see the glimmer of amusement and awe in Feyd’s eyes; assassination attempts probably occur often, an estranged Bene Gesserit using the Voice in his room less so.

‘So many people seem eager to sneak into my bed chamber tonight,’ he remarks. ‘Although I must admit I preferred the first one.’

You laugh, collecting your clothes off the floor. ‘I’m glad.’

As you pull on your trousers, followed closely by your shirt, Feyd gets up, and you’re struck by the slow manner in which he approaches you, so much like the way he prowled towards you in the arena, but this time his eyes concerningly soft, his deadly, killing machine of a body marked with hickeys and love bites.

‘Why do you always rush to leave so fast, my little witch?’

‘I - I have places to be,’ you stammer.

He tilts his head. ‘At this hour of the night?’

‘...Yes.’

Feyd takes one step closer, close enough to kiss. ‘What are you afraid of?’

You back towards the window. ‘I fear nothing.’

‘Don’t lie to me,’ he warns. ‘I can see it in your eyes.’

Shaking your head, panic rising in your throat, you turn, the glass chilly on your fingers as you open the window. Feyd catches your other hand, but you whirl around and lash out, a blow to the face followed by a blow to the legs, and he staggers backwards, giving you enough time to slip out of the window and onto the battlements.

Outside, the storm has whipped up, the howling wind tearing at your hood and blowing it off, the rain immediately pouring down to soak your hair, sting your eyes, wet your face. You need to run, you need to get away from him, but the weak part of you - the part that you fear - slows your strides, tugging at you as if it’s tied to Feyd somehow.

He catches up to you easily enough.

Of course he does, he is Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, and he is inexplicably bound to your soul in a way you cannot describe, in a way that terrifies you, shakes you to your very core. He catches your with a hand around your upper arm and presses you to his chest, your treacherous body reacting to him the way it always has as he stares down at you with those burning, icy eyes, droplets of rain running in rivulets down the moonlight planes of his chest.

Unease tears through you. You see it in his eyes, that he feels it too, and you dread the way it does not disquiet him. Your soul feels like it’s slowly rending in two - you need to get away from him, from the unguarded way he regards you, dedication clear in his unwavering gaze, but all the same, you need to remain with his arms trapping you to him, in the bewildering magnetism of his psyche.

‘Tell me what you fear, my little witch.’

You answer through clenched teeth. ‘I am not yours.’

‘You evade my question.’

You stare at Feyd, confounded. This man before you is the same man that you duelled in the arena, yet he is different; there is a certainty in his eyes, an acceptance that you yourself flee from. You’re drawn to him, even as the instincts that have kept your hollow heart intact all these years squall for you to break loose - and yet you fear that too, the evasion, because you know that if you run now, a part of you will be lost, snapped under the tension.

‘What do you - ’

You cut Feyd off. ‘Do you know what I fear, Harkonnen? I fear the look in your eyes, because it’s not just desire any more. You do not seek me in order that I inflict pain and pleasure alike upon you, you seek something else. I fear the look in your eyes because it is the same feeling that rises traitorously in my chest when I look at you, and it terrifies me.’

He’s silent.

You grab his shoulder. ‘Tell me you feel nothing, Feyd. Tell me you crave me for the thrill of adrenaline and the feel of my body - tell me and do not lie.’

His eyes bore into yours. ‘I cannot.’

‘Exactly.’

You wrest yourself from his grasp, turning and striding down the battlements. A strange feeling overtakes you, a prickle behind your eyes and a lump in your throat, an aching tug at your heart which you stalwartly ignore. It is over - you’re done. He made it harder than it ever had to be, but you’re going now.

He grabs your hand. ‘You cannot either, my little witch.’

Struggling, you snarl at him, clawing at your chest, but he pins you to the wall, his eyes aflame, searing, calling to something in you that rises up to meet him. This time, it is too strong; you cannot push it down, a part of you not even wanting to. You can feel Feyd all over you, your senses overwhelmed by him, by the way he presses his forehead to yours, forcing you to meet his gaze.

‘You do not have to fear it,’ he whispers. ‘Just let go. You’re holding on too tight.’

He dips his head, claiming your lips. You give in, yield to it, let it wash over you and carry you away on its blissful waves, your heart swelling in your chest at the way he touches you, tenderly, as if you’re the most precious thing he’s ever laid his eyes upon; this is not Feyd, but this is him, irrefutably so.

You think this might be love.

It is a wild, white hot blade in your heart that twists, beauteous, enthralling. You believed that it would weaken you, shackle you, but you blaze with the glorious flare of it, the kiss of Feyd’s hips against yours stoking it further. Truly, it is magnificent.

In the only way you know how, you show him. It’s cataclysmic, the way you’re pulled to him like a comet caught in a planet’s gravity, streaking towards him, fated to collide, your hands roving over him, his over you, the taste of rain blooming on your tongue as you bite down on his shoulder, muffling a moan as he ekes sweet, tender pleasure from you. Your head tips back against the stone, eyes raised to the weeping sky, your lips parted as he fills you with his cock.

Feyd looks at you as if you are a goddess. He worships you, cradles you in his arms, anchoring you, grounding you. You do not know where he ends and you begin, nor do you want to know; you wish for your souls to meld, you wish for the two of you to be alone in the universe, unbothered by time or fate or anything.

‘You are mine, little witch,’ he intones against your rain soaked skin. ‘I am yours.’

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x FWB!Reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon "Ghost" Riley, Reader

Summary: Simon is getting more and more obsessed with his little friend who constantly finds herself in his bed. But when you are off on a quick mission for a few weeks, Simon begins to grow restless and this no strings attached messing around finds itself being turned on its head. What happens when you get a text from him the day you get back, in the middle of the day?

Word Count: 4.8 k

Warnings:

Part 1:

Late Night Texts

Whatever spell you had cast, whatever potion you had had the Lieutenant drink down he didn’t know, but there had to be some preternatural reason that he could not get enough of you no matter how much he had. You were in his very veins, in the marrow of his bones, in the crevasses of his brain; he was completely head over heels for you and it was only growing by the day.

Your visits to his room under the shroud of darkness were becoming almost nightly at this point, his texts popping up so frequent that no matter when your phone vibrated after dark, you knew it would be him asking if you were on your way over back to his quarters. There was no complaints, however, as you could not get enough of his very particular brand of ecstasy.

You both were in so deep that it was becoming more than just an occasional hook up now and that was only demonstrated more when one night after another round of steamy hot body parts interlocking in that specific way that led to both of you experiencing that little death, he made a request of you that you had not expected.

“What?” you asked as Ghost stared back as you, brow furrowed and mouth contorted as if he were deep in thought while he lay beside you in the bed.

That stoic man knew that what he was going to ask you was going to sound obsessive, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t about to deny himself just to save face; as if his nightly texts weren’t already making him look like a lust-drunk teen. Ever since he hit it that first time, he had not been the same and it only compounded each time he got it until whatever composure he had flew away.

“I… need ya to keep your phone on ya at all times,” he said.

You weren’t one to always keep your phone with you outside of your barracks, not unless you were off duty or it was after hours. It was a nuisance to constantly be drawn to look at it when you were busy and you hated being controlled by it, but the moment he told you to keep it on you there was nothing else for you to do; you had to comply.

“Keep it on vibrate,” he continued, “in case I need to reach ya.”

You smirked. “Strictly military business, correct?”

A deep roll of his eyes met your sarcasm. “Ya fuckin’ know what it’s for,” he said with an incredulous shake of his head.

“Fine…I can do that,” you played with a wink.

A large hand roughly palmed your cheek, eyes drifting over the features of your face as the need to kiss you again grew unbearable. “You did say ya wanted to be my problem, yeah? Well, now ya have to be the solution too.”

“Who said I didn’t want to?”

“Good girl,” he praised before pulling you forward into him once again. “Good girl.”

It was only a couple of days since you had strictly been carrying around that small rectangular object in your pocket at all times when the Lieutenant finally utilized it, making you meet him in the ammunition depot for a quickie during lunch. There was no time to waste as he pulled you inside and immediately got to work, having you coming faster than you thought you’d be able to, mostly from the rush of the forbidden nature of this lewd bit of sneaking around. How you were both able to get in and out in such an easy manner was astounding, but Ghost did have rank on the base so you were sure he had pulled a few strings to make such a filthy thing possible.

It seemed like you both were living on cloud fucking nine, but as life always tends to do nothing can ever be that simple.

As if to shake up your lives, a wrench got thrown into everything. A mission, close to just over a month, was assigned to your squad and there was nothing you could do but leave behind your prefect situation to go out into the field.

“Keep your phone with ya,” he reminded you and you did.

Week one of your departure wasn’t so bad; Ghost was able to distract himself enough that he was able to at least get through the day without thinking about you constantly. He took on more work, volunteered his time, anything to keep him busy until he was too tired to do anything other than head back to his quarters and pass out.

Then week two hit and he started to feel your absence. It began small, his mind would wander to his phone, trying to think up some sort of message he could send you that wouldn’t make him sound too desperate. He’d ask about how things were going, if the weather there was just as shit as back at base, just random things to hear from you. And he realized that his heart would skip a beat each time his phone vibrated, thinking it was you.

By the last week before your return, he could hardly keep still. Fuck he needed you more than he needed food or sleep, he pined for your company again as a starving man pines for food. His hand would never do to satisfy him like you did and it frustrated him that he could not focus because his cock was constantly straining against the barrier of his pants and his body craved to feel your own against it. Every day he checked to see if your squad had returned and each day there was nothing made his heart sink into his feet.

On the other end you were faring just as badly. You did your job just as you were supposed to, keeping your focus mostly on the task at hand, but when you had those moments of freedom it was spent on thinking about the countless nights you had spent in his company already and how you genuinely missed being in his presence as was what you had grown accustomed to.

Things were only made worse when he would text you, drawing attention to the fact that you were separated for the immediate future. Each day droned on and on in endless fashion until you were able to check your phone and see the scant few texts from him that had you holding on until you could be filled with him once again.

And yet it was more than that…though you didn’t know if you could admit it yet. Secret worries crept in that made your mind misfire with fears that he could possibly have moved on in your absence, those anxieties lacing themselves within your bodies need for him, and by the time you and your squad finally were able to return to base you were a wreck. The moment you stepped foot back on home turf you were acutely aware of everything and you wondered with palpating heart just where your lover was.

The team had returned around midday and that meant everyone was given a couple hours for lunch before debriefing would begin. A few of your mates had wrangled you into eating with them and though you hesitated at first, ultimately you gave in. Checking your phone and not seeing anything popping up on the screen sealed the deal; at least they would offer a distraction until you could find a second to see Ghost again.

About half an hour in, your phone buzzed in your pocket as you took another bite of your lunch. Ignoring it as to not be suspicious, you focused back on the conversation happening in front of you until it went off again and again in rapid succession, clearly trying to get your attention and fast.

Discreetly as you could under the table, you pulled the small rectangle out of your pocket and checked the lock screen as your heartbeat was in your ears. Three short texts glared back at you, simple and easy to read in a hurry.

My office.

Now.

Don’t wait.

You hadn’t even read the name of the sender, but you already knew who it was beckoning you in the middle of the day; there was only one who would be desperate enough to risk getting caught like this, but you weren’t about to deny him. It had been long enough you two had been apart that you had to see him again that instant.

Omw

You quickly sent back and in an instant there was a reply.

Got five minutes to get here.

Making up some bullshit excuse to break away from your group, you rushed out of the mess hall and towards the officer’s building that housed their private offices. Your steps were quick, but metered in such a way as not to draw any unwanted attention; no sense in causing yourself to waste time by getting caught up with someone asking where it was you were off to in such a hurry, especially when debriefing was happening so soon.

There was tightness in your chest as time seemed to slow down to an agonizing crawl. Logically you knew that you were almost there, but even with the building looming on the near horizon, it still seemed to take forever to reach it and all you desperately wanted to do was get to him as quick as you could.

The cool air of the officer’s building hit you and you could feel a shiver vibrate through your body; when had you gotten so warm? No time to analyze that as you had more important things to focus on.

You had been inside the building a few times, but never to Ghost’s office in particular and so it took you a minute to locate the room that had his nameplate on the door. Stepping up to the last barrier you both had between you, your heart leap violently in your chest as you raise a balled fist to the wood.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sound of knuckles tapping on wood sounded through the small office and Ghost looked up just as the door was cracked open and his breath hitched when his eyes met your face that had just appeared through to the other side.

“You needed to see me sir?” you asked, blood pressure rising and heartbeat thudding wildly inside your chest; you had to keep up appearances to anyone who might be passing by, but you wanted nothing more than to just sprint straight to him and shred his fatigues from his perfectly sculpted body.

Ghost was on his feet in an instant, his pulse now racing liquid hot through his veins at the very sight of you suddenly before him again; he was already on edge the moment he had learned you were back as he waited for a free second in his busy day to call you to him. Now seeing you here in front of him again after such a profound gap of time spent apart sent him into a tailspin.

“Come in and shut the door, private, we need to have a chat,” he ordered roughly, playing his part effortlessly, and you did so without having to be told any more than that.

As soon as he heard the door latch he was on his feet, crossing the length of the room with quick steps that matched his accelerated breathing as he ripped his balaclava up and over his head to discard it somewhere on the floor. “Lock it,” he said abruptly and you immediately followed orders.

You turned back around and Ghost was on you before you could move further, closing his eyes and leaning in with his mouth to immediately connect your lips ferociously together before any of your other parts could touch yet. You had to be quick, there was no guarantee of how much free time you would have before someone could come around, but still he had to take a moment to enjoy that initial reunion of your mouths. Face pressed snugly against the contours of your own, wet, sloppy mouths crushed together in waves of aggressively frantic kisses as if he had completely forgotten the taste of your lips and it had been torturing him to insanity.

His hand moved out from his side and searched for yours until he found it, interlocking those long digits in the empty spaces between your own. Even in the fiery desperation with which he devoured your lips embraces, his touch was still incredibly tender as his hand stayed locked in yours.

“Goddammit, I missed you, luv,” he groaned through pauses in your mouths connection. “Missed you so fuckin’ much I couldn’t stand it. The second I got wind you were back, I couldn’t wait…had to see ya now.”

Your lungs begged for air, but you couldn’t tell him to stop as his free hand locked on to the back of your neck to force your face even harder against his mouth; he was trying to drown in you and you didn’t want him to stop, even with his roughness causing your lips to swell hot and sensitive from the pressure.

“God, sweetheart, how I’ve missed these fuckin’ lips,” he grunted in hushed whispers into your open mouth as his forehead rocked on yours. His cock was straining harshly against the zipper of his pants, tenting the fabric as he ground it into the muscle of your thigh. “Can’t stand bein’ away from ya at all anymore. I was in agony waitin’ for ya to return.”

Your chest tightened while your stomach plunged into your shoes; his need was overwhelming and intense as if it could swallow you whole and fuck were you ready to let it. Rough fingers squeezed down on your hand, using it as a way to ground himself to stop from being ripped apart with the strength of his desire. Your bodies were so close you swore he was trying to fuse you both together.

“Wish I had more time, I wanna suck on those fuckin’ juicy tits of yours so fuckin’ bad,” he groaned as the feeling of your breasts pressed against his chest caught his attention. “Been missin’ those too. Shit, I’ll be honest, there ain’t a part of ya I haven’t been cravin’ like crazy, baby.”

Acting off of pure impulse and adrenaline alone, you reached towards him with your free hand and latched on to his belt, pulling at the hindrance as if you could will it off without having to use any of the fine motor skills that you currently did not have access to as you slipped into that primal state of knowing nothing else other than to satiate the throbbing between your thighs.

Your fingers grazed the tip of his cock through the fabric of his pants and he hissed, his torso contracting from the intensity of that first contact; he had become engorged so quickly that it was painfully sensitive to the touch.

Ghost released your hand to reach over to your own belt, still enough faculty available to him to go about undressing you, though that was quickly waning as your own neediness fueled even more of his desperation for you. “I need ta be inside of ya, luv,” he breathed, resting up against the side of your cheek. “Need it so fuckin’ bad I can almost taste it.”

A light jingling hit your ears as he unlocked your belt from itself and let it fall loosely to hang in the belt loops as he moved on to the button and zipper, undoing them just as easily before everything was shoved down to the floor in one swift motion. His hand moved on top of yours still clinging to the band around his waist, guiding the unsteady fingers on your hand to make you undo the buckle yourself.

The backside of your hand pressed against the soft skin of his pelvis as you slipped inside the waistband of his pants to undo them and shit was he boiling. “Take it out,” he groaned as you got the damned button to release.

A jolt like an electrical current ran through him, shivering up the length of his spine as you plunged those silky soft palms within the confines of his pants and caught his rock hard member in your grasp. Unconsciously his hips bucked into your hand as you situated him so that he was now outside the fabric.

With your hand wrapped around the girth of his cock, you could not stop the urge to stroke the length of it. It pulsed and jolted against the skin of your palm as you worked it up and down and a tiny, almost imperceptible whimper escaped his lips as Ghost unraveled at your touch. All that pent up frustration that had plagued him for the past month and some change burst at the seams and he couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Can’t wait; I have to make you cum, right fuckin’ now,” he said, the agony pervasive in his gravely, low tone.

Grabbing you by the hand Ghost drug you the short distance across the room to his desk, spinning you so that your back was to it. With his hand under your arms he picked you up and set you on the surface, not caring about the papers currently strewn about across the top that now lay under the padding of your bare ass.

Scooting so that you were at the very edge of the tabletop, you immediately spread your legs open wide, only wanting to feel him and not wanting to waste even a second more of time where you both were not connected. He took the invitation to move in, placing his hand on your sex to check how ready you were for him; there was moistness against his palm, but he wanted to be sure you were well lubricated.

There was no more time to wait so he would have to improvise just to be certain you were wet enough; the last thing he would ever want to do was hurt you. Gathering all the saliva he could in his mouth, he spit into his hand and quickly coated the area thoroughly. Your legs twitched from his fingers rubbing up against your sensitive clit as he went. “I fuckin’ swear we’ll do this proper later, just gotta be quick this time,” he reassured. “Tonight I’ll savor ya proper, sweetheart.”

Aligning his cock with your entrance those hardened fingers dug into your bare hips to steady himself as he thrust careful inside you. He watched closely as he slipped it in, his body shuddering as it reacted to him being wrapped fully in you down to the hilt. You whined as he stretched you to capacity, your pussy needing a minute to readjust to his size; it had been a hot minute after all since he had filled you this full.

“Goddammit, luv,” he groaned with a hiss, eyes clamping shut as he struggled to hang on to sanity, “don’t you ever leave me again. I don’t ever wanna fuckin’ miss this.”

Catching his cheek with your hand, Ghost opened his eyes to your touch and you pulled his face closer to yours. “Never if I can help it,” you breathed as you crashed your lips on his again; you needed something to make sure you stayed quiet as he began to forcefully thrust in and out of you, all that longing he had done in your absence culminating in his movements now.

It had only been a few short minutes of him pumping all he had into you, but he was already completely drunk off the feeling of your tight, wet core sucking him with voracity each time he rocked into it. His burning mouth stayed locked onto yours for a little longer, just to be sure you had a handle on the sound before he released it.

“Can’t stop… how much… I need ya…” he panted quietly between desperate thrusts. “Down so bad for ya… sweetheart.”

“Fuck, I was so miserable without you,” you admitted sheepishly. “My fingers are sore.”

The longing in your voice was palpable and Ghost could not get enough. “Missed me like fuckin’ crazy, didn’t you sweetheart?” he asked as his speed increased with new vigor at your words. “Missed what I do to this sweet little body of yours?”

You nodded, but that wasn’t good enough; he was hungry for more of your need of him to be vocalized. “Words, use them,” he demanded.

“Missed you so fucking much,” you whimpered as a twinge of pleasure shot up from your core through your body. “I am an absolute fucking mess without you.”

His lips shot to yours as you were starting to get loud again and though he hated to keep you quiet, it was a necessity in here. Half of him was of the mind to just let you be your usual vocal self, letting the whole fucking office building hear you taking him so well, and as much as his body burned for such a thing he knew in the long run it would be detrimental to your situation. The last thing he wanted was to ruin this by exposing the secret.

“Wish everyone in this fuckin’ office would just leave so I could enjoy your sweet little noises, luv,” he purred into your face as he released your mouth again. “Can’t get enough of your pretty music; my room’s been so quiet without it.”

Panting into his face with mouth open, chest heaving up and down with laborious breaths, Ghost put more into his thrusts so that even the desk itself began to rock with you from the force. The strength of his pumps made you feral, relinquishing any hold you had on civility as you would do anything to get more of the way his body fit into your cunt; it felt nice to be filled out by him again… you had grown far too accustomed with being constantly overflowing with his cock on the daily.

So wet, the sound of slapping skin against skin filled the silent space within the room, Ghost’s second favorite sound that you produced. It was like a round of applause for all his efforts, that he was putting in the right amount of work, and he pulled back to watch himself pump in and out of you. He hoped that someone would take him out permanently if he ever got tired of that sight, though he wasn’t worried about it as nothing would ever look better to him.

Taking the first two fingers of one of his hands he brought it to your clit, drawing circles with the pad of the digits over that overwhelmingly sensitive bundle of nerves. Your hips bucked wildly at the extra bit of stimulation, slamming against his hand as your eyes rolled back with all that ecstasy flowing through your veins.

“Don’t stop, baby,” you begged, trying desperately to keep your volume at a reasonable level. “Gonna cum soon.”

Christ, those three words he had longed to hear for weeks now only fueled those strong thrusts and quick flicks of your clit. “That’s it, darlin’, fuckin’ come for me,” Ghost growled so desperately it made your brain numb. “I need to know your body still belongs to me.”

“Only you,” you returned without hesitation. “You’ve ruined me for anyone else baby. I can’t even get wet to anything but you.”

That beastly, towering hulk of a man shuddered at your proclamation, nearly spilling his seed inside you at such a beautiful phrase coming from your lips, but he would not allow anything to stop him from bringing about your release and so he focused everything he had left solely on you.

Keeping the pace of both his fingers and his cock at the same, precise speed Ghost watched as after a few more minutes your head finally flicked back and your thighs clamped down around his hips, a cry exploding out of you before you quickly locked your lips together to stifle the tail end of your ecstasy-filled exclamation.

Your cry is what did him in and he jerked violently as your pussy fluttered around him and he had to harshly pull out of you so that he could milk himself dry over top of your bare stomach. The sticky, hot fluid coated your skin with an amount more than you were expecting; clearly it had been a while.

Ghost looked back up at you, a contented, amused smile plastered to his lips. “Goddamn, luv,” was all he could say as he admired the beautiful flush in your cheeks and glazed look in your eyes, all a product from him.

It took him a second to find something to help clean you both up; a spare t shirt he had balled up in the bottom drawer of his desk would have to do. He took care of himself first before he moved to you, handing you the shirt while he went to gather your clothes. Waiting till you were finished cleaning off, he helped you to redress as your legs shook unsteadily.

The care he was taking with you now, it wrought to the surface just how silly you had been while you were away, thinking that he could have ever dropped you for someone else. You thought you had been slick, concealing your emotions from his discerning eye until you heard him speak.

“What’s that?” he questioned, causing you to look back up into his face.

“What’s what?” you posed curiously.

“That… look. On your face.”

You didn’t really want to say, you knew it was only an intrusive thought, but something about the way he stood gazing at you as if actively waiting for you to answer made you speak up. “It’s silly, but…” you paused; why couldn’t you just be honest with him? That man was just inside of you and yet this felt so much more intimate than that.

“Tell me,” he said, genuinely interested in the answer.

You swallowed hard. “Well, I was… worried you might have forgotten about me…moved on to someone else or something while I was gone. Wouldn’t have blamed you. I mean, needs are needs right?”

Ghost had already moved back in as you nervously laughed, both of those large hands cupping your face between them. Amber eyes stared back at you for a few seconds as if trying to read the meaning behind your words before he tilted his head to one side and leaned in to kiss you in such a way as he never done before: it was softer, but with just as much passion that you felt you might choke on it.

“I will neva forget about ya, luv,” he stated firmly as he broke the kiss, unable to hold back the string of truth that began spilling forth. “There’s no one ‘round here that could replace ya, absolutely fuckin’ no one. I don’t want some flaky tart that’s gonna get sick of my shit after a while or some dumb bimbo that talks a big game, but cannot keep up with me. I want you. Only you, understand?”

You nodded. “I only want you too, Simon.”

In all this time, you had never really used his name; perhaps it was too familiar for the type of relationship you both had together or maybe it was simple enough to stick to more formal monikers so that when not in a more intimate setting things wouldn’t get confusing. Whatever the reason was it didn’t matter anymore. Fuck did his name sound good being said in your voice; there was no going back from the shift that was happening here.

And maybe eventually you’d both be able to say it… out loud. For now, though, this was enough.

“So…” he said in hushed tones as he cleared his throat, knowing that you needed to head back soon and hating every bit of it, “you’re comin’ by later, yeah?”

You let out a small sigh and gave him a sweet, muted smile. “I believe you owe me more than just a quickie, so I guess so.”

Simon shook his head. “Fuckin’ hell,” he chuckled. “I guess off you fuckin’ go then before someone gets suspicious.”

And with another quick kiss you left him all alone in his quiet office to count down the literal seconds until he could be with you again. Hopefully, the rest of that day would go by fast, but the way his heart was beating, he didn’t hold out for a painless outcome.

Part 3:

[blues824]

Twst as yandere brothers?

Hey… How y’all doing…?

These are headcanons for the Housewardens. Also, GN! Reader who is not Yuu. Platonic, for obvious reasons. 

Warning: I do not condone Yandere behavior in real life.

Riddle Rosehearts

Ever the perfectionist, you get the brunt of it, unfortunately

No time is spent outside of classes or Heartslabyul or any extracurriculars you took up just to make sure that no one ‘corrupts’ you

It sometimes seems like he doesn’t love you, but he does

He’s trying to protect you from the wrath of your guys’ mother when you both inevitably return home for breaks

When he overblots, his first instinct is to protect you and shield you away from everyone

Once everything is restored, however, he gives you an apology

That doesn’t mean you can go hanging around anyone aside from his trusted list of people: Trey. Just Trey.

Leona Kingscholar

For the longest time, his only source of joy was seeing himself as above you

Since you are the youngest, he essentially wanted you to worship him since he is your older brother

He’s not exactly strict, but he doesn’t want you messing around with the wrong crowd

This means that you have a detail of Savanaclaw members following you around

When he overblots, he realizes how horribly he has treated you… to the point that you would turn against him

After he recovers, he makes more of an effort to be a better older brother to you

The detail does not go away, though, because he needs to make sure you are safe

Azul Ashengrotto

He definitely depended on you for validation during your entire childhood

A lot of your time was spent in the Mostro Lounge, working so that Azul can keep a very close eye on you

Jade and Floyd definitely watch you closely as well, but only because Azul threatens to deduct their pay if they don’t

It’s hard for you to make friends because you have two scary eels trailing behind you at all times

When he overblots, it definitely opens up a lot of conversation between you two, especially when you don’t defend him.

Instead, you stand up to him, fed up with his treatment of you over the years

Once he recovers, he calls off Jade and Floyd, but he still makes sure any friends you make know that he’s more than willing to ruin them

Kalim Al-Asim

You were his favorite sibling out of the 30+ siblings that you both share, and for that, you regret being born

Sure, he acknowledged how unique you were, and often supported you in your interests, but he was very clingy all of the time

Jamil would often distract him so that you could have a moment to yourself

To say you were glad when he was accepted to NRC would be an understatement, since his affections were suffocating

After Jamil overblotted, and they decided to return home for a bit, Kalim was even more clingy… especially since he realized that everything he believed about Jamil was a lie

Now you have to constantly reassure him that you won’t betray him, especially since he’s the one set to inherit everything since he’s the eldest

Jamil is no longer a saving grace for you

Vil Schoenheit

Assuming that you are not a celebrity in your own right, he is working hard to make sure the public and the paparazzi know very little about you

He also makes sure that you are not a fan of Neige LeBlanche, nor that you ever become a fan of him

Uses you for daily validation, essentially, and it’s hella annoying for you

To retaliate, you team up with Epel or you ask Rook about Neige’s newest film so you could further piss Vil off

When Vil overblots, he also feels betrayed when you take the other side in opinion

Unvoiced emotions and feelings on both sides are definitely made known afterward during his recovery, where you told him that you were your own person

Thus, he lets you be your own person under very strict parameters… though, you are still unable to consume Neige LeBlanche content

Idia Shroud

After the death of your guys’ brother, Idia definitely grew more attached to you

There were new rules implemented at home in order to keep you safe, but you were forced to stay near him anyway due to the family curse

Of course, in the meantime, you were allowed to do your own thing, as long as he was able to keep a close eye on you as you did it

When Ortho is rebuilt, Idia lets off of you for a bit, but when you are accepted into NRC, it gets bad again

His overblot was bad, especially since you couldn’t do anything to help Yuu and Grim because of your need to stay near blot (family curse)

During his recovery, he gave a tearful apology, and you forgave him since he was your older brother

Unfortunately, because he’s your older brother, your still watched closely via Ortho and the school cameras

Malleus Draconia

We all know that Malleus grew up extra lonely, so if he had a sibling, he would definitely be very attached to them

All day, every day… you were trailed by a detail of guards because Malleus needs to make sure that his younger sibling is safe

Not only that, but the kingdom needs to make sure you’re safe in the case that something happens to Malleus or he abdicates the throne

At NRC, Lilia tries to convince Malleus to let you go out and have some fun and join clubs that weren’t the Gargoyle Club, but he refuses

His overblot made his clinginess worse as it was caused by Lilia leaving… and he thinks he would die if his sibling left Briar Valley to do something else

Once he recovers, he realizes that you’re going to find a way to get the freedom that he’s been depriving you of, so his first olive branch extension was allowing you to join a club apart from the Gargoyle Club

Slowly, he is getting used to the idea of being apart from you, and while it hurts, he knows it's necessary.

[undermine-the-instinct]

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝑳𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝑮𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝑯𝒆𝒓𝒆 (Then I Intend)

Sesshoumaru x reader

Read on A03...

Notes: For @lorelune 's Spring fever '2024 a/b/o collab!

Masterlist.../ Next part....

Summary: The Lord Daiyokai often shuts you up in an inn, every few days of the month, for the demons that are attracted to your bloodscent. It is one of the few graces he allows. You would think its for your safety, and truly it is. Because not only do you seem to forget that he is a demon, but also a man.

Rumors of a bloodhungry demon arise, one that prowls the edges of this ghost town, devouring its residents under the shroud of moonless nights; Of which steadily approaches. Under the dark viel of a new moon, all desires will be brought to light.

NOTE: Rin and Sesshoumaru are so found-family core to me, so I absolutely DO NOT ship SessRin.

Content: Omegaverse, Alpha!Sesshomaru, HumanOmega!Reader, AFAB READER, FEM CODED READER, period mentions, era appropriate misogyny, servant/master dynamics.

Length: 8.9k

Part 1 out of 4

Listen, nine hundred and fifty years before jesus was a child shaking willow leaves out of his tangled curls, the author of the book of solomon wrote: behold, you are beautiful; your eyes are doves.

The inn that Sesshoumaru leads you to is weathered but sturdy, and most importantly, empty.

You’re surprised at the fact that the inn is a honjin, and not a cheap Kichin-yado, like the ones you've seen sparingly in other villages. This is a post town though, so it makes sense.

It is late, but beyond that the night is still, stale. The wind hardly moves, and you know the signs of a desolate town before the wariness in the residents' eyes can tell you. Scared perhaps, and desperate.

The woman who runs the inn is much like it, a bit old, but grounded, and elegant, as she stoops into a low bow and accepts the pouch Sesshoumaru hands with due reverence and trembling hands.

“Four days. Attend to their needs, whatever they may be. Your head depends on it.” You hand Rin to him, and he sets the child down on her feet with care that belies his stern brow. You take his hand next and hop down from A-Un, and he retracts his hand as soon as you are steady on your feet.

“Get inside now. It's late.”

“Yes, My Lord.” You usher Rin in behind the innkeeper, and for just a moment, you turn to look back at your Lord who doesn't follow.

“Will you be joining us?”

His eyes flash like lanterns in the darkness before he turns away. “...Just get settled in.” And he slips into the dark.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

It was hard adjusting.

Leaving the 21st century for 1500’s Japan was enough of a shock, but apparently, demons existed. Yeah. Actual Demons. You’ve tried to adjust and find shelter, and a way back home, with no luck. You've been kicked and chased out of villages as mad or an ill omen (For washing your hands so often???), and you've escaped death and harm so often you swear there is either a deity who favors you, or favors your eternal anxiety over this whole situation.

It was by complete chance that you stumbled upon the Lord, in which you listed your capabilities and usefulness with the frazzled energy of a court jester at threat of beheading, the first demon to not drool and try to devour you on sight. 

He cut off your rambling with an odd head tilt and a ‘accompany me then,’ despite the furious squawking from the green imp you've come to know as Jaken. You just grinned, relieved at finally finding yourself secure in this foreign place, and followed along. 

You’re fine doing chores, or calling him Lord, in return for protections and shelter. You've learned how to talk in a 'appropriate manner for a woman' as the Lord ordered, but sometimes you push your luck–but you can’t help it! That reckless attitude followed you from your first life to this one, and that silky pale hair was just sooo pretty not to touch, and the barely perceptible shock in his eyes when you call him by his given name, no honorifics, is worth being forced to walk on foot for a few (dozen) miles. 

Perhaps he might have thought of killing you, a few times, the sniveling thing that you were, if you hadn't piqued his interest with your charming and witty banter...that he often rewarded by cutting your rations.

He’s gotten more lenient about it now when you ‘slip up’ and you think it's like an exposure therapy sort of thing. Except the exposure part is friendship, which you think he’s never had before. It is something the both of you have to adjust to, him, with your friendship! You, with the fact that you were most likely never going home and that demons exist, and probably, subsequently, Hell. Existential crises for everyone, yay...

Yet, another thing that was hard to adjust to was…your monthlies, Things were thrown out of wack when you landed here; Your circadian cycle, sense of appropriate social interaction, your menstration, etc, so it all took a few odd weeks to come back. Your period, that is you still don't know how to talk to people or wake up early. When that happened, Sesshoumaru had already been eyeing you strangely for days you swear, even if you never really caught him in the act.

It was only when he made himself scarce, did you recall how your friend's dogs could smell your stuffs before you even could, and you promptly wanted to cringe yourself out of existence. He’s an Inuu Youkai. Dog demon.

The blood stuff started, you freaked, and Sesshoumaru promptly disappeared far ahead, leaving you to the sneering and bemoaning of Jaken. You didn't have your preferred toiletries or heating pads or anything! It was never a fun time.

The only thing that hinted to Sesshoumaru’s continued presence was the corpses of demons left in his wake, drawn in by the heavy scent of your blood, the thick trail you had left behind. He started shutting you up in an inn somewhere whenever the time comes along now, even if he’s more often late than not, which was still… oddly considerate? Well, one time you all were too far inland so you had to huddle up in a cave and that was not a good time.

Futon and tatami mats might not be a duvet, comforter and down pillows, but it was much better than a cave.

As you’re thinking, Rin trots into the room, and you brighten, immediately waving her over. Joining the group the girl was a selective mute, speaking a few precious words here and there. Surprisingly, even with Sesshoumaru being the Leader of this group and you being her favorite (obviously), the one she spoke the most often to was Jaken. She trailed and played with him often, even if the imp would call it more tormenting.

Still, the girl has done wonders on brightening this dull little group, and you adore her more than you thought you would. 

Rin’s eyes light up with familiarity, and she skips over, plopping in your lap. You let out an exaggerated huff.  

“Woah, I think someone had a bit too much to eat at dinner…” She pouts, shakes her head.

“Really? Because it seems like you put on a few pounds already…” She shakes her head harder and kicks her feet, so naturally you reach to tickle her toes. She screeches in laughter as you hold her in place and count off the little stubs.

“This little piggy went to market, This little piggy stayed home. This little piggy got roast beef, This little piggy had none. And this little piggy cried, ‘Wee, wee, wee!’ all the way home!”

“What sort of nursery rhyme is that?” Jaken sneers as he trots inside.

“What kind of stank face is that?” you snap back. Rin gasps against you, trying to get her breath back, and flinches back in laughter as you fake-reach for her feet again.

Tiring her out and settling into bed is easy enough, and you regale Rin with one of the many tales of your world. You tell her about electricity and skyscrapers, blimps and airplanes and lakes within caves, caves with pink salt and love stories and anything that you can recall. Even Jaken doesn't interrupt, content to sit along and listen to your tales.

In no time at all, Rin droops against you, breathing evenly, eyes barely slitted open in that way that all young children fall asleep. Jaken snores in his corner, that creepy two headed staff in his arms, but you’ve all gotten used to that so you ignore him. Slowly, and carefully, you tuck Rin in, and move to blow out the oil lamp.

But Sesshoumaru is already there, staring down at the both of you, and you jump.

“...!!”  Putting a fist over your pounding heart, you just manage not to scream, and you frown at the Lord.

“You almost scared me into a heart attack!’ You hiss. You can swear he rolls his eyes– but the motion is too swift.

“Humans and their weak organs.” 

“And yet we’ve managed to survive this long, and longer yet.”

“Yes, like crickets. Or roaches.”

“Hey,” you frown. “A roach can survive nuclear fallout. You and I, however, cannot.” He rolls his eyes again, and you definitely catch it, and maybe this time you were meant to.

Rin snores gently, and his eyes are drawn. “These inane stories you tell the child are senseless and impractical.” 

“She likes them, they ease her. You know she’s been having nightmares recently–that last batch of demons brought back some…bad memories.” Sesshoumaru had told you how he had come to keep the girl, after he brought her back to life with Tenseiga. 

You know you’re not the only one who cares for her. Sometimes, if you’re keen enough, you would look over and catch the Lord looking over the child.

She’s be caught in some silly antic, like trying to braid flowers into A-un’s double mane, or refashion Jaken’s clothes to something more fashionable; And the Lord wouldn't smile or laugh no, the Demon is a practically made of marble, but there would be a fondness in his eyes. Then he'd catch you looking and that stony wall would slide back up.

But that did a lot to humanize him in your eyes (ha). He liked to gift both you and the girl new clothes in bright colors, and on especially good days, he would pretend to be asleep as she braids his hair. Jaken would critique her technique and flower placement, it was very found-family core.

You only caught that once though and you bemoan your loss of modern photography. You would’ve loved to get that on camera.

“The stories help get her mind off of that. And did you say ‘impractical’? I would say they’re inspiring–maybe she’ll reinvent planes and be the next Amelia Earheat, traveling the world.”

He cocks his head down at you. “And what exactly happened with this woman, did she live a fulfilling life?”

“Uh, no…whilst trying to become the first woman to complete a circumnavigational global flight, she and her navigator, Fred Noonan disappeared over the central Pacific Ocean.”

“Hence, why women should stay in the home.”

You scowl. “She didn't fail because she was a woman, she failed because she ran out of fuel for her plane. And if you must be misogynistic, she had a man with her!”

“Who let her take lead. Hence, their death.”

You click your tongue. “The inventions of women have revolutionized the world! Wireless transmission technology, central heating, kevlar fabric, the fire escape, mint ice cream; Women can be just as capable if given room to thrive.”

He waves your words away. ” I suppose then I shouldn't let you out of my sight, lest you recreate your lightning in a bottle again.”

“It's called electricity. I almost got the hang of it.”

“Hence.” He walks the length of the room, opens the sliding door to look outside of it. He stalks back in a moment later.

“There are no other guests in the inn, and I paid the old woman enough to keep it that way. After these four days we leave for the mountains.”

“Mountains…” You sigh, burying your face in the blankets.

“Can't we just fly over with A-un?”

“No. There are demon nests I must quell inside. We pass through.”

“Ugh,” You groan, flipping over. “Why? It's gonna be so hard…You know, this isn't how I imagined my life to go. So much hardship,” you whine. “If I wanted to climb mountains I would have joined a hiking group up Mount Everest or Fuji or Hiroshima or something…”

“How did you expect your life to be?” You stop your pouting, turning over to look at him, and the light from the oil lamp paints him in shades, a chiaroscuro of silver and gold.

“...What do you mean?”

“What did you expect out of life? Do you have dreams? Or did they die out when you came here?” 

He waits, and you can't seem to muster up the words under the confusion you're under. Staring at him upside down, you wonder, ‘when did you ever want to know about me?’

He’s the one who breaks eye contact first, a harsh sigh pushing past his teeth.  “Never mind.” He reaches inside the lamp and pinches the fire out. The room is enveloped in deepening shadows and cool tones; All moonlight and deep blues, softening into Dawn.

He turns, and his hair swishes, like a curtain of silver. A full moon, gleaming brighter here than the waning one in the lightening sky.

“Go to sleep.”

“...Goodnight, My Lord.”

“To sleep with you.”

_______________

Inu Yokai are more attuned to their senses than most demons.

It is their nature, as dog demons–their senses are what lend them their extra strength in battle, in the company of other demons–and He is a master of them all. He is a pure blooded Daiyōkai, Lord of the Western Lands. It is expected.

He has honed and sharpened and used them like any weapon, and they serve him just fine, as well as any tool or instinct.

He did not expect them to betray him like this.

The scent of your heat is a heavy, disorienting thing–but still weak compared to the true cycle of a female Inu Youkai. But where a female of his kind would enter estrus twice, maybe thrice a year, you enter it every month.

He caught the tell-tale ends of it, the day you stumbled onto his path. Faint and still unripe, rare, and no less precious for it-Omega. You wonder why so many demons chase and clamor after you, and that is why.

He found himself appalled, disgusted. But not surprised. Mortals are weak and slaves to their own biology. Such a rampant cycle must be their evolutionary way of ensuring that their population does not die out. Yet even he has to scoff at the luck you must have had to survive unblemished. A young, unclaimed, unattended Omega, even if they are human? How crass. How delightful. Like impure jade, saturated and cloudy. He keeps you anyway. He wants you anyway.

You fall into slumber easily, but fretfully, and he watches you alternate between a light and deep sleep. It is not pain or discomfort that ails you though, and he tries to tamp down the rumble in his chest at your drawn brow. He wants to soothe it. He wants to slip beside you and savor your heat.

Instead, he settles for brushing your hair back from your face, arranging it in a neat manner so that your neck stays cool, and the child won't step on it in her hurry. You’ll wake up late, more sluggish than the other two, but he’ll excuse you. Rin will rush out first, intent on cooking breakfast, which Jaken would take over, with the innkeeper's aid. You’ll wake up next, blurry eyed and guilty, intent on pulling your weight. He has instructed Jaken to make sure you rest, but recently you’ve cowed the imp into some leniency. He’ll have to check on you.

But he won't be staying in this inn, or around you long if he can help it. The scent of you before was irregular, heady and dark like blood and earth. It's a stroke for his ego (and what does that say about him) that being around an Alpha, a complimentary presentation, has helped you to…stabilize. You must have been surrounded by Betas, to have such a weak scent. But now that it's settled, your scent is something more floral now, mature, warm. ‘Like honeysuckle’, he compares. 

Pungent, thick, slow, very particular. It could be mistaken for jasmine, or vanilla, but no, honeysuckle. The scent thickens now, in your estrus, trails behind you in wafts. Further fuelled by the blood residue of your menstruation. You smell like wounded animal. Maddening, enticing, frustrating. Lovely.

Blasted instincts. They demand he steps forth and assuage them, but you are human. However his urges, no matter this damn longing, you will never be on equal stance, despite your presentation. That is reason enough. It should be reason enough.

Humans like to pretend that they are better than animals, or mindless beasts, but your body relays those basic desires pretty clearly. 

He wants to taste.

Four days. Four days until the worst of this passes, and he can continue on his journey. Perhaps he should have left you for dead, ages ago. Or killed you himself, to prevent anyone else the right. He wouldn't have to deal with this, and you’d still belong to him. 

But he’s not going to kill you now. He’s come too far for that.

He exhales, and slides the door shut seamlessly. It is near dawn, you all arrived rather late, so he will leave you to your slumber. That dizzying scent of yours heckles at his nerves, raises his hackles just the slightest bit–lengthens his teeth and claws, he cannot meditate like this.

He stalks from the inn, irate. There were plenty of low class demons he saw on the way to this backwater village. He needs to shred something apart. He needs to put his claws in something.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The next morning you wake up late, which is surprising, because usually Rin wakes you up by stepping on your hair rushing out. It lies neat around your face, and you’re left to wonder who did it for you, because it certainly wasn't you. 

Rubbing the dredges of sleep from your eyes, you still as an image comes to mind; A dream, the glint of something sharp, like a whetted knife, and…something else, a soft rattle in the dark. A weight on top of you? But kinda nice, like a warm, weighted blanket in winter. Hm…White scales. The heck?

“Whatever…? Weird dream…” You would have looked up your zodiac sign for any clues in your era, but there are things to be done. The Lord doesn't shut you in an inn so you can idle about. Maybe you can find some chores to help out with.

You shake your head at the images, and get ready for the day. Jaken and Rin are nowhere to be seen, and your body aches sorely like you did a full cardio workout the night before.

You only just finish getting dressed when there's a knock, and the sliding door opens, revealing the innkeeper kneeling beyond it.

“Forgive me for intruding upon you, honored guest. Breakfast is ready in the common area. Or would you prefer to eat in your room?”

“Uh, no, I‘ll head down, thank you..” You follow her down the empty hallways, until you reach the common room. Rin and Jaken have already set up all the plates; Jaken huffs when he sees you, lifting his sleeve to his nose while Rin just beams. You decide to focus on her, Jaken has always had a sore spot with you.

“Good morning Rin! Did you help set this all up?” She nods, before gesturing wildly with her hands, your eyes flitting to catch it all, the odd few words spilling out. You can understand her easily, by now.

“Oh, and you helped cook too? Well why didn't you call me?! I feel horrible that I just slept in while you were working so hard!”

“It wasn’t hard; You would know if you weren't so incompetent. This is just something any person can do.” Jaken lifts his chin in the air, self vindicated, nose still covered. You are not impressed.

“Thank you for the snark, this early in the morning Jaken. Anything else you would like to add?”

He scoffs. “You should be taking my criticism with due gratitude! I mean, what sort of servant sleeps in and doesn’t even help cook breakfast?”

“I am no servant, I am a companion. And so what? Are you going to take breakfast away as my punishment, Jaken?” You smile and take the bowl of rice Rin hands you, lifting an eyebrow.

“Why, I should!”

“But you won't. Because you know the Lord wouldn't approve.” And with that, he shuts up, the click of his teeth snapping together audible. The innkeeper flinches, and draws back.

And, alright, you were only half bluffing; Sesshoumaru would be upset, but only because Jaken has no right to dole out punishments. That's his job.

You see the owner lady bow and start to head out, but you call to her before she could leave.

“Hey, have you eaten yet? You should sit with us.” She smiles politely, shaking her head, still bowing. She isn't that old actually, now that you look at her. Laugh lines and crow's feet, salt and pepper hair. Fifties, perhaps. Her eyes keep flickering towards Jaken, and she breathes shallowly.

“Esteemed guest, I am honored, but I could not dare to impose.”

“I’m asking you to impose. Don’t worry about Jaken, I can punt him like a football at any given opportunity.”

“No you can’t!” Before Rin can fill it, you take your empty teacup and beam it off his head. It lands with a satisfying crack and the imp falls with a sad cry. 

“See? Also, the Lord is the esteemed guest here, not us. And, he’s not here. Please, sit and eat,” you tilt your head, peering just a bit closer at the woman.

“You look tired, actually. Are you alright?” Luckily, it doesn't take much more convincing before she sighs, and slides in the seat next to you, across Rin and Jaken.

“It is fine. There is much to do when you run an inn.”

“But you don't get many customers in this shack of a town, do you?” You glower at Jaken, who flinches back. You turn back to the innkeeper as he mutters something about  “hormones and lady cycles’, in which Rin scolds him for you, and introduce yourself.

“And the little girl here is Rin.”

“H-Hello,” Rin stutters the word out, and bows. You watch the innkeeper for any sign of reproach, but she just smiles and bows back.

“I am pleased to be in such fine company. I am Numachi.” She smiles, and easily looks ten years younger.

“‘Numachi?’” Jaken always has to ruin things though.

“Odd choice for a family name.”

Her brow doesn't furrow, but she closes her eyes, inclines her head. “It was my late husband's name.”

“Well it's still–”

“ANYWAYS,” you cut in before he has another chance to be crude, “Not to validate Jaken, but it does seem you don't have many…patrons. So why do you look so tired?”  She laugh-sighs, shoulders slumping, and the words spill from her, easily, like she's been waiting for someone to lend an ear.

“It was easier when I had my husband and two sons. But… after my husband passed, they left to travel to a more prosperous town, leaving me here…I run the errands by myself now.” You frown.

“They just left you alone when you needed them most?” She shakes her head. “Oh, no, they wanted to bring me along! But I’m much too attached to this place. It’s where I worked and stayed with my husband, after all. They are not far away anyways, they visit me every few months to check in. In fact, I received a letter at the beginning of this month that they would visit soon!” A smile paints her face, before consideration crawls over it; She lifts her sleeve and moves closer to you.

“Though, it's only after the new moon, and for that, I worry less. This post town used to be very prosperous, with many travelers and smaller inns. You can see the wreckage of them further into the town. But there's a demon, who's been eating all the residents for the past twenty years, under the veil of every new moon, and only then. The victims numbers keep increasing as time goes on, and soon…we will also be gone.”

Your mind quickly flashes to Sesshoumaru; The new moon will be soon, but for the next few nights at least, no one would be eaten, the demon wont get close unless they have a death wish. You think to tell her that but she goes on.

 “Now we mostly trade amongst ourselves. It takes such a long time for me to finish all these chores, cleaning the rooms and the bathhouse, checking the hot springs and collecting my small wares to trade, or collecting the things I've traded in advance for.” Numachi-san looks at you, almost conspiratorially, though it's hard on such a soft face as hers.

“I…have traps further upstream the river than anybody goes. It's where you can catch the fattest fish, though I only catch a few every couple of days. It's very far upstream, so that nobody may stumble upon them and steal them, a little aways from the rice paddies Taiga-san owns. Though, I supposed the fish make their own way out of the traps, with how long it takes me to sneak up there.” 

You pick at the fish on the table, seasoned with herbs and salt and vinegar, and take a mouthful of rice. Chew, swallow.

“There isn't much I am currently needed for, or need to do. I'd be happy to help with some chores. And please–” you cut her off, “don’t refuse because of hospitality. It would be kinder for the both of us if you received some help, and I find something to keep myself busy with.” 

Rin immediately bounces up in her seat, rice grains stuck to her cheeks and waving her hand in the air. You laugh.

“And it seems like you have another eager helper too. Three, with Jaken.”

“I did not–” He withers under the blinding smile you shoot his way. 

“So,” you grin back at Numachi-san. Please. what can we do first?”

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The empty basket bumps against your hip as you rush into the village. Jaken had kicked up a fuss, had wanted you to stay inside, but Rin had wheezed past him, wiping the floor with a rag, and started chasing his feet. While he was distracted, you memorized the list of things you were supposed to get, and made your escape.

The village really was tiny, even in the midst of such a sunny day. In a time when the village should be bustling, people just kept their eyes forward and went about their business. Oh, there was of course the ladies in their tight knit groups, knitting and gossiping. There was the odd maiden who glanced longingly at some fellow or another, a couple cute village boys, all stereotypical bullshit, yeah yeah, but this town felt…hollow.

Or rather, drained. Like an old, cracked egg.

Numachi-san was right, you saw a few wrecked buildings as you made your way through town, following her instructions. They looked old and fragile, like houses made out of matchsticks. You hurried past these buildings, set on your way.

First, you had to get to the apothecary, for the bundle of herbs she owed the innkeeper, then, to old man Taiga for the rice. But the rice paddies were on the other side of town, where the streams ran from. You could get the rice and check on the traps tomorrow. 

Apothecary and cleaning today, rice and fish and cooking tomorrow. 

The apothecary was a small, but a long nook of a place, dimly lit and crowded with plants, hanging vines and drying bundles of other things. The woman who ran it was a frail old lady, white haired, who hardly spoke a word of greeting to you before she dropped an assortment of…things into your basket. You checked it over–expensive things. Honey and pears and mushrooms, spices–Parsley, chrysanthemum, kaiware, …some other plants you haven't been in this era long enough to identify. 

You were just sorting the basket on your arm when the lady slipped a few extra stuffs into your basket.

“Oh, was that also–”

“Extra.” 

“Extra? For wha-” 

“You're bleeding aren’t ya.” A woman of few, but blunt words. All knowing and terrifying in that knowledge. You nod.

She inclined her head towards the basket. “Ginger and ginseng to revitalize and heal the body, make it into a tea. You’re gonna need it, with that Lord of yours.”

“...What about him?” She rolled her eyes, a strange dark oak. 

“Don’t be dense girl. He shut you in that inn for a reason, right? Take advantage! He doesn’t seem the type to wanna go at it in a cave or some sort. “ And she leans in grinning, sharp and white toothed.

“You gotta watch out though, those types are the ones who pretend to be all dignified, but they’re the ones who go at it like beasts.” And yeah oookay you get what she means.

“Oh, no no no no nooo, we’re not here for that. I’m just a companion! And…my period just ended and I need rest, you know?” But she doesn't buy it.

“So you’re not his wife, or concubine?”

“No.”

She nods. “Not yet then. How ‘bout that little girl, she yours?”

“Rin, the child? No, no, we just took her in.”

“We?"  You catch your slip of tongue a moment too late, and flush red. The old lady’s edged eyes seem to stare right through you, sharp and inscrutable, as she grinds and cuts her herbs.

“Having trouble carrying that Lord’s child then, are you? That why you adopted her–”

“Goodness, no! I said it’s not like that!  She is just…part of the group.” Even that sounds weak to your ears, and you start to back out of the shop.

“‘A companion’...” She clicks her tongue. “How naive. He’s a high class demon and a man. You’re either a snack or a concubine, and with that sweet young scent and body, you might end up as both. Best take advantage before then."

"What?"

"If you're on or near off your bleeding, you're at your most fertile. If he hasnt already he's gonna try to pop a litter in ya." You make a sound of disgust and she rolls her eyes like a grandmother at an unruly child.

“Listen, I’m a part of this group. He's not that depraved to do that, you dont know what you’re talking about!” You're shocked at the volume of your voice, bouncing off the walls, and the most this lady offers you in a raised bow.

“Ah, I see. You like him but you’re scared–of what? Or is it a pride thing?”

“I don’t-”

“You're naive, but not clueless then. But pride is an easy price to pay for a good life. Make a move if you haven't already. Seems he already cares for ya, if he’s feeding ya and shutting you in an inn for your bleedings.”

“It's a two way street sort of thing. I get rest and he doesn't have to fight all the demons attracted to the blood.”

“Really? Well I bet he gets the days wrong, always shuts you up when the bleedings already ending. Leaves lots of bodies on the way too for ya, huh? It's like when my kitty brings me birds; It's about proving strength and showing he can provide. Demon and a man, remember?”

“You don't know him like I do. You don't know anything.”

“I know most women don't get a choice between comfort or a pleasant partnership; you got the chance for both and you’re not making any moves. If I was young as you I'd kill to take your place. Many women have.”

“So I should, on their behalf? He’s arrogant and aloof and looks down on humans,” you counter. “Why would he want me?”

“He’s sympathetic enough to take in a human woman and child and an imp, so maybe he’s not all that. Maybe you should ask why exactly he shuts you up. Or why you want him in the first place?” She resumes her chopping, the scent wafting up as bitter and sharp as her eyes. She pauses.

“If you live to make a decision, come back here. I got things to help you, whether you want to give him a baby or not.” She doesnt look up as you scoff, or run out the shop. You try to cast her words from your mind.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

It got your mind running though.

“Numachi-san,” The innkeeper elegantly turns her head towards you, prime and ready to serve. It kinda irks you, her effortless grace and subservience but you ignore that.

“Why do you think the Lord dropped us off here?”

“Hm?” She tilts her head. “Honored guest…I wouldn't dare to presume, it is not my place.” 

“I'm asking you to presume. I won't hold any offense, so please.” Her eyes slowly slid over to Jaken, who was busy telling Rin off for the mess she was making. Rin just grins him away. 

Numachi-san slides over to your side, lifting her sleeve to cover her mouth.

“Well, if I may be audacious…Are you not the Lord’s wife?” You would choke, if the apothecary had not shocked you with this presumption earlier.

She hesitantly went on as you remained silent.

“The Lord has demanded your comfort. You rode in on the back of a mule demon with the child, and you were…bleeding. I saw the spotting. Oh, honored guest, do I go too far?” You shake your head, waving your hand at the crease in her brow.

“No, it's a...reasonable idea to come to. But it is none of that, I assure you.”

“Oh? You are a…servant of the Lord then? How generous he is.” Generous is the last thing you would call him but you can't find the words to correct her.

Curiosity pokes at you. “Numachi-san, sorry if this is too much for you, but what was your husband like? Was he kind to you?”

She bursts into laughter, and the sound of it is so sudden and bitter, your eyes widen. She looks at you with something like pity, like you’re some young thing.

“Kindness is a rare thing in this world, honored guest. That's why we call it graciousness– because it always comes at a price. No, my husband was not kind, but he was gracious.” Her eyes seem so far away, and she sighs in ages past.

“He helped me with the hotsprings and the fish traps upstream. Getting firewood and supplying the inn with whatever we needed, rice, grain, barley, herbs, meat.  My sons, when they were young, preferred to help me inside, at least until the younger twin started joining his father outside more often. They both didn't like people that much, busybodies. It was very crowded in those days so I understand.” And her eyes flick to the sides.

“But my husband…I cared for him, and he protected me. I’ve always been a frail thing, so I think he took it as ensuring my safety. I wasn’t madly in love with him as I was in my youth, but we enjoyed each other's company, which is more to be said then most marriages. Even so, after my sons were born…My duty as a mother overrode my duties as a wife. Not that it ever amounted to much, now that they all left me…” Another sigh, just pushing a small sob, her lipid eyes wet.

Wife. You’d never be a wife, in this era at least. Much less a willing mother. The chance of finding a decent partner that won't try and force you into domesticity is low, and lower still with the chances of Seshoumaru ever letting you go. 

If you asked him, would he let you go? Maybe as you get older. Maybe if you ever found a way back to your world. But what about Rin? It's not like you could take her with you. 

That night, after Rin has fallen asleep after another tale, you go wandering to the end of the hall, where the more opulent rooms lay. It's been unoccupied, but waiting a few minutes in the room yields results; Sesshoumaru appears as if he teleported, face forever calm and blank.

“What are you doing in my room?” The room you haven't been using? You want to snort, but rein that particular response in.

“Forgive me my Lord,” you incline your head. “I just had a bit of an…inquiry I wanted to bring to you.”

“And what ‘inquiry’ do you bring me?” 

To your credit, you only hesitate for a second at the infliction in his voice. Almost a challenge, but with none of the wariness to suggest he expects any real threat from you. You press.

“Why do you send us to an inn during my bleedings?”

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

It's not a particularly shocking question, but he wonders why you asked it. And why his pulse spiked ever so slightly.

“The blood scent attracts demons.”

“...Forgive me my Lord, but you are strong enough to deal with them; The corpses you leave behind are plain evidence. And I suppose it's more than that…” So you noticed. You bite the nail of your thumb, already red and agitated like it's a habit, which it is. He wants to tell you to stop, you don't need to lose any more blood than you already have. 

“It's just…We always stay at an inn towards the end of my period, always. If it's the blood that attracts predators, why not shut me up while I'm bleeding then? I know you…scout farther ahead but I bet you can tell when or before it starts, with your superior senses. We can plan better for this, y’know.”

How nonchalant, so self satisfied you seem with yourself that you meet his eyes head on. But as he stands there, holding your gaze like water in his palm, some shame finally finds you, its red flush crawling over your neck and ears and face. 

How lovely. “You don't know, do you?” Your shame, that is.

“Huh?” Even now, honey wafts throughout the room. It's all he can smell–blood residue and earth, honeysuckle and moonlight. He inhales so slowly, so carefully, to not disturb it, lest it spreads throughout the room and stick to everything.

“I don't know…what?” He doesn't answer you. He looks about; certainly one of the better rooms, still paling in comparison for his tastes. The futon has not been brought out, good. He doesn't need any more temptations. 

How clueless you are to his yearning, desire let sit to simmer for gods know how long.

Maybe from when you first stumbled onto his path, or how he noticed you never cowered near Jaken nor A-un, or even him; Cautious, but never fearful. Perhaps when your scent mellowed out with the addition of the child, or when you handed her flowers to braid in his hair. He wonders what the both of you would have done, had he dropped the farce of sleep, content to breathe in milk and honey. Would you jump back in shock, the child in your arms, or would you have grinned cheekily, teeth and all?

You're going to be the bane of his existence.

As he gazes about the room, he strides over to you in that way that makes you falter; Too swift and smooth to look like anything more than gliding, the illusion of being too fast to track as he stands before you; He tilts his head at the little squeak that leaves your lips as you stand eye to eye with his shoulder pauldron. 

Everything about you screams acquiescence, submission, fertility. Your smell, the extra luster to your hair, the extra plump to your face and hips….

He sighs. He finds himself pressing the flat of his tongue against his fangs, the roof of his mouth, to catch that cloying fragrance. There is a sort of fondness he holds for you that he is not sure is wise, nor gentle; It's a kind of fondness that demands both your tears and your desperation. 

“Attend to me.”

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

“Attend to me.” 

You mind blanks, before you spring into action. He walks over to the low table and seats himself, while you try to figure out how to take off his metal shoulder pad..thingy. It's attached by these red ropes, which are attached to that other black metal petal…thingy–wait, you should probably undo that yellow sash first. And that fluffy cape (it's sooo fluffy. But also literally alive? What is it?)

Sesshoumaru doesn't aid nor correct you, he hardly sighs as you fumble about, shutting his eyes as you work. He inhales deeply, once. He must be tired. Maybe that's why he’s entertaining you and not throwing you out the room. There's been a few close calls of that, so you know the warning signs- he emits none of them. He’s calm.

Finally, you get to that cherry blossom patterned Kimono, a crisp white and red pattern. Expensive. Hm. You wonder what his thread count is. Must be high. He lifts a hand as you hesitate for his undershirt; He just loosens the collar (and, skin!), and gestures towards the sake on the table that just suddenly appeared, a single cup to match.

As you pour it, a thought pops into your head.

“You can repair your armor and clothing with demonic energy, yes?” He actually raises an eyebrow, but only by a few millimeters. “Yes. And?”

So you couldn’t just like…Magic it all off?

You only shake your head and pour the alcohol into the flat sakazuki cups. He takes it from you and drains it immediately, and you refill it quickly. He drinks, and you look him over.

Your eyes trail down his form, not for pleasure, (because yeah, he’s beautiful, but he’s so beautiful it’s kinda scary, you know?), your eyes fall to the empty sleeve of his left arm, and you sober. 

He had dropped you off in some village one day, where you stood for a few days. Jaken was the one to retrieve you, and you came back to a demon lord with one less arm and a tiny child with matted hair. You did your best, but you were only able to fix one of those.

He catches your gaze before you can tactfully retreat, and his eyes narrow, daring you.

You cringe back. “Okay, okay, no need for the death glare. Just…curious.”

His unspoken question prompts you to answer.

“Just…um…Does it feel any different?” It's stupid even before it leaves your mouth, and you see the growing irritation in the set of his mouth, You set down the sake to wave your hands.

“No, no, I mean…! Like, there's stories, from my era I mean, and other stories from before obviously, but amputees each recall their experience differently. One thing that's common though is this thing called Phantom limb; It's like…they have the feeling of still having their limb, even though it is not there. I was just curious if you had…experienced that…” Your voice trails off, meek.

When you look up, he’s looking at the loose sleeve. His hair covers whatever expression he wore before he turns back to the lowrise table.

“Oftentimes, I could swear my hand would be curled, but when I look it is still gone.” A clawed hand raises itself, and removes the shoulder of his undershirt, revealing the ragged scar marring the milkiest skin you ever saw. 

“It aches, and not just the old wound. Phantom limb is accurate. I have to look and remind myself of what I lost.”

You try not to wince. “At least you have your life. I wouldn’t say you lost.” Nobody said anything of what happened to him, how he got so injured. You had to bribe Jaken with some rice cakes to even know it was another inu youkai, or hanyo, as Jaken sneered, so it's kinda scary to think there are demons stronger than the Lord in front of you, whose face and skin is smooth, but his eyes stony, like gilded marble.

“No, I lost that battle.” Sore loser then? You shrug.

“Well, I count it as a victory if I’m still alive at the end of it all.” And your impassive Lord actually snorts, closing his eyes.

“Spoken like a true loser then. Weakling.”

“Yes, and a coward. But alive still.” Silence threatens to fall, so you rush before it. 

“Could you, possibly, regrow it?” He is a demon after all…

But his fist unclenches, settles back in his lap. His face is calm again, like a freshwater lake.

“There is something halting that.”  And still, Silence falls like a dull knife.

This time, he takes the sake bottle and serves himself, quickly downing the drink and serving himself another. Are…demons impervious to the effects of human alcohol or…?

Maybe he’s just trying to get plastered???

Slowly, an idea forms in your head, so slowly, solidifying like fog. You act on it before you can lose the courage, opening your mouth to recite.

“Countless,

My Lord, are the years

That stretch before you;

In such an illustrious house,

A dewdrop is what I would be”

…People in this era are big on poetry, right? They’re not supposed to look at you like you just spoke in a dead language, right? 

“That is Ise no Miyasudokoro. You know of her, in your modern era?” You ignore the snide.

“I was in college, working on getting my Master’s degree. One of my electives was a poetry course.” You shrug. “So yes, I know of her.”

He affords you a look, an actual look; He checks the planes of your face and the depths of your eyes, and you don't know what he's looking at exactly, but he responds,

“The everlasting (moon):

Growing in its midst

Is my home, so

In its light alone

Can I place my trust.”

Oh! You perked up at the mention of a moon, y'know, people here really like using it as a metaphor, another poem ready at your lips;

“As a general rule

I would not praise the moon

For it

Piles upon men

The burden of increasing age.”

“And now Ariwara no Narihira? Was he also part of your curriculum?” You notice it, the regard in his voice, like a drop of paint in a glass of water, settling.

“Anyone interested in literature can't skip over Ariwara. He’s a classic.” Again, bluffing a little; your teacher passed him over very briefly, and you hate leaving any stone unturned, so you did some research on your own. (And thank goodness)

“I know of him and his work, but he is far from my favorite. Do you, perhaps…hold any favor to a poem in particular?”  

A nail, long and sharp, trails the flat rim of the sake glass. He seems to be contemplating, before he answers you in that impassive voice of his, even and toneless.

“In the summer mountains

From the treetop heights

Cuckoos’

Calls fill the sky

As does my love.”

Oh wow… “Ki no Turayuki? That's oddly…passionate.”

“Do you think I'm incapable?”

“Of passion?” What a loaded question. “No my Lord just…restrained.”

“I prefer…longanimous.”  You laugh at that.

“What adversity do you face to show such restraint then,  Lord Sesshoumaru? The world is already at the tips of your fingers.” He doesn't answer, but drinks. The silence that sails in is more weighted than you expected, and you regret your choice of words, already. Maybe he would have spoken of these ordeals. Was it the alcohol, or is the Lord being more…indulgent this night?

You turn your head, and notice the shoji door left ajar. So you stand, and draw it back, letting the night breeze filter throughout the room. It's nice. The perfect temperature, and the moon is just short of a perfect waning crescent. Soon there will be a new moon, and there will be no demons attacking this month. How lucky.

“Poems from the Sengoku era focus mostly on the tanka and renga format. In my era of modern technology, there is access to many forms of poetry, from all over the world. It's hard for me to pick a favorite.”

“Indecisive as always.”

“Oh, is that mirth I hear? I consider myself enamored with the written word. Even if I can only remember bits and pieces, from here and there.”

“Then what can you remember?”

“Bits and pieces,” you repeat, “lines and quotes. And if I must recite them rapid-fire I  fear I’ll only prove redundant.”

“I want to hear you, nevertheless.” You have to calm yourself, otherwise you fear your heart will leap out instead of your words if you speak. You wrestle it back down your throat, but there's still a tremor in your voice.

“Bits and pieces, hm?...It is late now, I am a bit tired; the sky is irritated by stars. And I love you, I love you, I love you – and perhaps this is how the whole enormous world, shining all over, can be created – out of five vowels and three consonants’, by Vladirmir Nabokov. Nizar Qabbani, ‘Because my love for you reaches higher than words, I've decided to fall silent.’ Venetta Octavia, ‘I say your name and it feels like aching, feels like paradise’. Andrea gibson, ‘come teach me a kinder way to say my own name.’  ‘Will you remember that i existed, and that I stood next to you here like this?’” 

“That last one was by Haruki Murakami,” you sigh. “...You can imagine, I got high grades for my poetry  elective.” You try to laugh, to make light of this moment, but it feels stilted and awkward.

The cool air stings a little as you breathe, but you hold it in, and exhale. And when you look up, you jolt.

He finishes closing the last bit of distance, looks down at you from his imposing height. How old is he…? His face you wouldn't call youthful, despite its softness. It's those eyes- they’re too pointed.

“Do I displease you, my lord?”

“No, you do not.” A knuckle taps at your head. “But your denseness frustrates me.”

“You mean…?” He rolls his eyes, a soft snarl building in his throat.

“You are not one for subtlety, are you.” His nails, like razors hovering closer. You could shiver, and not from the cold. Not from fear. Even when that strange hesitancy of his melts beneath a scowl, and he reaches forward more assuredly, yes, but rougher too. You speak before he touches you.

“You don’t have to hurt me, y’know.” His eyes streak back to yours, breathless and bright at your own boldness.

“You don't have to hurt me to justify touching me. You can just…”

Slowly, you tip your face into the open plane of his palm, cool, like all the rest of him, you’d imagine. His fingers flex, his hands so large that his nails brush your hairline. 

His hand isn’t smooth, it’s rough and calloused and cold, but the coolness feels nice. So you press your face closer and use your hands to hold it there.

You don't expect the sharp exhale, or for when he pulls you closer, and you jolt at the suddenness. A finger strokes at the hairs on the back of your neck and you shiver, again.

“I’m disciplined enough to restrain my desires, not curb them when they are released.” And just as quickly as he pulled you close, he let you go. “Tell me now. I won't have a tearful servant girl in my bed; You must be willing or not at all.” He almost sighs the words, continuous and melodious in that voice.

Is it taking advantage, if you give in? Lust was easy, easier to indulge.

You aren’t going to deny the butterflies you stomp down, in these quiet moments. And these moments aren’t infrequent– whether you continue to talk around a dying fire at a campsite, or taking shelter for a storm within a cave. It was a bit of a girl crush you had on the Lord, and you could give in, very willingly.

But should you? What would the ramifications be…?

“I…” And you pause, because you hear something. You perk up, turning back to the door you came from. You listen, both of you, and then you hear it again–muffled cries. Rin is having another nightmare.

“My Lord, Rin is…” You hesitate to go, the moment clinging to you like a mist, but then you hear your name.

You’re already detangling yourself from his hold and making your way towards the door when you remember yourself, and turn to bow towards your Lord.

“I’m sorry, I have to go make sure Rin is…” He waves you off, turns towards the open window where you can't see his face, see him gather himself.

“Yes. Go. See to her.”     

You nod and step back, but a part of you feels off, leaving him like this. What timing.

“I’m sorry for taking up so much of your time, but I haven't told you my favorite poem yet, my Lord. I hope we can continue this conversation at another time.” You bow, one last time, before you hurry out.

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

Sesshoumaru sighs, viscous longing in his chest like hunger pains.

How dense are you? Must he lay out each of his desires for you for you to understand? You speak words of affection so easily, that when he does the same they fall upon deaf ears. He is not one to be overt. You are horrible at looking in between the lines, though.

It is wrong to feel this way over a human. Weak things, inherently inferior, yes, but perhaps you are all the more enchanting for it. It would be more unnatural if he were to let you be, to not taste the salt of your skin or the honey that wafts from you. The hint of arousal he caught, when he towered over you. You are an Omega in heat. He is an Alpha. What else is there? You serve him anyways, should you not be rewarded so?

His skin crawls, where it has touched yours.

And still, that honeyscent sticks throughout the room.

A/N: Was the poetry a bit too on the nose? I feel like sesshoumaru isnt the type for grand dispalys of affection or confession, he's way more lowkey lol. But here are the poems I used in order.

Ise/ Ise/ Narihira/ Ki No Tsurayuki/

[theharrowing]

Collateral 🗡️ 22: I just need a chance to breathe

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

🗡️ word count: 15.9k

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

🗡️warnings: explicit smut (mention of sex & using a dildo; oral sex; ass eating; threesome; talk of anal & double-penetration but not actually doing it; multiple orgasms, cum eating) messy emotions (because, of course); fireworks used to scare characters (to simulate firearms and/or explosions); anxiety; mention of nightmares; the return of some familiar faces & introduction of new ones.

🗡️ a friendly reminder: if there is anything in the tags that may cause you emotional distress to read, please take care of your mental health and don't push yourself. as with any of my updates/warnings, if you would like to skip over a particular warning, please private message me and i can tell you where to begin and end skipping, as well as give you a rundown of what happens in that section.

🗡️note: wow. hello, friends. it's been a long time since i have come to you with a full chapter. are you ready??? did you know that i decided to turn mc's ex into an actually character??? hehehe. enjoyyy!!!

🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin!

🗡️ posted on may, 2024 | read on ao3

My Namjoon,

I often dream of you lying in a field of wildflowers. Your body is sunken into green stems and purple petals, which blow gently in the breeze, creating a perfect you-shaped indent. You wear all white with your hands behind your head—relaxed and serene, without a care in the world. 

In my dream, time passes quickly, and the sun always falls, shrouding you in darkness while blotches cover your perfect white clothing and begin to turn deep, blood-red.

I wake up feeling suffocated. I wake up afraid.

My Yoongi,

Your blood is on my hands in my dreams and in the waking world. I know you do not blame me, but the thought of it makes me sick to my stomach. I hope one day I will be able to look you in the eye and not feel so ashamed. 

In your arms, I feel like a queen. I feel like I am on top of the entire world. Nobody has ever given that to me before, and nobody could ever come close. 

It is not the height that I fear so badly but the fall back to earth.

My men, 

The last few months have felt like a whirlwind…they have felt like a hundred years. I hardly remember the person I was before I stepped foot in the mansion. Worst of all, I hardly know the person I have become. 

Please don't blame yourselves for my need to break free. The two of you promised to give me the world, and I know with my whole heart that you meant it. You showed me more than once a taste of what that could feel like. 

But I fear I am not meant for this world. I fear that all of the joy and the money and the trips and the jewelry and the champagne and the drugs will only mask the fear and the anguish and the nightmares and the dread. My physical health and my mental health are deteriorating before all of our eyes, and I don't know what to do.

You told me that the only way out of this lifestyle is death, and I can't stick around and watch that happen. I know it makes me a coward. I know that leaving with my tail between my legs in order to protect myself will only cause the three of us pain, but I trust that the two of you will get through anything. 

I am not yet ready to say goodbye because I don't want this to be the last thing I say to you two. Maybe I just need a chance to breathe. 

Some day, if all the stars align just right, will you meet me under the aurora borealis?

♡ Your Sweetheart, Your Darling, Your Love

* * *

9 hours earlier.

You lay in a heap of black satin, sweat, and cum, struggling to catch your breath. From the other room, water runs and then stops, and footsteps approach, making you smile. 

"Thirsty?" Jeongguk asks.

All you can say in response is a broken hum. You are parched, but the idea of moving your body after what he just put it through feels impossible. 

Jeongguk chuckles, and the bed dips as he asks, "Like your gift that much, huh?"

The birthday present that Jeongguk was so unwilling to allow you to unwrap at your party is a purple, glittery silicone mold of his dick. And although nothing could beat the original, you tore out of your clothes the moment you saw it, eager to try it. 

"One day we'll anal train you so you can take both of my cocks at once," Jeongguk growled in your ear, holding you by the throat while your back bowed and he fucked you cross-eyed with the toy. 

This is not how you expected your day to go after waking up to a fainting spell and visiting Taehyung's basement hospital. After the way you spiraled in Jimin's coma bed, you have not been able to return home and face Yoongi and Namjoon. 

Nor have you been checking your phone. Everything just feels like too much, and if you are not able to drink or do drugs, then you need the next best thing. 

Luckily for you, Jeongguk is more than eager to supply you with all the orgasms you could ever ask for. 

Unfortunately, he is also eager to talk about shit and destroy this perfect distraction. 

"When are you going to head back home?" he asks, flopping down beside you and draping limbs over your body. Your sweat has begun to turn cold, and you roll toward him, seeking warmth.

"I don't know," you respond flatly. 

A tinge of sadness works its way into your lungs, causing you to choke. It is not as if you are doing anything behind anyone's back, but you still feel somewhat guilty. 

Earlier, while at Taehyung's house, Jeongguk asked his hyungs if they wouldn't mind you swinging by his place to open your gift, and based on their grins and winks, they not only knew what it was, but they expected you to want to play. 

Yoongi saying, "Have fun, you two," with a playful little smirk sealed the deal. 

You do not feel guilty for lying in Jeongguk's bed all fucked out and exhausted. Rather, you feel a preemptive guilt for all the things left unsaid, and all there is yet to do. 

Jeongguk sighs and repositions so that his arms are around you, laying on his side and pulling you into him. You close your eyes and let out a deep exhale, and in the silence between breaths, you make a choice. 

"I guess I should go," you mutter. 

Jeongguk grumbles and hugs tighter, and you allow yourself to be held a few moments longer. You really are going to miss this. 

The urge to cry sneaks up, and you take a deep breath and hold it, then begin to wiggle from Jeongguk's arms. There is absolutely no way you are going to allow him to see you cry again. 

Only you cannot help it. You think about Jimin lying in a coma and how you whispered your goodbyes with a kiss to his cheek. 

You think about leaving Jeongguk here in his bed without granting him a proper goodbye. Would it be rude to take the toy cock with you as a souvenir? There is no way you are not going to.

As you detangle your limbs and sit up, tears fall. You tremble and attempt to breathe through it, but Jeongguk is sitting up in a flash, tilting his head to get a look at your face.

"Stop," you warn, holding your hand up as if to block whatever he might say.

"Stop what?" he asks with a concerned tone.

"Don't call attention to it. I don't want to talk about it."

"Doll—"

You sigh and shake your head. "Please. Please don't make me explain myself."

Silence hangs, then he asks, "Are you alright?"

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. 

"No."

"What do you need?"

You shrug. "Taehyung says I need a vacation, so I think I am going to take one."

"And that's why you're crying?"

Although Jeongguk's tone is sympathetic, you fight the urge to smack him. 

"I just have a lot of thoughts and feelings, okay? Is that okay?" 

You do not mean to snap, and you even attempt to chuckle through your words. But your tears must make your conviction seem as weak as it feels because Jeongguk simply watches you with a frown.

"It sucks to admit that I can't handle this," you mutter, worried you may have said too much but finding it impossible to keep everything bottled up.

"So, then…what if a vacation isn't enough?" Jeongguk asks.

You wish he wouldn't ask that. Why is Jeongguk, of all fucking people, so in tune with what you are thinking?

You shrug once more. "Then I guess I have to think of a new plan."

Jeongguk hums and wraps his arms around you, resting his chin on your shoulder.

"Where will you go?"

Where will you go? Over and over, you have asked yourself this question. But you really have no idea. Wherever Seokjin can send you, you suppose.

"Not sure."

"Alright, well," Jeongguk sighs, "I'll be sure to find you. Wherever you end up…I'll show up."

This makes you chuckle. It is a nice gesture, but it also feels foolish. Jeongguk is not in the position to make such lofty promises, nor would you ever dream of him asking to.

"Jeongguk, what are you talking about?"

"I mean it," he responds, matter-of-factly. "I will find you. You can't just get rid of me, even if you leave the rest of the family behind. I need to be sure that you are okay."

What he says is sweet, but it is too much. You groan and begin to shrug-wiggle out of Jeongguk's hold, then scoot along the bed until you reach the edge and slide off. Your feet hit a soft rug, and you wander around finding your clothing articles, which have been tossed onto the chairs and floor. 

"It's nice of you to say that," you respond, glancing over your shoulder.

Jeongguk sits naked with his legs pretzeled and his back slumped forward, eyes on you with a slight frown tugging his pretty lips. You feel the urge to tip-toe over and kiss the expression from his face, but you hold back, getting dressed instead. 

"Yoongi-hyung won't take it very well if you leave for good," Jeongguk mutters. 

This is not a conversation you want to have, and you take a steady breath before standing straight, doing your best to lie as you say, "I'll try not to leave for good."

* * *

As you walk past Seokjin's mansion, you feel the urge to take a detour and knock on his door. If he weren't such a busy man who likely will not be home at this hour, you would. But instead, you continue toward the mansion.

It is the early evening, but already the sun is setting and you do not want to make your way back in the dark, safe as these paths may be. And you do not want to explain why you are being escorted home by Seokjin, should you find him at his doorstep and talk until it is dark enough that you feel the urge to ask for company. 

The tall trees and shrub walls create deep shadows that appear somewhat menacing in the glow of the property security lights, and it is fucking creepy. Even with the sun still providing hints of light, you grip tightly to the satin ribbon straps of your gift bag and shiver your shoulders up to your ears.

With each step, the leaves and gravel are louder and crunchier than usual. It feels like a mockery the way each sound causes your hair to stand on edge. Especially as you approach your home and realize you have never been granted access to enter on your own. Hard to sneak in when you need to ask permission.

You sigh and pull out your phone, relieved to see that there are no missed calls or texts, and you thumb around to find Yoongi's contact. He picks up on the second ring.

"Hello, darling."

Yoongi's voice is bright and chipper, which is a relief.

"Hey. I'm heading back, and I need to be let inside."

Yoongi chuckles and inhales sharply, then he says, in a voice that is strained in the way a voice gets when someone is talking while holding in their breath, "We're actually outside smoking." He exhales, then adds, "See you in a bit?"

"Oh," you mutter. Now that he mentions it, you do smell the distinct stench of weed, and as you come out of the clearing, you can vaguely make out the shapes of Yoongi and Namjoon standing on the stoop. You smile and say, "Right now, actually."

Yoongi hums, then looks from where he and Namjoon stand in front of the door, to you. Without ending the call, you slide your phone into the pocket of your hoodie—the oversized black one that Jeongguk let you borrow several days ago that you have decided never to return. You smile, feeling a bit of a pep in your step, which falters once you remember what you must do. 

"Darling!" Yoongi calls, holding his arms wide. "Perfect timing. Namjoon and I were craving sushi. Come along?"

Both men wear their standard black uniform, and Yoongi has a black jacket on, as well. Namjoon takes a hit from a joint that is so small, he has to hold it with the very tips of his finger and thumb. As he tilts his head upward and exhales a plume of smoke, Yoongi begins to walk toward you in slow, measured steps. 

"Do I need to change clothes?" you ask because as much as you are hungry, you really do not want to put on a dress. 

Yoongi shrugs, eyes up your stolen hoodie and tight black leggings and shrugs. "If you are comfortable this way, that is fine with me."

You actually expected to have to plead your case, and you are surprised by how amiable Yoongi is. Perhaps he is too hungry to wait for you to change. Or he is starting to calm down about how the public perceives you. 

"Alright," you say, gripping onto the handle of your gift bag. 

Namjoon takes one more hit from the joint and mutters something difficult to hear—you think he asks Yoongi if he wants more of the weed. Yoongi turns to Namjoon and shakes his head, and Namjoon flicks it into the driveway without asking if you want any. You would have said no, anyway.

"Shall we, then?" Yoongi asks, and you nod. 

Namjoon takes a few steps toward Yoongi and kisses him on the side of the head, causing Yoongi to chuckle and turn to Namjoon to press their lips together. Then they speak about something you cannot hear, and Namjoon turns to go into the mansion. 

"He wants to drive your car," Yoongi informs you with a smile. 

The drive into the city is smooth. Namjoon is quiet most of the time, but Yoongi seems to speak at him about this and that—you aren’t really sure. His voice is just hushed enough that it is hard to make out over the soft radio, and you do not strain to listen, enjoying the backseat all to yourself. 

Namjoon drives to a restaurant the three of you have been to before and hands the keys over to the valet attendant. Inside, the hostess bows, then frowns. 

“Oh, mister Min,” she says, glancing around worried. “The private room is occupied at the moment.”

When you turn to Yoongi, there is a hint of a frown on his face, and he squints slightly at the woman. “Occupied?”

The woman nods and drops her gaze down to the wooden hostess podium. 

“My private room is occupied? Interesting.”

The woman looks afraid, eyes scanning around uselessly. She opens her mouth and fumbles around, “I could—we could remove them—I could ask them—“

“A corner booth is fine,” Yoongi says sternly, glancing around the lively, open space. “No windows, please. With a view of the front door.”

“Yes, sir,” The hostess responds, grabbing three menu books with shaking hands. “Right this way, sir.”

“Who has my room?” Yoongi asks before the woman steps away from her podium. 

It is clear that she would ordinarily not give out this kind of information, and she stammers once more, saying, “Y-Yu, sir.”

“Yu?” Yoongi asks, cocking his head. He looks from Namjoon to you, and Namjoon shrugs. 

You only know one person with the name Yu, and it is hard to imagine him dining at a place like this, much less in a room Yoongi keeps on reserve. The last time you saw him, Yoongi had him on his knees at the Han River with a switchblade to his throat. What business would he have here?

The hostess leads the three of you through the restaurant, to a booth in the far corner. Several people look up, and you can hear murmuring as you walk past. You wish you had changed into something a little nicer than a hoodie and leggings, but hold your chin up and follow along. 

The restaurant is just dimly lit enough to feel cozy, but the gold sconces and expensive crystal décor give its opulence away. You can tell this is one of Yoongi's restaurants because the design style is a bit mismatched from what you would expect anywhere else—an amalgamation of comfort and wealth. 

The booth you approach is a horseshoe with a red fabric seat that wraps around a dark wood circular table. Yoongi motions for you to sit first, and you do so, sliding in toward the middle. 

Then he joins you, scooting close and draping his arm over the seat back behind you. Namjoon sits on the other side but keeps some distance, much to your chagrin. 

You understand why Namjoon is distant in public, but you wish it did not have to be this way. It is so nice when the three of you can openly be affectionate. And especially considering this may be the last time the three of you dine…at least, for a while…

Under the table, Yoongi grabs onto your left hand and pulls it onto his lap, pushing his hand into your sweater paw. You glance over the menu, not really paying attention until you feel cold metal on your ring finger and your sleeve getting shoved up to your wrist. 

"You brought it with you?" you tease, glancing at your hand in Yoongi's lap and the giant engagement ring that it sports.

"Just in case," he says, looking at his own menu and rubbing your palm with his thumb. 

It occurs to you that once you do leave, news will undoubtedly spread. Although it may be reasonable to say you are on vacation, how long will that excuse be believable? What will the public whisper about once you are gone for a long time? Especially after Yoongi threw such an extravagant, public birthday party for you, it is hard to imagine the voices won't whisper far and wide. 

Guilt and worry cannot stop you from going through with your plan, and you tell yourself this over and over. No matter how fondly you may feel for these men, you need to stay strong for yourself.

When a server comes by to take everyone's order, you keep your head down. Yoongi and Namjoon confer over items they seem to always get, and you nod along in agreement. 

"Darling?" Yoongi asks when the server leaves, lightly gripping your right thigh and giving it a squeeze. "Something the matter?"

With a shrug, you shake your head and attempt to smile. "I'm just tired, I guess. And stressed about the whole fainting thing."

"Ah, yes," Yoongi responds, thumb rubbing firm circles just above your knee. "Perhaps I should have only ordered one bottle of sake."

"I would like to have a little," you pout. 

Yoongi leans close and presses a kiss against your temple. Instinctively, you close your eyes. 

"As long as you drink more water than alcohol, I will not try to stop you."

Namjoon cuts through the moment, asking, "Did the hostess say someone named Yu was in our room?"

Yoongi sits up tall, looking over you to hum in agreement.

You turn to find Namjoon seated with his arms slung over the back of the booth, somewhat relaxed despite the worried look on his face. He locks eyes with you and asks, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

You are, but there is no plausible way it could be him. Still, you nod. 

"What would he be doing in our room?" he asks. 

Yoongi chuckles. "Yu is not that uncommon of a name."

"He would have had to have convinced the hostess that he knows you," Namjoon says, staring ahead at the table. "Is there anyone on any of our teams who would know to do that?"

"I am certain that there are plenty of people with that name who run drugs or work security," Yoongi responds, sounding bored. "Or who works at one of the hotels, a casino, one of my restaurants. Hell, they might even work at this restaurant. It is not uncommon for people to use my name. Rarely have I managed to catch someone in the act, but I am certain that it must happen all the time."

"I'm surprised you didn't march back there to see who it is," Namjoon somewhat mutters, sending you a wink when you smile at him. 

Yoongi sighs. "I suppose I lack the energy."

Namjoon hums, and you wish Yoongi would elaborate, but you surmise that it may be for the best that he does not. You do worry that perhaps he can sense something is off with your behavior—beyond tiredness and general worry—which, in turn, is worrying him. But the Yoongi you know would come right out and discuss any pressing matters with you, so you brush the thought away.

A server brings two bottles of sake and three tall glasses of water. You reach for a glass of water while Yoongi gets to pouring sake. 

You are shocked that appetizers and entrees are already brought out. Small plates of dumplings, sashimi, and sushi slowly fill the table. And although you have barely eaten all day, you only nibble on a savory pan-fried dumpling while the men eat around you. 

You cannot help but dwell on what Namjoon was saying moments ago, and you are surprised Yoongi is so dismissive of the notion. Your ex has the last name Yu. And if there is anyone on this peninsula who may have a bone to pick with Yoongi, he is likely high on that list. 

That is, if he actually felt some type of way about losing you, which you are not entirely sure could be the case. Things between the two of you had not been great for months—even years—leading up to Yoongi collecting you from him as collateral. 

But there was often talk of reconnecting and building a future together. And although you more or less ignored his ideas, disinterested in the thought of building anything with him, he seemed pretty serious. Could he have continued to love you when the two of you parted?

Although your appetite is subdued by anxiety, you do your best to eat, slowly chewing on a piece of sushi and sipping on sake. Yoongi and Namjoon discuss an upcoming meeting with Seokjin, and you stare at the off-white tablecloth and attempt to gather your thoughts. 

You are reminded of your need to meet with Seokjin. But when would be a good time? How soon would you be able to get out of the mansion?

Each time you reach with your left hand and the diamond glitters in the overhead light, you feel a tinge of sadness. It nearly makes you want to reconsider, but you remind yourself that even if, by some miracle, you and Yoongi and Namjoon are meant to make any of this work out, it needs to be on your terms, after you have had a chance to breathe. 

You consider all the places Seokjin might send you. After all, Busan seems like too much of a gamble. Yoongi and the girls managed to reach an agreement of sorts—but what if sending you there starts an all-out war?

And if your ex truly is suddenly back in the picture—

"Well, well," a man's voice cuts through the conversation between Yoongi and Namjoon and interrupts your thoughts. "What have we here?"

The familiarity of this voice causes an icy chill to cover you. Somehow simultaneously bright and deep, with an accented lilt—it is a voice you heard for years. Still, your mind struggles to reconcile the situation, despite already conspiring over the thought that he might be here tonight. 

Your eyes trail up, confirming that the man standing before the table is, indeed, your ex. Christian looks…different. To put it lightly.

The last time you saw him, his style was kind of basic and not very exciting. He liked light-colored button-ups and ripped jeans, sneakers, and simple, casual clothing, sticking mainly to earth tones. And his dark hair was always trimmed and styled neatly.

But now Christian stands before you with his hair grown, falling over his eyes. He has black eyeshadow covering the entire lid and under each eye, with hints of red glowing from the edges, all smudged together like messy bruises. Little black crosses are drawn on his cheeks, and his lips are blotted with dark, messy red. 

A red button-up shirt and black tie accentuate a black suit with silver pinstripes. The knot of his tie is encased in a gold cover with stars on the front and spikes coming from the sides, and his hands are in black mesh gloves. 

Most curious of all, he is not cowering and afraid. He stands tall and assured, like a completely different person. 

Behind him are four men, all around his height, wearing crisp black suits with white button-up shirts underneath. Covering their heads are black balaclavas that show only their eyes and lips, and their hands are clad in black leather.

"Ah, I see the circus is in town," Yoongi chides with a snarl, sitting up tall. 

Nervous, you look between Yoongi and Namjoon, then back at Christian, who glares down at you with a smirk. 

"Fellas," Christian says, looking at Namjoon before rolling his eyes to glance at Yoongi. "I could not have planned this better if I tried. What are the odds?"

"And was that you in my private room?" Yoongi asks.

Christian's smirk widens into a grin.  

Yoongi sighs, then scoots forward, pushing the plates of food that rest just in front of him to the side. He sits up even higher and plants his elbows on the table, waving his hands slowly as he speaks. "You can see that we are busy, so please just tell me what you want."

Christian's eyes drop to the table as he turns to one of the men behind him and grabs onto a black briefcase. Fear spikes as you imagine a number of terrible things that could happen while he sets it on the edge of the table and opens it. You even notice from the corner of your eye as Namjoon's hand begins to reach behind his back to where you assume he has a handgun stashed. 

But when Christian spins the case, it contains stacks of notes, neatly organized in rows and columns with colorful rubber bands. His eyes lift to you, and he smiles for a split moment. 

Then he says, "I've come to pay off my debt," and his face turns stone-cold serious. 

At this, you scoff. To your right, Yoongi begins to laugh, and to your left, Namjoon scoots forward, sitting up straight. Christian hardly blinks. 

"It's all there," Christian drawls slowly, staring daggers into Yoongi. "I even added some interest."

You turn to Yoongi in time to see him roll his eyes. His hair is tucked behind his ears, and his glare is just as piercing as that of his adversary. 

"You did not really think she would just go back to you, did you?" he asks. 

"You don't really think I'm asking, do you?" Christian responds.

At this, you click your tongue against your teeth. "Excuse me?"

Christian leans with his fists against the table, somewhat leveling his eyes with yours despite looming much taller. "I know these thugs likely gaslit you into thinking that their exorbitant amounts of money were a replacement for love. I bet they stockholm-syndrome'd you real good after kidnapping you last spring. But with therapy and different lifestyle choices, you can return to the woman you were before all of that happened to you."

This infuriates you. For one thing, how dare this man show up out of nowhere and so grossly define a relationship that has grown over months and become something that has made you actually believe in love. 

For another thing, how fucking dare he not be entirely wrong. 

It occurs to you that this could be your way out. But going back into Christian's arms does not feel like the correct choice. You were unhappy in that relationship and coasting along before Yoongi and his men swept you away, so to speak. 

Sure, you allowed him to take you out to nice restaurants and buy every little designer thing the two of you desired. But that just makes that relationship as loveless and empty as he is trying to accuse your current relationship of being. 

Not to mention, this man who stands before you is not your ex-boyfriend, as you knew him. He looks and carries himself in a way that is almost unrecognizable.

"Don't you fucking dare," you say almost under your breath. 

Christian does not break eye contact, and you hate the way sadness yanks at his expression in a soft, familiar way. 

"Come on, baby," he pleads. "You don't have to pretend to be happy anymore. I saw how uncomfortable you looked at your birthday party. And when you disappeared for a long time and came back all pale and zoned out…something was clearly wrong. We can get you the help you need."

Anxiety and frustration spikes. You almost feel ashamed when you ask, "You were there?"

It is eerie the way Christian regards you so calmly. Gone is the nervous man who dragged you along hotel hallways trying to escape. However, the way he looks at you has only changed into something sweeter. It is as if he truly has continued to love you in your absence. 

"Look, whatever you've been through," Christian continues, eyebrows knit and pleading, "you don't have to tell me. I won't ask questions. Let me just…get you out of here. Please."

Yoongi sighs and drops his chin onto his hands. When you turn to him, you watch him shrug, lift a brow to you, and say, "You know that you are free to go if that is the life you want. Nobody is shackling you here."

And although you understand what Yoongi is doing—although you want more than anything to run far away—the way in which Yoongi appears so bored and unconcerned only causes your anger to grow.

Your jaw twitches to the side, and you run the tip of your tongue between your teeth, feeling every groove of bone. This should be an easy choice, but you feel paralyzed by indecision.

With a sigh, you blink Christian into focus. He looks so hopeful, it nearly tugs at your heartstrings. Nearly.

"You can see that we are eating, Christian," you insist. "Please don't force us to call security."

Christian scoffs and stands up straight. The men behind him are stiff as boards. 

"You're causing a scene," you continue, voice flat and insincere. "I don't like to think that the other guests are uncomfortable with this display. We can discuss this in a more private setting."

Something like hope flashes in Christian's eyes, and you hate the way it makes your tummy swoop. His mesh-gloved hands fidget before he shoves them into the pockets of his pinstripe slacks. 

"Can I have your number?" he asks, voice lilted with excitement.

Your voice remains flat. "No. I can find you."

With a confused twitch of his features, Christian mutters, "B-but…how?"

"Make it easy for me," you respond with a shrug.

After all, you know Christian's name, what usernames he has used online, and so many other intimate details. If you really did want to find him, you easily could.

"Alright," Christian says, nodding. He takes a step back, causing the small group of men to do the same.

"Take the money," you say, watching him intently, unwilling to break eye contact in a show of dominance. "We'll settle this matter privately."

Christian nods, reaches for the briefcase, and snaps the clasps closed. "I hope to hear from you soon," he says, gaze lingering before he turns to walk off.

As you watch the small group of men clad in all black disappear through the front entrance of the restaurant, your mind struggles to comprehend anything that has just occurred. 

What are the odds that Christian just so happened to be at this restaurant? There is no way it could be a coincidence. 

A warm hand rubs over the small of your back, and you flinch, muttering, "Fuck," under your breath. Namjoon sits forward and continues to eat, and with one hand caressing you, Yoongi does the same. 

"My appetite is ruined," you state plainly, eyes on the front door. You half expect your ex to come walking back in to continue to plead for you to leave with him. 

Yoongi hums and Namjoon is silent, save for chewing. You feel like you are going insane.

How is it that Christian has managed to keep tabs on you? What was he doing at your birthday party? You rack your mind trying to place him there—could you have run into him? Would you have known? What if he was one of the gold-clad workers hiding in plain sight, watching your every move? 

What if he has been lurking even longer, watching you at Paradise? At House of Cards? How much has he seen?

"I'm shocked he managed to come up with the cash," Namjoon finally mutters as he fills everyone's glass with sake.

Without waiting for the others, you pick up your small glass and shoot the liquid back. Then you set the glass down, reach for your water, and take a nice big gulp. The water is cold and you feel it work its way down into your body, causing a chill to run along your spine. 

"Should have castrated him like I promised," Yoongi jokes dryly. 

Your stomach churns, made worse by how nobody seems all that concerned about how you must be feeling. Neither of them brings up the fact that you promised to look him up, even as a means to pick on you.

"How did he get into my party?" you ask, voice as flat as it had been before. 

"Maybe he's managed to weasel his way back onto one of the teams," Namjoon responds with a full mouth.

"Would have had to have been after Jeongguk stepped down," Yoongi adds. "Unless he has one of the hospitality positions."

"Maybe he works at the hotel," Namjoon says.

You sigh, fed up with this conversation. 

"Did you not keep tabs on him?" you ask, turning to Yoongi with an accusatory glare. If this is anyone's fault, it has to be his. 

Yoongi blinks, then shrugs. "People go off the map all the time. He could have changed his name, for all we know. Maybe he uses a Korean name to get work."

You hum and sit back, slouched uncomfortably against the booth. Yoongi removes his hand from your back and continues to eat, using his newly free hand to lift his small glass of sake to his lips.

There is a chance Christian goes by the name Barom. It is a name only his mother calls him on occasion, but you would not put it past him to use it on identification cards, especially as a means to slip under the radar. 

That could explain his disappearing act, if there ever was one. But Yoongi's team should have noticed. Or, perhaps, Seokjin already has. In fact, you become convinced that Seokjin must know something. It is the only circumstance that makes sense. 

Seokjin must have overheard Yoongi and Namjoon discussing coming here tonight and he tipped Christian off. Maybe he thinks this is a good way for you to make a break for it. Maybe it is all a setup and Christian no longer wants anything to do with you but he is playing some part you do not fully understand.

But if that is the case, why wouldn't Seokjin tell you? 

You sit in silence for the rest of the meal, refusing more food and drink with a wave of your hand and a shake of your head. Namjoon goes ahead to retrieve your car from the valet attendant, and Yoongi pulls the hostess aside to inquire more about Christian's appearance while you stand near the front door, scowling out into the evening. 

The moment Namjoon slips behind the wheel of your car, you shove the restaurant door open and stomp up to the back door with a huff, opting not to respond when Namjoon looks back at you in the rearview mirror and asks, "Do you want to talk about anything?"

Yoongi gets into the passenger seat, mutters, "She was just as stumped as we were," and with that, the three of you are off. 

You pull your phone from your pocket and open instagram, type the username ChristianYu, and turn up with nothing. After a pause, you consider he may be using his Korean name, so you search for BaromYu and find him. Although he has not posted a lot since the last time you visited his account months and months ago, all of his posts show a transition from the man you knew to the man you met today. 

In his photos, he is shirtless more often than not, showing off his many new tattoos and accessories. And in the comments, people fawn over him, writing embarrassingly lewd confessions and using a lot of tongue and water drop emoji. 

Nothing hints at what he could be doing for work, but his follower count has exploded—he is quite the popular man. He never posts his location, nor does he make vague references to any kind of job in any of his posts or responses, and nobody seems to care about much but his face and body.

The only thing that may pass as a hint of any sort is the fact that some commenters call him Mister Insanity. But what that could possibly mean, you have no idea. He did seem to have a small group of goons, but it is hard to imagine him as the leader of anything. 

Namjoon pulls into the driveway, and you turn off your phone screen. You are not going to rest until you speak to Seokjin, and you hope that he is home at this hour. 

You grab the gift bag that has Jeongguk's dick dildo in it from where it had been left behind the passenger seat, and then get out of the car, shoving the bag into Yoongi's hands. 

"Take this inside," you say, turning toward the dark path that connects the properties. "I need to talk to Seokjin."

"Seokjin?" Yoongi asks. "He might not be free at this hour."

"I'll go find out," you insist, turning away before Yoongi or Namjoon can stop you. To your surprise, neither of them tries to follow behind. 

Once you are on the path that leads between driveways, you unlock your phone and search for a name you have never called before, and then you call him. It rings and rings, taunting you with its robotic tone before going to voicemail. This is Seokjin. Leave a message. You hang up.

Each footfall stomps harder than the last as you march on, feeling small amongst the tall shadows. The cooling night air sends a chill through you—all the more reason to walk even faster. 

There is a light on in one of the second-floor windows, and you storm up to the front door and press frantically on the doorbell. Of course, the door is reinforced enough that even if someone were to be running to the door on the other side, you would have no way of hearing it. 

However, you do not take Seokjin for being the type to run. 

Still, you feel impatient, and you take to pounding your fist against the door, feeling the impact of armored wood against the side of your hand, hard and visceral—stinging. When the door finally flies open, you pay no mind to the gun pointed at your forehead, fist still in the air. 

Seokjin stands shirtless in a pair of black silk pants, and the moment he recognizes you, he sighs and drops the gun to his side, muttering, "Good fucking god."

"We need to talk," you insist, stepping through the threshold despite not being invited to do so.

"I was in the middle of something," Seokjin says, stepping aside. 

You kick out of your shoes as he closes the door calmly behind you, and you allow yourself a brief moment to take in his appearance—hair disheveled, body covered in sweat. Seokjin turns and lifts a hand, silently encouraging you to enter further into the home, and you notice scratch marks along his arms and a sliver of his back—deep pink and raised. 

"So you were," you respond. 

Seokjin sighs and walks toward his staircase, showing off even more long, deep scratch marks. "Give me a moment; I need to tend to something. Help yourself to a drink if you would like."

You walk through the living room and turn the corner to the conjoined dining area and kitchen. Seokjin and Hoseok keep a tidy home, and you marvel at the rich woods and antique furnishings. Their refrigerator is a massive black appliance, and you pull the rightmost door open and notice a healthy store of plastic food containers, fresh fruits and vegetables, and bottles of soju.

Helping yourself to a bottle of clear, unflavored soju, you close the fridge door and crack the lid open, forgoing a glass. One sip is cold enough to send a shiver through you, and you gulp more, eager to calm your nerves before remembering once more that Taehyung has advised you against drinking. 

Footsteps retreat down the stairs, and you find Seokjin pulling a black t-shirt over his head. Seeing him dressed down is somewhat surprising, and although you were too on edge to take note of his broad, muscular build moments ago, you notice him now. 

The suits and dress shirts Seokjin wears cover a lot. Although he is leaner than Namjoon, his arms are defined, flexing as he adjusts his garment and reaches into his silk pants pocket to pull out his phone. 

"Is this about Barom?" Seokjin asks, fixing you with a gaze that gives away absolutely nothing. 

You take another gulp of soju, then let both arms hang at your sides, limp and defeated. "So you did put him up to it?"

"Oh?" Seokjin asks, raising an eyebrow. "You mean to say you detected my involvement?"

"I had a hunch," you mutter, frustrated.

"I knew you were smart enough to catch on," Seokjin says as he crosses his arms over his chest, shoulders and biceps flexing. He watches you with just as blank of an expression, not giving you a chance to respond before saying, "He works for me now."

You wish you were surprised. "Doing what?"

Seokjin cracks a smirk. "Whatever I need him to."

You sigh and take another drink of the soju, letting it settle on your tongue. When Seokjin gives you no further information, you raise your own fucking eyebrows—two can play at this game. 

"Seokjin, why did my ex show up to dinner with a briefcase of cash offering to buy my freedom?"

"Did he?" Seokjin asks, voice elated and surprised. 

You roll your eyes. "I know you put him up to it. Drop the act."

"You are far more clever than any of these men give you credit for," Seokjin says. "But not me. I never doubted you."

You sigh, feeling impatient. "Seokjin—"

"Did seeing your ex make you want to run away?" Seokjin asks. 

You hate to admit that the answer is yes, and you hum and nod just once. 

"So?" he asks. "Will you?"

"Taehyung says I need a vacation," you respond stubbornly. 

"Well, have you begun to pack a bag? I hear Busan is very chilly this time of year, so you will want to be sure to include some heavy clothes."

"No," you mutter. "I have been busy tending to other matters." Seokjin's mouth opens and he gives you a curious gaze, but you cut him off, adding, "And Yoongi is so on edge, I'm not sure leaving right now would be wise."

Seokjin hums. "I think he's especially on edge today because he proposed to you last night and you had a panic attack."

His flat, matter-of-fact tone makes you laugh. It rocks through your chest before you can stop yourself, and you shake your head, allowing the laughter to fall. 

"What does he fucking expect?" you mutter. "He knows how miserable I am in his mansion. How was I supposed to react to a proposal? If he has any concern about the way I feel, he should not have done something like that."

"Yes, I agree," Seokjin responds as he approaches and reaches for the bottle of soju. You lift your arm to hand it to him. 

The cap is still cradled in your opposite hand, and you turn and find an antique side table made from some dark, polished wood to set it down onto. When you return to face Seokjin, he holds the bottle toward you, which you take. 

"Yoongi took the more recent attacks much more personally than usual," he says with a sigh. 

You lift the bottle to your lips, mutter, "Go on," and take a drink. 

"He doesn't care for the way the girls acted, and the harm that their attacks have caused seems to have pushed him over the edge. Ordinarily, Yoongi would have sent a swarm of men to apprehend or even kill them for what they have done, but I have a feeling he held back because you are here, now."

"I'm holding him back?" you ask, feeling a misplaced tinge of guilt. After all, why should you care? 

Finally, Seokjin cracks just a hint of a smile, and you hate the way it makes you feel. You know that he knows far more than he says. 

"Or, perhaps I'm misreading the situation," Seokjin responds, smile growing. "I was simply picking your brain…friendly banter about what I assume you think is going on, and nothing more."

Unbelievable.

"Okay," you respond, voice trembling from frustration. "Then what is going on?"

"Yoongi gifted Serendipity to Ryujin's little hoard of women, as a peace offering to get them to back off. You are aware of this, yes?"

You stare blankly at Seokjin and take in his words, then mutter, "Yes."

"Seems Ryujin needed someone to help her look after the place, so I set her up with some men. Barom being one of them. I had plans to send him to another port city to work at my newest casino, but he really thrives in the club atmosphere. You should see him—under the right conditions, he can be a very loyal, hard worker." Seokjin says.

You heavy-blink, taking everything in.

Seokjin continues. "Listen, I would have warned you about his appearance, but I felt like your response to seeing him should be genuine. Yoongi may be distracted these days, but if your reaction was in any way staged, Namjoon would have caught on in an instant."

Although it makes sense, it does nothing to assuage your frustration. With a sigh, you mutter, "Figures."

"Pack a bag sooner than later," Seokjin says through a sigh of his own. "Text me when you are ready, and I will do my best to come quickly, but if I happen to be in the middle of a task, you will need to exhibit a little more…" Seokjin lifts his eyebrows, cracking a smile, "...patience."

You roll your eyes and nod, accepting his terms. Seokjin reaches for the bottle, and you hand it over, muttering, "You can finish it."

"Need me to walk you back?" Seokjin offers.

As much as you would like to have some company, you shake your head. "Thanks, anyway."

You feel somewhat dazed as you make your way back to the door and slip into your sneakers. Seokjin having a hand in Christian's presence leaves a sour taste in your mouth, despite you expecting it to be the case, and you wonder how trustworthy of an employee he is to Yoongi if he is pulling so many strings behind the scenes. 

A thought occurs, tickling at the back of your mind, and you turn, finding Seokjin standing right where you left him, watching you.

"Did Hyunjin and his family really die?" you ask. 

Seokjin stares at you unblinking. Then he lifts the bottle to his lips and mutters, "They're safe in America."

Anger rises, and you close your eyes, taking a deep breath in through your nose. The fact that Hyunjin's faked death may have aided in pushing Yoongi into a heroin relapse is absolutely infuriating. What would have happened if Yoongi overdosed in that hotel in Paris?

You squint at Seokjin, thinking of the many ways to verbally rip him to shreds. But you need to keep him on your good side, at least for the time being, so you put away your teeth. 

"Seems we both have something we do not want him to know about," you say, holding your chin up as if challenging him. 

Seokjin raises an eyebrow, mouth tugging into a smile as he says, "Seems we do."

You have no more to say, and you storm toward the door, kicking into your shoes. Seokjin says nothing as you leave, and for that, you are thankful. You yank on the door hard enough to make it rattle shut, then storm off into the night.

Tears stream down your cheeks in fat, hot streaks as you return to the mansion. You are not sad, but you just feel an overflow of emotion that seems to only come out in the form of crying and trembling. Seokjin makes you so fucking angry, yet you need him in order to make your escape—which you do your best not to dwell on, at the present moment. 

Although you are glad to see your men standing on the front stoop smoking a joint and saving you the trouble of asking to be let inside, you are not eager to explain what is the matter. You are not sure you are a convincing actor with a straight face, much less in this state.

You attempt to sneak past them before either of them can see you crying, but Namjoon is quick to reach for your hand and tug you close. You bury your face against his chest and sigh, trying to come up with what to say to excuse your crying.

"Sweetheart?" he asks, causing your emotions to boil over.

"Everything is too much," you mutter, unsure what else to say. "I might go to bed early."

Namjoon wraps his arms around your shoulders and hugs you tight. More tears fall, and you are glad when he does not address them. Instead, he kisses you on the top of the head and asks, "Want to sit down and have some water?"

With a nod, you take a step back and allow yourself to be led into the mansion. You kick out of your shoes as Namjoon does, hobbling from side to side with his arm slung over your shoulder. Then he guides you over to the large blue sofa, which you sit against and curl into a ball.

"I need a vacation," you groan into the soft fabric, squeezing your eyes closed.

"Is that what you went to talk to Seokjin about?" Namjoon asks. 

You groan and nod, curling further in on yourself. More tears pool in your eyes and you feel the urge to sob, but your body does not have the energy to exert. 

This is the final straw. The dizzy spells are too numerous, and seeing your ex has stirred up so many shitty, complicated feelings. You need a chance to breathe.

"Here, darling, drink this."

A warm hand gently tugs at your shoulder, and you comply, rotating and sliding your feet to the floor. Yoongi is perched on the edge of the couch, holding a large cup of water. You stretch your legs and reach for the cup.

The water is tepid, and it feels nice. Yoongi must think you are having another dizzy spell, and he reaches for your forehead, pressing his fingers to the skin. 

"The sake must have been too much," he says.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. 

"It's not just that," you mutter. "It's everything. I need to get away for a bit."

Yoongi nods in understanding, looking to Namjoon and then to you, asking, "Is it because of Christian?"

"He is certainly a straw that is breaking my back," you admit.

Yoongi frowns, but he appears comfortable with your choice. "Where would you go?"

"Somewhere calm," you say with a shrug. "By the sea, perhaps."

"I could oversee a trip," Namjoon recommends. "Somewhere else, entirely."

You do not have the heart to tell Namjoon that you would rather go alone, so instead, you nod and mutter, "Maybe."

There is knocking on the door, and you look up expectantly. Before either of the men can so much as move, the knob turns, and Taehyung walks in.

"Guess they'll let just anyone in here," you tease weakly as Taehyung kicks off a pair of loafers with the heels bent forward and crosses the room in quick, elongated steps. 

Taehyung kneels in front of you and digs into the pocket of his slacks, producing a little paper box. "I hope you don't mind, I have come to talk to you about medication. The hyungs said you would be home."

You shrug and eye up the white box, muttering, "I don't mind."

"This medication treats high blood pressure, and it may help with what ails you. Are you comfortable with trying something new?"

"Sure." 

Yoongi takes your glass of water as Taehyung hands over the box, and you clench the fragile paper square while he opens the small flap on the top, producing a tiny matte white compostable packet with a lump in the center where the pill is. 

"Take this once every evening, for now. We can track how it works, if at all, and go from there." Taehyung rips open the packet and prises one of your hands off the box, then he drops a round, white pill into your palm. "Try to avoid taking burupen, if possible. And, depending on which birth control you use, we may need to increase the dosage."

This information is overwhelming, but you nod. Once you do run away, the two of you will no longer be able to sort any of this out, so for now, you simply agree in order to appease him. 

Sadness quakes through you as you toss the bitter pill into your mouth and take a large gulp of water, shoving the cup back into Yoongi's waiting hands. You even struggle to swallow, feeling the urge to cry. 

Taehyung has been so kind to you. You wish you could adequately express your gratitude to him before you go. You wonder if you will ever see him again.

"Thank you," you mutter. Blinking back tears. "For everything."

Taehyung grins. "No need to thank me. It is my job to care for you." He finishes his sentence with a wink, causing you to sneer. Through laughter, he adds, "I also do so because I like you."

You close your eyes and sigh, doing your best to smile as you attempt to sort your thoughts. You need to pack a suitcase, but the prospect of making that sort of plan is overwhelming. You wish everyone would leave.

"I think I may go lay down," you say, opening your eyes to find Yoongi and Namjoon regarding you with soft, understanding frowns. You add, "In my room," causing their frowns to deepen. "I think I just need some alone time. But I'll come join you two if I get lonely."

Yoongi scoots beside you and wraps an arm around your waist. His musk is calming and familiar, tugging at your heart. 

"Sounds good, darling," he says as he leans in and places a soft, lingering kiss on your temple. "You know where to find us."

Every ounce of you pulls to Yoongi, yearning to touch him. You want to embrace and kiss and undress him so badly. But you know that if you fall into bed with him and Namjoon once more, you will not have the heart to go. And one simple kiss could ruin everything. 

As you stand, Yoongi slides his arm away. Namjoon steps close and leans in for a kiss. For a split second, you consider turning your lips away, but Namjoon wraps his arms around you, pinning your arms to your side as your hands continue to hold the small paper pill box between your chests. 

"I love you," he mutters as his lips press softly against yours. 

You have to hold back the urge to sob, swallowing hard. "I lo—" You clear your throat. "I love you, too."

As Namjoon backs away, he watches you with a hint of something indiscernible in his eyes. You almost wish he would confront you rather than allow you to slip away. Could he possibly know anything? Or are you just being paranoid?

With a bow of your head, you walk past Namjoon, to the stairwell. You take each step slowly, feeling the cold marble beneath your feet. At the thought of how much you hated this garish mansion the first day you arrived—impressed by its ridiculousness but fettered like a prisoner—you snicker, and you feel a tinge of sadness.

So much has changed, and, yet, so much of who you are feels the same. 

At the top of the stairs, you shuffle quickly into your room and close the door. You hurry to the closet and flick on the light, relieved to see a large black suitcase sitting in the back, to the left of the tall mirror. 

It is hard to remember what you came into the mansion with, but you do your best to pack only your own items and leave the rest behind. You do not deserve the designer clothing and jewelry they have given you. How can you bear to wear any of it, knowing the pain you will inevitably cause these men?

The process happens as you somewhat dissociate your feelings from the task. You do your best not to think about where anything came from—under which circumstances you received a gift as you leave it where it is. 

In fact, you do your best to refrain from thinking at all, moving from room to room, gathering your things. Sun dresses, leggings, and a couple pairs of denim jeans fill the suitcase, along with several pairs of shoes, toiletries, cardboard pill boxes, and your sex toys. 

Some of what you leave behind is designer clothing Christian bought you, but you are not concerned. You do not want to continue being the kind of person who is swept up in luxury. You never needed any of it.

Amongst the many miscellaneous items you find in the bedroom is a notebook and pen pouch nestled on the bookshelf. Without giving it any thought, you begin to pen a letter to Namjoon–because he has always been the best at talking through difficult times—and then to Yoongi, and then to the both of them, filling a single page, which you do your best not to let any wayward tears drip onto when you realize you have begun to cry. 

In this letter, you pour your heart out, you apologize for having to leave, and then you end on a high note, telling yourself that it may be possible that you could one day see them again, despite knowing deep down that this is likely not the truth. 

You fold the letter into a neat rectangle and walk with it to the closet, placing it in the center of the island and shutting off the closet light for the last time, then you stand in the center of the bedroom and look around, making sure you have everything. 

Once the entire task is as complete as you can fathom it being, you return to the bed and sit on the edge. You consider waiting an hour or two before messaging Seokjin, hoping it may give the guys a chance to wind down and sleep, but you find you are too antsy.

You: I have packed a bag. I am not sure what I want to come from telling you this information except to say that I am ready whenever the time is right.

Your thumb hovers and shakes and it takes you several seconds to hit send. You are shocked when three little dots pop up mere seconds later. 

Seokjin: Tonight? Or sometime in the next few days?

Anxiety swells in your tummy, and you sigh.

You: Might be best to just rip off the bandage, so to speak.

Seokjin: I agree. In terms of timing, I can have a plane ready in two hours, but I know damn well the men will not be asleep by then. We have a meeting planned at 8 in the morning, which means they will likely be awake between 6 and 7, so 4 is going to be our sweet spot. Can you stay awake?

Although you feel exhausted, you are certain that this may be your only chance.

You: I can stay awake.

Seokjin: Also, your suitcase…can you get it down the stairs? Are you aware of the basement exit?

You: I should be able to handle it. And yes, I am aware. 

Seokjin: I recommend trying to sneak down as early as 3. If you need some kind of a diversion, I can do my best to come up with something.

You: Sounds good. Thank you.

Seokjin: Thank me when we're on the tarmac.

With just under five hours to spare, you sit and stare at the yellow comforter on the bed. Soon, you will be sleeping under a different comforter on someone else's bed. 

At this thought, you begin to spiral. You think of all the beds you have slept in, attempting to figure out whether any of them have ever been yours. 

No, you think. Not really.

The weight of discovering another unfamiliar room and attempting to make it your home feels crushing. You wish that you could stay in the place you have felt most settled, but you know in your heart that this place has also caused you the most anguish. 

You are not a mafia wife. You do not want to be one. 

A soft knock causes you to gasp and flinch, and you place your cell phone facedown at your side. After a beat, you realize that it is Namjoon on the other side, as he tends to wait to be invited to come in.

"Yes?" you ask softly, rubbing at your eyes with your fists in order to appear tired.

The door cracks open, followed by Namjoon's tuft of dark hair and a sad smile. He hovers in the liminal space between out there and in here, and the mere presence of him makes you relax a little.

"I was wondering if perhaps a nice warm bath would make you feel better," he says, brows downturned as if he is expecting you to say no. 

But how could you say no? 

This room is cold and lonely, and Namjoon is offering you warmth. Perhaps it is selfish to take this one last moment of comfort, but if there is anything you want to remember him by, it is his ability to ease your weary soul.

"A warm bath sounds perfect," you say. His smile widens, and in turn, so does yours.

"Good," he says, standing straight and stepping halfway into the room. Namjoon wears nothing but tight dark blue briefs, and the sight of his muscular, tattooed body makes your mouth begin to water. He adds, "I've already begun drawing the bath," snapping your wandering gaze from his thighs back to his grinning face.

You leave your phone behind and slide from the mattress, bare feet meeting soft rug. Namjoon holds his hand out and you reach for it, giggling as he tugs you somewhat roughly, forcing you to stumble into him. 

"I've missed you today," he groans as he bends and captures your lips, filling you with excitement. 

"I've missed you, too," you mutter as your mouth falls open for his tongue to explore. 

Namjoon teases, dancing his tongue over yours just enough to make you moan, then retracting it to say, "You sure Gguk didn't wear you out?"

You can hardly hold back the grin that overtakes your face, and you raise your eyebrows, leaning your head back enough to look him in the eyes as you ask, "Awe, is my Joonbug jealous?"

Namjoon scoffs and rolls his eyes, then he turns toward the master bedroom, yanking on your hand to make you follow along. You do your best not to dwell on how limited your time is in the mansion now that you and Seokjin have a plan. 

As you shuffle along behind Namjoon, half-running to keep up with his quick pace, you hear the sound of the jacuzzi tub. The bedroom is empty of Yoongi, and you are not surprised when you are yanked into the ensuite and find him reclining in the tub with the bubbling water sloshing over his chest. 

Namjoon lets go of your hand and peels out of his briefs, and you struggle to resist reaching out to give his perky buttcheeks a squeeze. You shed the hoodie and undershirt in one swift motion, and your leggings and underwear in another, then prance over to the tub, where Namjoon is slowly getting in on Yoongi's right. 

Yoongi lifts and turns his head, opening his eyes and cracking a smile as you approach the tub on his left, across from Namjoon. And although you attempt to take in all of his appearance, your gaze goes straight to the slash that runs through Yoongi's eye, still as red and angry as ever—evidence of your carelessness.

"Ah, her highness joins us," he announces before closing his eyes and returning his head to the rested position against the edge of the tub. The sound of the faucet and sloshing water is almost enough to conceal Yoongi's low tones, but somehow you make out each muttered syllable perfectly. 

"Namjoon does tend to be quite persuasive," you respond with a smile, lifting your gaze to Namjoon, whose eyes intently rove your naked body as you step one foot into the tub and then the other, lowering slowly to acclimate to the heat. 

Yoongi cracks a knowing smile—a sharp little thing that verges on a smirk—and he chides with a pouty, "Ah, so it was only the promise of Namjoon that brought you in here, tonight?"

Rather than humor him with words, you walk to Yoongi and straddle his lap, slinging your arms around his neck before he has a chance to open his eyes. Two large hands touch your lower back as Yoongi smiles up at you.

"Don't be ridiculous," you mutter as you lean in for a kiss, swiftly stealing his ability to argue.

Despite knowing you should not straddle Yoongi and invite a world of possibilities that will only make the act of leaving more difficult, you find it impossible to stop yourself. Yoongi pulls you close, groaning past your lips. As you settle onto his lap, breasts buoyant and pressed against his chest, you decide to try and forget about your plan. At least for a few hours.

"So much for a relaxing bath," Yoongi teases, lips grazing against yours. 

You smile coyly, eyes watching his mouth—your faces too close to see anything else. "What do you mean?"

Yoongi's hands, which rub over your lower back and firmly grab your ass, yank and squeeze, causing your tummy to meet with a growing erection. You gasp despite expecting as much, and chuckle. 

"We don't have to—" you begin, ready to assure Yoongi that you are more than happy to stay in the tub for as long as he would like.

"Oh, but we do," he insists as he begins to push you off his lap and stand. 

Namjoon chuckles, and you turn to him, still in a somewhat crouched position, chest-high in the water. You lift an eyebrow in a silent question. 

"The tub never finished filling," Namjoon says, cocking his head to the side, to where the tap continues to flow across from where Yoongi was sitting. 

You begin to laugh, as well. Yoongi, however, has a sense of urgency, toweling himself off with one hand while he reaches into the water to take you by the arm and yank. You are surprised, but comply, standing and walking to the edge of the tub to step out onto a soft mat, water pouring from your limbs. 

Yoongi shoves his damp towel into your arms, and when you stand dumbfounded for a second too long, he sighs, takes it from you, and begins to towel you dry in the most rushed, haphazard way possible before discarding it to the floor. He takes you by the hand and pulls you toward the bed, and you hear the tub get shut off and the sound of water pouring from Namjoon as he stands up and exits, as well. 

Rather than urge you onto the bed, Yoongi simply steps behind you, shoves you forward so that you are draped over the edge of it, and drops to his knees. You open your mouth to pick fun at his impatience, but his palms spread your ass, and his mouth closes over your cunt, lips and tongue making sloppy work as you widen your stance and bend over a little more.

You moan and shudder as pleasure works through you, more and more each time Yoongi's lips and tongue become increasingly precise in their movements over your clit. You instantly relax, and, as you feared, begin to forget all about why you plan to leave. 

Yoongi abruptly stops, smacks your ass, and tells you to get up onto the bed, on your hands and knees. You do as you are told, and Yoongi also gets on the bed, positions the pillows so he can sit against them, and stretches his legs. He pats his thighs and says, "Come here."

As you crawl to Yoongi, eyes intent on his fist stroking his semi-hard cock, the bed dips behind you, and two hands firmly grab your hips before you can get too far. It is clear that your instruction is to suck Yoongi's cock while Namjoon eats you out, and as you lean forward to tease Yoongi with your tongue, Namjoon's mouth begins to devour your ass. 

It is dizzying the way the three of you fall into a tangled rhythm of pleasure. Dizzying the way you make Yoongi reach his first climax at the same time Namjoon makes you reach yours. 

Namjoon fingers you deeply, thumb on your clit while his lips and tongue work over your asshole, and you are shocked by the intensity of your orgasm like this—how the pleasure feels somehow different with the added stimulation. 

"One of these days, I want you to take both of our cocks at once," Namjoon groans against you while his teeth rake over the swell of your ass cheek. 

You have to hold back a laugh, curious what the hell must be in the water to make every man you fuck want to double-penetrate you. And although you think it would be funny to put Jeongguk's earlier suggestion on blast, you decide to keep it to yourself.

Namjoon yanks and tugs you until you are beside Yoongi on your back, with your legs spread wide. He fucks you hard and deep, and you muffle your screams against his shoulder as he leans forward and sucks on Yoongi's cock. 

It takes no time for another orgasm to crash over you, and you are painted in hot streaks of Namjoon's cum before the two men swap places, and Yoongi crawls between your legs. 

He leans close, tickling you with the tips of his dark, long hair as it brushes against your tummy and thighs while he laps up each drop of Namjoon's release like a good little dog. Then he sits high on his knees and wastes no time spearing you nice and deep. 

Namjoon kneels beside you and pulls your hands above your head, holding both of your wrists in one of his hands while the other lightly smacks and pinches the skin on your arms and chest, causing you to squeal and scream and chase two very intense orgasms. 

When Yoongi finishes, it is in Namjoon's mouth, and then the two of them mutter about taking a proper shower while you begin to drift in and out of sleep. 

You nearly doze off completely when the sound of a loud pop, followed by a bright light and a loud bang, startles you awake. Suddenly, you are far too aware of your surroundings, but you have no idea what time it is. 

In a panic, you sit up and yank the cold comforter you had been lying on top of until part of it covers your sweaty, naked body. There are more loud bangs and bright lights, and Namjoon is the first to point out that it is fireworks that are being shot off directly at the window, from the other side of the property's security gate. 

Yoongi storms over to the window, still nude, and pulls back the curtain a sliver. Namjoon leans forward and also peers out. 

"Looks like those goons from the restaurant," Namjoon says, causing your heart to pound. 

Is Christian behind whatever this strange display is? And if so, did Seokjin put him up to this?

"Mister Min, are you in there?" a voice booms over a speaker, and it sounds just like Christian—as expected. In a creepy, sing-song manner, he adds, "Come out and plaaayyy."

"Darling," Yoongi says, turning to you. "Do you know about the basement?"

You nod frantically and begin to move, inching toward the edge of the bed. Yoongi's cell phone rings on the bedside table opposite where you sit, and Yoongi rushes over and answers it simply by saying, "Seokjin."

There is a pause, and then Yoongi says, "Sounds good," and hangs up. Then he turns to Namjoon and says, "Seokjin and Hoseok are on their way." To you, he adds, "Seokjin will meet you in the basement. Get dressed and go quickly."

All at once, you throw the comforter to the side and begin making your way to the bathroom, where your clothing has been discarded, deciding that this is your getaway outfit since everything else is packed into a suitcase, and you are not going to leave in a rush wearing an evening gown. 

As you hop into your underwear and leggings, Namjoon appears, naked and with a frown on his face. He pulls you into a tight hug, kisses your forehead, and says, "This is not the way I wanted to see you off for that much needed trip. I will find you soon, alright?"

You nod, feeling tears well up, and you allow them to fall, suddenly so overwhelmed with the thought that you will likely not see Namjoon again. At least, not for a while. 

Namjoon thumbs tears from below your eyes and smiles sweetly before placing another kiss on your forehead. Behind him, Yoongi appears wearing a black sweater tucked into black joggers, and he pulls you into a hug that has you stumbling and crashing into him. 

"I'm so sorry," he says with his lips to your temple. "I know this must be scary, but we will take care of everything. Pack a bag if you can, but do not spend too long on it. We can send for more of your things once Seokjin helps you settle in somewhere."

Unable to form a coherent thought, you simply hum and nod, then allow Yoongi to break from the hug. "Hurry on," he says, smiling sadly as more fireworks and taunting words come from outside. 

You run through the dark mansion, startling each time another loud boom erupts. Despite knowing that the sounds are fireworks, you fear that whatever is happening right now could become more dangerous. 

Without turning your bedroom light on, you make your way quickly to the closet and grab the suitcase. Then you remember your cell phone, which was left on your bed. You pick it up and turn on the screen, expecting to find something from Seokjin telling you of whatever plan he may have formed before all of this kicked off, and you are surprised to find a text that simply says, "Be there in 3," which was sent exactly three minutes ago. 

You open the suitcase and grab a pair of sneakers, deciding that going to the front door for ones that have been left there is out of the question. As you zip the case back up, you hear footsteps running up the stairs and freeze, feeling fear and anxiety rush. 

"Cub," Seokjin's voice says in a whisper-yell, "are you ready?"

Without waiting for your response, he reaches and takes the suitcase by its handle and turns to run down the large staircase. You shove your feet into the black sneakers, which you will need to straighten out once you are in a vehicle, and then take one last glance at the dark room before following behind, attempting to make out the sounds of shouting coming from outside. 

Seokjin leads you down the hall, into the dining room, and through the open wall panel, which you close tightly behind you. The light has not been turned on, but your eyes are adjusted to the dark, and your heart pounds loudly and heavily as you grip onto the wooden railing and rush behind him, feet quietly pattering against carpet as you descend. 

Once you finally reach the bottom of the steps, where Seokjin waits, your thoughts begin to settle. A dim light is turned on, and as you look around at the abandoned recreation space, you begin to accept the fact that all of this is finally happening. 

A glance at your phone shows that it is just after one in the morning. Feeling frustration rise, you shove the device into a hoodie pocket and follow behind Seokjin, who continues through the space.

"So much for sticking to the plan," you grumble, head still spinning. 

It is shocking to you how the depths of the mansion seem to fully hide the sounds that are coming from outside. You walk hurriedly across the dim, carpeted basement, doing your best to keep up with Seokjin's long legs making quick strides.

"Oh, this is not my doing," he says with an amused laugh, head turning somewhat to the right. "It is lucky that his nonsense is loud enough to be heard across the property."

For some reason, you are inclined not to believe him. You mutter, "Sure," and keep your eyes ahead. 

"I mean it," Seokjin insists. "Although I have to admit, it is the perfect way to catch the loverboys off guard, this also poses somewhat of a threat. Taehyung and Jeongguk live deep enough onto the property that simply taking you to one of their homes for safe-keeping would have been a wise choice under normal circumstances. Hell, having you hole up at my place with all of Hoseok's weapons is the best choice."

Seokjin pauses at the end of the staircase, lifts your luggage, and says, "I am likely going to catch hell for removing you from the compound."

You think back to how Seokjin lied about Hyunjin's death, and about how much Jeongguk seems to mistrust him. How many secrets does Seokjin hold onto? How many lies does he spin to protect others? 

Namjoon and Yoongi seemed resolute in the fact that you would be leaving the mansion property entirely, but they likely expect to be informed of your whereabouts immediately. What will Seokjin tell them?

And then you remember the letter you wrote and realize how this must look. Under a normal disappearance, this could seem like simply running away, but forgetting to remove the letter before this escape could lead the two of them to think you and Christian really are in cahoots. 

Without a doubt, this whole scenario is not going to bode well with the others, even though they seemed to expect as much to happen as you said goodbye. Especially when hot heads like Yoongi and Jeongguk begin to speculate on all the what-ifs.

It is your hope that Namjoon will be able to remain the voice of reason, even if it is just short term. Once he reads your letter, he will realize that you are gone for good, and you worry that he will forget your earlier conversation about needing a vacation in lieu of forming some kind of conspiracy that the letter could point to. 

As you make your way up the stairs, your heart begins to pound. You know that once you get outside, the shrubs will provide some cover, but you are uncertain of how you will manage to get away with Christian and his goonies just out front. 

Exhaustion and adrenaline keep you from asking too many questions, and you focus on putting one foot in front of the other, trusting that Seokjin has a plan. 

Seokjin reaches the top of the stairs and opens the door to the outside world, and in an instant, you hear voices shouting and booming. Your heart pounds so hard you feel disoriented, and you trip over your own feet, struggling to force yourself to get any closer to the sounds. 

"The house is armored," Seokjin utters softly as he keeps your luggage in his hand and makes his way toward the end of the shrub, to where the secret door lies. "Don't worry so much about the others. Come."

You close the door to the mansion, pressing it firmly in place, and then step as lightly as you can toward Seokjin. Rather than open the shrub door that Taehyung previously brought you through all those days ago, which leads straight out into the driveway, Seokjin slowly reaches into the shrub on the left, and you watch as it swings open into the wooded area that connects the homes.

Seokjin turns to you and nods his chin, urging you silently to catch up, and you tiptoe quickly ahead toward the opening. You are surprised to discover a fully covered path, not of gravel, but of concrete, leading away from the mansion in the direction of Seokjin's home. 

"When I left to come here, I didn't see anyone near my gate," Seokjin informs softly, rushing with smaller steps, as if to stay at your pace. For this, you are grateful. "People tend not to notice our homes, which gives us a means to escape. Although it appears that Christian has been planning this little insurrection of his, I doubt he is prepared for us to slip away into the night."

A particularly loud bang causes you to trip over your own feet and for all the blood in your body to turn cold. You shrink in on yourself and duck your head instinctively. 

"Sounds like Hoseok has arrived," Seokjin says with a chipper tone. Then he adds, "It's just a flash grenade, cub. A warning shot, so to speak. Usually that is all it takes to scare lower level guys away."

You accept what Seokjin says, but worry pools in your tummy over the thought of anyone getting hurt. Even Christian, as much as you hate to admit it. You hope that the men are able to solve this matter without anyone becoming injured or worse. 

Although you tell yourself that this must be goodbye—that you must bid farewell to the mansion for good—you feel sick at the thought of never being able to see any of these men again. You hope desperately for everyone to stay alive.

The path opens up to Seokjin's property, and you notice a sleek black sports car on the driveway. Seokjin rushes forward, and as the trunk of the vehicle pops open, presumably from a key fob in his grasp, you begin to run toward the passenger door, relieved to find that it is unlocked, and slide into the seat. 

As soon as Seokjin is in the driver's seat with the door closed, he sighs, presses the engine button, and says, "I'm not sure if I should thank Barom or flay him alive."

Although there are so many thoughts running through your mind—so many questions that you feel desperate to answer—what you ask is, "Why do you call him Barom?"

Seokjin begins to drive without turning on his headlights, along the dark driveway, toward his gate. 

"That is the name he uses under my employ," he responds, looking to the right, to where the large truck sits empty of shouting men, all of whom are either pressed against the gate to the mansion or have wiggled their way inside. "I suppose I have grown accustomed to it."

Good enough, you decide, disinterested in pushing the issue any further. The two of you set off into the night, in the opposite direction of the truck and its bright headlights, and you let out a breath of relief when you realize it is not following you. 

Once the road curves and dips, Seokjin turns on his headlights, illuminating the world ahead. Anxiously, you stare into the side-view mirror, waiting for headlights to appear and advance, but they never do. 

"Breathe," Seokjin says calmly as he reaches to turn on the radio. You are surprised to hear upbeat pop music coming from the speakers, and even more surprised when Seokjin does not change it. "We appear to be out of the woods—literally and figuratively—and the guys are more than capable of handling those idiots on their own."

You sigh, unable to be as optimistic, but unwilling to argue. Aside from the pop music accompanied by your pounding heart, the rest of the drive is quiet. 

Seokjin hums to a tune from time to time, and you stare ahead as the tree line becomes spotted more and more brightly with city lights. You even allow your eyes to close, feeling exhausted from such a long day, and when you open them, the car is driving onto a strip of tarmac, toward a private airplane. 

"Let me see your phone," Seokjin says, and without thinking, you hand it over. 

Rather than explain himself, he simply pockets your device and hands you a different one, then he gets out of the car and closes the door behind him. You sit still, feeling the weight of the new phone in your hands while Seokjin opens the trunk and retrieves your suitcase.

As you exit the car, tired from the unknowable amount of time you dozed off, Seokjin rolls your suitcase over to the jet, toward a small set of stairs that sticks out from its entrance. He stops at the bottom of the steps and hands the suitcase off to a staff member, then motions for you to get moving. 

You make your way somewhat slowly up the stairs, and you are surprised when you turn around to see that Seokjin is still on the ground. He is not joining you. 

"In order to prevent the lover boys from following your scent and making a rescue mission, I am sending you to Taiwan," he shouts. Worry rises, and you open your mouth to protest, but he continues, "A liaison will be there to meet you. She will know you when she sees you. Keep your head down, and do not try to contact any of us."

With a different phone, you wonder whether you can contact any of them without jumping through hoops. Surely, Seokjin did not hand you a device with everyone's numbers stored. You squeeze the phone in your palm, overtaken by the urge to cry. 

"I will reach out soon!" Seokjin shouts, lifting a hand to wave it. He appears far too calm for your comfort, and you suddenly worry you are making a huge mistake. "Trust that the people you meet have been put in charge of looking out for you, and keep an open mind. Things are not always as they seem."

Before you can respond, a staff member places a hand on your shoulder and ushers you to walk further into the airplane. You resist for a few seconds, but give in, too tired and confused to fight. You want to scream and lash out at Seokjin, but he is already spinning on the balls of his shoes and walking away. 

What have you done? What have you agreed to?

Staff members close the door while others make their way into your cabin. They ask softly worded questions, suggesting food and drink to bring once you are in the air. You shake your head, only half hearing what anyone says and finding it difficult to focus. 

As the plane begins to move, you find a seat and strap in, then you close your eyes. You are too anxious to properly take in your surroundings, moving on autopilot. The captain is soft-spoken as he informs you that the flight will be just under three hours. And so, you decide to close your eyes and sleep. 

Nightmares haunt every second of the flight, and you jolt awake more than once disoriented and heavy, unable to keep your eyes open long enough to move into the bedroom in the back or to convince yourself to ask for something to drink. When the jet lands, you gasp, eyes wide and heart pounding. It takes a few moments to realize where you are. 

The plane slows to an eventual stop, and you feel motion sick with the urge to vomit. Luckily, a staff member is close by, and they offer you a cup of water, which you drink quickly. 

Seokjin's recommendation to keep an open mind plays in your head on repeat, and you worry yourself with all the horrible possibilities. Who could be waiting for you once the door to this plane opens? You are not eager to find out.

Staff members open the door, and you almost do not believe your eyes when, a moment later, in runs Ahn Hyejin. She looks like an angel dressed in a white tank top and short white shorts, with a long white sweater falling from her shoulders. Her dark hair falls to one side of her face in large waves, and her pouty lips are bright red. You remain buckled into the seat when she falls to her knees and sits tall, wrapping her arms around your middle. 

"H–Hyejin?" you try, unsure whether your exhaustion has reached new heights and you are hallucinating. 

Her perfume is all too familiar, convincing you that she really is here. The rose hits your senses first, followed by citrus and something sweet, and you relax all at once, letting out a deep breath, only half aware of the tears that pour from your eyes. 

"My dove," she sighs, voice somewhat strained as if she is holding back her own tears. "It is so good to see you again. Come, you must get some sleep."

Hyejin reaches to undo your seatbelt, and reality continues to sink in. You move to help with the buckle, limbs moving on a bit of a delay, and you only have a chance to graze your fingertips over metal before she pulls it apart and frees you. 

She gets to her feet and reaches out, taking both of your hands in hers and yanking you upward. Once you are steady, she begins pulling you to the exit. It is still dark outside, with a hint of sun coming over the horizon. You imagine you must be one or two time zones away from home. 

A blood-red sedan sits on the tarmac, and when the door to the back seat is opened, you notice a woman in the driver's seat and another in the passenger's seat. You are unable to make out their features as you approach, noticing only straight dark hair on the passenger that is pulled tight into a bun with strands sticking out on one side. Both women wear sunglasses despite the lack of sun.

Hyejin says, "No matter what, know that you are safe, and loved, and protected." 

This does not assuage the already growing ball of nausea in your gut, and although your hand begins to sweat in her grasp, she is steadfast, holding on tight. A staff member approaches and puts your suitcase into the back of the vehicle, and Hyejin holds out a hand toward the open door and urges you to get in. 

Only now do you realize there is a third row of seats, one of which is occupied by another unrecognizable woman who does not greet you. As you slide into the back seat, a woman you had not noticed gets in on the other side, sitting to your right and sandwiching you in the center, with Hyejin on your left. 

Once you are settled and surrounded on all sides, an unfamiliar woman begins to drive, and you study her semi-covered face in the rear-view mirror, searching her nose and lips for any hints of recognition. Soft pop music plays, and you wonder if it is the same channel Seokjin had been playing before you remember you are no longer in Korea.

As the car pulls out of the airport, the front passenger turns her body to face you, and you realize in this moment what Seokjin meant when he urged you to keep an open mind—what Hyejin meant when she insisted that you are safe and loved and protected. 

You recognize Ryujin even before she fully removes her sunglasses, smiling wide and only a bit devious. She is beautiful with her dark hair pulled out of her face. 

"Darling," she says, dragging each syllable out long in a voice that is soft as silk. You swallow thickly, fighting another urge to be sick. "How lovely to finally meet you. I'm Shin Ryujin."

"I know who you are," you manage to say, voice strained and weak.

Ryujin giggles. "Oh, good! Seokjin-oppa called in a favor, so we are going to be taking you home with us. We'll stay here for the next two days, though. Are you hungry?"

Although the question is aimed at you, the car erupts into eager chatting. It seems the other four women are quite hungry. You nod despite not being sure whether you can eat. 

"I know you likely have a lot of questions," Ryujin says through the chatter, voice surprisingly clear though much softer. "Let's get you settled in and I will tell you everything you wish to know."

And with that, the six of you drive along dark city streets, far from anywhere you have come to know as home. 

* * *

When you realize By the sign of my eyes Without a doubt You can't stop me 'cause Love is banned

🎵 visit the playlist

absolutely bonkers that large chunks of this chapter have been written for literally a year. it's nice for things to finally culminate to this point.

this would have been the end of Collateral. i would have said a bunch of sappy shit and thanked you for your years of service before taking a hiatus and moving into the sequel. but since i have changed how things are going to be, we are simply going to continue. check out the master post to see the changes that have been made, and if you are curious for more context, see this post.

i am eternally grateful, tho!!! i hope you know that, dear readers! i started this fic two (2!!) years ago (as of this week!!!), and it is a honor to have you still here with me. i definitely did not intend for it to go on this long. 💜 thank you, thank you for your patience while i was dealing with writer's block. grief is a hell of a drug, and it knocked me flat on my ass.

this has been edited, but docs acted super weird and made a lot of strange duplications of words and phrases during the writing process, so if you find anything that is just fucking wonky that i may have missed (or even something perfectly normal!) don't be afraid to tell me. i would rather know to fix a mistake than leave it.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!!! REBLOGS ARE IMPORTANT BLAHBLAHBLAH LIKES ARE ALSO AMAZING AND SO ON. 💜 tags will be coming in reblogs.

Yoongi's POV is next. i changed my mind about what i wanted his to contain, and i hope you enjoy it.

if you would like to see the inspo that brought DPR IAN to being mc's ex, check out this post.

have some water and fix your posture. 💜💜💜 i hope to see you soon!!! love you byeee!!!

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Collateral is copyright 2022-2024 theharrowing, all rights reserved. no translations of reposts allowed.

[frissy]

Earth42! Miles Morales x fem!spider/1610!Reader

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

ATSV SPOILERS

• possessive Miles

• mentions of death

• Some OOC 42 Miles

• You and Earth 1610 Miles are not in a romantic relationship

• Jealous Earth 42 Miles

• Not proofread!!

• Google translate is used in Part 1-3, forgive me for mistakes, and let me know of said mistakes

Your eyes slowly opened. And you were in someone’s bed. The room was cold, and very dull.

On the wall you noticed there was board of photos. family photos, but most of the photos, were photos of you. You, with someone who looked just like Miles.

Through the crack of the door, you could see Miles. Your Miles unconscious, tied to a punching bag.

But then you heard heavy footsteps. And someone came into the room, wearing a sort of suit. It looked like the prowler’s.

”You’re awake.” The voice was distorted.

You looked at the figure, he was shrouded in darkness. He came closer. “Please. Let us go.. we have to save someone.”

The figure shook his head. And his mask came off, with a hissing sound. That’s when you saw his face.

“[name]...” He said, he sounded so gentle. Like your name was a melody to him.

You had fear in your eyes, mixed with confusion. He seemed to take notice of this, because next, he introduced himself.

“I’m Miles Morales. But you can call me the prowler, niña bonita.” he walked into the light, his face becoming more visible. “What? There’s no way. You would never be the prowler!” You looked at him, shocked and confused.

Hues of red and purple shined onto his face. Highlighting his hazel eyes. He looked different from your Miles. He even sounded different.

His hair was braided, and his physique was completely different from the Miles you knew. His face was sharper, and his voice was deeper and he kept a narrow gaze. “You’re Miles, wouldn’t.” He pointed to your Miles through the crack of the door. “But I would. And I did.”

Your eyes then darted through the crack of the door to your Miles. You were about to shout out to him so he could wake up.

but you were stopped by the other Miles. He put a hand under your chin, making you face him. “It’s no use to help him. [name]..” he started to caress your cheek.

“Please. Let us go. We just want to go home. We have to save… my Miles’s dad. I’m sorry if I was special to you... but please. Let me and Miles go.” You said, pleadingly.

His face contorted into anger, and jealousy. “He.. he as his Dad too?” He took his hand off your face. And his blood began to boil. He clenched his fists, making his knuckles turn white.

“We have to save him! He’s gonna die and we have to stop it! Please.. please let us go.”You looked deep into his eyes, trying to get through to him.

He furrowed his eyebrows at you.

“Why should I.. why should I let you go when I finally have you back?” He put a hand to your cheek again, caressing it. “How come he gets to have so much?” There was jealousy laced in his voice. “…His Dad, a safe city.. and you. How come he gets it all? When I get nothing. And all that has happened… could’ve been avoided.”

“I’m really sorry. I’m sure you, and the me in this universe had a tight bond. I’m sure we were close friends as I am with my Miles.”

He scoffed. “Friends? [name]. You were my girlfriend.”

Your eyes widened. And a very faint blush crept onto your face.

“I loved you more than anything. I loved you more than life itself. You meant everything to me. I watched you die, and I watched my dad die with you. I watched you to die live on the news.. a building fell on top of you, my dad tried to save you but it was too late.” His voice was shaky now.

“I—“ he wouldn’t let you finish.

“You were the only girl I’ve ever loved… And you were taken from me.” He leaned in closer.

“You can’t even begin to understand how I felt, seeing you appear out of nowhere, with a boy who looks just like me.”

He got even closer.

“A lookalike from an entirely universe who has you? A living you? And you want me to just, let you go? Just like that? When I finally have you back?.” he trailed off, taking his hand off your face, backing away.

He smiled at you. “You look just as beautiful as you did the day I lost you querida. I never thought I would see your face again.”

He looked at your unconscious Miles through the crack of the open door, his face became a deadpan as he looked back over at you.

“I’m not going to lose you again. And nobody is going to take you away from me. Especially that copy of me.”

He brought his attention back over at your unconscious Miles, hatred and resentment in his heart. For what felt like hours, he looked back at you once more.

“And you can’t do anything to stop me.” He turned his back to you, walking out the door, locking it from the outside, you tried getting up, but you fell to the floor.

He had tied your wrists and ankles while you were unconscious. And you haven’t even noticed when you woke up.

You were stuck here, and he’s not going to let you go. .

.

.

.

.

.

TO BE CONTINUED

[yeyinde]

okay wait now we need a second version where the reader does leave with ghost and he walks her home and he's all shitty about the drunk flirting and she's like "bruh it was just flirting, if you would make a move i wouldn't need to make you jealous" 😌

ask and you shall (eventually) receive~ 🖤

i hope you enjoy this!!

"What? He's been keekin' you all night." There is a divot between his brow. When he turns his head, the fairy lights behind make his stubble look darker. "Yer aff yer heid!" Soap’s Version

It's all words. 

Thin, hollow: they're empty ones bereft of meaning. They roll over you—a gale rocking you from side to side until you're dizzy with that awful little thing that clings to your pericardium, refusing to relent.

Hope. 

Yearning (in English this time, if only just for him).

It clots there, taking root until you're a little queasy. A little unwell. The alcohol, perhaps, or—

He sits by Laswell, head angled down to murmur low in her ear about things that shouldn't matter right now when everyone is alive, and safe, and back together. But of course they do. They always do. 

You wonder if they ever rest. If they ever take a moment's reprieve from the endless death and carnage that bulldozes your life until it's in shambles. Until the only thing that remains is broken chunks that reek of smoke and petrol. 

It feels impossible. 

He hasn't looked up once, despite whatever nonsense Soap might be on about. Untouchable. A chasm. 

Ghost is a shoreless island in the distance. Rocky and steep. 

Sometimes, if you stand on the furthest point of the beach, you can almost see the land peeking out from under the sea. Hazy. Shrouded. It sits amid the crashing waves, out of reach from everyone. 

Soap pulls you back in, a few clipped words shared back and forth, and everything else melts away. This is easy. 

This, being: drunk on expensive scotch (thank you, Captain Price; and oh no, thank you, I don't don't want a cigar) as you share snapped banter in a small pub. Vacant, of course, save for the six of you, and the barkeep. A man who offers little more than a nod at you when you mutter about the washroom, and swats at Price when he comes for peanuts and pretzels. 

It's easy to pretend, you think, that the honeycomb eyes, a bashful grin, and hands that feel like the sun are what you want. 

Easy, and yet—

You wonder if he's had anything to drink. 

(You wonder if he'd keep his gloves on while he held you—)

You snap something at Soap, something you hope is witty and charming, and maybe if you play your cards right, you won't end up alone in a foreign land tonight. That, maybe, he'll let you close your eyes, and pretend—

It's ground out, raked through coals. "Soldier."

He makes you dizzy. Makes you want, yearn, makes you—

It falls into nothing, until your head is full of him: blood hell, Christ—

Never said I wasn't. 

It feels like more of a reprimand than anything else he'd tossed your way thus far. A warning, maybe. Don't get too close. You know what you're in for. 

Don't make him into the fairytale he isn't.

"And you, soldier?"

You're drunk. Too drunk. Head gummy and full of sin. 

"Should leave," you say, casting a glance toward the mosaic window. A cross hangs in the distance. An augury. "Maybe go to church." 

"Aye, lass. Think someone ought to get you home. Lt?"

You pull the last swallows in your cup before Soap has the chance to take it away from you. Liquid courage, you think, wilting under a black stare. A looming, uncharted island in the distance. 

"C'mon," he says, words a shade away from being a command. "Haven't got all night." 

You don't point out that it's nearly three in the morning—devil's hour in the company of a ghost—and wisely hold your tongue when Soap leans down, whispering: you can spend the night with me, hen.

"We're leaving." A growl, now.

It jars you. His voice is unlike anything else you've ever heard: gravel and ash; gunfire booming in the distance. It sits low, like the words are dragged up from the depths of his chest, and sounds like smouldering embers. 

Your hands shake around the glass. It knocks against the wooden counter when you set it down, a hair too hard. You're crumbling. Slipping into waters that have no bottom. Rough, frothing. The white foam clogs your throat, drenches in you until you're weighed down, and sinking fast. 

In over your head. No way out. The island is too far away.

His eyes are sharper than you've ever seen them. A yawning abyss. You wonder if something would snap at the tips of your fingers if you got too close. 

Soap brows sit arched on his forehead, mouth thinning into a small line. "Alright, bonnie?"

"Gonna go home," you smile, tired. Wobbly. "Gotta get some sleep. Maybe next time, though." 

Ghost's stare has never felt so heavy. 

You stumble out of the pub behind him, pointedly ignoring the glance Gaz sends in your direction—the phone in your pocket already buzzing with texts that will make you whimper in the morning (saw you with Lt, mate. What the fuck? I mean what the bloody fuck?). This is normal, you think. Everyday. Mundane. Saturated in the ordinary. 

Except—

Sometimes, your life doesn't make any sense. How you can go from coldly planning a man's—mens—murder to walking down the wet streets of Glasgow, head full of your Lieutenant.

The church peaks in the distance. The light spills, bathes it in yellow. The tolling bells call you an idiot. 

Your head drops, eyes skirting toward the indomitable man beside you. Idiot, indeed. You can't help yourself, though. He's a magnet. A beacon. 

A current sweeping you out to sea. 

He says nothing. Hands tucked into the pockets of his black jacket, hood pulled down low. Those haunting eyes roam the corners, surveying the alcoves: always ready, always on-guard. 

It's a stifling thing, this silence. Oppressive. Crushing. 

Your throat itches with the urge to shatter it, to break it down until there is nothing left of it. Where it can't echo inside your chest like the brutal burn of rejection, and doesn't make your mind reel, an endless spiral of why and how and—

What can you do differently to make it a reality? 

No man is untouchable. Not really. There had to be others in his life. A man like Ghost—

It's just impossible, isn't it?

Does he go to a brothel when the urge wells? A pub? Does he have dalliances with other agents he'd met in the field? Ones with battle scars, the taste of gunfire on their breath, and firm hands on their rifle? Is there someone already waiting at home for him, tucked inside a place no one else can reach them? The only inhabitant on an island in the middle of the sea.

What is his type?

And how can it be you?

Queries. Questions. They burn through you. 

What if you just went for it? Is that what he likes? Someone who looks him in the eye, and says take me, I'm yours. 

You open your mouth to ask, but are stopped in your tracks by the stare fixed on you. Breath caught in your throat. Lungs bereft of air. You splinter. 

"S—sir…?"

"What?" It's harsh when it's ground out of his teeth. A snap. 

"Are you angry?"

His eyes slide down to you, lidded and heavy. "Negative." 

You huff. "Lying to me, now?" 

"I've been called many things, Rookie, but a liar isn't one of them."

The grit in his voice makes you tremble. Makes a heat spume inside of you, not unlike the scotch from earlier. 

Or—

Maybe it is the scotch. Your head is a slurry; a mess. The world around is shrouded in a sheen, a gloss, that makes the lights smear, and the cobblestone below quake under your feet. 

"Are you—" jealous feels too strange in conjunction with Ghost. To the man who, as close as he is beside you, has never felt further away. Stupid Soap and his stupid words. 

"Am I what?"

You mull it over. Let the word sit between your incisors to gauge the fit of it. It doesn't quite fit when you roll it around. Doesn't belong together.

(Like him, you.)

You stifle it.

He makes a noise, impatience, perhaps, and the word leaks into their terse air between you before you snap your jowls shut. 

"Jealous?"

His eyes slide to you again. The whites glow under the street lamps. "Jealous?" 

You feel a little silly. A little stupid. You blame it on the scotch. On Soap, and his keekin' you—

But—

You feel the words pool on your tongue, but you can't stop them from trembling out. 

"I could have went home with Soap—"

"Why didn't you?" 

It stings. The rejection hurts something fierce, but it's swallowed down. 

(In for a penny…)

"You pulled me away. I could have been fucking him right now, and instead I'm wandering around Glasgow—"

Tonight feels as good as any to get your heart wrecked. Loose lips sink ships, after all. 

"You might be fucking him, pet," his voice is a snarl, a feathered growl. "But you'd be thinking of me."

It punches into you, and makes you gasp, aloud; the sound echoing over the wet brick surrounding you. Your feet stutter when it's ground out, left to rot in the air. You jerk your head up to look at him, eyes wide. Heart-hammering in your chest. 

He stops, too, hands now hanging by his sides, curled into loose fists. His chin is tipped down, liquid eyes boring into you. 

You—

You've never seen a sight more damning. One more ready-made for ruin. 

He makes you feel a low grade fever burning in your veins. Stupid, intoxicated. 

You don't know where to go from here. Thinking of me. He's right. Of course, he is. It feels like a fractured mess when it tugs on the corner of your lip, a slowly unease smile. Distance, you think. You're an island far away from hurt. 

Rejection. The brutality of his words—they can't reach your shores. 

"And you'd be at home, getting thought of but not fucked." It's shakier than you'd wanted it to be, words a slow tremble. Then, a whisper: "You wouldn't even know."

"I would." He takes a step, another. His stare never wavers. "Just like I knew the first time you touched your little cunt to the thought of me. Couldn't look me in the eye for a week, pet."

"That's—"

It's true. You remember the time—all of them—and the realisation that he knows (he knows, he knows, he knows) burns into you. A knot of discomfort pools in your core. 

There is embarrassment, of course there is. Shame, too. 

But you're too drunk, too blootered, to think straight. Too raw, and cracked. You're a vanishing island. Water lapping at your inlands. 

More hollow, thin words: "why did you take me out?" 

"I gave you the option," he corrects, his voice is flat. It carries at the end, and leaves no room for any argument or protests. 

It's true, after all. 

You drop your chin, hands shaking. It's a bludgeon to your gut. 

(How can it be you—?)

Stupid. 

The false bravado quivers under his stare. A step backward flattens your spine to the wall of some long-closed Tandoori shop. The bricks are still wet from the rainshower that fell earlier. The cold dampness bleeds into your flesh. Goosebumps prickle. 

More liquid courage, you think, hands balling into quivering fists by your side. 

You lift your head. In for a penny, right? 

No island is truly unreachable. No man, either. 

All of this— something —with Ghost is drawn together into this single moment. The distance. The uneasy feeling on the nape of your neck when he's behind you. The want. He's been keekin' you all night. You look over and catch his stare. Feel it on your skin like a brand. 

(Ready-made, always.)

It all has to mean something. It has to. 

"Is that why you stare at me?" 

His eyes are embers. The glow from the streetlights make him look like smouldering ash. Demonic. It thrills you. 

"No, pet." 

He leans in close, his body a shadow over yours. A tower. You can't see anything except the fill of him spreading out around you. Black. Endlessly so. Your perpetual night. The embers spark, blazing, when he bores into you. A wildfire in the distance. Atavistic fear brims. 

Stay away from the fire and the being that can hurt.

His hand presses into the concrete beside your head. There is nowhere to run. 

"I stare at you because I keep thinkin' about those little fingers trying to fuck yourself silly, and how desperate you must be knowin' it isn't enough." 

You shiver—a whole body chill that has your teeth chattering together at the punctured words that drip, tainted with your demise, from his mouth.

The air in your lungs is noxious. It spumes inside until your knees quake, threatening to drop down into that unfathomable abyss that gapes below. The yawning maw of a man who wants nothing more than to sink his teeth into you until nothing remains. Rucked into the currents, it sends you careening out to sea until your fingers cling to the side of that untouchable island, begging for respite. Salvation.

It's a plea, a whimper: "you should have asked to take me home."

He offers none of it. His hand stretches out, and in the cup of his palm, he promises only ruin.

You shouldn't take it. Don't make him out to be the fairytale he isn't.

But the look he levels you with, ravenous hunger tucked inside the tenebrose of those spiralling depths, has you reaching out. A moth to a flame. The roar of the Styx in your head. You can't resist.

(You wouldn't even try.)

"I already am."

—Gaz regrets sending the text when he wakes up the next morning to a detailed commentary on all the ways his Lt absolutely ruined you

— he refuses to look either of you in the eye for weeks after

—this is completely irrelevant and feel free to roast me for it, but! my hc of a jealous!Ghost depends on where he's at in the relationship

—in the beginning: he doesn't trust, he does his job, and he's distant; but if he feels it, he'll close down. total distance. silence. he's mean about it, too. waspish. he'll try to push you away. cold hearted bastard to a T.

—but later?? oh, boy. that's when the Looming™️ starts. the, oh hey lemme go talk to that cutie over there - oh, wait. what the fuck that is that thing behind them and why does it look like it wants to eat me alive?! he's still mean, of course, but now he has a reason to snap. a reason to stand as close you as physically possible so everyone knows just who you belong to. and if he catches you flirting, i mean. rip, b. 🥹

[kkachi-rkcl]

WIP Excerpt (my fave bit is under the cut)

Fandom: Golden Kamuy

Ship: Ogata X female!Reader

Context: You are a doctor for the 7th division and were in charge of Ogata’s recovery after his fight with Sugimoto. The two of you are on the run after being discovered as traitors to Lt. Tsurumi

———

“Ogata,” you say again, pairing it with some light taps on his arm. He stirs this time. His head lolls lazily to the side to blink at you through half-lidded eyes. “Dawn is breaking. We should get moving soon.” His hair is slightly mussed where it rubbed against the tree trunk. You resist the urge to reach out and fix it.

You watch closely as he yawns, looking for any signs of pain. You think his jaw quivers slightly as it stretches, and this time your hand reaches out before you can stop yourself. He blinks when your fingers touch his cheek, his eyes snapping over to watch you, but he makes no further move to stop you or move away.

“How does it feel?” you ask. Your fingers trace down the scar and gently palpate along his jawbone.

“It’s fine.” You wait to see if he will elaborate. He doesn’t. Of course.

You move to crouch between his legs and take his face in both hands, turning his head this way and that, inspecting your handiwork. In the cool light of dawn, you can see more clearly than when you rendezvoused last night. His bruises had faded weeks ago, leaving only the barest trace of swelling lingering around the fresh pink scar lines. It was easy to forget when he was shrouded in bandages, but Ogata really does have an excellent jawline.

“You’re rather bold for a woman alone in the wilderness,” Ogata says flatly, his voice vibrating through your fingertips as they drift down the muscles of his neck.

“I’m not alone. I’m with you.” Your eyes drift back up to meet his, deep pools of inky black.

“You know what I mean.” His hand comes up to your knee, eyes boring into yours all the while as his fingers move slowly along your thigh.

You repress the shiver that threatens to run down your spine. “Ogata Hyakunosuke. I have brought you back from the brink of death, cold and naked on an operating table. My fingers have been within your flesh while you were at your most vulnerable, and the marks of my touch will stay with you forever.” Your fingers trace his collarbones as you lean closer, and your lips ghost over the scars you created. “I am not afraid of you, and if you wanted to do the same to me, I would let you.”

His hands have drifted all the way to your hips and stop there, unmoving. His pulse is steady beneath your lips and you can’t help but smile as you nip his neck. The sniper’s composure is truly admirable. “But,” you add, pulling back to land a quick peck on his nose, “the time and place could probably be better.”

Ogata scoffs, but lets his hands slip off your hips as you stand up and walk over to your pack. He smooths his hair back with a smirk and it’s not long before the two of you are on your way again, your shadows shrinking behind you as you continue east.

———

Author’s Note: I probably haven’t written reader insert fic in 15 years, but this feral cat boy has given me toxoplasmosis and the brainworms ate my cringe filter.

[reds-skull]

Fic recs - oneshots (part 3)

ALRIGHT I'm hoping this is the last oneshot post, since there are a lot of other fics I wanna recommend that don't fall in this category.

This post is like 5x longer than the other ones just because I wanted to finish all of my current oneshot recs and otherwise it will take like 3 more posts. So beware there are a lot more under the cut.

If you're new here, these are all sfw oneshots:

i've dug two graves for us, my dear. by eddie_dxaz - Johnny gets buried alive.

Scotch-Soaked Lips by FreeToWriteForMe - Ghost watches Soap while the team is in a bar.

I owe the hat man money and I don't want to see him by Louffox - Ghost gets drugged and hallucinates while Soap tries to keep both of them alive.

Painting the snow red by Faolamb - Ghost is a wraith and Soap werewolf. Soap loses control and Ghost calls him back.

Mild as May by lambstew4you - Ghost and Soap are on a mission, and they have a talk by the campfire.

Hell or High Water by lambstew4you - Soap gets kidnapped and put in a sensory deprivation tank. He is rescued, but the damage is already done.

Daylight Through The Fog by WeirdTin - Ghost is afraid of letting people in. Soap just wants to love every scar.

i never said i'd be alright (just thought i could hold myself together) by TheLastTheosaurus - Ghost gets injured on a mission with Soap. Without exfil in sight, he hides it. Despite his efforts Soap finds out.

Breathe in, Hold it by Hedgehog_kun - Simon and Johnny are in a relationship. Life is good, for once. But one night Soap comes home angry and drunk, and Ghost can't help but freeze.

How it started, how it's going by Nuria123 - The fic where Ghost thinks he and Soap are already dating (5+1).

heat death by eggtimelads - Soap and Ghost spend an afternoon fending off this relentless heat [relatable tbh].

note to self: drink in moderation by eggtimelads - Ghost gets drunk, does a little pining out loud, and gets his reputation ruined while also getting a boyfriend.

Absolutely by ElizaStyx - 5 times Soap confesses to Ghost in a language he thought Ghost didn't understand, and one time he knows full well Ghost does.

the shroud is made of linen by stars_boy - In which Ghost is interrupted while watching the sunrise.

Lets Go Stargazing For Real Next Time by Trouble_13 - Ghost thought they were getting somewhere, but it feels like they have to restart all over again.

Lonely Hearts Club by Wheezing_Joe - Soap and Rudy accidentally start fake dating. Ghost and Alejandro aren't too pleased with it [this is ghostsoap and alerudy, so it's twice as good]

Night Has Always Pushed Up Day by Sillililli - Ghost gets injured and is stuck in a hospital, when they bring in a blind Soap. They're forced to share a room.

dying all the way back to the root by Magpie (QuickSilverFox3) - Soap is separated from Ghost, but Ghost can still hear his voice. He just needs to find him before someone else does.

i fear you will know me but most of all i fear i will never know you by rocketnintendo - Soap hides the extent of his injuries. Ghost finds out and is gentle.

My Heart Leapt From Me by Macabre_Flower - A pipe bursts above Soap's bed in the middle of the night. Ghost offers to help.

Palimpsest by Blackbird_flyaway - Ghost loses all memory from the last 3 years, including all memory of Soap.

The way his feet strike the earth by Blackbird_flyaway - Soap puts on a blindfold and gets kissed as part of a drinking game only it becomes a lot more than that.

i need you to hurt me back instead by TheLastTheosaurus - 5 times Ghost needed a hug, and the one time his got one.

Figure Study by 002405 - Ghost asks Soap to draw him like one of his French girls. Things devolve from there.

love me despite by TheLastTheosaurus - Ghost needs rest. Soap helps him get it.

no better version i could pretend to be tonight by TheLastTheosaurus - Soap can't sleep. he goes to Ghost.

Wash your mouth out with soap by Red_Clegane [the one and only] - Soap is reminded how he got his call sign and Ghost helps him put the pieces back together.

sunday morning (rain is falling) by wellyesbutactuallyno - Soap wants to learn more about Ghost. Ghost lets him.

The Haircut by thevalesofanduin - Soap's hair is too long. Ghost helps him cut it.

On the nights you feel outnumbered (I'll be out there, somewhere) by Brigadier - Ghost feels more irritable than usual and gets involved in a bar fight.

I want to crack open your ribs and crawl in the space left behind (Je veux me lover au creux de ton creur et ne jamais repartir) by flaminpumpkin - Simon ends up having to drag his drunk sergeant back to base and finds himself in a sticky situation because he's too smitten with the man.

Bloody Delirium by GnawingAtMyEyes - Soap gets gravely injured and suffers from blood loss delirium.

Tell Me a Secret by resonatingkitty - Ghost asked Soap to tell him a secret one evening at a bar and what Soap tells him is not what he expected to hear.

Never Hide This (From Me Again) by resonatingkitty - during a mission, Soap gets nicked and doesn't report it to Ghost. Ghost doesn't take it well.

Bruised Peach by Phiunzirus - After their latest mission, Soap's right arm looks like a bruised peach. What happens when Ghost accidentally grabs it a bit too hard?

Kiss me once, then kiss me twice, then kiss me once again (it's been a long, long time) by Angelicasdean - Soap's been home for weeks now, but he's still missing the last piece of the puzzle. Thankfully, it's scheduled to return today.

Forbidden by eddie_dxaz - Ghost comes to terms with his feelings for Soap and tries to fight them. Unsuccessfully.

The Maskmaker by ElizaStyx - Soap finds Ghost working on a new mask.

Cat Dad by ElizaStyx - One day a little kitten appears at the 141 HQ and Soap falls in love. Too bad the kitty only likes Ghost.

Blind date with a book by Nuria123 - Ghost is a famous anonymous writer and Soap loves his books. They fall in love.

Recovery by Nuria123 - Soap and Ghost meet after being medically discharged at a rehab facility. Soap volunteers and Ghost is newly admitted. [this is one of the few fics to make me actually sob hard it's so extremely good]

can't keep johnny down by Wheezing_Joe - Soap loses commes on a mission and presumed dead. After finding his way back to base he's surprised by how much he's been missed.

red woven confessions by wayfaredsoldier - Soap got he and Ghost wishing bracelets in an attempt to grow closer to him and got far more than he expected.

made a bed with apathy (years worth of dust and neglect) by aetherealmoss - Soap gets triggered by someone who looks too much like his painful past, and Ghost is there to help him through it [TW SA, rape and child abuse on this one]

Safe With Me by Wixiany - Soap who is in an abusive relationship befriends Ghost when he moved into the neighborhood. His boyfriend accuses them of cheating and Ghost is blocked for several days until Soap shows up in the middle of the night.

snuffed by crown_twist - Johnny really, really doesn't like cigarettes. Ghost didn't know.

Choice by achievement_hunteresss - Shepherd captures the 141. He offers them a deal. He will let the other person go unharmed, if you shoot yourself in front of them.

tags by achievement_hunteresss - Soap asks for help with detangling his dogtags. Ghost accidentally unburies Simon.

Precipice by Islenthatur - Soap dies and has to choose (dw it's surprisingly not mcd)

Coven (Scheherazade) by basgijr - Ghost can't sway an overwhelming feeling that something isn't right. Soap is a werewolf that stinks of wet dog and also love (Ghost is a vampire). [this one I found from a Tumblr post that I lost]

sullen by rottin - Sparring goes a little wrong.

Lessen the Load by Hammy1o1 - Price had to talk Ghost down from suicide a few times. Things change when Soap joins the taskforce. [obviously TW for suicide]

Aaaand that's all of them! And my god there's a lot. Next post I'm considering giving a list of writers I like (aka have a lot of fics that I like so I save their name instead of individual fics), which will be one post since there's not too many. After that we can finally get to the longer fics!

[mytheoristavenue]

SE Dr. Franken Stein x Teacher!Reader - Good Medicine

Summary: While Stein looks over your lesson plans for the neck week, you let it slip that you've been ill.

Warnings: slight angst, fluff, mentions of madness/illness/ symptoms of serious illness, fem!reader, mentions of addiction/substance abuse, platonic!nygus x stein, platonic!nygus x reader, not proofread

You sighed before gathering another deep breath as you made your way through the halls of the academy shortly after the final bell. The school was mostly desolate, save for the staff and the few remaining students who had to stay late for whatever reason. You waved to a few of them on your way, hands trembling nervously as you clutched the file in your hands.

Finally, you stopped at his door, the entrance to the EAT classroom. Hesiently, you knocked, before quickly stepping backward to put distance between yourself and him when he opened the door. Just as predicted, you could hear shuffling within the room, an aggravated groan, and desk chair wheels rolling. Then the door unlocked and cracked open, revealing a terrifyingly tall figure, shrouded in darkness, glass lenses gleaming and obscuring his eyes. "Miss (Y/N), can I help you?"

You swallowed hard, stepping forward and nodding. "I-I was wondering if you could look over my lesson plans for this next week? I've not been well and Lord Death asked me to have someone-"

"Have you tried asking Sid?" he interrupted in a monotone.

You blushed, feeling embarrassed and silly for thinking he'd be willing to help you. "W-Well, Sid's gone for the day, he left early today. Besides-"

"I see," the man acknowledged, bringing up a hand to straighten his glasses. "Spirit then?" he suggested, cocking a brow. "I'm sure he'd be more than happy to help a lady in need."

You began to feel defeated, you were a people pleaser at heart and hated bothering people. "Um," you said, shrinking under his gaze. "He's in an important meeting with Lord Death this evening." Stein's posture seemed to shift as he slowly began to realize he couldn't pawn you off on someone else. "Also, Lord Death asked that I go to you specifically..."

He seemed to mull the idea over for a moment before answering. "Is that so?" You nodded timidly. "So Lord Death instructed you to come to me for help and you directly disobeyed him by looking into every other option beforehand?"

Your eyes blew wide and you struggled to form a response. "N-No! Of course not, I just didn't want to bother you! I know how busy you-"

"Relax," he finally said, chuckling and opening the door further. As he did so, the glare on his frames dissipated to reveal kind and playful eyes. "I'm just playing with you. I'd love to help, for a price, that is."

"W-What is it?" you asked, nerves shot to hell.

"Can you go get me some coffee from the teacher's lounge, please?" Your shoulders fell in defeat as you nodded, beginning to walk away. "Oh," he called before you could get out of earshot. "Bring the syrup bottle, I like mine sweet."

-----

Brows furrowed in annoyance, you rounded the corner into the lounge and set the file down on the counter. You hated dealing with Stein, all he did was play mind games and make your life difficult- not to mention how scary he was. Sighing, you got a tray down from the top shelf, and then a pair of mugs, figuring you might as well get yourself some while you're here. Carefully, you poured muddy water into both cups, dressing yours the way you liked. Absent-mindedly, you began to fiz Stein's mug the same way, pouring simple syrup into it. It wasn't until you began stirring caramel cream into it that you realized. "Shit!" you hissed, realizing your mistake. Quickly, you took out another mug from the cupboard, and grabbed the carafe, only to find it nearly empty. Now you had no choice but to bring him an incorrect cup of coffee and pray to Death he still helps you.

You gripped the handles of the tray nervously, seeking some kind of support from them. Blonde coffee swished in each cup, and the syrup bottle treated to tip, but you eventually made it back all in one piece. "I'm back," you called into the dark room from the ajar door. "Can I come in?"

"The door's open, isn't it?" Stein's monotone voice replied from deep within. Stepping in, you found him at his desk, a single tabletop lamp illuminating his workspace. He seemed deep in thought as his red pen scrawled hastily across pages, shuffled one after another. In response you let yourself in, slowly inching toward him, before eventually deeming yourself close enough and standing at his side awkwardly. "Are gonna set that down or just stand there?" he asked, not bothering to even give you a side glance.

"Sorry," you muttered, shuffling in place. "I just wasn't sure where you'd like it." He pointed to a spot on his desk, equally cluttered but mostly flat with his pen. You obeyed and set the tray down, before taking his cup and setting it in front of him, as well as the syrup bottle. You tensed a bit when you noticed the sticky bottom of the bottle had adhered to what seemed to be a page of homework. He never seemed to notice, though. "Um, before you drink that," you interrupted, just as he lifted the cup to his lips. "I...zoned out a bit and started pouring the syrup in, so it may not be exactly how you prefer it."

Stein sighed, rolling his eyes. "Leave it to you to make pouring a cup of coffee harder than it should be." At that, he took a sip, pausing for a moment afterward. "Is there caramel in his?" he asked sternly, finally looking up at you.

You shook in your spot. "Y-Yes? I'm sorry-"

"It's really good." he smiled, taking another sip. "I guess I'll have to have you make all my coffee from now on." Your muscles fell lax with relief and you stepped closer. "Now then, pull up a chair, and let's have a look." You did as he instructed, dragging a nearby stool to his desk. You felt like you were a student again, having to stay behind with the teacher to review why you hadn't passed a test.

Once in a good position, you handed over the file which you'd carried under your arm. Stein took it and slayed it out on the desk as you looked over his shoulder. "What's the subject?"

"Soul bonds and forces that affect them." you responded astutely. Now he understood why he was the one Lord Death had you ask.

"I taught this last year to a pair of my students," he recalled. "Though, the results weren't very pretty. What's your goal in teaching this?" he wondered.

"To educate my kids on how to nourish their connection and help them understand the consequences of not doing so." you replied, gaining some sort of confidence in showing him that you knew what you were talking about.

"And what are those consequences?" he asked, lazily flipping through the loose pages inside the file.

"Potentially irreparable damage to the partners' bond, bodily injury, mental strain, inability to fulfill their duties, and in extreme cases where students cannot be reassigned to new partners, expulsion."

"And how can a bond be nourished or restored?"

"Trusting in one another, appreciating your partner internally and externally, and understanding of how a healthy dynamic should look between partners." You answered as he followed along with your written word. It was as if you'd memorized the words on the page.

"Well," he concluded. "You seem very knowledgeable on the topic, your notes look great," he paused to pack the papers back into the file and handed it back to you. "As long as you tell what you just told me to your students, I have no doubt they'll be well informed."

Finally, you beamed at his analysis, happy to have his approval. Pressing the file to your chest, you went to stand, only to have him point his palm to you- a signal to stop. "Just a moment," he said, taking out a legal pad and his red pen. "Now that that's out of the way, I'd like to talk to you about something if you've got time."

You froze, a tad stunned as you fully sat back down. "Sure, I'm not in any rush," you accepted, tilting your head curiously. "Have I done something wrong?"

"Wrong isn't the right word for it," he reassured. "More like odd." Stein quickly jotted down the date, time, and your name before continuing. "You said you hadn't been well, and that Lord Death had noticed and sent you to me to double check your lesson plans. Let's talk about that."

You couldn't help but notice how his voice had changed. It wasn't quite as monotone now, and paired with his kind and genuine smile, you couldn't keep the butterflies out of your chest. He was being so gentle all of a sudden and you didn't understand what changed. "Which part?" you asked.

"Tell me about how you've been feeling, (Y/N)." he instructed. "With everything that's taken place, I don't blame you for not feeling like yourself."

You instantly knew what he was referring to. The Kishin Awakening. The battle with Medusa and Crona beneath the school. The ruined celebration of the academy. It was all fresh and heavy on your mind still. "I suppose..." you began vaguely. "Everything that's happened has stressed me out a bit."

"What happened wasn't your fault, you do know that, don't you?" he soothed, adjusting the frames on his nose. "Nothing you could have done would have changed the outcome of that fight."

"I know that," you admitted, twiddling your thumbs. "I guess I just wish there was something more I could have done. I mean, our kids were down there risking their lives- getting hurt, getting traumatized, and where was I? Stuck up here with everyone else, helpless."

Stein offered a gentle smile. "You're too hard on yourself." he laughed, removing his glasses and wiping the lenses on the tail of his coat. You were able to catch a glimpse of his eyes, swampy and genuine. They put you at ease. "Besides, you helped keep everyone calm, that's not nothing."

"Maybe you're right..." you relented, pinching the bridge of your nose and shaking your head. "I've just been having these terrible nightmares where things end differently."

"Nightmares?" He perked up, suddenly vastly more interested in what you had to say than before. "Tell me about that."

His change in attention span didn't go above your head, but you chose to ignore it for now. "I'll have dreams that the students you had with you die or become gravely injured, or that those witches managed to get into the school and hurt the people I was with."

"And have you experienced any other odd symptoms? Headaches, hallucinations, insomnia?" he asked, quickly scrawling your answers on the note pad.

"All of those, yeah," you confirmed, nodding and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "And nosebleeds."

Suddenly, Stein froze entirely. "Have these gotten worse since the Kishin awoke?" you hummed in response, giving even more basis to his hunch. "And have you had these in the past?"

"Well, I've had chronic migraines since I was a kid," you replied, unsure where he was going with this.

"Have you ever been medicated for it?" he asked, eyeing you as if waiting for you to confirm his suspicions.

"Many times," you answered, and he seemed to relax at this. "Nothing ever helped, though. Except for some herbal tea Medusa prescribed me a while back."

Stein tensed again, jotting down the new information before continuing. "And the symptoms subsided during that treatment?" You nodded and he pressed on. "And how much would you say they've worsened since you stopped taking the herbals?" You remained silent, guilt creeping up your back as you lowered your head. "(Y/N)?" Stein leaned in, concerned about your sudden shift in willingness to talk. He repeated the question, hoping you just hadn't heard, but your continued stillness told him everything he needed to know. "You're still taking them?!"

The sudden raising of his voice startled you, as well as the slamming of his fists on the desk. "Are you stupid? Don't you realize she's been poisoning you?"

"I'm sorry! It's the only thing that helps!" you cried abruptly. "I stopped for a few days but it just got so bad I couldn't resist! Now I have to take them even more often to get them to work!"

Stein composed himself, taking in and releasing a deep breath before reaching out and grabbing you by the shoulders. "That's enough, (Y/N), you need to listen to me," he began, pausing to make sure you were. "You have to stop taking those herbals, that's not medicine, it's a curse." Your eyes searched his for an indication that he was joking but came up short. "She has you addicted to this remedy, but all it does is make the problem worse, that way when you need a higher dosage, you'll have no choice but to go to her for more. Then she'll use you against us." Something in his voice revealed itself. Maybe it was worry, maybe frustration. Either way, it made your stomach churn.

"I'm about to tell you something you won't want to hear," he warned, sighing before looking back up to you again, mossy eyes boring into your (e/c) ones. "You've most likely got a parasite inside you, and it's possible she's been using it to gather information on the academy. Now that she's no longer a member of staff, you're much more important to her than you might realize."

There was nothing you could do to hold back the tears that began to stream down your cheeks. It was so ironic that the thought of bringing harm to the school had driven you mad, but in an effort to stop the madness from taking over, you put everyone in danger. "Oh my God," you sobbed, not even noticing when Stain pulled you into his chest.

"Shhh," he hushed. "Don't cry, it's gonna be okay," he reassured, rubbing your back as you cried. "Now that we know what's wrong, we can fix this."

"I'm such an idiot!" you sniveled. "I can't believe I fell for her lies!"

"You're not an idiot, you were deceived. We all were." he soothed, pushing you away and holding your shoulders at arm's length. "You made a mistake and that's okay." He withdrew himself from you, giving you a moment to compose yourself, and turned back to the desk. He then opened a drawer and pulled out a smaller pad before scribbling on it before tearing off the top page and handing it to you.

"I'm prescribing you something for the headaches and something for the parasite. When you stop taking the herbals, the hallucinations, nosebleeds, and nightmares should go away on their own."

"I didn't even know you could write prescriptions..." was all you managed to get out, still stunned at the revelation and his overall coolness about it. He simply gave you a kind smile.

"I am a doctor, after all." he chuckled, putting the two pads back into the desk drawer. "If you give me a second, I'll walk with you to the infirmary to have Nygus fill these."

-----

You'd been nearly silent since Stein's diagnosis, and now that you were walking through the halls beside him, you couldn't bring yourself to speak. He chatted away, nonchalant as ever, and you'd usually be delighted to see this rare side of him, but you couldn't get out of your head.

Finally, you both ended up at the infirmary, him walking in ahead of you. "Evening, ma'am," he greeted the woman behind the counter, grabbing her attention.

"Oh," she said, turning around and smiling softly behind her bandages. "Hello, you two. A bit late to be at work, huh?"

"I could say the same for you," Stein laughed, leaning on the counter. "If Sid left early, I assumed you'd be with him." Nygus rolled her eyes and sighed with a lighthearted chuckle.

"Not this time, I needed some time to reorganize my office." Her sky eyes suddenly flicked up to you, then back to your companion. "So, what can I help you with?"

Stein looked back at you and tilted his head towards her, prompting you to hand over the slip he'd made you. "We just need some prescriptions filled, if you're not too busy."

"Not at all!" she chirped with a grin, taking the slip from you. "Let's see here..." Suddenly, the contour of her wrappings fell flat and the sparkle in her eyes disappeared as she looked back at the man with a questioning look.

"I know you can keep a secret, Nygus. I appreciate that about you." He smiled, aware that she'd caught his meaning.

"Well, if you've got worms, that's none of my business, now is it?" She finally said, spinning on her heels and walking deeper into her office, dreads bouncing as she went. Something about her reaction melted your heart, knowing that she knew even a fraction of the truth- the worst fraction, and she wasn't upset with you.

Within a few minutes, she'd returned, a small white paper bag in hand. She gave you a reassuring smile as she handed it over. "For the headaches, take one as needed and no more than four in a day. For the other one, take one with breakfast and one with supper every day for two weeks."

After a tad more conversation, you both thanked her and exited the infirmary. "Start those both tomorrow and keep me updated on how they work for you, if need be, we can always adjust your dosage," Stein said, turning to head back to his classroom. "Have a good night, (Y/N)."

As he walked away from you, the question that had been burning in your mind bubbled back up to the surface again and you blurted out his name. "Stein! Wait," He halted, glancing at you curiously over his shoulder as you ran to catch up to him.

"Was there something else you needed?" he asked as you stopped beside him.

"I wanted to know..." you began, fidgeting timidly with your fingers. "Why are you being so kind to me?"

He laughed heartily, which embarrassed you a tad. "I can 't recall a time where unkind to me, why wouldn't I?"

You blushed a bit, shuffling in place. "W-Well.. you're-"

"Big and scary?" he chuckled lightly.

"Um, yeah..."

"I'm sorry you feel that way, perhaps one day I can change your mind." he mused, turning to leave again.

"U-Um, Stein?" you called out again, and once again, he indulged you with a quizzical look. "I'd like to get to know you better," you confessed. "I know you're not like I thought you were, and I'm sorry I made assumptions about you."

"Well, that's kind of you to admit," he accepted, beaming.

"I was wondering..." you trailed nervously. "Since you're going to be keeping up with the results of my treatment...we should probably..." try as you might, you couldn't will the words from your throat.

"Miss (Y/N), you're going to have to come out and ask me if you want me to say yes." he finally said, hinting at knowing what you wanted.

"W-Would you like to get coffee with me tomorrow?"

"I'd love to."

Thank you for reading, if you'd kindly like and reblog, I'd greatly appreciate it!

[chernabogs]

on  lonely  nights  i  stare  into  the  trees,  and  a  strange  face  leers  back. for crowley?

LAPSES

Inc: Dire Crowley, Reader/Prefect Warnings: Brief allusion to death, implications of hallucinations, wee bit of manipulation WC: 1.9k Summary: Prefect is not the only one to have slipped in dimensions—although, arguably, they're handling it a lot better then him.

When you slip, you don’t realize until you’re already passed through, and by then it’s often too late to hope for a return. 

He wonders vaguely, when the dust finally settles and the initial uproar dampens to a murmur, if your experience is akin to his. You seem far brighter eyed and enthused then he was when he woke. But then again, you actually arrived in a world—he had arrived by a fence. 

It had been long, vanishing into mist that never seemed to fade, and beyond that was a tree line with trunks that did little to hide the blackness beyond them. The sky had been ever grey and there was never a night or day—it simply, and eternally, was. 

During that time, he had been someone else. Fine silks had kissed his skin beneath his armour, and he had held onto hope in his heart of a woman and a child he had yet to meet just beyond the mists. Sometimes he could almost hear their voices beckoning him, just a few steps further. just a few more. 

But over time, silk had eroded, and armour had been torn off, and a sense of nothing but a bone-deep and endless need had begun to chew through his being. The voices he heard had faded to a low groaning in his head and each step along that fence line had erased the identity of who he had been to be replaced by what he is—starving. He forgot the men he arrived with—they had long since withered to bones beneath the soft soil he stumbled on. Yet even in their absence, even in their memory, he still hungered for more, his nails scraping along soft wood until they tore off to bleeding, fleshy lumps. There was a reason he wore claws on his hands.  

This is beside the point. 

When the mirror had said you had no place to return to, a strange sense of elation had settled in his heart. For so long since he had been reborn into this world—dragging himself out of the black ichor of an endless lake and sobbing at the dim stars above—he had been recollecting his psyche to find a purpose. Perhaps he was simply meant to wait for you. Home was not home, and he was no longer royal but perhaps with you he could finally locate the end of that fucking fence. He could do that at least.

Still beside the point, though. 

“Head mage?” Your voice snaps him out of his rumination as he looks towards the door of the office. You’re standing, half-shrouded in shadows, a frown dancing on your lips. The absence of your companions is painfully notable by the absence of chaos around you. Crowley forces his lips to twist into a charming smile as he twists in his chair to face you.

“Prefect! Whatever brings you to my door?” He hums as he beckons for you to enter, feeling a sense of amusement when you finally sidle your way in. You leave the door partially ajar as you sink in the plush chair across from him with a low sigh. He subtly pushes a jar of caramel candies towards you as he retains his cheery demeanour. 

“I wanted to give you somewhat of an update on my… situation.” Your voice is hesitant as you accept one of the candies, unwrapping it before popping it into your mouth. The face you pull is peculiar, like you’re experiencing something you’ve had before but only in the vaguest of notions, before you shake your head and continue. “Ortho thinks he’s found a way to get me home.” 

The news brings him to an abrupt pause that he tries to mask by staring down at papers scattered on his desk. He can feel the click of his jaw clenching as his smile becomes a touch more strained.

What. 

It takes a second, really, for the words you just spoke to process in his mind. He had long been under the impression that the only way to get back to your original world is by two options: a) you hope another rift occurs that will coincidentally drop you back into the right world at the right time with no consequence, or b) you die. He has drawn this conclusion simply because these are the two things that he personally experienced. The fence had never ended, the sun had never risen—until one moment he was walking, and the next he was drowning.

He didn’t need to elaborate on the death portion. He had heard his companions drop one by one as he had stubbornly continued to walk forward, driven either by his own budding madness or the painful desperation of promises yet to be fulfilled. In a sense, this was the moment where his dream of redefining the world to a perfect state had been born. 

And now here you were, telling him that there’s always been a third option to get home—he was just never offered it. 

“Crowley?” You lean forward in your seat a little as Crowley fights back something black and foul that threatens to erupt from his mouth in a volley of language he has never used in front of others before. “Are you okay? You’re spacing out a little.” 

“Am I?” Crowley’s attention snaps back up as he straightens in his seat, his golden claws pushing the papers around to make it seem like this was what he was preoccupied with. “Goodness, my apologies, Prefect! You must understand that I’m an impossibly busy man.” 

He pours an excess of saccharine sweetness into his words as he watches you settle back against your chair in relief. “This doesn’t mean you don’t have my attention, of course. What has young Shroud promised you?” 

“Ortho said that there might be a way for me to return through the mirrors. We started to work on it, until the whole incident with Malleus happened, and… well.” Your voice trails off as you grimace. Yes, the incident with Draconia had set everything back quite a fair amount. It had been a long time since Crowley had seen such a display of righteous fury. If he was a poet, he might have written ballads describing the terror that the young prince sewed so expertly into the hearts of those present in the Diasomnia dorm. But he wasn’t a poet, and it had been so long since he’d seen something so dangerously powerful that the ability to string words had left him. 

But again, he digresses. 

“Yes, Draconia’s incident most certainly set us all back a fair amount.” Crowley’s fingers dance to the drawer by his desk as he pulls it open, glancing sparingly at the array of missives he had yet to respond to from various municipalities. One thing he didn’t miss was the way a government is so quick to scramble for a safety net any time something unprecedented occurs. They all wanted reassurances that Malleus would not be a hazard at NRC. He has no doubt that his grandmother is likely being plagued with similar locusts. 

He slams the drawer shut with enough force that it makes you jump before he affixes another smile. “I’m assuming you’re back on your search, though?” 

“Yeah. I just wanted to come and see if you had a key for the older section of the library. Ortho thinks that this might all be primordial magic we’re working with, so he doubts that there will be any records online. We’ll have to do the old fashion style of searching.” You smile at that, a look that holds optimism in its seams, and it serves to stir Crowley’s ire further. Not that he shows this, of course. But your frequent interruptions to try and find your way out have been starting to cause more than a few shakes to his foundations. 

“Is that so?” Crowley languidly tugs the key ring free from his belt and flicks through the various golden tokens. He hums, and he haws, and then clicks his tongue with disappointment as he sets the key ring down. “My apologies, Prefect, but it appears that I don’t have the key on my person. I’ll certainly check for it around the office—but first I have a few things I need to get done.” 

Your smile falters for a moment and he can spot a flash of frustration in your eyes. This thrills him. He likes seeing that frustration, that anger, because these are precisely the same feelings he went through when he was in your position. The mask he wears to cover half of his face begins to make his skin feel irritated beneath its porcelain surface, and he wishes to rip it off and let you see the face of a man who went through three hundred odd years of isolation before making his return. 

Not that it would matter to you. You wouldn’t recognize him for who he is. The only people who can recognize him are far apart; one, alone in a palace, and the other slowly dying in a bedroom. 

“Okay, thank you.” Your abrupt comment draws his attention back in again as you stand up, pushing in the chair before offering him a brief nod. “Hope your work doesn’t bog you down too much.” 

“Oh, you’re far too kind.” Crowley hums back with a little wave as you depart from his office. As soon as the door shuts, he wrenches the mask off his face and slumps back in his chair with a hiss. Masks upon masks—that’s all he ever seems to wear, and it weighs on him as he twists his chair around to look out the window. The faces of the seven peer down at him in disappointment, and he can feel the burning glare of the Thorn Witch the most among them. He admires the Seven—idolizes them, even—but this doesn’t mean that he’ll let himself feel akin to a child scolded. 

He diligently ignores them as his attention is drawn to the tree line beyond the main building's borders. The pines are tall and thick trunked, all of which do little to hide the blackness beyond them. The sky above is dark with the coming dusk, and a brown fence seems to stretch endlessly along the edges of those woods. Crowley’s sharp nail accessories tap together as he ruminates on your comments while the edges of his vision begin to darken. A dark curl of hair falls on his forehead and his thin lips twitch into a grimace. 

Sometimes when he sits in this chair in the silence of his office, he can see them leering back from the treeline, hand-carved masks still on their faces and armour hugging their ragged bodies. It’s a stark reminder of what he’s trying to prevent, what he’s trying to rectify in himself and in his desire to fix this world. 

Crowley averts his gaze and twists back to stare at the papers strewn on his desk. The key ring glints as lamps on his wall flicker to life, catching off the metal, including that of the key he told you he didn’t have. He moves to reattach the ring to his belt buckle without further thought. 

Despite you being an unexpected addition, you were proving your use in many ways. He wasn’t quite ready to let you find a way home yet. After all, in his mind, the end of that ever-stretching fence had yet to be found, and he had some flaws in this world to rectify.

[spadecentral]

😘 My Heart is Your Home | Misc. TWST

>> requested: no >> a/n: i got bored aha

>> masterlist: ramshackle (misc.) >> summary: your skin starts to deteriorate from the exposure to magic >> characters: deuce; ruggie; azul; kalim; idia >> warning(s): sad LMAOOOOO

Deuce Spade tries to ignore the fact that your body's breaking down. He doesn't want you to die. He tries so hard to not notice the cracks in your skin. But when you've fallen for the second time in those ten minutes, complaining about your ankle, he could no longer ignore it.

Deuce, now fully aware of your situation, would try and keep you home at all times. Keep you in as little pain as possible. He would go to your classes that he wasn't in and ask for the notes. He would make you food, and buy you a wheelchair to keep your limbs from being stressed.

Anything to ease the pain.

Ruggie Bucchi was not unaware of your decay. He could smell it before he saw it. He knew how your skin cracked and caved. He bought candles and perfumes for you in hopes to mask the smell of your skin breaking.

Ruggie would steal Leona's valuables in hopes to get a doctor that could fix you. But, no one could. No one helped and everyone took his money. Crying was his last option. And he knew you didn't want that. But the end for you was near, and he couldn't help. Like his friends in the streets of Sunset Savanah, death would come slowly for you.

Whether it be starving or exposure to substances you aren't used to, everyone dies in the end.

Contracts. Azul Ashengrotto tried to find a contract that could cure you. Tried to make one that could magically cure you. Something that could help you. It will help you. He denied that you were unhealable for the longest time. Almost until you weren't there to help anymore.

He would stare at you from your doorway, unsure whether to approach. Frail and bedridden, the cracks and blemishes on your skin almost scared him. Scared him of what would happen when you wouldn't be there.

But some things can't be solved with one sliver of magic.

Spending all of his available funds, Kalim Al Asim scoured the world for the best doctor. He tried to find someone who could reverse the damages to your skin. He saw you shake as you lifted your pencil in class, how you tried to hide your blackened veins under long sleeves and a bright smile.

It hurt him to watch you smile through the torment. He hurt when you accepted the outcome. He would spend his entire inheritance if it meant you would be healthy and happy again. But if you can only be happy, then goddamn he would buy you everything in the world to hear you laugh and giggle.

Although laughing is not some almighty medicine, he wanted to believe it was.

Secluded in his room, Idia Shroud only learned of your deterioration after his brother told him so. Immediately, he went to the cameras that he had placed around the school, looking for you. He knew it was you once he found you, aside from the way your nose lifted from your face and how your lips were just the right size, he also noticed the limp that was slowing you down while talking to Grim.

He asked for Ortho to go to you, and assist you as you moved from class to class. While he was out, Idia went to work. Metals would have to be ordered as well as a new soldering kit, but he would get his new project done. Calling Ortho, he asked him to ask you normal things such as your favorite food or color, your shoe size, or what you would prefer to do on a rainy day.

Unfortunately, robots could hardly ever mean the same thing to someone as the real person.

>> twst taglist: @tulipluvlettr | @ghost-hyacinth | @oseathepebble | @ventisaircurrent | @epelys | @pastelmages | @xphantasmagoriax | @atlasnessie | @divinesapph | @ze-maki-nin | @booming-spam | @flqyd-is-lost | @queerlordsimon | @kyraxiyn | @rayisalive | @ruggiethethuggie | @v-anrouge | @oepionie | @ravenlking

[floydstruly]

i know it’s been too long.

synopsis: it’s cold, much too cold for a student from Royal Sword Academy—so Floyd figures out a solution that benefits the both of you.

cw. nothing! Yay! It’s just pure fluff >__< not proof read though also! No use of y/n or any mention of name I hate using that so umm not really warning free but still! Whatever!

note. someone give me a request or talk to me in my inbox I’m so bored

pairing: floyd x gn!reader

Winter break is just a week away but even so, it is needlessly gloomy today, clouds shroud the tops of the school and the rain falls down relentlessly, the class is all but silent as your teacher forces you to sit down, lecturing you on the past monarchies–princes, princesses, kings, queens.

You're sure if Floyd was attending Royal Sword Academy with you, he’d be bored half to death. You jot a couple notes down with your ink pen, in the corner of your page is a doodle of what is your best attempt at an eel–or more like Floyd.

Oh, that’s right. You sit up straighter and shudder at the sound of his name in your mind, you promised that you would go and see him during winter break. The thought of going to Night Raven College by yourself, with no entourage or teachers or friends terrifies you.

You think of all the eyes that will follow you around the halls and rude remarks you will receive–it scares you enough to listen to the professor. You immerse yourself in the lecture, trying to keep your mind away from all the possible things that could happen over the break.

Maybe it’ll be worth it if you get to be with your boyfriend, but still, hopefully winter break doesn’t come soon.

No one is around.

You can hear little woodland creatures chittering and the echoes of laughter amidst the snow. The plants are covered in a thin, fragile layer of frost–once green, but now, all wilted and lifeless from the relentless weather. The snowfall flutters down in a serene, peaceful way; like powder, covering the once barren rival campus in a pure white.

Along with the winter season comes the cold, crisp air that continuously nips at you, your skin red with what is reminiscent of blush. You should’ve worn a layer more–you feel as though you will freeze over the longer you spend outside.

You can’t help but admire the spectacle, although it may not be anything special, it reminds you of your home, which doesn’t seem so far away anymore. As you reluctantly trek through the snow and towards the college, it crunches down under your weight.

A cold breeze passes by as you walk, you shiver, burying your face into the scarf Floyd gifted you not so long ago. It craves itself with the image of an eel, wrapping around your neck and comforting your loneliness with what is reminiscent of him. You take a breath in, it still smells like him, sort of like fresh river water.

It’s hard to remember the last time you’ve seen him.

“Shrimpy!” A shrill, excited voice calls out to you when you poke your head into the Monstro Lounge curiously.

That’s right, it’s been at least four months since you’ve last heard that voice in person. Knowing the contempt that Night Raven students have for the ‘pissy and pauper’, you’ve never once tried to venture too far outside of Royal Sword Academy, let alone think about it with the exception of school events.

That’s what you look forward to most–because those are the only times you see Floyd, really.

You can feel a couple watchful eyes on you and your uniform as white as snow, completely untarnished and the face of perfection. You adjust your clothes under the weight of their gaze nervously, you’re starting to think that maybe you shouldn’t have come to spend the holiday with Floyd.

“See? Told yah this was a good idea, they like you already!” You’re not sure that ‘like’ was the right word, maybe something more akin to disdain or loathing. He smiles and waves his hand to beckon to follow him, his rows of pearly, sharp teeth only add to your unease.

You oblige, allowing yourself to be whisked away by merman.

The heart of the fireplace beats against the two of you, slowly chasing away the remains of the harsh winter cold. Floyd is sprawled against the velvety couch in the VIP lounge, his head rested soundly on your lap. You sit stiffly in place and push his hair aside to allow yourself to admire his features more closely.

You’re all alone again, but it feels much more welcoming now.

His fingers find their way under your eel-like scarf, you shudder at the touch of his skin against yours–fingertips pressing against your ever increasing pulse. It’s a foreign, his hands are cool. But you don’t try to swat his hand away, instead, you sigh and press the palm of his closer to your neck.

“You cold?” He asks, shifting his body, sitting up and pushing the scarf away from your neck. You nod quietly in response, underneath the soft, woolly fabric, he manages to make you grin for a moment–melting the confines of your enclosed heart.

He unravels the scarf and tosses it on the dirty floor, exposing your neck to the open air–it doesn’t help at all, but you can’t help but laugh. It takes a moment and comes out gradually, first, as a snicker, then into a giggle, and lastly, into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, “did I help?”

“No,” you shake your head, your smile finally reaches your eyes, “can I have my scarf back? That just made me colder.”

“You don’t need that stupid thing, you have me.” He buries his head into your neck in place of the scarf, his arms around your waist in a constrictive embrace. It doesn’t help either, he is cold blooded after all. You can feel his teeth nip at your skin, just as the air did outside not so long ago. But it’s much more pleasant.

“Stupid?” you ask as you return the hug, “you gave that to me.”

“You have the real Floyd right here! You can have it back after winter break, just pay attention to me for now, I missed you lots.”

For some odd reason, it feels a lot warmer now.

“Yeah, don’t worry, you’ll be seeing me more often.”

Maybe, you can ignore all the hate filled stares if it means just a moment longer with Floyd.

“I missed you too.”

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

Unstitch the pieces of me, please (and tear this curse apart)

Day 3 of The Long Halloween - event masterlist here

pairing: conner kent x reader, background/implied tim drake x reader (gender neutral)

length: 6.1k

genre: horror, fluff sort of, hurt/comfort

warnings: frankenstein's monster conner, frankenstein tim, undead/zombie reader, lots of talk of life, death, and the meaning of it all, some body horror with conner but just a lil bit, I made timmy a lil mean I'm sorry

a/n: we can't even talk abt the order I'm releasing these fics in lmao and this was not supposed to be a timmy fic but I couldn't help myself

The first thing that hits Kon when he steps outside for the first time is the cold. The air of Gotham is biting and crisp, especially at night when the fog sets in and makes his swirling puffs of breath damp. 

Then, it's the noise. Cars swerving and honking, people laughing or shouting, Tim muttering and tinkering somewhere inside the laboratory still. The ocean crashes somewhere distantly and Kon remembers being told by Tim at one point that the harbour is nearby.

The sight, then, is what really knocks his breath away. Towering, looming buildings that inch toward the impossible sky and shroud the city in shadow. Winding, twisting streets that seem to stretch endlessly in every direction. Cracked sidewalks and crumbling roads that could take him… anywhere, he thinks. Kon takes a step outside, moving past the threshold of the lab for the first time in his life. When he glances behind him, Tim's got his back turned and is thoroughly enamoured by whatever he's doing. He could leave, Kon thinks. Right now, right now, right now.

But then there's you, strolling down the street and looking at him like he's been caught.

"What are you doing out here, Kon?" you say quietly, not quite chastising, but wary nonetheless. He looks at you and frowns while you stand in front of him and block out the view of the city behind you. 

"I was just looking," he says with a huff, his voice scratchy and unused, his words thick as he forms them. He cranes his head to look past you out toward the freedom of the city and you cock your head to the side to follow his movement. 

"Mhm," you respond, disbelief clear in your voice. "Come inside with me, Kon. Come on, we'll talk about it." You brush past him, then, moving to duck under his patchwork arm where it grips onto the door frame so that you can slip inside. He hears you say some sort of greeting to Tim and he listens for a response that he knows will never come. 

You've left him there, standing a single step away from the outside world. A bitterness begins to swirl in Kon's gut when he thinks that you must have done it because you're so sure that he'll follow, that he'll never step out of line.

But then he glances back into the lab and sees you sitting on one of the tables, letting your legs swing back and forth as you watch him.

But maybe, he thinks as he loosens his grip on the doorframe, letting the door shut closed gently as he retreats back into the safety of the lab. Maybe you just trust him to make his own choice.

"You should stay in here, Kon," you say gently when he walks toward you and plants himself in front of you, close enough that your knees brush against him as he crosses his arms and scowls. "It's safer for you in here."

"You get to leave whenever you want," Kon counters. Tim sighs and scowls at the noise from somewhere behind you, but he goes ignored by both of you. 

"That's different," you offer kindly. "You know it is. I'm not the only zombie in Gotham City. I know how to keep myself hidden out there. Plus…" You trail off then, glancing back at Tim before giving Kon a sympathetic look.

"I know," Kon snaps at you, but his glare is directed at Tim. "You don't belong to him. I do." You sigh heavily at his words, reaching to brush a comforting knuckle across Kon's cheek as his jaw clenches.

When you'd met Tim all those years ago, he'd been nothing more than a mad scientist who was desperately obsessed with controlling life. He'd wanted to own it, wanted to be its master and be able to bring the dead to life. From what you'd gathered, he was from one of the manor houses outside of the city centre, and his rich, neglectful parents had left him with more money than morals and unlimited access to whatever unnatural experimentation he'd like to involve himself in. 

Stumbling across you had been a gift to Tim - you were undead, a zombie. You were the perfect subject for Tim to study. You were the ultimate success case. You were the dead thing that had come back to life, the unholy relic that had crawled out of your own grave and was cursed to wander the streets of Gotham, restless and ghostly. 

So Tim has studied you. You hadn't loved it, of course - you hadn't wanted to be involved in something so awful, really. But you'd been lost and alone and in need of some sort of protection, some sort of soft landing place to curl up in when the sun came up and it was harder to hide. So you'd let him. He'd poked and prodded and pulled and pushed, desperate because he knew that you would be the key to his understanding of how to bring back the dead. He worked and worked and worked until he'd finally done it.

He'd created Kon. He'd sewed together a life from beyond the grave. 

"You don't…" you start, searching for the words as Kon stares at Tim with an anguished sort of scowl. "It's not that you belong to him, Kon, it's just… it's not safe out there."

"I know, I know," Kon sighs, but you continue.

"Tim will take care of you in here. He'll… he'll make sure you're ok."

"No, he won't," he snaps, and you let your shoulders slump as you glance back toward Tim because you know that he's mostly right. Ever the mad scientist, as soon as Tim had perfected Kon, he'd moved on to the next project. He really doesn't care about what's going on behind him - he only cares about what's going on ahead of him.

During the experiments, of course, Tim had kept such a watchful eye on Kon and had never let him out of his sight - and he certainly never let him out of the laboratory. But now… You and Kon are largely ignored by him these days, free to wander and stumble to your heart's content. If only Tim had given his monster a heart that would really beat, Kon thinks hopelessly as he rubs at his own chest. 

"You just… you don't know what you're doing out there, Kon," you say gently, flinching a bit at the pained look that he gives you when you say it. "You need to be where someone can look out for you."

"Why not you, then?" Kon says quickly, making you straighten as your brows shoot up. "Tim, he… he won't care. He doesn't care anymore. You can… you can take me out of here. You can help me." You hum thoughtfully at his words, chewing your lip as you look up at him. He's right, sure. Tim doesn't care. He's created this monster who stands before you, living and breathing and feeling for the first time, and he's left him spiralling alone through it all. 

There is a part of you, too, that feels the weight of this responsibility. You hadn't really wanted to help, sure, and it makes your stomach twist just a bit when you think about it all. But you had been involved, and now Kon is here in front of you, begging to have a chance to be alive. 

"Ok, Kon, alright," you concede, patting his chest with one hand as you glance back toward Tim. "I'll… I'll help, you ok? I'll make sure you know how to live."

And so it begins, this newfound bond that the two of you have. You go back and forth for months like that, watching Kon step outside, step forward, grow and become in ways that he didn't know he ever could.

You're sitting with him at the docks one night, both of you with your shoes off and your feet hanging off of the edge so that you can splash around in the water. The weather has really begun to turn and the frost is setting in, blanketing the city in a bitter, painful cold. But you find that it doesn't bother the two of you so much, and you can let your feet sink into the freezing water without feeling the bite of it. 

Kon is sitting next to you and staring at his hands, looking down at his rough, stitched-together palms like they belong to someone else, patches of different skin tones all tinged blue and green and yellow clashing together. And you suppose… you suppose that they must feel like they do belong to someone other than him. 

"What are you thinking about?" you murmur gently, knocking your shoulder against his.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do with them," Kon mumbles back, still staring down.

"Hm? What?"

"My hands," he says flatly. "I don't know what to do with them."

"Whatever…" you falter. "You can do whatever you want with them, Kon. They're yours."

"It's odd," he continues, and the two of you watch as his fingers twitch when he flexes the muscles, clenching and unclenching his fists over and over and watching the stitches pull. "It's a little strange to have hands that move. Aren't I supposed to do something with them? Can't you… Can't you tell me what I'm supposed to do with them?"

"I'd…" you cut yourself off to laugh a little, and it's a sad, wispy sort of thing that floats through the empty fog. "I'd have to know what to do with my own, first, I think. I'm sorry." You say it honestly, like it's a great failing to be lost the way that you are now. 

"Is… is there anyone else I can ask?" You smile at Kon's words. You know he doesn't mean it to be rude; it's just that there's a sort of desperation, when you're lost like this, to find someone who isn't. 

"Well, that's the catch," you sigh. "I don't think anyone really knows. Most of living is just about deciding what to do with yourself. Some people go their whole lives without ever really knowing. I… I did." You look down at your feet when you say that, watching the way that you ripple waves out across the otherwise still water. You watch as they disappear into the fog and the darkness of night and you wonder… you wonder where those ripples will end up one day. 

"What's that?" Kon asks, and it makes you snap your head up. He's pointing across the bay and through a gap in the wall of fog. There's a sort of beacon over there, a shining light through the dark that shimmers and shines through the dead of night.

"That," you say heavily, "is Metropolis."

"Oh…" Kon hums in understanding. "Tim tells me… he - he used to talk to me about Metropolis. He said that it's completely different from Gotham. Do you think that's true?"

"Oh, it definitely is," you confirm, leaning back onto your palms as you stare at the light bouncing off of the water. 

"What, you've been there?"

"Yea, but - before," you clarify. "When I was, uh, alive. You know."

"Oh," Kon says haltingly. "I'm sorry."

"That's alright," you shrug easily. "I've always liked Gotham better."

"Why?" He wrinkles his nose. "Why would you like a place like this?"

"Oh, I don't know," you shrug, laughing a bit. "I guess it just… it grows on you. It kind of traps you here, I guess. I can't imagine being anywhere else now." Kon hums in hesitant understanding at that, but he keeps his eyes trained on the little glimpse of Metropolis that he can see across the bay. When you look over to him, the lights are reflecting in his eyes in a shimmering, shining way that you'd never really seen before. 

"I want to go to Metropolis," he says abruptly. You straighten in shock.

"What? Kon, no, you can't -"

"Why not?"

"It's not safe," you stress. He just frowns, crossing his mismatched arms. 

"You said this wasn't safe either," he points out, but you just shake your head imploringly. 

"No, Kon - this is different. Gotham is… it's a safe haven for things like us. For the… the broken and the damaged and the unnatural. It's safe for the people who aren't really… people," you trail off, wincing at the stricken way that he looks at you. "Gotham is safe," you continue gently. "Metropolis isn't. If you go there… you will die, Kon."

"You don't know that for sure," he says stubbornly. You grab onto his hand and squeeze his fingers with your own, cold against cold as you sit in the frozen night.

"No, I don't, but I can make a good guess," you insist. "You have a chance here, Kon. it's… it's a better chance than either of us have out there." Kon shakes his hand from your grip, but the hurt that you feel from the action is dulled by the way he gently cups your cheeks in his palms instead and you feel the seams where his skin is connected pulling against you.

"I want to be alive," he says desperately. "I want to - I need to live. I need to try."

"What if you die trying?" you counter, your voice wavering. Kon just presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his scarred, stitched lips scratching against your cold skin.

"Then I die trying to live," he says quietly, a determination settling within him. "And isn't that… isn't that the best that I can do?"

"It is, I.." you say weakly, looking up at him with something that feels a little bit too much like hope. "It is, Kon."

It's just like that, then, that he's… gone. Gone into light, into life, away from the wretched curse of Gotham. But you stay, of course, wandering endlessly through the darkened streets, floating sort of aimlessly through the everlasting nights. You hear, day in and day out, all of the things that you'd told him. They rattle around your mind and thump through your ribcage as you stand on the wooden docks and stare out toward the impossible light and the ever-growing distance between the two of you. 

What are you doing with yourself? What are you doing with these hands of yours?

Is it not enough to just… live?

You sit there, staring into the endless night, and all that you can do is remember what it was like to live.

I'd like to see the sunset today. I'd like to count the stars tonight. I'd like to go to the art gallery tomorrow. I'd like to drink coffee and read books and dip my feet in the harbour. 

I'd like to simply live, you think, in a desperate, burning sort of way… and isn't that enough?

"You need to get a grip," Tim's voice rings out through the laboratory as he scowls at the way you sit by the window, staring out into the night. "I've just about had enough with all of this… this moping. Sulking really doesn't look good on you, you know."

"Do something about it, then," you snap, and Tim stares at you like you've said the unthinkable.

"Me?" he splutters. "You were the one who gave him all of those ideas about living and being and going to Metropolis of all places. You deal with it."

"Do something for me, then," you respond quickly, unbothered by Tim's groaning and grumbling. "Give me some money."

"I… beg your pardon?"

"Give me one of your cards. I'll - I'll go away. I just want to live, Tim. I just want to be able to live."

That's really all that it takes, thankfully. The whole ordeal really has been bothering Tim and it feels like such a small imposition to toss you one of his credit cards and gesture to the door. That's all that you need to wander out, heading to walk aimlessly through the dingy streets of Gotham.

You're free now in a way that you never were before, you realize as you climb up onto the roof of Tim's building, his credit card held between your teeth so that you can use your hands on the rickety ladder.

Not that anything would really happen if you fell, you suppose. 

But you're free, and it sort of hits you when you get to the top and can really stare out toward the water of the bay. You can see the lights of Metropolis still, although very faintly through the hazy, foggy night. You sit down cross-legged and prop your chin up in one of your palms as you look out and think of Kon.

You hope that he's safe, wherever he is out there. But more than that, you suppose… you hope that he's happy. Above all else, really, you just sort of hope and pray that he's living and doing whatever it is that he needs to to cling to that life. 

But then a short, searing sort of pain zips down your arm and you wince, rolling your shoulder as you try to massage the feeling back into your hand. You're sure you should ask Tim about it, but you haven't really been able to care much about these pains that you've started having. Random aches and abrupt bouts of agony. Numbness and tingling spreading throughout you every now and then.

It's not constant. It's not unmanageable. But it's just enough to make you aware of your body. You're sure it's fine, though. You're sure it's nothing. You're sure it's just a part of being dead, of being something that shouldn't exist and wasn't supposed to come back to life in the first place. You're sure it's nothing. 

You're sitting in the botanical gardens when autumn feels like it's really rolling through. Instead of the springy greens and yellows of the gardens, everything is bathed in reds and golds and oranges. Everything around you is bright and tingling with life… and you sit in the middle of it all, propped up on a bench like something that just shouldn't be there. 

But Kon sitting down next to you is perhaps even more jarring. 

"Kon!" you all but shout, staring at him with wide eyes. "You're - you -"

"Hi," he responds gently, flashing you a nervous little smile. "How have you been?"

"How have you been?" you splutter. "Why… why are you here? Why are you back? Are you ok? Kon, did something happen -"

"I missed you," he blurts out, and it's enough to make your mouth snap shut. "I… I missed you and I wanted to come home."

"Kon," you say, your voice cracking as your bottom lip trembles. "I don't… I don't want you to give up on your life for me."

"Well, that's just it," he laughs, and it's a watery sort of thing as he blinks dampness from his eyes. "I… want this to be my life, I think. I miss you and I - I miss Gotham."

"…What?" you say, shock colouring your voice as the cool breeze of dusk blows through. 

"I know, I know," Kon says, holding his hands up in defence. "It's awful here. There's the… I don't know, the smells and the fog and that cursed, horrible harbour and the - the stench of death that you can just never get away from. But all of that… well, I don't know, it grows on you, I guess." He looks at you, then, in an imploring sort of way as he reaches to grab onto your hand and tangle your fingers with his. "You just can't help but fall in love with it. You can't help but fall in love with this place."

"This… place?" you say slowly, a sly sort of smile flashing across your cold lips. "Just Gotham, huh?"

"Gotham," he admits, shifting in his seat as heat rises to his cheeks. "And… and the people. Some of them. One, um, one of them more than the rest." You smile, then, and Kon thinks that you're alive in a way that he thought he could never be - in a way that none of the vibrant, curling florals of the garden could dream to be. Kon thinks that it's the most human thing of all - the smile on your face and the love in your eyes. 

Maybe that's what you taught him, he thinks as he skims a knuckle across your cheek and lets his forehead rest against yours. Maybe you really do have to do it together. Maybe to live is to be with those that you love.

As Kon sits in that garden with you, as he sits in the midst of life beginning, he just wants to be with the people he loves. When you smooth a hand over his cheek and press a kiss to his cold, stitched lips, he can feel it - the way that you intertwine together, two dead hearts beating for the first time again. 

But then you pull away with a flinch, and your nose scrunches as you clench your hand into a fist and feel that static-like, burning pain shoots through you. 

"Hey," Kon says gently, gripping your face in his palms as his brows furrow, his mouth downturned and making the stitches stretch across his cheeks. "What's wrong?"

"It's… it's nothing," you shrug as the pain passes and you shake out your arm a bit. "It's nothing. My - I don't know, it just… things don't feel right sometimes is all. But it's - I mean… we're dead, right? It's never going to feel right." You try to laugh it off, just a bit, but Kon shakes his head and tightens his grip on your face.

"No," he says sternly, and there's a hint of panic growing in his voice. "No, that's - this is new, right? This didn't always happen? I need to - we need to fix this. We can't… I need to make sure you're ok."

"I am ok, Kon," you say soothingly, but he's already standing, tugging you ever so gently to your feet and ushering you out of the gardens. 

"You will be," he replies shortly. "I promise - I'll - we'll make sure of it."

"You're dying," Tim says it shortly, simply, like it's a fact that you all should've clued into by now.

"I beg your fucking pardon?" Kon snaps back. You just stare, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. Tim pulls away from the microscope he'd been peering into with a heavy sigh, looking at the two of you like he's ashamed that you haven't realized the truth by now.

"You're dying," he repeats in a clipped tone. "You didn't think you'd live forever, did you? Look, I really don't have time for this -"

"You have to have time for this -" Kon snaps.

"Live forever? Tim, I'm already dead - are you alright?" you say at the same time, you and Kon stumbling over each other's words. Tim looks at you both rather imploringly.

"Oh yes," he says dryly. "The failed experiment and the thing that I can't even claim to have made. Surely I should make more time for you." That makes you both freeze - makes you look at Kon with wide, uncertain eyes.

"Failed?" he says, and his voice is small, like a timid child in trouble with their parents for the first time.

"Failed," Tim repeats. "You're… dying. You have a lifespan, Kon, the same as any living thing. I succeeded in bringing you into this life, yes, but only for a while - a long while, don't you two look at me like that." 

"Ah," you say, and a bit of understanding dawns on you. "I remember now."

"Remember what," Kon all but wails as you jump to sit up on the table next to Tim's microscope, swinging your legs and letting your feet hit his chair.

"Eternal life - that's what you were always after, wasn't it, Timmy?" Tim just scowls at you, so you continue, turning to Kon now. "It's not enough to live once. Timmy here wants to find a way to live forever. And since… well, you have a shelf life, it seems - that means he hasn't quite figured it out yet."

"The grim reaper will come back to Gotham one day and I have to be prepared," Tim begins, his voice cracking with hysteria, and you glance at him out of the corner of your eye with a concerned quirk of your brow. "I'm just saying," he continues as he stares at the wall ahead of him, swaying back and forth in his chair. "If John Constantine can find a way to keep it at bay, then I must be able to beat this, I have to -"

You jump off of the table and reach for Kon, grabbing onto his arm and tugging him away as Tim continues to ramble. Kon just squeezes your hand comfortingly, though, and then reaches to shake Tim's shoulder and snap him out of whatever spiral he's in. 

"Tim - Tim," he says earnestly. "What about…" He glances back at you, then, and there's a panic swimming in his mismatched, foggy eyes that makes your heart lurch.

"Oh, well, you're dying, too," Tim says to you, waving his hand in a dismissive manner. "What do you think happens when someone crawls up, out of their own grave? Did you really think you could cheat death forever?"

"Do you think that?" you snap back, but there's a sort of doom crawling up your throat now that hadn't been there before. But you know what Tim's talking about. You know what he means. 

Because you remember… you remember being alive and being hungry. More time, more life, more experiences, more, more more. 

And you remember… you remember carrying that hunger into death. You remember clawing your way out of your own grave, a desperation taking hold and urging you to scramble for more, pushing you to bring yourself back to the world for one more chance to live. 

But then Kon lunges for Tim - he grabs him by the collar of his shirt and shakes him, his patchwork knuckles paling under the strain of his grip.

"Fix it," he spits desperately. "Find a way - you have to fix it. Tim, I can't - they can't die, you need -"

"Kon!" you shout, pulling him away from Tim and spinning him around to face you as Tim huffs and straightens himself. "Kon, it's… it's ok."

"It's not," he says desperately. "I just - I just got you, I - I just got you back and you're telling me that I'm - I'm losing you now. I can't - I can't do that, I can't, I -"

"Kon," you say gently, holding his hands in yours and squeezing life into them. "You're not losing me today. Or tomorrow probably, or the day after that. I'm sure it'll be a long time before this really does either of us in." You glance over your shoulder as you say it, looking at Tim for guidance - for confirmation. He nods in agreement and there's something clouding his eyes that seems suspiciously like care. There's something about his quiet stance as he watches on that feels a bit too much like genuine empathy. 

Kon listens to you, squeezing his eyes shut and letting out one long, shaky breath before he sobs, burying his face into your shoulder to muffle the sound. You let him, of course. You tangle a hand into his curling, brittle hair and shush him gently, swaying the both of you back and forth while he wails and cries and trembles. 

"It's the most human thing I can teach you, my love," you whisper into his ear, listening to him sniffle and whine. "It's the most human thing there is - to be temporary. To love and lose and never get it back. It's the fact that you only have it so long… that's what makes it so good to hold onto."

"I don't want you to go," Kon responds slowly, his voice small against your neck, his skin cold as it presses against you and the stitches in his cheeks leave red indents in your skin.

"I'm not going anywhere tonight," you soothe him, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head as he hunches over further to curl into your embrace. "I'm not going anywhere yet… and neither are you."

"Perhaps…" Tim's voice cuts through the sniffling and the crying, but he sounds gentle, hesitant and slow in a way that he doesn't normally. "Perhaps… you've found what you were always so hungry for."

"Hm?" you hum, distractedly. 

"I'm saying… maybe what you were looking for… the two of you have found." Tim gestures to the two of you, then, and you freeze a bit as you begin to understand what he's saying. 

"Yea…" you say slowly, hooking your chin over Kon's shoulder as you hold him closer and feel the way that his hands grip onto the back of your shirt. "Yea, I… maybe we have."

"It won't be forever," he warns. You sigh.

"I know, Timmy."

"You're… rotting, the both of you. You're decomposing, you're - well… you'll die a second time. But, uh, maybe that just means…"

"I know, Timmy," you say again, cupping Kon's face in your palms and coaxing him to look up at you. "It's a second chance at life. I know." Kon, at your words, blinks a bit sluggishly, his face paled into mismatched blues and greens and yellows, his body out of place even compared to itself. 

"Life?" he says quickly, cupping his hands over yours where they still rest on his cheeks. 

"Life," you confirm, leaning forward to press your cold lips to his.

"Is this your first time outside?" you quip as Tim sits down on the bench next to you. The botanical gardens are receding further as the weather continues to get colder, the leaves craving and falling as the flowers wilt and wither. But you sit, just the same, just as dead as ever, watching Kon idly throw seeds toward the birds in the pond nearby.

"…No," Tim says stiffly, and you give him a suspicious look. 

"Seriously," you say dryly. "How long has it been since you stepped out of that lab?"

"Well, I'm out now, aren't I?" he huffs, and you can't help but giggle a bit at the angry way that he sulks. 

"Well," you say easily. "Welcome to the land of the living… sort of."

"No sort of," Tim responds kindly, eyeing the way that you sit with your leg propped up on the wooden bench. "You two are… well, you certainly act alive, that's for sure."

"Aw, thanks."

"Maybe… maybe there's, oh - I don't know. Maybe there's, uh, something… something someone could learn from that." Tim looks away as he speaks, staring out toward the city beyond the gardens, the noise muffled beyond the fences and the climbing ivy.

"Timmy… what?" you ask, shocked.

"Maybe, I - it's… maybe I missed a thing or two. Just once or twice. Maybe life's a little less worth it when you're not… living it. I don't know… something like that."

"Woooow," you drawl. "So, what, you're giving up on it?"

"Don't be stupid," Tim snaps. "Of course, I'm not giving up on it. I just… maybe I'll - I don't… maybe I'll just take a break every now and then. I don't know." You grin as he speaks, but just as you're opening your mouth to make a quip, he shoves an envelope at you.

"What's this?" you ask, quirking a brow as you rip it open and shake out two identical keys.

"I don't use the apartment over the laboratory anymore," Tim says stiffly, watching Kon swish his hand in the cool water of the pond as he crouches in the grass. "It's… it's just empty. Someone might as well use it."

"You're… giving us an apartment?" you ask quietly, staring at the keys in your hand.

"It's nothing," Tim snaps. "Don't mention it." But you're staring at the keys like they weigh the world to you. You're staring at them like you're holding home in the palm of your hand.

"What's going on?" Kon's voice makes you snap your head up and you see him jogging up to the two of you, a frown tugging at his lips as he glances at Tim's sour expression.

You toss one of the keys to Kon in response, watching as he catches it against his chest and cups it in his hands like something precious.

"What do you say," you offer quietly, smiling up at Kon as the sun crests over the gloomy city behind him. "Ready to go home?"

With that, a new routine begins to settle over the three of you, and you and Kon begin to build a life together - a home together in the city that haunts, the city that curses. Tim stays in his lab, puttering away endlessly downstairs and muttering to himself about his experiments, but he…. comes out every now and then. He leaves every once in a while to breathe fresh air and sit on the rooftop with the two of you. 

You and Kon are lying on that rooftop one night, pointing up at the stars that are just barely peeking through the shroud of fog that blankets the city, when the building rattles from the force of an explosion in the lab.

"Do you think someone should check on him?" Kon murmurs, half asleep as you curl up against him and rest your head on his hollow chest. 

"Nah," you mutter sleepily. "That wasn't a very loud one. I'm sure he's fine." Kon hums in agreement and traces his fingers up and down your arm, the ill-assorted pads of his fingers pressing against your skin gently. 

"How are you feeling?" he asks gently, and you shrug against him. 

"Better," you admit. "Timmy… well, it's a surprise, I suppose."

"Yea," Kon huffs. "I didn't think he had it in him." He's right - you were both shocked at Tim's quiet, hesitant offer to help the two of you. He can't stop death completely, sure, but it brings a great relief to have someone to turn to when life starts to wear you down.

These days, any time either one of you has one of those strange, undead pains or aches shooting through you, Tim is the first person that you turn to. And it's odd every time, you think, to watch Kon turn to Tim for help… and to watch Tim give it willingly. It's odd to see people grow and change and become.

"What are you thinking about?" Kon whispers as you yawn and press yourself further into him, one of your hands slipping under his shirt to smooth over his stitches and scars.

"Do you feel it now?" you ask in response.

"Hm?"

"Do you feel like you're becoming something?" you clarify. "Do you feel like you're… like you're living? Do you feel alive now?" Kon pretends to think about it, making a big show of humming and pursing his lips as he rolls over your words in his mind. You just roll your eyes in response, though, and curl further into him to close your eyes while you rest against his chest. 

"You know," he says slowly, though, the mirth leaving him for a moment as he grows sombre. You lift your head from his chest to prop yourself on your hands and look down at him, cocking your head to the side as you look at his ill-matched eyes.

"What?"

"I think," Kon begins again slowly, smoothing a hand over your back as he looks up at you, his eyes glinting with something akin to life as he smiles. "I think that right here… yea. Yea, I'm already everything that I needed to become."

"Wow," you quip, but you clear your throat and let yourself collapse onto him to hide your face in his chest again. "That's… that's high praise."

"It's deserved," he responds easily, but the way that he wraps his arms around you and holds you to him tightly conveys the earnest need that his words leave out. "…Thank you."

"No way," you shake your head, your face rubbing against the stitches patches of his chest. "Thank you." Because you do, you think, have to thank him for bringing you back from the dead in a way that you never could manage by yourself. You do, because you shouldn't be here. You're not supposed to be here, either of you, but you are. Whether you were supposed to or not, whether you wanted to or not, you have come to life and now you must live.

[loveandlegacy]

nothing ever stays dead: part i

jinx, viktor, death, and rebirth

tumblr is forcing me to break this up into multiple parts because there's a limit to the number of images you can have in a single post 💀. find part ii here. also if you find a zillion typos in these.....no you didn't

anyway.... onward to:

i don't think this is an especially novel take to say that viktor functions as a kind of death-symbol in the story of arcane, but what i do think is neat, and what i haven't seen often discussed is the way that arcane positions jinx and viktor together as parallel symbols of death and rebirth.

i made a kind of joke post about it, and about how i think these parallels seem like they're going to get reinforced in season 2, but i started this essay even before the s2 trailers dropped and i wanted to spend some time trying to be a little more rigorous about where i think these parallels emerge.

to start, it’s interesting to me that jinx and viktor are both native to the undercity but operate separately in piltover and zaun for all of season 1. subsequently, their respective symbolisms run side by side throughout the story only really directly intersect/intertwine (kinda) in ep 5, everybody wants to be my enemy.

in the episode, we get a the montage sequence of pressure points where various characters have to deal with ruptures or fractures in their self-concepts or their planned trajectories. a moment with jinx sets this montage off, setting the stage for the death/rebirth themes.

jinx goes through a figurative rebirth in a pseudo-baptism - which is followed by a fade-to-black and then really abrupt return to reality with the shimmer bubbles. we already know shimmer is a transformative substance and that it will play a part in the much more violent and direct near-death-to-rebirth pipeline for jinx later in the story. it’s an interesting pattern of foreshadowing for jinx all on its own.

but! rather than having her arc proceed alone on that trajectory, the moment braids with viktor’s a few scenes later, in the same montage. where jinx has a ritual moment of death-rebirth, viktor’s character ‘rupture' is his very literal post-brush-with-death awakening.

they are both somewhat consumed by darkness in these moments. jinx literally disappears into it, but viktor also is only half-visible bc of how the light falls on him in this shot in the hospital room. both characters dissolve into a veil of something unknowable to us, the living audience.

in this way, these shots unify them in their nearness to death. our last glimpse of jinx as she disappears under the water is an overhead closeup shot, and then a few scenes later, our first sight of viktor in the hospital bed is also an overhead wide shot, with that camera eventually pulling into a tight closeup of just his face.

viktor’s for-real brush with death changes the trajectory of his life while jinx undergoes her symbolic death and rebirth, and we see them as supine figures sinking down into these roles that are shrouded by darkness.

to drive their matching paths home, as many other people have already pointed out, the cut immediately following viktor's scene and the thing that breaks us out of the montage altogether is a shot of the death and magician cards with jinx's little criss-cross symbol in the hands of the magician.

episode 5 is significant in how closely it positions jinx and viktor to each other. they never interact over the course of the season and we don’t even really have evidence that either one of them knows who the other is. at most, they have access to fragments of each other — jinx has a hexgem, viktor helps dismantle one of jinx’s bombs.

but their matched symbolism actually pops up everywhere.

following enemy - but not following the actual temporal progression of events in-world, which is interesting - more parallels between their stories emerge. viktor's journey with life and death is always a few steps ahead of jinx's, but their paths are tied together through a two specific devices: physical location and bodily transformation.

physical location

maybe the first thing condemning them to this trajectory is the fact that they are the only two characters aside from silco himself who have direct interactions with singed. out of the entire cast, singed is arguably the most visually and narratively underworld-coded character in the entire series. we never see him 'above' ground, and the only time we ever glimpse him in natural sunlight is in his cove, where the shot composition presents the location as a place physically sunken into the earth and also vignetted in heavy shadow, creating a visual border of darkness that breaks the area off from the rest of the world.

just as jinx and viktor were disappearing into shadow in episode 5, singed's crater-world emerges from shadow in our first glimpse of it in episode 6.

his character design also leans pretty heavily on death-imagery. before jinx accidentally burns silco's first shimmer production pipeline to the ground and also fries singed Severely, the silhouette for singed’s face emphasizes the structure of his skull more than any other character's. yeah he's maybe somewhat emaciated, but on a design level he also just has a Death Face (a skull) with very little to soften it.

with singed set up as the steward of some under-other-world, his home functions as the physical location where the boundary between life and death is thinnest.

in the chronological sequence of events — but presented non-chronologically in the story — child-viktor’s first encounter with singed requires him to take a journey that follows the logic of a katabasis through the visual language of the camera.

in episode 6, viktor loses his little boat. to recover it, he has to chase it by first entering a tunnel that leads deeper underground (low camera angle; he's traveling downwards towards us, the audience, but also into the earth). for a moment, the implication is that neither we nor viktor can see his boat. as the scene unfolds, we the viewers then have to pass through darkness (!) before the boat becomes visible again in a place that's distinctly different from the site where viktor fell: a slow-moving stream adorned with preternatural plant life.

and all this for the wayward little boat to lead viktor directly to singed and his underground other-world, teeming as it is with the raw materials used to manufacture shimmer.

in mythology, a katabasis is the journey a hero takes into the underworld. the word is greek in origin but the process is not unique to greek myth and, depending on the story, the hero undertakes the journey for any number of reasons. regardless of the origin of any given katabasis myth, the notable point is that the process of going to the world of the dead usually changes the hero in some way that isn't possible by any means other than putting themselves in proximity to death.

in viktor's case, the most comparable myths are odysseus, who travels to the border of the underworld to receive knowledge and prophetic warnings from the dead, and odin, who kills himself as a ritual sacrifice and, in his 9 days of death, receives prophetic visions and various supernatural abilities that he manifests once he returns to the living world.

viktor isn't an epic hero in the same way as odin or odysseus, but his journey through darkness — which episode 5 established as a kind of occluding veil between the living and the dead — follows the logic of a katabasis. following his boat takes him to a specific location: singed's underworld. there, he unhappily gains knowledge about shimmer and its nearly necromantic properties that, at that point in the story, only singed seems to be aware of.

on a literal level, viktor stands close to death through rio, whose life singed is trying to save. but he's close to death on a symbolic level in singed's domain, whose visual presentation situates it as both underground and also somewhat detached from the rest of the undercity.

singed's home is even circumscribed by water! a parallel to greek myth in which water plays a crucial role in underworld's geography; the souls of the dead and the epic heroes who travel deeper into the underworld must cross the river styx — ferried there by charon just as viktor's little clockwork boat ferried him to singed's doorstep.

so viktor's childhood descent exposes him to knowledge that he can't fully grasp.

at least not until much later in life when he makes his second katabasis in which he claims to understand the knowledge singed provided to his younger self and also gains new insight into both shimmer and the nature of the hexcore that, according to the broader story, no one but singed can provide.

in between these two descents, jinx is born (figuratively, as jinx; maybe literally also as powder) and undergoes her baptism at silco's hands.

baptism isn't the same thing as katabasis, but some denominations in christianity position it as a necessary step in the process of rebirth for believers, allowing them to shed the polluted self of their past (sinful) life and be born anew, incorporated into the spirit of christ. like greek katabasis in particular, baptism allows the believer to be reborn and therefore changed without necessarily requiring a physical death first. in symbolic parallel to the greek underworld, baptism requires a 'passage' through water for the rebirth and transformation to take place.

the baptism in arcane obviously has nothing to do with christianity or religious impulses, but it does shroud jinx in a specific kind of death-aura in the same way that viktor's twinned descents do for him. silco even sets this symbolism up for us when he tells jinx directly that she has to 'let powder die' after he describes how he was born anew after vander attempted to kill him.

as mentioned earlier, even though the unfolding narrative initially shows us viktor's first katabasis after we’ve seen jinx's baptism, he undertakes his journey long before jinx is baptized in the in-world chronology. his actual almost-death chronologically happens after his first katabasis. following this logic, the story makes a point: a symbolic proximity to death precedes and preordains a literal one.

viktor makes his first descent as a child. then, as an adult, his illness leaves him coughing up blood in his lab and shatters his life with a terminal prognosis. after his figurative brush with death, he receives an actual death sentence. jinx's story follows a similar pattern. her baptism provides her with the symbolic death-and-rebirth cycle, but three episodes later, in oil and water (ep 8), we find that her confrontation with ekko has left her close to actual physical death — and brings her into singed’s domain aka the specific physical location where life and death bleed most into each other.

in this specific place, jinx who is otherwise a very physically dynamic character, is sapped of all strength. she’s semi-lucid on a vivisection an examination table. the camera positions her like a person entombed. when we see her face, she's presented in a close up and on her back horizontally in the frame, like we, the audience, are laying next to her. parallel to her, we’re in a position of equal (minimal) power.

but when we see what jinx sees, it is always from below. the avatars of vi and powder stand above her, positioned at first outside of this underworld delirium and in an electric-red world. the implicit land of the living is not only above jinx and out of her reach, but also too garish, loud, and terrifying for someone whose vitality is slipping away.

caitlyn/singed also loom over jinx, with the camera sitting low, looking up at them.

obviously this is in part because jinx is tied to a table, but the framing tells us more than that. the living stand somewhere above the dying. the living possess a kind of energy that the dying lack; they can move while the dead can only watch.

jinx is helpless, stuck in the location that the story has synonymized with the underworld, becoming both a corpse and something like a ghost, while the living are able to glide through and interact with the world effortlessly.

but this near-death isn't permanent. as silco says: she won't die, doctor. she can’t. and it's true. jinx’s baptism was her katabasis — a symbolic promise of what eventually unfolds in singed’s gloomy underworld. when she almost dies for real, his treatment rebirths her, painfully and dramatically, and transforms her. (<- onward to part ii)