#I miss it every day… we had a chapter outline and everything….

[strifesolution]

30 and vtubert (or I guess pick any rt if song 30 sucks with vtubert)

Get Used To It - Ricky Montgomery

kept the song, different RT. for an abandoned teacher au

[falling-endlessly]

Boomerang (part 4)

Vox x Female!Ex!Overlord!Reader

Summary: Vox is determined to win you over, no matter what. You just want your damn peace back.

Warnings: some mature themes (mention of sexual arousal)

<— Part 3 Chapter Index

Vox gripped the bathroom counter, staring at himself in the LED outlined mirror. "You've still got it," he said to himself firmly, lifting a clawed finger to point at his reflection. "Just be cool, man."

He relaxed his face into his signature grin, leaning an elbow against the counter. "Hey Y/n, how's everything? I was wondering if you wanted to go for coffee sometime?" He threw in a wink for good measure.

A second of silence passed before he shuddered violently, breaking composure. "Ugh, no, no. Focus, man. Okay," he repositioned himself, shoving his hands nonchalantly in his pockets. He cleared his throat, mustering up his best confident, devil-may-care expression. "Doll, what do you say we get out of here tonight, yeah? Just say the word and I'll get us a private room at your favorite restaurant."

His smile twitched. Shit. That wouldn’t work on you either.

This was ridiculous. He started trends on a whim, charmed the masses to hang off of his every word, and yet—here he was, rehearsing in front of a bathroom mirror like a prepubescent boy with a crush. And failing miserably too.

He shook his head to clear it, hands grasping at the sides of his monitor so tightly it displaced the pixels on his screen. "Think Vox, what did you do to make her like you the first time?"

But if he was being completely honest, it was actually you who made all of the first moves. You who captured his attention like a vice. You who reeled him in, hook, line and sinker. There was no grand courtship on his part. In fact, he couldn't even remember the exact moment he had started to fall for you. It was all so easy, natural, seamless. He didn't have to do anything except for be himself.

He pursed his lips, turning back to the mirror warily. And—whatever, fine, fuck it. Not like anyone could see him debase himself like this anyway.

Vox sighed, his smile dropping like an overused mask. The desperation and vulnerability that he hated so much creeped back into his eyes, making him tense.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm such a damn idiot and—I just..." he trailed off, before groaning, dropping his head in his hands. "Fuck, this is pathetic."

What was he doing? Wallowing in self pity like some lovesick loser? For fuck's sake, he wasn't just some spineless bottom feeder, he was Vox. CEO of Pride's largest conglomerate. People would kill to be in his position.

A shaky grin forced itself back on his face as he lifted his head. Fuck, enough of this. Nothing was going to get done if he just sat here and twiddled his thumbs all day. It was time to make a move.

With his mental armor back in place, he marched to your room like a man on a mission. He may or may not have sent a drone on your tail to find it, since everyone else in this damned hotel seemed hellbent on pretending that they had short term memory loss when he asked. It was still a prototype, unreleased to the public. A camera the size of an ant, for incognito purposes of course.

When he finally reached your door, he pasted a confident, charming smile on his face. One that he knew used to fluster you once upon a time.

"Just act natural," he chided himself quietly, taking a deep breath before knocking on your door.

There was a moment of silence, before some shuffling was heard, and then the handle was turned.

Vox froze as you opened the door, dressed in baggy sweats with your hair in a disarray. Your shirt had ridden to the side at some point, and the rumpled neckline was exposing the enticing dip of your collarbone. He felt his mouth go dry.

And suddenly it struck him how much he missed you. God, he'd missed you. Your comforting presence, your lively humor, even the small things like waking up next to you or seeing your toothbrush next to his in the bathroom. And fuck, it hurt to have you just out of reach.

Your pretty mouth pulled down into a frown when you saw him, body language changing from relaxed to guarded in an instant.

Vox forced himself out of his trance, clearing his throat. This was his moment to shine. He'd practiced for this.

"Hey—" he started cheerfully, before the door was promptly shut in his face.

Vox blinked stupidly, standing in front of your room in shocked silence. Did—did you just—?

Frowning, he raised a hand to knock again. "Y/n?" He called out in confusion.

"Go away, asshole," your muffled voice came from somewhere on the other side of the door. "I don't want to talk to you."

"But—"

"I said beat it," you growled, before a glowing barrier materialized outside of your door. Fuck, if he touched that he knew he wouldn't stop bugging until tomorrow morning.

"Fine," he hissed under his breath, turning and storming away. So that was how you wanted to play it, huh? Fine, joke’s on you. He liked a challenge.

On the way back to his room though, he felt a familiar, pleasant tightness between his legs. Vox froze, slowly looking down at the noticeable tent in his pants in horror.

"Oh, come on."

****

The next few days could only be described as an intensely aggressive game of cat and mouse. He tailed your ass like a damn police dog, determined to get even a moment alone with you—but to his absolute irritation, you kept coming up with increasingly ridiculous ways to blow him off.

He invited you to take a walk with him after dinner? You suddenly developed a spontaneous stomach bug and now you were bedridden. He held a door open for you? You pushed open the other side of the double doors and maintained unimpressed eye contact with him the entire time. He couldn't even follow you with his micro-camera anymore, because you'd promptly discovered it and stabbed it to his bedroom door with a needle as a violent warning.

Nothing was going according to plan and he was growing more frustrated by the minute. What was the point of coming here if he saw you just as often as if he had stayed in his tower?

"How am I supposed to convince her to come back," his eye twitched, one night on a rant-filled phone call with Velvette. "If I can't fucking talk to her?"

Velvette looked at him like he was a dried piss stain on the wall. "Vox, do I look like I give a singular fuck about your dumpster fire of a love life?"

Ah yes, such encouraging commentary as always. Really, he didn't even know why he bothered to call if his abused ego was just going to get attacked while it was already rolling around in a fetal position.

"You're still on the call with me," he said pointedly.

Velvette rolled her eyes, scrunching her nose up at him in irritation. "Fine, since you're so pathetic, I guess I could spare some charity," she ignored his scoff, continuing without a hitch. "You need to fucking lay off, stop trying so damn hard to get her attention. It’s giving desperate and creepy."

"I'm not—"

"Yes you are," Velvette glared. "Listen. If you don't want to end up permanently dumped, you need to compromise. Stop acting on your emotions like a toddler, you can't fucking afford that right now. And neither can we," she grumbled the last part.

Vox dug his claws into the bedding he was lying on, tearing up the soft material. The thought of giving up on you physically pained him, but...this wouldn't really be giving up, right? Velvette was suggesting a temporary ceasefire, a way to make you let your guard down, which might not be such a bad idea. It was more like...a strategic redirection of his efforts. Something that would benefit him in the long run.

He needed to build up the trust you'd lost in him. Slowly, bit by bit, until you accepted his feelings again.

The gravity of the situation was daunting. Something told him that this was his last chance, that if he fucked up one more time, you really would be gone for good.

He couldn't afford to lose you like that. It would fucking break him.

A loud crash sounded in the background on the other line, jolting him out of his thoughts.

Velvette's face drew into an aggravated sneer as she turned around. "For fuck's sake. What the fuck is it no—"

The line went dark, cutting off the call.

Vox sighed, throwing his phone blindly somewhere on the bed as he leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

Sleep evaded him that night, but in its place he started to devise a new strategy. Velvette was right, if he kept pushing, he would only drive you away. It was time to change his approach, and as much as he hated to admit it, it was...time to put his pride on the backburner.

Because he could live without his pride, but fuck—he didn't even want to think about what an eternity without you would be like. Besides, it was only until all of this was over and you came back home. He just...had to be patient.

****

After taking a few days to regroup, Vox was now more than ready to put his plan into action.

He’d rehearsed an embarrassing amount of times in the bathroom mirror, popped a breath mint, chugged an energy drink, and slapped himself in the face for good measure. Not necessarily in that order.

Now, in the late hours of the morning, he waited patiently for everyone to filter out before making his move, quietly cornering you in the kitchen.

You were sitting in the far corner, hunched over a steaming mug just like he knew you would be. It was something you'd been doing since he first met you, always reserving twenty minutes after breakfast to enjoy a second cup. He didn't even need to look at the contents to know that there was only a single cream, but enough sugar to make an elephant go into cardiac arrest.

That precious information would forever be saved to his hard drive.

For a long moment, he just stood there like a certified creep, admiring the familiar scene with painful longing. You hadn't noticed him yet, so your expression was still the vision of perfect bliss, eyes closed with a slight uptick to the corner of your mouth. And suddenly, he wasn't in this shitty hotel anymore. The retro kitchen transformed into a sleek modern design, the white walls melting to light blue. It was one of the few lazy mornings both of you were able to spend together, and—

"What do you think you're doing?" Your irritated voice shattered his fantasy like a pane of rose-tinted glass.

"Ah, Y/n!" His grin slotted back into place like a puzzle piece. Fuck, he hadn't even said a proper sentence to you, and you were already looking at him like he was a piece of shit someone forgot to flush down a public toilet. He had to act fast or you'd walk out again. "Funny running into you like this," he chuckled, hiding his fidgeting hands behind his back. Electricity crackled between them. "Actually, I was wondering if—"

"No," you said sharply, cutting him off.

"I—What?" His grin twitched.

"Whatever it is that you're going to say, no," you snapped, turning your back to him for emphasis.

Vox went silent for a moment. Tone it down, he repeated in his head. Stick to the plan.

"Look," he started, softening his tone. "I realize that I haven't exactly been," he grimaced. "Fair to you."

You laughed bitterly. "Understatement of the decade, asshole."

"I'm sorry," he sighed, watching carefully as your shoulders tensed in surprise. "I'll stop, if that's what you want. I won't ask you out anymore or bother you with stupid, meaningless shit."

"But?" You said quietly.

"But I still want to be...friends with you," the word left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he swallowed it with a smile.

He chanced a quick glance at your face, and—well you looked like you didn't really buy it, but at least you didn't look like you wanted to kill him and dispose of his body in a ditch anymore.

"Alright," you said, after a long period of skeptical silence, your eyes unreadable. "I’ll hold you to it, then."

He closed his eyes. "Please, just consider—" he froze, processing your words.

You said yes? Fuck, you said yes!

He cleared his throat. "I mean, yeah, absolutely. Totally. Makes sense."

He caught the briefest flash of amusement in your eyes, before you turned to bring your empty mug to the sink.

"So, uh," he started giddily. Fuck rein it in man, slow down. "What are you doing later?"

“I’m busy today,” you shut him down immediately, making him deflate at your sharp tone. Then you paused for a second, seeming to contemplate something. “Well actually,” you said lightly, making him perk up again. “There is something you can join me for, but it’s a little…out of your depth.”

“Oh really? Try me,” he smirked confidently. As if anything would stop him from finally spending time with you today.

A vindictive spark suddenly flared in your eyes, making him hesitate. "Group therapy and trust exercises," you said smugly, and a jumble of odd noises quickly glitched from his head, his screen flashing briefly to show a giant, red exclamation point. "But since you're too busy with that billion dollar company and all, I thought you wouldn't be interested," you smiled sweetly.

Oh. You conniving little shit. You had him cornered.

Looks like he wasn’t the only one doing his homework.

“How f-f-fun,” he forced out, the words literally tasting like ash on his tongue.

“It is,” you nodded genuinely, making him double take. “I actually quite enjoy it.”

Vox pressed his lips together into a fine line, dread steadily welling in his chest as he realized that yes, you were actually serious. Sweet fuck.

For a second, Vox contemplated making a strategic retreat and calling it a day. He eyed the door behind him longingly.

But no, he couldn’t afford to back down from your little game just yet. If this was how you wanted to raise the stakes, fine. Bring it on.

Before he could lose his nerve, Vox mustered up a pained smile. "Actually," he said, making you raise a brow. "I'd like to give it a shot."

"Really?" You said incredulously.

"Yeah?" His grin twitched. "Why not?"

****

<— Part 3 Chapter Index

Taglist: @pooplyface1423 @spookysisters @that-one-weeb-buts-its-the-main @neito327 @hxzbinwrites @coleisyn @bababahannah @yellowsubiesdance @dirk-strides @justaspectatorforfandomarts @harmoira @sunnyslug @gum-iie @lady-valtieri @mit-suri @whatelsecouldgowrong @sillysimplysilky @eternalera @aoiyx @hazellight11 @hopefully-not @tsuvvy @imcryinginemo @dinorawrss @rekoloid @ayesha-eroticax3 @sle3pyh3ad2 @l0verboyxoxo1111 @lucasisstupid @lu-ferri12 @fandom-queen37 @ilunapb @skyeliteratures @shannoncosplay @da-disappointment @memospacexx @crazyforbarnes

[httpknjoon]

(re)starting over again | kth; 14

plot | Your four-year relationship with Taehyung was going well and strong. Until he was involved in a car accident, resulting to him losing some memories. By some, it means everything that happened five years ago. Things he remember? His friends, his bakeshop, and his ex girlfriend from the past. With that, you tried to keep up, restarting over again.

words | 4.9K+

genres | fluff, angst, amnesia au

pairing | taehyung x reader, hoseok x reader

note | *cue that tiktok sound* okay, guys. we're back. did you miss us? hi! I'm back with my monthly update 💀 I already outlined everything. there are six chapters left in this series (not including the drabbles). thank you so much for patiently staying around. i appreciate y'all a lot. let me know your thoughts, enjoy reading!

main masterlist | series masterlist

When did texting someone become so hard?

It has been exactly three days since Taehyung got to talk to you again. He offered to drive you home after your date failed to show up. You said yes. You two had a friendly conversation in his car. Like you were old friends, which you were. But were you? It’s complicated. For the first time in years, he heard your laugh and saw you smile just like in the photos he saw when cleaning up at your shared house. He remembered you waving at him with a soft smile on your lips before getting into your apartment building.

You also said you never changed your number and you would reach out. But he wants to update you about the small celebration the bakery will have later next week. He tried typing something but later erased it before he could even finish the first word. He doesn’t know what to type or how to begin a conversation. So he just typed a single character and hit the send button.

It was past six in the evening. You were already in your PJs after a long day at work. Treating yourself with dumplings and beef fried rice from the nearest Chinese restaurant in your area, you let yourself indulge while your favorite sitcom plays on your TV screen.

“You’re not easy-going, but you’re passionate, and that’s good. And when you get upset about the little things, I think that I’m pretty good about making you feel better about that. And that’s good too. So, they can say that you’re high maintenance, but it’s okay because I like…maintaining you.”

You found yourself pursing your lips when your favorite character said that line. It was one of the quotes that stays in the back of your head almost every time. You were about to reach for the remote control to play it back again. But your phone, which you set into silent mode an hour ago, vibrated. Your eyebrows shoot up as you read who sent you a message.

From Jung Hoseok

Hi, YN. I really regret missing our date last time. Would you be willing to give me another chance with a cup of coffee this Friday? I know a great cafe around the city 🙂

The day after he failed to show up at the restaurant, you woke up to a text message from Hoseok apologizing again. You reassured him that you understood and he promised to make it up to you. You didn’t really expect anything from that and thought that he would just pass by like your past dates that Martha set up. So seeing him reaching out again was unexpected.

You smiled as you typed a reply.

To Jung Hoseok

Will there be tea? I don’t drink coffee.

You see those three dots immediately popping in, indicating that he’s typing. So you quickly typed in a follow-up message.

To Jung Hoseok

Just kidding! I’m okay with Friday. Around 5 PM?

He was quick to reply,

From Jung Hoseok

Okay. Should I pick you up?

You thought you would just feel pressured if he picked you up at your home. So you just offered an alternative.

To Jung Hoseok

We can just meet there :) Just send me the cafe’s location.

From Jung Hoseok

[location pin] 

To Jung Hoseok

Thank you! See you this Friday then.

From Jung Hoseok

See you, YN!

That’s a date for Friday, which is a few days from now. Even though he reached out again, you thought of keeping your expectations low. Because it helps avoid disappointment. You probably learned after your last dates with those guys you met before.

You continued playing the episode you were watching. Not even five minutes later, your phone vibrated again. You thought Hoseok forgot something. But immediately after reading the contact name, you froze staring at your screen.

From Aaa Love

👋

Of course, you quickly recognized who it was. Suddenly, you felt a sense of nostalgia in your head after seeing that name for a long time. Years after keeping this contact hidden on your list, you totally forgot that you never changed his contact name even after the accident. You cannot even remember when you hid his name in your list. Maybe it was one of those nights you were drunk with friends and made some decisions.

Before replying, you renamed the contact.

To Kim Taehyung

Hi, Tae 🙂

While waiting for his reply, you recalled that night. You remembered feeling good entering your apartment even though your date didn’t show up. When Jisoo asked you how it went through a video chat, you said that the date didn’t happen.

“Then, why do you look happy?” she asked that time.

That’s when you snapped out of your daze, “D-Do I?”

“Yeah, you’ve been smiling ever since we got on this call.”

“Oh…” your lips formed a thin line before speaking again. “I… I saw an old friend in the same restaurant.”

The last time you and Jisoo really talked about Taehyung was still the time she showed up unexpectedly after her wedding. You cried, she cried.

“Really? Who?”

“Taehyung.”

You wait for her reaction and you gradually see her eyes widen.

“What? What is he doing there? Did you talk?” she asked with surprise in her tone.

“Apparently, he’s doing some business here. And yes, we talked. He offered to drive me home.” you shared.

“And?”

“It was nice.”

Your simple and short answer had Jisoo simply staring at you through the screen. It was like she was studying you. You knew she had a lot to say in her head based on her quiet reaction. But then, she just said,

“Okay.”

From Kim Taehyung

Hello, YN. Just making sure I have the right number here haha

Taehyung finally replied. You let the episode play in the background as you tap on your screen,

To Kim Taehyung

I told you I didn’t change it!

From Kim Taehyung

I know, I’m sorry hehe

Just by the text, you can imagine him awkwardly laughing as he says that. Before you can reply, another text popped in.

From Kim Taehyung

Btw the celebration will be in the bakeshop. Next Saturday, 2 PM.

From Kim Taehyung

It’s a late lunch event with friends and family. We’re hoping you can come 😊

Reading that, a smile formed on your lips. With you working at school, you are usually free on weekends. 

To Kim Taehyung

Will do!

“Can you put dinosaurs in it?”

“Of course, bud. Anything you like.”

Taehyung softly ruffled Jihoon’s hair, who remained focused on coloring his activity book. The little kid’s birthday is coming up soon and the preparations for it had begun. Since Jimin would be the one making the multi-layered birthday Jurassic-themed cake, Taehyung offered to make the cupcakes. 

A couple of toys, specifically, dinosaurs, are all over the table that Jihoon and Taehyung occupy. And ever since he arrived at the shop this morning, the kid kept talking about his favorite animal. Being the best uncle that he is, Taehyung listens while being quietly amazed by how much Jihoon knows about dinosaurs. 

“Ashley just sent a copy of the contract in our e-mail earlier. She wants us to review it first before finalizing.” Jimin spoke while placing an apple juice box on the table.

Jihoon scoots a little to accommodate his father sitting next to him. He stayed busy with his crayons. 

“Have you read it?” Jimin asked.

Taehyung shakes his head, “I haven’t. I think I left my phone on silent while doing those lemon tarts.”

“Well, I think you should read it. They put something they probably forgot to mention before.” his friend noted.

His eyebrows draw together before reaching for his phone. Taehyung immediately clicked on the file sent to him from Ashley. He carefully read word by word written in the document. He thought everything was already mentioned in their online meeting days after he went to Incheon. Until he read one of the sections of the contract.

Staffing Arrangements

The bakery agrees to temporarily assign one of its capable bakers to work at the restaurant in Incheon for four weeks, beginning on the first day of offering the pastries on the menu of the restaurant. During this time, the assigned baker will head pastry production, equip training for restaurant staff, and guarantee regular quality control. The restaurant agrees to cover the entrusted baker's salary, expenses, and even housing if demanded.

After pausing for a few seconds, Taehyung scanned his eyes all over that part again. Just to make sure he understood it right. He looked back up to Jimin, who had his arms crossed over his chest while waiting for a reaction from him.

“So?”

“This means one of us had to stay here while the other had to manage around in Incheon.”

September is usually dry and warmer in Incheon.

After living in this part of the country for around two years now, you already got better at predicting the weather and climate. But today, your predictions were proven wrong when you had to stay under a waiting shed while the harsh raindrops poured continuously. You were too confident that you left your umbrella at home.

4:12 PM

You looked down at your phone. It has been almost thirty minutes since you stood in this shed, waiting for your usual bus to arrive. But you don’t know why there have only been two buses that passed by. You were unable to get on any of those since both were packed, considering the unexpected rainfall. You tried booking a cab but there’s nothing around your area at the moment. Your friend, Aileen already left earlier with her husband while Martha offered to drive you home but you live almost twenty minutes away from her. So, you kindly rejected her offer. Again, you were too confident that you would be able to ride the bus quickly.

Puffing your cheeks, you began dialing someone’s number. He answered after the second ring.

“Hey, Hoseok…” you greeted.

He was quick to reply, “Hi, are you on your way? I’m driving to the cafe.”

“Yeah, uhm, I’m kinda running late for our date tonight.” you chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of your head. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, it’s okay. Everything alright?” 

“Haha, yeah. Just waiting for a bus to stop by here the school. It’s raining like crazy today.” you mentioned.

“Yeah, it is… you know, I can pick you up if you want to.” he offered.

Your eyebrows lifted, “Really?”

“Of course, YN.”

“Okay, thank you so much!” you smiled, finally.

“No worries. I’m on my way.”

“Okay, take care,” you said before ending the call.

With your plans of getting ready pre-date at your home canceled, you sat on one of the benches in the shed and touched up yourself quickly. You reapplied your lipstick with your front camera as your mirror. You ran your hand through the stubborn flyaways of your hair before tying it into the easiest half-up, half-down hairstyle you know. You’re still in your usual work clothes, a statement T-shirt (with a friendly and maybe corny quote written on it and jeans. Originally, you would wear something cuter. But this one will do. Even though the cool breeze makes you wish you wore something warmer too.

And less than five minutes later, a black Audi stops right in front of the stop. Your legs bounced restlessly. The windows were tinted dark so you cannot really see who’s inside. But the door on the other side of the car opened and there, you recognized the man from the pictures on Martha’s phone. Almost like sunshine, his smile as he made his way to you made you smile too. Your fidgeting legs had already calmed down as he stopped in front of you.

“YN?” He asked since this was the first time you two really saw each other.

You nodded, “Hi. You’re Hoseok, right?”

Although you were at ease with his arrival, there was still an awkward tension between you two. But it tones down when you two chuckled.

“Yes, nice to meet you.” he smiled again. He quickly noticed you hugging yourself. “It’s cold. How about let’s get you inside?”

“Sounds good.” you agreed.

Joining him under his transparent umbrella, your shoulders brushed against each other, and you could feel his warmth beside you. He opened the car door for you while ensuring no raindrop would touch your skin. You mumbled a small ‘thank you’ when you finally got to sit inside. You watched as he made his way back to the driver’s side of the car.

“Are you okay? Everything’s fine?” he asked immediately.

“Yeah, thank you again for picking me up,” you replied. 

“You’re welcome,” he replied before reaching for something from the backseat. 

Your eyes widened when you saw what it was. It was like your eyes sparkled as he handed you the small bouquet of yellow tulips, tied with a matching gold ribbon. 

“I’m really sorry for missing our date last time.” he apologized, watching you appreciate the flowers.

It has been so long since you received flowers. You cannot even remember when was the last time. So you cannot help but feel this funny feeling in your stomach while you look at the flowers. Especially since yellow tulips are your favorite.

“You didn’t have to. I understand why,” you spoke, tilting your head in his direction. Your voice was small and soft.

“Still, you waited for me alone in that restaurant. I cancelled last minute… Do you love it?”

“Of course, I love yellow tulips!” you exclaimed before taking in its subtle scent.

“I’m glad. I may or may not have asked Martha for help with those.” he chuckled.

Hoseok began driving while you find it more comfortable being around him. He has this infectious smile that brings more warmth in this rainy weather. It probably helps when he’s with patients.

“How long have you been waiting there?” he asked, starting up a conversation.

“Oh, you know, like half an hour.” you sneered at yourself. You hear him gasp. You chuckled, “To be fair, it is a rainy day. I can usually find a ride easily. I just didn’t expect that it would rain today.”

“It’s usually sunny at this time of the year,” he noted.

“It is. I was already waiting for the bus when the rain poured,” you told him. 

“I thought you and Martha usually go home together?” he asked, looking from the road to you for a quick second.

“Sometimes. But I feel bad for making her drive past her house for like twenty minutes,” you revealed. 

You tried offering to pay for her gas but she declined. Although she constantly assured you that it’s fine, you feel like an inconvenience, especially after a busy day at work. You are very aware it’s a you problem. But it’s just the way it is.

You shifted in your seat, “How about you? Did you have work today?”

He nods, “Ah, yes. I got off my shift earlier this day. Then went home to see my dog before dropping her off at my sister’s.”

“Oh, you have a dog?”

“Yeah, a senior dog but Mickey’s still the family’s baby.” he chuckled. “We take turns with her. Some days, she’s with me. Or my sister’s or my parents’.”

“So, you’re originally from here in Incheon?” you asked, curious when he mentioned his family.

He shakes his head, “No, we moved here when I was in high school. I left during college. Then, came back when I began working. I like staying close to my family. And you?”

“No, I moved here from Seoul two years ago.” you shared.

“And what about your family? They stayed there?” he asked.

“Nope, I’m an only child. My parents died years ago– Please, don’t say you’re sorry. It’s fine, it’s been so long.” you chuckled when you saw how his expression changed. “But I do have my Aunty Belle. She’s around the city too. She looked after me until I left to study in SNU.”

“You went to SNU too?” Hoseok exclaimed.

You beamed, “Yes– Wait, we’re here?”

He laughed, “Yeah.”

Distracted, you didn’t notice the car arriving in front of the cafe Hoseok talked about. He told you to wait for him, leaving the car with the umbrella. He opened the car door for you and helped you with the umbrella. He does the same thing when opening the cafe’s front door for you. And when a bell clangs when the door opens, you get reminded of your favorite bakeshop back in Seoul.

“I’ll be having iced americano and a slice of carrot cake. How ‘bout you?” Hoseok turned to you as you two stood in front of the staff.

“I’ll have green tea and banana muffins,” you answered.

After ordering, you two sat on one of the empty pearly white tables and chairs near the glass window while waiting. It was a well-lit place. It has a minimalist and clean aesthetic. Hoseok sat across you, tapping his fingers along to the music playing in the background.

“So, what made you agree to do this blind date?” you asked him.

“Well, I’ve been single for the last three months and I never really tried blind dating before so I said yes when Martha told me about you,” he answered.

“Well, I hope she said nice things.” you two chuckled.

“Don't worry, she did.” He assured you. “How about you?”

“Martha had been setting me up for blind dates these past few months because I’ve been single ever since I came here in Incheon. The last dates I went to were unsuccessful so she promised that this one was gonna be great. So I agreed for the last time.” you told him.

“And so far, how is this one going?” he asked cheekily.

You pretended to think for a second, humming as you rubbed your chin. He laughed.

“It’s going great. You get plus points for my favorite flowers.” you smiled.

“Even though I didn't show up last time?”

He seemed really apologetic about that. He brought it up again for the nth time even though you already told him countless times that it’s okay.

You puffed, “Hoseok, it's fine. I really do understand. I used to work at a hospital, things can get a little spontaneous. No worries about it.”

A staff member came with your orders. She carefully placed your drinks and food on your table. You can feel your shoulders relaxing as you feel the warmth of the tea on your tongue when you take a sip from the cup.

“How was it?”

You smiled, “Nice. Perfect for a rainy day. How did you find this place? I don't think I ever reached this part of the city.”

“This is the only open cafe I see whenever I get off from my shift very late at night. I love their coffee here.” 

You nodded while taking a bite from the banana muffin you ordered. And you quickly recognized its difference from your usual banana muffin. You look at Hoseok who's enjoying his cake.

“How was it?” he asked, pointing his fork at your muffins.

“This feels a little dry and the texture’s a bit rough,” you whispered, not really wanting the nice lady at the cashier to hear you.

You don't want to be critical. But you just got used to having a soft and fluffy banana muffin or even bread with the right amount of sweetness in it.

He leaned a bit forward, mirroring you, “Really?” 

“Yeah, seems like it had a lot of flour,” you added before offering him one of the muffins.

You watched him take a bite and chew on it. After gulping it down, you wait for his opinion.

“It is dry.” he nods before putting the muffin down. “You seem to know a lot about bread. Do you bake?”

No, but I know someone who put his heart out and is a perfectionist in baking.

Instead of saying that, you shake your head.

“Oh, no. But I do love a lot of bread and pastries. I just know friends who bake back in Seoul.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. We probably didn't get to discuss that in the meeting we had.” 

Taehyung, along with Jimin, sat at the same table since that morning. Jihoon’s mom already picked him up earlier and the shop was already sold out by 5 PM so they closed early. Now, they are just having a call with Ashley about the contract.

“So, it means that based here on the contract, you want one of us to stay there in Incheon to oversee the pastries.” Jimin clarified.

“Yes, we just want to make sure that the quality of the products will be the same as what you have there in Seoul. Also, we thought that it might be better for our crew members to personally learn about it from the baker himself.” Ashley explained through the call set in loudspeaker mode.

Jimin looked at Taehyung who nods with that. This time, Taehyung has a question.

“You said that there would be a salary?” 

“Yes. There would be a separate salary for the baker who will be staying here with us for four weeks. And since traveling from Seoul to Incheon can be a hassle, if you want to, we can also provide temporary accommodation with complete furniture. My husband runs a condominium business here so the accommodation would be on one of his buildings.”

Both of the men’s jaws dropped with that information. Their eyes were wide as they met each other's gaze. They definitely didn't expect that information from her. They were unaware of how rich she was. They just know that she runs a great restaurant in Incheon.

Jimin cleared his dry throat, “Okay, thank you for clarifying it. But we hope you can still wait before we sign the contract since me and my friend still have to talk about it.” 

“Sure, of course. Just reach out to us whatever your decision is.”

“Thank you. Have a great night.”

As soon as Jimin ended the call, the two exchanged looks.

“So?” Taehyung began.

Jimin shakes his head, “I can't. Jihoon just began going to school. You know what my co-parenting arrangements with his mom are.” 

Taehyung nods. After learning about Jihoon’s existence, Jimin wanted to make up for those years he missed. He was hands-on in everything that his son takes part in. He is also helping Jihoon’s mom in looking after him since she is currently working in a nine-to-five job.

“It's fine with me. I went on vacation there once. It's nice there. Plus, we can split the salary.” He commented. 

And he didn't really have any obligations here in Seoul. Unlike his best friend. It would be easier and better if he went. Jimin can manage the shop while taking care of Jihoon. Taehyung is flexible in working everywhere. 

“It would also be nice to stay in a new place.”

“No, but the living finances in Seoul are really more expensive than here.”

You don't sure how long has it been since you and Hoseok arrived here in the cafe. You already finished your tea while the ice on his drink has already melted. The only muffin left was half-eaten. The plate of his carrot cake was already on your after he let you finish it when he noticed that you liked it after giving you a taste.

“It is. That's also another reason why I came back here.” Hoseok exclaimed. “I can't stand living with another careless roommate again.”

You laughed when he referenced his bad roommate experience he told you earlier. Hoseok has been funny and nice ever since he picked you up today. He talked about Mickey, his life back in Seoul, and a little bit about his family.

“But you said you stayed in Seoul after graduating, right?” he recalled.

“Yes, I did.”

“How? Did you live alone?”

“At first, I became roommates with my best friend there, who’s also a nurse. That lasted for a couple of years... Then, I moved in with the guy I was dating at the time.” You told him.

“Like in his apartment?”

You shake your head, “We bought a house.”

His jaw dropped, “You bought a house? In Seoul?!”

“Yeah, we did some research and saved up for it starting from our first anniversary. Apparently, foreclosed properties are cheap there.” You shared it like a fact.

Taehyung was the first one to bring up the idea of living together a few weeks before your anniversary. After talking about it, you two did some research and went to a lot of open houses. Then, you found out about foreclosed properties. Taehyung and you looked in about four foreclosed houses before landing on the one you called home. 

“What happened to the house after you broke up?” He asked.

You purse your lips, “He's living in it. But we agreed to talk about it soon.”

How soon is soon though?

“So it was a good breakup?”

“Yeah. I guess so.” 

The last sentence was almost a whisper by the end. You cleared your throat as if something was stuck in it. It was your turn to ask.

“How about you? How was your last relationship?”

Hoseok leaned back on his chair, crossing his arm over his chest, “It was great for the most part. We’ve been together for only one year. I actually proposed to her.”

Your eyebrows scrunched together, “Really? What happened?”

“We had a lot of misunderstandings in the last months of our relationship. It can be about everything. But mostly, she gets mad whenever I have an emergency in the hospital and I understand that. So one day, we harshly broke up during a fight before I left for work.”

“So it's a bad breakup?” 

“Yeah, a bit bitter.” He sneered. “But at least I don't share any property with her.”

It was a teasing remark to lighten up the mood. You grimaced and rolled your eyes. He laughed.

“The lady was too kind to ask us to go,” you said as Hoseok drove.

The moment you and Hoseok realized that the rain had stopped and the sky was already dark, you two got up and left. Hoseok insisted on paying, even playfully threatening to throw your wallet away if you ever pulled it out of your pocket.

“I’m sure she doesn't mind. She gave us free cupcakes.” He replied, pointing to the box resting on your lap.

“Are you sure you don't want to take this?” you asked because he handed you the box as soon as the lady gave it.

“Yeah, just update me with your review about it. I'm interested to hear more about your thoughts.”

You bit your lip from hearing that, “Okay.”

After a few minutes of listening (and singing along) to songs that played in his stereo, you arrived in front of your building. Of course, Hoseok opened your door for you. He helped you with the bag you brought to school so you could carry the flowers and cupcakes.

“Should I help you to your apartment?” He asked while you slid your bag into your arm, struggling. 

You gave up, letting him take your bag and the cupcakes, “Okay. Come in.”

You opened the door to your building and led the way to the stairs. He assured you that he was okay as you kept on looking back at him. And when you unlocked your apartment, you turned around.

"Do you want to go inside? Water, juice, or anything to drink?” You offered before putting the things on the counter near your door.

He smiled, “It's fine, I can't stay for too long. My next shift is at nine. I just want to make sure you'll make it to your door without dropping any of those.”

You looked down at your watch, “Oh my god. It’s already past eight. You should go! I should've taken a cab.”

“YN, it's okay! It's still early.” he chuckled. “Plus, I had a really great time talking with you.”

Your stomach flutters, looking at him. You noticed the same smile you saw earlier.

“I hope this isn't the last time we'll go out.”

You nodded, “Of course. Martha did it right this time.”

“How about next weekend? Sunday?” he asked.

“Sure, I’ll be back from Seoul by then.” 

His eyebrows raised, “Really? I’m going to be in Seoul for a conference on Saturday. When are you coming there?”

“The same day! I’m going to visit some friends.”  

“Maybe we can go there in Seoul together? So you don't have to commute.” He offered.

“That sounds good!” You agreed before looking down at your watch again. “But I think you should go now. I know you still have to do stuff before going to work.”

“Okay. Let's just talk about it later.” 

“Okay. Thank you for the flowers and everything, Hoseok,” you state before leaning in to give a quick kiss on his cheek.

He smiles, “You're welcome, YN. Tonight was great.”

“Text me when you make it to the hospital. Drive safely! Good night.”  You said as he walked back.

“Good night, YN.” He waved before walking down the stairs.

You closed the door to your apartment before leaning your back on it, looking at the yellow tulips on the counter.

What a lovely night.

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[penvisions]

return the favor {chapter 25}

Pairing: Post-Outbreak! Joel Miller X Smuggler! Reader

Summary: Your intentions are to spin a web of lies to protect Ellie, but Marlene doesn't seem to mind and is willing to trade one body for another. Her righteousness knows no bounds and you realize she's set her sights on you.

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, cursing, insults, blood, minor injuries, fighting, physical fighting, guns, use of guns, minor character death, end of the world politics, end of the world rhetoric, misplaced heroism and hope, degrading language, marlene needs her own warning, talk of infection, talk of infected people, cordyceps is scary, reader is described as having red hair, reader has a nickname, please let me know if i missed any!

A/N: this was so fun to write, i hope y'all are ready for the last stretch. these two mean so so so incredibly much to me, which i will gush about in each chapter and the epilogue notations from here until the end. this is where the fic gets away from canon a lil bit but it's all for the best, please believe! love y'all

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

“I can’t believe you made it all this way alone.” She’s stepping close, almost as if she wants to inspect you from head to toe. But you both know there are no teeth marks or infection to be found. Her men would’ve already had you in cuffs and retrained. Condemned to a room with no sunlight until they were ready to deal with you, the Infected something Marlene was rightfully afraid of. But not so much so that she wasn’t cautious to the extreme, to the cunningly meticulous. “Thought you were lost in the aftermath of the convoy we lost outside the QZ.”

“I was scavenging nearby when that explosion went off, FEDRA was all over it within an hour.” You can feel the way her eyes rove over your body, from the simple, dirty clothing you donned to the pack that had seen better days and better loads. It was pretty sparse, you and Joel back to milling through every house or building for the chance at a next meal for Ellie. You two had taken to hunting again, on the way up here, the season warming up and spring allowing for some game to be caught. But you were all tired, this entire journey felt like it was coming to an end.

The energy of your trio something palpable, tense currents underlying every move and every day. The anxiety of Joel leaving you behind to go your own way underlying each conversation. Each interaction when the two of you were alone or Ellie was sleeping. He was trying, so goddamn hard, to make her feel okay. To bring out her manic giggling, her snorting laughter, a wide and gummy smile to her face. But none of it reached her eyes quite the way that it had before.

Marlene must mistake your silence for submission, because she heaves a great sigh and shakes her head.

“I sent Joel this way months ago with a girl in his charge. Haven’t seen hide nor hair of them as of yet. They were supposed to meet up with the convoy, the best protection we could offer for the journey.”

“I ran into them just outside the QZ, there had been an explosion. Too much noise, too much ruckus, it attracted a lot of Infected before FEDRA got their asses out of their heads.” You reach into a pocket, retrieving the map you had torn from the campus grounds so far away now. Well, that Joel had torn from the remnants of their lab. He had told you that nearly everything had been destroyed, no telling how long since they had packed up and moved on. But he had found a scrunched up map, a trail outlined to here.  

Her mouth is a thin line as she regards you, her plush lips taut as she mulls over the recollection and sees evidence that her people weren’t as thorough as she had intended for them to be. Her eyes cut up at you, meeting your own and her next words are a statement, not a question. “You’ve been travelling with him.”

“For a little while, we parted ways in Kansas City. The city was in the middle of an insane civil war once FEDRA was taken out. A hoard took over, from the underground tunnels when someone made the stupid decision to open fire on a crashed vehicle. We got separated.”

“And the girl?”

“Regular infection. From the chaos of getting away from the hoard.” You nodded your affirmation, you recalled the panic in her eyes. The weight of her as you tried to carry her out of that insanity, the pain of your broken arm. The desperation and heartbreak that turning off of the blocked freeway instead of backtracking had ended in. It could’ve been worse, it could’ve ended up the way you’re spinning the facts, an exaggeration of what actually happened.

But there was truth to your words. Ellie had indeed lost something that night, it just hadn’t been her life. It had been her hope in finding a cure, when her blood hadn’t worked on Sam. It was the beginning of her realizing the pedestal Marlene had placed her on with ill intentions.

“She’s dead.” It wasn’t a question. Just like you weren’t asking for her forgiveness for the loss of the young girl and acceptance for your sudden appearance. Your working relationship had always been just that, business. Straight to the point and no nonsense.

“Didn’t survive the infection she got. From trying to save a kid younger than her. Got bit, got clawed. Didn’t turn, but it took her down all the same.”

Marlene sees the challenge in your eyes, the truth of what you know she had been hiding from everyone involved in the convoy. The very reason Ellie had grappled with the meaning of her life for the past six months. The reason she had been so conflicted over whether or not to meet up with the woman before you as you finally caught wind of her whereabouts.

“I see.” Hands that are clasped in front of her go to her hips, a stance you know conveys the way her mind is working to process the false information you’ve brought her. “Well, come on. Let’s get you looked at a little closer. I see that nasty scar on your arm, bone broke through I’m assuming?”

“Yeah, happened in Kansas City. Did what I could for it too, hurt like a bitch when it was healing, it nearly took me out too.”

“Must’ve been rough, dealing with it all alone.”

“Hunkered down for the winter, found a cabin in a state park somewhere in between here and there.”

It’s nerve wracking, not being able to turn your head and see the form of Joel. Hovering on the outside of your eyesight, his presence something you were so used to even in the time you had spent apart. A time you hadn’t wanted to repeat in such extreme parameters. But the situation was dire, Ellie’s well-being at stake. The threat of someone looking for her, tearing apart earth and ash for her blood if they even suspected she was alive. If Joel so much was glimpsed himself, Marlene would make you both recount your stories over and over again, to find the flaws, to find the lies she would suspect were there.

The “doctor” that looked you over was nice enough. But he lacked cognitive skills, the ability to read someone the second he came in contact with them.

Jerry Anderson.

His only credentials happened to be a bachelor’s degree in science, yet he called himself a trained surgeon. Which makes sense to an extent, he worked alongside Marlene and the Fireflies. Tended to them, took care of them medically, he had on the job training. But to say that he was their best, that he was the one leading the research team trying to concoct a cure?

That was absolutely absurd.

You knew more than him, something he was quick to gauge. Asking after your own schooling, stating you were too young to have a degree, too young to have the knowledge he had.

“Doesn’t matter if you think I’m as skilled as you. I’ve got my EMT and Paramedic certifications while in high school, used them to get the upper hand at my own university, and managed to get an associates in two years. Medical anthropology. Granted its not science proper, but it’s still in the medical field.” You crossed your arms, not willing to be talked down to by the man currently looking over the chart he had filled out during your physical, it was paired with the diagram of injuries Marlene’s soldiers had asked of you when confronted outside the building before being let inside.

“I just don’t understand why Marlene thinks I need your assistance, you said it yourself that you didn’t want to stay too long.” The man is stocky, even as he stands at his full height and leans against a small desk he’s got set up in what had once been an administration office. The medical bay is just beyond the door, the rooms shoddy but clean enough to treat and house people. They’re using the hospital as their ground zero, their home base.

“I’m helping her to fine tune her set up, that’s all. She knows I worked under FEDRA in the Boston QZ, even if it was all just to stay alive and hide my own smuggling. But they paired me with a trained ER physician, and he taught me everything he knew.”

“Still doesn’t equate to a higher degree.”

“No, but it does give me a better understanding of modern day solutions rather than dated procedures we’re unable to conduct anymore. Sparse or surging power, outages, lack of equipment, lack of relevant medication, different ways of sterilizing tools and bandages. All of that is adaptive, regardless of proper education on the matter.”

“She wants you to go over my notes, the ones I had for the girl.” He levels you with a harsh look, eyes narrowing as he catches your own fiery ones. “But it doesn’t matter if she’s not alive, right?”

“Might not, in terms of immediate experimentation. But perhaps she wants a second opinion on the logistics of what she’s trying to do.”

“Cordyceps infects the brain, takes over. We both know that. That’s why the girl would’ve been on the table as soon as she was delivered. To ensure it could be looked at and studied. The way her brain connected with the infection instead of succumbing to it.”

“Seems like a waste of a human life if you got your way. How would you like it if someone wanted to cut your kid open and take their brain on the off chance it could tell you something more than just testing their blood and live responses? It’d feel pretty shitty, wouldn’t it?”

“How do you know I have a kid?” The man’s eyes narrow at you, color rising from the collar of his shirt to show the affect you were having on him. Calm and collected he was not, but you knew that the second he had refused to shake your hand when first meeting, even with Marlene standing beside him.

“I didn’t, not until you confirmed it. But you don’t act like it. Bringing her into the mess of the Fireflies, of having her housed her in the middle of Infected city, protected and patrolled even as it is.”

“And what do you know about being a good parent? Marlene says you’ve been alone for as long as she’s known you. No family, no friends, just parasocial relationships that depend completely on your skill set and what you smuggled into the zone for trade.”

“Mr. Anderson, there’s no need to insult me. I’m simply having a conversation with you, truly. I’m not the one tearing apart your every word, you’re the own who seems pretty self-righteous. But you have to admit, studying someone who is immune, that would surely give you more data than just immediately cutting out the part of them that houses the cordyceps?” You try to appease him, to appeal to the way he seems to want to be talked up and not talked with, switching from outright denying his plan of action to merely suggesting he could learn more than anyone else knows about the infection instead.

“I suppose it would, but simply running tests and gathering data wouldn’t make the cure. That could only be made from the fluids housed in the brain, the part of the body that is working in tandem with the infection.” He heaves a deep sigh, rubbing at his eyes as he thinks over your words. “Marlene wants a cure, the sooner the better. And then some semblance of normalcy can begin to be restored.”

“Do you really think Marlene has the resources and authority to distribute a cure on a scale large enough to make a difference? That she’s not going to use it as leverage in her challenge to whatever is left of FEDRA and their governing forces?”

“Are you questioning her intentions?” He freezes, eyes jumping to the window pane in the cracked open door. That alone tells you he’s thought the same before, but perhaps not dared to voice it lest it get to the wrong person. That he doesn’t want to be associated with the thought.

“I’m questioning the effectiveness of a farfetched cure for something that left humanity to its own devices for far too long. Do you realize that it won’t be able to undo the sheer lawlessness nature that’s taken over the world? Not to mention the adaptability and incredible evolutionary advantage the mycelium has over us? It’s older than most life itself and you think we have the ability to combat it on such a large scale so long after it’s ruined everything we’ve created as a society?”

The man is quiet, taking your words and mulling them over. You can see the shift in his shoulders, tension easing and then building taut again. He gestures to the notebooks and textbooks scattered over the surface of his desk, and you see a small photo peeking out from beneath a chart.

“I have to try, for my daughter. She deserves a better world than this.”

“To save your own daughter, you’d willingly kill another’s?”

“It’s a means to an end, one loss for the survival of many.”

“And that’s exactly what I’m talking about- the life of one that needn’t die doesn’t justify the small possibility of creating a cure.” You’re shuffling through the faded and water spotted pages, trying to see the man who in the words transcribed there and compare them to the one standing across from you and preaching his knowledge as something that could change the world. But he was a man of science once upon a time, that shows in his words that you skim over. But when you look back up at him, he’s not the one you see before you.

You see a man willing to do whatever it takes to save his family and while you understand that, have done just so to ensure the safety of your own people- it’s a vastly different scenario that you don’t want any part of.

“I just don’t want you or your daughter to end up dying for a future that’s impossible.” And with that you push away from his desk and walk past him. You can only hope that your words made him see things a little differently. Otherwise, it would be his demise, it would be his daughter’s. Both susceptible to the manipulation of Marlene and the Fireflies, at the whim of those who couldn’t be trusted. “You’re a man of science, see the truth to what can’t be and what is.”

You eat in the cafeteria with everyone else, the twenty or so people that are left of the faction. Military freeze-dried food is all they have left, but it’s crates and crates piled up in the kitchen. The power working off a generator they’ve rigged up. But there’s no tour for you, you don’t pass the security check to warrant one.

You can feel eyes on you as you insist on making your own pack, on boiling your own water and supervising each step of the food you’re about to consume. You aren’t taking any chances with them, not ever again. You had been trusting once, had fallen into the trap of hospitality and false narratives before. But not this time and not ever again. Maria had seen in it you, when you refused to eat the food placed in front of you in the mess hall back in Jackson.

They leave you be, for the most part. Attention half on them surrounding you in their own little pairs and trios, half of Jerry’s notebook open in front of you. The textbook he references multiple times beside it. A low hum of conversation permeates the air, and you know you’re presence is a part of it.

But you focus now, on the words in front of you. The notes a man who has given his life and skills to Marlene deems important enough to write down.

And it’s all utter nonsense.

Regardless, Marlene would never stop looking for Ellie. For her replacement.

You’re unsure exactly how Ellie gained her immunity, but you know it can’t be replicated without grand risks of not only being Infected yourself but your morality.

It’s dark by the time you seek her out, her room one of the many used as personal quarters in an upper floor. Her room is the only one occupied at the end of a hallway. Armed men at the front of it and surely one at the bottom of the stairwell for the floor just beyond the doors that lead to it.

“What questions do you have?”

She knew you were approaching, and her stance tells you as much.

She’s not allowing you into the room, but greeted you at the doorway. Left open just a smidge.

“The immunity. Depending on how it’s gained, would affect the research.” You try not to cross your arms but you regard the notes you’ve taken in your own small, palm sized journal. “If it’s gained as a child, it would explain the symbiosis between the brain and the mycelium. It could be entirely dumb luck, the timing of the bite, the type of blood someone has, their immune system, bloodlines, potential exposure to the mycelium in a different setting and an almost…”

“The girl, she was born with the immunity.” Seeing that you need some sort of answer or confirmation, the reasoning being Ellie’s immunity only one you had theorized about. Staying up many nights when you first met her and you spied the scarring along her forearm. She hadn’t needed to tell you she was immune, you had dealt with enough bites in the QZ infirmary to know. That she was alive, that she was her own person and seemingly healthy- it may not mean a cure is possible but it meant that adaptation was possible. Even on such a small scale as to affect one, very important person.

“There’s no way. If the mother had been bitten, the infection would’ve changed the baby too.”

The thought of being clawed open from the inside out terrifies you, it steals the next question from your mind as you picture a woman who looks faintly like Ellie holding tight to a swollen belly and tending to an angry wound rung in teeth marks.

“Amnio fluid is a miracle worker, but it’s not able to cure something like this.”

“Tell that to my dead friend. To the baby I had to protect.”

“Marlene…”

Suddenly shifting, her arms uncross and land on her hips. If you weren’t on immediate alert for the change in her demeanor, you would laugh at the comparison of Joel doing the same stance so often.

“Had some men come back from a trip to the old sight, they had left weeks ago.” Marlene keeps her voice even, but you already know. The web of lies you concocted; they’ve been spun around the end of a broom. The bristles of it catching your silk and turning it into an ugly failure.

“Seems that a settlement had quite the run in with a man matching Joel’s description and a young girl he was traveling with.” The muscles in her arm give her away and you take a few steps back only to feel a sting in the soft part of your shoulder. Looking down, all you see is the butt end of a dart sticking through your shirt. “They also said there was a woman with red hair. Scared the hell out of them as she tore the place apart.”

The lines of the tile and the marking along the walls drip, whatever was in the dart steals your center of gravity and you’re suddenly landing harshly on your knees. The metallic snap of handcuffs around your wrists has you struggling to hold your head up and meet Marlene’s glare.

“You fucking lied to me.”

“Want to fess up and tell me where they’re hiding? I’ll send every person I have at my disposal, Ellie is key to the cure. You have no fucking idea what you’re messing with.” Marlene is standing in front of you, your body sore and muscles twitching as the contents of the dart wear off. The door slams behind her, lock engaging.

“I took out a fucking bear and you think you’re gonna be the thing that traps me? You have no idea what it’s taken to get this far! You think you had a rough go of it, with your crew protecting you and your fucking vehicles? Your military meals and your steady supply of fresh water? You may have been strong once. Hell, you may have been the one to bring hope to people but right now you’re nothing more than a body in my way.” Struggling to stand, as if you’re a newborn foal, Marlen doesn’t bother to stop you or force you back down. She’s reading the weakness you’re displaying and it’s going to be her downfall.

The cuffs are tight, wrists sore and red even with how you had tried to avoid the irritation. But hours had gone by, it was surely well into the night if not the next day now. You wondered if Joel had grown worried, if he had left the post even with your plea to stay put, the last words you spoke with him.

“You’d rather risk your life out there than lend us a hand here? You’re more delusional than I thought, you have nothing to go back to. The QZ is a fucking mess, even worse than when we left. It’s only a matter of time before it falls like so many others before it. You have nothing, your life will have no meaning if you have to fight to survive everyday in endless travel.” Her anger flares, breaking her cool demeanor and showing you a glimpse of the woman she really is.

“I have my integrity.” You spit at her, crouching down to contort yourself easily. Not at all the shaking mess of limbs you had just been moments ago. Shoulders protesting the movement, you’re able to step over the links of the cuffs. With them now in front, you stalk toward her with intent. “I refuse to be a pawn in your ill-conceived endeavor. I refuse to be a part of your plan to kill innocent people on the off chance that your ignorant doctor can actually make something with deadly fluids and decaying brain matter.”

She doesn’t seem to realize that you aren’t going to hurt her, that your intention isn’t to get your hands on her. You want to rattle her, to scare her. To make her see that the way she’s going about keeping you here, forcing you to work with her, for her is never going to work. Her arms come up, one to ward you off from coming any closer while the other goes to the handle of her gun.

But you don’t want the gun and you don’t want her. You shove at her with your shoulder, feet quick after those first few slow steps across the room. The keys skid across the floor when she lands, the clasp keeping them secured to her beltloop breaking from the force. Swiping the belt of grenades you had found in the room earlier, you scoop them up and are out the door just as two shots break the glass panel. Cursing, you pull the door open and slam it shut behind you, the lock automatically engaging.

You wave at her through the crackled glass before running off down the hall before her men can close in.

She needed you, your knowledge, your skill set, your determination. She needed you to find Ellie, the girl she claims to have raised in honor of her friend, only to turn back on that promise and take her life. But  you had other people who wanted you. And after being alone for so long, that’s all that mattered. They are the only ones that mattered and you’d be damned if someone tried to keep you from returning to them. You would do anything to protect them, even take out an entire faction of self-righteous mercenaries.

Joel and Ellie both jump when the explosion echoes out, the plume of smoke that billows up into the morning sky as the smell of ash permeates the air. Even as far away as they are, deep suburbs of that surround the city, almost on the cusp of total wilderness they’re witness to it all. One of the tall buildings crashes loudly, the bottom floors caving in and it collapses in on itself. They can only assume it was the hospital that was marked on the map Joel had found but given over to you for your solo excursion into the depts of the city.

Brow furrowing, Joel watched as a wave of birds take to the air and flee, his attention focused on the erratic way they scatter in an attempt to escape the dark smoke pluming up endlessly. Movement out of the corner of his eye has him aiming the shotgun in his arms towards the source, but it’s too late. There’s a man and a young girl facing him, a gun aimed at him as Ellie scrambles to hide behind his frame.

They’re a mirror image of each other. A man shielding a young girl behind them with a gun cocked and ready to fire. But Joel can see the panic and hesitation in the man’s eyes, in his stance. He knows with just a glance that the man has been protected, has had people doing the shooting for him, keeping him safe, keeping him alive.

Ellie’s hand reached for the back of his jacket, gripping tight but he doesn’t dare take his eyes off the pair in front of him. But the man does, his glance behind him, landing on Ellie before he lowers his gun.

The girl behind him clings to him much the same way as Ellie does to Joel, even as the man holds his arms up gun above his head. It’s quiet in the street as he begins to slowly step back, making space between them. He sees Joel tense, the metal of the gun creaking in his grip as he keeps it aimed at the moving man.

They don’t exchange any words as they pivot, always facing each other even as the distance grows longer. Once they’re at the opposite end of the street, the man turns around an overgrown hedge that’s swallowed a picket fence lining the corner house and then they’re gone.

Neither of them knows what to say, the explosion and the pair of them too unique a set of events in your absence. Joel feels his stomach lurch at the thought of you being either trapped by Marlene or being in the vicinity of the explosion. His mind plays memories of each of your injuries:

The fall that you had taken in your haste to get them to safety after the explosion that started this whole journey, the way your head had bounced on the broken asphalt in a way that throbbed atop his head now. Forehead lighting up where his own injury scars the skin.

The way your voice echoed as a guttural, animalistic scream tore through your chest. Up in that house and too far away to do anything to help, the sight of you holding your arm tight to your chest, white bone peeking out from the fabric of your shirt and the bloody mess of your exposed skin.

The roars of an angry bear as it barrels towards him, Ellie tripping and you shoving her into his arms. The sight of you standing up to the great creature despite fighting off an infection.

The crack of ice that plunged you deep into freezing water, a man tangled with you as he tried to end your life. Joel frantically fighting off the last of their group and jumping in after you. The way it took forever to get you to wake up, your lips ice cold and your body shivering fiercely.

The way your voice was hoarse as you shouted out threats an swinging your machete at anything that came within five feet of you. Blood and spittle flying off of you with every move to stain the snow around you. The crazed and unhinged look in your eye when you finally honed in on him, his own state not the best.

No.

He dares to clench his eyes shut for a second and takes a deep breath, centering himself and forcing the thoughts back.

And then his memory plays each time your eyes found his after everything calmed down, how you would reach for him with such small, strong, capable hands. Time and time again, even after he failed time and time again to keep you safe.

That explosion was because of you, not something you would fall victim to. He believed that with everything in his soul.

He was still watching the far end of the street when the distant sound of tires squealing as they pivot meets his ears. The sound so rare now paired with the rev of an engine. And then he sees it, turning toward the other end of the street. A dark SUV, headlights off and windows down, with you in the driver’s seat.

The vehicle stops a few feet away, closer to the other curb lining the street. Despite the blood that stains your exposed arms and the dirt marring your face, your smile makes his heart skip a beat. You look beautiful and his chest swells with warmth where it had just been anxiety, your presence melting it away.

“Need a ride?”

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Days, Moons, Snow, and Letters: Proposing an new timeline for the ADWD North

The timeline you think you know around Jon's death is wrong, and this post is to show you why. Every discussion about who really wrote the Pink Letter is missing a crucial detail: Jon dies a month before Tycho Nestoris even reaches the Crofter's Village.

Yes, I am aware this sounds like an unbelievable claim. I would love for someone to convincingly prove me wrong, and if you believe you can, please let me know. However, I am reaching this conclusion using only the facts, which I will break down for you here.

Based on Asha's careful count of the days in The King's Prize and The Sacrifice, Jon's account of the moons from Jon VII onward, and Asha's, Theon's, and Jon's account of the snowstorm around Winterfell, I believe I can convincingly argue that by the time Tycho Nestoris arrives at Stannis' camp at the end of The Sacrifice—before any battle has taken place at all—Jon has already been dead for a month.

Very long (and dry) explanation below the cut. Please enjoy.

At the end, there's a Timeline breakdown illustrating the rough outline by the day, so don't worry if my tally of the weeks starts to get confusing, there is a clarifying list at the end.

The intuitive version—where George is giving us helpful hints

Jon VII, The Prince of Winterfell, and The King’s Prize. 

In The King’s Prize, Stannis’ host sets out from Deepwood Motte. Because this is important for timing everything else, let's call this Day 0.

In Jon VII, during a new moon, Jon receives a letter informing him of this plan ("we march against him")—I believe we can sync these events as occurring roughly contemporary to one another, with Jon VII happening a few days later. For ease later on, let's say Jon VII happens ~0.5 weeks after Asha departs Deepwood; this is ~Day 3.

Very shortly after that is Prince of Winterfell and Jeyne’s marriage: during this chapter, Roose receives word that Stannis has left Deepwood Motte. Allowing for just a bit more wiggle room (for Arnolf Karstark to have received a similar update as Jon did, and then to forward that information to ahead to Roose) we can place Prince of Winterfell fairly soon after Jon VII, itself after The King’s Prize begins. Let's call this ~Day 6.

Theon in Winterfell

Thanks to Asha keeping track of the days to the number, we know that Stannis' host spends at least 34 days on the march (Asha notes that "On the thirty-second day" grain ran out, at least two more days pass—the day "Lord Peasebury turned against the northmen" and "The next day the king's scouts chanced upon an abandoned crofters' village") and then Stannis' camp spends an additional 19 days at the Crofter's Village before Tycho and Theon arrive ("they had been three days from winterfell for nineteen days"). Therefore, we can almost exactly place Theon's arrival at the Crofter's Village no sooner than 53 days from the time they left Deepwood Motte. (It's possible, but not necessary, to insert more days between 32 and the Peasebury day, and we're trying to keep this march as short as possible.)

Therefore, the entirety of Theon’s Winterfell arc occurs during this time, since Prince of Winterfell starts right after the announcement that Stannis has begun to march, and because accounting for a ~3 days' ride between WF and the Village, Theon I occurs ~3 days before The Sacrifice. We can actually reasonably sync these chapters, but for the most part we don’t really have to—Ghost of Winterfell begins four days prior to Theon I, so that only needs to align with Tycho's arrival, and the Turncloak can just happen somewhere in between. But:

The one interesting thing to note is the snow in The Turncloak, when snow begins to fall heavily ("by nightfall snow was coming down so heavily"), and the snowstorm begins. However, it is also in this chapter that two scouts return to inform Roose that Stannis’ host has begun to break apart in the snow and had "slowed to a crawl". Comparing that to Asha's updates, this is at the earliest ~1 week into the march by Asha’s count, or anytime afterward ("fourth day of the march... snow began to fall" + "third day of snow, the king's host had begun to come apart"). So, by the time it starts snowing at Winterfell, or Asha, it's already been snowing a few days, at minimum. Accounting for additional travel time back to Winterfell from wherever Stannis is, and considering that this report comes just as Winterfell is getting snow, that means Stannis’ host got the snow roughly over a week before the snow reached Winterfell.

Almost like the snowstorm is following Stannis there. ;)  

Asha's Days

As for Asha and Jon’s storyline—where it actually matters here—it appears remarkably easy to compare time:

I believe Asha counting the days must be an exercise with narrative importance, and it's incredibly useful. As I said above, we can pin nearly to the day how much time elapsed from the beginning of Stannis’ march from Deepwood Motte until their arrival at the Crofter’s Village (no less than 34 days, cited above) and then add another 19 days at the Crofter’s Village in advance of Tycho’s arrival.

Together, the time from the beginning of The King’s Prize to the end of The Sacrifice is, at minimum, 53 days. Let's say Theon and Asha reunite on Day 53.

TWOW Theon appears to occur just before dawn the next day, and since The Battle at the Crofter’s Village appears to begin immediately after TWOW Theon ends, we’ll say that the Battle, therefore, is Day 54, or 7 weeks and 5 days following Stannis' departure from Deepwood Motte.

Jon's Moons

Meanwhile, every subsequent Jon chapter gives us either a moon phase or an account of days past:

Jon VII occurs during a new moon ("They had no moon to guide them home, and only now and then a patch of stars.") The weather is notably clear, clear enough that it's a plot element: this is the reason for heading to the weirwood grove now. When Jon returns he get the news of Stannis’ departure from Deepwood. We've allowed for some raven time, so we're calling this ~Day 3.

(As an aside, it’s been storming the last seven days, so the latest Mance could have left is a week prior, though obviously since we’re syncing this with Prince of Winterfell, Mance likely left earlier than that.)

Jon VIII occurs just before the half moon, about a week later. A moon "but half-full," to quote the text exactly. This is when Val departs to find Tormund. I interpret "but" to mean just before half-full, so we'll say this is 6 days later: ~Day 9.

Val says she will return on the "first night of the full moon." No one ever says she’s late, and Jon never worries about her being gone too long, so we can assume this is true—Val returns on the first night of the full moon, with Tormund, in Jon X. We can even be generous and say this is ~9 days later, and say Jon X occurs ~Day 18.

Since Val leaves in Jon VIII and returns a week later in Jon X, then Jon IX has just over a week’s period to occur. If we’re being generous, we can say this occurred only a few days after Jon VIII, around the actual half moon. Let's say Jon IX happens ~Day 11.

In Jon IX, Selyse arrives and declares she intends to stay “no more than a few days,” and while this prediction is not a trustworthy source, it might give us some kind of ballpark. Jon also notes the weather is clear in the morning for once, calling it a “respite.” He thinks the snows have "moved off to the south" (to Stannis?) but by the evening, the snow is "coming down more heavily". The next day, Tycho appears to be gone, and Alys arrives. 

So: Tycho appears to leave just over 1 week after Jon VII, when Jon received word that Stannis planned to march on Winterfell. This way, it makes intuitive sense that Jon sent Tycho to Deepwood Motte—barely any time has passed. It seems entirely possible that Stannis had yet to leave, or at least that Tycho could catch up with him on the march. So far, this feels entirely believable and logical.

In Jon X, Alys weds. Flint and Norrey have "hied" (hurried) to Castle Black for the Wedding, which is possible if we've said that Jon IX was ~1 week ago. The snow is still falling "heavily". Jon receives a letter confirming that eleven ships have left Eastwatch for Hardhome (likely a few days prior). Val arrives that night—our full moon, we presume. Again, this is Day ~18.

Jon XI begins the next morning. ("that day" until "finally, as the shadows of the afternoon grew long"). There is no place to fit any time in between here and Jon IX, because this chapter includes Jon showing Val her new quarters ("I've had the top floor made ready for you"). This is ~Day 19.

Also in Jon XI, Jon notes that the snow has finally stopped after two weeks ("a fortnight"). The last time we know the weather was clear for more than a few hours (so clear it was a plot point!) was Jon VII, when Jon went to the weirwood grove. By our count of the moon, Jon VII was two weeks ago, so this lines up exactly.

Tycho

So: we've said Tycho leaves in Jon IX, which is just over a week since Jon VII. If, at an estimate, we're saying Jon VII probably occurred about a half a week after Stannis actually left, Tycho departed Castle Black 1.5 weeks into Stannis' march. Again—he could catch up here, so makes sense that Jon sends Tycho to Deepwood Motte first.

Meanwhile, thanks to Asha, we know Tycho makes it to Stannis’ camp 7.5 weeks after their departure, on Day 53. If we are roughly syncing the start of The King’s Prize half a week before Jon VII, and seeing Tycho set out from Castle Black only a week later, then Tycho takes ~6 weeks to reach Stannis, and he’s not a teleporting banker at all. ~42 days is plenty of time to reach Deepwood Motte, negotiate the exchange of hostages, travel to Winterfell in the storm, grab Theon, and then make it back to Stannis’ camp. Again, this makes sense.

Jon X—Jon XIII

However, we now run into the problem of how much time has passed since Tycho left.

We said before that Jon X and Jon XI (the next day) occur ~1 week after Tycho departs. Jon XI is ~Day 19.

After that, Jon XII occurs exactly three days following Jon XI—there’s no space to add any extra time here. In Jon XI, Tormund and Jon agree to let the Wildlings through in three days' time, and Jon XII follows that event proceeding as scheduled. We can safely place Jon XII ~1.5 weeks following Tycho’s departure. Jon XII is ~Day 22.

Jon XIII is the only remaining Jon chapter without a moon phase or a clear date. However, there are a number of events that demand it be soon after Jon XII.

First, there's Tormund's return. Back in Jon XII, Jon says Tormund will take men to Oakenshield in “within a day or two.” In Jon XIII, Toregg returns in the morning to announce that Tormund has settled his people at Oakenshield and is returning in the afternoon. Tormund arrives that afternoon.

Then, there's the matter of Hardhome. In Jon XII, he recieves news of the disaster at Hardhome ("Very bad here. Wildlings eating their own dead"). Jon XIII begins with Jon and Selyse discussing Hardhome, seemingly for the first time; Jon later discusses a Hardhome ranging with Marsh and Yarwyck, also for the first time; Melisandre also tries to stop Jon from leaving for Hardhome, also for the first time. Jon XIII occurs as soon as Jon makes the plan to leave for Hardhome. He sounds hurried; he says "they are starving at Hardhome by the thousands," and he makes a plan with Leathers to arrange the meeting in the Shieldhall in time for Tormund's return from Oakenshield—the only thing holding them up from leaving is Tormund's return.

Up to you how long you think Jon would have waited to discuss this—I don't think very long. In order to argue that more time passes between Jon XII and Jon XIII, we need to argue that Jon hears of the starving Wildlings eating their own dead and waits for weeks before acting.

Additionally, Cregan Karstark is taken out of the Ice Cells in Jon XIII after having been imprisoned there sometime before Jon X. Considering Jon X and Jon XII have to be four days apart, that's fine, and we might imagine that Cregan has been there for maybe over a week, or more. However, Jon spent four days in an ice cell in ASOS Jon X and in this time Alliser Thorne threatened that Jon would "die in there." With that comparison, we're limited in the timeline by imagining how much longer than ~1 week we can keep Cregan Karstark alive in the ice cells prior to his release in Jon XIII without him freezing to death first.

Soon after, the Bastard Letter arrives, and Jon is killed.

Personally, I think it’s most likely that Jon XIII occurs only a few days following Jon XII. If I’m feeling generous, I’d say we can put Jon XIII ~1 week following Jon XII, and being generous we’ll say that Jon dies ~2.5 weeks after Tycho departs Castle Black. That is, therefore, 3.5 weeks after Jon first heard word that Stannis was leaving Deepwood Motte, and (we're guessing) ~4 weeks after Stannis actually left.

So Jon dies on ~Day 30. By this count, Jon's dead, and Tycho Nestoris still won’t arrive at the Crofter’s Village for another ~3.5 weeks—he can't come any faster, Asha's been counting.

Next, I'm going to propose (and acknowledge) the ways that other versions of this timeline will fix this problem, though I don't like them exactly. Then, afterwards, I'm going to give a last piece of evidence why I believe in the version of events I've just described.

If you're unintersted in "what-ifs," scroll down to "The Snowstorm"

The Less Intuitive Version—where George sneaks in "The Mystery Month"

Because I'm arguing that Jon appears to die on ~Day 30, and Tycho doesn't even reach Asha until Day 53, in order for us to believe Jon XIII happened after TWOW Theon, we’d need to invent a month to add in to Jon’s storyline. Jon XIII has to occur after Day 60, at minimum.

I call this the “Mystery Month”—is there a missing month in Jon’s storyline, or isn’t there?

There a couple ways to make this happen, and I'll explain why I don't believe them.

The trouble with slow ravens

Number one, across the board, it feels very tempting to add buffer time by imagining that Stannis left Deepwood Motte even earlier than we estimate—maybe a whole week, or even longer, before Jon hears about it in Jon VII. The main issue with this strategy is that Stannis has to send the letter, so the raven leaves at latest when Stannis does, and so now we're arguing that a raven takes over a week to fly to reach Jon .... which means that now we're also adding additional estimated time for how long it took a raven to deliver the Pink Letter, and everything has to be pushed even earlier.

That is to say: if we said it takes two weeks for word to reach Jon before Jon VII, I would say now the "battle" in the Pink Letter has to happen weeks earlier to account for this extended raven time.

The long wait before Jon XIII

The first, simplest way to add a month, is that we say this: Jon XIII happens a month after Jon XII. It took Jon a month to plan for and to bring up Hardhome to Selyse, Selyse has waited over month to plan her weddings with Gerrick Kingsbloods’ daughters, and Tormund has been at Oakenshield for over a month. The Letter arrives a month after the Wildlings come through, and so long as the King’s Prize also began over a week before Jon gets the Letter about it in Jon VII, we can make this work. Tycho arrives on time, we skip ahead a month before Jon XIII, and then Jon dies after the battle.

Yes, this could be how it happens, No I do not think that it's convincingly possible that Jon XIII happens a month after Jon XII.

If we don't want to try to force in a lot of time between Jon XII and Jon XIII, there are a few other ways to attempt to solve this (though these are still three timelines of entirely my own invention):

Skipping a moon before Jon VIII

We could add a month in between Jon VII and Jon VIII, where Jon VIII is not the waxing half moon following Jon VII’s new moon, but the one after that. We're locked in at the moon cycle, so instead of one week, this has to be a ~5 week gap. The major issue with this is: we’ve lined up Jon VII roughly with the beginning of Stannis’ march, and Tycho still hasn’t arrived at Castle Black yet. If we place Jon IX right after Jon VIII again, we'll add a month to our previous estimate of Jon IX can say that Tycho leaves ~Day 39.

With this timeline, Tycho has ~2 weeks to catch up with Stannis’ host, reaching both Deepwood Motte and Winterfell along the way. This seems unbelievably fast (considering that Deepwood to Winterfell alone was over two weeks in good weather).

The thing is, that doesn’t even matter: since this doesn’t change our earlier estimate of how long Jon has left to live after Tycho’s departure (~2.5 weeks), that still means Jon dies roughly around the same time Tycho arrives.

There's an even bigger logical issue here: in this scenario, that means Jon, who heard five weeks ago that Stannis is marching on Winterfell—which is apparently a two-week march ("fifteen days")—still sent Tycho to Deepwood Motte to catch Stannis. Why would Tycho go to Deepwood first, and not Winterfell, if Jon learned Stannis marched five weeks before Tycho left? It's true that it happened to work out, but Jon wouldn't have known, at this point, how snowed in Stannis is.

The Val takes three weeks version

Alternatively, here everything is spread out more, which is closer in spirit to what the Unofficial Timeline suggests.

We can try to give both Val and Tycho a little more time before Val's return, but we’re always trapped in a moon cycle between Jon VIII and Jon X because otherwise Val’s promise to return at the full moon doesn’t make any sense. The best way to do this is to imagine that Val leaves on a waning half moon, rather than waxing half moon. This means that Val has three weeks to travel, and it also means we have move Jon VIII to three weeks after Jon VII (and therefore ~3 weeks into King’s Prize). Here, Jon VIII is ~Day 24.

(However, this is counterintuitive—it’s more natural to imagine that being shown a half moon following a new moon would mean the waxing half moon. Also, I believe it goes contrary to the actual description: Jon notes the moon was “but half full,” and the “but” makes it seem like it will be half-full soon, not that it just was. Again, we can allow it. This also means that when Val looks at the half-moon and says: look for me at the first week of the full moon, she doesn’t mean next week, she means in ~3 weeks from now—after the moon has gone to new and then back to full again. Once again, this feels very counterintuitive to say, but it will give us more time.)

In this version of events, Tycho and Alys can still arrive as early as right after Jon VIII, and therefore that Tycho left Castle Black ~3 weeks after Jon VII, roughly around ~Day 26. (Once again, this doesn’t make too much intuitive sense to me: why would Jon send Tycho to Deepwood Motte three weeks into a two-week march?) 

This doesn’t change our count of time from Jon X—Jon XIII (a generous ~1.5 weeks) but now we’re saying say that Tycho left Castle Black three weeks prior to Jon X, so this gives us 4.5 weeks between Tycho’s departure and Jon’s death.

This solves the issue of the teleporting banker: Tycho leaves ~3 weeks into Stannis’ march and has ~4.5 weeks to make the trip, so he’s faster than Stannis but not impossibly fast. However, because the moon phases are still locking our ability to only month here for the moon to align, we still have Tycho arriving roughly the same time Jon dies.

Mystery Month+

Since we're trapped into a vague schedule by Jon's noted moon cycles, the only remaining option is to assume that one of the above is true, and that Jon XIII happens at least two weeks after Jon XII. That would also make the timeline work.

However, to me, this all seems highly counterintuitive and unlikely…

And that’s before we factor in the accounts of the weather. 

Yes, I have one more piece of evidence to propose, and although this is a bit more debatable, I believe it corroborates my initial timeline.

The Snowstorm

Asha sets out from Deepwood Motte, and four days later, the snows begin. By a week into the march ("third day of snow"), the host has begun to separate, and slow to a crawl.

Around this time, or a little later, we imagine the Bolton scouts see the Stannis host struggling, and turn home to report back. Several days later, accounting for vague travel time (because Stannis is less than halfway to Winterfell by this point), they report this to Roose, and it begins to snow in Winterfell, too. Let's say, roughly, it begins snowing at Winterfell around ~2 weeks after Stannis departs, maybe adding a couple days. This is when The Turncloak happens—let's say ~Day 16.

Remember what I said about the snow in The Turncloak being interesting?

In Jon VII (at my estimate, ~Day 3) the weather is clear—clear enough that Jon heads north of the Wall. If we're aligning these moments, this seems to be true for Stannis, too.

The first we hear of snows to the south in Jon IX ("moved off to the south"), and in Jon X, we hear that south of Castle Black the "kingsroad was said to be impassable" from snowstorms. In Jon XIII, Yarwyck points out that the Wall is getting snow blown against it because the "wind's from the south". This is three different accounts of harsh weather to the south, and all of this points to this being the storm at Winterfell. 

If we go back to my original timeline, Stannis leaves Deepwood Motte a little before Jon VII, and Jon X occurs two weeks later around ~Day 18. In that timeline, then those reports of impassable snows to the south line up exactly with when the snows appear to have hit Winterfell, from our estimation of the sync between King’s Prize and Turncloak. Snows hit Winterfell roughly ~Day 16, Jon gets reports that the Kingsroad is impassable ~Day 18. That lines up.

According to my proposed timeline, this is still four or five weeks before Tycho Nestoris arrives. A week later, in Jon XIII, when the winds from the south are only getting worse… that fits, because Asha and Theon have another three or four weeks of snow to go. And Jon is dead.

The End

TL;DR: Comparing Jon’s tracking of the moon, Asha’s tracking of the days, and accounts of the snowstorm around Winterfell all lead me to believe that Jon dies four weeks before Tycho Nestoris reaches the Crofter’s Village.

In my proposed timeline: Tycho leaves ~1 week after Stannis does, he takes ~6 weeks to make it to the Crofter’s Village, and Jon’s already been dead for a month. So, there's been a month since. This way, Jon sending Tycho to Deepwood makes sense, and Tycho taking 6 weeks to make the journey makes sense. The accounts of the snowstorms line up.

What doesn't make sense is: the Pink Letter arrives over a month too early to be real.

Implications

But what could I possibly be saying? I don't even really know. This is such an unusual conclusion that there is very little theorizing in the fandom about what this would mean.

.... Although, I do have a pet theory for this: it does feed into my desire for the Wildlings to make a surprise appearance in TWOW.

Take this with a grain of salt. BUT. We know from AGOT that it usually takes ~3 weeks to travel from Castle Black to Winterfell. That means that a Wildling host would have a month, or even five weeks, depending on timing, to have marched from Castle Black to Winterfell afterward, and could arrive at Winterfell right on time for Stannis to advance. If that were the case, it could explain why Stannis seems so unhurried at the Crofter's Village. Maybe he's waiting for them to arrive. It could work that way. I'm not getting into any other logistics here, because this is a tall tale to defend.

On the other hand, as much work as this was, I’d love to be proven wrong here! It's all in the name of science, if by science I mean obsessive analysis of fiction. If someone has a detail I’ve missed, please let me know.

TIMELINE

Day 0: King's Prize: Stannis Marches. The King's Prize begins.

Day ~3: Jon VII: New moon, word from Stannis.

Day 4: King's Prize: Snow begins for Asha.

Day ~6: Prince of Winterfell. Word from Arnolf that Stannis marches on Winterfell.

Day 7: King's Prize: Stannis' host begins to break apart in the snow.

Day ~9: Jon VIII: ~Half moon, Val departs and will return in ~a week.

Day ~11. Tycho Nestoris arrives and Jon sends him to Deepwood Motte. Jon notes it seems there are snows off to the south.

Day 15: King's Prize: Stannis has moved less than half the distance.

Day ~16. The Turncloak. It begins to snow heavily in Winterfell.

Day ~18. Jon X. Val returns, new moon. It's snowing heavily in Castle Black. Word comes that the Kingsroad south of Castle Black is impassable from heavy snow.

Day ~19. Jon XI. Jon meets with Tormund, shows Val her new quarters. Wildlings cross in three days.

Day 20. King's Prize: Asha loses her ankle chains because her horse dies.

Day ~22. Jon XII. The wildlings cross. Clear in the morning but Tormund notes snow will start again overnight. Tormund plans to go to Oakenshield in a day or two. Word of the Hardhome disaster.

Day 26. King's Prize: Stannis' host runs out of vegetables.

*Day ~30. Jon XIII, by my estimate. Jon plans to leave for Hardhome. Strong winds blowing snow from the south. Tormund returns from Oakenshield. Bastard Letter, Jon dies.

Day 32. King's Prize: Stannis' host runs out of grain.

Day 34. King's Prize: Stannis' host reaches the Crofter's Village.

Day 45. The Karstarks arrive at the Crofter's Village. (The Sacrifice)

Day 47. The Ghost in Winterfell: Ryswell man-at-arms found dead. Snow makes visibility outside Winterfell near-zero.

Day 48. Ghost in Winterfell: Aenys Frey's squire found dead in the morning. Flint crossbowman found dead in the afternoon. Stable collapses at night.

Day 49: Ghost in Winterfell: Yellow Dick found dead in the morning. Visibility so low Theon cannot see "three feet in front of him." Confrontation about whether Theon is the killer.

Day 50: Ghost in Winterfell: Theon stays up all night; just before the dawn the sounds of horns and drums outside wakes everyone Winterfell. Theon is found in the godswood by three of the spearwives and taken to meet Mance in the Burned Tower. Theon I: A raven arrives (from the Karstarks) informing Roose of Stannis' location. Theon and Jeyne escape and are found my Mors.

Day 53: The Sacrifice: Tycho Nestoris arrives with Theon, Jeyne, and the Ironborn from Deepwood Motte.

*Day 60: At minumum, earliest time Jon XIII can occur for the Pink Letter to be accurate.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Can’t remember if i already sent asks so i’ll just throw another one on the pile 😊

🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️

This one for small baby stresses! Also I noticed there’s no set chapter count for the buddieshannon fic, do you have an estimate of how long it’s going to be? Or is it a secret 🤔🤫?

HEY! You can send as often as you want anyway, so no worries!

And not a secret - I don't have my outline broken down by chapter for this one. So I don't have a total count. Kind of like TWATYTK. It won't be THAT long though. I know where I want to stop and things I need to happen.

48 for 🔼:

---

He needs to talk to her about it. Even if she still doesn’t want to talk. 

Eddie parks the truck behind Shannon’s car. He grabs Jane in her carseat from the back, and heads into the house. His brain is completely preoccupied with what he’s going to say to Shannon. He misses the black sedan parked on the street in front of the house. Why would he even pay attention to it? People park there all the time. 

“Hey, Shan?” He calls when he opens the front door. “We’re home!” 

He kicks off his shoes, not wanting to put down the baby carrier. There’s a weird sort of hush over the house, a staleness that wasn’t here when he left.

“Shannon?” He tries again.

She steps out of the kitchen into the living room, so he can see her. Her hair is damp and curling a little, like she didn’t blow dry it. The way she always insists on doing. Her body language is tense. Nervous. Is she angry with him?

“Eddie-”

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he says. “I… Sometimes we’re just going to need-”

“Eddie.” 

He shuts his mouth as his parents step out into the living room with Shannon. His parents. His mother and father. Why… Why the hell are they here? With Shannon. Who they have never been fans of. Oh god. Poor Shannon.

“Is that our granddaughter?” His mother coos brightly.

Eddie swallows as she starts to stride across the room towards him. His father trails behind her. 

“Mom, Dad,” Eddie says. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Well,” Helena says, breathily, bending over Jane’s carrier. “You never told us when we could come meet her. So we asked your

---

48 for ⚡️:

---

“Over… Over what? Are you arguing with a seven-day old?” Buck asks, bewildered. 

“No, these are future concerns,” Eddie waves it off.

Buck looks confused, but rolls with it.

When they reach the bedroom, Buck pauses in the doorway, looking at Chris sitting in the bed, holding his sister. His eyes get big and he pouts a little.

Chris looks at him.  “Oh, Buck. You’re not going to cry are you?”

Buck’s pout turns into a frown. “So what if I do? This is so cute.”

Chris sighs. “You’re both really emotional lately.”

Buck blinks and rubs his eyes. “We’re not operating at full capacity, bud.”

Chris snorts. “That’s obvious.”

🗲🗲🗲

Despite a sort of tiredness he’s never actually known until now, Buck loves having a baby. His baby. 

For one thing, she’s so flipping cute. Like, the cutest. Somehow someone let Buck and Eddie take the most beautiful baby in the world, which is insane luck, because they already had the best kid. He should start doing scratch tickets. 

On top of that, it’s insanely cool. She’s different almost every day. Growing at an exponential and fascinating rate. She starts smiling right around a month old. Just one day, out of the blue. He picks her up and she starts smiling at him. And there it is. That’s her smile. The one she’s going to have for the rest of her life, but with baby fat and no teeth. A week later, as they’re packing her up to go to Bobby’s for Thanksgiving, she makes what can only be construed as the babiest form of a laugh. Eddie nearly cries. Chris spends the drive trying to get her to do it again. Within another two weeks, she’s laughing all the time. Like everything on earth is funny. And no one makes her laugh more than Bobby. A fact that makes Buck feel warm all over. 

By Christmas, her little personality has just exploded. Obviously she doesn’t talk, but she makes so much noise. Not crying. Just… Noise. 

[yallthemwitches]

Catch the Wind, Chapter 4: Solemnly Swear

A more marauders heavy chapter but lots of Jily moments as well. Deviates slightly from the Canon timeline.

It ends with some nice steamy fluff so consider that your dessert ;). Will post the @blvnk-art that inspired moments as well. Thanks for reading!

______________________________________________________________

He had heard her say his name. 

“James” 

He had half the mind to give away his secret and rip off his invisibility cloak to return to her. He got his grip, took a deep breath, and continued to walk away. We were so close. Merlin, so fucking close. His head was reeling. He knew he had to keep his wits about him—he had mucked everything up with Lily for so long, he couldn’t ruin his chance now that he had finally gotten in her good graces. Besides, she thinks we are just friends…which we are. Just normal friends. A friend that I also happen to fantasize about before I fall asleep every night–totally normal, nothing weird, friends.

He wasn’t lying about going to get fresh air though that wasn’t entirely the sole purpose of his departure. Rounding out of the courtyard and onto the grassy knoll on the east side of the castle, the Whomping Willow’s outline was just barely visible in the moonlight. As he approached, he heard a smattering of hushed voices.

Keeping his invisibility cloak over him, he pulled out of his wand in his back pocket and approached. Sirius and Peter were nowhere in sight ,human or otherwise, but the voices continued to get closer as he reached the tree. Mucliber, Avery, and Snape came into view—Mulciber pushing Snape ahead towards the branches which were starting to pick up a sway from the incoming intruders. 

“Ladies first,” Mulciber snickered, giving Snape another shove to the back. 

Snape muttered something under his breath but continued to step forward towards the trunk. The branches were swinging with aggressive force, but Snape dropped to his stomach and the army crawled past an attempted hit from the tree, just barely missing an impact on multiple occasions. . 

James sidestepped past the branch's reach and pinned his back on the trunk. He had a straight shot view of Snape now, still crawling, straight toward the passage that lay under the base. James started to move towards the opening when a black shadow passed out of the mouth of the entrance way. 

The giant black dog stood panting in a large grin directly in front of Snape. James froze. Merlin please. Do the right thing Pads. 

The dog bared its teeth and let out a growl before pouncing on Snape’s arm. Snape cried out and continued to shriek as Sirius’ dragged his body into the entrance of the passage. James threw off his invisibility cloak, and dived in after them.

————————————————————————————————————-

Lily, awoke to something vaguely sharp tapping on her cheek. She tried to swat it away, but as quickly as her hand moved, the tapping returned with a new vigor. Lily opened her eyes and sat up. A paper airplane, rather hastily formed with dirt smudged on it, flew away from her face and landed limply in her lap. 

My Friend Evans,

I don’t usually confide in new friends the same day I make them, but unfortunately, today is an exception (take it as a compliment if you wish). 

If you promise to come NO QUESTIONS ASKED, I could really and urgently use the help of a capable witch such as yourself. But again: only if you are willing to keep my discretion. 

I’m in the empty classroom by the dungeons. 

James (Potter)

Ps. Be a dear and bring your potions supplies. Thanks Friend!

Lily read the letter twice before looking up at the clock mounted on the dorm wall. 4:45 am. Brilliant. 

Lily threw a jumper over her nightgown and as quietly as possible assembled her potions kit from her bureau. 

She didn’t know what she expected when she reached the classroom, but it wasn’t what was waiting for her. 

James leaned against the stone wall in the backmost corner of the class. His back to the door, Lily could see his shirt was shredded along the right side and blood was oozing down his entire torso. She could see his chest moving heavily and his breath shallow and rapid. 

“What the fuck happened to you,” She ran up to him and slammed her potions kit down, causing him to jump at the crash. 

“No questions asked,” James wheezed out as he attempted to make a smile. His glasses were crooked and hanging off on one ear, but James was too busy cradling his injured arm to fix them. Lily moved to tuck it back into place, but didn’t remove her hand from his cheek once the glasses were uprighted. 

“Fine. Fine,” The second time came out much softer than the first, “But you at least need to tell me what I’m working with here. You really should be going to Madame Pomfrey. “

“No Pomfrey. I’m alright.” He heaved out. He moved his good arm to pick up the shredded one, wincing as he placed his hand in his lap for better access to the wound.

“Just needs a bit of love.” He smirked. 

Lily helped James out of his half shredded shirt and started to wipe off the blood. Despite the situation being dire, it wasn’t lost on her that she was hand washing his bare chest and arms, which were looking especially fit from the starting Quidditch season. “You’re ridiculous,” she told herself as she tried to keep an outwardly stoic disposition. Her fantasizing didn’t last long though as her brain started to repeat something she had remembered Severus talking about a long while ago. She took a moment to lean her torso back to catch a view out of the classroom window. Full Moon.

The wound itself was not as deep as the blood would have suggested. She hardly needed a healing salve to keep the cuts from weeping. She conjured some gauze from the classroom's drapes and dressed his arm and upper shoulder. 

“You’re getting better at transfiguration—has someone been tutoring you?” Now that the worst was over, James was becoming more or less true to form despite his mobility issue. 

Lily sighed and kept dressing him. They stayed silent for a while; James watched Lily as her hands moved expertly to toil the gauze around the rest of his side. Finally she spoke.

“Is Remus ok? At least tell me that.”

She was dressing his back so neither could see the other’s expression, but she could feel James tense under her hands. 

“Why wouldn’t he be,” he whispered out. 

Lily finished her work and packed up her kit. James had made to stand up and was trying to see how much movement he could get out of his arm without wincing. 

“Looks like the Quidditch match this week is going to be a fun one,” he said mostly to himself as he continued to struggle with his arm. Lily stood and watched him sternly, but said nothing. 

“Thank you, Evans. You really are a true friend.” He moved towards her and before she knew it had enveloped his good arm around her in an embrace. All the anger and frustration she was feeling about James keeping his secret melted away, and she reached an arm around his bare back. 

“Anytime.” 

The next morning the whole school was mayhem. With Snape in the hospital wing all first class and James sporting an arm in bandages, the entire student body was trying to sleuth out the previous evenings events with varying degrees of insanity. 

“I heard that they had a huge row on the Astronomy Tower and James hexed him until he fell off the side,” Lily overheard Amos telling the rest of the Hufflepuff house in the corridors.

Lily pushed her way past the group. Having Snape in the hospital wing as well created a new development she hadn’t expected. The frustration she felt the night before bubbled back into her chest and the thought that something between the two had happened made her want to be sick. And even if it wasn’t anything to do with Snape, where did James get off on being so careless and running around with Remus who is a– a—--.

She brushed the thought out of her mind as she entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Snape was already there and sitting at his desk. Besides a bandage on his forearm, he looked completely unscathed–certainly not in the same state that James was in. She made a point to walk the long way around to her desk to get a better look at him. She had half the mind to ask if he was ok, but what good would that do anyhow? It would only give him hope that their friendship was still there. 

Lily sat in her seat and tried not to stare, but sitting in her own frustration was making her crazy. It wasn’t impossible to believe that Snape had decided to stick his nose where it shouldn’t have belonged, but was he that stupid? 

Once class ended, she rounded up her things and pushed past the class before Snape could catch her attention again. In the Great Hall, James and Sirius were sitting side by side amongst  a commotion of Gryffindor classmates who clamored to ask what had happened and more importantly if James expected to play the match that was later that week. Despite still not having the best control of his arm and attempting to act humble about the situation, it was clear by James’ face that he was enjoying being doted over. 

The questions that Lily had been asking herself that morning felt as though they were boiling over in her stomach. She couldn’t decide who, if her suspicions were true, was more mental: Snape for investigating or James clearly being some sort of accomplice…

The great hall door cracked open and Remus sidled his way into the room. His clothes looked dusty and worn-in and dark circles were etched deeply under his eyes. He had some cuts and scrapes lining his face and jaw, but otherwise seemed intact. 

Despite the audience buzzing around James, the entrance of his mate made him stand up and push past the crowd. Only halfway to the table, James took long strides to close the gap between himself and Remus, tumbling into an embrace. They held each other for a long moment and Remus looked like his eyes were becoming wet. James released him,clasped his good hand on his neck, and pushed their foreheads together with an exuberant grin. 

Sirius had followed James from the table, but kept his distance from them during their emotional reunion. For the first time in Lily’s memory, Sirius looked unsure of himself, not holding any of the cocky confidence he typically exuded wherever he went. 

James let go of Remus and stood to let the other two face each other. For a beat the boys looked at each other with a charged intensity. Finally, Remus raised his eyebrows and gave a smirk, inviting Sirius to practically pounce on him. The two embraced and wrestled a bit with each other before walking back to their seat all together with Sirius’ arm left perched around Remus’ shoulders. 

It did not go unnoticed to Lily that during the boys’ reuniting, Snape was regarding the whole scene from over at the Slytherin table. His eyes kept locked on the crew with a pained look that felt wholly different from his typical disgust.

The boys settled into business as usual as Sirius started up trying to contort James’ arms in ways that were impossible even with a fully healed appendage. 

Unable to help herself, Lily picked up her bag and plate and sidled herself to sit across from them.

“Mind if I sit here, friend.” She elongated the final word with a sarcastic flourish. 

James jumped at her presence and jerked his bad arm up to his hair as a reflex, wincing from the movement. 

“You lost Evans?” Sirius had the habit of regarding people like they were his playthings, and often it was uncomfortable to distinguish whether that sentiment was more malicious or seductive in nature. 

“Haven’t you heard, Black? I’ve been invited into the club.” Lily made a cheeky wink at James who in turn started to become very red and interested in his empty plate. 

“Remus, how are you? You missed patrol last night.” 

Remus pushed Sirius’ arm off his shoulders and righted himself at her attention. Despite looking exhausted, he gave her a warm and apologetic smile. 

“Sorry about that, I've been feeling pretty ill again--comes and goes, you know.” 

Sirius made a very conspicuous snort and Remus gave him a pointed look. Lily ignored it.

“Ah, well no worries. You need to take care of yourself. It just seemed by your entrance that something worse had happened…” She let herself trail off. The words came out innocent enough but all three boys seemed to straighten up a little and shift a bit in their seats. 

“What? You don’t greet your friends like that every morning? Awfully cold of you, Evans,” Sirius shot back quickly. 

“I’m sure if you asked, James would be happy to show you the same greeting.” Lily’s face turned bright red and lost her comeback. 

James swooped in.

“Ah, come off it, Pads. She’s not gonna want to be our friend if you are a cheeky arsehole all the time.”

Sirius put a cigarette to his lips and let it hang loosely from his mouth. “Ah, so you are calling it friends now?” He made a wink at Lily, but then softened. “Well if that's the case, I apologize for my sarcasm past and future.” Besides being worded as a jest, his disposition made it clear that he was metaphorically handing her an olive branch. 

Lily made a deliberate nod, and started to pack up her things. James, who had more or less watched in amusement at his mates interaction with her, finally started to perk back up and looked a little lost in himself. 

Before she could say goodbye, James blurted out loudly across the table, “C-could you help me with potions–later? Today? I’m really behind now with this arm and–”

Lily smiled warmly and slung her bag over her shoulder. “Yeah James, no worries—see you then.”

She gave her regards to the rest of the boys and left them to stare after her. 

Once she was out of sight, Sirius’ hunched down to whisper to the other two. 

“Not to digress, but what are we going to do about Snape? Highly unlikely Dumbledore gave him a confundus charm and I personally am not keen about a slimy git running around with marauder secrets.”

“I don’t know, but it’s not like we can do anything about it now. It would be too suspicious.” Remus retorted. Despite usually being the calm one of the group, worry was etched into his face, making him look even more exhausted then he already was. 

“Do you think she knows?” Remus ventured. Him and Lily had been friends for years. He would even call her one of his closest friends outside of the marauders and she wasn’t an idiot. Between her brains and the fact that Snape had probably put questions in her mind from when they were mates made his odds of keeping her in the dark rapidly small. 

“Who, Lily?” James responded. “If she does, I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Sirius turned his eyes into slits. “Are you so sure about that Prongs?”

James didn’t falter in his response. “She’s not like that. She wouldn’t do anything to Remus–to us.”

Remus nodded as though convincing himself of James’ words and they continued to finish their meal.

__________________________________________________________________________

Lily sat waiting with her potions kit in the same empty classroom she had met him in the night before. Being able to sit with her questions made them burn more. Why won’t he tell me the truth? What could possibly be so heinous to work this hard to keep it hidden. Where does Snape fit in?

Rolling through these questions, she didn’t notice James come through the door. He had taken off the bandages she put on him before, and while still keeping parts of his arm dressed, red lines peeked out from his collar where his shoulder and chest were cut. 

“Hey you,” He leaned himself on the table across from her. They were almost in the exact position they had been before all of this mess–back when the only question Lily had on her mind was why she wanted to kiss him so badly. 

“Uh, hi.” She retorted and started to unpack her potions kit. “So, which potion are you wanting to–”

“Thanks again,” he cut in. “ I know I said it already but your help meant a lot. I know—I know it's been hard to be left in the dark.” His eyes reflected sympathy. 

All the theories and questions she had been fighting with all day rushed back into the forefront of her head. She could feel her face twisting into a grimace and her eyes peeking with tears. 

“Don’t be thick,” was all she could choke out. She wiped her nose and took a breath, composing herself. 

“I’m not,” he cooed at her and she glared at him. 

“You don’t just impact yourself, you know. It might be a fun go for you but there are other people involved, James. Don’t act like we can ignore that there was huge talk about Snape being in the hospital wing this morning—suspiciously with injuries like your own. A-And all the bits about Remus….”

She was rambling. She could feel the words tumbling out of her with no real intention and she couldn’t decipher whether she was pissed or sad or confused by the whole lot of the situation. 

James placed both of his hands on either side of her and she stopped, making a small choking sound as she fought hard to stop tears that felt overwhelmingly close. 

“Lily. You have to believe me when I say I want to tell you. I want to tell you everything but I can’t. I swore. What happened last night is ok– -it will be ok, for me and for Remus. But I’m sorry that I can’t give you the resolution you want. At least not right now.”

Lily sat slumped between James’ hands. Wiping away a stray tear, his eyes begged her to understand. 

“...And you didn’t hurt Snape?” She didn’t care if it sounded accusatory or not. 

He removed his hands from her sides and sat back against the table. 

“No, if anything I tried bloody hard to keep him safe if you can believe it. He made his own decisions and I made mine. But please Lily, believe that I did the best I could with the circumstances.”

Lily sat back in her seat and stared at the back wall for a moment. 

“You really care about your mates that much, huh? Enough to not even clear your name when people say that it’s your fault you and Snape are hurt. Not even to me.”

“Nothing is worse than breaking the trust of my friends.” She looked back at him and he held her gaze. For the first time his moral compass was clear.

He stood up from the desk and messed up his hair a bit. “I have to be honest with you, I really didn’t need any help with potions,” he admitted. “Just wanted to clear the air between us.”

He put his hands in his pockets and stood facing her. “If you want to leave I understand. I really wish I could give you more, Lily. I’m sorry.” 

She felt numb. On one hand nothing was resolved. She had no information about what happened to cause their wounds or what transpired to make Snape there in the first place. She had learned Remus was involved somehow, but that wasn’t satisfying enough. But if Remus really was a werewolf, and James was protecting that information, there was a heavier burden on him than she hadn’t thought he was capable of. To protect your friend was one thing, but to protect your friend who is ostracized and also can become deadly was another. 

In another time in her life she would have called him arrogant to try to handle all of this on his own, but knowing what she knew of him now, she respected it. He was someone who was willing to stake everything for the people he loved–even if it meant putting his own life in danger. 

Still ruminating, she packed up her things and headed for the door. James didn’t say anything. He just watched her as she opened the door and shut herself behind it. She stepped out into the corridor and felt her feet moving but her mind was completely somewhere else. Despite no real answers, her frustration from before had dropped away, and what was left was an admiration she hadn’t felt for him before. He was an idiot and a prat and sometimes too big headed for his own good, but he had better qualities too. He loved people enough to protect them despite it all. 

Without giving herself time to think twice about it, she turned on her feet and bounded back towards the classroom door. Inside, James had perched himself up on a stool and was reading through a rather lengthy parchment with a furrowed brow. His eyes shifted to the door when she entered before looking back at the page. 

“You know, the last thing I want to do is write this report for McGonagall. Honestly, what’s even the point,” he seemed to be talking to the air rather than Lily. “This day couldn’t get any worse, honestly. I’m starting to not even be able to stand myself, right now.”

She walked swiftly up to him and he looked up, raising his eyebrows at her approach.

“And why are you still here?”

He didn’t even make it halfway through the sentence before her hands were on both sides of his face. Tilting his head upward, she pressed her lips against his and he gasped as they touched. He let the parchment fall to the floor and grabbed at her waist, pulling her towards him to stand between his legs. He kissed her deeper. She could feel years of yearning being poured out of him as he tried to press her body as close as possible.She felt his hot breath wash over her as she obligingly opened her mouth to kiss him further. She elicited a small sigh as his hands moved to reach around her. 

They couldn’t have been together for longer than a minute, but it felt like they had lived lifetimes in that moment. Lily pulled away, feeling flushed and her mind foggy.  James’ eyes blinked open and looked drunk with happiness. He kept his head craning up, expecting her to kiss him once more. 

She softly ran her hands over his forearms and he dropped his embrace, letting his finger tips linger on her hips until the last moment. 

She righted herself and picked her discarded bag up from the ground. Fixing her mussed hair, she started for the door without saying anything. James’ eyes followed her movement with a clouded euphoria. She had seen his eyes like that before. He had looked at her like that in her dream.

“Bye.” She whispered as she opened the door. 

James remained unmoved but broke out into a lazy grin. His eyes burned into her and their combined desire clouded the room.

“Bye.”

[deleahtarte]

Hii!! I love your works especially Young God and Lemon Muffins and Apricity (a normal amount...) and I wanted to ask if you had any writing tips? You inspire me a lot and I wanted to know if you were willing to share some! It's totally alright if you don't want to 😊 but if you do thank you it means a lot!! Thank you, bye have a good day / night!! :]

I would LOVE to share my writing tips!! And thank you for the sweet compliment!

For a little backstory, I’ve been writing for 4 years, and have been committed to one other fandom that is not South Park. Now, as a warning, beware these are just all the things that I, Deleah, personally find to help me write. I truly believe it is different for everyone, and some things here might not work for you, and that’s alright! We all learn eventually what makes us tick, and I’m here to share mine!

1. Commitment!! I think one of the biggest factor in writing overall, the one that will help you the most is commitment. You have to write. Commitment is how you get better at everything. You have to write when you’re not in the mood to, you have to keep writing on those days where you feel like nothing is coming along, and you have to keep writing even when you don’t know exactly what you’re writing about. Sometimes when I write I think “this is it, this is max I can write it” but then I go re-read my previous works and realize wow, I actually improved!

2. READ BOOKS!! Personally, I cannot write unless I read a book. Observe how different authors write. See what you like about their writing style and what you don’t. For instance, I think this one writer could improve on the depth of their explanations but I think they have the most wonderful metaphors. Learn from them. When I find an author with amazing writing, I read all their books—regardless of whether I take interest in the actual story or not. I hope by doing so I learn and absorb their writing, like how people try to learn a specific artists art style.

3. Listen to music! To get myself into writing certain scenes or characters, I listen to songs that help invoke whatever I’m trying to write. For instance, when I write Kenny I listens to Young God by Halsey. But when I write Butters thoughts about Kenny I listen to Ceilings by Lizzy McAlpine. Basically, let the music put you in the mood of whatever it is you’re trying to convey. If you’re writing a sexy scene put on sexy music, etc, etc.

4. Have an outline! I know some people like to write stories just as they come, but I found that I when I did that in my first fandom, I miss out on so many things. I’m never satisfied with the story because I feel like things don’t connect. No foreshadowing, why did this happen here instead of there, what about pacing? Overall, every time I did it, the story turns out a mess. I believe that if you have the story outlined from beginning to end, everything will tie together like a well formed bow, ready for the taking. Because of this, I have every chapter planned out. All I would now need to do is write it.

5. This is the most important tip of all, you have to love writing. There’s no other way around it. It’s hard to get committed to something you don’t love. It’s hard to put time and effort into something you don’t care for. So unfortunately, you will have to love writing, or at least like it enough to be committed. I use to draw, thought I was decent at it, but I didn’t love it enough to fully pour my heart into it. I draw sometimes now, but I know if I put in the hours and work I could’ve become someone decent with art. But I didn’t, because as stated, I didn’t love it enough. I liked drawing, but I love writing. That’s where my heart is.

That’s it for just general tips overall!! If anyone has any other questions, please don’t hesitate to ask!! 😄😄

[the12thnightproject]

Chapter 45: Winter Vacation Katsu shows Mitsuhide around Kyoto; then back in the 16th century he has another surprise for her.

Mitsuhide x OC; Hideyoshi x MC (Mai)

All Chapters Archived on Ao3 

Logline - With Mai, Hideyoshi, and Aki missing, Mitsuhide and Katsuko reluctantly team up. Disguised as a merchant and his concubine, can they outsmart the man known as the God of Deceit?

“Now, the further you turn this, the warmer the water is.” I glanced over my shoulder to see if Mitsuhide was tracking the instructions, just in time to notice that he was looking at me, and not the plumbing.

Or perhaps I should say he was looking at my plumbing area, which very likely was visible below my bath towel. I raised both eyebrows at him and he winked. “You are a rather undeniable temptation.”

While it would have been nice to stay cocooned on the couch all day, eventually practicalities intruded. I introduced Mitsuhide to modern kitchen appliances, laughed as he spent five minutes turning off and on the lights in syncopated rhythm, fed him breakfast (well, it was lunch at that point), and now we were having a crash course in water management 101.

While running water was a concept he could get behind, he seemed not at all interested in temperature control, or the intricacies of how it worked from the source. “I presume there are people whose jobs there are to know specifically how it fits together, but at the moment, I’m only concerned with using it in its designated function.” He stuck his hand under the stream of water.

I twisted the level to make it warmer, and when he didn’t comment, I left it at that temperature. “On that note, I guess you’re an easier visitor than Shingen. He’s driving Sasuke crazy by taking everything apart to see how it works.”

“You spend a lot of time with them?” That unfamiliar tone was back in his voice. I don’t believe that he was actually jealous – just that there was enough history between the Oda and the Takeda-Uesugi alliance to mean that I had been hanging out with the enemy.

Lowering the conversational temperature back to casual, I said, “They’re the only people I know here since I prefer not to become close friends with anyone who will worry when I blip back into the past. So maybe let’s consider this time a neutral zone, and you can go back to trying to kill him when we return to the Sengoku era.”

What happens in modern Japan, stays in modern Japan.

He didn’t reply, but simply surveyed the pattern of water as it streamed down the walls of the postage stamp size stall. “So um, anyway, this is wasting water, so I’ll leave you to it…” I trailed off as he swiftly tossed away his clothes and stepped in.

He was so beautiful with the water flowed down his body, outlining every contour of his muscles. I know I had just spent the night and morning with that body, with this man, but I would never take that beauty for granted.

He raised that one eyebrow, smirked, and crooked his finger at me. “You did say something about needing to conserve water.

I had said that, yes. “There’s no room- eek!”

He reached out and pulled me in, bath towel and all. “My love, there is always room for you, no matter where I am.” He undid the now soaking towel and tossed it into the sink. Now there was little between us but water, and even that evaporated to steam when he wrapped his arms around me.

“Kitsune, I am not opposed to shower sex in concept, but we need a bigger…” My back would probably slide down the side and I’d hit my head and drown…

He rotated me away from him and I grabbed the towel bar for stability. “Hold on to that. I imagine that is what it was placed there for.”

Yeah, I’m not going to speculate on what Sasuke’s parents do in the shower, thanks for that mental picture.

He reached around to cup my breasts, and then I felt his teeth nipping at the side of my neck. “Oh God, we’re going to die.”

We did not die during shower sex… not any of the times we tried it.

Nor did Shingen and Mitsuhide attempt to kill each other when the four of us got together. Oh, the two of them would never become good friends – they were too much alike in the wrong ways, not to mention too different in every other way – but they managed mutual politeness during a meal that Sasuke and I cooked. That got upgraded to professional respect when they discussed the Yoshiaki and Motonari threats, which then devolved again to a cutthroat game of Catan that had both Sasuke and I eliminated within the first hour.

My moderately awesome ninja buddy and I watched the game from the sidelines for a little while before we both decided it would be safer to retreat to watching Picard (neither Shingen nor Mitsuhide had gotten into sci-fi, as travelling over 450 years into their future was sci-fi enough for both of them).

During the weeks as we counted down the time before the Togakushi wormhole manifestation, we all made the most of our time. Aside from breaking in the shower (and the breakfast bar, which Mitsuhide and I discovered was set at a very convenient height) we did actually emerge from the house every day to explore modern Kyoto. Mitsuhide decided that since this was more or less an enforced vacation, he would spend his time pursuing the interests that generally got pushed to the side amidst all the war councils, interrogations, and spying: live theater and music.

While I never could convince him to give K-pop - or any rock music for that matter – a chance, he did discover an appreciation for jazz. An unfortunate appreciation, since I disliked that sort of music. At least we were able to have a lively and ongoing debate over the merits of both, which usually devolved into mutual distraction.

Even though we always had a lovely time wandering through Kyoto in winter, my favorite part of the days were our evenings. I could be as cutthroat about Shogi and he and Shingen had been over Catan, and it was as much fun trying to outthink him and it was to distract him. I never won… though I came close twice.

Nor had I neglected my personal mission to organize the Mikumos’ library (with their permission). When they returned they would find everything neatly filed and cross referenced both in a database, and also in a hard copy notebook. Unfortunately, even after spending a couple of hours a day digging through their archives, I hadn’t discovered much about my father. True, Sasuke’s mother had kept a journal during that time which pinpointed when Aki and Francisco entered their lives, as well as what the two were studying, but otherwise the journal was pretty dry.

“Discover anything useful?” Mitsuhide wandered into the room with two cups of tea. I gratefully took it. Though he still couldn’t cook, he made a damn good cup of tea. I took a sip… and promptly burned my tongue. Good tea, but very hot tea. I fanned my mouth. He tsked. “The hazards of impatience, Brat… shall I kiss it to make it better?”

“Cute.” Not that I would ever turn down a kiss, even though it did threaten to throw me off track for the rest of the afternoon. Once we broke apart, I pulled out Professor Mikumo’s journal and read her description of Francisco. “We’re hosting a Portuguese exchange student who is very interested in Sengoku trade routes and any attempts by the explorers to influence politics. Or rather that was what the letter from his academic advisor stated. Unfortunately, this young man’s grasp on our language is tenuous at best, and as no one here speaks Portuguese, all of our work becomes delayed as we try to discuss everything in sign language.”

Mitsuhide politely nodded. “Yes, it is his lack of understanding that led to the most fascinating purchase of my life.” He tapped his lips, and followed that up by kissing me again. Mm. We were in danger of taking the afternoon off (again… it was last week’s work derailment that had led us to discover that the breakfast bar was the right height for eating… something that’s not actually food). No… this is important. I hadn’t even told him yet about that priest. “Francisco.”

“Dear me, have you forgotten my identity so quickly?” I shall have to give you a refresher on that topic.” He slid next to me and pulled me onto his lap.

I stopped his hands before they could make their way under my shirt. “I think he… or the priest who tried to buy me… might have been the one who shot Aki in 1578.”

To his credit, Mitsuhide immediately flipped into business mode. “On what evidence?”

Er. Well. “For Francisco, gut feeling, mostly. He had gun in his desk when I took the letter… and it was not there the next time I looked.” Before Mitsuhide could devil’s advocate me out of that, I added, “He’s been in Japan, both modern and Sengoku for over ten years, and yet he still hasn’t learned the language?”

“He could indeed be that incompetent.” By now, I knew that Mitsuhide wasn’t necessarily disagreeing with me – he was merely pointing out where I needed stronger proof.

“Ok, yes, sure. But it seems to me that whatever missions there were to send people like Aki back in time – they would have wanted the best.” But why had Aki never questioned Francisco’s language deficiencies? It seemed a critical error on his part, an error from someone who usually didn’t make errors. Unless Aki was well aware that Francisco was faking it, and pretending not to know in order to watch him? But if that were the case why give Francisco the letter for me? Ugh, I was confusing myself. Still, I needed to at least get everything out on the table before Mitsuhide started poking holes in my already shaky theory. “Suppose everything Francisco did was not incompetence, but a charade. He never intended to rescue me at the auction. But if his plan failed, he could fall back on his idiot disguise.”

If I reframed my view of everything Francisco had done, it could all have a sinister interpretation.

And here came Mr. Logic. “Was not the slave auction your idea to begin with?”

“It was. Francisco just took advantage of the opportunity I gave him.” But Mitsuhide was correct. I had brought the idea to Francisco and basically blackmailed him into it.

“Hm, and we won’t be doing anything like that again now will we?” The ‘royal we’ had returned. His arms tightened around me. “Now, you said something about the priest? I did interrogate him rather thoroughly, and he had no connection to the disappearances.”

Had I been mistaken in identifying the priest as the man who watched my gymnastics competition? I pulled the computer closer and tabbed into youtube. “Look at this.” Mitsuhide was quiet, intent as the video played. When the camera angle switched to show the priest, I paused and pinch zoomed it onto his face. “Same man?”

He leaned closer. “It is possible. The hat makes it difficult to be one hundred percent certain.”  He frowned, and it seemed there was some anger being directed inward. “Though perhaps that is me not wanting to believe that my interrogation technique to be infallible. I should have-.”

My turn to shush him with my finger. “Well, you questioned him as if he was what he appeared to be, a rather vicious priest. If that in itself was a disguise… well you didn’t know about the existence of time travel, so he might have training that the average psychopath does not.” I leaned back and rested my head on his shoulder. I really hoped he wasn’t going to beat himself up over this. “You can’t know everything.”

“It is, in fact my job to know everything.” His hands massaged low circles around my back. “However, I have promised you… as well as Hideyoshi and Mai… that I will no longer take on the world alone. Nor is there much I can do about these two men right now. Not when we are here, and they are somewhere in the past.” He stood up, and took me by the hand. “Come on, Brat, you’ve worked all afternoon.”

I had at that, so I let him lead me into the den, where another of those snoozy jazz stations was playing something in the key of dull syncopation. I dropped his hand and made a beeline for the remote. No, I wasn’t planning to subject him to K-pop, but a nice movie night would be good. He beat me to it and held it over my head. “Oh that’s mature.”

Single eyebrow raise. “One person’s immature is another person’s success.” He tossed the thing onto a shelf that was above both of our heads. “Come here. This music, as opposed that shrill wailing you inexplicably like, is designed for dancing.” He pulled me into a dance hold. “Have I mentioned that I am quite fond of your era’s style of dance.”

Before I could again protest his depiction of K-pop as ‘shrill wailing,’ he had my head resting on his shoulder, as he pressed his hand on my back. His lean grace might have been made for this, as he expertly maneuvered me in a small circle around the center of the room.

Eventually, that slowed to a single swaying embrace as we clung to each other. The sun had long set, the only light came from the glow of the TV and the neighbor’s Christmas lights shining through the window.

I knew the steps of this dance we were doing, knew that soon, Mitsuhide’s lips would kiss my cheek, and then my mouth, until the dance became something else entirely.

But for the moment, I was perfectly happy melting against his body, in the more innocent hold.

We had time.

Three weeks later, and four hundred and fifty(ish) years earlier…

As soon as we “landed” back in the Sengoku and split off from Sasuke and Shingen, we made our way to Azuchi. I had expected that Mitsuhide would settle in and immediately pick up war planning with Nobunaga and Hideyoshi. And while he had indeed spent the day and half the night conferring with them, we were off to Sakai the next morning.

Our machiya in Sakai was unchanged, it was Mituhide and I who were different. We were approaching the townhouse as ourselves, not as fake merchant and reluctant concubine. There was no need to put on any act.

The real Kyubei was waiting inside to greet us. He smiled and bowed formally as if we had been gone a year rather than just a couple of months.

“Did you keep watch on…?” Mitsuhide left the rest of the question trail off, which mean this likely had more to do with my mystery surprise and less to do with whatever Motonari was doing.

I unobtrusively tried to listen in on Mitsuhide’s conversation with Kyubei, but what little I could pick up was in kind of a master/vassal shorthand of half sentences. Eventually, Mitsuhide noticed me lingering in the corner. “Dear me, is a little spy trying to spoil her surprise?”

He should be well aware by now that I was not a fan of surprises, even one that he had promised was a “good” surprise, so I just crossed my arms and glared at him.

“Patience, Brat, I’m just confirming the timing of it all.”

Knowing that was all I was going to get out of him, I retreated upstairs and unpacked the few items of clothing I’d brought to Sakai with me. As I was changing out of my dusty travel clothes, Mitsuhide joined me – and once again he was wearing the long, dark wig. “I thought the disguise was retired.” Please don’t make me dress up as Kaya. I’d happily put away the Kaya identity for good, and at the moment was wearing one of Mai’s hastily altered kimonos. Though it wasn’t completely to my taste, it was a lot more casual than the elaborate concubine disguise.

Correctly sensing the direction of thoughts, Mitsuhide helped me adjust the fold on my obi. “It’s temporary. The man we are going to see knows me only as Kyubei. You, on the other hand, are perfectly fine.” He tugged on my hair, and of course the hairstyle instantly fell apart. Without Sho to help, I was useless in the coiffure department. “In any disguise… or, er, disarray.”

He helped restore my hair, and then, in a move reminiscent of his former disguise, he extended his arm. Without any hesitation, I took it and we walked out into the chill winter evening. “Are we walking?”

“Are you saying you would prefer to huddle up in a palanquin?” The teasing smile he gave me indicated that any future palanquin travel we did would be far less innocent than our last trip. “That could, of course, be arranged, but tonight, we’re not travelling very far.”

Though I puzzled for a moment as to whether or not that had been a clue to my surprise, his purposefully bland look offered no additional help. We were not heading in the direction of Francisco’s, so that possibility was off the table. Instead, we ended up in the local retail section – not the business area with merchant’s large import/export warehouses, but the smaller apothecaries, clothing shops and tea houses patronized by the people of Sakai.

Even so, when Mitsuhide stopped in front of an herbalist’s storefront, it seemed an odd choice. My confusion grew when he led me through the shop and up the stairs to the living area. Once we reached the top of the stairs, he stepped aside, allowing me to face the man who had risen from his dinner to greet us.

A man whose face I had seen nearly every day until I was nineteen… and after that, had only been viewable via a drawing. “Toshiie!”

While my brother stood there stunned, I threw myself into his arms. “I thought I saw you in Sakai last fall… but I figured I was imagining it.”

He allowed me a long hug before stepping out of the embrace. “I was going to rescue you… I just needed more time to…” He glanced at the teapot on the table.

“Rescue me? From what?” It sounded like Toshiie had… already known I was in Sakai?

He turned and faced Mitsuhide. “Him.”

@lorei-writes @bestbryn @selenacosmic @lyds323 @tele86 @akitsuneswife

[exonerin]

9,11&19, pls?

Thank you for the questions. They're from this neat list.

9. What fic made you happiest to work on?

Most fics have this moment where everything slots together and I suddenly have a story. And I greatly enjoy going from doubting I'll ever manage something out of this to an actual plot.

But oftentimes, the final fic turns out drastically different from the initial plot outline. However, there's one exception. DISLOYAL followed every plot point I had written for it, and I'm very grateful for that. It's also my Obikin Big Bang project, so I had a lovely artist and beta reader on board.

11. What fic was the most difficult to write?

I'm a highly awkward person in real life. I suppose my comments and perhaps my fics don't hide that. I'm too anxious for conversations with people.

And writing a fic is the closest I get to talking without second-guessing every word and wasting so much energy on anticipating how you will react to what I say and what you want me to say and still missing almost nearly every context clue and body language you give me.

So, I don't like talking, which can get quite lonely sometimes. And I don't mind that. I'm quite content. However, it also means that the comments I receive on fics are a major percentage of the interactions I have in general.

And I would say In Your Dreams! was most difficult to write due to the lack of that interaction. I had one dedicated person (and I'm very grateful to them) comment on the chapters, but you can't expect a person to leave comments everywhere or be ready to comment straightaway. So, I would go chapters without comments, and it was quite difficult to keep writing that fic. It felt very much akin to talking to a wall, I suppose. And while that's a skill I excel in, it's not one I enjoy.

Anyway, all is well that ends well. I finished the fic and moved on to the next project. And such is life. I really do sound whiny complaining about something so silly, don't I?

19. Share your favorite piece of dialogue

Would you believe me if I said I can't quite remember the specifics of fics when I'm finished with them?

But I do keep a closer track of my WIPs, and there's a specific Sith!Obi-Wan one that I rather like. It's an alternative take on the Mortis arc. The Son steals Obi-Wan instead of Ahsoka, and the poison doesn't turn Obi-Wan into a murderous, mindless puppet.

So, no one notices he has turned Dark. And this new Obi-Wan isn't evil, per se. He just wants to enjoy life. Drink a good cup of tea, watch his Padawan train his grand-Padawan in peace, a good night's rest in a comfortable bed. You know, the basics.

Sith!Obi-Wan is best when he's selfish, charms everyone's pants off, reckless, and the biggest dick on Coruscant in every sense of the word.

Now, I shared this before, but here's a piece of dialogue that I'm rather fond of (written in 2024, of course):

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

"It is a pleasant day, is it not, Count?" Obi-Wan asked pleasantly as he stepped out of the shadows.

"What do you want, Kenobi? I tire of your games."

"You see, my dear," Obi-Wan began conversationally, "there can only be two. One Master and one Apprentice."

Dooku shied away, watching him warily.

"What about Skywalker's apprentice, Kenobi? Is she a threat to this new order you wish to establish?"

"Oh, you do misunderstand."

Dooku looked like he would have scoffed before thinking better of it.

"Very well," he said. "Enlighten me, Kenobi, what is it you seek of me if not my death?"

"Let's solve this civilly, Count. No need to resort to bloodshed straightaway," Obi-Wan responded with a mild smile. Dooku scoffed in response, his manners momentarily forgotten.

"The identity of the Sith Lord, if you please. We know he works with the Separatists," Obi-Wan revealed, watching Dooku's expression stiffen.

"I did tell you, Kenobi. You refused to listen on Geonosis."

"I would so hate to spill blood here," Obi-Wan mused, weighing the hilt of his lightsaber in his hand. Anakin had developed an obsession with his lightsaber, so Obi-Wan had to be careful not to taint the kyber crystal held within.

"Sheev Palpatine," Dooku spat. "It's your precious Chancellor, the face of the Republic. He's the Master you've been looking for."

"And the Apprentice?"

Dooku was silent for a beat before arching one eyebrow. "It appears I overestimated your intelligence. You possess the same level of critical thinking as your boneheaded Padawan."

"Now, that's just untrue," Obi-Wan commented mildly, his mind racing over the implications of Dooku's confession.

Sheev Palpatine. Supreme Chancellor of the Repbulic. Sith Lord.

Yan Dooku. Count of Serenno. Figurehead of the Confederation of Seperatist Systems. Also Sith Lord.

Contemplatively, Obi-Wan nodded. It seemed he had to run some interference, after all.

"I'm much obliged for your candidness, Count."

"Qui-Gon told me stories about you. Somehow, he failed to mention your attitude," Dooku said.

Obi-Wan dipped into a shallow bow before straightening. "My Master spoke fondly of you, Count." Then, he turned around and left the platform.

"Kenobi."

"Yes?"

"This may be your best opportunity to kill me," Dooku said.

"It is not the Jedi way to kill or maim an unarmed or injured man. You're both," Obi-Wan pointed out. The signs were obvious. "Besides, I wouldn't want to curtail your vacation plans."

They both knew Dooku fled a sinking ship, which worked in Obi-Wan's favor. His soresu was a poor match to Dooku's makashi, so he would gladly forfeit any one-on-one fight with the Count. If Dooku would no longer form a threat for either Anakin or Ahsoka, Obi-Wan wouldn't interfere.

Dooku shook his head before pinning him with a look. Obi-Wan met Dooku's gaze head-on, unimpressed by the piercing, dark eyes.

"Yellow does not suit you, Kenobi."

"Ever the flatterer, Count," Obi-Wan quipped.

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

[bbina]

last two chapters of btl… im not ready 😭😭😭😭 like at all! this story was truly amazing and i looked forward to reading it every single day. i cant wait for more of your stories, keep up the good work! you really outdid yourself with this story ads ! 🩵 (once it ends im gonna binge read the WHOLE thing)

-🐇

IM NOT READY EITHER 😭 i already have an outline for it and everything and i cant.. i cant bring myself to end it but i have to wrap this story up ... its been a fun emotional rollercoaster with btl im so sad to see it run its course soon </3 im gonna miss the not so everyday updates, the chaos each chapter will bring to u guys and the amount of asks i get bc of said chapter, the theories yall had and more GAWD we built a lil cute community on here cus of btl 😭

[allie-campbell-bradshaw]

Chapter 1: Charlottesville

A/N: Welcome to the first chapter of Top Gun: Baby, a love story following Bradley Bradshaw and Allie Campbell. We all know that the first chapter of any story can be a bit of a dud…Please hang in there! There was so much important background information that I had to include. I mention this in my notes for every chapter, but just in case you missed it– I do not give permission for my work to be re-posted without credibility. If you do want to post this story to your page, please be sure that you tag my account or at least mention its original source in your post. Again, thank you for being here and I hope you enjoy :)

Warnings: Angst from a hard childhood, mentions of cancer, mentions of death, mentions of a funeral

POSTED: 05/08/2023

Chapter One: Charlottesville       

BRADLEY’S POV

      One bag. That’s all I had to bring. It’s not like that was all we could bring. We were allotted up to 90 pounds of clothes that we could bring, but that was it. 90 pounds of clothing items that get you through the spring, summer, winter, and fall. You could bring whatever you wanted to wear. However, you could only wear your personal clothing items on the weekends when you were allowed to leave base. And even then, we weren’t allowed to leave until the end of summer camp. From this afternoon until August 20th, I would be stuck in the confines and ownership of the United States Naval Academy.

      I managed to fit everything I owned into one duffle bag. Everything that I was okay with losing stayed hung in my closet or spread out on my counter. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to give the auctioneers a thrill of excitement when they foreclose on the house. My house. All I have known since I was a baby. 14541 West Maple Drive was the heart of my identity in Charlottesville Virginia. Even when I went to UVA, I lived at home. I never once spent a night inside a dorm and I never once let a girl spend the night here. This was my safe space. My sanctuary. A place where I got to dictate who could come in and who was locked out, and there was one person who has remained locked out for the past four years.

      I took in one deep breath as I gazed around my bedroom one last time. The transformations that this room has been in made it seem almost foreign.I thought about everything that it has changed to throughout my life. It started as a blue room, with white furniture that consisted of a crib, a changing table, and a single dresser. Painted at the top of my light blue walls were clouds. Clouds that served as a reminder that my dad was always there with me when he would go on missions. Hanging over my crib was a mobile that had red planes hanging from its center. My mom told me that I would become mesmerized by their slight rotation, and on my fussiest of days, it was the only thing that could calm me down.

      Until the death of my father, my room stayed this way, with the crib being the only change once I upgraded to a starter-bed when I was a toddler. My mom couldn’t bring herself to go inside my room anymore, so one day Pete came in with a group of guys and painted it red. All of my white furniture was replaced with a dark-chocolate colored set. Gray sheets and curtains covered their respectable areas until I was in high school. That’s when I convinced my mom to let me paint my walls white. She gave me permission under the promise that I would not paint a single outline of a cloud.

      Pete and I painted every wall with multiple coats until all of the red was cleared. He then snuck me into my closet and painted a single black outlined cloud right above where my hangers were set. It was our secret. I never told my mom. To this day, it was the only thing I kept from her. Every day, as I was getting ready for school, I would steal a glance at the cloud, knocking on it twice every morning before I headed to the kitchen. It seems silly, but it was a part of my daily routine. A way to include my father in my daily life. I reached my hand out and knocked twice on the outlined cloud, letting out a slight sigh and feeling my eyes burn from the salt that was glistening over them. I am sure the new homeowners would paint over that little cloud. My father.

      This glance, this last glance, would serve as my final memory of my white walled, deep browned furniture, blue blanketed room. I turned my body and took one more glance at the framed picture of me and my mom. It was our last set of professional pictures that we had taken before she found out she was sick. I was a freshman in high school, with a smile that was fresh out of braces, my hair was a little curlier than it was now, and way fuller. But the deep ember color of my hair remained the same. The blonde began to deepen when I went through puberty, as well as my voice, and well…other things.

      I looked over at the framed picture that was next to me and my mom’s. It was a picture of me and him, taken after my last baseball game in high school where we won the State Tournament. Both of us looked so happy, me in my green and yellow jersey and him in his brown leather jacket, sporting all of the patches he has earned throughout his career. I was so naive to what he was doing behind the scenes. Behind his smile was the secret of a man who had just pulled my Naval Academy application.

      I stared at the picture and could feel my face starting to burn red with anger. I reached over and gripped the frame in my hand, turning the photo face down on the dresser. I was sure he would come in here one more time before the government seized the house. I was sure he would take one more sweep around the whole surface and take a few more items of memorabilia. He would come in here and see this photo laying on its back and know. He would know I still hated him, hated him for what he had done, hated him for holding me back.

      Before I knew it, I was speeding out of the house and heading to the cab that waited for me, taking no liberty in locking the door. Nothing I wanted was there anymore. I had everything I needed in my bag; a few hawaiian shirts, some jeans, socks, underwear, and my parents' wedding rings. The only physical thing I have left of them. The only thing I wanted. I know he keeps a considerable amount of their things in storage, knowing that one day I may want to look at them, but for now, I was content with carrying the gold bands that bonded them together for life. They were tucked away in a small leather box that once held my mom’s engagement ring. The silver band and square cut diamond that was currently rested on her finger, six feet below ground.

      I quickly shuffled into the back seat of the cab and directed him to take me to the Greyhound: Bus Stop, with my bus ticket tucked safely in the front zipper of my tan duffle bag. I forced myself not to look back at my white and blue cape cod home, knowing that if I did sneak in one more glance, I would jump out of the cab and run back. I would never make it to the Academy, and considering the circumstances, I have definitely earned my spot in the school.

      Before I knew it, I was sitting on a seat on the right side of the bus, staring out the window as it began to rain. What a metaphor, raining on the only town that I have known as home right as I bid everything farewell.

      I quickly glanced at my reflection through the window as the bus began to take off. I was wearing a pastel yellow hawaiian shirt with a maroon UVA shirt underneath. A pair of khaki shorts with my brown belt sported me underneath. Yeah, I know, but I don’t really care about my appearance right now. In a matter of hours, my whole wardrobe will only consist of various naval uniforms. I looked up at my hair and adjusted the slick part that I had over my left side, looking at the wave which used to be curls when I was younger. In my acceptance packet was information regarding the new hair procedures. Women were no longer required to get any sort of haircut, as long as their hair can fit tightly in the bun that they sport in the back of their head. And men no longer had to get a buzz cut as long as their hair was kept at a short length above their neck. Thank fuck!

      The bus drove right by the Hospice House of Piedmont. Big mistake on me for sitting on this end! I dropped my face and held my breath, feeling a tightness in my throat as a wave of mourning hit me. The last time I drove down this street was in his car, the tears streaming down my face as he drove me, an orphan, back to my house. March 17th was one of the worst days of my life. I could still remember every detail about that day. I remember the nurses quietly guiding him and I down the hall into my mother’s room. Her cervical cancer had progressed enough that she was no longer conscious. I grabbed onto her hand and squeezed as long as I could. Although she couldn’t express it, I could feel that she knew I was there, she knew I was holding her hand, and she knew tears were flowing down my face, begging her not to go yet, to stay with me just one more day. It wasn’t even 20 minutes later that she was gone, him and I were in the room as her spirit took off, to be reunited with my dad, her love, after 16 long years.

Of course the bus had to drive by the cemetery! Why wouldn’t they? I glanced over at the plot of land that I knew all too well. Riverview was one of the largest cemeteries in Charlottesville, and the one my mom chose to be buried in. When I started my junior year, her doctor’s discovered a mass in her cervix. It wasn’t long until that same doctor advised her to make arrangements, putting the battle we were going through in full picture. She held on for a whole nother year! Telling me every night that she loved me and promising she would do whatever she could to be at my graduation. She was only 2 months away when she just couldn’t fight anymore.

Her funeral was hard. Harder than losing her I think. She didn’t want much. Just a patch that was right by a bench, so I (and my “future Bradshaw’s” as she used to say) could come and sit and talk with her whenever I wanted. She had a simple light brown casket, and she was buried in the dress she had planned on wearing to my graduation, a light blue front-buttoned mid sleeve midi dress. In her hands were my dad’s cross necklace that he wore almost every day when he was in the air. He wasn’t wearing it the day he died, which my mom and I found to be haunting. We found it in his locker at Top Gun, and mom always said it was his soul’s way of leaving a piece of him with her. 

There were yellow tulips and white roses, her favorite flowers, everywhere in the funeral home. I picked out one yellow tulip and placed it next to her in her coffin, as a way for me to let her go, to let go of a sadness that I knew would destroy me if I didn’t. Attached to the tulip was a note that I wrote her, which was a print of the “Great Balls of Fire” lyrics. I couldn’t find my own words to say, so I made my goodbye a recitation of our family song. One that would play almost every night in our house. Not the actual song though, but rather a recording of my dad playing it to my mom on the night they were married. My mom didn’t tell me this until I was older, but she was nearly one month pregnant with me when they were married, so I guess I was there too when that recording was made! 

I watched as her casket was lowered to the ground. He was standing right behind me, ready to lend a shoulder, hand, hug, whatever, when I needed it. Behind him was every living member of him and my dad’s Top Gun class, which included Vice Admiral Kazansky, who is rumored to be Admiral within the next few years. I stayed and stared down at her casket, now well in its place under the ground for hours. He stayed with me, never leaving my side for a moment. Eventually, I turned around and made my way to his car, falling over and crying on the cold wet ground. He was there within seconds, holding onto me and rubbing my back as I wept. 

Once the bus turned the corner and headed away from the cemetery, I felt like I could breathe again. The air was less heavy, and the tightness in my throat diminished. I love you, mom I thought as the bus entered the area where Charlottesville High School, my alma mater, was located. I watched the rain pour down onto the school as graduates ran from the gymnasium to their cars. It was graduation day. I hate fate right now…

I didn’t speak a word to anyone from the day my mom was buried to the day of Graduation. Everyone at school avoided me like I was dipped in shit, and my teachers knew better than to ask me how I was doing. I just went to class, did my assignments, and went home. Despite the intense depression that I was going through, I still managed to pass all of my finals, although my grades for them were well below the expectation I held for myself, earning distinguished honors and a 3.94 GPA by graduation.

The only thing that kept me going through this time was checking my mailbox. I know that sounds dumb, but I would always have a string of excitement when I opened the black port at the front of my driveway. Every day that string would be sliced in half, leaving me to bleed all over the floor. Metaphorically speaking. He watched from the living room as I came into the house either empty handed or holding nothing but bills, which he generously paid for.

It wasn’t until we climbed out of his truck, him dressed in a button down and slacks, and me in my own, plus my yellow cap and gown, when he told me what he did. 

***

“Buds, we need to talk” Maverick said as he reached out and set a hand on Bradley’s sulked shoulder. Buds was Pete’s adopted nickname for Bradley. One that he started calling him after Goose died. One that Bradley always found peace in when it escaped his adopted dad’s lips.

Bradley turned his body to face him, but kept his eyes to the ground. This day was hard on so many levels. Hard because his mom didn’t make it. Hard because all of his friends knew where they were going, and he didn’t know yet. Hard because he had to start admitting that a rejection letter from the Naval Academy was imminent by this time.

“Hey,” Pete went on soothingly, “Trust me. You’ll want to hear this”.

Bradley looked up at Pete, a lifeless look in his eyes. He had no emotion and he has had no emotion for months now. He didn’t have it in him to be sad, or mad, or happy, or anxious anymore.

“I know you’ll probably hate me for this, but I have to tell you that I did something.” Pete said, causing Bradley to shift his stance, getting more curious with what Pete was about to say, “There’s a reason why you haven’t heard back from the Academy yet. That’s because I uhhh-I-”

Bradley’s life went numb as he heard Pete’s words about pulling his academy papers. He stood there, blinking and breathing slowly as he comprehended what Maverick had just confessed to him. 

“You-You what?” Bradley had managed to mutter. The first comment he made for months.

“I pulled your application papers. For reasons you can’t understand until you’re older”.

Bradley felt his whole body tighten into his fight or flight response as he considered how to react to this news. How could Pete do this to him? Pete watched as Bradley excitedly filled out the application in February, and never said anything. If Pete were to get in the way, Bradley would’ve preferred that it been back then. That he wouldn’t have let him mail in his application. Instead, Maverick had used his ties within the Navy to pull an applicant's papers. Papers that were already accepted into the Academy with open arms.

Bradley rose his hands and shoved Maverick back; “How could you!” He yelled, “How could you do this to me!” Pete’s face turned as the guilt of his actions sunk in, and he rose his hand to try to grab onto Bradley’s shoulders, but Bradley retaliated, pushing his hand back, “I hate you!” He screamed at him.

Pete tried to take another step forward, but Bradley only pushed him back further, “I mean it! I hate you!” Pete didn’t try to move forward again. Instead, he stood back and took in all of the insults that Bradley was throwing him. “Go home! Don’t come near me again!” Bradley sternly demanded as he turned on his heels. Maverick stood there, knowing it was best to not follow him.

Bradley angrily stomped toward the gymnasium, running his hands through his deep ember curls, not knowing exactly how to comprehend this news yet.

***

I crumpled my fist up and felt my chest tighten, taking deep breaths to contain my anger. An anger that I have held onto for years. I attempted to apply again after my first year of college, but right after I submitted my application, I received a handwritten letter from my “assumed father figure” saying that he pulled my application again. The letter urged me to continue working towards my degree in Political Science, and promised that if I still wanted to attend the Academy after graduation, that he would let me go.

Attending the Academy after earning a bachelor’s degree was as nontraditional as any practice goes, but it wasn’t impossible. It just meant that I would have a second degree once I graduated. The caveat to this was that I had to start over completely. USNA was not going to accept any of my UVA credits, which I found complete bullshit, but still not enough to deter me from attending. I had to go. It was the only way. The only way I wanted. I wanted to make my dad proud. He would have wanted this, and damn it I would have wanted him to see this.

This letter was the last time I heard from him. He never bothered to show his face again, or attempt to call, or even send gifts. However, he still managed to pay all of the bills on the house. He knew I would object to this, so before graduation, he had the billing address changed to his. Now that I have graduated college, I received a notice that the bills would be my responsibility, and since I was leaving, I would lose the house. He made it very clear to his attorney that if I went to the Academy, the house would go. My blood boiled even more since he gave me this ultimatum. I couldn’t let him win again. Not this time. Now it was my time to reclaim my life. To reclaim what I was robbed of. He may have set me back by 4 years, but I was determined to outrank him one day. One day, I would approach him and make him order to me, finally receiving the revenge that has been looming in my brain for years. Watch out Captain Mitchell, I’m coming for you.

[monsterkissed]

You said you liked to share BNGN trivia, so you got any tidbits?

some assorted trivialities (spoilers for a fanfic up to the latest chapter):

the fic was originally envisioned (and partly written) as a series of drabbles! if i had kept that going, it would currently be 5,376 drabbles long.

tiramisu was written into the outline entirely as bait/tribute to my partners, who are big siamese fans. she is now the most popular oc i have ever made for anything. i considered writing an origin story fic for her back when there was a jjba oc zine in the works, but it fell thru and now it only lives in my head. it involves multiple murders : )

bngn is not phf-compliant bc i did not want to read it. to make up for this i promise to find other horrible things for fugo to go through instead <3

probably not news to anyone by this point but here is some explicit confirmation: the first prologue that opens the fic is not about doppio

there are so many cases of foreshadowing in the form of jokes or joke-adjacent statements at this point that i cannot actually remember them all. if you see me make a silly comment in this fic there is at least a 20% chance it's actually a very sneaky mean comment hiding behind the linear progression of time

when i first drafted the outline act 3 was much much shorter and had a few drastic differences. one of these was that polnareff (or at least one of him) would have survived to support the gang much as he does in the original VA, but i could not think of anything fun for him to do that didn't detract from everything else, or at least nothing more fun than the inexplicable spectacle of two dead polnareffs after all of the build-up towards him. rip, rip.

speaking of fun: i wanted to have every major character get at least one really cool moment, regardless of how central they were to the story. i didn't want anyone to feel like you could cut them out completely and it wouldn't matter, i wanted to keep that ensemble feel of VA and give everyone room to affect the story in important ways, even if the fic still obviously has its focusses. of the ones i've published so far, i think i like mista's intervention in the Trish & Dop vs Fugo fight best out of those moments because i just had so much fun writing and visualising it and he felt like a natural fit to provoke fugo's own position in the story as a person fixated on the objective facts (which he was canonically Not Wrong about, in terms of sticking with bruno being a dubious plan for anyone fond of staying alive) to face off against someone who operates more on vibes and rolling the dice.

way back in the depths of drabble-draft the flashbacks were going to occur chronologically, followed by the present day stuff. but as i became aware that this was growing into something i realised that this would be stitching two pretty drastically different fics together back to back, and decided instead to use the current format. in theory this was purely going to allow me to show doppio's relationship with diavolo alongside his absence from him, so we can see simultaneously why he values and misses him so much and what he's becoming without him. in practice it led to a bunch of smaller changes that built up into, among other things, the premise of the entire canon divergence. technically, all of the flashbacks in act 1 and 2 "take place" during ch. 30. there is an implication to this that so far nobody has commented on ;)

i spent an amount of time researching macdonalds in italy that i will never ever get back

speaking of researching things that don't matter to anyone but me: everywhere a major scene happens is based on a specific spot i hand-picked on google maps. i roamed a lot of italian countryside via satellite trying to find the Exact kind of big, ugly, concrete-floored farm i had in mind for the first secco fight

technically this fic (or at least the extended universe around it) has sorbet and gelato VA-style origin stories to go with their fanstands (which i had a lot of fun with, workshopping around ideas for things that would make for excellent and suitably juicy assassination tools but vulnerable in a stand vs stand battle). much like tiramisu, so does my second stand-using oc brodo (who also cameos in 'I Think We're Alone Now', because skulking around trying not to be noticed is his speciality) the third, katarina, is only mostly goncharov-inspired, and Heart of Glass was originally going to be one of the chapter titles for this fic. another song with a very similar title still will be!

i had no intention of narancia being as big a presence in the fic as he was, but the longer i wrote the more i realised that he's just too fun to put in a room with doppio. the scene where he accepts the truth made me feel genuinely like a bit of a horrible person because i'd enjoyed building up their friendship so much and it was one of those chapters where i knew Exactly what the character would want to do and exactly why it would be the thing that would hurt them the most.

when i was hammering out the outline for what would become this fic an artist i had been following released a song that i put on in the background while i wrote, and then stopped writing and went back to listen to it properly twelve or thirteen times because it was eerily vibing perfectly with some of the themes i had been kicking around in my head trying to make something out of. it put a few seeds in my head in the way that some things serendipitously do, so much so that i almost named the whole fic after it. in the end, i decided to affix it to just one chapter where i felt it would best set the tone for the imminent descent to come. that chapter would be chapter thirty-eight.

[whoseafraidofliloleme]

I CAUGHT UP!!!!

first off, as always, LOVING the sibling dynamic!!! each of them have their own colour and i love seeing them interact <3 and how they baby our dear yn too of course

moving on to the matter at hand, the guy on everyone's minds (derogative): hyunjin. i... rlly don't know how to feel abt him??? like he clearly has red flags but i feel like he might pull through in the end and stop being so toxic. i wonder if there's actually smth behind his behavior, or if it's just plain jealousy. tbh i think i'm just too much like our dear yn and i'm giving him the benefit of the doubt, but i don't wanna jump completely on the hate train. rn i'm waiting at the station and i might get in when it comes 😚

then the man on everyone's minds (affectionate): jungwonnie!!!! nothing to say besides that i love him <3 it's so refreshing seeing him be so kind and understanding and having proper communication from the beginning, we love to see it! and the park siblings already love him, as they should

i gotta hurry bc i'm gonna go eat so. question time!!! is this smau gonna be around the same lengths your other smaus are? are you planning on expanding more on yn's backstory? (please say yes) AND MORE IMPORTANTLY: why buttercup? is it because she's tough and never doubts, unlike yn???? or just bc she liked her colors the best??????? why did yn want to grow up to be her?????????

have a nice day and i hope something good happens to you tomorrow! you're gonna find a pc on pristine condition lying on the ground i just know it!!

By saying you loved it, I'll add you to the tag list 😊. Now you won't miss an update and I get a lovely reblog with your reaction in the tags, which I love btw they crack me up every time. Moving on...

I'm just happy that people love the sibling dynamic, writing siblings is always tricky cause I don't have any so it's not from experience just what I've seen and read but I'm glad that all the Park Siblings seem like distinct characters.

If there are siblings that play a major role, 100% YN is gonna be the maknae 😂. Then again I might just challenge myself to make one of my YNs be the eldest or the middle child...

Hmm I dunno where his story line will take us atm. There's definitely a backstory there and it's coming in future chapters but at this point in time it's up in the air if Hyunjin will be recieving a redemption arc or not 😂.

Ngl this might be my favourite Jungwon cause he's just such a sweetheart and he's been like that since the beginning 🥹🥹🥹. I just love him so much and I'm so happy that everyone loves him too, TSIT Jungwon deserves all the love.

I hate short smaus, so this one will probably be 30 chaps, maybe longer if I feel like I can add more drama and angst 😂. Or even fluff, really it depends on my mood.

YNs backstory, I'm not sure if it'll be explained more in future chapters or not but so you know I'll outline it here:

Parknae was kidnapped as a baby by a couple who had just gone through a miscarriage. They saw a young baby unattended by nurses and kidnapped her from the hospital.

Parknae being kidnapped was big news and they saw on the news but seeing that the Parks were rich and there were already 5 older siblings they ran away with Parknae thinking the Parks will get over it eventually.

They did care and love her for the first decade of her life, they treated her as their own child. Unfortunately the Park family never recovered from losing a child.

Their parents went through depression, blamed themselves for losing their youngest child and did everything they could to find her again. The remaining Park siblings, felt the pain of a lost little sister and did all the could to help find their youngest sister.

Despite the loss of Parknae. The parents didn't forget that they had 5 other children, they still loved and cared for them as they did before but there was always something missing. The whole family felt that missing piece.

Sadly a year before Parknae was reunited with her family, the parents were in a car accident and they died, coincidentally they were on their way to see a Private Investigator who they had hired to find Parknae...

Subsequently Parknae never got to actually meet her biological parents, she only knows them through pictures, videos and stories.

I hope that answers the questions on Parknaes backstory.

Buttercup because she's what YN strives to be and also YN just loves that Jungwon took this random bit of info and made it into a nickname for her.

This turned out to be a hella long ask 😂. Go eat something and I hope you have a good day too!!. I do still recommend you read Peace a Jay Harry Potter meets Gossip Girl smau, but that's just me wanting to see you reaction to that smau 😂.

Have a good day! Stay hydrated and happy!!.

[theharrowing]

Revisit Thoughts:

omg, i posted this revisit last night but somehow the chapter's read more was missing??? and i ended up just raw dogging 16.4k words on main without a cut, so i am reposting this morning SORRYYY hehehe.

i am not even joking, Haegeum came out on April 20, completely changing the trajectory of this story and solidifying once and for all that i would definitely have a sequel, and even causing me to write a good chunk of the first chapter of the sequel before i wrote this chapter and published it 4 days later.

and although the Taehyung POV comes before this one and includes details that were affected by this chapter, i actually posted it about a month later and snuck it in there. (i also wrote the Hoseok POV after this chapter and snuck it in way up above chapter 14, which is why there are conversations taking place that i did not even have set in stone until this moment in Collateral time.) i worried it would be confusing for readers, but they didn't seem to mind. 😅😅😅

adding in this chapter extended the story from 20 to 21 total chapters planned, and caused me to completely change large details in the outline. of course, i cannot tell you what those details are because they are huge spoilers. if i ever do a Reconciliation revisit in 1.5 business years, perhaps i will divulge everything then!

HEHEHEHE i found an errorrrr. when Namjoon's phone rings, it says you recognize the ringtone from when Yoongi called Namjoon while the two of you were at his house, but the phone only vibrated in that scene. whoopsie daisy hehe. (edited.)

man i really opened this chapter with a potential bombshell and then dove headfirst into a long ass smut scene. of all the things i remember from this chapter, this scene was not one of them lmao.

you know i couldn't resist an "I feel like Tony Montana." especially with him dressed that way.

🧼📦 ugh researching private jets for this fic (and for Dollhouse) made me wanna barf. i do not respect jets or yachts. they are such a waste of resources, including money!!! (i also do not respect any of the brands that i name drop tho, let's be honest. nor am i impressed when idols wear this shit. even if i praise how good someone looks in a certain brand shoot, it is likely they also look good in rags, so like...the brand really means nothing in the long run.) it is so wild to look up all this bullshit and pretend that it is exciting when i would rather watch it all burn so we could distribute that wealth and take care of our poor. "sleek marvels of modern design" 🤮🤮🤮 ANYWAYYYYY that's my soapbox moment lmao back to the fic. 🧼📦

oh man, spoiler alert for the end of Scarface haha sorry, friends!!! (it's a 40 year old movie hahaha.)

bringing Balming Tiger into the fold was fun, and i actually learned some of their names while writing this chapter despite being a fan of theirs (i had just seen them live about a month before writing this chapter!) it is not Seungmin from Stray Kids, but the member who goes by Mudd the Student.

i was wondering (after reading Jungkook's POV) if we would see the zippo lighter again hehehe.

take a shot whenever i use the word "harrowing" in a fic lmaoooo.

Taehyung casually calling Namjoon & Yoongi "the doom boys" (Sexy Nukim reference) is especially cute because i like to imagine that that's what the terror twins call them behind their backs in the same way that the doom boys call them the terror twins behind their backs.

Taehyung cutting himself during the knife game was inspired by my partner cutting me while trying to jokingly play the knife game (laying his flayed hand over mine and poking the knife between our fingers together) and look i know how that sounds okay, but i promise you, i am safe and loved in this relationship and the cut on the side of my thumb was not very deep (tbh he barely knicked me but the knife was stupid sharp.) this is the same person who suplexes me on every hotel bed we have ever slept on and i love him very much. 😅😂😂

i love that despite how chaotic these situations with all of them seem, they still find time to communicate boundaries. idk if i could write it differently, tbh. especially given both mc's and Jungkook's backgrounds, it feels best for the two of them to treat one another with a lot of care. of courses, that won't stop Jungkook from being a complete and utter menace, don't worry.

added Kamehameha by Balming Tiger to this chapter!!! i am off to sleep now, good night!!!😴💤💜

Collateral 🗡️ 15: The end of an era

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: 16.4k 🗡️ mafia au, strangers to lovers, graphic violence, major character injury, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit 21+  🗡️ chapter warnings: mention of heroin, complicated feelings, smut (oral and vaginal sex, mmf threesome), trauma response, Yoongi wearing a Haegeum outfit, cocaine use, description of the knife game, an unexpected soft moment and kiss (!!!) 🗡️ note: mc visits Hong Kong. just as i said in the master list post about Korea, all scenery is completely made up. i don't know anything about Hong Kong and i do not wish to describe any neighborhood of Hong Kong in a negative light, so if anything sounds familiar, it is a coincidence. we also meet some of the members of Balming Tiger! and i realize that the mood board is not totally symmetrical but it was important for me to put Haegeum Yoongi in the center.

🗡️ speaking of Haegeum: thank you to everyone reaching out to scream with me about Haegeum!!! it has been a very exciting time to be a crime boss Yoongi author, and sharing the excitement with all of you has been a fucking blast!!! 😍💜 i love my readers very much! thank you all for being here!!! 🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin! 🗡️ posted on april 2023 | read on ao3

As you step out of your shower, the first thing you notice is the sound of voices coming from outside your bedroom door, shouting. One of them is deep enough to be Namjoon, and the other is hard to make out. Could there be something Namjoon is upset about? 

This morning, when you woke up to just Namjoon in the bed beside you, he mentioned that he and Yoongi had a surprise for you, and that you would find out in the evening. There was a tone to Namjoon's voice that you have been trying not to overthink, especially after he asked you for some privacy in the master suite, and you left him to himself with a kiss to his cheek, padding off to your cold, desolate room.

He just seemed…off. Contemplative, maybe. Something seemed to be bothering him, and now that it sounds like he is out in the mezzanine shouting at someone, you begin to feel worried. 

You dry off and take your time rubbing lotion over your legs and arms, curious for more sounds without trying too hard to overhear. Once you are finished and leaving the bathroom, making your way into your closet, his voice is much clearer through your bedroom door—it is definitely him. 

Somewhat thoughtlessly, you begin to push back hangers of clothing, listening intently while looking for something cozy to wear, not wanting to return to the master suite for some of Yoongi's sweatpants, when you hear Namjoon shout, "Jeon Jeongguk, don't you fucking play stupid with me!"

Your hand hovers over the row of dresses dangling from hangers, and you absent-mindedly begin to dance your fingertips over white cotton, curious for Jeongguk's response, but his voice is too soft to make out. Surprising, considering you would imagine Jeongguk to be with one with an explosive temper.

With a sigh, you decide you should get dressed and investigate. Perhaps your presence will help to calm Namjoon. And anyway, you have not seen Yoongi all day, and you feel eager to go ask after him. Last night, after he got word that his informant was dead, it took some coaxing from Namjoon to get him to come to bed, and he gave Yoongi something—a pill, you think—to help him sleep. You were surprised to hear Yoongi snoring; whatever Namjoon gave him really knocked him out. 

You step further into the closet and find a simple black sweater to put on, then rummage through your drawers for some underwear and black leggings. Once satisfied with how cozy you feel, you slide your feet into some plush dark grey slippers and make your way to the doorway.

"But this is much more serious, Jeongguk!" Namjoon shouts. "Everything we have worked for can fall apart if he starts using again!"

"I haven't been dealing fucking heroin," you hear Jeongguk respond, and that halts you in your tracks.

Could someone be using heroin? You think back to your days in the trafficking circle and how some of those men would get so fucked up on the junk, speaking nonsense and tripping over themselves. It was not rare to find a businessman slumped over dead in a dark corner or an alleyway; that drug will ruin someone's life. But none of the family men seem like the type, as far as you can tell. Could it be someone in their outer circle?

"Then where did it come from?" Namjoon asks.

You hate to eavesdrop, and you force yourself to keep pressing forward, toward the door. Regardless, this conversation seems pretty serious, and not something that should be had casually, on the mezzanine, where anyone in the house could hear, making you feel obligated to, at the very least, suggest the men take it somewhere else.

"We don't even know if that's what it is," you hear Jeongguk respond as you reach for the doorknob. "And anyway, I find it pretty fucking weird that you are going through his packages all of a sudden. Did he ask you to do that?"

When you open the door, both men jump. Namjoon looks like he has seen a ghost, face turning pale and widening with worry, and Jeongguk is no better.

"Fellas," you say, surprised when Namjoon only greets you with a limp lift of his hand.

"H-hey," Jeongguk responds. "How much did you hear?"

Dumbfounded, you open your mouth, and then immediately close it, shaking your head. Something tells you that you should not have heard any of that conversation, and you attempt to play coy.

"I only heard the sounds of shouting," you respond, holding believable enough eye contact and doing your best not to look scared. "I was in the shower. Just got out."

Jeongguk looks at your hair, and you hope he notices that it does, in fact, look freshly tended to. His posture is tense—hands shoved into the front pockets of black denim pants. It takes you off guard to see him in a simple black tee and jeans. After his brief inspection, Jeongguk lets out a deep exhale. 

"I need to go meet Taehyung," he says, turning his gaze to Namjoon and raising his eyebrows as he adds, "this conversation is not over. We'll see you guys later."

As Jeongguk begins to walk down the stairs, Namjoon's posture relaxes. His shoulders fall, and you can see him regain his composure. This exchange with Jeongguk really seems to have ruffled his feathers. 

"You alright, Joonbug?" you ask sweetly as you walk over and place your palms on his chest. Namjoon wears a black tee and black joggers, and as his musk hits your senses, you give him a soft smile and stand tall to press a kiss against his jaw.

"Yeah," he responds, offering an expression that is not a smile, but a failed attempt at raising the corners of his lips, making you scoff.

"Why am I not at all convinced?" you tease, kissing down his neck while your palms rub over his pecs. "You seem tense."

"I am," Namjoon mutters as he grips onto your hips with both hands, giving you a gentle squeeze and kicking up butterflies in your tummy. 

If there is one thing you seem to be learning from living under Yoongi's roof, it is the art of distracting someone using sex, and Namjoon seems to be eager for distraction. You begin to walk backward, toward your open bedroom door, gripping lightly to his shirt and giving him a tug. He barely shows any resistance, and this time, his smile is real. 

"Why don't you let me relieve some of that tension?"

"Yeah?" Namjoon asks, smile growing before he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and gives it a little nibble, making you wish that lip was between your teeth, instead.

"Hubby coming home soon?" you ask as you step through the threshold of your bedroom. "Should we wait?"

"Nah, he likely won't be back for a while," Namjoon grumbles, eyes losing their brightness at the mention of Yoongi.

You wonder if, perhaps, Yoongi is still taking the loss of Hyunjin pretty hard. Watching a loved one grieve is never easy, and if Namjoon was also close with the guy, his emotions must be rather turbulent right now.

Rather than let you pull him all the way to the bed, Namjoon bends and lifts you from behind the knees, wrapping you around his hips as he turns and sits down on your bed. You drape your arms over his shoulders and straddle his lap, then lean in to suck and nibble on his lip—plush and perfect. 

"This how you want me?" you ask as you lick over his mouth and fix him with a dark, eager stare. 

"Yeah," Namjoon responds, rubbing his hands up your thighs and grabbing your ass firmly in both hands. "This is perfect." 

You lift your hips and grind them down onto Namjoon's lap, watching as his pretty mouth sighs open, and he removes his hands from you to sit back anchored on his palms, giving you more range to tease him. And tease him, you do.

With every roll of your hips, you feel Namjoon's bulge harden. Each of his gasps and groans is louder and breathier than the last, and you revel in how quickly he becomes lost in pleasure—a complete change in demeanor from how he gets when he is in control. 

A particularly loud moan bursts through Namjoon's mouth, and you glance over your shoulder, remembering the door was never shut. When you turn back to Namjoon, he raises an eyebrow and groans, "Forgot to close that."

You hum and say, "We did."

"I don't think I heard Gguk leave," Namjoon says, punctuated with a gasp as you grind yourself on his semi-hard cock. "Should we leave it open for him? Put on a show?"

You playfully smack Namjoon on the back of the head, but continue your movements, feeling the urge to check over your shoulder despite being certain there is nobody out there. 

"Why are you like this?" you complain, but Namjoon just grins and lays flat on the bed. 

Suddenly, you want to get up and close the door. You are not sure whether you would mind having Jeongguk as an audience, but you wonder if any of the other family men could come and go at some point, or if there are staff members walking through the mansion. What if you become so lost in pleasure that you do not hear them down there?

Your hips slow, then still, and you slide from Namjoon's lap, narrowly missing his hands, which make grabbing motions for you as you get onto your feet and tiptoe to the door to close it. Of course, there is no Jeongguk within eyeshot. And what is this feeling in your gut? Disappointment?

When you turn back to the bed, Namjoon is on his feet, pulling the black tee over his head and tossing it to the floor. You do the same, lifting your black sweater off and dropping it where his shirt landed, just to the left of where you stand. You both hook your thumbs into the waistbands of your pants and underwear and bend at the hips in tandem, letting the fabric drop. 

Then you stand tall and step away from the garments, raking your eyes from Namjoon's face, to his tattooed chest, down to his heavy cock and back up before placing both palms on his pecs and shoving him hard enough to send him crashing back onto the bed. Namjoon gasps and chuckles, scrambling to sit up on his elbows while you drop to your knees and spread his thighs with both hands, wasting no time to grip onto his hard, leaking length and give it a tug. 

"Fuck," Namjoon whispers, letting his head loll back. 

"I've barely touched you," you tease, rolling the dribbled precum into your palm and stroking over the head, back and forth with a tight grip. 

"Yeah, but—" Namjoon gasps, hips bucking, "—you never touch me, so everything feels amazing."

"And whose fault is that?" you ask as you sit high on your knees and lean forward to slowly huff out a warm breath over him. Namjoon lifts his head and watches you with wide eager eyes as you jut out your lip, pouting as you say, "You never let me."

Not without permission, anyway, are the words you keep to yourself. Whatever it is that bothers Yoongi and keeps him away from the mansion, you do not want to interrupt, nor consider the ramifications of. You and Namjoon can just share this moment together. 

There is something in Namjoon's gaze that you cannot decipher. It does not seem sad or angry, but it does seem a bit…lost? Distant? You are unsure. And you do not wish to find out. 

Without another word, you angle Namjoon's cock toward your face, delicately holding it by the tip, and you lick from base to crown nice and slow, eyes focused on Namjoon, whose expression melts as a whimper passes through his lips. As you take his tip gently into your mouth, just between your lips, Namjoon's hips tremble. 

There is absolutely no way you will be able to fit his entire cock in your mouth, but you suck as far as you can, bringing him close to your throat and swallowing around him while you slowly stroke the rest of his length with each motion. Namjoon is a mess of whimpers and gasps, resting back, anchored on his elbows while he fights between watching you and letting his head roll from side to side. 

How interesting, you think, that Namjoon so easily relinquishes control without so much as attempting to be in charge, even for a moment. You half expected him to be more like Yoongi is with you, touching and guiding, maybe even telling you what to do—how he likes it. But he simply lays back and takes it, and the noises he makes are unabashed and incredible. 

Perhaps, if it were later in the day, with the master of the home around, you would take your time and really pull orgasm after orgasm from Namjoon, making him cum in your throat before climbing on top to slowly fuck him until you get yourself off once or twice. But today, you want to get this show on the road. You have tentative plans later—some surprise, apparently—and you are not eager for Yoongi to walk in on the two of you like this, should his mood happen to be volatile. 

Once Namjoon's moans become a long, drawn-out chorus of sounds and his thighs begin to quake rather roughly below you, you slowly pull him from your mouth, letting all the pooled saliva drool down from your tongue to his tip before gathering it beneath your palm and slathering it along his length.

"Is it okay that I fuck you already?" you ask.

Namjoon chuckles, says, "Of course it's okay," and begins to sit all the way up.

"I want to ride you," you tell him, watching his pretty, flushed face become all the more excited. "Sit back against the headboard."

With a weak, dazed nod, Namjoon slides back and brings his legs to the mattress, then crawls, moves the pillows out of the way, and settles against the light brown wooden headboard, atop your yellow comforter. You stand and get up onto your hands and knees and crawl to Namjoon, taking in his spread, thick thighs, soft but muscular tummy, unfurling dragon tattoo, and breathtaking face. You cage his hips in with your hands and continue to crawl until your legs straddle him, forcing him to tilt his head back to look up at you. 

"You are perfect," he mutters as his hands lift to settle on your hips, and he stares at you with such reverence, it makes you feel shy. 

"Shut up," is all you can think to say in the moment, not eager to unpack the way his expression makes your heart gallop behind your ribs. 

"I mean it," Namjoon continues, voice becoming softer. "I'm falling for you, baby. You know that, right?"

Disinterested in confessions of love, of all fucking things, you reach between your legs, take hold of Namjoon’s cock and rub the head against your heat, squeezing your eyes closed and sighing through your words as you groan, “I said shut up.”

“Wait,” Namjoon breathes, brows knit when you open your eyes and gaze down at him. “Let me lick your pussy first.”

“It’s fine,” you insist, eager to be full and to get this over with before Yoongi returns. Suddenly, the thought of his presence has you feeling anxious, like perhaps you should not be doing this right now. 

Namjoon's head falls back against the headboard with a thunk as he mutters, "You sure?"

You nod and line him up with your hole, saying, "Yeah, I'm sure," as you sink down.

The stretch makes you suck in air and immediately huff it out, and you loll your head back as your eyes squeeze closed, rocking your hips up and then down ever so slightly. Namjoon's fingertips grip tightly to your hips, and his sweet little sounds get louder and more desperate as you slowly work his length deeper. 

"So tight," he groans, and you nod your head, still facing the ceiling. "Squeezing the fucking life out of me, baby."

Namjoon is far too thick for a quick fuck. As you lift your hips, a violent tremble of pleasure rocks through you, causing you to lean with your hands against his chest to steady yourself before you think better of leaning all your weight onto him and reaching one hand after the other to grip onto the top edge of the headboard. 

"God, look at you," Namjoon groans as his hands cup both your breasts, sucking and licking at one nipple after the other, hungrily switching sides as he gently squeezes and massages the soft flesh with his palms and thumbs. 

The pleasure is overwhelming as you sink back down, stretching and filling yourself while Namjoon licks, sucks, and gently nips. You take a second to let out a huff of air that blends into a moan, then lift and drop your hips, trembling through each movement as you slowly adjust to the pleasure-pain and pick up a steady pace. 

"Fuck, you're too big," you gasp, biting down on your lip as Namjoon moans and sucks harder in response. 

Riding Namjoon is dizzying—makes you absolutely lose your mind—and you lift your hips only to slam them down with force, feeling pleasure spark and burst throughout with each rough movement. Namjoon moans and gasps against your skin, covering you in a hot flush of goosebumps and sweat. 

"Touch me, Joonie," you whine, arching your back and neck with your fluttering gaze facing the ceiling. "Make me cum."

One of Namjoon's hands falls away, and he removes his mouth from your breast long enough to wet his fingers before latching back on. The pads of his spit-slick fingertips find your clit quickly and rub in tandem with the rise and fall of your hips, causing a wave of pleasure to shoot through you and make you tremble. 

"F-fuck," you whine, and Namjoon moans a deep, playful sound of encouragement.

Too easy, Yoongi's voice mocks inside your head as your arousal builds and builds. You lift and slam your ass, holding onto the headboard like a lifeline as Namjoon's fingers and mouth pull the pleasure from you steadily. At this pace, it will take you no time at all to come undone completely. 

"You feel like heaven around me, baby," Namjoon mutters against your skin, lips dragging hot and wet, sending a shiver through you.

All you can do in response is let out a sound somewhere between a moan and a hum, unable to form words as Namjoon's fingertips on your clit bring you closer and closer to the edge. With a quake of pleasure throwing your rhythm off, you grind your hips forward and backward, hitting a spot that shoots a surprising wave of ecstasy through you, making your head fall forward.

That is going to make you cum, and you redirect your movements and begin to grind yourself down on him, using his cock to get yourself off as your hips move front and back in quick, desperate ellipses. 

"Oh, fuck," Namjoon groans, slamming his head back against the headboard as one hand grips your ribs while he continues to circle his fingers over your clit. "That's it, baby; make yourself cum."

You whimper and moan, letting syllables fall loosely in failed attempts to praise and beg, so close to the edge that you cannot form a coherent thought, much less sentence. Namjoon must understand you, though, and he swirls his hips just enough to make every one of your movements feel more intense, causing your orgasm to hit hard and fast, throwing you completely from your axis. 

You continue to grind, rushed and frantic as you chase your high, moving until it becomes too intense and you can go no longer, falling forward with your chest against Namjoon's face and your forehead resting against the headboard. 

Namjoon wraps both arms around your hips and lifts, shifting beneath you without pulling out to lay you down on your back. You gasp and attempt to grip onto the yellow comforter for purchase, but Namjoon gets onto his knees and begins to fuck you through what is left of your orgasm so hard and fast that your back arcs, frozen in pleasure, with your hands open wide, unable to grasp onto anything, forcing the last ounce of your sanity to slip between your fingers. 

"This what you need, baby?" Namjoon groans as sweat drips from his forehead, landing on your neck. "Cum on this cock. Show me how much you like it."

All you can do is allow your orgasm to quake through you as Namjoon fucks you into your mattress, and you are grateful for the sturdy bed frame making minimal noise. With your mouth agape, you moan and sob, and finally, when your high begins to hinge on overstimulation, you grasp onto the blanket, clutching it tight. 

"Fuck," you gasp, squeezing your eyes closed. "Too much. 'S too much."

"Call your safeword if you need it," Namjoon commands as his hips continue to slam against your spread thighs. 

You do not want to call your safeword. Truth be told, you hardly want him to slow down, already feeling another high wash over you, covering your skin with tingling warmth. When you open your eyes, Namjoon is frowning down at you, brows knit with concentration as he pounds his thick cock into you with no remorse, and you stretch your arms over your head and tilt your head back, basking in the feeling. 

Sweat drips from Namjoon's forehead and neck, hitting your skin in cool drops, tickling as they trickle down to the comforter below. With your orgasm dissipating, you begin to worry that perhaps you should hurry up and finish before Yoongi returns. But Namjoon feels good—unrelentingly good. You do not want him to stop. 

The loud, shrill sound of Namjoon's phone ringing pulls you from your thoughts, but Namjoon does not slow down, slamming you into the mattress even harder, as if desperate to get off. But then, as if coming to his senses, Namjoon slows his pace, rolling his hips while his moans fade to pants, and he acknowledges the sound. 

With a sigh, Namjoon brings his hips to a stop, all the while his phone continues to ring, and you cannot help but worry that it is Yoongi on the other end. Namjoon pulls out, leaving you feeling cold and empty, and flops onto his side, hanging off the edge of the bed to search for the ringing device before pulling it to his ear and answering it.

"Hey, handsome," Namjoon says as he remains hanging from your bed, panting between words. "Yeah, we were just, uhh…keeping each other distracted until you returned."

Interesting choice of words, and although you admit that you were attempting to distract him earlier, you wonder what he thinks he is distracting you from.

"In her room," Namjoon responds after a pause, and you watch as his smile softens while he stares off to the side. He says, "We'll look forward to it...love you too," with his smile growing, then ends the call, tosses the phone back onto the pile, and sits up with a slight groan.

"I'm sure you could guess who that was," Namjoon says, getting back onto his knees and spreading your legs around his hips. His cock seems to have softened some, and he fists it slowly in one hand.

"Taehyung?" you respond teasingly, watching as Namjoon's eyebrows raise in amusement, then he leans with one hand anchored by your side, towering over you.

"Would you like that?" He asks, voice dark and deep. "Would you like for the doctor to join us?"

With a chuckle, you consider your words, raising your eyebrows much in the same way he had. You are not sure Taehyung's so-called fascination with human bodies—as Felix so colorfully put it—would translate to joining you in bed.

"I think I'm good," you finally say, failing to think of something quippy in response, making Namjoon's cheeks crease with dimples as he chuckles to himself. 

"Do you have the energy to keep going?" Namjoon asks, leaning closer and caging your head in with both hands. His breath is warm against your face, and you do your best to lift your head and strain for a kiss until he gets the hint and lowers even more.

With a low groan, you suck his lip into your mouth, then release it and say, "You didn't cum yet."

Namjoon shrugs, but you can tell by the curl of his lips that he is pleased with your consideration. 

"I don't mind," he responds, and you shake your head. 

"I want you to."

All Namjoon has to do is roll his hips forward and his cock slides into your wet heat, making you gasp and lift your own hips upward, searching for more. He goes slow, pushing forward until his pelvis is pressed into you then dragging himself out, making your eyes roll back as you feel every inch of him along your walls. 

"So big," you mutter almost mindlessly as he thrusts slowly forward, making you dizzy. 

"You take me so well," Namjoon groans against your lips, and you drop your mouth open to whimper through his languid movements, pleased when he dances his tongue over yours and fills your mouth with his own sweet sounds. 

From outside the door, you hear a raspy, "Knock, knock," accompanied by actual knocking, and you smile, feeling warmth bloom in your chest knowing that Yoongi has arrived. You assume that he was pleased with what you and Namjoon were up to based on Namjoon's expression while they were speaking on the phone, and you no longer feel trepidation about him finding you. In fact, with the door to your bedroom slowly opening, you become excited knowing that Yoongi is walking in on the sight of you and Namjoon together. 

Namjoon's mouth is still connected to yours, and his hips do not hesitate as Yoongi enters the room. A low, raspy groan of approval fills the space, and you sink further into bliss, feeling warmth cover you from the knowledge of being watched. And although you cannot see him, you can hear Yoongi getting undressed as fabric hits the floor, followed by the jangling of a belt buckle.

"Is it my birthday?" Yoongi asks, voice closer than you expect, causing goosebumps to bloom over your skin.

Namjoon breaks the kiss, and you whine indignantly, opening your eyes to find him sitting up to connect his lips with Yoongi's waiting mouth. Yoongi stands shirtless, bent over the edge of the bed, anchored on one palm, and his chest is already flushed a pretty, rosy shade, with a red welt the size of a bullet smack dab in the center, surrounded by streaks of healed scars. His slacks hang open, and he fists himself over his black briefs, getting himself hard as Namjoon continues to slowly fuck you. 

"Tell us what we can do for you," Namjoon mutters, rolling his hips at an angle that makes you shudder and whine, feeling a new burst of arousal alongside the familiar. 

"Just want to watch you two," Yoongi groans, hand tightening over his bulge. 

Namjoon kisses down Yoongi's jaw and neck, then backs away and sits up tall between your spread legs, all the while Yoongi turns to look at you, gaze soft and kind as he smiles and bites his bottom lip. You reach out for Yoongi, also eager for a kiss, but Namjoon pulls his hips back and slams them forward, causing your body to seize with pleasure before your arms and head fall back against the mattress.

"Fuck!" you cry, as Namjoon pulls back and ruts forward once more, hard and fast enough to make your head spin. 

"Just look at you," Yoongi groans, and you open your eyes to find his gaze has darkened. "So perfect."

Namjoon grips onto the backs of your thighs firmly with both hands, bowing his back as he fucks you hard and fast, and you clench the comforter as bliss crashes rapidly through you. Sweat beads and drips down Namjoon's torso, and you follow the movement as one particular droplet rolls to his tummy, disappearing against his skin. His abdomen tenses and relaxes as he ruts into you, and you attempt to watch the mesmerizing undulation, but you feel another high rapidly begin to build, and you squeeze your eyes tight momentarily as you reach one hand between your legs to play lazily with your clit. 

At the first touch of your fingertips, you tense up from the burst of arousal, and Namjoon moans while gazing down at you, eyes fixed and hungry. You can tell from the lift of his brow that he wants you to squeeze him again, and you do so, rhythmically tightening your muscles around him until his mouth falls open and he breathes out a deep moan. 

"Not gonna last if you keep doing that, baby."

With a pleased hum, you respond, "Good. Want you to cum," giving Namjoon a mock-innocent smile and flutter of your lashes when he glares at you frustratedly.

Namjoon picks up his pace, making it impossible for you to tease him further—if your walls do tighten around him, it is involuntary, caused by the accelerated pace at which you climb closer to orgasm.

"Fuck, Namjoon! S-so good!" you sob, circling your fingers over yourself faster. Desperate to cum again, you begin to beg, chanting, "Please, please, please," as your eyes roll back and your body arches.

Orgasm quakes and erupts through you, and you lay frozen in pleasure as only rasps and breathy whimpers leave your lips. Namjoon's hips begin to stutter, and he pulls out, taking you by surprise as his cock is replaced by his fingers. He roughly presses them up into your sweet spot, making another orgasm build and explode so fast, you scream, feeling the overwhelming gush of pleasure overtake you.

Your release sprays against your thighs, and Namjoon replaces his fingers with his cock, fucking you at a punishing pace for an intense but short-lived burst before his hips still, and he cums inside you. You babble somewhat incoherently, sobbing as Namjoon's hips tremble, and he sits back, pulling out.

Sweat covers you, turning your red-hot skin cold. Before you have a chance to catch your breath or get your bearings, two large hands grab you by the hips and tug at you, turning you forcefully until your feet fall off the side of the bed, and you find Yoongi yanking your hips to the edge while he sinks onto his knees and buries his face between your legs.

Your cunt is sensitive, and as Yoongi laps his tongue over you, from your hole to your clit and back down, you tremble and sob, overstimulated but already enraptured by the sensation. Yoongi's tongue enters you, and he slurps and hums, eyes closed as he devours you. 

"Holy shit," you whimper as your head falls back, and you lay pliant for Yoongi to taste as he pleases. The thought of him eating Namjoon's cum out of you sends a fluttering of arousal to your core, and you sink further into bliss, only coming back to earth after Yoongi manages to quickly pull a small, steady orgasm from you. 

By the time you open your eyes and meet his glistening smile, you feel as though your soul is barely tethered to your body, attempting to float up into the heavens. 

"No more," you whine, feeling spent beyond belief. "I can't take it. Sakura."

Yoongi's hands slowly rub up and down your thighs, and he chuckles, voice soft and light as air. He raises a brow and asks, "Namjoon fucked you that good, hmm?"

Warmth rises to your cheeks, and you nibble on your bottom lip as you nod, then tip your head to the side to find a sweaty, beautiful Namjoon sitting against your headboard, grinning. 

"I still have enough energy to take care of you," Namjoon offers, eyes drifting to Yoongi. 

You turn and watch Yoongi shake his head and say, "That won't be necessary," cheeks turning a faint, pretty red. 

"Nonsense," Namjoon responds, making his way to Yoongi, crawling on his hands and knees. "It's been too long since you've coated my tongue in your cum, baby. Be good for me and fuck my throat? Pretty please?"

Yoongi sits back on his heels and chuckles, softly shaking his head before glancing up at Namjoon with a fire in his gaze. 

"Well, since you asked so nicely," he drawls as he stands and rubs his palm over his bulge. "Who am I to say no to you, daddy?"

You are certain you are never going to get used to hearing Yoongi calling Namjoon daddy. And when Yoongi drops his slacks and briefs to the floor, taking Namjoon's face in his hands, sliding his cock back into his throat, and holding it until Namjoon turns bright red and gags, you are certain you will never get used to sights like this, either.

The instruction was to wear something comfortable for a long trip, so you opt for the black leggings you had on earlier and a simple burgundy knit sweater. There is a knock at your door, and you look up from the small black suitcase sprawled open on your bed, into which you have been placing loungewear and boxes of your favorite jewelry. 

Earlier, Yoongi insisted he would join you to select gowns and jackets for you to wear once he got dressed, so you have been killing time while waiting. As much as you wanted to join him and Namjoon for a shower, your hair was barely dry from the first one, so you opted to just get dressed and wait for them. You will likely want to shower at the end of this so-called long trip, anyway, so doing so again feels like an irresponsible use of water.  

After another knock, you say, "Come in, Namjoon," knowing it is certainly not Yoongi; he always just walks right in. 

Namjoon's deep chuckle gives him away, and he pushes the door open and steps inside, making you gasp. The sight of him standing in a simple white cotton short sleeve tucked into black slacks should not have the effect it does, but you still watch in awe as every curve of muscle is perfectly accentuated by his clothing. He has a jacket slung over one arm that matches the slacks, and you imagine that once he puts it on, he will look quite dapper.

"I feel underdressed," you complain, glancing down at your pedestrian cozy clothing. 

Namjoon shakes his head. 

"We need to make a pitstop and meet with someone before we head to our destination, and it will be for the best that you are underdressed and unrecognizable."

Although Namjoon delivers this news calmly, there is something about it that makes you uncomfortable. Where will the three of you be headed, and why should you be unrecognizable? Is it mafia related? The thought of being caught in another gunfight kicks bile up into your throat, and you attempt to swallow down the feeling and shake it off.

Namjoon must notice your shift in mood. He quickly rounds the bed and approaches, placing his hands on your upper arms and gently holding you while bending to look into your eyes. 

"Hey, sweetheart, where we're going is safe, okay? Don't worry."

"Safe," you respond, nodding your head slowly. Somehow, you struggle to believe it.

"Yoongi just has to meet with some old friends in Hong Kong. Nobody there should know who we are aside from his friends, and I only meant that you should be unrecognizable in some slim, off-chance that anyone does recognize him."

Namjoon's words are not fully making sense. It is clear that he wants to comfort you, but he also seems to be talking in circles, leading you to think that even he is unsure of what the truth fully is. If someone recognizes him, and you are seen with him, then you will also become a target. The two of you have been seen in public, with a very publicized engagement; surely his enemies must know what you look like now, too…right?

You decide to stop overthinking it until Yoongi joins you; it would be better to ask him about it. Despite how poor of a read Yoongi had on the last situation in which you were told things would be fine, this seems more like something he has planned rather than a surprise visit from unwanted guests, so you hope, at the very least, that he knows what he is doing. 

You nod once more, attempting to take in Namjoon's words, and he wraps you in a hug, pressing your face into his chest. His scent engulfs you, handsome musk dancing prettily with floral notes, and you sink further into him, allowing it to calm you as you take deep, heavy breaths. With another knock, Yoongi enters the room, and you let Namjoon break from the hug and pull away before you turn to Yoongi and, once again, suck air deep into your lungs.

Yoongi stands in a short sleeve button-up shirt with a white and red pattern that resembles palm fronds, which is left open and untucked. A white tank top is tucked into loose-fitting dark denim jeans with holes in the knees, accessorized with a black belt, and his hair is wet and hangs in waves, perfectly framing his face, driving you absolutely wild. He looks like a crime boss from an old 80s film, and it should not be so attractive, but it is.

With a deep, playful chuckle, Namjoon approaches Yoongi, who rounds your bed, and you follow, shoving Namjoon gently out of the way to approach and run your hands over Yoongi's chest, filled with the sudden urge to feel him. Yoongi seems pleased with the attention, quirking an eyebrow at Namjoon as if to tease him while wrapping his arms around your waist. Up close, there are little white stars on his shirt, in between the leaf patterns on top of a black background, and you dance your fingertips over them, surprised to see him wearing such a design. 

"Where did you find a shirt like this?" you tease, and Yoongi directs his quirked eyebrow to you as he chuckles.

"This shirt is Gucci, darling."

As if having a brand name attached to the garment makes it any less absurd. Still, the part of you that appreciates fashion feels a bit excited by the news. 

"We're going to Hong Kong, hyung, not Miami," Namjoon chides, coming into view on your left and stealing Yoongi's smile for himself. "You look like Tony Montana."

"Well, I feel like Tony Montana," Yoongi responds with a playful snarl. "So, I suppose it's appropriate, is it not?"

"Speaking of," you say, hesitant to ruin the mood, but already feeling your anxiety begin to rise. "What are we doing in Hong Kong?"

Yoongi turns his attention back to you and rubs a hand soothingly up and down your back. You wonder if he can tell that you are stressed or if the urge to comfort you is becoming innate. 

"I have to meet with some old friends," Yoongi unhelpfully supplies. 

As you watch him gaze at you, eyes slowly traveling over your features, you can tell that there is more he wants to say, and you wait patiently for him to gather his thoughts. His hand continues its gentle path, easing you into whatever he is planning to say next while his other hand raises to gently take you by the chin.

"There are some aspects of my operations that I would like to…offload, let's say…onto someone else."

After another pause, you pull your lips into a straight line and nod. 

"Well, that could not have been any more vague if you tried," you tease, though your voice is flat and gives no hint of playfulness; none of your anxiety is quelled. 

"Once the deal is finalized, I will answer any and all of your questions," Yoongi adds as he gently tugs you close for a soft kiss, and you crack a smile against his lips. 

Whatever it is, it must be a big deal for Yoongi to want to wait to discuss, and you suppose that it is better this way, in the long run. Although you would like to be in on his plans, as well, you realize that you may not quite be there, yet. Perhaps it is time to finally have a conversation about the state of your relationship. 

"So, Hong Kong, and then what?" you ask.

Yoongi's eyes brighten, and his lips pull into a wide, gummy smile, setting your heart a little more at ease. 

"It's a surprise, darling," Yoongi responds, standing taller and placing a kiss against your temple. "Let's pick out some clothing for the trip."

With a nod, you smile and allow Yoongi to pull you into your closet, straight back to the formal and semi-formal dresses, while Namjoon begins to rummage around, choosing jewelry and shoes. Wherever you are going, it must be expensive, and you cannot wait.

Although you are not surprised to discover that Yoongi owns a private jet, you are still in awe as you enter the airplane cabin and look around. You have been in a couple commercial planes before, but none of them are sleek marvels of modern design, with black leather, gold, and mahogany interiors—following the theme of everything else Yoongi owns.

There are large, comfortable chairs—two rows of four with an aisle between pairs—and a couch against one side of the aisle facing a flat screen television on the other. Through an entrance past the seats, toward the back of the plane, there even appears to be a bed.

You take a step into the space, unsure what to do with yourself, and Yoongi places a hand on the small of your back and guides you forward enough to let Namjoon into the cabin. Staff members have taken your luggage, so you are empty-handed, and your arms hang down at your sides as you fidget along the edges of your long sleeves with your fingertips. 

"The first flight is about four hours," Yoongi informs as you make your way toward the couch. "Would you like to sit and watch through the window, watch a movie, lay down…"

As he trails off, you look around and decide that it would be nice to distract yourself during the first flight, so you mutter, "Watch a movie," while taking a seat on the couch and scooting into one corner, leaving room for the others to join you. 

"Do you have Scarface?" Namjoon asks with a shit-eating grin.

Yoongi gives you an incredulous smile before sitting beside you and slinging his arm over your shoulder as he grumbles, "I have every movie you could possibly want, Joonie. Put on fucking Scarface if it makes you happy."

"Doesn't he die at the end?" you ask with a frown.

"He does," Yoongi responds, pulling you close. "Are you hoping for something with a happier ending?"

Although you are merely discussing a movie, you find yourself picturing Yoongi as the ill-fated Tony Montana, feeling a swell of negative emotion as you attempt to keep your voice from trembling while muttering, "A h-happy ending once in a while would be nice."

Because sure, Yoongi may feel like the world is his while dressed like a Hollywood mob boss, and it is fun for Namjoon to tease him. But you know how those movies go. None of them end on a happy note, and in many of them, the boss is murdered, or they become so hardened by the lifestyle that they wind up dead inside. And the idea of either of those realities befalling Yoongi at such a young age makes you feel awful.

"We can watch one of my comfort films if you'd like," Namjoon offers, taking his place beside Yoongi and leaning over his lap to look at you with a soft smile. 

You return Namjoon's smile and nod, eager to find out what a man like him watches for comfort. You wonder if it is some silly action flick where a himbo with a heart of gold wins over the girl in the end, surprised when he grabs the remote, turns on the television, and searches for Howl's Moving Castle. 

"Don't you want to be in the middle?" Yoongi asks.

Without waiting for a response, Yoongi begins to stand, and Namjoon scoots over, giving you all the room you need to slide beside Namjoon and settle into his side as Yoongi sits and lifts your legs to rest over his thighs. You barely make it through the opening scene as sleep takes you, blinking heavily as Howl whisks Sophie off her feet to walk above the rooftops before you fall fast asleep.

As soon as you arrive to Hong Kong, you exit the plane and head straight to an older model red car that is long and boxy, leaving behind your luggage with the promise to return soon. Two men sit in the driver and passenger seats of the vehicle, and you and Yoongi clamber into the backseat on the passenger side, while Namjoon rounds the hood and gets in on the other side. The back seat is roomy, but you still feel trapped between broad shoulders as you fasten your seatbelt and settle back against the tan leather.

A man with a green buzzcut sits in the driver's seat, and beside him is a man with short, dark hair. Both men have cigarettes hanging from their lips, and the passenger rotates his torso to look back and give a lazy smile while the driver glances into the mirror and grins. There seems to be a tension in the air that melts the moment Yoongi gets settled.

"Min fucking Yoongi," the driver shouts, rotating to look back and glance at you and Namjoon, "Kim mother fucking Namjoon. What have you boys gotten into? And where are you taking this pretty thing?"

"Uiseok, Wonjin," Yoongi responds excitedly, leaning forward and jostling you into Namjoon as he reaches over your lap to low-five and fist-bump the two men. "Good to see you guys. Thanks for having us."

From your left, Namjoon wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you gently into his side, and Yoongi introduces you, making your cheeks warm as you lift a hand to greet the two of them. And then you are off, driving through neon-lit streets in the middle of the night. Some dreamy track plays on the radio, and both Uiseok and Wonjin bop their heads to the beat, muttering along. 

You glance through the windows, alternating between staring out the front and bending to look through the left, past Namjoon, and through the right, past Yoongi. The streets are bustling with a calm chaos of food stands and pedestrians while cars zip by and bicycles weave through the traffic, causing your heart to flutter excitedly. And then the scenery shifts and the excitement fades as you enter an area with far less traffic, swerving through housing projects with tall, dense apartment buildings.

When the car finally pulls up to a curb, you are surprised to find yourselves outside a diner on what looks like a deserted street. Yoongi gets out first, holding his hand out to you, so you unbuckle your seatbelt, feeling a surge of trepidation as the other three men stay in the car. You slide out and get onto your feet, then notice a woman inside the diner who stands from a booth directly on the other side of the tall glass window from where the two of you are, making her way to the nearby door to come outside.

"Darling, this is Sohee," Yoongi says as he gestures to the woman. She wears a dark mauve shirt untucked over brown pants and has long, somewhat wavy dark brown hair with soft, almost innocent features that curl bright and pretty when she smiles. "The boys and I are going to head to that building there—" Yoongi nods to a corner over your shoulder, to the left, and you turn to see what looks like a brick apartment building on the corner, "—to discuss a deal. We will meet you back here when we are done. Shouldn't take long."

Although you are not sure you feel too great about being dumped off with a stranger, you have no desire to argue. You have seen enough excitement lately, so if waiting at a diner in the middle of the night with this new woman is what Yoongi wants you to do, then you are content in doing so.

"Right this way," Sohee sing-songs in a voice that is surprisingly soft, taking your hand and tugging you toward the entrance to the diner. 

You glance back and catch a fond smile pulling at Yoongi's lips before he gets back into the car, which drives across the street and rounds the corner. And although you know it is irrational to feel nervous about being left behind as you watch the white and red car disappear, you can't help it.

"Hungry?" Sohee asks, pouting as you take your seat across from her. The booths are hard off-yellow lacquered wood with a white rectangular table in the center, lining the window and teal tile walls, and the space is more dimly lit than you would expect from a restaurant. The white penny tile floor is chipped in places, revealing concrete, and you do not see a single menu anywhere.

You have no idea if you are hungry, but you glance around the space, noting that you are the only two people here and that nobody appears to be out in the streets. Even from where you assume a kitchen may be, past a steel door behind Sohee, you hear nothing. It feels eerie and ominous, weighing over you heavily.

"Not really," you respond sheepishly, pulling your shoulders high around your ears.

"Nervous?"

You nod and glance around once more before making eye contact. Sohee smiles, and it is sweet enough to make you want to relax, but there is something playful in her eyes, making you think that she is in on a joke that you do not fully understand.

"They won't be long," she assures you, sitting back against the booth and crossing her arms over her chest.

You hum and nod, then stare out the window at the empty street. There is no use watching for the men to return; they could take anywhere from five minutes to an hour—god forbid longer. But it is hard not to be distracted by the empty corner around which they disappeared. At least all the men seem to be on friendly terms, assuaging your fear, if only a little. 

"How'd you get roped up with these guys?" Sohee asks, and you turn back to her, mouth agape. 

It occurs to you that you have never told the story before. Can you tell the story? Does this group know exactly what Yoongi does? They have to…right?

"I, uh…" you trail off, blinking heavily, unsure what to say. And then the absurdity of the situation hits you, and you start to laugh. It starts small—a chuckle working its way through your throat. But then you find yourself full-on laughing—closing your eyes and shaking your head as you sink back further into the booth as you attempt to catch your breath. 

Sohee lifts her brows, eager to hear what you have to say, and you swallow a lump and chuckle again, shaking your head some more. You suppose you could try to explain it without being explicit with the details.

"We met through a, uh…a mutual…" you trail off thinking about your ex-boyfriend, the spineless schmuck who sold you out for drug money. Good riddance, honestly. "A-and I just started going around him and the guys more, and…"

You can tell by the small, knowing smile that Sohee does not believe your story. Or, rather, that she knows it is bullshit, and that you are purposefully holding back all the actual details. She is polite enough not to say anything, at least. You laugh to yourself once more, giving up on continuing what you were saying.

It feels…odd…to be sitting in a public place with a stranger, having a plain, normal, everyday conversation. You had not realized how rare moments like these have been until it sinks in and settles over you like a blanket that is cool to the touch, not yet having had a chance to absorb your body heat. 

When your eyes move to the street once more, you see two people coming around the corner who are unfamiliar, but who are clearly walking in your direction and appear to be dressed the same way Sohee is, looking at you through the tall window. Fear spikes through you, setting every nerve on edge, and you tense up and turn to Sohee, feeling yourself tremble as you ask with wide eyes and shaking lips, "D-do you know th-those two?"

Sohee turns to glance over her shoulder and nods her chin at the men, winning her a nod in return. Then you see Namjoon, Yoongi, and the two men whose names you have already forgotten walk around the corner, making you relax. Yoongi has a smirk that you can identify even from this distance.

And then, to your surprise, Taehyung rounds the corner, walking with a long black trench coat over a three-piece suit and tie with the lapels of the jacket pulled up over his neck, followed by Jeongguk, who is dressed head to toe in black leather and denim. What on earth are they doing here?

All eight of them approach the restaurant, and one of the people who you had not met, a shorter person with shoulder-length dark, wavy hair and bangs hanging into their eyes, pops their head into the diner and smiles as they say, "Shall we go celebrate?"

When you look between them and Sohee, wondering what the person means by go celebrate, she laughs while gesturing around with her arm out. 

"There is no food or drink to be had here. This place is a front."

"Oh," you respond, feeling silly because of course it is a front; there is nothing on the windows or door to indicate that this place serves food at all. 

Everyone enters the diner and files through the tall steel door behind Sohee, and you stand to make your way to the group in time for the terror twins to enter the building. Yoongi and Namjoon give you a smile before following the others, and Jeongguk falls into step behind you as Taehyung drapes his arm over your shoulder in a surprising show of friendliness, leading the two of you into a kitchen.

On the far wall there is a stove, several metal countertops, and a tall steel fridge. Dishes are stacked on shelves, and there is a small pantry shelf with boxes that you imagine are either empty or full of expired food products, such as oils, sugars, and so on. 

The man with the green buzzcut walks to a tall, steel walk-in cooler door, pulls out a set of keys, and unlocks it. Then he pulls it open and enters through a curtain of thick vinyl strips, and everyone follows one after the other. You imagine that the giant cooler you are entering is not in operation, but you hug your arms around yourself a little tighter, grateful for the warmth of Taehyung at your side.  

"How was the flight here?" Taehyung asks, voice deep and soft, giving you a chill as he reaches out and parts the vinyl for you to walk through.

The room you enter looks like a walk-in cooler, for all intents and purposes, with metal racks along the left and right walls. But the cooling mechanism is shut off, leaving the dark room stiflingly humid, and straight ahead, there is a doorway, through which the group has already begun to walk. 

"It was good," you respond, "Yoongi's plane is nice."

Taehyung hums and gives you a squeeze before letting his arm fall from your shoulder, hand running down your back before his touch disappears entirely. "You should fly in mine sometime," he says before falling back a step and letting you continue through a much smaller doorway ahead. 

The narrow door leads into a short, narrow hallway, which opens into a large room that looks like something out of a movie. The carpeting is maroon and gold, much like what you might see in the hallway of a five-star hotel, and all the furnishings are red leather, dark wood, and gold. A garish crystal chandelier hangs over the room, and four large red couches surround a massive glass table in the center of the space. 

Gold and jade green sconces dot the walls, along with an eclectic array of paintings and tapestries hanging here and there, and spread throughout the space is a collection of furniture pieces, vases, statues, and other tchotchkes from various cultures, some seeming Korean and others less recognizable. You get the sense that this group of people is rather chaotic, and the fact that they seem to mesh well together while staying in a place with this level of organized anarchy just makes sense. 

Everyone kicks out of their shoes and boots and makes their way to the sofas while the two men you met earlier walk over to what looks like a bar on the far left wall. You take your place on the furthest couch from the door, with Yoongi and Namjoon to your left, and Jeongguk and Taehyung to your right. Sohee and the two you have not met sit on the couch to the left, and the two men you met earlier return, hugging bottles of champagne in each arm and carrying stacks of highball glasses. 

"I forgot the guys' names," you mutter, leaning toward Yoongi, who wraps an arm around your lower back and rubs his palm soothingly up your side. 

"Uiseok and Wonjin," Yoongi responds softly, nodding to the men who approach, jogging your memory. 

Uiseok is slim and muscular, with pretty, sleepy features, smiling lazily through squinted eyes, appearing to be a bit stoned, and Wonjin has soft but defined features, with full lips that hang in a bit of a frown, and expressive eyes that also appear bloodshot and squinted. Both men wear the same dark mauve shirt and brown pants as the others, giving you a bit of a cult vibe, and you make a mental note to ask Yoongi about it later.

Yoongi lifts his hand and points his palm toward the two on the left who you had not yet been introduced to as he says, "And this is Chanhee and Seungmin."

You follow the movement of Yoongi's hand as he points out the other two, who sit on either side of Sohee, and they wave as you tell them your name. The one with long hair hanging over their eyes is Seungmin, and Chanhee has his hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, wearing wire-framed glasses over slightly elongated features. They both have light-colored button-ups tucked into dark slacks. 

As Uiseok and Wonjin pop open bottles of champagne, Yoongi leans forward to take glasses from the stacks, and sets them out around the table, in front of everyone. All but Jeongguk scoot forward in preparation for a toast, and you glance over your shoulder, checking to see whether he is paying attention. 

Jeongguk's expression is flat and his eyes are a bit glazed over as he stares ahead for several seconds before noticing you and meeting your gaze. He knits his brow and tilts his head slightly, and you interpret it as him asking what you want, so you lean back and shove your elbow into his leather-clad side until he grumbles softly and pushes you away. 

"What?" he mutters, and you lean back more to quietly ask, "What's the matter?"

With a shrug, Jeongguk mumbles, "Nothing," but his expression says otherwise, and you study him a few more seconds until he nods his chin to the glasses of champagne being poured. You concede to allowing Jeongguk to wallow in whatever is on his mind for now, resolved to press him for information in private later. 

"To the end of an era," Uiseok announces, taking you by surprise, and you turn to Yoongi, half expecting him to be displeased by what Uiseok says, but there is a wide smile on his face, pink gums on display as he reaches for a glass and holds it up. 

"Welcome to the family," Yoongi announces as he stands and holds his highball of champagne to the center, over the table. 

Everyone but Jeongguk follows suit immediately, and you reach for a glass and stand, holding it out while Yoongi leans back and instructs Jeongguk to get onto his feet and join the rest of you. Jeongguk clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth, then lets out a sigh as he grabs the last glass, standing in such a rush that he bumps into you. 

"S-sorry," he grumbles as a hand brushes over your lower back and then disappears, leaving a chill in its wake. 

"It's fine," you respond, turning your head toward Jeongguk but keeping your eyes forward. Clearly, something is bothering him, and you are becoming increasingly eager to know what it is.

"We are very happy to join the team, and honored that you trust us with the operations," Wonjin adds. "We believe that we will make the Korean empire even stronger, and look forward to seeing more of you guys."

You mutter cheers along with the others, tap your glass against as many as you can realistically reach, and then you drink back the tangy-sweet liquid, letting the bubbles settle on your tongue. Everyone erupts into excited chatter, save for Jeongguk, who sits back down on the couch with a huff. You sit beside him, not really feeling social and already disinterested in the boom of conversation. Despite Yoongi welcoming them to the family, you still feel very kept in the dark about everything that is happening, and listening in on overlapping voices is only making you feel tired. 

Jeongguk pulls a metal vial from the inner breast pocket of his jacket and hands it to you, so you wedge your glass between your knees and unscrew the top, then sniff back two small piles of cocaine, one into each nostril. When you hand it back to Jeongguk, his gaze is on you, soft and contemplative. You cock your head and ask, "What?" but he just shakes his head, sits forward, and reaches a thumb to gently brush just below your nose before taking his drugs back and inhaling two small piles of his own. 

Feeling self-conscious about Jeongguk's gesture, you lift a hand to rub under your nose while your eyes drift down to your lap, catching a small chuckle that Jeongguk lets out, pulling your attention back to him. He gently shakes his head, then leans forward and mutters, "I wanna get out of here."

You also want to get out of here, and you nod your head, then glance around, unsure where you might go. Luckily, Jeongguk stands and asks, "Is there somewhere I can go to get some fresh air?" leading Uiseok to point to a door at the far end of the room. 

Jeongguk leads the way, making a pitstop to grab his boots, and you stand and tilt into Yoongi saying, "I'm going to join him, okay?"

"Of course," Yoongi responds with a smile, then he leans toward the table, picks up a half-empty bottle of champagne, and hands it to you. "Take this."

Yoongi's hair is still wavy, just like it was when it was wet, but with a little more volume now that it has dried. You want to run your fingers through it and give it a little tug but resist the urge and instead take the champagne, swerving back for your shoes and following Jeongguk through a red doorway and out into another narrow hallway. This one is at least carpeted and leads to other rooms, and on the far end, there is a metal door that goes out to a street-level brick balcony. 

The street is quiet when you and Jeongguk step out, and you glance around, taking in tall brick buildings that seem to be more or less abandoned. It certainly is the perfect spot for whatever this group of people does to operate while hiding in plain sight, you suppose. 

"Brought you this," you say, handing Jeongguk the champagne. He appears to have left his glass inside and drinks straight from the bottle before handing it back to you. 

You happened to bring your drink with you, so you chug back the rest of your glass and set it into a potted waist-height tree, nestling it into the dirt for safekeeping before taking a swig from the bottle and turning to Jeongguk. He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and uses his lips to yank one out, then fishes out a zippo lighter from the same pocket and flicks it to life. Jeongguk frowns slightly as he lights the cigarette, taking a deep breath and holding it in as his head tilts back and his eyes close. 

"Do you want to talk about whatever is bothering you?" you ask softly, testing the waters. 

Jeongguk lets out a huff of smoke and shrugs, keeping his gaze fixed on the street rather than looking at you. 

"Not really."

"Alright," you concede, not feeling particularly eager to push him. "Well, do you want to talk about anything? Or do you like to just sit and wallow in silence?"

This makes Jeongguk scoff, and he finally turns his gaze to you, reaching for the champagne, which you hand over after a little resistance. 

"And what would we talk about?" he asks with a sharp smirk.

You had not considered it before making the recommendation, and truth be told, you have no idea what the two of you would talk about. Does Jeongguk watch movies or listen to music? Does he have hobbies outside of his role within the family? What does he do in his spare time?

"Uh…" you try to think of something small to ease into getting to know one another and ask, "I don't know. Wh-what did you guys do on the flight here?"

Without breaking eye contact, Jeongguk says, "I snorted cocaine off Taehyung's dick and then he held me against the wall and fucked me."

Feeling somewhat stunned, you blink a few times and mutter, "Wh-what happens if the plane hits turbulence?" 

Jeongguk cracks a smile and takes a step closer, somewhat crowding your space and making your heart pound heavily. 

"While I'm snorting coke off his dick or while he's fucking me against the wall?"

"Ah-either way? I suppose?"

With a slight cock of his head, he says, "I guess in either instance, we end up making a mess."

"A mess?" you ask somewhat mindlessly, feeling your thought processes slow to a halt the closer Jeongguk gets. 

With an affirmative hum, Jeongguk advances, looming close while taking a drag from his cigarette and letting the smoke exit from the side of his mouth, as if being careful not to blow it in your face. His proximity makes your palms prickle, and you grip onto the champagne bottle, hugging it to your chest despite how dry your mouth is. A sweet, lightly floral scent blends with the smoke, feeling almost enticing in the way it surrounds you. 

"You're not shying away from me," he teases, and you glance back to find yourself cornered by a potted plant and brick on all sides. 

So you ask, "Where would I go?" in as much of a playful tone as you can muster, swallowing a lump when Jeongguk just shrugs and continues to advance, forcing you to take two steps backward until your heels hit the wall. Although your heart pounds, the high from the cocaine also calms you enough that you lean into the cold brick and attempt not to crumble under Jeongguk's intense, undivided attention.

Jeongguk is dreadfully pretty with his wavy dark hair growing past his ears. You wonder if he can pull it back into a ponytail, and what that must look like. There is a tiny mole under his bottom lip and a faint scar on his cheek, and you wonder if anyone presses soft kisses to those spots. You wonder if he would let you press a soft kiss to those spots.

And then, in a moment of clarity, you realize what is happening, and you lift a hand, place it on Jeongguk's chest, against the black tee he wears beneath the thick leather jacket, and you give him a firm shove, causing him to back up a couple steps. Jeongguk chuckles as he stumbles, and he reaches up to hold your hand in place on his chest, taking you by surprise as the warmth of his hand engulfs yours. 

You turn your head to the side so you can lift the bottle and take a long drink, then you hand it off to Jeongguk, who watches you with the same soft expression he had when you were sitting inside with everyone else. 

"What?" you challenge as he takes the champagne and has a drink, sloshing the diminishing liquid contents loudly inside. "Why do you look at me like that? What is on your mind? Is something on my face?"

Jeongguk laughs and squeezes your hand, then he drops his hand to his side and shakes his head. You take back the bottle but watch him for his response before having another drink. 

"You just seem much more relaxed," he finally says. "You don't look like a scared little dear anymore."

With a deep sigh, you drop your hand from Jeongguk's chest and lift one foot to anchor it against the brick wall. 

"What's with all of you and comparing me to animals? Deer, wolf, lamb, dove…"

"You're right," Jeongguk responds with a mischievous smile. "Buttercup suits you more."

"Oh, fuck off," you grumble, lifting your hand to shove at Jeongguk again. 

This time, he stumbles backward, clutching his chest while laughing, and you laugh along, tipping the bottle back to get the last of the champagne. Liquid nearly dribbles past your lips as you realize you underestimated how much was inside, and you pull the bottle away with barely any left, which Jeongguk swipes from you and finishes. Sheepishly, you wipe at the sides of your mouth using the back of your hand. 

Jeongguk flicks the rest of his barely smoked cigarette into the street and then looks out into the dark city with a hint of a frown. You follow his line of sight and stand in silence, letting the cool but humid night air settle to your bones. 

The street is scarce of life, with only overgrown plants taking over the sides of buildings, but nothing intentional or tended to with care. Whenever a small gust of wind picks up, you hear the sound of a metal sign creak and slam against a post, but otherwise, the only noise is the call of crickets. The night feels calm, and, to your surprise, being somewhere unfamiliar does not spark fear in your chest. Perhaps it is due, in part, to Jeongguk's company making you feel safe.

You are unsure how long you stand and stare out into the somewhat dilapidated urban sprawl of forgotten brick, concrete, and metal, but when Jeongguk speaks up, it takes you a bit by surprise. 

"Are you happy living in the mansion?" he asks, and you turn to stare at the side of his face for a moment, equal parts stunned and endeared by his consideration. 

You must take too long to respond, and he turns to you, fixing you with a curious gaze and making you feel put on the spot. 

"Yeah, I guess so," you mutter, feeling the urge to fidget with the ends of your shirt sleeves. "I'm getting used to it."

"That's good," Jeongguk responds as his gaze falls, and he peers out into the street again. "I guess."

Perhaps you should speak more positively about life at the mansion. You are getting used to it and becoming much closer to Yoongi and Namjoon. Despite the somewhat harrowing events that recently took place, you have not had the desire to run for the hills. You have considered it, but you have no idea where you would go; it seems your life belongs to the mansion, now. 

But the presence of another pulls you from your thoughts, and you turn to find Taehyung peeking his head through the doorway, glancing between you and Jeongguk. His eyes are bloodshot, and his lips are pulled into a pretty, droopy smile. 

"Am I interrupting something?" he mumbles, and you shake your head while Jeongguk rolls his eyes, saying, "You wish, hyung," in a deep teasing tone that suddenly makes you feel like a third wheel. 

"We're gonna head out soon," Taehyung says, standing straight and resting his head against the door frame. "How do you feel about getting a suite and leaving in the morning?"

With a shrug, Jeongguk says, "Whatever you want," and although his expression does not give him away, his voice does—sweet and caring, willing to accommodate. 

"You and the doom boys are welcome to join us," Taehyung says as he turns his attention to you, waggling his eyebrows.

It is your turn to roll your eyes, and you almost question the silly nickname that you assume is meant for Yoongi and Namjoon, but Taehyung stands up straight and turns, walking back through the hallway before you have a chance to open your mouth. Jeongguk follows behind with the spent bottle of champagne in his grasp, and you grab your empty highball glass from the tree pot and follow, closing the door behind you. 

When you return to the main room, Yoongi is laying back against the red leather couch with his face tipped to the ceiling, laughing so hard at something that his eyes are screwed shut, and he holds onto his stomach. On the table before him is a mess of empty champagne bottles, open switchblades, and a pile of cocaine.

The stench of marijuana and tobacco fills the air, and everyone seems to be in a fit of laughter, muttering about something you cannot begin to parse. Namjoon notices your return and stands, announcing that the five of you are going to head out, and begins to hug everyone goodbye as the conversations fade and stop. 

It takes Yoongi a moment to get up, and he is still doubled over when he stands, sniffling while wiping at his bloodshot eyes. When he sees you and his smile widens, you feel your heart pound rapidly in your chest. Yoongi is so beautiful, and in moments like this—when he can unabashedly be Min Yoongi, the ordinary person, and not some figurehead whose life is in danger—you think you could actually, fully, unequivocally love him.

"Ready, darling?" Yoongi asks, stumbling slightly as he approaches and wraps his arms around your shoulders, pulling you into a tight hug.

"Ready when you are," you respond, keeping your arms to your sides because, although you are comfortable with the family men, showing affection with the audience of the others makes you uncomfortable. Yoongi does not seem to mind, holding just a moment longer before bending to slide into his boots.

You wave and bow goodbye to your hosts as the five of you exit the main room and walk through the narrow hallway, into the cooler. Taehyung is at the lead, and he opens the tall steel cooler door, holding it for everyone to walk through, then takes the rear while Jeongguk leads the group through the kitchen, into the diner. 

"We should probably sober up for the other flight," Namjoon suggests, and Yoongi hums in response from behind you while gently placing a hand on your hip. 

"We're getting a suite," Taehyung responds as the five of you walk out onto the street. "You're welcome to crash there until you are ready to go."

Despite feeling comfortable on the balcony earlier, walking out onto the mostly empty and unfamiliar street makes you tense up, and you look around as you go across to the other side, toward the corner everyone came around earlier, checking for vehicles and for people standing in windows. There is no sign of anyone around, but discomfort quakes through you as you wonder whether you are being watched or if the fear of being watched is just psyching you out to the point of paranoia. 

The conversation between the men is all but lost on you until Yoongi gives your side a squeeze and asks, "Darling?"

"Hmm?" you respond, glancing to the side as he tugs you closer. 

"Do you feel up to going back with them for a few hours?"

At this point, you just want to get off the street, and you are not overly concerned with where you wind up. So you say, "Sure," and give Yoongi a half smile, hoping it is enough to convince him that you are open to whatever they want to do. He does seem to be more intoxicated than you, although the champagne is beginning to catch up and make you feel a bit too light and also too heavy on your feet, swaying the world around you ever so slightly. 

When you round the corner, there is a large SUV sitting next to the white and red car that Uiseok drove, and the five of you clamber in, with Yoongi and Namjoon sandwiching you in the backseat while Taehyung sits in the passenger seat, and Jeongguk takes over driving. The vehicle is just like the ones the men drive back home, and memories of the other night—collisions and gunfire—come flooding back, causing nausea to stir in your guts. 

Jeongguk takes off while Taehyung thumbs around on his phone and then begins to give directions. You wonder if the place they plan to stay at is somewhere familiar to them, or if Taehyung found something spur of the moment. It only takes about fifteen minutes for you to reach your destination, and Jeongguk gets out first while Taehyung sits back in his seat and lets out a deep sigh. 

"He's gonna make sure our room is available," he mutters, which only raises more questions than it answers. 

Several minutes pass before Taehyung's phone dings. He groans as he tips his head forward to check the notification, then nods, says, "Let's get it," and opens his door to stumble out into the street. 

You, Yoongi, and Namjoon exit, while Jeongguk returns with a hotel staff member who climbs into the front seat, presumably to drive it into a parking stall. Jeongguk removes two tall black suitcases from the trunk and places a palm on each one as he leans slightly forward and steers them through the glass front door, which slides open to the left and right as he approaches. Yoongi wraps an arm around Taehyung's upper back to guide him, and Namjoon takes your hand in his as you follow a foot or so behind. 

"Remember this moment," Namjoon mutters, leaning close to your ear, "you will never see Taehyung this drunk again."

"What happened to him?" you ask, trying to imagine how much a person could possibly drink in the timeframe you were outside. 

With a deep, amused laugh, Namjoon says, "Knife game. Wonjin bet that Taehyung couldn't stab a knife between his fingers as fast as he could. The loser had to chug a full bottle of champagne."

You struggle to imagine Taehyung being so reckless, and you regret not getting to see it for yourself, smiling at the thought of cocky Taehyung failing to poke the tip of a blade quickly between each of his spread fingers in front of everyone. 

"So he got waisted, and he cut himself?" you ask.

"Yup! He nicked the side of his thumb!" Namjoon responds cheerfully, making you laugh. 

The five of you walk through a somewhat luxurious lobby full of potted plants and decorative rugs. But all you pay attention to is your own feet and the backs of the feet in front of you as you imagine Taehyung and Wonjin playing the knife game for a captive audience. Is this what mafia men do for fun? It seems childish, but somehow, you find it a bit endearing. 

As you all get into the large elevator, Jeongguk uses a keycard to access the top floor, and although you are getting used to the influence these men have, you are still a bit surprised that the room happened to be available. Taehyung did refer to it as their room; do they own it?

The elevator opens straight into the penthouse suite, which is furnished mostly white and tan, with light wood and silver accents, lit by simple, round overhead fixtures. The room itself is not too flashy, appearing somewhat lived in with a variety of plants that seem tended to, but bare of personal belongings like books or photographs. Taehyung kicks out of his untied boots and stumbles off to the right, and Jeongguk wheels the suitcases a few feet into the suite before releasing them, kicking out of his boots, and going over to the large white couch in the middle of the space. 

An enormous glass wall overlooks the neighborhood below, and you glance out from across the room to see lights shine from the streets, some belonging to cars passing by and others a more permanent glow. Shoes and boots are left behind as Namjoon and Yoongi make their way to the open-concept kitchen, which is just to the left, and begin to rummage around, seemingly pleased to find the fridge is stocked with baijiu. Unsure what to do, you approach the couch and stand behind it, resting against the back with your arms folded over your chest. 

Although you could keep drinking, you are unsure whether it would be in poor taste to go on when both hosts seem out of it—Taehyung having gone off to who-knows-where and Jeongguk sitting on the couch with his head tilted to the ceiling and his eyes closed. You wonder if whatever was bothering him before continues to weigh on his mind. 

"Jeonggukah," Namjoon calls, earning a groan from the youngest. "Come on, sooner or later, you need to speak your mind."

"Don't want to right now," Jeongguk grumbles, sounding petulant.

"Don't be like this, Jeongguk," Yoongi teases as he brings four small baijiu bottles from the kitchen and sets them on the wooden table in front of Jeongguk. "Handing over drug operations does not mean you are getting demoted. I just need you by my side more, and I can't have you getting distracted with petty shit."

"I liked my duties," Jeongguk grumbles quietly, mostly to himself, and suddenly, it all makes sense. The responsibilities of handling the drug operations must have been passed off to Uiseok and his team, leaving Jeongguk to feel like he is being replaced.

Yoongi takes a seat to Jeongguk's right, and Namjoon sits to Yoongi's right, leaving the space to Jeongguk's left open, so you round the couch and approach slowly, first sitting on the armrest because this feels like a conversation that you are unsure you should participate in. But Yoongi reaches over Jeongguk's lap and pats the couch, grumbling for you to get comfortable, so you slide to the cushion and sit with your legs angled toward the men. 

Namjoon busies himself with opening the bottles and sliding them along the table to everyone, and you glance between him and Yoongi before asking, "I thought the goal was to sober up."

"After this drink," he responds with a grin, instantly winning you over with his dimples. 

You are in no rush, with nowhere to go until you are told it is time to leave, so you nod and smile, conceding to another drink. The champagne has made you tipsy, but you are far from drunk, despite never getting fed. 

Deciding you are tired of Jeongguk being a somber lump, you lean and nudge him with your elbow, right into the ribs, causing him to lift his arm as if to swat you away, stopping mid-air with his hand raised and giving you a mock-threatening glare. He looks so adorable you break into laughter, nudging him more and more, tauntingly.

With a wide, incredulous stare, Jeongguk mutters, "Do you want to die?" and that sets you off, making you laugh so hard you double over practically onto his lap. 

Yoongi and Namjoon join in on the laughter, clearly only serving to frustrate Jeongguk more, who firmly but playfully takes you by the biceps with both hands and shoves you away, toward the corner of the couch, muttering under his breath.

Jeongguk's smoke-filled floral scent is intoxicating, and you find yourself falling momentarily pliant with his hands on you, sinking back into the white leather. But then he releases you, and you have the sudden urge once more to push all of his buttons. 

Luckily, Yoongi distracts you by handing you a bottle of baijiu, followed by Jeongguk handing you a vial of cocaine. You take a long swig from the bottle, pleased by its tangy umami blend of citrus and floral notes, then you bend and reach forward to set it on the table and begin to unscrew the vial. 

Taking two tiny piles of white powder into your nose should not feel so good. Perhaps it is the way the lingering flavor of the baijiu fills your senses, or you have grown accustomed to the bitterness of the coke, but as soon as it hits your sinuses and begins to trickle down your throat, you feel alive, tingling with exhilaration from head to toe. 

When Jeongguk takes the vial back, his fingers engulf yours before sliding away, and you hold your breath, scared to gasp, or worse, exhale while letting out a sound. It was not long ago that Jeongguk's very presence was an annoyance, and here he is, affecting you in a way you had not expected.

Perhaps it was better when he was determined to be mean. Then again, with the way you behaved toward him in the mansion the other day, bringing up his noona kink to tease him in front of the others, can you really blame him for wanting to taunt you—if that is what he is doing.

Your heart races so hard, you bend once more, reaching for your baijiu to take a drink. Suddenly, your throat feels so dry again. Suddenly, the chill glass of the bottle feels cold against your fingertips, causing you to shiver as you settle back and take a drink. You wonder how long you are going to be at this suite and whether or not Namjoon meant it when he said you would sober up after this bottle, or if their plans are so loose that literally anything could happen.

To make matters worse, Taehyung comes into the room, still with a bit of a wobble, but much more cognizant than he had been moments before. He appears to have quickly showered, and wears only a pair of grey sweatpants, squeezing his wet hair with a white towel as he surveys the scene before him with a lazy smile.  

"Not doing anything without me, I hope?" he teases, words drawling lazily. 

"Just cocaine and baijiu," Namjoon supplies in a chipper, golden retriever fashion that makes your heart flutter. 

"I thought I heard giggling," Taehyung adds as he rounds the couch and sits on the arm to your left, effectively caging you in between himself and the others. 

Jeongguk hums and leans into you, knocking your shoulder and causing you to nearly crash into Taehyung's hip. You feel completely thrown off your axis as you wobble, wondering if the baijiu is having a profound enough effect on you to actually make you drunk or if it is caused by Jeongguk's change in demeanor.

"Buttercup was causing trouble," Jeongguk teases, making you gasp and turn to him, affronted.

"I—wh—you!" you stammer, unable to find the words to express just how much it was Jeongguk causing the trouble while you were merely a bystander—a lie, but one you are willing to defend with your honor.

"It was both of them," Yoongi says, leaning forward to make playful eye contact and effectively finding himself at the very top of your shit list. 

You fix Yoongi with your best serious gaze, muttering, "How…very…dare you," as you attempt to ignore Jeongguk's eyes burning into you the way that they do.

"The tension between them is palpable," Namjoon teases, making you gasp and flounder around syllables that never come because Yoongi adds, "You two should just kiss already," causing every hair on your body to stand up.

"Very funny," you say at the same time Jeongguk whines, "Hyungs, please," under his breath, sounding embarrassed.

With a heavy, defeated sigh, you chug back the rest of your baijiu, wiping your lips off with the back of your hand as you lean forward and place the empty down with a hollow thunk. You need to exit this suite before you wind up doing something stupid.

"Well, I finished my drink," you announce, staring at Namjoon, "so I suppose we can go, now!"

"But we still have our drinks," Yoongi pouts, holding up a bottle that is more than half full. 

Taehyung's voice is deep and far too steady for how inebriated he seems as he asks, "Why are you in such a rush, buttercup?" and you turn to find him practically draped over the arm of the couch, leaning with his elbow anchored on the backrest, propping his head up. 

The alcohol and cocaine combination makes you bold enough to face the elephant in the room, and you clear your throat before saying, "Probably because the four of you are menaces and for the sake of my sanity, I need to get the fuck out of here."

"Interesting," Yoongi drawls, and you turn to him with a pointed stare as you ask, "What?"

"Jeonggukie has the power to drive you insane," Yoongi responds without missing a beat, lips curling the way they always do when he is being particularly devious. "Why don't we explore this?"

You stare at Yoongi in a long silence, finally turning to Jeongguk only when the tension feels too thick to ignore. He gazes at you with that familiar soft expression, and you swallow a lump that has gathered in your throat.

"What are your thoughts?" you ask him before you can think better of it.

Jeongguk seems stunned by the question, staring unblinkingly for several seconds before blinking rapidly as if coming out of a trance. Then he licks his lips, and, like an idiot, you follow the movement. The way Jeongguk smiles tells you he noticed you looking, and suddenly, his sweet expression is replaced by a cocky one.

"Why?" he asks, tilting his head and making a show of looking down at your lips and back up. "You thinking about kissing me, or something?"

If he weren't such a brat, perhaps you would be willing to admit to the truth, but with this attitude, you scoff and roll your eyes, muttering, "You wish," under your breath.

"Find out," Jeongguk challenges, taking you by surprise.

You begin to ask, "What?" but he cuts you off, leaning forward until your lips are less than a foot apart. 

"Make your move, buttercup. Find out just how badly I wish you would kiss me."

When you glance over at Yoongi and Namjoon, they both have eager smiles, watching with their lips parted in concentration. Jeongguk's eyes seem to stay on you—or if they stray, it is too fast for you to notice—and you lean forward, challenging his resolve.

"Now why would I do something like that?" you ask, noticing the way Jeongguk's brow and lips quirk. The movement is slight, but you recognize it as frustration. 

Jeongguk is clearly not used to this kind of provocation, and it seems to be bothering him that you are not immediately willing to cave. This is the second time in a couple of days that you have pushed his buttons, but this time, he does not seem inclined to storm away. 

Slowly, Jeongguk lifts a hand, reaching just below your chin, but stopping before making contact. The warmth from his skin feels electric—like a charge zipping through the air and connecting the two of you. You concede just enough to lean into the touch, allowing Jeongguk's fingertips to graze your cheek, causing his pupils to dilate. 

With the warmth of Jeongguk's gentle contact, you feel emboldened, and you tilt your head to the side just enough to brush your lips over the heel of his hand, hearing as his breath catches in his throat.

"As much as I enjoy our banter, I am growing a little weary," you mutter, lips dragging over his palm before you return his hand to your cheek. "It's fine if you don't want to kiss me; I won't be offended. But if you really do want to kiss me, then just do it already."

Jeongguk's eyes widen, and you think for a split moment that he might back off and call it a night. But then he uses his fingertips against your cheek to guide you toward him, meeting in the middle until his lips are against yours and he is swallowing your gasp whole. 

It comes as no surprise that Jeongguk instantly nips and sucks at your lip, slowly but with enough force that it has you whimpering and dropping your mouth open wide. Wasting no time, Jeongguk licks into your mouth, groaning deeply and forcing a gasp from you as tangy baijiu and stinky cigarette smoke coat your tongue in an enticing tangle.

Despite how languid his movements are, there is an eagerness behind each of them, filling your mouth with his tongue until your lips are stretched wide before teasing your bottom lip with his teeth, alternating in fluid, dizzying motions. Arousal shimmers through your bloodstream like glitter, and you lift your hands to grip onto his leather jacket to hold him close, keeping your mouth open for him to use and explore, swallowing his soft groans and whines. 

Kissing Jeongguk feels cathartic somehow—as if the months of bickering and tension have been washed away, and all that is left is the two of you sitting open and raw and ready to be vulnerable with one another. Although the thought of it absolutely terrifies you, it also thrills you, and you whimper against his mouth, feeling yourself completely slip from any semblance of control you thought you might have been able to hold onto. 

Now that you have had a taste of Jeongguk, will it be enough? Or will you need to satiate a greater hunger? You are not sure that you are ready for it, just yet.

With a gasp, you break the kiss, tilting your chin downward, doing your best to steady your frantic heart. You tip your head forward just long enough to press a soft kiss against the mole beneath his lip, then lean your forehead against his. Jeongguk chases after your lips before seemingly coming to his senses and backing off, but staying close by, forehead still resting gently against yours.

Suddenly, you are exhausted. The weight of everything that has culminated to get to this point feels heavy and thick, and you find yourself succumbing quickly to its whim. 

"Sorry," you mutter, unable to fight the urge to apologize. "I feel really tired. I think we should stop."

Jeongguk nods his head, swallowing visibly, and you are unsure whether you detect disappointment, or if he is simply tired, as well. 

"We have two rooms," Taehyung offers softly, and suddenly, you remember that there are three other men who have been watching everything. 

Warmth floods your cheeks, and you release Jeongguk's jacket, dropping your hands to your lap as you nod and say, "Thanks, Tae."

Everyone seems frozen in place, waiting for someone to make the first move, so you do it, turning away from Jeongguk and scooting to the edge of the couch before standing on shaking legs and glancing around, unsure where to go. 

Yoongi gets the hint and stands, nodding toward the wall directly behind you as he says, "That way," so you nod and turn, walking several steps in that direction before rethinking your decision to just run away from the situation at hand. At the very least, you should say something. 

"Thanks for letting us stay," you begin, giving Taehyung a bow of your head and a smile before locking eyes with Jeongguk. "And thanks for…that…for finally doing that. We should talk about it later, but...it was nice."

You feel somewhat embarrassed by your inability to just say the words you want to say, but decide it is enough; you are tired. So you turn toward the bedroom and walk in that direction, not bothering to switch on any lights as sleep claws at every edge of you, dragging you down, down, down. 

In a last-ditch effort to get comfortable, and since your suitcase is still tucked away on Yoongi's plane, you get undressed in the dark room and climb into bed wearing only your underwear. The blanket is cool to the touch, and you shiver as you scoot into the center and cover yourself completely, waiting for the others to join. It does not take long, but you are already half asleep when warm arms engulf you in the form of familiar limbs on either side. You hope that tonight, you do not have any nightmares.

Someday, what I need Someday, what I dream 우리의 청춘이 진한 술 같으니 our youth is like strong liquor 달콤함이여 sweetness 오 독기여 oh, poison 붉은 피 같은 술 내려주소서 please serve me a red-blooded drink 우리의 청춘이 진한 술 같으니 our youth is like strong liquor

마셔라 쭉쭉 술이 들어가 drink it up, alcohol comes in 파워업 다 드루와 bitch don't kill my vibe power up, come on, bitch down kill my vibe

🎵 visit the playlist!

they kissssseddddd!!!! i know some of you are going to kill me for only making them kiss, but, listen: i like to build tension. and make you cry a little, too.

at the end of the last chapter, a lot of people asked after Jimin! he's off living his best life, so don't stress! he is not the kind of character to join the others in a gunfight, so having him there didn't seem right. we will see him again, soon!

shout out to Yoongi for the Haegeum video & photos! i was worried i would have to photoshop that scar onto a more recent photo in a few chapters, and he did all the work for me...😈😈😈

stream sos by balming tiger! thanks, bye!

tag list: @afangirllikeme-blog @angel-121 @artgukk @btsiguess-kpop @bts-ficreviews @che-er-ful @codeinebelle @curryshesus @dasexydevitt13 @giriiboyy @fringe-frank @illnevertrustmyselfagain @jalexad @kissme-ornot @leanimal90 @likeshatteredrainbowglass @m1sss1mp​ @mayeolorie @mgthecat @mushroom-main @mwitsmejk @openup-yourmind @pamzn @sleepilysworld @stocking221 @spookyminyunki​ @thelilbutifulthings @valhallawhispers 🗡️ comment or dm to be added!

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[philliamwrites]

SWYAATL 10: The Forest of Hands and Teeth (pt.1)

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x fem! Reader

warnings: DARK CONTENT! READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. Minor character death, blood and gore, attempt at sexual assault (male —› female), implied child abuse, implied childhood sexual abuse

Summary: It wasn’t common for you to doubt or question Emil. You trusted him with a ferocity that was nearly dangerous: if he’d said “Jump, I will catch you,” you’d jump and perform a pirouette mid-flight. Yet, this was different. This felt like a secret with sharp teeth and gnawing starvation for freedom. And it would wreak havoc. You didn’t know why, but you felt it. You felt it would destroy everything like the earth rumbling and splitting open, the very foundation of everything that you had known crumbling.

Notes: [01] || 09 | 11

Words: 8k

A/N: thank you so much @samsaurwrites for beta-reading!

This might be the last update for a while because I need to take a break. Writing this chapter has been so difficult, not because I don’t want to write but because there is so much I need to think through and outline to tell the story I want to tell. If there is no update in 2 weeks, you know I’m MIA until mid-July (I might keep updating short headcanons on Tumblr though, I don’t want to lose feeling for these characters). Thanks for everyone who’s still reading this, leaves comments, likes and reblogs!! You guys are the world to me! Stay safe!

Chapter 10: The Forest of Hands and Teeth (pt.1)

“Truth or Dare?” Jean asks for the third time.

“I’m not playing,” is your answer, for the third time. Your steed, a strong chestnut-coloured Hanoverian, shakes her heavy head and you have to agree. He really is annoying.

It’s surprisingly warm for an autumn day—perfect for a long excursion outside. The season has lit the trees around aflame. The blaze of colour—tawny orange, sulphurous yellow, arterial red—makes it look as if you’re riding towards a wall of roaring flame in the distance.

“Oh come on, it’s so fucking boring out here,” Jean whines. “Entertain me before I fall asleep.”

“Wouldn’t that do us all a great favour,” Connie mumbles, riding a few feet ahead while slumping in his saddle. His hair has grown out a little and he spends every free minute raking a hand through it, mumbling how bad he needs a head shaving soon.

Jean ignores him. “Truth or Dare?”

“Fine, Truth!”

“Which one of us male cadets is the best marriage material?”

You don’t even hesitate with your answer. “Marco.”

“Marco,” Mina agrees to your left.

“Marco!” Sasha whoops to your right.

“Marco!” Connie shouts from the front.

Jean clicks his tongue. Marco, who’s taken off his jacket an hour ago and wears it tied around his waist, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows showing his strong arms, gives a wobbly grin, red dusting his freckled cheeks and though you thought he’d be shy about it, what his expression says is clearly, Why thank you.

“I thought we were friends,” Jean grumbles, sticking his heels into his horse’s sides to give you the slip—where to, you don’t know, since your group had been instructed to stay together or else your record-keeper, Armin, has to write that down.

“We are.” You reach over before the gap grows and pinch his clothed thigh. “And you taught me honesty weighs more than gold.”

Jean tries to kick you but misses. “I’d rather be rich right now.”

“Ohhh, are you going to invite us to fancy restaurants and drinks when you get into the MP?” Sasha asks, clutching her reins to her chest. “I heard there’s this amazing steak house in Yarckel District where the meat is so tender it melts in your mouth.”

“Sure, I can put in a good word for you sorry lads when we’re all on break from duty.” Jean smiles with all the satisfaction of someone checkmating a king. He’s been standing his ground as rank number seven for months now, and from what you’ve heard the instructors say, he’s good on his way to climb even higher. “No one can say I’m not all for doing my friends a favour.”

“Then do me a favour,” Eren’s voice calls from the very front, “and keep your mouth shut. You’re annoying as hell.”

You cut your gaze to Marco, your group leader, but he’s already looking at Armin riding beside him, one hand clenched tightly around a thin wooden board where he’s carrying the records on him.

It’s one thing you’ve always liked a lot about Marco: that he wears his heart on his sleeve; that his face is an open door, never closed, and he is not afraid to show what emotions are living inside him. Right now, it is one of clear, unabashed unwillingness to deal with whatever storm is brewing between Jean and Eren.

Uh-oh, you think. It takes some time for Marco to be annoyed or angry, but when he draws the line, he draws it hard.

“Ohhh, I’m annoying? Who’s been the one whining about how much he wants to hurry up and go ahead as if he’s shit his pants?” Jean laughs at his own joke. “As if this waste of an excursion does anything for us,” he adds, his smile turning sour.

“It should be good for team building, if anything,” Armin pipes up. He’s put a pencil behind his ear, and now it sticks out from the curtain of golden hair falling into his face.

“Exactly. Team building.” Marco bends the weight of his heavy gaze on Jean and Eren. “So, for the love of God, get along, you two. Just until this is over.”

“Marco, when he’s angry,” Mina whispers into your ear with a sheepish smile, leaning so far out of her seat you’re worried she’ll topple off her horse any second, “is kinda hot, isn’t he?”

You almost choke a little on your spit, but allow your eyes to discreetly rake over Marco’s broad, rigid back as he gives Armin instructions.

“I suppose,” you mumble, your sight swivelling back to the road before you, and inevitably settling on Eren’s tensed shoulders, his fists holding onto his reins tightly enough the knuckles have turned white.

One evening, you made a revelation you never thought you’d make over hash browns: Eren has beautiful hands. Maybe not ‘beautiful’ in a way of the imagination of an artist, but beautiful as in active and alive. His palms wider than the length of his fingers, they are a worker’s hands, calloused and rough, restless even when the rest of his body stands still. As if they are his most honest part and therefore unable to stay silent.

For the pleasure and safety of his family, those hands work very hard; the marks and signs of that are his scarred knuckles because his hands are his weapon of choice—the only weapon he trusts to find the means to an end; to protect those he loves.

All that had occurred to you when you’d joined Armin to discuss a few things for the group task you were assigned to for Assault Tactics on 15-metre Titans. Mikasa and Eren had joined you around dinner time, and when you’d asked Armin to pass you the salt shaker, it was Eren who’d moved, silently, still chewing. You were pretty sure he was paying more attention to Sasha’s hunting story where she almost shot an arrow into a villager’s bum mistaking it for a boar than realising what he was doing. Which gave you plenty of time to study his veiny hand and his broad fingers, and since then, whenever he’d touched you by accident, skin brushing against skin, his thumbs digging a little too much into your arm, your shoulder, the back of your neck during hand-to-hand practice, your brain short-circuited, any thought whipped clean like a white board.

Since then, you’re very, very careful and make sure that you don’t touch him.

“I’m on horse face’s page, for a change.” Victor’s voice from the back cuts like metal striking stone. “This is a fucking waste of time if it doesn’t go into the overall evaluation.”

If Jean’s mood has been sour ever since your departure at the crack of dawn, Victor’s been foul and rotten like a fruit basket left outside in the sun long enough that maggots made it their home. You wish he’d been assigned to Thomas and Mikasa’s group, and you had gotten Reiner or Bertholdt instead. At least with those two, you don’t have to worry they might stab you in the back.[1]

“Don’t call him that,” you snap at him. It’s different with Eren and Connie, where there is clearly no malicious intent, but you wouldn’t trust Victor to tie his own shoes without causing damage left and right, like a coiled snake lying deceptively still before it strikes with venomous fangs. Just a few weeks ago, he had nearly cracked and broken open a female cadet’s face like an eggshell with a stone during combat practice.

“Accident,” he had said, face hard and blank like a marble statue. He’d gotten three days of suspension for that, and you had gotten three days of nightmares because neither you, nor Mina, had missed the fact that his victim, with her dark brown hair tucked in twin tails that day, had looked a lot like Mina.

Jean doesn’t seem fazed, but you can clearly see how he draws up his shoulders, puts on an armour. “Get your own opinions, Hoffmann,” he grunts back, and to Eren he says, “And you just go ahead and see how far you’ll come until one of us has to get your ass out of whatever disaster you get yourself into next!” He pushes out his chest, that insufferable smirk cuts into his face that you’ve grown to understand means he’s particularly proud of some, mostly misplaced, mature behaviour—a paragon of his kind. You want to smack that haughty expression off his face.

“Oh, go fuck yourself,” Eren calls back.

Armin’s hand is halfway up to the pen tucked behind his ear. “You can’t say that, Eren. That’s against Article 23, Humiliation of a Soldier by Another Soldier and I have to write that down.”

Marco groans. “Wait, don’t write that down. Eren, just apologise to Jean.”

“Fine.” Eren turns halfway around in his seat to face Jean. “Unfuck yourself, or whatever.”

“Eren,” Armin whines.

“Would it physically hurt them to get along?” Christa, bless her kind heart, asks genuinely.

“I think,” you answer, “they might legitimately combust if they’d have to be nice to each other.”

“And I’d like to see that,” Sasha croons. There’s something else she wants to say, but her attention rivets on a green-scaled iguana, as big as a dog, slithering through the shadows of sharp rocks, its stumpy legs easily keeping up with the slow pace of your group. Its head twitches sometimes, indicating that it’s keeping its eyes on you.

“Damn, look at the size of that thing.” Connie lets out a low whistle. “Think we can eat it?”

“What, like peasants?” drones Victor’s comment which everybody ignores.

“You can!” Sasha doesn’t disappoint when it comes to food, as always. “It tastes like chicken. High protein, low fat, and you can throw in some grilled mushrooms, it’s great.”

“Well then, don’t mind if I do.” Jean draws his blade and spurs his horse onward, chasing after the animal that scurries wildly in a zig-zag pattern across the dry desert ground.

“No, just … leave it!” you call after him, dread churning your stomach. “We have enough rations with us!” But Jean doesn’t hear or ignores your call, and surges ahead after the iguana.

The active hunting part has never been something you felt comfortable with, and so far you were able to skip that for a whole year. Seeing Jean now lunge after that poor animal with the vigour of a starved man even though your rations are enough to get you through the night is like watching a child plunge its hand into a half-full glass container of sweets and take out a fistful of candy even though the sign beside it says Take one only, please. It disgusts you.

You decide not to watch as Jean lifts his blade high above his head and strikes with a viciousness your body reacts to automatically by flinching as it remembers facing him in Swordsmanship practice. Jean doesn’t swing and hit hard, but he knows how to strike when his opponent least expects it, and now that he’s found another discipline apart from Hand-to-Hand combat he’s better at than Eren, he practices it like a man who has tasted success for the first time and immediately became obsessed being drunk on it.

But instead of sharp blade cutting into yielding flesh, the blood-churning rasp of metal against metal pierces everyone’s ears. When you look up, Eren has his own blade crossed with Jean’s, and the iguana quickly scurries away under a jagged set of cliffs towering to your side.

“What,” Jean says, “the fuck, Jaeger?” He looks like he is gearing up to take a swing—not with his fist but his sword.

Eren tightens his grip around his reins as his steed huffs and paws the ground nervously. As military horses, they are tougher than their civil breeds, yet you’re sure even they aren’t used to facing off against their own kind.

“Leave it,” Eren says, his bright eyes disappearing behind the thick fringe of dark lashes as he looks down at their crossed blades. “Stop acting like this is some kind of game.”

“I don’t get what your fucking problem is.” Jean jams his blades back into their sheaths. He looks like he’d rather jam them somewhere else. “If hunting for food is part of the exercise, then what’s better than getting that lizard?”

“Oh, now you care about the exercise?”

“Guys, break it off.” Marco sounds like his patience is teetering dangerously close to the edge and all hell will break loose if it falls off. “You keep holding us back like that and we won’t make it to the meeting point. Shit like that gets reported.” There’s no other greater evidence of Marco being serious than him swearing.

“If you want to report something, write that down, Armin: Jean Kirschstein tries to find food during the exercise, but gets interrupted by Eren Jaeger. He deserves to be discharged for that.”

“Dude, what the hell—”

“Guys, stop acting like brats,” you call over a half-hearted attempt to make them stop.

Jean’s response comes immediately. “I don’t wanna hear that from you!”

“Come on guys, we should move on,” says Christa, and you believe if anyone can talk some sense into them, it’s her. “The sun will set in a few, and we should have reached the forest by then.”

Eren and Jean share a loaded, razor-sharp glare that should be enough to slice Marco’s head in two. You doubt they’d have any luck though, not with Marco’s will of untarnished steel tempered in his resolve not to deal with their bullshit.

When your group finally moves on, Eren lets himself fall behind enough for you to catch up. You can feel him resisting the urge to finish that argument with Jean. He is practically vibrating with the effort.

“Not much into lizards?” you ask to get his mind off it.

The deep scowl he’s wearing softens slightly like someone smoothed wrinkles out of a blanket. “You just seemed like you hated the idea of hunting it,” he says, looking ahead.

“Oh.” You stare at him for a long minute, like there is anything subtle about that, then give yourself a shake. I need a mug of the darkest, bitterest coffee I can find, you think. Or maybe a real punch to the jaw. To him, you only say, “Yeah. I don’t like watching animals getting hurt.”

And to your surprise, Eren answers, “I know,” and that is all he says, two words that open up twenty questions in your head with no time to sort through which to tackle first.

When you finally reach the forest, the sun is dipping behind the horizon, casting soft pink and vibrant orange over the ground and setting the sky ablaze. It doesn’t take long to build camp with the little you have on you: a few provisions get distributed and your sleeping bags strewn around a small fire where potatoes wrapped up in tin foil roast in the gleaming ambers. The horses had water and now they graze contently on top of a narrow hill where you tied them to trees.

Marco has spread a map on the ground, heavy stones put on each corner before a sudden gust of wind can steal it. He’s marked your group’s travel progress along the way, and now his finger tracks that path once more.

“I still can’t believe we managed to catch up to where we’re supposed to be,” Marco says. He’s sitting cross-legged opposite from you, precariously balancing a half-full cup of coffee on one knee while twirling a pen between long, slender fingers. You stare at them for a long moment. Maybe it’s a hand thing you got going for you, and not specifically tied to Eren. “We should meet up with the other group around forenoon tomorrow if we keep that pace.”

“That is, if they managed to get there on time.” Jean stretches his long legs and kicks your feet out of his way. He keeps an eye out for Sasha in case she decides to snag a potato before anyone else can.

You’re scribbling an iguana on the drawn rocks and cliffs of the wasteland you’ve traversed, knees tucked up to your chin. “Are you really thinking Mikasa, Reiner and Annie would have the group slacking behind?”

“Well, not Mikasa—” Jean sputters.

You’ve already stopped listening. “As long as we don’t get lost in the woods,” you say to Marco. He nips at his cup’s rim, eyes flitting over to the fire.

“I don’t think we’ll have to worry about that with Sasha here.” He smiles a little at the sight of your iguana drawing. Because his map is the same you had used half a year ago during the other overnight camping, the mapped out woods in the east are full of your drawings of owls and herons and other forest animals you had seen that day.

Jean calls your icons hellish. Marco finds them endearing. You just want to keep one of your father’s cartography techniques alive since he had no chance to properly teach you anything.

“Guys, food’s ready!” Christa calls. She and Connie have been assigned to distribute rations, and as you walk over to fetch your and Jean’s share, you don’t miss Christa turning her head in search of someone.

“Have you seen Victor?” she asks, handing over your food. A quick scan around camp shows no sign of him, and you can feel your heartbeat skip, the dread that claws its way from the pit of your stomach all the way up to your throat. You don’t want to deal with this; with him.

Connie looks up from where he’s stoking the embers, keeping the fire alive. “Maybe he’s gone into the woods to take a piss,” he offers.

“Let’s hope he doesn’t return,” you mumble, and you don’t miss Christa’s face battling between looking dreadful at your proclaim and hopeful that you might be right.

Quiet blesses your group as everyone is busy wolfing down their steaming potatoes and dry crackers. You return to Jean who’s settled for a calm spot a little apart from the group, leaning against a broad tree. Holding his food in one hand, his other flies over an open page of his sketchbook. When you take a look, you see he’s finishing a drawing of Mina and Marco sitting together playing Red Hands.

“You’re still keeping that thing around?” You don’t remember when you’ve last seen him drawing. He gives a noncommittal grunt, tilting the sketchbook sideways to change the angle. You watch him put light into Marco’s soft, kind eyes, catch the elegant curve like a swan’s neck of Mina’s wrist—and get an idea.

“Can I take a look?” You reach out your hand, palm out open. Jean eyes it warily as if it might bite him, and you placate him by shoving the rest of your potato in his mouth and deftly pluck the book from his hands.

He’s honed his skills to a level where his drawings are more than just presentable. Every page holds a detailed sketch of your friends captured in mundane tasks: Mikasa raising her face skyward, squinting up at something only known to her; Marco leaning over an open book, balancing a pen on his upper lip—you don’t miss how many pictures of Mikasa and Marco there are—one half-finished sketch shows Armin’s head in the process of turning, and Jean has captured Armin’s little charming quirk where his eyes move faster, how they’re already looking at whoever he’s talking to before he’s fully turned around. He wears that surprised but wakeful expression whenever he hears something new, something that might satisfy his voracious appetite for knowledge.

There are even small, cartoonish drawings of Eren where he’s going off in a temper tantrum or sulking, donkey ears on his head that make you smile, and on the next page, a full colour study of his vibrant, teal eyes that drops your mouth open in awe.

You gasp.

Jean gasps.

He lunges for you, but you’re quicker, already rolling away before he can get his broad hands around your throat and strangle you to keep you silent. Clutching the closed sketchbook hard to your chest, you’re ready to clamber to your feet and race through the forest if you must.

“Not. One. Word. About it,” Jean hisses. Even in the encroaching darkness that wafts at the borders of where the soft fire’s light reaches, you can see two vivid red spots glowing on his cheeks, as if he’s had his face rouged by a child who has no idea how much was too much. He points a long finger at you like the tip of a spear he’ll chuck at you if you so much as move a hairsbreadth towards his unexpected muse.

You draw a zipper close over your mouth, and wait until he settles back against the rough bark of the tree before you dare to return to your seat beside him.

You steal his pen and open a brand new page. Tongue tucked between your teeth, you begin your sketch, turn the book this way and that way to hit the right angle. Almost ten minutes after you’ve started, Jean decides to take a look, and chokes on some potato that’s lodged inside his throat.

“W-what is that?” he asks, rapping against his chest with his fist, struggling to breathe.

Your lower lip juts out. “A hand, obviously.”

Jean laughs. “Why does it have six digits?”

“That’s his wrist.”

His grin immediately turns into a scowl. “His? Whose hand are you drawing?”

You snap his book shut and throw it in his lap. “No one’s.”

Jean gives you a long, scrutinising look, one you don’t meet in worry he might see right through you and figure out something you’re constantly banishing to the far confines of your mind.

The saving grace arrives in the form of an appalled shout from across camp. A shadow staggers out from thicket, swaying like a spectre clad in nothing but shadows. When the fire’s light falls on Victor’s slack face, the black circles under his eyes thick smudges, all muscles in your body go tense like a coil spring.

A bright gleam of light draws your eyes to his clutched hand when he staggers to camp, and for a second you think it’s the sharp flash of a knife—but no, the sloshing amber liquid gives away the true nature of a half-empty bottle he’s carrying with him. Before he has even opened his mouth, you know that he is drunk.

“This is a joke,” Marco voices everyone’s thoughts out loud. “It has to be a joke.”

“Your face’s a joke,” Victor slurs, then quietly laughs to himself. When nobody joins him, he does a spectacular job at rolling his eyes and nearly losing his balance. “Oh, stop looking as if you’re about to piss yourselves. There are no instructors out here, ‘s nothing wrong having a little fun.”

“Fun.” The word is just a hissed sound like steam blowing off from a kettle—and capable of doing just as much damage. Even from here you can see Eren clenching his fists so hard his arms are quivering. Armin shifts to his feet, too agitated to stand still. Marco leans forward, like he is ready to throw himself between Eren and Victor if he has to. “What’s so fun about breaking the rules? They’ll throw you out as soon as they smell that shit on you.”

“In that case, let him chug that whole bottle,” Jean says next to you. “Might get alcohol poisoning, if we’re lucky.”

Victor’s gaze glides over Jean as if he’s less than air. You hold your breath when those dark, scrutinising eyes settle on you for a moment—you can feel Jean’s leg tense where it’s pressed against yours—but ultimately they land on Armin. As if his, and only his reaction matters. You’re still not sure what it is that Victor wants from him, and at this point it could be anything—damnation or absolution.

“Well, that’s the best part about group missions, isn’t it?” he says slowly, and the teeth-flashing grin that slices across his face is downright horrible. “We’re all in this together.”

He moves frightfully fast for someone drunk, straight like an arrow clear of its target towards the pile of knapsacks, sleeping bags and ODM gear you’ve discarded for the night. His arm flies in one wide arch, and the bigger part of what’s left inside the bottle pours over your stuff, filling the air with the unmistakable sharp—and even stranger: familiar—stench of alcohol.

That’s whiskey, your brain provides, from where you don’t know. But you recognise the grainy, woody fragrance, rich and heavy with a slightly fruity note to it.

Anger and fear and fury rises in your like a wave, sweeping every other thought away. You didn’t think it was possible to despise him even more than you do, but now your hands are shaking with a desire for violence. You want to take his bottle, break the glass and use it to slice open his face.

Connie is on his feet, face white as a sheet and swaying as if he’s shared a slug or two with Victor. “Dude. What the fuck?”

Victor’s laugh is vicious, the force if it knocks him off his own feet and he crumbles to the ground before anyone can reach him and do him the honour with an uppercut. And Eren is of course the first. Fingers clawing into Victor’s collar, he hauls him back on his feet and shakes him as if he can force common sense into his brain.

“Just what the fuck is your problem?” Eren’s face is so close to Victor their foreheads could touch. “Leave if you don’t wanna be here. But don’t drag everyone else in your sick psycho games.”

“Leave?” Victor echoes, and he sounds like he’s choking up on an emotion he’s carried for so long he’s starting to cave under its weight. “You think I can just leave?” He spits the last word and Eren shoves him away, swiping a hand over his face to wipe it off.

This time, Victor is the one clutching onto Eren’s shirt, hands fisting the fabric hard enough it pulls at its seams. It’s like Eren has loosened a tiny stone keeping Victor together and the consequential rockfall you’re facing is unstoppable. ���You think people want to be here? That everyone’s got a self-righteous, noble reason like you? Some of us don’t have a fucking choice, you buffoon.”

Eren tries to wedge himself free but Victor has an iron grip on him. “The fuck are you talking about—”

“What would your alternative be? Go back and pick some grass and live your life in comfort? Would that really be so bad?” There’s a desperate tone to his voice now, like someone trying to make sense of a fever dream but any resemblance of logic slips right through his fingers like water. “I don’t have something like that waiting for me, I don’t have the luxury to think my life will resemble anything close to normal. Because for some of us, there is no choice.” He isn’t talking to Eren anymore, you realise.

Victor is pleading his case to Armin, eyes wide, fear-crazed—and you realise you’ve seen that look on his face before: when he’d attacked you on the first snow fall in your first year. When he had talked about his father.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” he had said, voice dropping so low you had barely understood him. “If I don’t get where he wants me to be—He’ll kill me if I don’t—” Don’t what? Take care of anyone standing in his way? To what end? Just to be in the Top Ten and get into the Military Police Brigade?

It feels like there’s one big piece missing in a puzzle you don’t know how to assemble—never mind that you don’t even know what the picture will show by the end.

Armin must understand too, that on the day you were sitting together on the porch, Victor had eavesdropped on your conversation. Something flickers in his eyes, turns them unbearably bright, and you hate to think it might be regret of all things.

“So, you’re just going to accept whatever fucked up situation you’re dealt with?” Eren yanks himself free with enough force that he manages to hurl the nearly empty bottle out of Victor’s grasp. It smashes against a jagged edge of a rock and bursts into thousand pieces, a little meteor shower of sharp crystals that glint like dying embers in the fire’s light.

Victor stares at it for a long moment before his pale brown eyes return to Eren. He wavers a moment as if he might collapse after all that pent up rage and anxiety is finally out.

Instead of answering Eren, he just shakes his head. “What a fucking waste,” he says. You don’t know if he means the booze or the actual opportunity to overturn his fate.

It’s strange to see him deflated, like one of those training dolls your instructors sometimes use, that are beat up beyond repair and unable to prop up on their own. Just like one of those crumbling to the ground without anything holding them up, Victor manages to drag himself over to his chosen spot for the night and then plops down like a toddler losing his balance. He ignores Christa’s tentative request to eat a little, lest he wake up sick in the morning, and simple turns on his side with his back to you, one arm wedged under his head as a makeshift pillow.

“We’re done for tonight,” Marco says, exhaustion evident in his voice as if he’s been awake for seven days straight. You can see the tension drain from his shoulders, and now they’re drooping like he’s taken one too many hits. “The night watch stays the same. Christa, Sasha, then Connie and I’m the last one. Any wishes, complaints and suggestions you better keep to yourself. We’ll figure it out in the morning.”

“That’s what I call an announcement.” Jean stretches out his long limbs, and you admire how he can act like nothing just happened. “You gonna stay here or move over to Mina?”

You don’t reply immediately. Instead, you look over to the broken pieces of Victor’s bottle, at the dark patch of liquid soaked into the earth. Someone ought to put the bigger shards away before they get hurt—is your initial thought before it is driven away by that strange feeling of remembrance once more.

“That whiskey brand,” you say out loud. “Wasn’t that one our Dads used to drink together? When we came to visit you. It smells familiar.”

“Really?” Jean sniffs the air, then scrunches up his nose. “I don’t remember. That shit stinks though, I can’t believe Victor almost drained that whole thing by himself.”

He goes on about some other things, but you aren’t listening anymore.

Strange, that this smell is so familiar but you couldn’t place it. Stranger yet, that this smell fills you with dread and anxiety. There’s this foreboding feeling creeping up the back of your neck, on scrawny legs like a spider you only notice when you’re already caught in its web, that nothing will be alright.

❀❀❀

It was well within a year into your friendship that Emil, sitting on the lowest stair leading up to the cooper’s shop while polishing his marbles with a stained, dark cloth, had asked: “Those bruises. Where are they from?”

You had looked up at him, from your own teal coloured marble the size of your thumb’s nail. It was your favourite of the whole bunch—a present from your father from one of the inner Districts. It wasn’t your birthday, it wasn’t any special occasion. He had simply seen it in a toy shop, thought of how green was your favourite colour, and decided he’d bring it back as a present.

“For my little princess,” he’d said, and you remember his eyes were red-rimmed and shiny from unshed tears. He’d been away for a long time, he must have missed you so, so much. “You keep it safe and always with you, promise?”

Nothing was more sacred to a child than a promise, everyone knew. So naturally, you’d said, “I promise.”

“And you won’t tell your mother, right?” Your father had leaned towards you, brushing hair from your face, his thumb resting gingerly against a scab on your cheek you’d gotten after stumbling over your own feet in chase after your dog. “You know how she gets when I coddle you too much.”

“Promise.”

Fond were those memories, sweet like cotton candy but luckily not as rare. Thoughts only clinging to the tenderness of your father, you didn’t waste time wondering about that peculiar tone in Emil’s voice when he’d asked you. As if he did not dare ask such a simple question for the myriad of unfortunate possibilities it might open.

But the thing is, you had not known. Until that moment, until you followed his inquisitive eyes to your arms donned in red and purple and blue like the flowers from your meadow, you had not known your skin was a canvas of hurt and violence.

“Huh.” You inspected them one by one, pushed your thumb into a blackish blot that stung and made you wince—a still fresh bruise barely a day old. “Must be from playing with Marianne and the others.”

Emily met you with a level, calm gaze, his eyes the colour of a frozen lake in mid-winter though it felt as if he left a physical touch on your skin and that felt anything but cold. “You should be more careful,” he said, returning his attention to his marble. It was beautiful, shining and glittering in the early morning sun as he held it against the light, checking for any missed murky spots. A beautiful ruby-coloured little orb, and sometimes when you’d ask, he allowed you to play with it and it made you feel all warm and fuzzy because so far, you’d been the only one he’d shared his marbles with.

“Be careful, or you’ll really hurt yourself,” Emil continued.

“I’m not a little kid anymore,” you said, jutting out your chin as if that would underline your statement, with the naivety of a child that dreamt of being all grown up, being an adult in the unfounded imagination that everything would be easier once you were older. The irony that children dreamt of being adults, and adults dreamt of being children once more because they yearned for simpler times.

Emil gave you one of his funny, little looks. As if he were indulging a little kid playing pretend, and you wanted him to teach you that look. It made him look so much older than he was. “I didn’t say that,” he said. “I only said be more careful. I don’t like seeing you in pain.”

“Oh.” Of course, he cared for you. Worried for you. You could try to slow down a little, to stem the fire that’s started to burn in your heart after you met him. You can’t even tell what it is you’re running towards, only that a small, dark part in your heart is afraid you might lose it if you don’t catch up quickly enough.

“Mr. [Last Name],” Emil said suddenly, and your head snapped up at that, your heart slamming against your ribcage, thumping wildly, a small creature caught in a snare. This was panic—skittering, mindless panic. Why? There was no reason to be afraid of your father. But when you didn’t see him anywhere, you turned to Emil. He was watching you. “When is the next time that he leaves for work to another district?”

Something like dread pricked like pins and needles up your spine. “Why are you asking?”

It wasn’t common for you to doubt or question Emil. You trusted him with a ferocity that was nearly dangerous: if he’d said “Jump, I will catch you,” you’d jump and perform a pirouette mid-flight. Yet, this was different. This felt like a secret with sharp teeth and gnawing starvation for freedom. And it would wreak havoc. You didn’t know why, but you felt it. You felt it would destroy everything like the earth rumbling and splitting open, the very foundation of everything that you had known crumbling.

Emil simply smiled, placidly. Like he didn’t have a care in the world. “Your father’s work is exciting,” he said, barely able to contain the awe in his voice. “He’s joining the Scouts sometimes, isn’t he? To map out the areas beyond the Walls.”

“Yeah.” Your eyes drift over to Wall Maria throwing a colossal shadow over the roofs and crenellations of Shiganshina. “He hasn’t been out in a while now, though.”

“Would he tell me something about his work, if I’d ask?” Emil’s hands fell into his lap, and his crimson marble rolled in his open palm as if it might fall any second. “I want to hear more about it.”

“I’m sure he would,” you said, and at the clear sight of your puzzled expression, Emil laughed. It was your favourite laugh—clear and sound, brighter than the first morning sunlight stealing through the curtains on your window. The sun rising over the wall, warming your face. The cool breeze picking up and caressing your warm cheeks. All life and love and everything in between that was worth fighting for.

“Maybe I just need an excuse to spend more time with you,” he conceded quietly, breathlessly.

“You can just ask, it’s that easy,” you responded just as quietly. “There’s no need for an excuse.”

He smiled at that, a private, withdrawn smile that teetered to wistfulness, and looking at this dream from an outside perspective—from some distance—you’re finally able to properly read his expression for the first time: Emil smiled as if to say: If only things really were this easy.

❀❀❀

You don’t come awake screaming for Emil, the way you sometimes do—but your heart is slamming in your throat like it’s trying to choke you. Your skin is slick with sweat, cool. Your limbs shake but not because of the cold.

I wonder, you think of all things, where my marbles went. If they’re still back in Shiganshina where your house once stood. But that thought bursts into a thousand pieces at the sound of loud voices. A confusing buzz as night still renders the forest dark and barely lit by the silver moon peeking through the trees—voices that belong to your comrades, and unknown, harsh voices. Deep, and commanding. Men’s voices.

Your eyes spring open, and stare right into the round, black hole of a barrel pointed at your face. A huge shadow looms above you, a monster you think at first for its head is nothing close to the shape of a human—that is until your eyes make out the potato bag covering the person’s head with two huge, black holes serving as visors.

“Don’t move, sweetheart,” a deep, raspy voice rumbles. There is no air in your lungs, it’s stuck somewhere in your throat. “Wouldn’t wanna have ta blow up that pretty face.”

Every muscle in your body freezes, paralysed from shock, from fear. Maybe this is the actual nightmare and you haven’t woken up yet. Your eyes move around, recognising your comrades and friends in mirror positions: held at gunpoint, threatened by an unknown group of bulgy, tall men covered by different headwear so their faces remain hidden.

“Now, you’re all going to behave,” the man above you—maybe their leader—says out loud so everyone can hear him, “while we collect your ODM gear. And all’s gonna end well for you, I promise.”

“And what,” says Marco, quietly and with a voice that’s slightly trembling as he tries to stay collected, in charge of a situation that’s blown way out of proportion for anything the instructors could have ever prepared you for, “will you do with them?” He has his hands raised above his head, eyes swerving from the nuzzle to his captor.

“We got certain people that’ll pay handsomely for these. ‘S not like yer gonna use ‘em since there’s no beatin’ the Titans anyway, right?”

You stare up at him, shell-shocked, an unpleasant ringing buzzing in your ears. Throat tight, the cold sweat sensation of dread spreads slowly through your limbs. There’s a tingling in your fingers, either because you can’t feel them anymore or because you’re clawing them too hard into the cold, solid ground.

Multiple things happen at once. There’s a shout, a quarrel—Eren, of course, is fighting off his attacker. He grabs the barrel and shoves it away from his face. Their struggle unfreezes everyone from their petrification, but it’s like coming up from a deep, freezing lake and gasping for air first, limbs suddenly granted to do everything so that you’re left unable to do anything.

“NOW!” is the last thing you hear from Eren, an uncoordinated command to attack, but the rest of you: you’re all scared. Nobody moves. Except Jean, who’s diving towards the forest in an attempt to flee.

The shot rings out into the night, waking birds from their peaceful slumber and setting them out into the darkness. For one short, horrible moment you imagine Jean falling, lifeless like a puppet with cut strings, blood seeping out from a hole in his head.

A cry pierces the quiet, a sound so horrid it raises the hair at the back of your neck. Someone is screaming his name, and it takes a moment to realise you are the one who screams for him. But Jean remains standing. Standing, yet shaking, he turns slowly and reveals a narrow cut running along his cheekbone where the bullet has grazed him.

The relief is only short-lived. You try to go for him, to see if he is all right, you have to touch him and be sure that his life isn’t in danger, feel his solid flesh, his warm skin.

Halfway across camp, you don’t see how Eren’s captor whacks him across the face with the grip of his pistol. You don’t see their leader dive for you until you feel his brutally hard grip in your hair. He yanks your head back, bares your throat and you have to grit your teeth together not to make a sound. A second before, your eyes caught the sharp flash of something between dirt and dried leaves, and now your hand moves over the forest floor, feeling for the cool shard.

“Are ya deaf or just stupid?!” the man holding you roars. “I said don’t. Fucking. MOVE!”

His flat backhand cracks across your face, white-hot stars burst through your field of vision, and pain hits you like a battering ram. Jean and someone else shout your name at the same time but it sounds as if their voices come from behind a rushing waterfall. You clutch onto something sharp before it slips loose from your fingers, feeling it cut deep into your hand as you fall backward onto your elbows, blood gushing from your nose like someone has turned on a facet.

Something cool presses hard against your collarbones, right where your skin shows under the open buttons of your shirt. Your heart stops.

“Ya want me ta give ya a lesson? A lesson how to fuckin’ listen?” The nuzzle drops lower, catches against the closed button. One hard pull would be enough to rip those buttons off and open your shirt. “I can give ya a good lesson, sweetheart, and after that yer not gonna misbehave ever again, y’ know.”

Warm drops trickle into your slightly open mouth as time stops. Unwinds. Kicks you back into a dark room with green wallpapers and golden fleur-de-lys that you’ve counted every time you’ve been locked in there. Every time, the number changed. Every time was one too many.

“You will not misbehave any more when I am done with you,” a voice—a male voice, foreign—echoes in your head.

And you, hammering against a locked door as a wide, big hand seized the back of your neck. “I’m sorry Daddy, I’ll be better from now on, please get me out!”

The figment flashes and disappears so sudden, like lightning, and settles somewhere deep between your ribs, dark and murky—there and gone, was it all just your imagination? A nightmare from long ago?

Your mouth is moving, trying to say something as the man above you keeps shouting and barking orders—more voices join, unfamiliar voices “That is enough, we didn’t come here for this, man! Get your finger off that fucking trigger!” and your comrades’ voices, “Don’t touch her, don’t you fucking lay a hand on her or I will kill you, you fat pig!”

And then another sound, non-human, the ear-piercing screeching of a banshee as it heralds the Grim Reaper’s arrival. The man above you whirls—the pressure on your chest disappears and you’re finally able to take a deep breath—and the second shot rings out that night, loud enough to rupture your eardrums.

Anxious flutter raises a barn owl up from the ground. It disappears behind the safety of the trees’ canopy, just before a dull thud sounds as the body falls hard. All eyes are on Victor’s lifeless body. Where his face used to be is now nothing but shreds of a head, malformed and torn apart. Bits and gory pieces stick to the ground, the side of a tree. His head looks like a squashed, overripe fruit, the fleshy insides now strewn over the forest floor.

It could have been you. Any second longer, that could have been you. Without the distraction of the frightened owl, that could have been you.

The silence is deafening.

Somewhere to your right, you hear Connie being sick. Mina is sobbing quietly, a pale face under dark, untamed black hair.

“Fucking hell…” Another man steps to your side, wearing a white bed sheet over his head. He yanks the gun out of his comrade’s hand and gives him a hard shove. “That wasn’t part of the plan.”

“Wasn’t my fault that fuckin’ bird scared the shit outta me,” the other replies, but there’s a tremble to his voice. His legs are shaking.

“Doesn’t matter now. Round the kids up and tie them to a tree. We take one of ‘em as leverage. Hit them if they give you trouble, but keep the finger off the trigger. I don’t wanna see any more brain splattered around, ya hear?”

The men set out to move, ready for any resistance but the only person they have to worry about is Eren who’s struggling with a new-found vigour that’s missing from the rest of you.

You still see him before you: Victor, showing his toothy, wolfish grin and now half of his head blown away. Dead. Just like that.

They push someone against you, and when you raise your head you look into Jean’s frightened, blown-out eyes. The moonlight leaches the colour out of them, making them appear more silver than gold.

“Are you okay?” he whispers, flounders, forgets how words work.

You try to speak, but your mouth is full of iron, blood dribbling down your chin, soaking the front of your shirt. You try again, spitting out a glob of blood. “Jean … Jean.” You claw at his shirt, and he tries to catch your hands but they’re slippery from blood. There’s something hot on your chest—the ring, it feels like it’s pulsing. Like a second heartbeat. “Jean, my Dad … was my Dad a bad person?”

He freezes, fingers curled loosely around your wrists. There’s a frantic look in his eyes, and you don’t know if it’s because of this whole situation or your question.

“And my Dad,” you continue since there is no stopping now that you hurl down the path, burning and hurting like a shooting star. “My Dad … did he … did he ever hurt me?”

Jean turns away, his fingers slipping away from your skin and with nothing holding you, it feels like you’re falling into the void, because he doesn’t say, “What are you talking about?”

Jean says, “How much do you remember?”

taglist: @arisu003, @brooki

A/N: I’ve thought long about Reader’s past and if I want to write the things I’m going to write and my conclusion is that I want to be a bold writer who isn’t scared to put my characters through painful things to see them come out strong. All I will give you as trigger warning is: Past sexual abuse and sexual childhood abuse (NOT BY HER FATHER). There will be nothing explicitly written about that, but it is a very important narrative device (inciting incident/motivation) for a certain character, so I decided to stay on this path of story. So reader’s discretion is advised and if this isn’t up your alley, please don’t read stuff that makes you uncomfortable. Tags will be updated accordingly. And to end stuff on a lighter note before I disappear for some time, tomorrow is my birthday so please be nice and send me love 🥺.